Tag Archives: Ruda

Prologue – Volume 2

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“I am just so fucking bored,” Ruda moaned.

“Yes,” Juniper said patiently, not looking up from her book. “You have mentioned that an average of eight times an hour for the last week.”

Ruda had been sprawled on the sofa in Clarke Tower’s front parlor, her boots on the table and her head dangling off the back of the couch. Now she straightened herself up enough to peer quizzically at the dryad.

“You’ve been counting? And computing averages? That is both fuckin’ creepy and proof that you’re as bored as me.”

“What?” At that, Juniper finally lifted her gaze, blinking in confusion. “No, I… That was supposed to be hyperbole. I thought I was getting the hang of humor. Did I do it wrong?”

Ruda stared at her for a moment, then chuckled, shaking her head. “Hah, y’know, actually you did it just fine.”

“Yay!”

“Seriously, though. Bored.”

“How is it possible you can’t find anything to do?” Juniper asked, now uncharacteristically annoyed. “There’s lots of stuff. Read. Go start a fight. Have sex with someone. I manage just fine.”

“That, Juno my dear, is because you’ll fuck anything that moves.”

“That just isn’t true,” the dryad said haughtily. “Only sentient beings whom I don’t actively dislike. I have standards.”

“See, the problem with your suggested activities is they involve other people. Everyone is fucking gone.”

“Everyone is not gone! There’s at least a couple dozen people left on campus, and the town…”

“Let me rephrase that. Everyone worth a damn is gone. Present company excepted. Seriously, doll, I’m sorry if I’m annoying you but I’m hanging around you like a fuckin’ gull over a barrel of chum because you’re the last goddamn person on this mountain I actually like.”

“Aww!” Juniper beamed at her over the book. “I like you too!”

Ruda pulled a bottle of whiskey out of her coat, yanked out the stopper and took a long drink. “But with all due respect, I can’t fight or fuck you. All we can do is talk.”

“You could do either of those things,” Juniper pointed out. “You just really, really wouldn’t like them.”

“…yeah, I’m not quite that bored.”

“Y’know, everybody else went home for the vacation to see their families and whatnot. Or other people’s families.”

“Yeah, what the fuck is up with that? What’s Fross gonna do at the fucking Avenist convent in Viridill?”

Juniper shrugged. “Study human society, she said. My point is, you could have gone too.”

“Juno, by the time I got to Puna Dara it’d be too late to turn around and get back in time for the semester to start. We don’t even have a Rail line.”

“Yes, I know,” Juniper said patiently. “I meant, you could’ve gone visiting with someone else.”

“Yeah?” Ruda said sardonically. “Who?”

The dryad opened her mouth, then closed it, frowned, and cut her eyes to the side, visibly thinking. “Um… I bet Teal has lots of space?”

Ruda blew out a huge sigh. “Yeah, and she’d let me come, too. Teal’s fancy-ass house of gold has got to be the only place I’d be more bored than with Toby’s monks. I’d be a diplomatic crisis waiting for an excuse in Tar’naris, and really, what the fuck am I gonna do hanging around in Tiraas with Gabe?”

“You could do exactly that,” Juniper pointed out. “Gabe is very attracted to you.”

Ruda made a face. “Ew. He’s a nice kid, when he’s not talking, but… Ew.”

“Yeah, not your type, I know.” She shrugged, lowering her eyes to the page again. “I’m not sure he’d go for it anyway. He’s learning to view women as more than just potential mates, and he really respects you a lot.”

“Huh,” Ruda said, staring at the wall. “He does? How ’bout that.” She took another drink.

“Everyone does. You set the grading curve last semester, after all.”

“Feh.” She waved the wine bottle airily. “Grades. Bunch of pencil-pushing bullshit.”

“Yeah. I guess they need to measure our progress somehow, though. Maybe…or something. I’m still not absolutely convinced of the benefit of measuring stuff. Why can’t people just let the world be what it is?”

“Cos sometimes the world fucking blows, and only a sissy just lies down and takes it.”

Juniper raised her eyes again, frowning. “I…am not sure whether I disagree with you or just don’t understand your idioms.”

“Prob’ly a little of both.” Ruda stood abruptly. “Okay, that’s it. Let’s go get in trouble.”

“Uh.” Juniper blinked up at her. “I…don’t think that is a good idea.”

“I’m not talking general mayhem, that would be pointless. I wanna break into Tellwyrn’s office!”

Juniper stared. “I really don’t think that’s… No, I’m positive that is a very bad idea.”

“Oh, pfft.” Ruda brandished the bottle, grinning. “What’s she gonna do? Your mother can end the world and my papa would raze this town to the ground if the turned us into toads or something.”

“Ruda, it’s Professor Tellwyrn. I’m a little scared that I apparently have to explain why this is a bad idea!”

“Look, she has one of the Vernis Vaults in that office. I saw it when I was in there last. It’s just sittin’ against the wall with books stacked on it like a goddamn end table.”

“One of the what?”

Ruda perched on the arm of the couch. “They’re artifacts made thousands of years ago by Verniselle. The goddess of money? She only made five, and they’re all supposed to be lost. Whatever you put in there, you can take out an infinite amount of as long as you’re alive!”

Juniper blinked slowly. “And… You want to steal it?”

“What? Don’t be crazy, Tellwyrn’s the owner. We’d have to kill her to take it, and I wouldn’t wanna do that even if it was remotely fucking possible. I actually really like her class. No, I just wanna see what she’s got in there!” She grinned broadly. “What is so important to the great and notorious Arachne Tellwyrn that she arms herself with an unlimited supply of it. Aren’t you curious?”

“Ruda, I’m curious about a lot of things, but I’m still hung up on the part where you want to break into the office of the great and notorious Arachne Tellwyrn. I’ve found that as a general rule, everyone’s happier when she’s not mad.”

“Well, everyone but her.”

“…will a time ever come when I understand most of what you say?”

“Don’t feel bad, dollbaby, it’s not just you.” Ruda straightened up, her boots thunking back to the floor. “I’m going, and you need to come with.”

“Excuse me? I need to? I need to follow campus rules!”

“Juno, there are rules, and then there are rules.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. There are just rules!”

“Look at it this way,” Ruda said, grinning. “There are rules made by people, and then there’s the laws of nature, right? The one that’s arbitrary and has to be enforced, and the other that just exists. Yes?”

Juniper tilted her head, frowning. “I…yes. What about it?”

“Well, within human society, there’s that same dichotomy. There are things you’re supposed to do, and then there are things you just have to.”

The dryad groaned and let the book fall to her lap, bending forward to cradle her head in her hands. “I’m never gonna figure everything out!”

“Aw.” Ruda plunked down on the arm of her chair and draped her arm around Juniper’s shoulders. “Hon, the great secret is nobody’s got it all figured out. They just decide you’re an adult, basically, when you get good enough at faking it that you can cope. You’re doin’ fine, trust me.”

“Really?”

“Really. And right now, one of those unwritten rules is we need to go break into Tellwyrn’s office.”

“…I’m sorry, but that still doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“It’s not about the office, specifically,” Ruda said. “It’s about living. College students are expected—hell, we’re supposed to act out. To just go out and do shit. Find out where the boundaries are!”

“We know where the boundaries are! There’s a student handbook!”

“Juno, trust me, you don’t know the boundaries until you’re pressed up against one. The handbook is more like a guideline, really. You wanna know the extent of Tellwyrn’s patience? You fucking push it!”

Juniper stared up at her. “You really are bored, aren’t you?”

“Yes!”

She sighed. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Of course it’s not a good idea. That’s why we’re doing it!”

“Ugh, if we just go do it, will you stop trying to explain it? I’m getting a headache.”

Ruda rapped sharply on the door to Professor Tellwyrn’s office, then stepped back, folding her hands primly behind her.

Silence.

“I don’t think she’s in there,” Juniper whispered.

“I figured she wasn’t,” Ruda replied. “She usually eats lunch in the faculty lounge with the other professors. Well, then!” Kneeling, she inspected the door handle with its large keyhole below. “Looks like a standard tumbler lock… Old one, too. You’d think she’d upgrade her security. Let’s see, I’ve got picks somewhere…”

Juniper reached past her and turned the knob. The door opened smoothly.

“Spoilsport,” Ruda muttered, standing up and sweeping inside.

Juniper hovered in the doorway, glancing down the hall nervously. “If you didn’t think she was in there, why’d you knock?”

“Because if she was in there, it’d be awfully embarrassing if we just barged in, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh. So, uh…what were you going to say if she was here?”

Ruda grinned at her. “I was gonna ask if we could see the Vernis Vault.”

Juniper’s head whipped around and her expression collapsed into a scowl. “Wait, what? That was an option? Then why are we doing this?!”

“Oh, come on, this way’s more fun! Look, there it is, with that…fucking thing sitting on top of it. What is that?”

“I don’t know,” Juniper huffed, folding her arms. She still lurked in the doorway, as if afraid she’d lose her deniability if she fully entered the office.

Ruda approached the piece of furniture to which she had pointed. The alleged Vernis Vault was about chest-high on her, perched on little irregular clumps of volcanic rock that just barely qualified as legs. The wood was ancient and stained almost black, scarred and pitted so deeply that the engraved sigil of Verniselle on its front was barely discernible.

Atop it sat what appeared to be an abstract sculpture of crystal and bronze. A metal framework enclosed a row of faintly glowing power crystals, attached by wires to a circular metal plate on which sat a thin black ceramic disk. Attached to its rear was an upright frame containing what appeared to be a gong.

“Huh,” Ruda said, bending forward to peer at the object. “It looks like a… Hell, I don’t know. I wanna say a musical instrument.”

“Why are you fussing about that thing?” Juniper demanded. “I thought you wanted to see what was in the—” She broke off, peering wide-eyed down the corridor outside. “Someone’s coming.”

“What?” Ruda straightened up. “Who?”

“It’s Tellwyrn! And…someone else, I don’t know!”

“Quick! Hide!”

“What?”

Ruda lunged forward, grabbed her by the arm, pushed the door shut and dragged the flustered dryad over to Tellwyrn’s closet. Shoving Juniper in ahead, she pressed herself in after and pulled the door shut.

It was very cramped and very dark. The door didn’t fit well; there was a sizeable crack between it and its frame, enough to admit a little light and provide a very narrow view of the room outside. After a momentary shuffling, Ruda ended up sitting on the floor with her face pressed against it, Juniper standing over her, so they could both see out.

“Don’t move,” Ruda whispered. “Try not to breathe.”

“I don’t have to—”

“Shh!”

The exterior door opened and Tellwyrn herself bustled in, chattering away. “Here we are! Please make yourself comfortable, pull up a chair. It must have been a grueling trip. I know what, let’s have some relaxing music! Have you seen one of these? Newest thing out of Calderaas.”

She stepped into view of the crack—barely—and began fussing with the peculiar apparatus sitting atop the Vernis Vault. In moments, the room was filled with music. It was oddly small for being clearly the sound of an orchestra, and had a raspy undertone that probably resulted from the mechanism playing it.

“Impressive,” said a woman’s voice, deadpan. She was a deep alto, not yet visible from the closet.

“I know it’s a little tawdry, showing off my new toys, but this is quickly becoming a favorite,” Tellwyrn said cheerily. “They’re starting to put all the great symphonies on these disks. I’m just waiting for them to begin recording operas; I so rarely get to Tiraas to buy a ticket these days. Please, sit! Tea? I have the most exquisite jasmine blend from Sifan…”

She puttered around, collecting cups and a teapot and explaining how the arcane hot plate worked, and Ruda frowned into the crack. This cheerful, almost domestic Tellwyrn was deeply incongruous. She was acting almost like Janis.

Then, finally, the Professor’s guest entered her very limited field of view, seating herself in the chair in front of Tellwyrn’s desk, and drove all questions about the Professor’s behavior out of Ruda’s mind. The woman was a drow, regal and stately in aspect even when sitting down. She was taller than Shaeine, and somewhat more strongly built, though her attire had clearly come from the same aesthetic. Her robes were of a similar cut to those Shaeine wore, and likewise of the same deep, dark shade of primary color that was nearly black, though where Shaeine wore her House colors of green and red, this woman was in blue.

“I don’t wish to take up any more of your time than absolutely necessary,” the woman said curtly, interrupting Tellwyrn mid-comment. “If you will kindly direct me to my daughter, I will collect her and depart.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Tellwyrn said calmly, seating herself behind the desk and pouring tea. The scent of it filled the room pleasantly, even in the closet. “Forgive me, Nassra, I may be a little behind the times. With a campus full of students, one loses track of the details of all their lives. Last I heard, Natchua didn’t intend to return to Tar’naris until her education here was complete.”

“That changed when she chose to humiliate her House and make a mockery of herself,” Nassra said flatly. Her face and tone were expressionless, but where Shaeine always seemed serene, this woman was icy. “I am supremely uninterested in what she intends or wants. Natchua is to return home, where she will no longer be a warped reflection of our society before Tiraan eyes, and face appropriate discipline for her actions.”

Tellwyrn shrugged and sipped her tea. “Natchua is legally an adult by Tiraan standards, is not in any legal trouble and is a student in good standing at this University. It seems that what she wants is a factor. I realize the relationships between mothers and daughters is enshrined in both custom and law in Tar’naris, but in the Empire, I’m afraid you don’t actually have the prerogative to take her anywhere.”

“This is absurd. She is my daughter. I demand that you hand her over to me!”

Slowly, very carefully, Tellwyrn set down her teacup. Her tone, when she spoke, was neutral. “Would you perhaps like to rephrase that?”

The drow leaned back slightly; her face betrayed nothing, but she spoke more carefully. “Forgive me. This matter has seemed to bring out the worst in everyone involved.”

“Of course, perfectly understandable,” Tellwyrn said pleasantly, picking up her cup again and taking a sip. “Now, I would suggest that if you’re determined to bring Natchua home, you could try to persuade her to go. However, when I raised the matter with her earlier she indicated that she didn’t want to speak with you. Perhaps you could approach her via correspondence? In any case, I regret that you made the trip for nothing. Please, try the tea.”

“You have no right to stand between me and my child,” Nassra said, tension breaking through her reserve.

“Probably true,” Tellwyrn conceded. “Personally, I don’t think in terms of rights. In my experience, that results in people acting all entitled and smug. Responsibilities, now, those I can get behind. My responsibility in this matter is to my student, and her education.”

“I did not come all this way to be thwarted by a pompous desk-dweller,” Nassra snapped. “If you insist on blocking me in this matter, I will not hesitate to go over your head.”

“And let me tell you how that will go,” Tellwyrn said cheerfully. “First, you’d have to convince Matriarch Ezrakhai that expending political capital to bring home your ill-behaved brat is a worthwhile use of House Dalmiss’s resources. I don’t know enough about your internal politics even to guess how that would go. Assuming she goes for it, she would then have to convince Matriarch Ashaele that pushing this with the Tiraan diplomatic corps is a worthwhile use of Tar’naris’s resources, and frankly, I don’t see that happening.”

“You do not—”

“Of course,” Tellwyrn barreled on, “Ezrakhai could go over Ashaele’s head; I understand it wouldn’t be the first time. If she can get Queen Arkasia to sign off on it, Ashaele will obey, and petition the Empire to have Natchua returned. At that point, you would find yourself completely stymied and locked in an eternal runaround. Not out of any malice, mind; the Empire simply can’t politically afford to acknowledge that they can’t make me do anything on my campus. If you’re extremely lucky, some bureaucrat in the Foreign Ministry will take you aside and quietly explain all this, but far more likely you would never hear anything further except that your request was being processed. Of course, by the time all this played out, Natchua’s remaining two and a half years at the University would likely be over and the whole thing moot.”

By the end of this recitation, Nassra was gripping the arms of her chair, her fingers tensed into veritable claws.

“My House,” Nassra said frostily, “is not paying her tuition any further. You should be aware of this and make any relevant decisions before the next academic semester starts.”

“It seems Natchua anticipated that,” Tellwyrn said, smiling. “Turns out she qualifies for a number of academic scholarships. Despite being a thoroughly annoying individual, she is a very good student. Who knew? Anyhow, you needn’t worry about her welfare; everything is being covered.”

“If you insist on depriving me of legitimate avenues to my daughter, there are other—”

In that instant, Professor Nice Guy left the room.

Tellwyrn lunged across the desk, sending teacups splashing to the floor, and gathered a handful of Nassra’s collar, dragging the astonished drow forward. “Now you hear this,” the Professor snarled. “I don’t care who you think you are, you do not come onto my campus and threaten harm to one of my students. I have destroyed people more completely than you can imagine just for offering to cause that kind of trouble. But you? No, Nassra, it won’t be the death of you. If you actually are overweening enough to send someone to try to ‘retrieve’ Natchua from this University before her time here is up, I will first reduce whatever agent you employ to a greasy smear of ashes and regret, and then I will come after you in Tar’naris. I will walk right into your House, put you over my knee, hike up your robes and spank. Your. Butt.”

All Narisian reserve lost, Nassra gawped at the furious Professor from inches away. “Y-you—”

“I what? Wouldn’t? Can’t?” Tellwyrn grinned psychotically; it was a far more disturbing expression than her previous snarl. “I did it to a Hand of Avei, right in front of her army. The Sisters have never forgiven me for that, but what they haven’t managed to do is avenge her, much less prevent me from doing it in the first place. You think your House can protect you?” Tellwyrn tugged her closer, till their noses were actually touching. “Laurel Aselstyne spent the rest of her career as a punchline. Care to guess what your political prospects are after you bring that down on yourself?”

Tellwyrn held her gaze for a long, drawn-out moment in which there was only the sound of the tinny symphony playing from the music contraption. Then, abruptly, she released Nassra and slid back across her desk, settling into her chair, and folded her hands.

“Or,” she said, again as calm and pleasant as though nothing had happened, “you can acknowledge that some things are simply beyond your power to influence, and we can relate to one another like civilized people. Despite certain…irregularities…with her behavior, Natchua has given you much to be proud of. She’s intelligent and driven, and seems to make friends easily. All in all, she has done much better here than I first anticipated when Ezrakhai shoehorned her into the exchange program. Perhaps you’d be wise to let her develop a bit more on her own before writing her off as a bad job.”

“I don’t need your advice on raising my daughter,” Nassra said, still visibly shaken.

“Oh?” Tellwyrn’s tone was soft, now. “I haven’t pried into her home life, but the fact remains that for someone from a duty-oriented, matriarchal culture to try to divorce herself so completely from her mother’s influence… Well, that’s suggestive, isn’t it?”

“How dare—” Nassra broke off suddenly, clamping her lips shut.

“Oh, please,” Tellwyrn said silkily, “please finish that sentence. I can always do with a good chuckle.”

Nassra glared daggers at her for a moment, then abruptly stood, turned, and stalked away, out of Ruda’s narrow field of view.

“You have not heard the last of this,” she declared from out of sight.

“By all means, drop by anytime,” Tellwyrn said cheerfully. “We’re always open!”

The door opened, then slammed shut.

Professor Tellwyrn sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair. With a flick of her finger, the music shut off; she then extended her right hand to the side, making a grasping motion and lifting it upward, and spilled jasmine tea rose from her desk and the carpet, forming an amorphous ball in midair, which she carefully guided back into the teapot. Finally, she took off her glasses and set them on the desk, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.

“In the interests of world peace,” she said aloud, “I’m willing to be persuaded that you two are snooping in my office for unrelated reasons, and not trying to ignite the diplomatic incident you very nearly just did.”

Ruda caught her breath, then let it out fatalistically. She stood up, bumping Juniper’s chin with the top of her head, and pushed the door open, trying not to look sheepish. Sheepish was not a good look for a Punaji.

Tellwyrn eyed them sidelong. “Needless to say, you are not, under any circumstance, ever, to repeat anything you just heard. Anywhere, or to anyone.”

“Repeat what?” Ruda said innocently. “I couldn’t make anything out over the music. That’s a nifty gadget, by the way.”

“Really?” Juniper frowned at her. “It wasn’t that loud, you should have been able to oh I know what this is.” She nodded sagely and winked. “Right. I didn’t hear anything either!”

“You’re coming along nicely,” Ruda said dryly.

“Thanks!”

“I’ve got a question, though,” Ruda went on. “I mean, I can tell the music and the smelly tea was a sensory distraction so Miss Elf Ears didn’t know we were there, but if you did…why not just kick us out?”

“You’re here to learn,” the Professor said cryptically. “It’s not hard to suss out how all this came to pass. Zaruda, I’m sure your intentions are good, but Juniper does not need your help to break out of her shell. Try that with your roommate; she could actually benefit from unclenching a bit. Juniper needs to adhere to the rules I’ve set down.”

“Oh, come on, she—”

“The rules,” Tellwyrn said grimly, “are the only reason you’re not part of the food chain.”

Ruda pulled back, glancing over a Juniper, and grinned nervously. “What? She wouldn’t…”

“Actually, everything’s part of the food chain,” Juniper said earnestly. “Well, everything alive, anyway. But there are rules about what I’m allowed to eat while I’m at the University.”

Ruda’s smile slipped away.

“What,” Tellwyrn asked wearily, “are you doing in here?”

“Ruda wanted to see what was in the Vernis Vault,” Juniper said.

“Ugh.” The Professor rolled her eyes. “What is it with you kids and that box? Fine, here.” She stood and stepped over to the Vault, pulling its door open. It swung outward silently. Within was a mostly empty space, containing nothing but a small bowl at its bottom, filled with brightly-colored little balls. Tellwyrn dipped her hand into this, bringing out three, and popped one into her mouth as she turned back to face them. “These were made by Svenheim’s best confectioner. He’s dead now, so this is the world’s only source. Here you go.” She tossed one to each of them.

“This…is candy?” Ruda asked, dumbfounded, staring at the little lump of sugar now in her hand.

“Really good candy.”

“I don’t… I can’t… But you could have anything. Infinite money. Weapons. Magical artifacts, basically unlimited power if you used that box right. And… You keep your candy stash in it.”

“Let it never be said I have my priorities mixed,” Tellwyrn said, rolling the confection around her tongue. “The truth, girls, is that all the great things you are taught to strive for can and will be taken from you at a moment’s notice. Beauty fades, health fails. Love, despite what the bards try to sell us, is a fragile and fickle thing, all too easily crushed by the weight of reality. Eventually, your very body and mind will turn on you, no matter how supposedly immortal your race. Nothing is eternal. It is our expectation that the things which are important to us will survive that leads us so often into grief. In the end, the truest forms of happiness are those which are openly, knowingly fleeting. They don’t disappoint when they are gone, because you knew up front that they soon would be. In short, never underestimate the profound significance of candy. It is, in some ways, the purest joy in the world.”

Ruda stared at her, completely at a loss; Juniper peered back and forth between them, then at the piece she was holding, clearly just as confused. Almost absently, Ruda lifted her hand and put the candy in her mouth.

Immediately she choked and spat it back into her palm. “Sour!”

“Yes,” Tellwyrn said smugly, “I can stretch a metaphor around the moon and back when I get going. Seriously, though, stay out of here unless you’re invited. My secrets guard themselves; this office is off-limits to students because there ensues an embarrassing mess of paperwork when students turn up killed in here. Now run along.”

They made it almost to the door before she spoke again. “Oh, and girls.” Tellwyrn had settled back into her chair, and now regarded them sardonically over her spectacles. “Report to Stew and tell him you need help staying occupied for the remainder of vacation. I’m sure he can find something to fill your time.”

“Yes, Professor,” Juniper said glumly. Ruda just sighed.

“Okay,” the pirate said once they were about halfway down the hall. “Not gonna lie… I think I’m a little bit gay for Professor Tellwyrn.”

“What?” Frowning, Juniper turned to stare at her. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s just a figure of—oh, nevermind. I could be persuaded, let’s leave it at that.”

“I’m pretty sure she can still hear us.”

“Well, good. I’d hate to think I was embarrassing myself for nothing.”

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Bonus #1: Captain’s Orders

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Rajakhan stood with his hands folded behind his broad back, staring at the preserved skeleton of the smilodon which stood in his trophy hall. It almost didn’t look feline, being nothing but bones held together by wire; so much of what made a cat was in the way they moved.

Outsiders rarely understood about Punaji and cats. Everyone assumed the pirate kingdom should put something nautical on their flag, but there was nothing on or under the sea that so perfectly captured the Punaji spirit. Cats offered respect and obedience to none, rejected all rules and pursued their own ends… But in their own, freewheeling way, they were loyal and devoted, fierce in the protection of those they loved. It remained one of the odd quirks visiting merchants and scholars shook their heads over. Punaji, like cats, didn’t feel a need to explain themselves.

This was his thinking pose, and the place where he most often came to do his thinking; the servants left him alone. They, at least, knew him well enough not to be intimidated by his imposing namesake beard, massive frame and tendency to scowl as a resting expression. He’d had to develop other signals to indicate when he didn’t wish to be disturbed. Maneuver, impression, appearance… Politics. It never ceased to gall him, having to care about such trifling things. A king’s lot was just not meant to be easy.

But there were worse things.

He drew in a deep breath and blew it out in a huff, glaring at the skeleton as if he could blame it for his worries. The weight of his nation’s troubles was a familiar one to him. What weighed on him now was far more personal, and harder on his equanimity.

Hearing her footsteps before she appeared, he turned to face the archway to the outer hall. Anjal entered with the force of someone slamming a door—impressive, given that there wasn’t one. She was a diminutive woman, lean and no taller than his collarbone, but her muscular frame and aggressive stride made an imposing sight even when she wasn’t glaring and clenching both fists at her sides.

“Well?” the pirate king asked after a moment in which she simply stood there, staring daggers at him.

“Nothing.” Anjal bit off her words, fairly quivering with fury. “She just sits. This is not normal. Children are supposed to be resilient—it has been three days! The windshaman is worried she will starve herself; it’s all we can do to make her drink water.”

Rajakhan heaved another sigh, stroking his beard with one hand, while Anjal glared at him accusingly. They had come a long way since their earliest meeting, as captains of opposing ships tearing into each other—he the prince of the Punaji nation, she the commander of the Punaji nation’s first organized rebellion against the crown. Anjal the Sea Devil met every situation with fire and steel, in her spirit if not in her hands.

That was what made him worry, now. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and the sudden crack in her voice made his heart ache. “I can’t fight this, Raja!”

He was across the room in two long strides, wrapping his arms around her, and for a wonder, she let herself be held, regardless that they were more or less in public. Anjal buried her face in his shoulder, leaning both clenched fists into his chest.

“Some things cannot be fought, my heart,” he said quietly, resting his chin atop her head.

“I don’t know what to do!” Her whole body was clenched tight with the effort of not breaking down. She would never forgive herself for showing such weakness. “Naphthene send me enemies, problems that can be killed. Our own daughter is withering away from within and…and what can we do? I can stand there and watch.”

She broke off, trembling, and he just held her in silence. In the privacy of their chambers, he would murmur soothingly, stroke her hair… In privacy, she would let herself weep. Rajakhan knew her well enough not to show her tenderness when she was trying to harden herself; it would only spoil her efforts.

Gradually, she relaxed, her furious tension easing into the more normal stiffness with which she faced the world. Anjal was no more to be taken for granted than the sea; after years of marriage, he was attuned enough to her to sense, even without seeing her face, when she had composed herself enough to carry on.

“I will go speak to her,” he rumbled.

She pulled back, staring up at him. Tears glistened in her eyes, but didn’t fall. “What can you say that we haven’t tried?”

“Duty,” he said firmly. “It is time to stop this indulgence.”

Anjal’s expression hardened all over again. “The child is in pain, Rajakhan. Yelling at her will do only more harm.”

“A captain need only raise his voice to be heard over the wind and rain,” he replied. “We have raised our daughter well, Anjal. She has a brave heart, and knows her duty. If soft words will not shake her out of this, a reminder of her obligations will. I have that much faith in her.” He softened his voice and expression when the skepticism on her face did not diminish. “What else is there to try, love?”

Anjal closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She gently pulled herself back and impatiently scrubbed tears from her eyes before opening them again. “Go, then. If this does not work…”

“It will have to,” he said, taking one of her slim, callused hands and lifting it to his lips. “Only her own strength will lead her through this, my pretty devil. She just needs a reminder.”

His wife allowed this intimacy for a moment, a hint of a smile flickering across her eyes, before composing herself and pulling away. “Try it then, husband. Why are you still here?”

In spite of himself, in spite of everything, Rajakhan rumbled a low laugh, stepping back from her with a respectful bow. He turned and strode out.

The pirate king’s bulky frame made him look squat, belying his height and the long reach of his legs; he set a sharp pace, passing through the castle at a clip that made servants and courtiers scramble to keep up. It was to the better, for several reasons, that none accompanied him today. Those he passed were glimpsed only in the distance where halls crossed or doors opened into rooms. Sensing the mood and knowing some of what caused it, the domestic staff were taking pains not to be near him or Anjal. It suited him just fine.

Despite his set expression and rapid stride, he was dreading this. All too soon, he reached his destination, a door in the hallway just down from his own chambers. Rajakhan “Blackbeard” Punaji, King of Pirates, had to pause and steel himself before rapping on the door. That done, though, he pulled it open and stepped in without waiting for a response.

It was as bad as he had feared; at the first glimpse of his daughter, a crack formed in his heart.

Zaruda was a blocky, square-faced child. So had been his sister and cousins at that age, though, and they had grown into their frames; the women in his family were famed for being curvaceous and vivacious. She was likely to become a great beauty, which concerned him and her mother not at all. The sort of leadership strategies which used looks to influence people would not serve a leader among the Punaji. The young Princess had given her parents plenty of cause for pride, however; she was clever, rambunctious, aggressive, and fiercely affectionate.

Now, she sat on her bed, knees pulled up to her chest. Dark circles of sleeplessness ringed her eyes, a horrible sight on so young a face. Zaruda’s expression was hollow, empty, her shoulders slumped. Only seven years old, and she looked completely broken. She had for three days. The sight was almost enough to unman him completely; Rajakhan barely retained his composure in the face of it.

“Hello, Zari,” he said gently. Her eyes flickered to him, but she made no other acknowledgment. He glanced quickly about the room, taking stock. Zaruda wasn’t alone; her two cats both sat on the bed with her. Shashi, an expensive purebred Sifanese, was draped over her feet, while Fancy Hat, an orange tabby with a ragged ear whom Zaruda had insisted on rescuing from an alley, sat upright beside her, leaning firmly against her. In the last three days they had left her side only to eat and use the box. The sound of their purring was plainly audible even from across the room. And outsiders still tried to tell him cats were disloyal…

Aside from her rumpled bedclothes, the rest of the room was depressingly in order, a very bad sign. Zaruda was a walking mess, usually; things were clean in her presence only when she was asleep. His eye did settle on one thing out of place, however. A worn stuffed bear lay against the wall, face-down.

“What’s this?” he rumbled, bending to pick it up. The bear had been hastily but thoroughly laundered, yet its head was still marred by a large discolored patch. They had gotten all the blood out, but the well-loved toy could only submit to so much washing without falling apart completely. “And why is Commodore Bear on the floor? Is this how you treat a war hero?”

Zaruda glanced at him again, then cleared her throat. “’s just a stupid toy,” she said hoarsely. Her voice was raspy with thirst, with lack of sleep… But not from crying. That was the truly worrying thing. She had been watched closely enough that he knew she had not cried. Not once.

Rajakhan stepped into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He crossed to her and sat down very carefully beside her on the bed, setting Commodore Bear on his other side and stroking Fancy Hat’s head. No matter the care with which he moved, the child-sized bed creaked and shifted under his weight.

He let the silence stretch out. For all his talk to Anjal, now that the moment was here, he found it embarrassingly hard to put his plan into action. His little girl was suffering, and all he wanted was to hold her and fight away her fears. But they had tried that, and she’d only retreated further into herself.

“You think I’m weak,” Zaruda said softly.

“What?” Rajakhan frowned at her. “Who told you this?”

“Nobody.” She shook her head. “I know, though. The windshaman thinks so. Mama thinks so.”

“You are wrong,” he said firmly. “You are not weak, and only a fool would believe you are.”

“I feel weak,” she whispered.

Rajakhan drew in a deep breath and let it out. Finally, he laid his large hand against her back, stroking her gently. “Tell me what’s on your mind, little Zari.”

It was long minutes before she answered. He didn’t repeat his command or push her; she wasn’t ignoring him. It took time for her to gather her thoughts.

“That man,” she said softly. “He had a mama and a papa too. Maybe brothers and sisters. Maybe a wife. Somebody loved him.”

“Likely so,” Rajakhan replied. “Most people are connected to somebody.”

“And they’re hurt now because he’s gone,” she whispered.

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him.” Her voice was achingly hollow, echoing with pain she was too tired to feel except distantly.

“I know, Zari,” he rumbled. “But you were in the right. He broke into your room; he meant harm to your family, possibly to you. When someone attacks you, it’s right to defend yourself.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes. “Everyone’s said that to me.”

He let the silence hang for a moment before prompting her. “But?”

“I don’t feel right. I feel… Wrong. A man is dead and nothing will ever bring him back.” Finally she opened her eyes again, and the emptiness in them was haunting. “And that’s why I’m weak.”

“Why is that?” he asked softly.

“You’ve killed people. Mama has. Everyone… All those stories, of battles and wars and raids… The Punjai fight to live, we kill our enemies.” She slumped, sinking into herself. “I can’t call myself Punaji.”

“Now you hear this,” Rajakhan said firmly. “I will never hear those words out of your mouth again. Is that clear?”

He stared down at her, leaving no room for ambiguity in his tone. She finally looked up, meeting his eyes, and nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“My little Zari,” he said with a sigh, stroking her hair. “You are not weak. You have just learned a very hard lesson, and don’t yet have the perspective to see it all in context. Do you know how rare it is for a child your age to think things out as clearly as you have? To feel them as deeply?”

She shook her head, dropping her eyes.

“It is rare,” he said. “Many grown men and women don’t have the brain or the heart to do either. Weak? Pah. This is how I know you will be a great Queen someday. You think things through, farther than most do. You have a heart big enough to hold the whole world, and that’s why you feel the pain of all those you may have hurt.”

“I don’t want to,” she whispered.

“Don’t wish for that.”

“I can’t be a queen,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. Finally, tears brimmed between her lashes. “I just sit here and… I can’t think of anything but that man’s death.”

Rajakhan heaved a deep sigh. “You can, Zaruda. You just have not yet learned how. Now listen up: I have orders for you.”

He waited for her to open her eyes and look up at him before continuing.

“Tonight, you will cry. I know you’re trying to be strong and fight back the pain, but this is the wrong way to do it. It must hurt, little minnow. Pain is a poison; you must get it out of you. If you hold it in, it will just rot you out from the inside. You know how your mama and I, and all the Punaji heroes in the stories, have lived as long and fought as hard as we have?” He draped his huge arm around her hunched shoulders. “We make time to mourn, when it is time to. Do you understand?”

She nodded slowly. “…yes, sir.”

“Good. I am not done. Tomorrow, you will wake up, wash yourself, eat breakfast, and then we will hold a feast. All the captains will be invited, and they will all be told the story about Princess Zaruda, the fiercest scion of the Punaji bloodline, who killed her first enemy when she was seven. And at this feast, you will boast, and laugh, and show them how ferocious you are. You will be proud, and revel in your first kill.”

She had stared up at him with consternation growing on her face the longer he talked. Finally, she burst out, “Papa! I can’t!”

“Can’t?” He did not raise his voice, but poured every ounce of command into it. “You can’t? You were not asked a question. This is what you will do. I expect my orders to be followed.”

Zaruda swallowed heavily, then again. Her expression was of panic and pure misery.

“Do you understand,” he said more gently, “why I am ordering you to do this?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out; all she could do was shake her head, the tears beginning to run down her cheeks at last.

“Because this is the craft of our family,” Rajakhan explained. “Our trade. You know that professions are passed down from parent to child. We have soldiers, fishermen, craftspeople of all kinds, scholars, windshaman. All of them are necessary for our nation to function. What do we make, Zaruda? What does this family provide that people need?” He held her gaze for a moment; she stared up at him without replying. “We rule. We provide leadership to our nation. The time has come for you to begin training in this trade. That means, among other things you will learn, that sometimes you have to push aside what you feel and show your people what they need to see. The Punaji need to know that our bloodline is strong, that the future is secured. They need to know that their Princess, their future Queen, is powerful, clever, and fierce. They will not see you hiding in your room, wallowing in your pain. They will see you standing before them, reveling in your victory.”

“That’s not—” She broke off. Punaji children learned at a very young age not to protest that anything was unfair. They were a nation of sailors; their lives were dedicated to the tempestuous ocean and its fickle goddess. Nothing was fair. Asking for it to be was asking to be punished.

“It is fair, though,” the king said firmly. “Who do you think has paid for every meal you have ever eaten? Your clothes? Your teaching, your toys? You are royalty, Zaruda; you live on the taxes levied on your people. That is what it means to rule. The Punaji have paid you to do a job from the moment you were born. Will you cheat them of their honest trade? Would you show the world such dishonor?”

“No, sir.” She shook her head. Her expression was still pained, but now thoughtful as well.

“It’s a hard thing, little one,” he said, stroking her back. “You have a lot to learn, and this is only the beginning. I promise you, though, it will get easier as you grow to understand more about the world.”

“Why can’t you just tell them what you said to me?” she asked plaintively. “If feeling the pain of others makes me a good Queen…”

Rajakhan sighed heavily. “Because, little minnow, that is wisdom, and it’s hard-won. Not everyone understands that. Most people will not understand it. They will see your true strength as weakness, and see strength in killing and boasting about it. Never forget that those people are fools.”

“If they’re fools, why do we care what they think?” she demanded sullenly.

He rumbled a low laugh. “Because there are a lot of them, and because the stupider a person is, the louder they are. Fools make enough noise that even people who ought to know better listen to them. This is part of the craft you are going to learn, Zari: managing fools, just as you must manage all sorts of people. It’s a delicate line to walk, at times, but it is what we must do.”

She nodded, dropping her gaze. Finally, though, she uncurled herself, extending her legs to dangle them over the side of the bed. Shashi, disturbed from her place, muttered a soft complaint, but climbed back into Zaruda’s lap. Rajakhan watched the life and spirit visibly returning to her with a degree of relief he had never imagined he could feel. They weren’t there yet, but it was a start.

“Part of the careful balance is knowing when and how to hurt,” he said. “In the eyes of the world, you must be the bravest, the strongest, the loudest. Your allies and enemies alike must see you as dangerous, or they will never respect you. But as I have said, you cannot shove all your pain down inside yourself. It must come out. Just…never in front of the world.” He rubbed her gently. “You understand?”

She nodded. “Be strong for others, and suffer alone. It… It sounds hard, Papa.”

“It is hard,” he agreed solemnly. “But you have missed an important part. You needn’t suffer alone; that is no way to do it. Sharing your weakness with others is a vital part of being human, Zari. You can’t live if you wear the mask every minute. Only family can be trusted. When you cry tonight, you will have me and mama here, plus Shashi and Fancy Hat. And Commodore Bear,” he added, smiling.

“You won’t live forever,” she said quietly, not looking at him, and another pang struck his heart. She was far too young to have thought so much about death.

“That’s true,” he acknowledged. “No one does. But that doesn’t mean you will ever be alone. Blood is an accident, Zaruda; it just happens. Family are the people you would give your life for. You keep that big heart open, and you will always have family. I guarantee it.”

She nodded, then leaned against him. Between them, Fancy Hat purred furiously, seeming not to mind being the meat in a Punaji sandwich. Rajakhan breathed deeply for what seemed the first time in days, feeling the terrible tension in his chest ease. His daughter was going to be all right.

“I’m hungry,” she said after a few minutes.

“Then I’ll have some food brought to you.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

“And now,” he rumbled, picking up the stuffed bear and holding it in front of her, “I think you owe someone an apology.”

“I’m sorry, Commodore Bear,” she said dutifully, taking the toy from him. Then she wrapped her arms around it, pressing a kiss to the Commodore’s head, right atop the scrubbed-out bloodstain.

Rajakhan squeezed her once more before standing up. “Remember your orders, sailor.”

“Yes, sir.” She managed a smile at him, and he let himself believe everything would work out.

“I’ll be back in a little while. Mama too.”

“Okay.”

As he slipped out and made his way back through the castle to find his wife, the pirate king felt weak, drained in a way he rarely had; wrung-out, both physically and emotionally. Of course, he kept his scowling mask firmly in place, kept his stride steady and strong. His advice to Zaruda had been from lessons he himself had learned, no less painfully than she.

What a terrible, wonderful thing it was to be a parent—very much like being a king, but so much more intimately. He could only do his best, knowing all the while that he was fumbling his way in the dark, trying to provide answers he didn’t truly have.

And though he had never been so proud of her, it seemed that nothing would ever hurt so much as the day his daughter started to grow up.

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4 – 22

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Most of Clarke Tower was quiet as the week drew to a close. Late in the afternoon, as the last red glow of sunset was fading to darkness in the windows, Teal sat at the pianoforte in the small music lounge that occupied the tower’s topmost floor, beneath its conical roof. The mechanisms that powered the tower’s clock face hung suspended from the rafters, shifting rhythmically under a silencing charm. Though their ticking wasn’t audible, Teal had learned to keep her eyes fixed firmly on the keys, or just the motion of the gears would tend to creep into her awareness and change the rhythm at which she played.

A pen sat on the piano’s music stand, untouched for several minutes as she played through the piece completely. It was a soft, sad tune, but not a slow one; it moved with a subdued energy that hinted at anger beneath sorrow. The score sitting in front of her was so marred with corrections and notations that it was beginning to be difficult to read. Teal let the last notes echo in the chamber, frowning at it. She was fairly satisfied with her progress, but the music on the page would need to be cleanly re-scored on a fresh sheet before she could continue working. Well, it was a good stopping point, anyway.

“Beautiful.”

Teal jumped slightly, turning to stare at Shaeine in the doorway, and cleared her throat awkwardly. “Ah…thanks. I’m not exactly happy with it yet… I like the introduction and it wraps up well, but it feels like the harmonies should be deeper during most of it. Like it wants to be more complex. I’m having a little trouble sussing out what the piece needs, though. When I try to add to it, it ends up feeling, I don’t know…tacked-on and kind of busy. Not to mention a stretch for my fingers,” she added ruefully, flexing her hands.

Shaeine shook her head, gliding into the room. “Doubtless your judgment is correct. I fear my knowledge of music isn’t enough to render a useful opinion. All I can tell is that it is beautiful.”

“Well, thank you,” Teal replied, managing a tentative smile and receiving one in return.

She sat, feeling almost frozen, as the diminutive drow approached. Shaeine was watching her with one of those courteous little smiles that didn’t mean anything, though there was an inquisitive tilt to her head. She came to a stop next to the bench, hands folded before her, a picture of serenity. Close enough to touch.

“I heard you conversing with several elves last night, in Sarasio. You seem quite fluent.”

“Um, pretty much, yes,” Teal said uncertainly. “I was taught growing up, and spent some time around elves during the summers. They seemed pleased that a human was interested in learning their language rather than making them speak Tanglish. Enough to help me along, anyway.”

Shaeine nodded. “There is really only one elvish tongue. The language of immortals evolves at a glacial pace compared to Tanglish; there are regional differences, but all are mutually intelligible. The Narisian dialect has, comparatively, idiosyncratic vowel pronunciation, as well as several extra classes of pronouns that reflect the complexities of our society. It is not much beyond the base language you already know. If…you are interested… I would be glad to help you learn.”

Teal had been folding up her music and pocketing her pen, mostly to have something to do with her hands. She paused, now, staring down at the pages in her grip, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. Only with some effort did she make herself lift her gaze to meet Shaeine’s, but the small smile which followed was completely unbidden. “I would really like that, actually.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Shaeine’s smile widened just barely, though her rigid serenity remained fully in place. A momentary pause fell, during which they simply looked at each other, then the drow made a very soft noise deep in her throat, as if clearing it. The sound caught Teal by surprise; she was so unused to any expression of awkwardness from Shaeine that it was almost jarring. “Both my elder sisters have daughters of their own.”

“I…oh?” Teal dropped her gaze, folding her music with much more care than the task required, uncertain what response that comment merited.

“As such, I have a certain amount of…leeway. It will not be incumbent upon me to continue the matriarchal line, barring extremely improbable mishap.” She made that tiny throat-clearing sound again. “Though it isn’t common, there is a precedent of humans being adopted into the ranks of Narisian Houses.”

Teal had gone completely still, staring down at the pages in her hands.

Shaeine continued. “A trained bard would be considered a very prestigious addition to a noble House. And Vadrieny, even stipulating that she does not act aggressively, can be an immense tactical asset. If you are…amenable to…discussing it… I am reasonably confident I could persuade my mother that you would be a suitable consort.”

The music crackled slightly as it creased in Teal’s grip. When she finally spoke, still staring downward, it began with a low hiss. “Sssssssuitable.” She shook her head slowly. “Well. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

“I just mean that—”

Teal stood up abruptly; Shaeine took a reflexive step back, watching her wide-eyed. The bard refused to meet her gaze. “With all due respect, upon consideration, I think this needn’t be discussed any further. I’m turning in. See you tomorrow, I guess.” She turned and made for the stairs.

“Teal, wait.”

“Good night, Shaeine.”

“Please wait.”

Teal stopped short. After months of learning to read the tiny emotional cues that slipped through Shaeine’s mask of calm, hearing naked pleading in her voice was startling. Almost against her will, she turned to look back. The drow was all but wringing her hands, staring at her with arresting intensity. When she spoke, her voice was composed again, but soft. “Fross is spending the evening at the library pursuing a personal research project; I have the room to myself. May I speak with you in privacy?”

Teal hesitated, her uncertainty doubtless apparent on her face.

“Please,” Shaeine whispered again.

She swallowed the confusing mass of emotions trying to rise up, and nodded.

“All right.”

Trissiny stepped out of the bathroom, absently tugging her damp hair back into a loose braid for sleeping. She glanced around the room. Everything was stowed away properly—well, on her side, anyway. Ruda’s profusion of rugs and pillows made excellent camouflage for the discarded clothes that were tossed here and there. Trissiny’s half was neatly arranged, though; shield and sword on their hangers, armor on its stand, boots by her bed, everything else in the appropriate hamper. She had taken the extra time to oil and polish everything after coming back from her run down and up the mountain and before showering. It was something to do. Unfortunately, nothing had been in need of mending, so she had eventually run out of things with which to keep her hands busy.

“Okay, what’s with you?”

Ruda was slouched in her bed as usual; she had lowered the copy of Varsity Princess she was reading to rest on her stomach and was staring at Trissiny with a faint frown.

“Nothing,” Trissiny said shortly.

“Don’t give me that. You usually parade around like you’ve got something jammed up every orifice. You’re hunched; you look like somebody just kicked you in the gut, except it’s been going on all day.”

“I’m fine,” Trissiny snapped, straightening her posture. “Just a cramp.”

“Bullshit. Just cos we don’t cuddle each other to sleep doesn’t mean I don’t know you after four months of sharing a room. Spill.”

“Can you just mind your own business?” she exclaimed, turning her back.

“I am. Once again, yes, we’re not exactly sisters, but we’re part of a team and sharing quarters. It does concern me when you are obviously in pain.”

“Why is it you’re only interested in me when you smell weakness?” she snarled, stalking over to sit on her bed.

“Okay, are you not hearing how weird you sound right now?” Ruda threw aside the magazine, sitting up fully on the edge of her own bed. “You’re acting more like me. I’m sure you understand why that’s kinda fucking disturbing. Come on, what’s up? You were fine yesterday in the fight. Did you get shot and you’re too stubborn to ask for healing?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”

“So what the hell is it? What’d you get into between that and hitting the Rails? You were weird in the caravan, too.”

“Nothing happened!” Trissiny shouted. “It was a perfectly norm—calm day. I got up, ate, talked to Tob—” she clamped her lips shut, fixing her stare on the far wall, helplessly aware of the blush rising in her cheeks. To her horror, something welled up in her throat, too, along with the prickle of incipient tears behind her eyes. Horror turned quickly to fury. How dare her own body betray her like this?

Fury heightened into true rage when she chanced a glance at her roommate. Ruda was gazing at her with a knowing, sympathetic expression that was just begging to be smacked off her face.

“Oh,” she said. “I see.”

“Oh, what would you know about it?”

“Quite a fuckin’ lot more than you, I’m willing to bet,” she said wryly. “I may not be in Juniper’s league, but I’ve had my share of lovers. Did you ever even talk to a boy before coming to school?”

“What is your problem?!” Trissiny raged, jolting to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. “When is it ever going to be enough for you? Can you for once just stop picking every time you get—” She broke off, choking. Tears were threatening even harder, and Trissiny would be damned if she’d show that to her smug thug of a roommate. She tightened her whole body until every muscle practically vibrated, trying to force it back under control. This tidal wave of emotions was not something she was well versed in dealing with.

Ruda rose much more calmly to her feet. “Well, there’s a time-honored tradition here, roomie. Across cultures, creeds and enmities, all can band together and agree over a beer or ten that boys suck.” She stepped over to the cold box at the foot of her bed, opened it and began rummaging inside. “Of course, you don’t do the beer thing, being a professional stick-in-the-mud. Luckily for you, I’m prepared for all eventualities.” She stood, turned, and threw something.

Trissiny’s reflexes kicked in and she caught the cold object one-handed. She found herself holding a pint of frozen custard. With her other hand, she snagged the spoon that Ruda tossed somewhat more gently.

“Ruda,” she said, her outrage draining away in a sudden rush of exhaustion, “sometimes I think you go out of your way to be as much of a cliché as possible.”

“You’re goddamn right I do,” the pirate said, grinning. She sat down on the edge of her bed, prying the lid off another pint. “An’ fuck me if people don’t buy it every time.”

“Do you actually expect me to sit here crying over a boy and stuffing my face with frozen custard like some sexist caricature in some awful piece of fiction out of one of your so-called women’s magazines?”

“No, I more’n half expect you to turn up your nose at it, like you do everything else you haven’t tried before. Look, I know dick all about spirituality or whatever it is you use to compensate for your lack of worldly experience. All I know is gettin’ your heart hurt fucking sucks, and nothing but time makes it better. Stuffing your face with ice cream is a pretty damn good short-term treatment, though.”

“What is ice cream?”

“Somethin’ I’m gonna import to Tiraas and become richer than Verniselle, unless some asshole beats me to it. Eat your custard.”

“Just let me go to bed,” Trissiny groaned. The pint was beginning to make her fingers numb.

“Hey.” Ruda’s face was serious, her voice more gentle than Trissiny had ever heard it. “You threw my ass to the ground out there in the Golden Sea and made me agree to come to your little sparring practices. And y’know what? I’m better off for it. Since we’ve both pretty much established I can’t beat you compliant—yet—let’s skip that part an’ you take my word for it, all right? Consider it a return favor.”

Trissiny twisted her mouth skeptically, staring down at the cardboard pint. Condensation had started to form, making it somewhat slippery.

“If it helps, you can look at it as a cultural experience.” Ruda grinned at her over a spoon loaded with golden custard. “Pirate diplomacy. A trick you can use later in life to subdue the wild Punaji.”

Trissiny heaved a sigh and pried the lid off the pint.

“There ya go!” Ruda crowed, pumping her spoon hand in the air. “For freedom! For equality! For diplomacy!”

Trissiny scooped up a heaping spoonful of the frosty confection and stuffed it in her mouth.

“Wha’eva’.”

Teal stopped in the center of the room, folding her arms around herself and setting down her folded papers on one of the two desks. Shaeine and Fross’s room reflected both their sensibilities; it was markedly cooler than the rest of the tower, its walls hung with silken tapestries of abstract geometric patterns in such dark shades of primary colors that they seemed almost to be shades of black. In fact, they were quite beautiful; in addition to the color of the thread used, there were subtle patterns of texture that caught the dim light in different ways. Patterns upon patterns. Between them, potted plants grew, mostly of the succulent variety, each under a small, weak sun crystal. The light in the room was warm and golden, but dim, like early dusk.

Shaeine had paused at the door, fiddling with the exterior knob, before pushing it shut. She stood in silence for a moment with her back to the room. Teal had an urge to clear her throat awkwardly, but was hesitant to disturb the quiet.

“I really am the worst diplomat I’ve ever heard of,” Shaeine said finally.

“I think that’s a little harsh,” Teal said carefully. “You’re easily the best diplomat I know.”

The drow shook her head, finally turning to face her. “All members of House Awarrion receive training in the arts to which our House is dedicated, but not all of us are expected to serve directly in that capacity. I am a cleric; I have trained my whole life to serve in the House chapel, with only a basic grounding in negotiation and conflict resolution. I was a last-minute substitution for the Tiraan exchange program. I had less than a year to learn what others have spent their lives studying.”

“I didn’t know that,” Teal said quietly.

Shaeine shrugged. “It isn’t something I commonly discuss, for obvious reasons.”

“Well. Still.” In spite of herself, Teal cracked a grin. “You represent Tar’naris much better than Natchua.”

If Shaeine was reassured by the humor, she didn’t show it. She dropped her gaze. “All these months, I’ve proceeded on so many bad assumptions, taken so much for granted. I never communicated to you how my cultural framework causes me to interpret our interactions, nor taken the Tiraan perspective fully into account. I…fear to imagine how disappointed my mother would be. All I can offer as explanation is that… I feel comfortable with you. More as if I can be myself, without second-guessing everything as I do with nearly all my other interactions here. And with the best of intentions, I’ve ended up abusing that gift.”

“I don’t…feel…abused,” Teal said, well aware of how lame it sounded. She couldn’t think of anything better to contribute.

Shaeine glided across the room to her desk, where she picked up a flat wooden box, ornately carved with black-stained patterns of vines and spiderwebs. “In hindsight… I think my conduct recently has made it seem I am completely passionless, motivated only by calculations. Even in…matters of the heart.”

“That’s…maybe a little harsher than I would have put it,” Teal hedged.

The drow gave her a rueful little smile. “And that is not a denial.”

“…no, it isn’t.”

Shaeine stepped slowly toward her, holding the box in both hands. “The Narisian concepts of respect and reserve fill our social interactions with lines of demarcation. There is no such vagueness as prevails among Imperial society; we know precisely with whom we may express what, and it is explicitly clarified when an acquaintance moves from one classification to another. It is a matter of how we express sentiment, not how we experience it.”

She held out the box. Hesitantly, Teal reached up and took it from her hands; Shaeine stepped back, giving her space. After a silent moment, the drow nodded encouragingly, and Teal carefully raised the hinged lid.

Within, on a cushion of black velvet, rested a pair of shredded rubber sandals in light blue. She recognized them as the ones ripped apart by Vadrieny’s claws the night they had had to separate Trissiny and Gabriel—the pair Shaeine had collected and offered to dispose of.

Teal lifted her eyes from the box. Shaeine was staring at her, eyes wide, and there was something achingly vulnerable in her gaze despite the stillness of her expression.

“I think,” she said very softly, “I am as sentimental as anyone. Perhaps more so than some.”

“I…” Teal swallowed and tried again. “I’m just confused how… I don’t understand.”

Shaeine nodded. “And for that, I will accept blame. We are surrounded by your culture, and I have failed to explain mine. Just…know, please, that…that… If I seem standoffish, it is not an expression of how I feel about you.” She actually swallowed. That little sign of vulnerability made Teal’s heart ache in several different ways.

“Okay,” she replied, nodding.

“If…you are willing to have the conversation… May I try to explain?”

“I…would like that very much.”

“I just don’t get what I’m even supposed to do,” Trissiny said, gesticulating with her empty spoon. “And that’s the thing that gets me, I guess. I’m used to being good at things. Well, the things I care about doing, anyhow. How in the world are you supposed to learn how to deal with boys?”

“Pretty much exactly the way you learn anything else, Shiny Boots,” Ruda said, grinning. “Practice.”

“Ugh,” Trissiny groaned. “No, thank you. Whole lot of stress and, and…frustration, no real benefit.” She scooped up another dollop of custard and stuck it in her mouth. For some reason, her pint seemed to be running low. When had that happened?

“Aw, don’t quit something just because you got hurt the first time you tried,” Ruda chided. “Helll, if that was standard policy nobody would ever learn how to do anything. Back on the horse!”

“I’m serious,” she grumbled. “All this is a waste of time anyway; I shouldn’t be distracting myself with…with nonsense like this. I have a calling. Maybe this is the goddess’s way of nudging me back onto the right track.”

“Okay, I’m gonna have to shut down that line of thinking right there,” Ruda said severely, pointing a spoon at her. “You may be the doctrinal expert and whatnot, but I have read my history, and I’ve got a basic grounding in the broad strokes of theology. I know I make fun of your religion, but seriously, Avei isn’t a malicious bitch; she’s not gonna punish you for liking a boy. Hell, Hands of Avei have had all kinds of lovers. Some were married. I’m pretty sure you know this. Don’t make that your excuse to shut yourself down, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid,” Trissiny said sullenly. Ruda barked a laugh.

“Ah, yes, the refrain of everybody who knows they’re in the wrong.”

“Whatever,” she growled. “I’m still not getting back on any horse.”

“Well, not right now. Yeah, a lot of people I’d tell to go out and get laid by way of heartbreak therapy, but I think we both know by now you just aren’t wired that way.”

“I’m glad that much is apparent.”

“Wasn’t a compliment,” she said dryly. “In seriousness, though, Triss…don’t be so quick to just give up on a huge swath of life. I bet when you find the right guy, it’ll all seem worthwhile.”

Trissiny scowled, scraping her spoon through the dregs at the bottom of her pint. “…is there any more of that chocolate fudge custard you made me try?”

“Hell yes there is! I am stocked.” Ruda straightened from the cold box again, waving a cardboard package in one hand. “In fact, you’re in luck; I just got out a fresh pint.”

“May I have some?”

“Ah, ah, ah.” With an insane grin that verged on a leer, she waggled her spoon reprovingly. “How do we ask?”

“Ruda, I’m not saying that. It’s just ridiculous.”

“Oh, so now you’re mocking my culture? Dirty pool, paladin.”

“I’m not—no, I’m not getting into this. You’re just trying to make me sound foolish.”

“There is no sounding foolish at custard time! C’mon, Triss, like I taught you.”

“No!”

“You can do it! I know you can!”

“You are such a pain!”

“Well, if you don’t really want any more, I guess I can put this back…”

“Oh, for—Gimme the damn fudge!”

“There’s my girl!” Ruda crowed, tossing the carton to her.

Trissiny wrenched off the lid, stuck in her utensil and dragged out a heaping pile of fudge-speckled chocolate custard, almost too much to fit on the spoon. She sighed heavily before shoving it in her mouth.

“I’m goin’ straight t’hell…”

“So… Wait. You go from being basically strangers, to engaged, and then your mother decides if and when you can be married?”

Shaeine actually winced—faintly, but distinctly. “It seems I continue to muddle my explanations. That was an ill-considered metaphor. Engagement and marriage, as you mean the terms, are concepts that don’t exist in my culture; they are simply the closest Tiraan parallels to what I was trying to explain.”

“How does it work, then?” Teal asked. “You don’t need to water it down for me; I might have to go over it multiple times but I’d rather understand the real concepts than work with more misconceptions.”

“You’re right, of course.” Shaeine stood from where she’d been sitting on the edge of the bed and paced back and forth a few steps. Teal, seated in the desk chair, watched her silently. Finally the drow came to a stop and turned back toward her, seeming to have gathered her thoughts. “Though politically arranged unions aren’t uncommon, it isn’t quite right to say that we customarily start as strangers. It’s just that… Everyone outside immediate family belongs in the category of people to whom one does not display emotion. One does not move, ah, naturally, or organically, into the classification of an emotional intimate, as seems to be the norm among humans. If one is to be taken on as family, it is formally agreed to by all parties involved.”

“There’s…a ceremony?”

“Well, sometimes. Mostly in the case of the aforementioned political unions. What’s important is the unambiguous understanding; how much pomp and circumstance need surround the event depends on the situation and the individuals. But even keeping outside the category of acknowledged intimates, there are gradients. I have many acquaintances in Tar’naris with whom it would be shockingly inappropriate to…ah, to laugh with, or hug. That does not mean I don’t know them, or that I don’t value them, or they me. It is simply a way for us to understand where we are, and what is expected of us. Drow are no more likely to become romantically involved with strangers than humans.”

“Except for the political unions.”

“Yes, of course. But there, too, the comparison holds. That is really only done among the nobility, and doesn’t account for all or even most unions.”

“You’re right,” Teal said, nodding. “Human nobles do that, too. And pretty much no one else.”

“So I have observed.”

“So…how does it work with the, uh, not-quite-engagement, then?”

Shaeine drew in a deep breath and let it out. “The concept is a sort of…provisional adoption. If two people feel an attraction and have established basic compatibility, they can agree to elevate one another to a more intimate status that exists only between them. For the most part, one’s intimates are the business of one’s entire family, which is why we don’t rush to become that close with others. In this case, though, a pair who are courting will…lower their defenses, so to speak, but only with each other, and only in private. There’s really no other way to learn whether you are truly compatible enough with someone to form a lifelong bond.”

“Well, that’s certainly true,” Teal said ruefully. “Actually this all sounds like a very sensible system.”

“We have done our best to make it so,” Shaeine agreed, nodding. “Our cultural institutions did not develop haphazardly; they were carefully crafted to help us succeed under harsh conditions. Beyond the courtship phase, there need be no more formal acknowledgments between a couple…unless, of course, they decide to terminate their relationship, in which case it is best to establish this explicitly so as to avoid awkwardness later. If they do agree to continue on as mates, though, the next step involves adoption into one another’s families.”

“And that’s where the mothers come in.”

“Just so. The bond between two people is no one’s business but theirs, but a matriarch has the right to determine whether someone is a suitable member of her family.”

“Hm.” Teal frowned into the distance. “What…what happens if the matriarch doesn’t approve?”

“In most cases,” Shaeine said quietly, “that is the end of it. Some do defy their mothers for the sake of love, but…that is risky, and carries a heavy social stigma. We are a matriarchal culture, and place a high value on family. A person who abandons or betrays their family is…not trusted.”

“I see.”

“I really do think my mother would like you,” Shaeine said softly. “I…would not have dared raise the subject if I did not.”

Teal nodded, dropping her gaze. She could feel the blush rising in her cheeks. “It seems like there’s a lot to learn.”

“I…think…you understand the immediately relevant basics,” Shaeine said tentatively. “There is plenty of time for us to discuss more details in the future.”

Teal cleared her throat and stood, nervously rubbing her palms on her trousers. She made herself meet Shaeine’s eyes, and then found she couldn’t look away. “So, then, uh… What’s…involved? In this ‘conditional adoption,’ I mean. There’s a ceremony? Something exchanged?”

Slowly, Shaeine shook her head, keeping her gaze fixed on Teal’s. “It is somewhat like your Imperial engagement customs, from what I’ve read. It’s…nice…to add a touch of romance to such things. In the end, though, what’s important is the agreement.” She swallowed. “In…a case which has already been something of a comedy of errors, it might be…wisest…to keep it as simple as possible.”

“And… That, then, is formally courting. It’s not, like, engaged.”

“Correct.”

“But close enough to be…well, intimate.”

“Exactly.” She smiled ruefully. “I can only imagine that this must seem as strange to you as many of your customs do to me.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna figure all this out on my own, that’s for sure,” Teal said, unable to repress a grin.

“I’m sorry, Teal,” she said quietly. “I should have been… I should have done better. Just, please believe I am not being arbitrarily weird. These matters are deeply ingrained in me. To set them aside would be to discard much of what makes me who I am.”

“I would never want you to do that.” Teal stepped toward her before realizing she was going to. “I like who you are, Shaeine. Very much. And…” She paused to swallow. “If you will too, I… Agree.”

Shaeine slumped forward suddenly as if the energy had gone out of her, clenching her hands in fistfuls of her robe.

“Shaeine?!” Teal exclaimed in alarm. “Are you—”

And then the drow flew across the space between them, wrapping her arms around Teal and squeezing her fiercely, her face buried in her shirt. Her voice was somewhat muffled, but clear, and so much more passionate than Teal had ever heard her that she couldn’t help but hang on every word.

“Teal, I’m so sorry, I made such a wreck of everything and I’ve been terrified I’d ruined it all for good, I just can’t…I don’t know how to… I’m sorry! You just make me so confused and frightened and happy and alive. I never wanted to hurt you, it was like stabbing myself in the heart when I thought… Goddess, I love you so much it aches. Please don’t—”

“Hey.” Firmly, tenderly, Teal took her face in both hands, tilting it up till they were eye to eye. Tears glistened on Shaeine’s gray skin, her garnet eyes glistening, wide, and full of feeling like she’d never seen them before. It was so beautiful she could hardly breathe. She gently traced her thumbs over Shaeine’s cheeks, wiping away tears. “It’s okay, love, we figured it out. I’m right here.” She grinned, hugely, madly happy. “You’ve got me.”

Ruda carefully took the empty custard carton from Trissiny’s hand, tossing it into the wastebasket with a soft plunk. With a corner of her sleeve, she rubbed a smear of fudge from the corner of the paladin’s mouth. Trissiny muttered and turned her head away, but didn’t wake.

She was stretched out on top of her bed, one leg hanging off; there’d be no way to tuck her in without waking her. It was the work of moments, however, for Ruda to gather up the white bearskin from her own bed and drape it over her roommate.

Ruda stood for a moment, just looking down at her quizzically. Then, with a faint smile, she shook her head and padded across the room to switch off the light.

“G’night, y’crazy bitch. Welcome to being human. It gets better, I promise.”

“Smoke.”

“Hmm?”

Shaeine pulled back slightly, gazing up adoringly. Her unguarded, joyful smile, the passion in her eyes…it was intoxicating. Teal could hardly even think, couldn’t do anything but look at her and savor the way the drow fit into her arms, as if she’d been molded to be there.

“You taste like smoke. I like it. It suits you.” She giggled. It was music.

“Ah…”

Shaeine tasted…clean. Like moonlight, like a clear spring, like a cold breath of cave air. Before Teal could sort out the words to express it, though, an insistent little hand reached behind her neck, pulling her head down, and she found a much better use for her mouth.

Sound hardly traveled in the steeply curving staircase of Clarke Tower, with its thick, echo-eating carpet. The tiny buzz of pixie wings was inaudible a mere few feet from where Fross hovered outside the door to her room, staring at the sock hanging on the knob.

“You have got to be shitting me.”

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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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4 – 19

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Only the faintest breath of wind broke the silence, one brief pause hanging delicately over the scene.

“What?” came the slightly muffled voice of a Rider at last. “Draw? Boy, everybody has wands out.”

“Yeah?” Joe mused. “Where are they pointed?”

Hands hanging at his sides, he flexed his fingers once, and smiled.

The Riders exchanged a round of glances, then several shifted, turning their aim to the Kid.

Joe moved so fast his hands were nearly invisible. A fraction of an instant later, his wands were out and had cut two arcs of white light around him, as though he were swinging luminous knives; a fan of slender rays lanced out in multiple directions, striking multiple targets. Unlike the percussive cracking of most wandshots, they made a hissing noise, quickly drowned out by a series of grunts and cries.

Nine men slumped or staggered, none killed, but every one struck square in the head by a beam. Wands were dropped; only one managed to keep a grip on Jenny’s arm, though with her other hand freed she immediately slugged him in the face. Already dazed, he went down, tugging her off-balance. Every Rider who had been covering a hostage was out of action.

“Damn,” Gabriel breathed.

“I could’ve taken him,” Jenny grumbled, shaking her hand.

“Everyone stand down,” Joe called into the stunned silence that followed. “Weapons away, and back up.”

“We don’t take orders from you, boy!” a Rider snarled. All of them shifted their aim, over a dozen wands now covering the Kid.

Joe grinned lopsidedly, the left corner of his mouth tugging upward. “No one’s talkin’ to you, boy.”

“Do as he says!” Strickland called hoarsely. “Back away!” Townsfolk shuffled backward, still gripping weapons; Toby eased back with them, but Ruda and Trissiny were left isolated in the street, both clutching swords in ready positions. Gabriel, standing in the shadows in the mouth of an alley, didn’t back up either, but hesitantly lowered his wand a fraction.

Several sharp commands were barked in elvish, and slender figures on the rooftops eased back, many slipping entirely out of sight.

“Men!” shouted the lead Rider. “Whatever happens, whatever you do, do not shoot the dryad!”

“Darn right,” Juniper growled, tugging along an erstwhile hostage who seemed to be in shock as she joined Gabriel. The rest had already bolted, most to the ranks of the townspeople, Jenny through the doors into the Shady Lady.

After three tense seconds had passed, the leader yelled again, exasperation audible even through the filter on his voice, “You can shoot him!”

Once again, Joe swung his arms in wide, impossibly rapid arcs, forward then back, shifting dramatically from side to side as he did so. It looked more like a sword dance than any kind of wand fighting; he didn’t even fire, though again a distinct hissing sound emerged from his weapons.

It was immediately drowned out as lightning filled the street. Every Rider present let loose at Joe, firing until some of their wands began to smoke. The staccato cracks of wandshots blended into a constant, deafening crackle; among all the onlookers, hair stood on end and fabric clung to skin, tugged by the massive amount of static unleashed. In seconds, the reek of ozone was overpowering.

Not one bolt struck its target. Lightning arced off course, zipping along tunnels of ionized air Joe had placed to either side of him, close enough to singe his sleeves but never hitting home. Sizzling bolts were redirected mostly into the hard-packed dirt street, though some ripped past and struck down Riders on the opposite side of the Kid.

“Stop!” The leader had to raise his voice to a near scream to be audible above the carnage. “Stop! CEASE FIRE! You’re killing each other, morons!”

Indeed, fully half their number were down, their white cloaks scorched by friendly fire, some actually burning. A low chorus of groans was audible from those who hadn’t been instantly slain. The remaining Riders shifted as one organism, stumbling backward from Joe, sudden panic evident in their body language despite their enveloping disguises.

Then the Kid attacked.

Angling his body and raising both arms, he aimed wands up and down the street and fired. His weapons now unleashed bolts of pure white light, straighter and more solid than the lightning of standard wands, the sharp noise they made notably higher in pitch. Fixing his gaze straight across the street and leaving only his peripheral vision to see both groups of foes, he made only minute corrections with his wrists, as if he were conducting an orchestra, and squeezing off a sharp volley of shots in each direction.

Every shot struck a White Rider. Not a one was a kill shot; he pierced arms and legs, sending wands tumbling from nerveless fingers and enemies sprawling in the street, their limbs unable to support them.

It was over in seconds. No more than half a minute had passed since he had first drawn his weapons.

Smoke and static hovered over the street, along with the sharp tang of ozone and muted sounds of pain from two dozen felled men. The onlookers had progressively shifted back, and had the sense to clear a path up and down the avenue; now the elves silently thronged the rooftops, while the residents of Sarasio lined the sidewalks, pressing themselves against buildings and as far out of the line of fire as they could get. Even Trissiny and Ruda had withdrawn during the onslaught, the paladin having dismounted and dismissed her steed. Only the Kid and the leader of the White Riders still stood in the street, both with weapons drawn.

“Holy shit.” Ruda didn’t raise her voice, but in the relative quiet she was clearly audible. “I just saw that and I don’t believe it.”

The last White Rider stood with his weapons held loosely, aiming at the ground. The Sarasio Kid still had his pointed up and down the street, their tips smoking faintly, but he was now staring straight at the Rider. Slowly, the Rider stepped over from off to the side, kicking one of his fallen men out of the way in passing, and came to stand in the center of the street.

Joe turned to face him, lowering his arms. All four wands were aimed at the dirt now, the two glaring at each other across a distance of some twelve yards.

“Forgive me for not applauding,” the Rider rasped. “Seems my hands are full.”

“I don’t find myself in a forgivin’ mood, for some reason.”

“Mm.” He nodded. “Seems a fellow of your talents could put a pretty clean end to this right now.”

“Well, that’s the difference between us.” Joe rolled his shoulders slowly. “I don’t do everything I could do.”

“Fair enough. I’ll remind you, even a housecat’ll only torment its prey for so long.”

“Depends on how bored it is. I’ve spent quite a span of weeks cooped up in there.”

The Rider’s derisive laughter was an almost painful thing to hear, the magic filter on his voice turning it into a hoarse, abrasive sound. “You didn’t have to hide away, kid. The time you’ve wasted can be measured in lives. This would’ve all been over weeks ago if you’d had the guts to come after me and end it, coward.”

Both whipped up their wands; Joe was the faster by a hair. The Rider staggered backward, struck in the chest by two bolts, his own return fire going wide and splashing against the eaves of a nearby roof. An elf fell to the ground with a strangled cry; two more dived after him and Toby came running, while the rest of the watchers on the roof skittered backward, farther from the line of fire.

The blue glow of a shielding charm pulsed around the Rider, though; he staggered, but didn’t fall. Regaining his aim, he unleashed a fierce volley at the Kid.

Joe held up both wands, lightly flicking one about as though mixing a bowl of batter, and the Rider’s shots veered away in all directions. With the other, he returned fire, blast after blast slamming into the Rider’s shield.

As a defensive strategy, Joe’s deflection proved more tenable than the Rider’s reliance on charm work. The Kid began to advance at a measured walk, still firing and and creating air tunnels to draw away lightning bolts. The Rider retreated before him, staggering as he was pushed back by the kinetic force of each bolt. The sphere of pale blue light around him was constantly ignited, now, and starting to grow hazy at the edges; the entire thing smoked faintly. Pressed as he was, his footing suffered; he began to miss, sending wild shots into storefronts, the sky and the ground.

The onlookers had already begun retreating further, vanishing deeper into the alleys and backward over the roofs. Most of the stragglers took the hint and bolted as the duel intensified and shots began to fly far afield, leaving just the brave and the exceptionally foolish lurking behind what minimal cover there was to watch. Only Vadrieny remained on the rooftop, now, observing the combat calmly with her arms folded. The rest of the students had assembled and also remained; Trissiny and Shaeine had planted themselves firmly in front of the others, protecting them behind golden and silver shields of light. The drow, in fact, had walled off the entire street and was protecting all the townsfolk beyond. Trissiny didn’t have that much range or power in her shield and had resorted to shoving Gabriel and Juniper behind her.

Then, with a flash and a puff of smoke, the Rider’s barrier went down. It shattered under a hit dead center by Joe’s wand, and the force of that plus the disorienting burst of light caused the White Rider to stumble backward. His shots ceased as he flailed his arms momentarily for balance.

Joe deftly aimed a shot straight between his legs. However he had tricked out his wands, this one also wasn’t a conventional lightning bolt: it hit the ground right behind the Rider with an explosion of dirt and fire, sending him staggering forward again, completely unbalanced now. In the next instant, Joe reversed his fall yet again with a shot to the shoulder, sending him spinning in a circle.

The Rider let out a cry of pain, dropping to one knee in the street. He lost his grip on one wand, and Joe sent it flying with a precise shot. He raised the other, however—but too slowly.

The Kid nailed his opponent’s wand dead on the tip as it fired, and the wand exploded. Only the energy of the lighting bolt currently being discharged erupted outward from the destroyed shaft; if the power crystal had gone, the blast would likely have demolished the street. As it was, it merely mangled the Rider’s hand.

“That’s for killing innocents in my town,” Joe said grimly, still stalking forward. He fired a beam of light into the ground at an angle in front of the kneeling Rider, burning a neat hole in the street. Then, with his other weapon, he discharged a burst of energy directly into the tiny shaft, and the ground directly under the Rider erupted, sending him reeling.

The Rider, amazingly, managed to regain his feet on the fly, but Joe nailed him in the other shoulder, spinning him around again. “That’s for provoking the Empire to demolish Sarasio…” A second hit to the opposite shoulder, already burned from a previous impact, spun him back the other way. “And for trying to murder an Imperial agent under my protection.”

Two simultaneous shots clipped the tops of the Rider’s shoulders on both sides, sending him tumbling backward to the street.

“That is for sending your goons after my home. And this—” Another neatly burned hole followed by an explosive bolt caused an eruption directly under the Rider’s upper body, catapulting him forward where he landed on his knees, barely catching himself with his good hand. “—is for shooting a girl who was no threat to you.”

The White Rider, after one brief cry of pain, managed to keep it in, but now his breath rasped so heavily it was audible up and down the street, sounding horrific with the spell altering his voice. Joe strode calmly toward him, his boots crunching on cinders and debris littering the ground.

“I could go on all night,” the Kid growled, coming to a stop before the kneeling, hooded figure. “But you wouldn’t last to appreciate it all, so this is for your general lack of civilized behavior.”

He drew back his foot and kicked the Rider right in the face, hard. The fallen man let out another weak cry, toppling over on his side to lie in the street.

“Honestly,” Joe said in disgust. “Wearing white after Remembrance Day? Our distance from the Imperial capital does not give you license to act like a savage.”

He turned and strode away, holstering his wands, leaving the last of the White Riders sprawling in the street. Joe navigated around fallen figures in white to stop before Trissiny, where he tipped his hat respectfully.

“Ma’am,” he said. “I surely do appreciate your help, you and all your friends. I dunno how this would’ve gone down without you, but I know we were just about out of hope ’round here before you came along. Sarasio owes you her life.”

“I think you deserve a fair share of the credit,” she said, finally letting her golden glow drop. Gabriel, who was cowering behind Juniper, let out a sigh of relief and straightened up, grimacing.

Ruda’s arrival was announced by the clomp of heavy boots and the rattle of her sword in its sheath. “May I just say,” she declared, “that was the single most amazing fucking thing I have ever seen, and before we leave town Imma tell you some stories about shit I’ve met on the open sea so you properly appreciate my perspective.”

“I told you this guy was a big deal,” Gabriel said, grinning.

“Anyhow, Shaeine, Triss, keep an ear up for calls for help,” Ruda went on, her expression sobering. “We’ve got a good number of wounded and more’n a handful of dead. The elves brought witches and they seem to have it all in hand; they’re letting Toby help, but I don’t think they want any more cooks stirrin’ the broth. Still’n all, you’ve both got the mojo, so they might need you.”

“Noted,” said Shaeine.

People were filtering back into the street, now, both elves and humans. Some milled around, seemingly at a loss, but there were more businesslike figures present who began checking the fallen Riders, separating the injured from the dead, removing hoods and checking wounds. The crowd were worn out and focused, but more than a few of the faces revealed brought outcries. It seemed the Riders were, indeed, people they knew and had trusted.

Trissiny’s blade came free of its scabbard with a silken rasp and burst alight. “Stop!” she barked, pointing it at a man who had leveled his wand at a fallen Rider, who was trying to scrabble backward away from him.

The man turned his attention to her, but didn’t back down. “Sister, you have any idea what these pieces of shit have put us through? I say we put every last goddamn one of ’em in the ground, now!”

An ugly rumble of agreement rose from many of those present. Most of the elves and more than a few human residents remained silent, frowning.

“How much carnage will be enough for you?” Trissiny demanded. “Can you really not see the pattern at work here? These men started out protecting you from those who abused you, because there was no law to do it. The brutal use of power only escalates itself; vengeance turns into more vengeance. It will just keep going until there is no one left to kill! It has to stop.”

“You’re better than this,” Toby agreed, approaching from up the street. He seemed almost to glide along in a serene counterpoint to Trissiny’s force of personality. The monk of Omnu and warrior of Avei operating in concert; even the loudest dissenters fell silent at the tableau they presented as he placed himself alongside her and turned to face them. “You must be better than this. We’ve fought because we had to, and we’ve won. Our victory isn’t complete until we end not only the Riders but what they stand for: the spirit of brutality.”

“What’ll we do with ’em, then?” someone called out.

“We give healing to those who can be healed,” Trissiny said firmly, “bind and imprison them, and then hand them over to the Empire to stand trial for what they have done.”

“And where was the Empire when our town was burning down around our ears?” someone else shouted, followed by angry cries of agreement.

“Worry about where the Empire will be, not where it was!” she shot back. “What are they going to find when they finally get here: carnage and destruction, a few survivors who know only how to keep fighting? Or a town full of loyal citizens who rose up to protect their homes and deliver their attackers to Imperial justice? The Empire isn’t a perfect thing by any means. If you lack faith in it, at least try to understand its nature. Give the Imperials something to show Sarasio is worth rebuilding and protecting.”

“This is why we need justice,” Toby added firmly, giving Trissiny a nod. “Justice comes from law, from order. It means everyone has rights and knows what to expect. Justice means you can have a place worth living in again. If you insist on having more vengeance, you need to acknowledge the price.”

“The cost of vengeance is everything,” said Trissiny.

There was quiet, townspeople exchanging uncertain glances. It wasn’t by a long shot the ardent agreement Trissiny would have hoped for, but at least the people weren’t offering them any further rebellion.

“All right, you heard the paladins,” Joe said firmly. “Let’s get these varmints rounded up, patched up and into cells. Somebody clear out whoever’s squatting in the Sheriff’s office, an’ get the smith over here to make sure the jail’s still serviceable. Anybody who needs healing or medicine, head to the Shady Lady, an’ we’ll have whatever help we can get standing by. Somebody find me Mr. Paxton, too. We’ll wanna get him back to Tiraas as quick as possible so he can spread the good word and get us some help out here.”

The townspeople may have been uncertain about Toby and Trissiny taking charge, but they sprang to follow Joe’s orders. Faces remained grim, but resistance seemed to melt away as everyone sprang into action, and in no time the movements around them took on a more focused pattern, people sorting themselves out, administering aid and rounding up fallen Riders, to be bound for imprisonment or laid out with their scorched cloaks over them.

Joe turned to the leader, who had begun to stir weakly. “All right,” he said grimly, “let’s answer the big question on everybody’s mind.” Grabbing the Rider by the clasp of his cloak, he threw back the white hood and ripped away the mask.

Then he just as suddenly let go, stumbling backward looking like he’d seen a ghost.

The leader of the White Riders was a woman. She looked to be in her fifties, with hair just beginning to go gray and a handsome, fine-boned face that had clearly been quite lovely once, despite the blackened eye, bruised forehead and bloody nose marring it now. She coughed once, then managed a weak smile.

“Mamie,” he choked.

“Hey, Joe.” She coughed again, and cleared her throat. “That was some damn fine shooting out there, boy. You did me proud.”

“…how long,” he said tersely, clenching his hands into fists at his sides.

Mamie heaved a sigh. “You wanna hear how I got roped into the Riders’ scheme and was trying to bring ’em down from the inside? Sorry, Joe. This has been my show from the beginning, from Calhoun on down. It did get a mite out of hand, I’ll grant you.”

“A mite out of hand?!” he said incredulously. “Why would you do this? You nearly destroyed the whole town!”

“Let me see that,” Toby said softly, kneeling beside her. He took her mangled hand in his own and lit up. She winced, averting her eyes, but gradually relaxed. The blood remained on her face, but the bruises faded away after a few seconds.

“Thanks, kid. Appreciate it.”

“That’s…the best I can do with this,” Toby said solemnly, still holding her hand. Two fingers were missing, the remainder twisted out of place. “Mana burns are awful things. You’re lucky the wand’s power source didn’t blow; I don’t think you would’ve survived that.”

“Wasn’t gonna happen,” she said with a hint of a grin. “My Joe’s the best damn shot I ever saw. Maybe the best ever to live. He know more ways to disable a wand than most people know ways to fire one.”

“Joseph,” Trissiny warned. The Kid, his face twisted in a furious snarl, had pulled out a wand and leveled it at Mamie.

“You—you—I should end you right here,” he choked.

She shook her head wearily. “Can’t be that way, Joe. It’s like the paladins said. This was rebellion; somebody’s gotta swing for it. When the Empire gets here, you give ’em the White Riders and especially the gang’s leader, neatly gift wrapped. Imps are very generous with folks who help ’em put down rebels, but if they don’t have somebody to pin this on, they will go out and find someone.”

“Why?!”

“You ain’t been alive long enough to’ve seen a Burning,” she replied. Mamie’s voice had a soft rasp that hadn’t cleared up under Toby’s healing; it sounded like the result of a lifelong smoking habit. “Every few decades, the forest gets a mite overgrown, so the elves just up and light the whole sucker on fire. Burns out the underbrush to give things a chance to grow again, and the ash nourishes the ground. If they didn’t, well… What a tangled mess that’d turn into. They work carefully so the trees themselves don’t catch, and in the end, the forest is cleaner and just alive as it was to begin with. More so, once it’s had a chance to heal.”

Activity around them had come to a stop, elves and townspeople alike staring and listening. Mamie panned her stare around at those assembled, then smiled wearily and shook her head. “Most of you wouldn’t see it, but this town has been dying for years. The Sheriff and the mayor took the spirit of law out of it; Hoss and his cronies made it worse. We could’ve come back from the brink any number of times, but that would’ve taken a leader stepping up and the mass of residents showing some sense. Nobody but me seemed inclined to try…” She laughed bitterly. “And the funny thing about being the old whore running the brothel is, no matter how much effort I put into taking care of this town and everyone in it, there’s not a chance y’all would’ve followed me if I’d tried to bring back order the right way. That only left me one option.

“Sometimes, the only way to clear out the damage is with an act of controlled destruction.”

She simply knelt there, looking up at them calmly while they stared.

“Lady,” Ruda said at last, “your control could use some serious fucking work.”

Mamie shrugged. “Can’t really argue with that, can I? This all went farther than I’d planned on. I really did figure Joe would’ve stepped up before it got nearly this bad.” She turned her gaze on Joe, expression unreadable. He turned his back, ramming his wand back into its holster. Mamie sighed and lowered her eyes. “Do y’all mind awfully if I stand up? Any whore my age has spent enough time on her knees, they start to protest at the treatment.”

Toby helped her gently to her feet, earning a nod of thanks. Trissiny accepted a coil of rope from a Sarasio resident who had been tying up Riders, and approached. “Hands out, please,” she said firmly. “I’m going to need to bind you.”

“You do that behind the captive, girl,” Mamie said with a grin, turning around and presenting her wrists. She turned her head to look at Trissiny sidelong over her shoulder. “Even a well-behaved prisoner might be planning something. Take it easy with the right one, if you don’t mind. All respect to your buddy’s work, but it’s a mite tender still.”

“Only one more thing to work out,” Trissiny said, lashing her wrists efficiently together. “We need to know what you did to disrupt the town and how to undo it.”

She stepped back and Mamie turned back around, frowning. “I, um…may have missed something. Here I was thinking this was all finally settled.”

“It’s been a long day,” Trissiny said sharply. “Nobody here has the patience for any more dissembling. We know you’ve dabbled in witchcraft, and we know how useful fairy magic is for manipulating emotional states. Whatever you’ve been doing to pit the citizens against each other, and all of them against the elves and vice versa. It needs to end. You are going to tell us how.”

Mame stared at her, and then, to Trissiny’s baffled annoyance, burst out laughing. “Oh,” she said, shaking with mirth, “oh, you poor kid. I haven’t done a damn thing to mess with anybody’s mind. Come on, there’s a whole forest full of elves right there. You think they wouldn’t have noticed that? Reclusive or not, they’d have sent shaman over to bust it up if I even tried.”

Trissiny frowned. “But…”

“Look around you, paladin,” Mamie said, still grinning, but there was a harsh edge to it, now. “All the suspicion, the hate, the pointless bickering for brutally high stakes? Unless they’ve really changed what paladins do in the last thirty years, this’ll be your life. The path to slaughtering people wholesale begins with trying to help them. Because that’s how you find out that they just aren’t damn well worth it. Given the choice, most folks’d rather cling to their delusions than save their own lives. Pfft, witchcraft. Humans, elves, or whatever-else-have-you, this is just what people are like. No. Damn. Good.”

She hung her head, still chuckling, while the onlookers stared in silence. Every eye rested on Mamie. It was as if the townsfolk and elves were afraid to meet each other’s gazes.

“Well handled,” said Professor Tellwyrn, stepping forward. The crowd parted silently to let her approach. “Well done indeed, I would say this redeems your lackluster performance in the Golden Sea. Everyone is in good shape to finish the semester. Now, for a little extra credit, recall the lists of classic logical fallacies you were supposed to learn by heart, and spot the ones you just heard.”

“Appeal to emotion,” said Shaeine evenly. “She seeks to impose her personal despair on everyone listening.”

“Special pleading,” added Toby. “Broad claims about the nature of all intelligent beings are almost never correct, you’d have to pretty much make your own examples to make that stick. Even this situation is more complex than she makes it sound.”

“Tenuous, but I’ll grant it,” Tellwyrn nodded. “Anyone else?”

“Fallacy of the slippery slope,” Trissiny said grimly. “Setting out to help people does not have to end this way. It doesn’t have to end any way in particular.”

“The, uh, genetic fallacy,” Gabriel chimed in. “Like Toby said. There’s no evidence to warrant that everybody just sucks.”

“That, in fact, is a more correct match for Mr. Caine’s argument,” Tellwyrn agreed.

“Pertaining to that, the black-or-white fallacy,” said Vadrieny, still perched on the roof above. “Nihilism like that grossly oversimplifies…anything.”

“So you are listening when Teal is in class,” Tellwyrn said, grinning. “I can’t always tell.”

“Oh! Oh!” Fross dived through the group, chiming in excitement. “The gambler’s fallacy, the composition/division fallacy, the anecdotal fallacy! Her whole argument is based on taking one scenario which may or may not even be hypothetical and applying it to all of life!”

“Very good, Fross.” Tellwyrn folded her hands, looking self-satisfied. Mamie was staring at her, flabbergasted. “There are any number of reasons why someone will try to bring you around to their worldview, but in the case of a vanquished opponent whose view is inherently nihilistic and has nothing concrete to gain by persuading you, it is almost always out of an emotional need for validation. In short, if they can convince you that everything is hopeless and meaningless, they can avoid facing the prospect that they have wasted their own lives on wrong ideas.

“People are as noble, as depraved or as pitiful as they choose to be. A situation is exactly as hopeless as you choose to let it be. I am pleased with your performance, students, because you didn’t just round up the bad guys and beat them down, though it was in your power. Helping this town meant reminding the people here that they can help themselves. Now, there’s every reason for us to believe they’ll be fine when we’re gone. That is the measure of a successful mission.”

She turned and strolled back toward the Shady Lady. “Good work, kids. We leave bright and early tomorrow; we’ll need to give Mr. Paxton a ride, after all.”

“So…yay!” said Fross. “We won!”

Joe looked at her, then at Mamie, who dropped her eyes from his gaze. He turned and trudged after Tellwyrn. Around them, people began moving back to their various tasks, though there was now a murmur of muted conversation from every direction.

“Yeah,” said Gabriel quietly. “We won.”

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4 – 18

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Trissiny led Arjen in a wide loop, charging directly at two mounted Riders who were approaching her column from the left flank. Two wand shots sparked off the shield of light surrounding her; when she didn’t so much as slow, both Riders peeled off and bolted for a nearby farmstead, just visible in the distance. Under the moonlight, flashes of lightning flickered among the buildings, and she spared a prayer for the residents and whatever elves were helping them. This was war, though, and strategy was strategy. She couldn’t afford to be diverted.

“I was afraid they were gonna go for the troops once they realized they weren’t making an impression on you,” Gabriel said as she trotted back to them.

“Better-trained soldiers might have,” she said, pushing down the urge to object to this disorganized chain of stragglers being called troops. “All right, men, form a line! Wands up at all times. Whatever happens, you will stay in step with the men to your left and right. You do not charge forward under any circumstances, and don’t retreat unless I call for it. Keep an ear out for orders to fire, but for the most part, I want you to fire at will! Don’t wait till you can see their eyes; we aim to herd them inward, not to cut them down here. I’ll be ranging ahead to scout and deal with problematic individuals. I am protected by Avei, but I would appreciate it if you’d try not to shoot me.”

She galloped Arjen up and down the line as she called orders, almost despairing at their slow, disorderly progress toward getting lined up, some of them chuckling nervously at her last comment. They got there, though, not as quickly as she’d hoped but faster than she’d feared, and their final line was suitably straight.

“Uh, ma’am?” called a man toward the right flank as she came abreast of him. “Does that mean you don’t want us to shoot to kill?”

“This is war,” she said grimly. “People die. The men who started the war have no right to complain. Don’t hesitate if you have a good shot, but no one is to break ranks and pursue. Is that clear?”

An uneven chorus of “Yes, ma’am!” sounded from up and down the line. Trissiny gritted her teeth, keeping her expression under control. They were not ready. This was war; people would die, and her soldiers—to use the word as loosely as possible—were terrifyingly vulnerable. No matter the situation was by no means her fault, their deaths would weigh on her.

“Goddess, grant us your favor,” she whispered, and not as a formality; if the goddess of war didn’t lend her support to this enterprise, it was not going to end well. Bringing Arjen around, she came to a stop in front of them, at the center of the line; directly ahead was the central street of Sarasio.

“The company will advance at a walk!”

Gripping weapons, they did so.

 

“All right, lads,” Ruda called out, stalking back and forth behind the line of men with her rapier in hand. She had declined the offer of a wand. “I could make a speech, but fuck it, we’ve got shit to do. You know what’s going on, and you know what’s at stake. We’re gonna stick to Trissiny’s plan, and that means you stay. In. Line. We move forward or not at all; we move together or not at all. You keep your wands up and if you get a bead on any asshole in a white cloak, you burn ’em down! This is the line of death for them; we want them to know that getting too close is a non-starter, because let’s be honest, this group is not gonna stand up to a cavalry charge. So we make sure no such charge happens! Nothing on horseback gets close enough to run us over without being a burned-out husk, is that clear?”

She exchanged a grim look with Toby while the men called out their agreement, then shouldered through the line, placing herself in front of them and looking into the town. Sounds of battle and flickers of lightning sparked at the edges of the outskirts, but at their approach, the two small groups of Riders harassing the nearest farmsteads had turned tail and run. They had a clear path into Sarasio.

Ruda looked over her shoulder at her troops, and grinned. They were staring forward, hard-faced, gripping weapons. Now this was a fine sight. These prairie folk were no Punaji, but once properly motivated, they weren’t going to take the Riders’ abuse lying down. She was born to lead men like this into battle.

“All right!” she called, brandishing her sword overhead and bringing it down in a flashing arc to point at the street. “Gentlemen: let’s fuck ’em up!”

 

The farmer averted his eyes from the discharge of lightning, grimacing, but when he raised the smoking tip of his staff, the horse was dead. It had been the only kindness they could offer the beast, which had broken two legs in the fall. Turning, he picked his way back toward the others, carefully avoiding the streaks of ice that marred the grass, one of which had brought the Rider to grief. It was plenty warm even at this late hour; the ice was steaming in the prairie air, already melting away. Good; the ground could use the water, and he limped hard enough without slipping on fairy magic in his own front yard.

Now, in addition to the talkative ball of light zipping around, there was an elf standing next to his daughter-in-law and granddaughter.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say the situation is under control,” the elf was saying as he rejoined them, leaning on the staff. “However, the prospects are optimistic. The Hand of Avei is executing a workable strategy which, if successful, will bring an end to the Riders in Sarasio.”

“What strategy?” the old man demanded, keeping his weight on the staff and off his aching hip as much as possible.

She turned and bowed to him. “The men who attended the meeting in town are dispersed at the northern and southern edges, sweeping inward and pushing the Riders before them. My people have fanned out along the flanks to prevent them escaping that way. We will surround them in the center of Sarasio and finish them here.”

“Hnh,” he grunted, rubbing his chin. “Sounds pretty solid.”

“It is!” chimed the pixie, bobbing up and down. “Trissiny is great with plans, she knows all about war!”

“Agreed,” said the elf solemnly.

“Welp, seems to be all settled here,” the old farmer said, straightening up. “You’ll need every warm body you can get to herd ’em up proper. Which way next?”

“Oh no you don’t, Gramps,” Lucy said firmly, keeping a grip on the toddler, who was gazing raptly at Fross and trying to grab the pixie. “There’s no way you’re goin’ out there on that bum leg.”

“Girl, I been protectin’ this land since before you was a gleam in your daddy’s eye! If the men are finishing off the Riders, I ain’t about to sit this out.”

“I fear it will not be possible for anyone to sit it out,” the elvish woman said, turning her big, serious eyes on him. “The operation is aimed at controlling chaos, but chaos has a way of escaping. For exactly that reason, it makes more tactical sense for you to remain with your farm, elder. You have demonstrated your prowess with that weapon; lacking mobility, you better serve the effort holding this ground.”

He growled, searching for a flaw in her argument, but Fross chimed in before he could speak.

“All right, well, I’m still pretty mobile! I’m gonna head upward and see where they need the most help. Be careful, everybody! I’ll try to come back if you run into trouble!”

She shot skyward with a soft chime, leaving the humans and lone elf staring after her.

“Friendly little glowbug,” the old man said, then looked over at the dissolving patches of ice. “Scary, though.”

 

“Here they come,” Gabriel noted unnecessarily, raising his wand alongside the rest of the men in line. Trissiny nodded, her eyes fixed on the five mounted figures which had burst out of a gap between buildings. The townsfolk had reached the outer edge of the city, almost coming to the point where she would have to rearrange their formation to get them through the streets—a logistical mess to which she was not looking forward. Now, the Riders wheeled down the central street straight at the line.

Several of the men in their path shied backward, but at Trissiny’s roar of “FIRE!” lightning flashed forward from a dozen wands and staves, striking one down, glancing off the flank of another’s horse and causing the panicked animal to bear him to the ground, and making a third wheel and bolt back into the town.

She mentally added “poor shots” to her list of reservations about the men she was leading.

Two still came, though. Identical as they looked in their hoods and cloaks, Trissiny knew the one in the lead was one she’d met before.

“HOLD FIRE!” she shouted, and urged Arjen forward.

At her approach, glowing like the sun, the fourth Rider wheeled around and galloped back into the town. The leader, though, kept coming right at her, controlling his mount with his knees and taking aim with both wands.

The light he shot at her was more intense and more direct than most of the lightning bolts she’d seen hurled about this night. Also, he used it with a lot more technique. One wand kept up a veritable spray, hitting her shield hard in a roughly circular area around her face, nearly blinding her; Trissiny felt the impacts as if in her own limbs, that region of the glowing shield weakening and drawing more power to compensate. Then it got worse: a much more powerful single bolt smashed right into the center of the targeted region. Then another.

He had fought light-wielders before, clearly. Over time, assuming she did nothing, the technique would wear through the shield until she took one of those hits directly. Matters were different, though, with the two of them barreling at each other at top speed. Arjen whinnied and tossed his head, clearly understanding the danger; Trissiny did a quick calculation in her mind. Her shield was failing. She was seconds from getting within sword range. Was it enough time?

No.

Arjen lowered his head, and Trissiny raised her metal shield as her divine one shattered under a last bruising wandshot. Raw energy struck; the impact physically rocked her, and she felt the shield grow warm, felt a moment of real fear. That shield was ancient, not made to stand up to modern energy weapons.

Then the shield itself glowed gold. It had been forged before mass-produced wands were even dreamed of, but a shield given to the Hands of Avei had been meant to withstand curses, dragonfire and all the perils of the Age of Adventures.

She closed with the Rider, and bashed him with the shield in passing. He tried to wheel his horse around; Arjen followed with astounding agility, but he was a huge creature built for power and the Rider’s leaner mount proved more agile. Trissiny managed to bring her sword into play, but only felt the slightest snag as its tip nicked the Rider’s shoulder in passing.

Then he was vanishing back into the warren of dirt streets. She watched after him for a moment before turning Arjen back to rejoin her troops, who greeted her with cheers and brandished weapons. A few wands were even fired skyward in celebration.

“If they’re spread as thinly as the elves have suggested,” she said, “they can’t have enough manpower concentrated in one place to do that too many times. Luckily they tried it here instead of against Ruda’s line.”

Gabriel grinned up at her. “I’ll refrain from telling her you said that.”

“Thanks.”

 

Teal panted slightly as she came padding up out of the darkness on bare feet. “How’re we doing?”

“Apparently we are meeting with some success,” Shaeine replied, nodding to the elf who had arrived moments before to deliver a terse report. “Both lines have entered the city proper, and been slowed considerably by the need to navigate the streets, which presents obvious challenges. Only two Riders have slipped through the blockade; one was brought down by elven warriors, and Fross is pursuing the other as we speak.”

“The Hand of Avei just broke a Rider charge aimed at her lines,” said another elf, arriving out of the darkness. “One Rider slain, another dismounted and apprehended by our scouts. We don’t find a similar concentration of them anywhere else in the town. They have evinced no signs that they are in communication; it’s not clear yet whether the entire group realizes what is happening.”

“Good,” growled one of the humans nearby. They were a mixed group, standing at the western edge of Sarasio: a small, constantly rotating roster of about half a dozen elves kept coming and going, relaying information before darting back out to gather more. About twice their number of townsfolk had been gathered, all armed; most of Sarasio’s men having gone to the meeting and now forming the main battle lines, these were the leftovers, those rescued from beleaguered outer farms. More than half were women, the rest a mix of elderly and adolescents of both sexes, all armed.

“I suggest we press forward,” said the elven warrior who had remained alongside Shaeine throughout the night. “The battle enters a new phase as it enters the town, and it will not do to be left behind.”

“Sounds good,” a middle-aged woman with a staff slung over her shoulder said, nodding. “C’mon, everybody. You see anything in a white cloak, blast it.”

The group moved forward in a loose formation, elves fanning out to scout ahead and cover the flanks, townsfolk forming a rough line behind them. Shaeine walked in the rear, Teal falling into step behind her.

“Have you seen Juniper?” Teal asked.

The drow shook her head. “Not since we parted ways at the edge of the forest. I confess I worry more for her than any of our other compatriots; she is resilient, but we have seen her vulnerability to lightning. I can only trust that she knows how to take care of herself.”

“I guess we’d hear about it if anything happened to her,” Teal agreed, nodding. “Naiya apparently isn’t the subtle type.”

“Indeed.”

They slowed slightly, the outer buildings of the town looming ahead.

“You approached on foot,” Shaeine noted.

“Ah…yeah, I figured it’d be best not to startle the locals any more than we can help. On that note, I see you’ve been sticking by the other elves.”

“It seemed wisest,” Shaeine agreed with a faint smile. “Though after the initial shock wears off, I have been offered no hostility as yet, once I show myself to be allied with them. These people are admirably pragmatic.”

“Yeah…” Teal swallowed. “I hate that it had to come to this.”

“As do I,” Shaeine said quietly.

“I just… I know sometimes you can’t talk things out. It just seems like fighting in the streets is a failure.”

“I think you’re right on both points. Many failures have led to this disaster… But the situation is what it is. It can no longer be solved with words. Our best hope is decisive action, to prevent the crisis from dragging itself out further.”

Teal nodded. “I guess I’m fairly well invincible, but… Still. I’ve never been in a… I mean, it’s still terrifying. The though of losing… Someone I’ve come to care about.”

Shaeine looked at her and smiled gently. “I know.”

They had come to a stop, the others moving ahead at a very careful pace now. Teal swallowed, and took one of Shaeine’s hands in her own. The drow glanced down in apparent surprise, then lifted her gaze with an inquisitive look. Teal took a short but deep breath and leaned in closer.

The first naked emotion she had ever seen on Shaeine’s face descended: shock. The drow jerked backward, pulling her hand away. “I think there has been a miscommunication.”

“Oh,” Teal said weakly, going deathly pale. “Oh, I… Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t… I don’t…”

“It’s all right,” Shaeine said evenly, turning and gliding forward with her normal serenity firmly in place. Behind her, Teal gulped, allowing her own misery to show on her features for a moment before getting it back under control.

“I… Sorry, Shaeine, I don’t want—”

“It’s past,” she replied, her tone even and very nearly curt. “We needn’t discuss it.”

They reached the streets in silence.

At the rear of the group, Teal cleared her throat. “Seems quiet here. I’m gonna find where the trouble is and help.” There was a rush of flames the sound of beating wings, and then a fiery figure soared over them, vanishing beyond the rooftops.

One of the elves glanced over at Shaeine with a wry half-grin. “Smooth.”

She glided past him without response.

 

Toby straightened, helping a young man to his feet, the glow of healing around him subsiding.

“My thanks, friend,” the lad said with a smile. “Ah… I mean, sir. Mister. Your, uh, paladin-ness.”

“Toby’s fine,” he replied, grinning.

“Nice horse!” Ruda said cheerfully as two men calmed the rearing animal. Two others were roughly hog-tying the Rider who had been knocked from the saddle by a low-hanging sign he had tried to ride under to avoid their group after seeing all the wands pointing his way. “Maybe I should keep one a’ these. Course, I’d have to learn how to ride it…”

“We’re doing well,” said a voice from above. No matter how many times it happened, the soundless appearance of an elf made most of those present jump and aim their weapons. The slim woman now perched atop the general store sign continued, ignoring this. “Your pixie friend has brought down the last Rider to evade the blockade; all those still in action are within the town, being herded toward the center. Most are now dismounted; that flying demon has been chasing them down and scaring the horses into bucking them for the last fifteen minutes. She seems oddly reluctant to fight.”

“Yeah, that’s no surprise,” Ruda said, nodding. “Teal’d never forgive her for getting blood on her claws. How’s the formation overall?”

“Uneven and prone to buckling,” the elf said with a smile, “but impressively effective. Your friend Trissiny makes good plans.”

“I was afraid of that,” Ruda said sourly. “There’ll be no living with her now.”

Another form dropped from above, earning another round of curses, jumps and pointed weapons, but she similarly ignored this, making a beeline for the young man who had recently been injured.

He saw her at the same time. “Thassli!”

The two met in the middle of the alley and embraced, while the nearby men and elves averted their eyes, embarrassed, and Ruda grinned unabashedly.

“Hi, Jason,” Thassli said finally, pulling back enough to cup his face in both hands.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said.

“I told you, love, you just have to be patient.” Someone coughed.

“I can’t be patient anymore.” Taking both her hands in his own, he knelt before her in the dust. Behind him, Lucas Wilcox clenched his jaw, glaring. “Thassli, will you marry me?”

“What?” She laughed lightly. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.”

The silence that fell was awkward to the point of being physically painful. Ruda let out a low whistle.

“I,” he choked. “But…”

“Jason,” Thassli said with gentle reproof, ruffling his hair, “we’ve had fun. You’re a sweet boy, really. But, honestly, if I wanted to tie my heart to a hairy, overly exuberant creature who’ll die just when I’ve had time to get properly attached to him… Well, I could just get a dog, couldn’t I? Now c’mon.” She tugged the unresisting lad to his feet. “The night’s not over. I’ll come find you when we win this. Try not to get killed, eh?”

She blew him a kiss, then kicked off a nearby wall, grasped the overhanging roof opposite, heaved herself lightly up and vanished.

Ruda cleared her throat. “Yeah, well, anyway. On we go, stuff to do, assholes to shoot…”

“I did tell you, boy,” Wilcox said wearily, coming up to stand next to Jason.

“Yeah.” The boy sounded numb. “I heard you, pa. Always said that elf was trouble. I just figured…”

“You figured I had a problem with you carryin’ on with an elf,” Wilcox said, draping an arm around his son’s shoulders. “You don’t listen, boy. I said that elf was trouble.”

“Hell, I told you that,” Robin added from the roof above, causing another ripple of startlement among the men.

“Dammit, will y’all stop doin’ that!” somebody shouted.

“Here.” Grinning ruefully, Ruda handed Jason a bottle of whiskey. He took it in silence, pulled out the stopper with his teeth and took a long pull. “Now c’mon, boys. We’ve still got work to do.”

“Wait,” said Robin, her expression grim. “We’ve got a problem.”

 

“Hostages?” Trissiny said sharply.

The elven scout nodded, his eyes serious. “Four groups have managed to take them. They appear to have arrived at this plan independently, but as we’ve forced them into the middle of the town, more have met up and consolidated both their forces and their strategies.”

She drew in a long breath and let it out through her teeth. “You have archers?”

“Moving into position now,” he said. “But coordination is a problem. Our strikes would need to be simultaneous, and the Riders are adeptly making use of urban cover to prevent us from getting a clear shot.”

“All right,” she said, then raised her voice, turning to look back at the men following her. They had broken into multiple groups to push forward through the streets, and not all of those she’d set out with were present; those remaining were in a cluster rather than a line now. “Everyone, continue moving forward, but slowly, and do not fire on enemy targets until you are certain they have no hostages.”

“Ma’am?” one said, worry etched on his features. “What if they do? I mean… How’ll we get our people back?”

“If all else fails, we’ll negotiate,” she said flatly. “But before it comes to that, I’ll trust in the elves to pick them off. Now, move ahead.”

They didn’t have much farther to move before joining another group of townsfolk, followed by a third emerging from another alley. The noose had tightened significantly; they were not exactly in the center of the town, more like several streets to the east, but Trissiny sensed at once that they had reached the place where the endgame would play out.

Mostly because of the Riders who were there ahead of them.

She counted eight with a quick scan. Half their number were occupied with holding two young women by the arms, including one Trissiny recognized.

“Really?” Jenny was saying aloud as they approached. “Really? The damsel in distress? Oh, if you only knew how insulting this is.”

“Quiet,” growled one of the Riders, aiming a wand at her face. Jenny shut her mouth, glaring at him. To her credit, she didn’t seem much perturbed by her predicament, unlike the other hostage, who appeared to be on the verge of fainting.

“Not another step,” said the leader of the Riders, his distinctively eerie voice echoing through the street. He pointed one wand at Trissiny, and the other in the opposite direction down the street—where, she could see from her vantage atop Arjen, a large group of townsfolk with Ruda and Toby at their head had just rounded a corner into view. They were proceeding slowly and carefully, clearly having been warned of the situation just as she was, and came to a stop at the Rider’s warning.

More Riders arrived, drifting in from all directions, but now they pressed themselves against walls, under eaves; some kept their wands on hostages, of which there were now four, two more groups having arrived with victims in tow. The rest divided their focus between the two large groups of townspeople and students and keeping weapons trained on the rooftops. Obviously, they had managed to meet and compare notes, and were aware of the intervention of the elves.

Another Rider backed into view, keeping his wand aimed into the alley from which he’d come. A moment later, Juniper emerged, glaring at him. Trissiny’s momentary surge of hope died when two more Riders came right after her, also holding wands on her.

“I really don’t think you want to do that,” the dryad warned.

“Shut it, bitch!”

Trissiny unconsciously raised her sword.

“Enough,” said the leader. Just hearing his voice was like having wet burlap dragged over her ears. “Everyone stand down. Everyone. I want all weapons dropped.”

“And if we don’t?” Ruda called from the other end of the street.

“Don’t be disingenuous,” he replied, shifting his wand to aim at Juniper’s head.

“And then what?” Trissiny called. “Right now, you have a chance of being taken properly into custody and serving jail time. Play that card, and nothing I say or do will stop these men from tearing you to shreds. I may not be inclined to try.”

“I’m sure that will make you feel much better,” he replied mockingly. “Will it bring back the dead?”

Vadrienly landed on a nearby roof with a force that shook the building, slate tiles crunching under her talons.

“There are so many things,” she said, baring fangs down at the group, “that are so much worse than death.”

“I will not warn you again!” The leader raised his voice. “Drop your weapons! NOW!”

Occupied with the tense drama unfolding, Trissiny hadn’t realized what street they were on until the door of the Shady Lady opened and Joe Jenkins stepped out. Riders swiveled to aim wands at him; ignoring this, he calmly strolled across the sidewalk, stepped down into the street and paced forward till he stood at its center.

To his sharply-tailored suit he had added a knee-length leather duster with a matching black hat; he kept his head tilted forward at an angle that hid his eyes under its brim. The duster was belted at the waist, his holstered wands hanging at his sides. His hands hovered just above them.

He finally raised his head, staring directly at the leader of the White Riders.

“Gentlemen,” said the Kid. “Draw.”

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4 – 16

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Trissiny carefully leaned backward, tilting her head to peer outside with one eye without exposing her head to the street, then quickly stepped back into the tavern, tugging Gabriel along with her.

“Well,” she said, “now we know where all those thugs and galoots went.”

“Right outside?” Toby said resignedly. She nodded. “Any sign of the Riders?”

“If so, they’re not mounted or in uniform. Nobody but scruffy men with wands. About thirty-five, at a guess. Ruda, you seem to have these folks more or less in your pocket; can you get them all moving in one direction?”

“Fish in a barrel,” Ruda said cryptically, then winked. “Gimme sixty seconds.”

“You’ve got it, and don’t be in a hurry.”

“You can’t seriously be planning to send these men out there to fight,” Toby protested. “Some of them don’t even have wands. It would be a bloodbath!”

“On both sides, yes,” she said, nodding. “It’s not hard to guess the Riders put those ruffians up to this to soften us up. They don’t want a bloodbath either, not when so much of the blood’ll be theirs. They’re scared. They’re about to be more so.” She paused, watching Ruda, who was now exhorting the men again, and had everyone’s attention. Trissiny lowered her voice. “There’s about to be some noise. Help Ruda keep order in here, and don’t let them fight until the right moment. You’ll know it when you see it.”

With that, she turned and strode outside. The street to her right was clear; all the thugs were approaching from one direction. They had also arrived as a unit, rather than straggling in. Good; that meant they’d been rounded up beforehand and sent here with a purpose. A rabble might do anything at all, but if they fancied themselves an army, they’d break all the more easily when proven wrong.

Trissiny stepped down into the street and strode to its center, then turned to face them. Quite a few grinned and leered, nudging each other and making comments she could tell were suggestive, even unable to hear them. That was plenty to kindle a white-hot rage in her, though she kept it tightly controlled. Some, though, were looking at her much more warily. Quite a few had seen her performance upon the students’ arrival that first day.

She glanced to the side at the sound of footsteps, then scowled.

“Gabriel,” she hissed, “I don’t need—”

“You don’t need help,” he murmured back. “I know that damn well. I need to help. Orders?”

That brought her up short, and she sized him up quickly. He looked grim, unafraid… Well, he had his wand in hand and wasn’t in much physical danger from anyone here. Except her, of course.

“Need to break their spirits,” she said tersely. “Being trounced in melee by one girl will go a long way, but there’s a lot of them. Can you split off a few so they don’t swamp me?”

“So, scare and distract ’em?” He nodded. “Holy shit, I might actually be good for this.”

The mob began shuffling forward. No motive or driving force visible; she could plainly see the differences in their expressions, ranging from hungry to frightened. The moon was nearly full, illuminating the street fairly well—but then, her eyesight was a good deal better than the human norm, especially in the dark. Trissiny unsheathed her sword and began moving forward at a measured pace, alone toward the men.

Then Gabriel was beside her, a few feet away. He raised his wand as he walked, then, to her surprise, lifted his other hand, aiming the tip into his own palm. Glancing sidelong at her, he winked.

“A little trick I picked up from Ruda.”

The crack of the wand firing brought the front-runners up short in surprise; they stared at him, and particularly at his hand, which had just absorbed a wandshot at point-blank range. It smoked faintly, but appeared unharmed. Gabriel, however, had clenched his teeth in pain, hunching forward slightly.

His teeth looked…longer.

Twice more the wand fired; now, all the men before them were staring wide-eyed, and his panting had taken on a deep, rasping quality. Black swallowed his eyes, claws sprouted from his fingertips. Gabriel began pacing forward more quickly, growling deep in his throat.

Trissiny embraced the light. Gabe hissed and jerked to the side, but she ignored him, striding forward, rapidly closing the distance now.

The thugs had come to a complete stop. The front row showed uncertainty on the bravest (or slowest) faces, with outright panic displayed on many. They had been sent here to rough up a group of students and townspeople; now, Heaven and Hell were stalking toward them, shoulder to shoulder. Well, a good six feet apart, which was as close as Gabe could get to Trissiny’s aura without visibly smoking. This was not what these frontier rowdies had signed on for. Several of them tried to turn and push back into those behind.

A short scrum occurred, those bringing up the rear refusing to retreat—whether they were more motivated or just couldn’t clearly see what was coming at them she couldn’t guess, and didn’t care. It brought panic to the front-runners when they realized they couldn’t flee, and that was when the first wandshots came.

Two sparked against golden light a foot from her, the shield snapping into place unbidden. For millennia, armies had known not to waste arrows on those who walked in the shelter of Avei’s hand; clearly the same protection worked against wands. Then somebody shot Gabriel, bringing him to a stop—for a moment.

Black eyes bulging in fury, he parted his jagged teeth and let out a howl that chilled even Trissiny’s spine, then charged forward with the speed of a pouncing mountain lion. She flew into motion only a second behind, her speed overmatching his. Training, or elven blood? Whatever the reason, they hit the crowd simultaneously.

Gabriel almost instantly went down in a flurry of fists. Hethelaxi were nearly unstoppable and all but invulnerable, but no physically stronger than the human norm, and in a berserker fit, Gabriel didn’t seem to possess an iota of the fighting technique she and Professor Ezzaniel had laboriously beaten into him. Still, a berserker with merely human strength, unbreakable claws and a complete immunity to pain was more than their rabble of an enemy was prepared to face. Trissiny was dimly aware, in her periphery, of men falling, cursing, bleeding, but she had her own to concentrate on.

A fist glanced off her divine shield even as her metal shield bashed the first man aside. One approached her from the right, wand upraised. She took his hand off at the wrist with her sword, its ancient and visibly pitted blade sharp enough to split hairs with the light coursing in it, then ripped it through his throat on the backswing.

Trissiny hesitated, for just a moment. It was bound to happen sooner or later, probably sooner, but…she had never killed anyone before. That moment caused her to soak up another lightning bolt that would have struck her heart if not for Avei’s protection, and she flew back into motion.

To say that this wasn’t ideal was vast understatement. The only remotely workable technique for fighting a group was to maneuver them so that you could face them one at a time; she now did the opposite, wading right into their midst and laying about with sword and shield. Her goal wasn’t a clean victory, though, but terror and confusion, and she certainly achieved that. Wreathed in Avei’s light, Trissiny was physically invulnerable, but she quickly became so pressed by the crush of bodies that just staying upright demanded most of her concentration, leaving actual combat as an afterthought. By that point it hardly mattered, as her plan was succeeding admirably; these men were trying to get away, not to attack her.

Then the crowd broke and managed to scatter, fleeing back up the street whence they had come. Trissiny regained her balance, swiftly taking stock. Six men down, four dead, three from sword wounds. Gabriel lunged onto the back of the slowest straggler, bearing him to the dusty street, then fortunately lifted his head to sniff the air before he could began ripping into the man. Already his claws and lower face were stained with blood.

Unfortunately, he fixed his eyes on Trissiny. In that glare, in the subtle shift in his expression, she knew that whatever progress she had made in her relationship with Gabriel, the demon inside him remembered her all too well.

“Gabe,” she said firmly, “I don’t know whether a blast of divine light will drive back the demon or just kill you. Don’t make me put you down.”

He snarled, tensing himself to spring.

Then Toby was there, gliding past her and right at the halfblood. Gabriel shifted his focus, baring his teeth in a warning growl, but Toby strode right up to him, reached out and laid a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

Claws gripped his arm, then dug in, tearing Toby’s sleeve. Blood began to flow. Trissiny tightened her grip on her sword, taking a step forward, but Toby flung up his other hand to stop her, not taking his eyes off Gabriel. He didn’t draw on his own light, either to heal or protect himself; he only tightened his grip.

“It’s me,” he said quietly.

Gabriel panted, blinked his eyes. Then again. He shook his head as if to dislodge something; when he opened his eyes a third time, white showed around their edges. The transition back was slower, but he got there, finally straightening and removing his grip from Toby’s arm.

“Thanks,” he said eventually, out of breath, then looked over at Trissiny. “You, too.”

“Me?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Well. You could’ve just killed me.”

“She wouldn’t be the only one,” Toby snapped, light flaring from the puncture wounds along his forearm. Gabriel flinched and stumbled back from him. “What were you thinking? Gabe, you just killed someone! Your demon blood is not a weapon. Even if you could control it, half-demons do not get to go on violent sprees in the Tiraan Empire! Do you want to get dealt with by a Church hit squad?”

“When you can’t help being an evil thing,” Gabriel said quietly, “sometimes the only way to be a good person is to keep yourself pointed at the bad people.”

Toby looked almost pained. “Gabe…we’ve been over—”

“You two can have that out later,” Trissiny said curtly, striding past them toward the crowd of men now pouring out of the tavern. “We have more immediate concerns.”

“Damn, that was quick,” Ruda said by way of greeting as she approached, then lowered her voice, stepping forward to within whispering range. “You were supposed to leave some for us to fight. Remember? We need to let the locals drive off the Riders, bringing them together was only half the battle.”

“We’re a long way from done, yet,” Trissiny said grimly.

“That was all them out-of-towners,” one of the men said.

“Yeah,” piped up another, “where are the White Riders?”

Trissiny raised her voice. “Everywhere else.”

The hush that fell as they paused to consider her words proved her right. The sounds were faint with distance, but the crack of lightning, the cries of horses and people were now audible, and sounded from every side.

Some of those cries were unmistakeably women.

“Coming here, you left your homes undefended,” said a new voice. As a unit, they whipped around to behold an elf perched atop the wooden awning over the tavern’s sidewalk. “You aren’t the only ones looking to finish this tonight.”

 

During the idle days of his youth, before he had attained the mature age of twelve, Jasper had fantasized about being the man of the house, of saving his family from some kind of attack. Bandits, maybe, or marauding prairie cats. Centaurs, wild elves, the villains in his personal inner drama didn’t matter, so long as they served to distract him from the tedium of chores.

Nothing was ever as fun in real life as it was in his head.

“Jasper Wilcox, you get back in here right now!” He knew his mother’s no-nonsense voice, and a powerful part of him quailed at it now. Even worse was the ring of undeniable terror in her tone—fear for him, he knew, not for her. For once, though, he couldn’t obey. He was the man of the house. Pa had told him so. It had been to take the sting out of his being too young to go to the meeting, and he was well old enough to realize it, but those words meant something. Jasper would protect his home and his family. All of them.

Boomer whimpered, the hound dragging himself toward Jasper on three legs, the right hind one mangled and burned almost beyond recognition by lightning. Beyond, three mounted figures in white cloaks whooped, firing wands into the air as they rode back and forth, playing up the spectacle they made in the darkness, lit by moonlight, their own wandshots and the flickering of the fires they’d caused. Patches of dry grass smouldered, as did pieces of wooden fence they’d shot.

Jasper kept his pa’s staff leveled at them, his one-handed grip clumsy, as he stopped and knelt next to Boomer. “There you go, boy, it’s okay.” It was not okay. The dog had to be in unimaginable pain, and…he had no idea what to do now. He couldn’t carry the hound and hold his staff in any kind of ready position.

His mother screamed his name again, and this time lightning flashed past him, not close enough to singe, but painfully bright. He wasn’t holding the only staff in the house, after all. It also didn’t come dangerously near the wheeling Riders, but they chose to take offense anyway, and two returned fire, lightning bolts smashing into the farmhouse. Its fieldstone foundation would hold, but most of the house was wood. The porch had already collapsed into burning rubble, and his sisters had nearly run out of water to throw on the smoking patches elsewhere. Snarling, Jasper grasped his staff with both hands, raised it and squeezed the clicker.

It was a good shot; he wished his pa could have seen it.

Unfortunately, it was useless.

Lightning slammed directly into the lead Rider’s chest, flashing off something that rested there; the horse whinnied and tossed her head in displeasure, and for a moment, a hazy aura of static lit up the Rider in the night. Then the energy of the shot dissipated, leaving him unharmed—and now focused on Jasper.

They had deflector charms. Well, of course they did.

“Brave, boy,” the man called out. His voice was muffled by the hood, by distance and the ambient noise; Jasper wondered if he’d have recognized it, otherwise. If this was one of his neighbors. “Stupid, but brave.”

He wheeled his horse around again, not charging at Jasper directly, but the boy knew that wouldn’t matter. The man guided his horse with his knees, aiming both wands. Jasper was frozen. He wanted to fire back at least once, just so he wouldn’t be shot down like a rabbit, but his fingers wouldn’t obey. All he could do was watch his death take aim.

Then Hell plummeted from the sky.

She slammed into the ground between him and the Rider, hard enough to shake the earth. Wings of pure flame stretched from her shoulders; she spread her arms wide, flexing black claws, and screamed.

It was a sound like the cry of a great hunting cat, or like a falcon—somehow both, but also like nails down a chalkboard, and above it all, hideously musical, striking harmonies that should not have been existed. It was the most horrible, beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

Jasper hunched to the ground, clasping both hands over his ears before he even realized he’d dropped his staff; Boomer howled in protest. Behind, his mother had fallen silent. That was nothing, however; the Riders’ horses went straight into an unreasoning panic, shrieking in abject terror and bolting off in three separate directions. Two of the Riders managed to keep their saddles, but the one who’d been charging at Jasper without the benefit of hands on his reins was flung loose as his mount wheeled mid-charge and fled.

There was an audible crack when he struck the ground. He didn’t move.

The creature straightened up from the crouch in which she’d landed and turned to face him, and Jasper very nearly pissed himself. His mind didn’t want to make sense of what he was seeing.

Aside from the wings and the claws…and the fiery hair and, he now saw, burning eyes…she was a girl. No older than his sister, surely, kind of pretty, and dressed in an expensive-looking man’s suit. Then she smiled at him, showing off terrible fangs, and he felt the blood begin to rush to his head.

“A-are you a demon?” It was the only thing he could think to say.

“Yup,” she replied. Her voice… It was like listening to a choir. “Good eye, kiddo. My name’s Vadrieny, and I’m here to help.”

That made so much nonsense he didn’t even bother trying to formulate a response. The demon didn’t seem to expect one; she lifted her head and raised her voice. “We could use a healer here.”

“One is already working,” said a new voice, and suddenly there was an elf standing there, in dyed buckskins, holding a wand in one hand and one of those hatchets of theirs in the other. A tomahawk, Jasper remembered belatedly. The elf strode over to him, smiling much more reassuringly than the demon had, and knelt to sweep Boomer into his arms. The hound, who usually didn’t take to strangers, feebly licked at his hand. “We’d best get her new patient to her. Your family is safe, Mr. Wilcox; your sister was burned along one arm by lightning, but the shaman feels she is in no danger. Yours was a very brave stand. Come.” He set off toward the house. Jasper stared after him, torn, then looked back at the demon.

She winked, flexed her wings once, and then shot into the sky with a mighty push of them. He followed the orange streak she made, heading to the north and the nearby Jensen stead, where the distant snapping of lightning could still be heard. Then, with nothing else for it, he turned and jogged after the elf, pausing only to snatch up his staff.

“Your house is only mildly damaged, compared to some, and is the first we have secured,” the elf said. “With your permission, may we use it as a staging area? There will be other wounded, some who cannot be best treated in the middle of a battle.”

“I—that—I mean, of course. Anything we can do to help.” Jasper was keenly conscious that he was being addressed with the respect of one man to another. Any other time, he’d have managed to savor it. “Ah—sir, what’s happening?”

“That is still an open question,” the elf said solemnly. “A great deal of carnage and suffering. With luck and the aid of friends, we will soon be rid of the Riders and have some peace, but it is going to get worse before it gets better.”

Then they were stepping into the scorched kitchen, where another elf, a woman, sat at the table with Maribelle, binding her arm in bandages, and his mother swept him into an embrace, trying to sob and scold at once. So much for being the man of the house.

He found he minded a lot less than he’d have thought.

 

There was barely a second’s stunned silence before the shouting began.

“Listen,” Trissiny said firmly, but no one even heard. “Hey!”

It was no use. The crowd began to break up, despite her exhortations and Ruda’s curses, men heading in different directions toward their own homes.

CRACK! CRACK!

Lighning stabbed twice into the sky from the tip of Gabriel’s wand. Hadn’t he dropped that when he’d shifted? Or maybe it was another wand he’d picked up; there were several now lying in the street.

“Listen up!” he shouted, glaring around at them. “You wanna save your families? You listen when the Hand of Avei starts talking strategy.” He nodded to her, and Trissiny realized she was still glowing. She pushed a little more energy into it, not missing the way the men zeroed in on her. The visible reminder that the gods were with them might be the only thing holding this crowd together. Their fear and anger was palpable, as was the primal urge to rush off to and protect their homes and loved ones.

“Running off in different directions is exactly what the Riders want,” she said, projecting from the diaphragm without shouting. It wasn’t the first time she’d addressed a crowd of rattled would-be soldiers, though the stakes here were very different from the war games back at the Abbey. “What they fear is this, all of us standing together. You cannot let them separate you and cut you down. We will deal with them. Now. Tonight. What’s the situation?” She turned and directed this last to the elf on the rooftop, then managed not to flinch when she discovered two more of them to either side of him.

The first elf tilted his head, staring down at her quizzically. “A halfling paladin? Now I’ve seen the—”

“REPORT!” Trissiny roared.

He flinched back, but the female elf to his left answered. “Riders are terrorizing the outlying farms; they haven’t moved into the streets proper, so most of the houses are safe. They’re spread thin, using terror tactics, guerrilla hits and cheap theatrics. We are moving right now to hamper them.” She grinned savagely. “They have mounts and better weapons, but we are a lot better at this game.”

“Numbers?”

“About thirty accounted Riders, dispersed around the edge of the town. Twenty-five tribesmen have come to help, including five shaman. They are attending to wounded. Plus, we seem to have picked up a dryad, archdemon, pixie mage and drow priestess, as well as a couple of miscellaneous humans who’ve come to help. They fight well.”

“Right.” Trissiny nodded firmly, shifting her attention back to the men. “This is what we’re going to do. I want two groups; move in both directions down this avenue to the outskirts of town and past. Get outside the Riders’ range and spread out with wands up. From there we sweep back into the town, pushing them before us into the middle. You,” she added, turning back to the elf. “Can you instruct your people to form the flanks and press inward at an angle from both sides of each line? I need outriders to make sure they are pulled into the trap.”

“It will be done,” the woman said, snapping her fingers. Both the other elves took off, bounding onto rooftops and then out of sights in opposite directions.

“You’re bringin’ em into the town?” Mr. Strickland said uncertainly. “We just wanna get rid of the bastards!”

“No,” Trissiny said firmly, turning to face the crowd of men fully and planting her feet. Her sword was still in her hand, stained with blood; she lifted it to point at them. “We do not want the Riders driven out of Sarasio. Then they just become someone else’s problem later. We will pull them into the middle, surround them with our own numbers, and we will end them.”

A roar of approval went up, startling her. The patriarchs were already at work following her orders, pushing the men into two groups.

“Better have Trissiny lead one party and Ruda the other,” said Gabriel. “Each needs one person in charge who knows tactics.”

“And has a good shoutin’ voice,” Ruda agreed, grinning.

“And,” he went on with some reluctance, “I had better go with Triss.” All three of them turned to look at him in surprise, and he set his jaw grimly. “If I have an… Episode… Trissiny can put me down if it needs to be done.”

“You trust her not to if it doesn’t need to be?” Ruda said skeptically.

“Yes.”

“Gabriel… I can go with you,” Toby said. Gabriel was already shaking his head.

“We need one light-wielder per group for healing and shields as needed.”

“I… I see your logic,” Toby said reluctantly. “It’s just… I’m used to being the one to look after you, y’know?”

Gabriel stepped over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know. I love you like a brother, you know that?”

Toby clasped his hand. “I do. You know I feel the same.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “And… That’s why you can’t do it this time. This is gonna be a battle, with people’s lives on the line; you can’t waste time talking me down.” He turned to look at Trissiny. “I’m gonna do my best to stay out of the line of fire, but… If it comes down to it, I know you won’t hesitate to do what needs doing.”

She had just finished cleaning her sword, and slid it back into its sheath. “You’re a fool, Gabriel Arquin.”

“Wow,” said Ruda. “Way to kill the mood, Shiny Boots.”

“I’ve known that since the day we met,” Trissiny went on, ignoring her. She stepped forward and reached out, squeezing Gabriel’s shoulder briefly with her gauntleted hand. “But I also thought you weren’t a good man, and I’ve rarely been so dramatically wrong about anything.”

The silence that followed verged upon awkwardness, but everyone smiled. Tentatively, in three cases. Ruda grinned widely, then opened her mouth to speak.

“Ma’am?” Strickland approached, tugging the brim of his had respectfully to Trissiny. “We’re split up and ready to move.”

“Good,” she said firmly, stepping away from Gabriel and nodding to him, then raised her voice to be heard by all those present. “Princess Zaruda will lead your group; the other will follow me. Let’s put an end to this, people. March!”

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4 – 14

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They came to a stop in the middle of the street, hearing the crash. Trissiny and Gabriel exchanged a brief look, then turned and dashed back the way they had come, toward the barn. She smoothly drew her sword while in motion, eyes darting about in search of threats. Despite the ongoing noise from up ahead, in which they could now hear shouts and curses in addition to the continued ruckus of battle, the town itself remained eerily still. It was as if, improbable as that seemed, all the roughnecks and thugs hanging around had spontaneously gone elsewhere. For the moment, though, Trissiny was grateful enough to have only one apparent threat on which to concentrate.

Gabriel skidded as they rounded the corner, nearly overbalancing; she, being far more athletic, came to a smooth stop, taking in the scene.

Two men lay in the street, the same two who had been previously guarding the door. Another was in the process of stumbling down from the board sidewalk, limping heavily and clutching one arm. There was no sign of the Riders, and though the details weren’t exactly explicit, from their garb these were townsfolk rather than ruffians. Given the lack of apparent external threats, whatever was happening had begun inside the tavern.

That hypothesis gained weight as the front window exploded outward and a man flew through, striking the edge of the sidewalk painfully on his way to sprawling in the street.

Trissiny bounded to his side, kneeling to place a hand on his shoulder. He was bleeding from multiple cuts, thanks to the window, and though she couldn’t tell past his sturdy denim and flannel garb, it was very possible he’d broken something and inconceivable that he wasn’t heavily bruised. She drew on Avei’s light, sending a gentle wave of energy through him. Just enough to stop any bleeding, internal or otherwise, and prevent him from expiring from trauma. Too much divine magic was risky with an undiagnosed patient; healing a broken bone without setting it in the right position first could cripple a person for life.

“What happened?” she demanded as the man’s eyes swam back into focus. “Is it the Riders?”

His gaze locked on her face, and then his eyes widened as though he’d just remembered what was happening. He clutched her arm frantically.

“Gods, you’ve gotta do something! She’s insane!”

“Oh,” Trissiny growled, her expression collapsing in a scowl. “Ruda.”

One of the men in the street was already standing, the other being helped upright by Gabriel. She paused to touch the limping fellow on his apparently injured arm, giving him a soft boost of light to ease the trauma, then turned resolutely toward the saloon and marched in. This involved pushing past the broken doors, one of which was angled crazily across the doorway and somehow stuck. Luckily, kicking it down suited her mood.

The scene inside was utter chaos at a glance. The more than two dozen men present were either fighting or on the ground and injured; half of the light fixtures were knocked out, and ninety percent of the furniture had been smashed, some of that serving as makeshift cover for cowering townsfolk who’d apparently had enough. Sweeping her gaze around the room, however, Trissiny’s trained mind put the various pieces into place, and she realized that she was looking at one of the most flawlessly controlled battlefields she’d ever seen.

Heywood Paxton had retreated to a front corner, where he was clutching Ruda’s sheathed rapier in front of himself as if it would bar the brawl from reaching him. Oddly enough, it seemed to have worked; his suit wasn’t so much as rumpled and nobody had come within ten feet of the Surveyor. Toby was moving efficiently around the perimeter of the tavern, aglow with divine energy, helping men upright and healing injuries as he found them. It was the circular pattern that was impressive; the center of the room was mostly cleared, but knots of men had clumped together around the outside. Most were now lying or sitting amid the ruins of their tables, but two groups were still actively brawling.

Trissiny could see how it had been done. The original layout of the room had had Paxton, the students and the heads of the four families ensconced at the center table (now on its side with half its legs broken off), while their various sons and relatives had organized themselves by clan around the wall. Quickly identifying each of the men she’d seen sit down to parley and where they currently were—all but Wilcox now down—Trissiny could retrace the steps that had led to this. All Ruda had to do was get a fight going and then push each patriarch into the arms of a rival clan. Men would have crossed the center to get to their objectives, but the action would ultimately concentrate itself around those four men, swiftly turning the brawlers’ attention from Ruda to each other. Eventually the fighting would spill everywhere, as fighting invariably did, but that wouldn’t matter of someone were to systematically move around the edge of the room, taking advantage of the brawlers’ preoccupation with one another to beat down each group one at a time.

Grudgingly, she had to recognize the quick thinking, tactical savvy and martial skill it had taken to pull this off. Unless, of course, it was all the random outcome of a completely aimless act of aggression. Not long ago, Trissiny would have instantly made that assumption, but Gabriel’s recent question about Ruda’s intelligence made her wonder.

As she entered, the second-to last knot of struggling men was in the process of being dismantled. Ruda, armed with a table leg, circled the edge of the group, delivering methodical blows to legs that took fighters neatly out of the action, until she had whittled down their numbers and the remaining three men turned on her, finally realizing who the true threat here was. It was a bit dicier from there, but Ruda’s unique blend of deftness and savagery quickly put down the overmatched farmers. Trissiny noted, also, some of the skills she herself had drilled into the pirate during their morning practice sessions with Teal.

The last fellow actually backed away, raising his hands in surrender, and Ruda, grinning, tossed the table leg to him, then rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles before stalking over to the last group of fighting men, which included Mr. Wilcox. She was limping and bleeding from both the lip and forehead, but seemed no less energetic. Her target group was down to six men, Wilcox and two of his apparent relatives being backed against the wall and beset by a pair from one side and a particularly hulking fellow from another.

Ruda diverted her course toward the middle as she went, picking up the only two intact chairs within reach. One she hurled directly into the two on the left, then smashed the other across the big man’s back.

Gabriel shoved past Trissiny, coming to a stop just inside and taking in the scene as quickly as she had, though probably with less understanding of what he was seeing.

“Holy shit! Are…should we help her?”

“No.”

He gave her a sidelong look. “Is this a warrior-culture thing where you don’t interfere in somebody else’s battle, or are you just pissed at her for starting a fight?”

“Yes.”

“How do we even know she started it?”

Trissiny looked at him.

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, sticking his hands in his pockets.

The two attackers were already down, as was one of the Wilcox boys. Ruda’s chair was reduced to two legs, with which she was hammering at the big man, using no stickfighting technique Trissiny knew, but holding her own. She feinted at his groin; like a lot of intimidatingly burly men in rural towns, he’d never bothered to learn an actual fighting style, and went for it in panic, hunching forward to protect his jewels with both thick forearms. Ruda neatly clocked him on both sides of the head with the chair legs, and he went down like a sack of flour. Trissiny winced; head trauma was always a serious matter. Fortunately, Toby was working on the last group to face the pirate’s wrath, and already looking ahead at the current fight between patients.

The Wilcox patriarch and his younger kinsman both raised their hands, backing against the wall.

“Miss,” Wilcox began, “I—”

Ruda jabbed them both viciously in the solar plexi, then dropped her improvised weapons, turned and was walking away before they had finished slumping to the floor.

“Damn,” Gabriel muttered.

“You with the hand!” Ruda barked, stomping up to a man lying on his own closer to the middle of the room than most. He was, in fact, cradling a hand to his chest; the position obscured it somewhat, but Trissiny could see a couple of fingers clearly bent the wrong way. Ruda prodded him in the shoulder with her boot, the force used just short of qualifying as a kick. He took this with a whimper.

“Bad. Fucking. Form.” Ruda growled, nudging him again. “You do not pull a wand in a bar fight, you little shit. There are rules. I see you doing anything like that again and next time I’m not gonna be so playful with you. Savvy?”

“My apologies, ma’am,” he gasped.

She grunted, then bent to pick up the wand lying a couple of feet from him, twirling it in her fingers. “Behave yourself and I’ll think about letting you have this back later.”

“Much obliged, ma’am.”

Ruda turned from him, limping over to the center of the room, where she swiveled slowly, dragging her gaze across all those present. A surprising number quailed back from her. Even as short as she was, even badly disheveled and obviously injured, her sheer presence commanded everyone’s attention.

“Listen up, fuckers!” she said, not yelling, but projecting as well as any actor on stage. Her voice boomed through the room, echoing off the stone walls. “You, the hard-working, hard-drinking, hard-fighting pride and manhood of the whole goddamn town of Sarasio, just got your collective asses kicked by a girl. There are two kinds of men among you right now: the bitterly ashamed, and utter fucking morons. There’s some overlap there. The question you need to be asking is this: Just how the hell did this happen?!”

Ruda paused, letting her words sink in. The silence was nearly total, broken only by soft scuffling and the occasional whimper, and the muted sound of Toby murmuring encouragement to the burly fellow he was in the process of healing from a head injury. Ruda slowly dragged her gaze across the assembled men again, curling her lip up in a sneer.

“What you’ve just experienced was the whole last goddamn year in miniature. Here comes an outside force, systematically moving across the room and beating each of your asses down one by one, and you fuckwits let it happen because you were too damn busy kicking the shit out of each other to do a thing about it!” Her voice began to slowly climb in volume. “Naphthene’s tits, people! One girl—one!—against two dozen, and there you all lie, looking stupid. Do you not comprehend the sheer, epic scale of your own dipshittery? Can you even wrap your heads around the scope of your failure? If anybody had told me last year I’d ever meet a whole town full of men who suck as hard as you assholes I’d have busted him in the lip for lying to me.”

“Now, hold on,” Jonas Hesse started.

Ruda, who was currently facing the other direction, flung out an arm to point at him without looking. “You get one pass because I feel sorry for you numbnuts. Next man who interrupts me, I’m gonna go over there and he can say his piece to my face.”

Silence fell again. Even the whimpering stopped.

“Well? Any takers?” She waited for a few seconds, but nobody offered comment. “Fine. This catastrophic ass-kicking is a lesson, boys. The White Riders have been doing this exact shit to you for months now, and you’ve let ’em get away with it because you let ’em turn you against each other. If just half of you witless fucksticks had quit trying to bash each other and turned on the person actually attacking you just now, I’d be the one lyin’ bleeding on the floor. If you’d put your tiny dicks back in your pants instead of waving ’em at each other and turned all this energy against the Riders back when they started being a problem, they wouldn’t fucking be one now!”

“That don’t change the facts!” Jacob Strickland piped up, leaning on a young man’s shoulder. “We got Riders and Rider sympathizers in our own ranks, ready to turn on us. How’re we supposed to fight ’em like that?”

He actually tried to back away as Ruda whirled and stomped toward him. She came to a stop two feet from him, grabbed a fistful of his long beard and yanked his head down till he was closer to her eye level.

“You wanna bitch and moan, that’s on you,” she said, her voice low but still echoing throughout the chamber. “But if you insult my intelligence again, I will stuff you head-first up your own ass and roll you from here to the Rail platform. Got it?” She released him and gave him a none-too-gentle shove in the chest, turning her back and stalking toward the center as the younger man barely managed to keep Strickland from falling. “Yeah, so you’ve got Riders in your midst. So what? So fucking goddamn what? What’re they gonna do, blow their cover the second you turn your back? Worst thing they can do is get in one good hit, and then you’d know who they are and could deal with ’em. You should be so fucking lucky as to hope they’re that fucking stupid—which, obviously, they aren’t, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation! I am sick of you dipshits and your excuses. The truth is, you just want to fight each other and you’ll grasp at any little pretext to do that instead of solving your own, actual fucking problems! Well?” She turned in a full circle, glaring furiously around the room. “Well?! Deny it!”

Silence.

“You’re prisoners in your own homes,” she bellowed. “You families are one more bad week from starving. You can’t walk your own streets, can’t live your own lives. Your town is on the edge of annihilation. Everything you have worked for has been torn down and shat on by the White Riders. Haven’t you had enough?!”

To Trissiny’s amazement, there actually came a rumble of assent this time. Expressions were growing grim and angry again, but for a wonder, they weren’t turned on each other.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ruda said in a sneering mockery of contrition. “Here I thought I was addressing the men of Sarasio, when it turns out I’ve wandered into a rehearsal of the Tiraas Ladies’ Auxiliary Bake Sale Choir. I said: HAVE YOU HAD ENOUGH?!”

She finished on a roar that rattled the remaining windows in their frames, and this time, the men roared back, a wordless bellow of outrage and assent. Trissiny tightened her grip on her sword, keenly aware that she was in a room with a bunch of men being deliberately whipped into a frenzy.

“Are you going to let these bastards do this to you?”

“NO!” they bellowed in near unison.

“Are you going to take this any more?!”

“NO!!”

“Are you going to let your families, your whole town, just die because a bunch of assholes in bedsheets like feeling powerful?!”

This time, the roar of negation barely qualified as a word. Still, Ruda managed to raise her own voice above the noise.

“Or are you going to march out there, find those goddamn Riders, and PUT THEM IN THE GROUND?!”

Fists were shaken, faces twisted into animalistic snarls, weapons—both actual wands and hatchets and various pieces of furniture—brandished. Paxton had eased over and now placed himself behind Trissiny, ready to bolt through the door at an instant’s notice. Gabriel had also slipped backward and lurked now in the doorway, keeping an eye on the street.

“Are you victims?” Ruda thundered, wild-eyed, pumping a fist in the air, “OR ARE YOU MEN?”

The noise quite literally shook the floorboards, and this time it didn’t stop. The men kept up a continuous bellow of fury as Ruda made a circuit around the room, shouting incoherently and exchanging thumps and shoves with everyone she came close enough to touch.

Toby finally rejoined them, looking as tense and displeased at these events as Trissiny felt. She carefully eased backward, pushing Paxton and Gabriel a step closer to the door.

The men carried on shouting and gesticulating even after Ruda stopped riling them, now turning to each other, shaking hands, slapping backs, exchanging bellowed exhortations. Amazingly, they mingled without any regard for family affiliation. Even the four patriarchs had grouped themselves together, clasping arms with grim-faced determination. They seemed a bit more restrained than their kin, though, shooting glances at Ruda’s back as she strolled, grinning, over to rejoin her companions.

“Toby, my man,” she said, slugging him in the shoulder. She kept her voice at a normal conversational level, which, given the noise in the room, was as good as a whisper for ensuring their privacy. “No offense, but you don’t understand how the common man thinks.”

“There is a difference,” he said grimly, “between relating to common folk and inciting a riot.”

“Yep, there surely is,” she said easily, nodding. “But funny enough, you need the one to do the other. And cut that shit out,” she added with a scowl as he reached a glowing hand toward her. “I need those bruises for credibility. You can do your paladin thing after the big fight.”

“Ruda,” he said wearily, “I’ve been healing you the whole time. I don’t care how badass you are, one woman doesn’t take on a whole bar and walk away without help. You were stabbed twice. Remember when I grabbed your arm? That’s because it was broken.”

“What? Don’t be stupid, it was just a bruise.”

“Forearms aren’t supposed to bend in the middle!”

“Maybe yours aren’t.” She grinned insanely at him. “I’m Punaji. We don’t fuck around.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he exclaimed.

“That’s okay, I still like you. Heywood, my sword?”

The Surveyor handed the weapon over, his eyes darting around the aggressive crowd. “Not to disparage your work, Princess, but, ah… Should you perhaps contain this? Or at least direct it? This kind of thing can go very bad, very quickly.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna.” Ruda finished buckling the rapier’s scabbard back to her belt and planted her fists on her hips, looking around the room at her handiwork. “Timing’s a factor. Don’t wanna let ’em tire themselves out or start brawling again, but I need to give the Riders in the audience a minute to slip out the back.”

“Wait, what?” Toby exclaimed. “Don’t we want to keep them pinned down where they can’t act?”

“No, she’s right,” Trissiny said grudgingly. “The whole point of this is to force the Riders to move, so we can hit them back. Now the ones in this group will know we’re coming for them with the whole town behind us. They’re pretty well forced; to take advantage of that, though, we need to give them a chance to warn their fellows.”

“See?” Ruda grinned. “She gets it.”

“That said,” Trissiny went on grimly, “we do need to control this quickly. A mob is like a rabid animal: if we can’t target them at the actual enemy, there’s no telling what they’ll destroy.”

“Yeah, about that.” Gabriel was leaning half-out the doorway, staring down the street outside. “That won’t be a problem.”

“You didn’t notice I was gone?” Darling asked, peeved in spite of himself.

“Oh, don’t get your bloomers in a twist,” Basra said. “That’s classic witchcraft. Redirecting attention, inducing emotional states… We really should’ve been on guard for that, though. Divine magic is a very good counter for it.”

“And so we must be, going forward,” said Andros firmly, scowling more than usual. “I do not like that this Crow woman is taking aggressive action against us. We had best be prepared to deal with her decisively.”

“Ah, granted I only know about her what was in Basra’s report,” Branwen said somewhat timidly, “but… I don’t think Mary the Crow is the kind of person who gets decisively dealt with.”

“She clearly has considerable sources of information to have learned what we are doing,” said Andros, turning his glower on Darling. “You are certain you told her no more than what you related to us?”

“Positive, but that may be beside the point,” he replied. “She clearly knew a lot going in. There’s no telling how much, or from what source.”

“Mm.” Basra was gazing into space, rubbing her lips absently with a thumb. “She was always one of my top suspects… Both in terms of the level of her power and her established patterns. Moving against us strongly supports that theory. From what Antonio’s told us, though, she seemed uncertain. As if she were trying to figure out who knew what, who had done what.”

“That could mean either that she’s not involved, or that she is,” Andros growled. “Either way, she’s used what amounts to mind control on a Bishop of the Church. That is an automatic death sentence.”

“Oh, come on,” Darling exclaimed, “she’s Mary the freakin’ Crow. An absurdly overpowered, self-declared enemy of the state. Her existence is an automatic death sentence; if the Empire were able to put her down it would’ve done so years ago.”

A tense, glum silence fell over the table.

They were meeting in one of the Cathedral’s smaller conference rooms, much less lavish than the one in the Archpope’s personal suite. It was late, well past midnight; most of the rest of the Church’s headquarters was asleep, like the city itself. It had taken considerable time for Darling’s messages to reach their recipients and bring them back here, Branwen having been the last to arrive by a wide margin. He wondered sourly how long it had taken her to do her hair; it had been uncomfortable sitting with Basra and Andros, both of them surly from the interrupted night’s sleep, without explaining the details of his adventure while they waited for her. They well understood his desire not to have to go over it twice, but the pair of them hardly needed a reason to be grouchy around each other to begin with.

The Archpope was secluded in prayer, according to the Holy Legion officer guarding his chambers, and could not be disturbed. They would have to settle for reporting in tomorrow. It was looking increasingly like it’d be a long night.

“Then,” Andros said finally, “the question is this: What are we going to do about the Crow?”

“The more immediate question is whether she’s responsible for the killings,” Basra shot back, rubbing irritably at her eyes with her fists. “That makes a difference in how we proceed.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Andros retorted. “She’s attacked Antonio. That makes her an enemy.”

“Whoah, whoah!” Darling held up his hands peaceably. “Not attacked! Here I am, fit as a fiddle; believe me, if I tangled with the Crow I wouldn’t have walked away. She wanted to talk. Frankly, I think we should encourage this. Fighting her is just plain not gonna be feasible.”

“You propose to let that woman walk all over us?” Andros snarled.

“I propose to investigate,” Basra chimed in, then stifled a yawn. “We need data before we act! Gods, it’s too late to have this conversation…”

“Maybe we should adjourn till tomorrow?” Branwen suggested. “Then we’ll be fresher, and we can include his Holiness in the discussion.”

“We should sleep while the Crow runs loose?” Andros’s sneer was visible even through his beard.

“Timing is, indeed, a factor,” Mary said solemnly, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. “While you sit here talking, an opportunity is about to slip away.”

Dead silence fell, the four Bishops turning in their seats to stare at her. Mary the Crow sat at the head of the table, watching them with an aloof little smile.

“Okay,” Basra said at last. “Not gonna lie, I’m impressed.”

“Ah, ah,” Mary said firmly as Andros started to rise, reaching a hand toward his belt. “Sit, boy. There is no need for hostility.”

“You’ve been there the entire time, haven’t you,” Darling said resignedly. “Otherwise, Andros would’ve sat at the head.”

“Very good, Antonio,” she replied with a smile. “You continue to display a keen eye for details and personalities. That’s why you’re my favorite.”

“Whoopee,” he said sourly.

Branwen cleared her throat. “You mentioned an opportunity?”

“Quite so.” Mary straightened, separating her hands and resting one on the table. “There have been, to date, twenty-eight executions of high-profile priests in the city, all within the last few weeks.”

Darling managed not to react. Twenty-eight? That was off from Flora and Fauna’s count. The number should be lower. If they’d been going off on their own again…

“One of those has just been committed,” the Crow continued, “and will not be discovered, in all likelihood, until dawn. The person responsible is still in the city, and can still be confronted if you move quickly.”

“Who?” Basra demanded.

“You would know him as the Jackal.”

She grimaced, as did Darling. The Jackal was a fully non-magical foe, but several orders of magnitude more dangerous than Oz the Beater had been, by virtue of being an elf. Fast, agile, stealthy…and sadistic. So much for working gradually up the list.

“You claim he is responsible for all these murders?” Andros growled, so physically tense in his seat he seemed almost ready to erupt.

“For this most recent one, at least,” Mary replied with unflappable calm. “He is not expecting any kind of intervention; in fact, he has no reason to think he has been discovered.”

“And yet, you have?” Basra said wryly.

Mary nodded, smiling. “I rarely choose to announce my presence. Among other benefits, this often means I know a great deal more about my surroundings than anyone expects. In this case, I can tell you where the Jackal is. Apprehend him, and you may just learn how many of these assassinations are his doing.” Her smile widened. “And at whose behest.”

“Unless, of course, this is an obvious trap,” Andros snarled.

Mary held up her right hand, palm out. “By my totem spirit, may my bond with the earth be forsworn if I deceive thee, I swear that I have told you nothing but the truth, and intend to lead you toward enlightenment, and not harm.” She lowered her hand, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Of course, he is the jackal. Pursuing dangerous prey means that harm is more than possible.”

“What was that, exactly?” Basra asked, her eyes narrowed.

“An oath not lightly broken,” Andros rumbled. “…I am satisfied, at least, as to her intentions.”

“You are?” she said, visibly surprised.

“The Huntsmen are acquainted with the ways of the wild. We must deal regularly with elven witches.”

“She’s not hostile toward us,” Branwen added, watching the Crow carefully. Mary turned the smile on her, blinking her eyes languidly.

Darling sighed. “Are we in any shape to go chasing after someone like the Jackal right now?”

“As to that, I can offer you a little aid. A token of good faith.” Mary lifted her left hand from below the level of the table, opened it palm-up, then blew across it. Nothing visible flew outward from her hand, but a gentle scent like herbs and clean water flowed briefly through the room.

Darling unconsciously straightened in his chair, fatigue draining away, leaving him feeling alert and fresh as a daisy. Around the table, the others perked up visibly as well, then exchanged a round of uncertain glances.

“A little warning before you do witchcraft at us would be appreciated,” Basra said testily.

“Of course,” Mary said noncommittally. “Now, we had best move. I will guide you to your quarry, but it will be up to you to bring him down. Alive, remember, or he’s no use to us. I’ll find you outside.”

The black bird let out a hoarse caw, flapping across the room, then slipped out through the upper window which Darling was sure had not been left open when they came in.

“Well, what the hell.” Basra pushed back from the table, standing. “I’m going to swing by the Avenist shrine and arm myself. Meet you lot out front; don’t start without me.”

“Not how I expected to spend the evening,” Branwen murmured, also rising and following the others. Andros had stood and strode toward the door without further comment.

Darling trailed along in the rear, considering the situation and not liking the way it looked. More murders than his girls had committed? And now he was being sent off to confront the person responsible without having them there to watch his back—at the behest of the Crow, no less. He had thought her not guilty of any of the assassinations, knowing their source as he did, but if there were other parties getting in on the action, everything was thrown into doubt.

One thing was certain, though: Mary knew who had carried out the bulk of the killings, and knew that he had ordered them. Her say-so might not be enough to convict him, but it would certainly start the ball rolling, and she had every reason to think of him as a threat. Now, she was guiding him and the other three Bishops toward some revelation of her own design.

Whatever he was heading toward, it wasn’t likely to be good for him.

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4 – 12

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“I just wish you’d at least take somebody with you, ma’am. Believe me, I understand not wantin’ to be cooped up in here anymore, but that’s exactly why it ain’t safe to just take off, with the town the way it is.”

“You’re a sweet boy, Joe,” Lily said fondly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Much too good for the lady you’ve got your eye on. But don’t you worry about little ol’ me. If I were worried about my safety, you can bet I wouldn’t be going.”

“Seriously, she’ll be fine,” Tellwyrn said dryly. “If anything, her leaving just means we’ll miss out on the accidental hilarity of somebody trying to harm her. I’m a little perplexed, though, Lil. It’s not like you to take off in the middle of the action.”

“Oh, this is far from the middle, Arachne,” Lily said, smirking at her. “Anyway, it’s not that I’m not interested in seeing how your little field trip goes, but an old acquaintance of ours has started sniffing around. One I’d rather not have a confrontation with at this time.”

Tellwyrn narrowed her eyes. “Oh? Who?”

“Don’t you fret your pretty head about it, dear. He was always fond of you anyway.”

The Professor’s nostrils flared in irritation, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “Be that as it may, I meant that when you vanish, you usually do just that. It’s the bothering to say goodbye that’s out of character.”

“Really, Arachne. Just because you have no regard for the most basic social graces doesn’t mean nobody else does.”

Lily picked up her carpet bag and strolled toward the door with an entirely unnecessary sway to her movements that commanded everyone’s attention. To her customary scarlet dress she had added an old-fashioned traveling cloak in deep crimson, and now pulled up the hood over her dark hair as she reached the exit. Pausing at the threshold, she half-turned to look back at those assembled.

“Bit of advice, kids,” she said. “A little less enthusiasm, a little more finesse. Toodles!” Wiggling her fingers flirtatiously, she turned and departed, leaving a momentary silence behind her.

“Didn’t she say she was pregnant?” Gabriel asked finally. “Sure doesn’t look it.”

Tellwyrn snorted and stomped over toward the bar.

“I wonder just who that woman really was,” Trissiny said slowly.

“She’s either pretty badass or a fucking idiot, goin’ out there alone,” Ruda agreed. “I mean, what’s she gonna do? Just walk out into the prairie? Try to flag down a caravan? The speed those things travel, I doubt the enchanter driving could even see someone waving.”

“There’s that,” Trissiny said, still frowning at the door, “and the fact that Professor Tellwyrn allowed her to talk to her that way. That’s what throws me off.”

The students, as well as Joe and Jenny, glanced in unison over at the bar, where Tellwyrn was now nursing a whiskey and ostentatiously ignoring them.

“Well,” Toby said after a pause. “I guess there’s no use putting it off. Everything ready, Robin?”

The elf shrugged. “They all know the time and place. I can’t guarantee everyone will turn up, but it’s not like there’s much else for them to do in this town these days. Most of the families are as fortified as they can get inside their homes; even tending their kitchen gardens is risky. Of course, I asked their wives to lean on them a bit, too,” she added with a grin. “That should improve the turnout.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “We’d better move out, then.”

“Just a moment, if I may.”

They turned in surprise at the voice, beholding Heywood Paxton approaching from the stairs to the upper floor, where the private rooms were. He looked much better, with none of the reddened eyes and nose that indicated he’d been at the bottle again. The man had lost weight, and his suit hung on him somewhat loosely, but it looked clean and freshly pressed nonetheless, and the silver gryphon badge of his office gleamed with fresh polish.

“High time this old fool started doing his duty to his Emperor,” he said, head high. “My friends, I thank you not only for coming to the aid of this town, but also for jostling me out of my stupor. You may count on Heywood Paxton, Imperial Surveyor, to do his part.”

“I’m…not sure that’s such a great idea,” Joe said carefully. “You’re a big target, Mr. Paxton.”

“Less so that previously, my boy,” the Surveyor replied with a grin, patting his somewhat diminished paunch.

“You know what I mean,” replied the Kid, his expression growing drawn. “You’re a high priority for the Riders. They can’t have an official Imperial report getting back to Tiraas.”

“And that is precisely what I must accompany this expedition,” he replied, turning to face the students again. “Pardon me for eavesdropping, but there’s precious little else to do around here except drink, and I believe I’ve done far more than my share of that lately. As I grasp it, my friends, your plan is, in part, to provoke a response from the Riders Am I correct?”

“Yes,” Gabe said thoughtfully. “And…yes, you’re right that having you along would be even better bait…”

“I don’t like that at all,” Jenny said, eyes wide. “Heywood, no offense, but you’re no wandfighter. This is too risky. It’s crazy.”

“Ah, but I hardly expect to have to do my own wandfighting,” said Paxton with a grin. “I’ll be with a whole party of heroes! Paladins, clerics, dryads, wizards, even a bard! Safe as houses, I’m sure.”

“Having to look after a civilian does alter the equation somewhat,” said Shaeine. “I am confident that we can protect ourselves from attack, but… On this matter I defer to more tactical minds.”

“It’s doable,” Trissiny said immediately, then turned a sharp stare on Paxton. “Provided that the civilian in question strictly follows orders and stays far from the front lines when combat breaks out.”

“My word on it, Ms. Avelea,” he said, nodding firmly.

“Then it’s up to the healers; they’ll be the ones having to stretch their capacity by an extra head. Shaeine?”

“Ah, let me just cut in here,” said Gabriel. “It’d be better if he went with our group rather than Shaeine’s. An Imperial Surveyor has some official rank that may help us impress the townsfolk. The elves, on the other hand…”

“…may interpret an official Imperial presence as aggressive,” Shaeine finished. “That is a solid point.”

“I thought your whole plan for the grove was to try to agitate them out of their complacency,” said Robin. “That’d be a start.”

“I’d rather appeal to reason and higher virtues first,” said Teal. “If it does come to agitating, well, it’s probably better not to put them on the defensive the moment we walk in. They may already be annoyed with us for showing up a second day in a row. I think a lot of ’em were glad to see us leave the last time.”

“I will, of course, yield to your strategic expertise,” said Paxton, “but quite frankly I’m not sure I’d be much use in dealing with elves. Imperial citizens, now, those I know just how to motivate.”

“That’s settled, then. Right?” Teal looked around for objections. “Right. Okay, then, all we’ll have to do is try to jostle a bunch of hidebound immortals who don’t think our opinions are worth a squirrel’s fart. No problem.”

“You’ve been in this town too long,” Ruda said, grinning. “You’re picking up the vernacular.”

Teal rolled her eyes. “Robin, any guesses how many of the elves hate humans as much as your sister does? If they have a majority, this is pretty much hopeless.”

Robin barked a laugh. “If you mean how many of the elves are anti-human, it’s actually a pretty tiny minority. That’s not the problem. My sister, for your information, loves humans, in every conceivable sense of the word. She is throwing a sulk because her boyfriend’s family were rude to her—which, by the way, was entirely her own fault and has nothing to do with the Riders or anything else going on. That’s going to be the bigger part of the problem. Elves typically err on the side of caution and consistency. The current climate just exacerbates petty disagreements like that, gives leverage to the few who really don’t want to be involved in human affairs, and the whole thing is held down by our general tendency to stay put and wait for something to happen.” She shrugged expressively. “You’re not going to get all the elves behind you, no matter what you do. The trick will be getting enough to break with the group, which…isn’t something we like to do. Shake that complacency enough, though, and you just might walk out of there with some allies.”

“It is a start,” said Shaeine.

“It’ll have to do,” Teal agreed grimly.

“I’ll help,” Jenny said brightly. “I’m good at shaking things up.”

“Jenny,” Joe protested.

“Don’t you start with me, Mr. Jenkins,” she said, leveling a finger at him. “I told you I’m not one to just sit on my hands! I wasn’t about to go take on the White Riders myself, but if people are taking action, I’m in.” She turned back to the others, folding her arms. “And I know a thing or two about elves.”

“Well, we won’t turn down any help,” said Teal. “We’re not going to stop with the elves, though; the plan is to go after the Riders immediately after we finish whatever happens in the grove.” She sighed, glancing at Gabriel. “And, despite what I earnestly wish, I don’t think diplomacy is going to be in the cards, with them. You sure you’re up for that?”

Jenny cracked a lopsided grin. “I may have seen a little bit of action here and there. Don’t you worry about me.”

“Anybody else care to lend a hand?” Toby asked. “Joe? I don’t like the idea of fighting any more than Teal, here, but she’s right: it’s almost surely going to come down to that. An extra pair of wands would be helpful. Besides, you’re widely respected; you’d be a big help in getting people up off their butts.”

Joe shook his head. “My place is here.”

“He’s right,” said Gabriel. “Without him here, there’s nothing to stop the Riders from hitting the Lady as soon as we’re all gone. It’s the biggest holdout against them; burning it and scattering the people here would be their logical move if we left it undefended.” He nodded at Joe, who nodded back gravely.

“Very well, then,” said Trissiny, slinging her shield over her back with an air of finality. “Everyone knows their role. Let’s move out.”

 

Sunset made the streets of Sarasio positively spooky. It was a time when a town should ordinarily be winding down its business; subdued, but still alive, still active. In Sarasio, there was total silence. Orange light stained the pitted street and the dilapidated boards of the buildings lining it, but there was no one about, not so much as a horse or stray dog moving.

The total silence was made more ominous by what lay behind it. This was their third patrol in the streets surrounding the old barn, now converted to a tavern, in which the meeting was being held. On the first, they had been watched, carefully, from the shadows, but apparently word of Trissiny’s performance on their group’s first arrival in town had spread, and none had offered them a challenge. Now, even those dim shapes lurking in doorways and the mouths of alleys had vanished, leaving only the unnatural quiet.

And the prospect of a lightning bolt out of any window.

Gabriel froze as a clatter pierced the quiet, clutching his wand and pointing it first one way, then another, seeking the source of the disturbance. Seconds later, another soft sound followed it, this one clearly coming from a junk-filled alleyway nearby. Clutching the wand in both hands, he aimed it straight for the pile of broken furniture that clogged the narrow opening, then drew in a deep breath, steeling himself to call out a challenge.

He stumbled backward as a small heap of what looked to be barrel staves toppled, and a rabbit shot out of the alley, darting across the road and vanishing into the dried-out bushes opposite.

Gabe slowly let out the breath he’d drawn, some of the tension easing from his frame. He gave Trissiny a sour look.

“Don’t say a word.”

She shook her head. “Too easy.”

With a soft sigh on his part, they resumed their slow circuit.

“Relax,” she said in a low voice.

He gave her an irritated sidelong look. “How in the hell am I supposed to relax? We’re the worms on the end of a hook, here.”

“This was your plan, you know.”

“Yeah, well… It all sounds much less deadly from the comfort of a lavish…uh, brothel.”

“Anyway, I’m serious. You’re wasting energy by holding so much tension. You can most likely survive a wand shot, and I can shield myself.”

“Most likely,” he said sourly. “Could be better odds.”

“I should probably have said ‘almost certainly.’ Compared to what Vadrieny did to you, a bolt of lightning is nothing.”

The silence which ensued was even more strained. The pair of them walked, alone, down the center of the dusty street, eying their surroundings as much for the excuse of avoiding each other’s gaze as to keep watch for ambushers. They had managed, for the most part, not to discuss their brawl on campus and its aftermath; the subject was invariably awkward at the very least.

Turning a corner, they slowed slightly by unspoken consensus, passing the old barn. One of the few stone structures in a town mostly of wood, it, like the ruined one out behind the Shady Lady, had once been part of a farmstead before Sarasio had grown to encompass it. Lamplight blazed from its windows, now, along with the sound of voices. Specifically, the sound of arguing. Two men on either side of the broad front door, each holding staves, nodded at them. Trissiny nodded in return, Gabe saluting with his wand, and they continued along their route, gradually leaving behind the only sight ad sound of other life in the town, the oppressive silence falling around them again.

“They’ll be all right,” he said quietly, nodding at nothing. “Toby’s in there, and Mr. Paxton. If they can’t straighten those folks out, it can’t be done.”

“Ruda is also in there,” Trissiny said darkly. “She can create a fight out of thin air. I shudder to think was she can do from the middle of a whole web of petty vendettas.”

“I didn’t hear you nominating her to come on patrol with us.”

“Once again, you’re invulnerable, and I have defenses. Ruda would be felled instantly by a wandshot. She’s safer in there with the diplomats.” She grimaced, glancing around. “Though all this is for nothing if they can’t get at least most of those people working on the same page.”

“And Teal and Shaeine doing the same with the elves…” He kicked a stone out of the way, scowling after it. “And then we’re assuming the Riders will try something… And with the right timing, too… Augh, I’m an idiot. What was I thinking?”

“Don’t,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “Don’t second-guess yourself after the plan’s in motion. No strategy survives contact with the enemy. If it goes wrong, we’ll adapt.” He sighed, and they walked in silence for a while longer before she spoke again, even more quietly. “It is a good plan, Gabriel.”

He risked a glance at her; she was watching the road ahead. “You’re not just saying that?”

“Seriously? Have I ever gone out of my way to coddle your feelings? Can you imagine me doing that?”

“Fair enough,” he said sourly.

“We wouldn’t all have signed off on it if it weren’t solid. You’re not that persuasive a speaker. They Riders have to know what’s going on, and they have virtually no choice but to respond—and only one method they’re likely to use. The biggest risk is, as you said, the timing. If they strike before we can get in position… But then, most of this is getting these people to work together. An attack by an outside party is the best possible way to do that.” She nodded. “It’s a good plan.”

“What would you say,” he said thoughtfully, “if I told you Ruda’s smarter than any of us give her credit for?”

Trissiny raised her eyebrows, but still kept her attention on the street rather than on him. “I would ask what makes you think so.”

“I’m not sure I do.” He shook his head. “It’s just… A guy I met in the bordello said so.”

“Just…some guy? Someone who’s only seen us a few times, when we were mostly just squabbling?”

“Exactly. I’m not sure whether he was talking out of his ass, or if maybe his outsider opinion… That is, maybe he noticed something we’ve missed. She is royal. I mean, she has to have had training in politics and stuff.”

Trissiny shook her head. “What does it matter?”

“Just thinking out loud, I guess. The different kinds of intelligence. It’s been sort of on my mind, the last day or two, how a person can be really smart in one area and kind of an idiot in others.”

“You mean, the way you actually have a pretty strategic mind, apparently, but possess all the people skills of a billy goat?”

He grimaced. “Just for a completely random example, yeah, sure. Not that you’re one to criticize anybody’s people skills.”

She shrugged.

Gabe coughed softly. “You, uh…actually think I have a strategic mind, though?”

“Really?” She rolled her eyed. “Must we go over this again? I have no intention of stroking your ego, or anything else of yours.”

“Oh, ew. I just got the cold shivers. Don’t say things like that!”

“Yeah, that was ill-advised,” she agreed, twisting her lips in disgust.

“I just… Well, coming from you, ‘strategic’ is pretty high praise. I’m not used to high praise, uh… Coming from you.”

Trissiny shrugged again. “It’s fair. I’ve said your strategy was solid. And don’t forget, I’ve played you at chess, too.”

“Where you won two out of three games.”

“Do you really imagine I didn’t see what you were doing?” Finally, she glanced over at him, but only for a second. “The first two I won quickly, using two different strategies, while you played almost entirely reactive, defensive games. The last one you stretched out, using multiple, deep feints to counter the strategies you’d seen me use, and maneuvered me into exhausting my pieces while you set up a trap. That’s grand strategy, studying an opposing general’s patterns and thinking beyond the needs of the battle at hand. So yes, to my surprise, there does appear to be a highly functional brain lurking somewhere behind that mouth.”

“Ah, well, you know how it is,” he said modestly. “The way I was raised, it’s just good manners to let the lady win.”

She glanced at him again, eyes narrowed. “You are trying to make me stab you now, aren’t you?”

“Invulnerable, remember?”

“Specifically not against a blade crafted by Avei.”

“Well, that’s not really fair, then, is it? You’ve got all kinds of advantages over me in a fight. What say we move this back to the chessboard, next time we have a chance? Best three out of five?”

To her own surprise, Trissiny found herself grinning. “You’re on.”

 

It was out of the question, of course, if he was to keep any shred of control over this situation, but more and more, Toby wanted to plant his face in his hands and groan.

Well over two dozen men crowded the barn, coalesced into small clumps keeping a wary distance between each of them. Despite the palpable tension in the room, they were thankfully leaving one another alone, all their focus on the main table in the center, at which sat the heads of the four families, along with Toby, Ruda and Mr. Paxton. The Surveyor was doing his best to remain professional, but he had wisely left most of the talking to Toby, who actually had formal training in negotiation. Not in Shaeine’s league, of course, but diplomacy called heavily upon the virtues that Omnu sought to instill in his followers: patience, compassion, understanding, respect. Ruda leaned back in her chair, balancing it on its two back legs, her boots propped on the table. She was sipping intermittently from a bottle of whiskey, her hat pulled forward so that it mostly hid her eyes, and not contributing to the conversation. All things considered, Toby decided he was glad of that.

At least there was one thing to be glad of.

“All I’m sayin’ is, we need assurances,” Jonas Hesse said stridently. “Who knows what’ll get back to the Riders, all of us meetin’ like this? Nobody here’s exempt from suspicion!”

“Nobody ‘cept your boys, is what you mean,” snarled Jacob Strickland, the oldest of the four patriarchs at the table. His beard was short, but more gray than brown, and did little to add to his dignity. If anything, he did more shouting than any of the others. He did so now, thrusting a finger at Hesse. “Well? Ain’t it?”

“We all prob’ly suspect everybody else’s boys of bein’ in with the Riders,” said Lucas Wilcox, the youngest of the four, who was leaning back in his chair much like Ruda.

“Gentlemen,” Paxton tried for the third time in the last minute, but Hesse overrode him.

“Nobody calls my sons traitors!” he snarled, jerking to his feet and planting both fists on the table to glare at Wilcox.

“Oh, but you can say what you want about ours?” Ezekiel Conner snapped, folding his arms and glaring mulishly. “Just like a Hesse.”

“Oh, that’s it. You’re gonna eat them words, Ezekiel!”

“Yeah? I don’t see you makin’ me.”

“Gentlemen,” Toby said, much more loudly than Paxton—enough to grab their attention momentarily. “I know you all have issues to work out. Having everybody here at the table is an important first step. But with all due respect, this is not the time.” He held his arms out wide, as if to embrace the whole barn and the town beyond. “Look around you. Sarasio is dying. You—and your families—will die with it if you don’t do something about the White Riders! And to do that, you are going to have to put these vendettas aside and work together.” He leaned forward, trying to hold them still with the sheer intensity of his stare. “Peace takes time and effort to build. I’m not asking you all to suddenly forgive everything and embrace each other. But, just for a little while, please. Put it aside.”

“Ain’t that I don’t appreciate what you’re tryin’ to do, kid,” said Wilcox, nodding to him. “And it ain’t even that you’re wrong. Fact is, though, you’re askin’ us to ride into what’s sure to be a firefight with the very real possibility of bein’ shot in the back.”

“The Riders know too much, we’ve seen it in the way they maneuver,” added Conner, still glaring at Hesse. “Somebody’s tippin’ ’em off. Several somebodies, ‘less I miss my guess.”

“I ain’t puttin’ my life on the line, and sure as hell not any of my family’s, until we straighten out just who the traitors are an’ deal with ’em,” Strickland declared. “An’ until these three dumbasses admit they’ve got Riders among their own families, that don’t look like it’s about to happen.”

“You shut yer foul mouth, Strickland!” Hesse roared, shooting back to his feet. “Your whole brood o’ weasels’re probably in league with the Riders! Hell, I bet you’re leadin’ the bastards yourself! You always did want more’n you deserved outta this town!”

“That does it!” squawked Strickland, also jerking upright. “I’m gonna hear an apology outta you if it’s the last thing you ever—”

Toby slapped both hands down hard on the table, startling them into momentary silence. “Please,” he implored, silently pouring more power into the calming aura he was using to keep this whole thing from exploding into violence. Already, it was a strain to keep enough concentration on that task while also trying to keep the conversation on target. He’d never been in a room with so may deep-seated resentments.

Into the brief quiet, Ruda snorted a laugh. “Listen to you guys. Everybody’s so sure that all the other families are corrupted. First step to dealing with this is you each admitting you’ve all got traitors in your midst.” She lifted her head, meeting their incredulous stares. “Every one of you.”

“Young lady,” Wilcox began.

“It’s Princess, if you wanna be formal. Me, I don’t. Formal doesn’t look good on me.” She jerked her boots off the table and let her chair thump to the ground, leaning forward to stare intently at them. “Use your goddamn heads, boys. Why would the Riders only infiltrate some of the clans populating this town? They need intel on everybody’s movements, or they’d never have been able to head off every effort you made to move against them.”

“Now, look here,” Conner began.

“Furthermore,” Ruda said doggedly, “look around you at what is happening right here, right now. You’re all about to rip each others’ fucking throats out. Is that normal? Is this what life was always like in this town? Or, if you think back carefully, do you find that stuff started getting real bad between you after the Riders started being a big problem?”

“What are you suggesting?” Hesse demanded.

“I’m suggesting the Riders in your ranks aren’t just passing information—they’re pitting you against each other. Think from their perspective: they can’t have the whole town uniting against them, which is the logical thing for a town full of sane fucking people to do when they’re basically under siege. You’ve all got the same damn problem. Now quit pointing fingers and fucking do something about it!”

“That’s all fine an’ dandy,” Strickland growled, “but it don’t change the problem. You wanna round up a posse and take on the Riders? Fine by me. Ain’t a man by the name of Strickland who’ll hang back if that’s what it’s gonna take to save our town. But the fact remains, we got bad apples in the bunch. We ride out, and our men’ll be vulnerable to fire from their own ranks!”

“She ain’t wrong, though,” Wilcox noted. “It ain’t just any one family’s problem.”

“What difference does it make?” Hesse demanded.

“It makes a difference,” Toby said firmly, “because you will all face the same peril together. Do you really believe there’s any way to do this without putting men in danger?” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t lie to you, gentlemen, even if I thought you were naïve enough not to have realized the truth on your own: ride out to battle, and men will die. Right now, you are quibbling over the ways and means in which that might happen, and avoiding the larger truth.”

“You callin’ us yellow?” Strickland growled squinting at him.

“No!” He managed, barely, not to shout. Honestly, they were like children. “I’m pointing out that Ruda is right. You’ve been manipulated, gentlemen; someone has been trying to distract you, to focus your energies against each other.”

“Well, maybe our energies belong against each other!” Hesse shot back. “I ain’t seen one bit of evidence any man in my family’s sided with the Riders, and I’m not puttin’ any of ’em in harm’s way to save a bunch o’ chickenshit varmints who can’t keep order in their own clans!”

The whole table instantly dissolved into shouted pandemonium, the voices too loud and too rapid for any single thread to be clearly heard. All four men were on their feet, pointing and gesticulating at each other and growing increasingly red in the face. Now, other voices began contributing from all corners of the room, first shouting at the general mess at the round table, and then starting in on each other. Toby slumped back in his chair, rubbing his forehead; Paxton planted his elbows on the table, putting his face in his hands.

“Okay,” said Ruda, “this is bullshit.”

She stood up, tilted up the bottle of whiskey to gulp down the last of its contents, then hurled the empty bottle at Wilcox and punched Strickland in the jaw.

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4 – 9

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The Shady Lady’s position near the outskirts of town had probably been necessary in the days when Sarasio had possessed a functional society. No matter how upscale, nobody enjoyed living near a brothel. The fenced-in yard behind the bordello contained little but tamped-down earth, a couple of storage sheds and some moldering old farm equipment of uncertain provenance, though a smaller plot had been roped off with stakes and twine, and was apparently being used as a garden. It was completely barren, having apparently been planted recently, far too late in the season. At the far end of the yard was an old fieldstone barn, more sturdily constructed than most of the wooden town, and also in ruins; at some point in the past, fire had gutted it, leaving only the standing stone walls. These were heavily marred by scorch marks and what seemed to be the damage of small explosions.

Gabriel wandered out after a desultory lunch of strictly rationed and unseasoned beans and rice, to find Joe practicing quick-draw shooting against the old barn. To judge by all the scoring on the stones, this was a long-standing custom. The wall had been pitted almost through in a few places, and had a sizable chunk blown out of one corner. Off to one side and behind the shooting, Ruda was trying to show some of the Shady Lady’s girls some knife fighting tricks, though it seemed to be slow going as they were rather distracted watching Joe. Their tutor took this with good humor, and in fact contributed a murmured observation that sent them all into peals of laughter.

Glancing over at this, Joe noticed Gabe approaching and nodded in greeting, holstering his wands. “Afternoon. How’d your planning session go?”

“Eh, it…went.” Gabriel made a face. “I think everyone’s more or less on the same page now. It was a bit of an uphill battle getting them to take my ideas seriously at first.”

“Oh?”

“To be fair, I guess I haven’t shown them much reason to respect my intelligence up till now,” he said ruefully.

“Mm. First impression’s a hard thing to overcome.”

“Tell me about it. Anyhow, we didn’t mean to chase you off. In fact, I’m sure everybody would’ve welcomed your input.”

Joe shook his head. “Afraid I’m not much of a strategic thinker. Put me in a situation with an armed enemy and I do fine. Arranging those situations…not my strong suit.”

“Yeah, well…” Gabriel shrugged. “We’re gonna try to do just that. It’d help a lot if we could count on you to come along. Both in dealing with the Riders and in gathering support. You’re basically a hero in this town, and according to Robin even a number of the elves respect you.”

“Amazing how easy that is,” Joe said wryly. “People become remarkably less standoffish if you’re polite to ’em. But…no, I’m afraid not. Me bein’ here is what keeps the Riders elsewhere. Last time I took it into my head to go out an’ do somethin’ proactive about them, they hit the Lady as soon as I was too far away to get back quickly.” He looked away, staring at the old barn with an intensity that belonged to something else, a muscle in his jaw working. Gabriel was struck by the contrast between his youthful face and haggard expression. The Kid had lived through much more already than a person should have to. “One of the men was killed, an’ two of the girls hurt. One badly. Robin called in some kinda favor at the grove an’ got a shaman to come out here and help. He wasn’t pleased to be dealing with humans, but for all of that, he did good work. The elves respect life, and balance. I guess lettin’ a young woman die slowly of lightning burns was more’n he could stomach.”

“How is she?” Gabe asked quietly.

“Alive, pretty much well,” he replied, nodding. “She has some scars. Not bad ones, but… That’s still a hard thing for a girl, specially one used to makin’ her living by bein’ pretty. Burn wounds are nasty. So, what’ve you got there?” He directed his gaze to the object in Gabriel’s hand.

“Ah, well… Actually, I’m sure you probably get pestered quite a lot about it, but since we’re all sort of cooped up here for the moment, maybe you could give me some pointers?” He lifted the wand he was holding, his voice rising hopefully.

“Ever used one of those before?”

“Nope.”

“Hm. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, some guy accosted us in the street when we got here. Trissiny beat him down and broke his wand hand, and he sort of…left this behind in his hurry to get away.” He grinned. “Triss has that effect on people. I asked if she wanted it—spoils of battle and all that—and she just looked at me like I was an idiot. Or at least I think she did. Maybe that’s just what her face looks like. When I’m around, anyway.”

“Mind if I have a look?”

“Sure.”

Gabriel handed over the wand and Joe held it lightly, turning it this way and that to examine it. “Mm. Mass-produced, not exactly a showpiece, but not a cheap knockoff, either. Indifferently maintained, but no major damage. Yeah, not a bad little piece. Actually, pretty nice for a first weapon. How much do you understand about how these work?” he asked, handing it back.

“Um… How annoyed will you be if I say ‘aim the pointy end at the other guy?’”

“Depends on whether you’re genuinely dumb or think that’s funny,” Joe replied with a wry half-grin. “All right, the good news is you’re a college student, so you’re pretty well accustomed to lectures. We’ll start with basic assembly.” He drew one of his own wands and held it up. “First thing you’ll note is the grip here at the base unscrews from the shaft, like so. Inside that grip, you’ll find…yup, there it is. Looks to be in pretty good shape, too.”

“Is this quartz?” Gabriel asked, studying the small crystal which had been hidden inside the grip of his wand. The rest of it lay in pieces in his other hand, now; in addition to the grip, the trigger mechanism had come loose when he’d screwed the two main pieces apart, as it apparently rested between them.

“That one looks to be, yep. It’s rough-cut, but that doesn’t make as much of a difference as some enchanters think. See how it’s glowing, just faintly? Means it’s got a pretty good charge. Hard to make out at this time of day, but you can use your wand’s power crystal to read by at night, assuming you keep it charged. Recharging is simple enough, you can do it with standard enchanting dusts of the kind shops carry.”

“Does it ever wear out?”

“Eventually, that one will. Natural quartz is both cheap and effective, which is why it’s popular, but after too much recharging it’ll start to develop cracks, and then you wanna switch it out for a fresh one as quick as you can.”

“Otherwise…boom?” Gabriel winced.

Joe shook his head. “Not from that. Wands don’t blow up easily; if you overheat it, it can, that’s why they tend to go off if you set them on fire. But even that won’t happen if you have a safety charm on the clicker. Nowadays, all wands use crystals for power sources. They’re more stable, less volatile than older methods.” He held up the one from his own wand; it was both longer and thicker than Gabe’s, glowing steadily with an intensity that rivaled Fross in flight, and capped on both ends with gold filament. “This has a much greater capacity and is endlessly rechargable; it also slowly regains energy from ambient arcane magic between actual rechargings. Some folks’ll swear that natural materials are best; they are either hidebound traditionalists or trying to sell you natural materials. Modern alchemical synthetics are more expensive—by far—but perform much better. In the old days, wands would use things from magical creatures as power sources. Phoenix feathers, dragon heartstrings, unicorn horn…”

“Yikes.” Gabriel grimaced. “Feathers I can see, but… Wouldn’t you have to kill something to get its heartstrings or horn?”

“Yup,” Joe said grimly, nodding, “which is the main reason that practice has died off, apart from the inefficiency of those power sources. They last longer—possibly infinitely, in fact. There are early phoenix-feather wands still functioning. They’re fickle, though, and don’t give you the kind of consistent output as a modern lightning wand. Different kinds of power for each one. Half the fight was knowing what kind of weapon your opponent had, and you tended to make enemies depending on what kind you had. A dragon wand would prompt pretty much any dragon to roast you on the spot, and elves get very unfriendly toward people who use pieces of unicorn as magical gear.”

“Well, hooray for modern enchantment!”

“No kiddin’. Now, you’ll note yours has a clicker and mine doesn’t. That’s because I’m an enchanter; I fire it with my mind.”

“How’s that work, exactly?”

“I’ll show you in just a minute, we’re almost done with the physical inventory of pieces. All that’s left is the shaft. See those markings?”

Gabriel held the shaft of his wand up to his face and squinted at them. “Oh, yeah. That’s really faint…”

“They don’t need to be deep, just precise. Those carvings are treated with enchanting dusts; they’re what makes the wand work when the shaft is exposed to raw arcane energy from the power source. Squeeze the clicker to open a gate between them, then the shaft is drawing pure power from the crystal and turns that into a lightning bolt as per the instructions coded into those runes. Lightning tends to sort of jump all over, so it’s actually multiple enchantments; the directional charm makes a tunnel of ionized air that it prefers to travel through. Your aim will still be messed up if the bolt arcs too close to something metal, though. The upside is it’ll naturally tend to jump into a body, so you don’t have to be too precise in your shots. That’s why these things are pretty well impossible to dodge, even with magical speed boosters in effect.”

“Um… What does ‘ionized’ mean?”

“I do not know.” Grinning, Joe shook his head again. “Had a wizard explain it to me once; after a half hour lecture on advanced arcane physics, all I came away with was the realization that I wasn’t that curious after all. Now, see how your carvings there are slightly eroded? That happens with time and use. This one’ll pull slightly to the left, your ionized airstream is weaker on that side with the decay pattern. And that’s why you never, ever fire a wand with a damaged shaft. There is really no telling what will happen.”

“So…the lightning bolt travels along the shaft and out the front…”

“No, no. Arcane energy is drawn along the shaft and forms a lightning bolt several inches in front of the wand, proceeding from there.”

“Really? Seems…roundabout.”

“Gabriel, have you ever seen a tree that’s been struck by lightning? That is what happens when a massive charge of electricity passes through wood.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Then…why use wood?”

“Metal holds enchantments better, precisely because it inhibits them from moving around, and it conducts electricity beautifully. It would try to stabilize the charge and not propel the lightning outward; and if it did, it’d just arc back along the shaft, frying you. Wood is the opposite. It’s an excellent magical conductor, but doesn’t conduct lightning. Alchemically treated synthetic wood is, of course, even better.” He held up his own wand; the shaft was black and longer than Gabe’s.

“So, the actual lighting bolt isn’t formed in the shaft.” Gabriel tilted up the disconnected shaft, peering at the tip from inches away. “Good to know. Is that why—”

He broke off as a scowling Joe snatched it out of his hand. “Don’t ever point that thing at your face, you lunatic.”

“It’s in pieces!”

“Don’t. Point it. At. Your. Face.” The Kid’s eyes bored into his fiercely. He handed back the piece of Gabriel’s wand, holding up his own for emphasis. “This is an enchanted device whose only function is to dispense white-hot death. You never treat it as if it’s disarmed, or harmless. Do not point it at anything you don’t fully intend to destroy.”

“Right,” Gabriel said a little weakly. “Noted. Gotcha.”

“Put her back together,” Joe said a little more easily, “and take a shot at the wall there.”

Gabriel re-inserted the power crystal and carefully screwed the wand back into one piece, being certain to keep it pointed away from himself and anyone else. The girls were unabashedly watching, now, but he ignored them. Holding the weapon out at arm’s length, he squeezed the clicker.

CRACK!

Lightning leaped forward, adding another black scar to the stone wall, where it blended with its predecessors.

“Wow,” Gabe murmured, tilting the wand upward. Smoke rose faintly from the tip. “You were right. Little to the left.”

“They’re made of interchangeable parts,” said Joe, “so you’ll be able to find a replacement shaft without much trouble. It’s wise to carry spares of everything, in fact, if you’re gonna be away from a supplier for any length of time.”

“Can it be…repaired?”

“If you’re an enchanter? Sure. Should it be?” He shook his head. “Not if you have any other option. Re-engraving the shaft will make the enchantment…unreliable. It wears out exponentially faster each time, assuming it keeps working long enough for a second re-engraving. Using a cracked power crystal will just make the thing shut down and turn into so much driftwood if the crystal shatters—which it will. Firing a wand with a faulty clicker… Either the safety charm will lock and it just won’t fire, or it’ll lock itself open and you’ll be holding a stick that constantly sprays lightning with no control. Actually, it’ll only do that long enough to heat the wood till its binding matrix fails and the power all goes out in one big blast.”

“Yikes. So…take care of your equipment. Got it.”

“See that you do. Now, on the subject of clickers…put that away, let me show you how these work.”

Joe placed the grip of his own wand in Gabriel’s hand, then laid his own hand over it. The wand was identical to the one in his other holster: longer than the standard-issue one Gabe had just tucked into his coat pocket, coal black and its grip banded with yellowed ivory. “The thing about enchanter wands is…well, either you can, or you can’t. It depends on whether a person has any magical potential at all, any gift at using the arcane.”

“I’m an enchanting major…”

“Yeah? Actually done any enchanting yet?”

“All theory so far,” Gabriel admitted.

“Then this’ll be an important test for you. There’s pretty much no way to figure this out but to be attuned by someone who already uses such a wand. Now, you’re holding the weapon, but I’m holding you. A person is magically conductive, so… I’m going to fire the wand through you. Keep your attention on the wand, and tell me if you feel anything.”

The bolt of energy that shot forth before Gabriel could speak was different than the wands he had seen used thus far. Clean, pure white and traveling in a straight line, it was more like a concentrated moonbeam than a lightning bolt, though it made the same sound and left the same sharp scent of ozone drift from the tip of the weapon.

“Oh…wow,” he whispered.

“Got it, you think?” Joe pulled back, stepping away from him.

“I got…something. It felt like… I dunno.”

“You don’t need to be able to describe it,” the Kid said with a grin. “Some folks write poetry about the sensation, if you’re the type who enjoys that. Just see if you can reproduce it. Keep the wand aimed at the wall, and recall what it felt like. Call it up again. If you can get the same—”

Light blasted forth, making a small crater in the side of the barn. There came an outpouring of cheers and applause from the watching girls, led by Ruda.

Gabriel lowered the wand, grinning. “Wow.”

“Congratulations,” said Joe with an easy smile. “You’ve got the spark.” He held out his hand, and Gabriel placed the wand in it with a trace of reluctance. “Yeah, she’s a beauty, isn’t she? Eventually you’re gonna want to create your own weapon, if you’re planning to be an enchanter. Don’t be in a hurry, though. Trying to craft a custom wand without understanding the spells involved is an excellent way to blast yourself right off the mortal plane.”

“I’ll remember that. So…where’d you learn all this?”

There was quiet for just a moment, then Ruda began loudly resuming her own lessons. Joe held his peace a bit longer, staring down at the wand in his hand before finally holstering it.

“People ask me what makes me such a good wandfighter,” he said at last. “Truthfully, I always considered it some sort of mental defect. I can…feel numbers.”

“You, uh…” Gabriel blinked. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Angles,” said Joe, looking up at him. “Force, voltage, temperature, pressure… Most people, as I understand it, live in a wet and squishy world of variables that don’t explicitly mean anything to them. Me, I live in a world of math. Everything is made of hard quantities—I see just how they all intersect, where the tiniest force will have the most impact. Frankly I don’t even know the terminology for most of the kinds of energy I can perceive, and I ain’t interested in learning. Knowing how electricity and heat work mean I have a great intuitive command of wandfighting, yeah, but it also means I’m always conscious of the weather in a way you’re probably not. It’s…distracting.”

“Damn,” said Gabe slowly, and for once Joe didn’t correct his language.

“Mamie taught me a lot more,” the Kid said more quietly. “After Hoss and his gang killed my pa, she took me in, here. Took in lots of kids, mostly girls… And some’d say that making a runaway girl a whore was a heartless thing to do, but here, Mamie could look after ’em, teach us all skills we’d use later in life. It’s not like any of us had better prospects. Anyhow, I’ve been luckier’n most—I make my living at the card table.”

“You can…make a living playing poker?” Gabriel said in astonishment. To judge by the Kid’s fine suit and the huge chunk of tigerseye in his bolo tie, to say nothing of those clearly custom-made wands, it must be a pretty good living at least.

Joe’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “I can. World of numbers, remember?”

“Ah. Right. Yeah, I can see how that’d help. So, Mamie runs this place? I don’t think I’ve met her yet.”

Joe turned back to look at the girls, one of who was being guided through a series of knife attacks by Ruda while the others looked on. He shifted his gaze from there to the Shady Lady itself. “She was actually a wandfighter, too, in her youth. Dabbled a bit in fae magic, mostly bits and bobs she picked up from the local elves; never got good enough to be considered a real witch. For that, you have to either enslave some kind of fae creature or form a relationship with one, and she had other things to do. When the Riders started getting bad, Mamie rode off to deal with ’em.” He clenched his fingers into fists, then very deliberately relaxed them. “We ain’t seen ‘er since.”

Gabriel just looked at him helplessly for a long moment while the princess and the prostitutes laughed and scuffled in the background.

“We’ll get them,” he said finally, quietly.

Joe nodded. “These people are depending on me; I can’t leave ’em.” He turned to fix Gabriel with a hard stare. “But you bring those Riders here, and…we’ll see.”

 

Deep in thought, he wandered back through the main area, barely noting the refugees, students and miscellaneous others dotting the room, and took a seat at the bar.

“That’s an even longer face than the situation warrants,” said the man next to him, and Gabriel started.

“Oh,” he said lamely, “sorry, I… Didn’t even see you there. Kinda lost in thought. Sorry, I don’t mean to disturb you.”

The man waved a hand dismissively. “If I can manage not to be disturbed by this town and this very charming prison, you’re no threat to my equanimity, no offense.” He reached into his long, black coat and pulled out a silver flask. “Have a drink with me. It’s not like there’s much else for us to do.”

“Sure,” said Gabriel with a bit more interest as Horace set a couple of glasses in front of them. “What’re we having?”

The man chuckled as he poured two fingers of amber liquid into one of the glasses. “You’re having water, as usual. I clearly heard your Professor’s orders concerning her students and drinking. Now that’s a lady I don’t need mad at me.”

“Boy, ain’t that the truth,” Gabriel muttered, nodding thanks at Horace after his own glass was filled with water. “I could do with having her mad at me a little less.”

He studied his new companion sidelong. Dressed in a sweeping black coat and a wide-brimmed matching hat which he hadn’t removed despite being inside, he looked sort of like a Universal Church parson, but something about his aspect didn’t agree with that impression. He had a long, narrow face, his jaw lined by a thin beard, and there was something sly in the movements of his deep-set eyes and long fingers. Not menacing, but crafty.

“What is it you keep doing to make her mad, then?”

Gabe shrugged, toying with his glass. “Speaking without thinking, mostly. She takes particular exception to that.”

“Sounds like an educator, all right.” He swirled the untouched liquor in his glass, smiling thinly to himself. “Also sounds like a bad habit on your part. Forgive my eavesdropping, but there’s a stark lack of anything else to do around here. Your friend the paladin certainly seems to believe in you, and you managed to get the rest of your class on board with your plan. It’s not as if they think you’re stupid, then.”

“I guess. Just…thoughtless. Which is fair.”

“Is it?”

Gabe took a sip of water and chuckled bitterly. “When you’re born a half-demon, you learn quickly enough to accept that you’re just never going to be quite…right. And yeah, I was, and am. You can run screaming now, if you want. Promise I won’t be offended.”

“And what if, instead of screaming and running, I doused you in holy water?” the man suggested. Gabriel leaned away, looking at him askance, and he laughed. “Oh, relax. You’re in luck; I don’t happen to be carrying any. Anyhow, I think I can understand your position. A dual nature, caught between one thing and another. You might find it surprising how many people could relate, if they bothered to try.”

“Why should they?” He shrugged morosely. “Demons are evil creatures.”

“Destructive creatures, sure, but the nature of evil is a little subtler than that. To the fly, the spider is an evil creature.”

“Spiders are evil creatures to everyone.”

“Really? Have you shared that insight with your friend the dryad?” He grinned. “If not for spiders we’d be knee-deep in bugs at all times—bugs that, unlike spiders, are actually harmful to human life. There’s a place in this world for creepy, venomous things.”

“Yay. Woo.” Gabriel threw up one hand in a lackluster parody of enthusiasm. “I have a place.”

“I just wonder, though, how much effort you’ve made to find a place that suits you,” the man said thoughtfully, staring into his glass. “Seems to me you’ve got a couple of things mixed up. Being half-demon, now…that’s something you are. Can’t do anything about that. Growing up with a thing like that, maybe you start to see everything that’s wrong in your life as some kind of immovable object, when in fact, a lot of them are well within your power to change.”

“Yeah?” Gabriel gave him a skeptical look. “Like what?”

“Like, for example, your habit of blurting out the first thing that pops into your mind. All your friends over there who don’t do that, especially the pirate. You think that’s not a learned trait? It’s only children who are so honest; everyone else learns some self-control. I wonder if you’ve ever made a serious go at it.”

“Ruda?” Gabe said, then snorted. “If anything she’s got a bigger mouth than me.”

“That girl is smarter than any two of the rest of your group put together,” said the man with a smile that was dangerously near to a smirk. “The signs are there if you watch for ’em. Oh, she flaps her tongue a lot, but she does it to create a specific impression; she’s not just venting the contents of her skull, like you. So let me pose you a question: what have you done, exactly, to bring your own yapper under control? Ever made a solid effort at it? Or did you just decide that spouting off like a dumbass is as much a part of you as bursting into flames when you step into a temple?”

Gabriel frowned at his water. “I…hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Maybe that’s your problem then, eh?”

“Maybe so,” he said slowly. “I, uh…don’t think I caught your name.”

“Don’t think you did, either.” The man rose from his stool, his motions smooth but somehow off; it was like watching a spider in human form unfurl his limbs. “Something to think about, anyway. Here’s a little advice for free: stay clear of the woman in red.”

“Lily?” Gabe looked up at him, blinking. “Tellwyrn’s friend? She seems harmless enough.”

“Nobody’s harmless, son. Nobody. The ones who seem harmless are hiding something. But by all means, don’t take my word for it.” He tugged the brim of his hat. “I’m sure we’ll have time to chat later. Try some things out; be sure to let me know how they go.”

The man backed up two steps, then turned and strolled away with his glass of untouched liquor. Gabriel watched him go for a moment, then swiveled back forward and frowned into his own drink, quickly growing lost in thought.

How long he sat there, mulling, he couldn’t have said, but it was brought to an end by a thump on the bar next to him that made him start nearly out of his stool.

Trissiny slid onto the recently-vacated seat, unfolded the wooden chessboard she had just laid down and began setting up pieces from a bag she plopped into the bar next to it.

“There you are,” she said. “Took me a while to find one of these.”

“Um…Triss?” He blinked at her. “Can I…help you?”

“Yes. You can be white.” She gave him a cool look, but a more considering one than he was used to getting from her. “Show me what you’ve got.”

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