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For centuries Onkawa had been known in song and story as the Jewel of the West, but in the modern era it had also taken to calling itself the Tiraas of the West. The first city-state of the coastal provinces to join the Empire’s march and the only one to do so willingly, it had old and deep ties to the Silver Throne and was one of the only places in this part of the continent where to be seen as Tiraan was considered desirable.

Like Tiraas, Onkawa was a political capital, a seat of learning and culture filled with libraries, museums and academies, as well as a financial center home to trade guild halls and trading syndicates. It was also a city whose shape was defined by rivers and cliffs, with some districts perpetually filled by the roar of waterfalls.

The similarities ended there. The cliffs which bordered Onkawa on its western edge were an uneven sixty to a hundred feet high—tall enough to be good and fatal if one were to tumble off, but hardly the imposing drop of the Tira Falls. All manner of stairs, ramps and tunnels made travel up and down all but routine. Three rivers passed through the city, broad, shallow and sluggish as opposed to the Tira’s furious rapids, pouring over the cliffs into a lake below the city. Where Tiraas was a walled city tightly packed onto its island mountaintop, Onkawa sprawled across the granite plain above the marshlands below; no fewer than three concentric rings of old walls marched through it, most now crumbling and neglected, and the city continued to meander ever outward like a spreading urban puddle. There was no major industry to speak of, no factory antennae lighting up the night, though the Onkawi had their share of fairy lamps, Rail lines and scrolltowers. Best of all, at this time of year, was the city’s tropical clime.

In fact, quite a few of the well-to-do of Tiraas chose to winter in the Jewel of the West. The pace of life was slow, the cost of living low, the streets colorful and the people cheerfully outgoing. If one hadn’t the luxury of garden walls and hired guards, though, life in Onkawa tended to be dangerous and dirty. For the richer classes, the squalor of the baking streets just outside their villas was as distant as the freezing drizzle back home in Tiraas.

Approaching one of these estates, Kheshiri couldn’t help being impressed by both its defensible position and lavish appointments. The walled compound backed right up against a stretch of the old city walls, which towered above, cutting off the view to the south. Its own walls were much more modest, but glistened along their upper reaches, where shards of broken glass had been arranged into abstract mosaic murals—with their sharp edges extending outward. Beautiful and vicious; she appreciated every part of it. From the street out front, she could see three guards patrolling the tops of these walls, as well as the tops of trees extending upward from the gardens within.

The broad gates, though, stood open. A guard lounged outside, slumped against the wall and seeming half-asleep under the beating sun, but she could feel his acute attention to his surroundings. A broad-brimmed hat protected him from sunstroke while also concealing his eyes, and he wore neither armor nor uniform, though a scimitar was thrust through his colorful sash and he cradled a staff in the crook of one arm. As she strolled up, a trio of laughing young women sauntered out of the compound, ignoring both her and the guard.

Kheshiri paused in front of the open gate, peering about and putting on an intimidated expression. There was music and laughter from the gardens within; she could see people lounging around a broad pool. It seemed more like some kind of resort than a private residence.

“Help you?” asked the guard, eying her up and down with lazy approval.

She had chosen to style herself as a local. Her skin was as dark as his, a shade or two past mahogany, her thick black hair tied back in the multiple braids currently worn by fashionable young Onkawi women. The rubber sandals flapped annoyingly when she walked—amazing how they all seemed used to it here—but she enjoyed the sheer, colorful wraparound garment that passed as a dress, tied about the waist by a broad sash in a manner that emphasized her curves.

“I-is this Mr. Vandro’s residence?” she asked a little uncertainly. Kheshiri, as always, knew precisely where she was, but a big man with a weapon usually liked to feel superior, especially when talking with a pretty girl. Confidence and competence played up the “mysterious and alluring” angle, which didn’t suit her current character.

“It is,” he said, nodding and not exerting himself overmuch to maintain eye contact. “Come to join the party?”

“Oh, I… No, I’m not visiting. I have a message for Mr. Vandro.” She raised the envelope in her hand, pressing it protectively against her breast—and drawing his attention there.

“Shame,” the guard said with a vaguely smarmy smile. “Just head on in. Follow the path straight through the garden to the main house. Mr. Vandro’s probably busy, but you can leave a message with Wilberforce, his Butler. Any of the servants can call him for you.”

“Oh! Oh, um, okay. Thanks!”

He looked her over again, one side of his mouth twitching upward in a grin. “Don’t mention it.”

Kheshiri affected a bashful duck of the head as she trotted past him into the grounds. She didn’t roll her eyes once out of his view—there were people about, it wouldn’t do to break character. It was tempting, though. Big man with a weapon.

She looked thoroughly impressed and out of her element while traversing the lavish gardens, hunching her shoulders and picking up her pace on being catcalled by one of the guests. All the while, she analyzed her surroundings carefully and came up impressed. The guards weren’t numerous, but they were strategically placed. Doors were sturdily constructed, in contrast to the usual Onkawi custom of making things as flimsy and open as possible to encourage cooling breezes; Vandro’s estate made use of heavy oak doors and shutters, often with large cut-outs as a concession to airflow, set with thick iron bars in sturdy frames. More bars lined the windows, and whatever access there was to the wall tops was apparently locked away, available only to authorized personnel. More of those deadly glass murals lined the inner walls; this place could protect itself from its guests as well as any potential invasion.

The central building was pleasantly cool, shaded from the sun and inhabited by a constant, gentle breeze. The architecture provided part of that, no doubt, but considering some of the things she’d seen lately Kheshiri had to wonder if there was some passive enchantment at work, too. The long hall rose two stories from its marble floor, lined with huge silken hangings that billowed in the soft currents of air; a long, low pool ran the length of the center of the floor, fed by a laughing fountain at the far end.

It was quieter, too. A young Sifanese woman sat on a bench near the far end, idly fanning herself and reading a magazine; she glanced up at Kheshiri but quickly dismissed her from interest. A local servant was pushing a mop across the glossy marble; the succubus made a beeline for him.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, “I just have a message to deliver, I was told to ask for Wilberforce?”

The man looked up at her, blinking as though waking up. “Oh, uh, he’s around somewh—”

“May I help you, miss?”

Kheshiri had heard him approach, of course, but still jumped slightly and gasped before whirling to face the Butler. He was a man in his later middle years, hair gone steely gray, but still trim and unbowed, his eyes sharply intelligent. His neatly pressed suit looked like it would have to be horribly uncomfortable in this climate, but he didn’t even appear to be sweating.

“Um, are you the, uh, him?”

“I am Wilberforce, Mr. Vandro’s Butler,” the man said blandly.

“Oh! Good, the guard said… That is, I have a message for Mr. Vandro. He said you could get it to him?”

“And may I tell Mr. Vandro who called upon him?” the Butler asked, deftly plucking the envelope from her hand.

Kheshiri bit her lip. “I don’t think I’m… I mean, I’m sure it’s all explained in the letter.”

“I see,” he said, somehow clearly expressing disapproval without breaking his courteous deadpan in the slightest. She was impressed in spite of herself. “I will see that Mr. Vandro receives this with all haste.”

“Oh, thanks so much,” she said, practically gushing with relief. “I, uh… I’ll just be going then. Thank you!”

“Not at all, miss,” he said politely.

She could feel his eyes on her as she trotted back out into the garden, and he wasn’t inspecting her rump. Kheshiri made a mental note to be careful around that one in the future.

“Be safe,” the guard outside said to her as she exited the compound.

“Thank you!” she replied with a demure smile, setting off back the way she had come at a respectable clip. He did stare at her butt as she departed. She resisted the urge to put a little more than her customary sway into it.

Two streets over, five minutes later, she was still in a wealthy district, though the walled private villas had yielded to exclusive shops—jewelry, antiques and the like. The street ran along one of the city’s three rivers, an ornamental iron rail on one side and storefronts on the other. She had subtly tweaked her appearance as she stepped onto the boardwalk, not drastically enough to draw attention, just the addition of some jewelry and cosmetics and an improvement in the cut and fabric of her dress, so she wouldn’t look out of place in this neighborhood. The guards wouldn’t pay attention to a clearly wealthy woman out for a mid-morning stroll.

People flowed along on all sides, and she let the currents of the crowd carry her. Most of those present were Onkawi, tall humans with dark skin and colorful local garments, though in a district this ritzy there were more than a handful of olive-skinned Tiraan present, and even some paler Stalweiss types. Or possibly folk from the newly-settled Great Plains region; they apparently tended toward pale complexions as well. The new world took some getting used to; last time Kheshiri had been out and about, there was nothing within leagues of the Golden Sea but elves and centaurs. She spotted three gnomes sitting on the rail, chatting, and at one point a dwarf trundling along the street, but the people were overwhelmingly human. No elves at all, which suited her fine. Elves were annoyingly perceptive.

The street was well-patrolled and orderly, for the most part. One person tried to pick her pocket; she calmly raked the offending hand with vicious claws that in the next instant weren’t there. The would-be cutpurse was too professional to draw attention, but she could feel the pain and shock radiating from him. She savored it until he vanished into the near distance behind her.

It took her nearly half an hour, keeping to a meandering pace, to spot a suitable mark. He was clearly a merchant, strolling along rapidly, his mouth moving in silence as he peered at a sheet of expensive white paper in his hand. His clothes were well-cut, but rumpled and bore ink stains. Rich, but careless—perfect.

She had placed herself at the rail, leaning against it and gazing dreamily out over the water. At the target’s approach, she “absentmindedly” backed up, and he walked right into her. Kheshiri yelped and went staggering, wheeling her arms for balance.

“Oh, gods!” The man dropped his list and reached out frantically, catching her in time to save her from tumbling to the pavement. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—are you all right?”

“Watch the hands!” she snapped, pushing him away. “And watch where you’re going, idiot!”

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, wringing his hands as he stepped back. “I just didn’t see—are you quite all right? Let me make it up to…”

“Hmph!” Sticking her nose in the air, she strode past him, stalking away down the boardwalk and ignoring his last shouted apology as he receded into the crowd behind her.

She crossed the river at the next footbridge that came up, and waited till she was two streets distant from it to inspect the contents of the merchant’s purse. Excellent—loaded with doubloons, and even four decabloons. A few silver pieces, too, but clearly he was of a class that didn’t consider copper coins worth the effort of carrying.

Kheshiri stopped at a food cart to acquire a delightful confection of crushed ice and orange juice. In and around flirting with the scrawny youth manning the cart, she inspected the enchanted devices which composed it. A cold-creating charm, another to condense moisture out of the atmosphere and a third, much simpler enchantment powering a grinding wheel to keep the resulting frost thoroughly mixed, all working together to create an unlimited supply of crushed ice—at least as long as its power crystal held out, which was likely to be basically forever. Those things were used in wands, staved and even horseless carriages.

It was amazing. Back in her day…well, it wasn’t that magic wasn’t used on such frippery, but only the richest of the rich could have afforded it. Royalty, or upper aristocracy at minimum. Now? This car sat right on the street, dispensing wonder for pocket change to whoever happened by. Humanity had come so far, so fast…

Kheshiri found a bench in a small, sunny park, and lounged, basking in the sun and enjoying her frosty treat. It wasn’t that she had nowhere to be, but she took her time finishing the confection, then licking the melted juice from her fingers unabashedly before finally rising and continuing on her languid way.

 

It was nearing noon and the streets had mostly cleared by the time she got back to the crumbling, sprawling inn-cum-tenement from which she had set out that morning. The heat was nothing to her, obviously, but the city’s human residents customarily took shelter during the hottest part of the day. Kheshiri navigated the stained hallways and rickety steps back to the room and rapped on the door.

There came furtive motion from within; she stood patiently, waiting for him to identify her through the peephole. All of a sudden, the door was yanked open and Shook grabbed her by the arm, hauling her roughly inside and slamming it behind her.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he snarled, rounding on her.

“I’m sorry!” she said, shrinking in on herself and staring up at him wide-eyed through her lashes. “I really thought I knew this city, but it’s not like Tiraas, with all the historical architecture. They keep changing everything! All the landmarks are different, some of the streets are different even. There’s some kind of temple where the Royal Avenue used to be!”

His annoyance diminished visibly, even to the point of a faint smirk cutting through his scowl. “You got lost?”

“Not lost,” she hedged. “Just a little…turned around. A few times.”

Tension leaked from his shoulders and he actually chuckled, grinning at her unpleasantly. “Well, of all the goddamn things. I thought succubi were supposed to be smart.”

“I am smart,” she said defensively. “It could’ve happened to anyone!”

“Sure,” he said dryly. “Did you at least get your errand done, you silly trollop?”

“Of course I did! I wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t. Your friend Vandro has a hell of a place; he’s done pretty well for himself, by the looks of it. I didn’t get to see him but I left the letter with a servant—”

He crossed the space in one long step, seizing her arm in a bruising grip and glaring down into her eyes. “You gave that letter to a servant?”

“It was the best I could do!” she squealed. “I promise, master, I couldn’t get any closer—that place is like a fortress. It was obviously a senior servant, he had on a suit even in the heat…”

“Wait, what kind of suit?” he said sharply. “Describe it.”

“Uh… Black coat with tails, charcoal gray slacks, waistcoat and bow tie.”

Again, Shook relaxed. Not for the first time lately, Kheshiri wondered about the effect his mood swings must have on his heart. “Oh. A Butler. That’s okay, then. I guess you managed not to completely fuck it up.”

“I wouldn’t let you down, master,” she said earnestly.

“No,” he mused self-importantly, studying her down his nose. “You’re a bit of a ditz sometimes, but I can’t say you don’t know what’s good for you.”

He released her and crossed to the window, twitching aside the ragged curtain to peek out. The little room was stifling; even in his shirtsleeves, Shook was drenched in sweat. The curtain admitted only a slight breeze, but he had insisted on it being left in place, and the door closed, despite the usual custom in Onkawa. Their privacy was far more important than their comfort. Well, his comfort. She could make do anywhere.

Kheshiri shifted back to her own appearance, stretching. She didn’t have room to extend her wings in here, but coiled and uncoiled her tail vigorously, savoring the freedom of motion.

“So,” she said hesitantly, “now what, master?”

“Now we wait,” he said, still peering out through the gap at the edge of the curtain. “Alan’s never let me down yet. He’ll come through.”

She slinked up behind him and began to knead his shoulders. “Then everything’s going according to your plan,” she breathed into his ear. “I’m sorry I made you wait, master. Can I help you…ease the tension?”

Shook turned to study her face, lifting one hand and stroking her cheek with the back of his knuckles. He smiled, the lopsided, self-satisfied little smirk he often got when inspecting her. Not bothering to reply, he tugged her close, tilting up her face to kiss her roughly.

Kheshiri purred and melted against him. The kissing was relatively new, but he’d been doing a lot more of it lately. Bit by bit, he was growing more relaxed around her, more certain he had her firmly under control.

Everything was indeed going according to plan.

 

Late in the afternoon, the sun had lowered enough that the constant breeze over the plains had begun to alleviate its fury. Shook and Kheshiri, again in her disguise as a local woman, sat on an outdoor patio at a restaurant several orders of social magnitude above their current residence, sipping iced lemonade and watching the street. Even in his best suit and with her looking fully presentable, the waiter had given them some very dubious looks. Fortunately, Shook was too preoccupied to notice. It was always a headache, running interference between him and polite society.

Several hours after she’d returned, a uniformed messenger, looking even more out-of-place in their slum than they did here, had arrived, directing them to this restaurant at this time. Or rather, to this restaurant half an hour ago. Shook kept his attention on the street, watching for the arrival of their putative guest; uncharacteristically, he remained calm. Aloof and somewhat tense, but not gradually working himself up the way he usually did when someone made him wait. Kheshiri had to wonder about this Alan Vandro and his relationship with Jeremiah Shook.

She shifted her chair subtly closer to his and experimentally ran her foot up his calf under the table.

“Cut it out,” he said curtly, not even looking at her. Kheshiri didn’t have to feign her disappointed frown. Whatever was going on, it was enough to distract him from the effect she had on him. That wasn’t good.

Shook straightened. An enchanted carriage had arrived out of the traffic, pulling up against the curb outside, an unnecessarily large and lavish model driven, she saw, by Wilberforce the Butler. He brought the machine to a stop and hopped down from the driver’s seat, opening the door.

The man who stepped out had clearly been big and powerful in his youth and was only slightly less so now. He had just the faintest stoop to his posture and a modest gut, but his shoulders were broad and his arms still thick. Clearly not local, he had what had once been a pale complexion, stained patchy red by sun and wind, his wild hair and neatly-trimmed beard gone pure white. Stepping out of the carriage, he instantly fixed his eyes on Shook and grinned so hugely she could have counted his teeth, regardless of the distance.

“Jerry, my boy!”

Alan Vandro bounded up the steps to the little terrace, his loose khaki-colored suit fluttering around him in the breeze. Shook had also stood, Kheshiri following suit behind him, and stepped forward to meet the man, grinning just as broadly. They clasped hands firmly and Vandro clapped Shook on the shoulder.

“I hear you’re living like a king out here,” Shook said, still smiling broadly. “Palace and all!”

“You don’t seem to be doing as badly as I expected, yourself,” Vandro replied, leaning around him to leer at Kheshiri. “What’s this little morsel, eh?”

“This is Shiri,” Shook said, letting go of the older man and stepping back to the table. “My most prized possession. Shiri, Alan here taught me everything I know.”

“I tried to teach him everything I know,” Vandro said, still grinning, “but there’s a limit to how much sense can be pounded into a skull that thick.”

Shook, to her amazement, laughed. Vandro, meanwhile, bowed over her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Shiri. Jerry, lad, I’ve been telling you all these years you need to come out here and sample the local flavor. I guess now you’ve finally acquired a taste for dark meat, here you are.”

“Well, I’d like to say I just wanted to look you up for a visit,” Shook replied as they resumed their seats, Vandro taking one across from them, “but the truth is I need your help.”

“Goddamn right you do, boy,” Vandro said, his expression growing more serious. Kheshiri was fascinated. Here the man kept Shook waiting, mocked him to his face and flirted with his woman, and rather than blowing up the way she’d learned to expect, Shook treated it all as a joke. Amazing. “I’ve been hearing the rumors. Dunno what you did to piss Tricks off, but he’s good and pissed off.”

“Gnn.” Shook bared his teeth, grunting in annoyance. “I’ve only been able to get bits and pieces, here and there—the first of which convinced me to avoid Guildmembers for the time being, which is exactly what’s made it hard to get news. What’ve you heard?”

“Well, my boy, you’re wanted back at the Guild posthaste,” Vandro said, lounging back in his chair and accepting a glass of lemonade from the waiter without even glancing up at him. “And not in a friendly way. Somehow you’ve also managed to get the Avenists out for you. That’s pretty fucking impressive, Jerry.”

Shook growled. “None of this is my fault. It all comes back to that fucking bitch Principia.”

“Yeah, I figured from the context there was a woman at the back of this somewhere.” Vandro shook his head. “I’ve told you and told you, my boy, they are none of them worth upsetting your life over. I dunno what it is with you and women, but you’ve got to learn to just get what you need and kick ’em to the curb when you’re done.”

Kheshiri, too amused to be offended, kept her peace. Clearly these two man’s men wouldn’t welcome her input in the conversation. That suited her just fine; one learned more and revealed less by keeping one’s mouth shut.

“That cunt is a traitor to the Guild,” Shook snarled. “I’m the one tasked with dragging her home. And what do I find? Tricks no sooner sent me out than turned on me.”

“The word on Principia Locke is she’s also wanted to answer some questions,” Vandro said ruminatively, sipping his lemonade, “but far, far less urgently than you. Clearly, she’s held in somewhat better regard. How’s that work, with her evidently being a traitor?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Shook exclaimed, clenching his fists on the table. “But I am gonna find her and find out.”

“Now, there you go, getting worked up about it,” Vandro said easily. “I bet that’s exactly how you got into all this in the first place. You take everything too damn personally, always have. Now, this Principia… I never met her, but I’ve heard the rumors for years. She’s got a good, solid rep on her. Sneaky as a weasel and a big pain in the ass to deal with. Not hard to figure she’s twisted events to make you look bad. You can’t let it get under your skin, Jerry, that’s how she plans to bring you down. You’ve gotta get your side told. Even the playing field before you get yourself and her back into the Guild’s clutches.”

“Not so easy to do when I’m the next goddamn thing to being declared traitor, myself,” Shook said morosely.

“Well, now, we’ll just have to see what we can do about that,” said Vandro with a grin. “Obviously, things aren’t gonna stand as they are. Some bitch gaming the system to make my apprentice her fall guy? No, I don’t fucking think so. We’ll deal with this, Jerry. You were right to come here. Long as you’re out there chasing after her like the coyote and the hare, you’re playing her game. Now, we’ll play mine. I guarantee the bitch won’t know what hit her. Meanwhile, you and your ladyfriend will stay with me.”

“You don’t get Guild visitors?” Shook asked sharply.

“I get Guild visitors.” Vandro’s grin widened. “And they know to mind their fuckin’ manners in my place. This isn’t Tiraas, my boy; the Guild’s a powerful presence here, too, but matters are different. It’s not so hard to move without their say-so…or their knowing about it. Trust me, I’ll show you the ropes. Who knows, maybe I can even arrange for you to have some work while you’re here. A thief shouldn’t be sitting on his ass when there’s a city this rich full of complacent turkeys waiting to be plucked.”

Shook grinned, and Kheshiri didn’t bother to hide her fascination. So even a man like Jeremiah Shook could have a friend—an actual friend, who seemed to care about him as a person. What was more, a powerful friend, whose presence opened up all kinds of options for him.

She’d have to do something about that.

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Darling rarely got much use out of his dining room, but he couldn’t help noticing how much louder the whole house seemed with guests. Generally, he did his socializing elsewhere, but for several reasons—most of them having to do with his colleagues’ lack of private living space—he had ended up hosting this meeting. Now the other three bishops sat around the long oak table in the dining room, and he was mentally composing an apology to Price, whom he had gently mocked on several occasions for her determination to keep the room spotless despite the lack of action it saw.

Price, currently, was supervising the “housemaids,” standing at attention near the door to the kitchen. She might have been a wax statue except for her eyes, which followed every motion the two elves made. They hadn’t been best pleased at this assignment, but Darling had approved of it; the ability to blend in and assume another identity was a vital skill for a thief, and considering what these two were, would be especially vital for them if they hoped to survive long. This was good practice. Unfortunately, they were already getting more practice at self-control than anyone had expected or wanted.

As Flora leaned forward to place a small tray of cookies on the table, Andros eased back in his chair to cast an eye over her backside. For just a moment, Darling feared he would pat her and something would happen that he would be very hard pressed to explain away. It wasn’t quite that bad, luckily, but Andros apparently couldn’t resist a comment.

“Not bad,” he rumbled approvingly, nodding at Darling, who sat at the head of the table. “A tad scrawny for my tastes, but there’s something to be said for the exotic.”

Flora straightened, her face utterly impassive, and eased back from the table with the precisely controlled gait of someone repressing a physical urge.

“Let’s speak respectfully to and of my staff, please,” Darling said quietly. “In general, but especially in their presence.”

“You feel there is a lack of respect? I assure you, Antonio, that’s a simple doctrinal difference.” Andros raised one bushy eyebrow. “It was a compliment on your taste. I don’t doubt your women are talented in many ways, but a woman is meant to be decoration as well as utility and personality, just as a man has his own role to play in a household.”

Basra and Branwen were sitting very still, both looking at him sidelong. The cults of Avei and Izara had deep conflicts over the role of women and the very nature of femininity, but they held in common the belief that the Shaathist approach to both was purely abhorrent. Neither seemed about to jump in, though. Basra, in fact, appeared to be repressing a smile. Darling found that more than a little alarming.

Andros actually smiled; his beard mostly hid his mouth, but the crinkling at the corners of his eyes suggested the expression was sincere. “I rarely am hosted in a home outside my faith which is so correctly run. Your girls are admirably well-behaved—especially impressive, given how difficult it is to housebreak elves. We should discuss training methods sometime, man to man, when we don’t have more pressing work.”

The man couldn’t possibly be this daft. Elves were thought in popular culture to be savage and unpredictable; more enlightened minds knew them to be dangerous for entirely other reasons. He was also delivering this speech in front of a skilled swordswoman who didn’t particularly like either of them, but would surely take Darling’s side on this issue. No… This, Darling realized, was a test, not stupidity. It was an utterly Shaathist thing to do: no sooner step into another man’s domicile than begin feeling out the situation, trying to determine who was alpha male here.

He hadn’t a shred of interest in such games, which unfortunately meant he needed to win this one decisively and immediately or Andros would never let it drop.

“Leave,” he said softly.

Andros raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me just fine. Remove yourself from my home.”

The humor had faded from the Huntsman’s face; now his eyes narrowed into a glare. “My presence is commanded. We are here on the orders of the Archpope himself—”

“And when you go whine to him about it, be sure to explain that I threw you out for insulting and harassing my domestic staff,” Darling said evenly. “You’ll look a lot less foolish than if he has to hear it from me after the fact. Now are you going to walk out with some dignity, or shall I have my Butler toss your ass bodily into the street?”

Flora and Fauna had drifted against the back wall and were standing stiffly in an approximation of the demure pose Price had taught them. Price herself was expressionless as ever, but everyone at the table tensed slightly. Andros held Darling’s gaze for a few seconds…pushing it. Just when Darling was about to back up his threat, the Huntsman pushed back his chair and stood.

Instead of moving toward the door, however, he turned to face the two elves and bowed deeply, and then did the same to Price. “I ask your pardon, ladies. I am accustomed to things being done a certain way, and at times I fail to remember that not everyone lives as Shaath commands. Truly, my words were meant to convey respect, and I regret my failure to show proper courtesy as a guest.”

Price, of course, didn’t respond. Fauna and Flora glanced at each other.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you say something?” Fauna asked sweetly.

Price cleared her throat very softly and Darling winced; Basra grinned wickedly, and Branwen failed to repress a giggle behind her hand. Obviously, Price would be having words with them later, but Darling found himself torn. A good servant did not sass her employer’s guests no matter how they behaved, but on the other hand, a good Eserite did not take crap from a stuck-up windbag who couldn’t actually do anything to her.

Andros looked back at him, expectant, but silent, and not pushy. His apology hadn’t sounded in the least forced or resentful, which was rather striking as it was possibly the first thing Darling had ever heard him say that wasn’t forced or resentful. Darling simply nodded and gestured with one hand to the chair, and Andros seated himself again.

“I didn’t realize you served theater along with brunch, Antonio,” Basra said, smirking.

“Well, I hate to let an opportunity go to waste. When we reach a stopping point I plan to bring up marriage customs and the proper treatment of apostates, just to see what happens.” Branwen groaned and covered her face with a hand, but Basra laughed.

“Anyway,” Darling said, “I believe you brought props, Bas?”

“Indeed,” she replied, patting the stack of thick folders sitting on the chair next to her. Darling sat at the head of the table, with the others occupying the seats nearest him. Basra fished out four small sheafs of paper—the newer, more expensive, almost-white paper, he noted—and handed them out to each of them while the two elves slipped out of the room and shut the door behind them. Despite the sensitivity of their conversation, none of the Bishops objected to Price’s continued presence. A Butler’s discretion was sacrosanct. “These are copies of the basic list I’ve assembled of agents who meet the Archpope’s criteria and are known to be active.”

“Agents?” Branwen wrinkled her brow, removing the clip holding hers together and leafing through it. “I thought most of these people were unaligned.”

“They are. It’s just a technical term, dear,” Basra said condescendingly. “It’s as complete a registry as I could put together based on the information the Church and the Sisters have. If anybody knows of a name I haven’t got here, by all means sing out. Not all of these are going to be equally relevant, though. The entire first page are people we can rule out immediately.”

“How confident are you of that?” Andros asked.

“Quite confident, though I’ll gladly explain my reasoning if you need me to. At the very top, of course, are Arachne Tellwyrn and Gravestone Weaver, both of whom are more or less permanently stuck in Last Rock, at that University of hers.”

“Tellwyrn still moves around,” Branwen noted, frowning at her list. “Even I’ve heard details of some of her…trips.”

“Right, yes, but keep in mind what we’re looking for: suspects, possible agents for the Church to recruit, and especially people who might be both. Tellwyrn is pretty obviously neither. Whoever’s been assassinating clerics is very discreet, very stealthy. If Tellwyrn had been doing that, she’d have blasted in the doors of every temple she visited, autographed the corpse she left, instructed at least six terrified bystanders to spread her legend and then personally barged in on the Archpope in his bath and dared him to do something about it. I’m glad I amuse you, Antonio.”

“You do! Have you ever been on stage?”

Basra rolled her eyes, but continued. “In addition to method, there’s the question of motive. Whoever’s doing this is either acting on a personal vendetta or in the employ of someone who has one. Tellwyrn has no reason to do something like this; she’s known to be on civil terms with most deities and to be personally friendly with several. And she definitely isn’t for hire. So, no, I don’t consider her a prospect.”

“And this Weaver?” Andros asked.

“Much the same: no motive, not his method. Also he hasn’t left Last Rock in the preceding five years. I don’t know exactly what kind of leash Tellwyrn has him on, but hey, whatever works. Next… Can we all agree that the Hands of Avei and Omnu aren’t reasonable prospects? Good. The next seven names are dragons, and of them, only Zanzayed the Blue even might do something like this, and it’d be a departure for him. Also, like the rest of the dragons there, his whereabouts are known and have been for several years; the Empire and the Sisters both keep very careful tabs on them. He’s in Onkawa, working on some noblewoman.”

There was a brief pause, filled by a round of grimaces and a delicate shudder from Branwen. The mating habits of dragons weren’t a subject for polite conversation.

“Below that is Tethloss the Summoner… This isn’t common knowledge, but I trust you can all be discreet. He’s actually dead and has been for at least a year.”

“What?” Andros looked up at her, frowning deeply. “Huntsmen at the lodges in Thakar Province regularly report that his territory is still unsafe.”

“Yes, but what your Huntsmen don’t know is that his minions and constructs are now operating on their own, with one or more of the intelligent ones controlling the operation. At least one of those is a demon, so clearly that can’t be allowed to flourish. But with the Summoner himself dead and no functional hellgate in the vicinity, they can’t get reinforcements. The Fourth Silver Legion is en route as we speak to mop that up.”

“That’s good to hear,” Branwen murmured.

“On page two,” Basra went on, turning over the first sheet of her packet, “we come to some names that I do consider very viable prospects. Antonio, I understand your people recently had a run-in with one Elias ‘Longshot’ McGraw.”

“A thankfully brief one,” he said offhandedly, unsure how much she knew, given Principia’s involvement.

“Who is this Longshot?” asked Andros.

“An adventuring wizard of the old school, though he uses a lot of the affectations of the modern frontier wandfighter. The man’s got a sense of drama. He’s mercenary, in both senses of the word: work for hire, and known to be ruthless once contracted. So that’s motive taken care of. And while this suite of murders is more ambitious than anything he’s known to have done, the fact that he’s an arcane mage is suggestive. A powerful enough warlock could bash through a temple’s defenses, maybe, but a powerful enough wizard could slip in, carry out a kill and slip out, nullifying the defenses and leaving no trace. That’s exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Says here he was last seen in Puna Dara a few weeks ago,” said Darling.

Basra nodded. “He’s known to have a permanent residence in Calderaas; I have no up-to-date intelligence on that, however. If we can agree this man’s a suspect, I can get Church personnel on it immediately. I’d have to explain something to Commander Rouvad if I wanted to have Sisters look into it.”

“Of course,” said Darling. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Splendid, we’ll consider that done. Next up is also a very good prospect: Mary the Crow.”

Branwen frowned. “Who?”

“My goodness,” Basra said with clear amusement, “you Izarites really do live in satin-lined ivory towers, don’t you?”

“Let’s please not resort to maligning each other’s faiths,” Darling said hastily as an uncharacteristic scowl settled across Branwen’s features. “In this group, that could get out of hand before any of us realize what’s happening. Bas, just assume we’ve all been living in a basement somewhere and know nothing about anything. This isn’t a subject most of us have had reason to research.”

“I have,” Andros disagreed under his breath, but thankfully didn’t pursue the matter.

“Fair enough,” said Basra with a shrug. “The Crow is… Well, think of Arachne Tellwyrn without the whimsy, and a witch instead of a mage. She’s dangerous enough in practice that several people have assumed she’s a headhunter, but in truth she predates the fall of Athan’Khar by centuries. Reliable reports place her back as much as six hundred years ago, but more legendary accounts predate the founding of the Empire.”

“So…she’s an elven witch? A shaman?”

“Yes, Branwen. She is at least centuries and possibly millennia old, and with that long to practice her craft, she is damn good at it, scary enough to take on just about any other name on this list and walk away, if not win.”

“Hm,” Andros rumbled. “Think she could handle Tellwyrn?”

“There’s no telling. I know what you’re thinking, and don’t. Neither of those women take orders, and trying to manipulate them is a staggeringly bad idea. But no, if she’s even met Tellwyrn we have no record of it. A lot of the older names on this list seem to deliberately avoid each other, in fact. Which is probably good sense.”

“So what’s Mary’s deal?” Darling asked.

“The short version is she has a vendetta against the Empire. We don’t exactly know over what; the few times she’s talked with anyone, she wouldn’t say. But she has stated explicitly that her aim is to see the Tiraan Empire fall. For all that, she’s not reckless or stupid; her exploits have varied from wiping out inconsequential border forts to infiltrating major operations and causing significant damage, but she treads a very careful line. When the attention gets too pointed, she’ll vanish for years or decades to let it die down. She knows exactly how dangerous the Empire is, with all its resources, and she doesn’t piss it off enough to put herself at the top of a kill list. Elves, as a rule, can afford to be patient, and this one knows exactly how long the human generational attention span is.”

“So…smart, hostile, has a sense of perspective, subtle…” Darling whistled. “Damn. Yeah, I’d say we’ve got a match. Anything we can glean from those reports of her past doings that might be helpful?”

“I’ve given them a look over, but you’re welcome to try yourself.” Basra pawed the stack of folders next to her, pulling out an especially thick one after a moment and thunking it down on the table. “The problem is she’s smart enough to change up her methods. Still, when she pops up she makes for a distinctive figure. A black-haired elf sticking her nose into things and generally causing a ruckus, that lingers in people’s minds. Of course, matters become a bit more confused in the last two centuries when there have been two women of that description active, but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you about that.”

A prickle ran down his spine. “Beg pardon?” he said politely.

Basra grinned. “Page three, fourth name from the top.”

Darling flipped the page over and looked down at it, then had the rare experience of needing to focus quite hard to keep his facial expression under control as he zeroed in on the name.

Principia Locke.

“Who’s this?” Andros asked, having also followed Basra’s directions.

“One of Antonio’s people,” she said lightly. “But don’t worry, I don’t consider her a prospect either. Not only would a killing spree be totally out of character, I find no reason to think she has the physical capacity.”

“So this is a thief?” Branwen asked.

“For all intents and purposes,” Basra said with a grin, “the Queen of Thieves.”

Darling very nearly fell out of his chair, and devoutly hoped his years of constant play-acting were keeping his shock mostly invisible.

“Then why be in a hurry to dismiss her?” Andros frowned. “We’re looking for someone who slips through defenses without a trace. A skilled thief is exactly the right kind of target, I would think.”

“She’s not that kind of thief,” Basra said.

“Prin’s a con artist,” said Darling, grasping for some control. He was relieved to hear his voice come out as light and unaffected as always. “She doesn’t take things; she creates elaborate intrigues to trick people into giving her things.”

“And she’s been active all but non-stop at a very high level, preying on the richest and most powerful people alive, for a good two hundred years,” Basra continued. Darling listened intently, managing to keep calm despite the way his urge to boggle at her was renewed with every word. “The Sisters have only been keeping tabs on her specifically for the last eighteen, though. Locke also happens to be the new biological mother of Trissiny Avelea.”

Andros frowned again. “Who?”

“The new Hand of Avei,” Branwen supplied.

“Oh,” he said dismissively.

“Since we’re already talking about her,” said Basra, “I’ll say that Locke is a possibility for someone to tap for the Archpope, if we can find her, but no, I don’t consider her a suspect.”

“That,” Darling said carefully, “is an exceptionally bad idea. She doesn’t like authority any more than Tellwyrn, but instead of blasting everyone in sight she just creatively misinterprets orders and plays extravagant, vicious practical jokes until everyone gives up on trying to make her behave.”

“There are ways to cure a woman of that attitude,” Andros growled.

“You’d have to catch her first,” Darling said dryly. “Better than you or I have tried, and embarrassed themselves. Basra, this is a little off topic, but would you mind if I have a look at those files on Principia? I find it pays to keep aware of what she’s up to.”

“Sure, help yourself,” she replied, fishing out another thick folder and sliding it down the table at him. “Those are copies; you can keep it if you want. Glad to be of service. Anyhow, moving back to where we were: top of page two, third entry. Tinker Billie is included here on the strength of reputation, but these attacks are not at all her pattern, and frankly well beyond the scope of her skills. I’m not sure I’d suggest bringing her in as a contractor, either, but we can discuss that in more detail after we go over…”

Darling let her voice wash over him, trying sincerely to pay attention but more fully aware of the thick folder now under his hand, begging to be opened and read on the spot. But no, that would have to wait. One job at a time. He just couldn’t get over the shock of it, though. Prin was a modestly performing thief at best, too much of a nuisance to be tasked with important Guild missions and utterly lacking in initiative. Could the Avenists be mistaken about who they were following? Surely they were.

On the other hand, he realized with a sinking sensation, maybe it was the Guild that was mistaken. They simply had never bothered to pay much attention to one irritating, mid-level member who paid her dues and rubbed people the wrong way whenever she was close enough to do either.

For not the first time in the last ten seconds, he forced his attention back to Basra’s recitation, and away from the growing suspicion that resting under his hand were the details of what might be the greatest con in history.

 

“Lunch!” the girl sang out, holding up her basket as she stepped into the Imperial Law office.

“Cassie!” Behind the desk, Marshal Task set looked up from the form at which he’d been scratching with a battered old pen, grinning delightedly. “Girl, you’re gonna spoil us.”

“We could maybe do with a little spoiling,” said Lieutenant Veya with a smile. “Hi, Cass. Are you sure it’s okay for you to keep doing this? It’s the third day in a row; we do get paid enough to eat, you know.”

“Oh, it’s no expense,” Cassie said, tittering coquettishly—but not too coquettishly, no sense in irritating the two Legionnaires. “The bakery gives us these extras for free, and if I don’t get rid of them somehow, Uncle Ryan will just eat them all himself, and the poor man doesn’t need all that bread junking up his system. He has enough troubles,” she added conspirationally, setting her basket down on the corner of the Marshal’s desk and beginning to pull out cinnamon buns.

“Well, I’m sure gonna be disappointed when y’all leave town,” said Task, reaching for a bun. “How long’re you planning to stay?”

“Maybe a few more days?” She screwed up her face in an expression of intense thought, one that suggested this was an unfamiliar labor for her. “Uncle Ryan isn’t sure. He gets crabby when I ask, just tells me his wares will sell when they sell.”

“He’s not…mean to you, is he?” asked Tirouzi Shavayad, the other Sister present. She was a lean, tawny-skinned ethnic Tiraan, unlike the Veya and Task, who were dark-complexiond Westerners from this region.

“Oh! Oh, nothing like that,” Cassie said hastily. “My goodness, you mustn’t think that! He just gets so worried, and it makes him cranky. Uncle Ryan wouldn’t hurt a mouse. Anyway, this is a good trip; he always complains, but his fabrics are selling quite well. I guess that means we’re not around for much longer,” she added wistfully, then held out a bun to Tirouzi. “Here you go!”

“We’re on duty,” the senior Legionnaire said firmly, but with a smile. “But thank you for bringing them, Cass. We’ll have some later. Assuming the Marshal leaves us any,” she added, raising an eyebrow at Task, who was already on his second.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he said with his mouth full. “I can’t eat like I used to, y’know. Sides, there’s plenty. Our girl here doesn’t skimp on her generosity.”

“Oh, you,” Cassie giggled, perching on the edge of the desk and kicking her legs. The position was perfect—the childlike demeanor to play to Tirouzi’s maternal streak, the pose that gave Veya tantalizing glimpses into her cleavage and Task a splendid view from behind of the way her slender waist flared into womanly hips. They were all either actively eating or hungry—in other words, distracted—and each presented with just what they wanted to see, in such a way they never imagined the contradictions in how each of them beheld her. Damn, but she was good.

“I know that look, young lady,” Veya said with a try at firmness, but she spoiled the effect by smiling. “Now, what ulterior motive does a traveling merchant’s niece have in hanging around the Marshal’s office so much?”

Cassie blushed and ducked her head shyly, then glanced from side to side. She leaned forward a bit more, not missing the way Veya’s eyes darted to her bodice and back up, and whispered. “Well… I was talking to Deputy Tonner last night…”

“That damn fool boy,” Task muttered behind her, reaching for another roll. “Can’t keep his mouth shut for five minutes.”

“Oh, but he didn’t tell me a thing!” she said sincerely. “Not on purpose, anyway, and he clammed right up when he thought he’d let something slip.” She lowered her voice to a nervous whisper. “Is it true there’s a rapist loose in this town?”

The two Legionnaires exchanged a dark look.

“No,” Task said firmly, “it’s not true. That’s…misrepresenting the facts. Which, by the way, you don’t need to stick your pretty little nose into, kid.”

“She has a right to know,” Tirouzi said with a hint of belligerence, then met Veya’s warning look fiercely. “Well, doesn’t she? Every woman deserves to know something like that.”

“But that’s not what…ah hell, it ain’t classified,” Task grumbled as Cassie scooted herself around, changing position to keep all three of them in view of her rapt gaze—a pose which lifted one leg onto the desk, incidentally tugging her skirt well above the knee. She affected not to notice their glances, but a thrill of amusement rippled through her. It was just so easy.

“He’s not a rapist,” Task said, folding his hands on the desk top and giving her his stern I Am The Law look. “Just a man wanted for questioning in connection with such a case. And this is a warrant put out by the Sisters, so it doesn’t have legal force, but of course the Emperor’s agents are always glad to help out in Avei’s work,” he added with a respectful nod for the Lieutenant.

“In connection with a rape case?” she breathed, her face a perfect blend of horror and morbid fascination that looked so perfectly natural on her innocent young features.

“No such has been committed,” Veya said firmly. “He’s only accused of threatening it, and we have only rumor that he’s been sighted in Tallwoods. From a fairly good source, though it’s hard to imagine what a city slicker like that would want in a town like this.”

“To hide, maybe,” Tirouzi muttered darkly.

“Anyhow, hon, you’re perfectly safe,” Veya added to Cassie in a more gentle tone, then spoke with increased firmness. “And this business isn’t common knowledge, so don’t you be spreading it around.”

“Yes ma’am!” she said, nodding eagerly. “I mean…no, ma’am! I mean… I won’t.” Veya softened under her limpid gaze. Really, this was almost too easy. In the back of her mind, she found herself planning out a seduction. The woman was older and liked her position of authority; well, she’d had plenty of practice lately playing the submissive role. It would be so simple, she could just run the hesitantly intrigued ingenue routine from start to finish: curious about the rumors concerning Silver Legionnaires, not quite believing but fascinated despite herself, let the woman think she was the one coaxing the eager young innocent into her first taste of feminine love… And just like that, much of the interest went out of the matter for her. Too routine. Nobody in this little podunk town had enough imagination to offer her any real fun.

“All the same,” Veya added firmly, “if you meet or hear of any man called Jeremiah Shook, you come get the Marshal or one of the Legionnaires. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am!” she replied, nodding. “I will. I better get going now, though,” she added regretfully, hopping down and treating them all to a minor show as she smoothed the dress down over her hips. “Uncle Ryan gets worried if I spend too much time at the market. But I’ll see you all again, at least once! We’re not leaving tomorrow, I know that much.”

“You take care, darlin’,” said Task, gesturing with his fourth roll. “And be sure you do come say goodbye before you leave, understand!”

“You bet I will!” she said cheerfully, breezing out through the door and pausing only to wiggle her fingers flirtatiously at them. “Bye!”

Outside in the street, she set off with a bouncing stride, passing the citizens of Tallwoods with cheerful smiles and greetings, enjoying how many of them failed to keep eye contact—and how many of the women were visibly annoyed. Her dress was modest in cut and quite plain, but very flattering, and of course the figure it flattered was exceptional. That was all easy, though, practically cheating. A challenge, now, was to pose as someone plain, ordinary, and still coax an unsuspecting person into heights of pleasure they’d never dreamed of, followed by a slide into the most delicious depravity…

She caught herself licking her lips slowly and giving the bedroom eyes to a passing workman who allowed his gaze to linger on her bust. No, no…focus. That kind of thing wasn’t at all in character for Cassie, the innocent merchant’s niece. She affected a blush and modestly downcast look when he grinned and winked at her, which hopefully would repair some of the damage. Still… It would be the easiest thing in the world to drag him along, glances and glimpses making as firm a lead as any chain, till she could lure him into some dark alley, close enough for a kiss… Close enough for a knife across the throat.

And then what? The Tiraan Empire had gotten markedly more sophisticated since she’d last been here, and she wasn’t about to tangle with law enforcement until she was certain what its capabilities were. The could do things with enchantments now that would have been unimaginable fifty years ago. Plus, there was an entire Silver Legion currently camped just outside the town. Those never failed to be a problem, if they found out who and what she was.

She did slip into the first convenient alley, however, making sure she wasn’t followed. No sooner was she out of sight of the street and certain of the absence of prying eyes than she rippled and vanished entirely from view. Behind her invisibility, the arrangements of features that made Cassie melted away. Her true form was very much the same, only with different coloration, different attire, and very different features. A more total disguise was more effective, obviously, but she enjoyed dancing on the razor’s edge. Besides, who around here would have ever seen her before, or ever would again?

Humming to herself in satisfaction, Kheshiri pumped her wings once, shooting skyward, and sailed invisibly out over the roofs of the town. She veered sharply in the opposite direction from the Fourth Silver Legion’s camp; the clerics wouldn’t be likely to spot her unless they were specifically looking, which they had no reason to be, but it didn’t pay to take chances with Avenists.

She zipped along, low enough to the ground that she could have sailed under the branches of the trees in the oak forest, though she skirted its edge. Flying in there would be an amusing challenge, but also a waste of effort and likely to end with an embarrassing pratfall.

Even staying low and taking the roundabout route at the edge of the woods, it still took her only ten minutes or so to cover the distance. In short order, she was settling to the ground outside the dilapidated little shack. All was quiet. The birds and squirrels had fallen silent at her approach, but slowly resumed their noise as she stood there.

Kheshiri paced around the shack twice, noting the closed door and boarded windows. No signs of anything having been tampered with… Well, they had no reason to suspect anyone know they were out here. She faded back into visibility and strolled right up to the front door, then knocked.

The quiet from within stretched out so long she very nearly knocked a second time, then the door was abruptly yanked open and she found herself staring down the shaft of a wand.

Kheshiri put on a look of relief. “Master,” she said breathily, and threw herself forward, pushing past the weapon to wrap her arms around Shook and bury her face in his chest. It wasn’t the way he’d instructed her to greet him when they were alone—honestly, the man seemed to think he was a Stalweiss chieftain in how he expected women to behave around him—but she was finding that she could get away with a lot if her transgressions were cloaked in a hint that she actively enjoyed his treatment of her. Shook was another man who was almost too easy to be fun to play with.

“You took your goddamn time,” he growled, but didn’t reprove her further, wrapping his free arm around her and tugging her inside, then kicking the door shut. Kheshiri grinned into his coat as he slid his hand down her back to pat her butt. Easy…but still amusing.

“I get so worried every time I come back,” she said, lifting her head to nuzzle at his throat. “I’m always afraid this will be the time I’ll find you gone or in chains and a bunch of Avenists standing around with swords…”

He gripped a handful of her hair and pulled her roughly away, and she immediately toned it down, looking up at him meekly but without a hint of flirtation. The last thing she wanted was for him to start associating her moments of warmth toward him with suspicion. Slow and steady, that was what did it…it had to look like a real attachment. They took time to unfold.

“We’d have a lot less to worry about if you could find out what I keep sending you into that town to learn,” he said coldly.

Her face lit up with pleasure. “Oh, but master, I did! Finally, those women unbent enough to tell me a little; I was afraid I’d have to work on them all week. The Legion’s here after some rogue warlock or wizard a few miles to the north; they’re just waiting for their scouts to report back and will move out within a week.”

Shook nodded, some of the tension going out of his frame. “So they don’t know I’m here.”

“They don’t know,” she said, wincing. “I got a straight answer out of the Marshal, finally, too. You were spotted outside town that night, and apparently by someone who’d seen your sketch. They’re treating it as a prospect they have to take seriously, but nobody’s out looking. I don’t think they actually believe you’re in the area.”

His face settled into a scowl. “Fuck. That fucking bitch. When I find out how she managed to call down all this trouble, I…” He broke off, fixing his wandering gaze on her face. “What’s that look for?”

She quickly schooled her features. “Nothing.”

He struck quickly; even expecting the slap, she might have been hard pressed to dodge or deflect it. She did neither, of course, just rolling with the blow and then looking back up at him, wide-eyed with one hand pressed to her face where he’d hit her.

“What have I told you about lying to me, whore?” he said dangerously.

“It’s just…I just…” Kheshiri swallowed. “I don’t think you’d believe me. I didn’t want to make you mad.” She ended on a near whimper, obviously cowed.

Obviously.

“You don’t want me to be mad?” he breathed, still with one hand in her hair. He twisted it hard, wrenching her head back. “Then you answer a question when I ask it, and you tell me the fucking truth.”

“Yes, master,” she said meekly, dropping her eyes. “I… I just… I like it. When you talk about Principia.”

There was silence between them for a moment. The birds kept up their cheerful noise outside.

“You like it,” he said finally.

“It makes you so mad, and then you talk about what you’re going to do to her, and…” She trailed off.

“Go on,” he said coldly. She knew his voice, now, knew his every detail; this was the coldness of fire being held barely in check.

“It’s just, you’re so…” Kheshiri swallowed, finally lifting her gaze to his. “It makes you seem…powerful. Cruel. I am what I am.” She shrugged, a tense little motion, jerky enough to make her breasts wobble in their tight, inadequate confines. Naturally, his eyes shifted right where she wanted them, then back. “I’m a little drawn to that.”

“Is that so,” he growled, relaxing his grip on her hair and leaning back with a self-satisfied smile. “Well, then… Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?”

Grinning, she eased forward and reached up to begin unbuttoning his shirt, while he slowly ran his hands up and down her sides, and over other spots. “Master?”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t have to stop twisting, you know,” she said, making her voice a shade huskier. “I appreciate that you’re careful, but…you can hurt me, a little.”

Fingers glided up her neck, took her by the chin, tilted her face up. He wore the smug smirk of a man firmly convinced of his absolute control. “That so? Then is there something you want to ask for, my pretty little bitch?”

Kheshiri bit her lower lip, then said in a bare whisper, “Hurt me.”

He was on her like a pouncing wolf, then, and she played along flawlessly, suppressing the laugh that wanted to bubble up from her. Oh, so easy. Really, the man would be downright dull if she weren’t operating under such a massive handicap. It was the reliquary that made this game interesting, that and the extra spells he’d added to it. Getting out from under his thumb was going to be a long game at least, deliciously slow, determined by very careful attention to every detail. Oh, there was fun to be had, here. Still… Not as much as if he were actually smart.

As he threw her forward over the table and positioned himself behind her, she came to a decision. There was just too much downtime involved in this game; she’d go mad if she played it straight, without something else to occupy her energies. This Principia… Kheshiri hadn’t managed to unearth any information about her on her various scouting trips—yet—but she knew from Shook’s own descriptions and stories that the elf was a manipulator. Somebody worth playing against.

So be it, then—she could play two games at once. She was going to get rid of Shook, for the obvious reason that his ownership of her wasn’t acceptable, but before finishing with him, she’d at least help him attain his heart’s desire. Principia Locke would never know what hit her.

This was going to be fun. Thinking on it meant she didn’t have to entirely fake her moans.

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Finally, after days of preparation and waiting, he twisted the cap.

Greenish smoke hissed out of hidden apertures at the end of the reliquary, but didn’t act as smoke should; sliding to the floor in a sinuous stream, it coiled and rose like a rearing serpent, expanding and taking shape. Color blurred into the misty translucence, and finally the succubus emerged.

She tilted her head inquisitively to one side, darting a quick glance around the room before fixing her eyes on Shook. A sly smile tugged at one side of her mouth.

“Well. This is a—”

“Be silent.”

Her obedience was instant; if she resented it, no sign showed on her face. She simply watched him, her expression open and patient.

He kept her waiting. Plenty of time presently to explain her new situation; for now, he wanted to get a good look at his acquisition. Pacing around her in a slow circle, he did just that, from every angle.

The obviously inhuman touches were noted, analyzed and dismissed in moments. Spiny, bat-like wings sprang from her back; currently folded (squirreled away as they were in his basement room, they had no space to spread) they looked like they’d have a span of eight or nine feet once unfurled. That didn’t seem big enough to support her in flight—but then again, she wasn’t a purely physical creature. Physics only applied so far, probably. Her tail began just above the cleft of her buttocks, too wide at the base for him to encircle with his forefinger and thumb—he tested—tapering to a finger’s width before flaring out into a spade shape, just long enough to drag along the floor except that she kept the end curled upward.

There were subtler differences, too. Her hair fell to mid-back in waves, gathered up between her wings; appearing a simple yet lustrous black at first glance, he noted something shifty about its color upon closer inspection. As the light hit it just so, he could swear its highlights were a reddish purple, but the effect seemed to vanish as he tried to focus on it. Her skin, too, was like porcelain, and not in he sense that the comparison was usually used. It didn’t quite look like skin: milk-white, faintly glossy, and completely uniform in color, with no hints of blood beneath. Silky and soft to the touch, though. Her eyes were an exotic violet. He’d half expected slitted pupils or some such, but they were normal in that regard, except that they appeared distinctly crystalline in the way they caught and refracted the light, like bowls of carved amethyst.

Shook didn’t restrict himself to looking with his eyes—and why should he?—as he took in her more humanlike assets, which were plenty striking in their own right.

It was no surprise that she was stunningly lovely; succubi were just like that, everyone knew it. She had a gorgeous, heart-shaped face, with pouty lips and an impish little nose, but Shook had never found women’s faces to be among their more interesting features, provided they weren’t dog-like enough to put him out of the mood. The succubus wore a stained, torn dress that had originally been suited for a prostitute: low-cut, high-hemmed and backless (which accommodated her wings), giving him excellent access. He made a second circuit around her, taking in details visually, running his hand along her shoulders, down her arm, up the curve of her waist. Buxom, wasp-waisted, with generously curvy hips and long legs that practically undulated… She looked like a woman should, if the gods had intended the world to be fair. He cupped a hand around her breast, then slid it down to heft it from beneath, testing its weight. It was all her flesh, no hidden augmentations in that dress. She sighed softly and subtly arched her back, pressing herself into his hand, and he smiled.

Finally Shook stepped back, having come around to stand in front of her again.

“My name is Jeremiah Shook,” he said. “Also known as Thumper among the Thieves’ Guild. And you, Kheshiri, belong to me.” He bounced her reliquary in the palm of his hand, noting the way her eyes snapped to it. “You were…a gift. From someone intending to trip me up, figuring I’d come to grief trying to handle you. I’m an enforcer, you see, a man who lives by asserting his will physically. People who live by schemes are always thinking they’re smarter than me. Annoying as that is, I’ve come to enjoy the looks on their faces when they learn otherwise.”

She smiled at that, an expression of malicious delight, and he found himself warming up to her a bit.

“It wasn’t a bad idea,” he went on, “or wouldn’t have been fifty years ago. That’s the way it’s always been, after all: mundane people meddling with magic always came to sticky ends, right?” He smiled, slowly, and waggled the reliquary at her. “Well, that was then, and this is now. You’ll have noticed some of the modifications to this. The extra chain binds it to my life force; you’re not going to get out from under my sway by having it stolen or lost. That’s a commercially available enchantment, these days. Lots of people wanting better control over their bespelled heirloom doodads. For someone who knows the right back-alley enchanters to ask, it’s easy enough to have some of the safety features lifted—like the clause that breaks the enchantment when said life force is terminated, for example. I die, Kheshiri, and you’re the slave of a corpse. You go right back in the bottle and you fucking stay there—for eternity. It’s in your best interests to ensure that I don’t die. Also,” he added, smiling and tossing the reliquary from hand to hand, “my guy didn’t think it was smart to try modifying the spells on your leash, here, but apparently adding to them was child’s play. Hence the extra runed bands around the end, as you see. You will not lie to me; you will not harm me; you will not act against my wishes. Those aren’t orders, little girl, they are statements of the facts of your life, now. And here’s another one: I have not told you all the extra features I’ve added, nor will I. Only way you’ll find them is if you go poking around for ways to work against me—and believe me, I will know if that happens. Then, I’ll be annoyed.” He stepped forward and reached out to caress her cheek; keeping her eyes fixed on his, she leaned into his touch like a petted cat. “I see no reason we can’t get along perfectly well, Kheshiri. If I get annoyed, though, we—by which I mean you—will have a problem.” He let his hand fall, but held her gaze. “This is an order: you will remember your place, and show me the proper respect at all times. You are to address me as Master, or Sir, if we’re in public and don’t want to draw attention. Do you understand?”

She stared up at him through her lashes, her violet eyes limpid. Silence stretched out, and Shook felt fury beginning to grow in him. Already a challenge? He was going to have to— Then realization hit, and he had to smile. Well, well. It seemed she did take direction, after all.

“You may speak,” he amended.

“I understand, master,” Kheshiri said immediately. Her voice was delightful, a sulty alto. Just the kind he liked. So many fool women thought it was attractive to affect a childish, breathy timbre.

“Good girl,” he said condescendingly. “And as long as you stay a good girl, I’ll take good care of you. We’ll have plenty to do to keep your wits exercised. And you can bet I’ll be sure you stay fed.”

“I don’t need to eat,” she said, then blinked, and smiled. “Oh, did you mean…? That’s a misconception, master. We don’t need sex to live.” Tail waving behind her, she underwent a kind of slow-motion, full-body wriggle. “We just really, really like it. Who doesn’t?”

Shook laughed, chucking her gently under the chin. “I think I like you already. We have work, my dear: you were given to me for the purpose of finding and apprehending someone who’s caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people. Me, especially. We need to bring her in alive…but not necessarily unharmed. And who knows, maybe we’ll have time to have a little fun with her before handing her over.”

“That sounds delightful,” the demon purred, fluttering her eyelashes up at him.

“All that’s in the future, though,” he said, his voice growing rougher. He reached up to cup her face in both hands, then slid them slowly down her throat, over her upper chest, and squeezed her breasts, before lifting one again to the top of her head and using it to push her downward. “On your knees, bitch.”

Kheshiri giggled, dropping almost eagerly, and reached for his belt buckle without further prompting. Finally, a woman who knew her place without needing to be told, or kicking up a fuss about it.

He let out a long sigh and leaned his head back as she got to work, already modifying plans in the back of his mind. After dealing with Principia, he just might decide to keep this one. After all, it wasn’t every day you found the perfect woman.

 

A thick fog hung over Puna Dara, which was about the only thing that could shut the city down. Though they knew better than to risk their precious ships in bad weather, the Punaji themselves had a positive affinity with storms, staying out in the streets as long as they possibly could when the wind and lightning raged. The city had mostly flat, stone roofs, and it was a tradition that a newly married couple hadn’t properly blessed their new home until having made love on the roof in a storm.

Fog, though, was a different matter. Storms could make a person feel alive; fog was just inconvenient and depressing. Better than anything else, it reliably drove the Punaji indoors to their fires. Thus, Lakshmi had the docks mostly to herself.

Light blazed from the windows of the Mermaid’s Tail, three piers down; the distance was just enough to mute the noise of laughter and music from within, though it was still audible in the quiet of the night. The soft lapping of waves against the pier was more immediate, which was fine. It was also more soothing, and she needed a little relief from tension.

“You’re gonna fall in one of these days.”

Lakshmi squawked and flailed in startlement, slipping off her perch on the barrel she’d commandeered as a seat and windmilling her arms at the very edge of the pier, desperately trying not to prove the voice’s prediction. A hand grasped her firmly by the collar and tugged her backward to safety.

“Damn it!” she scolded, whirling to glare at her laughing rescuer. “Fucking elf! Stop doing that! You scared the hell out of me!”

“Oh, calm yourself,” Principia said, grinning. “I wouldn’t’ve let you fall—”

She broke off as Lakshmi lunged forward and threw her arms around her.

“I didn’t mean that, jackass,” she said fiercely. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? Weeks with no word! And if something had gone wrong, it’d be my fault, since I’m the one who sent that message to the Guild. I should know better than to get dragged into your crazy schemes…”

“You should know my crazy schemes always work,” Prin chided gently, hugging the girl back before extracting herself. “And, as usual, it did. You did perfect, Peepers. The Guild got word I’d turned on them, they set Shook loose to come after me—that was the only part I was a little worried about, but in the end it was too good a ploy for Tricks to pass up—and then I got them the truth, once Thumper was out of sight. Now the Boss feels guilty and I’ve dropped down the priority list. He’ll be a lot more accommodating once I do decide to go home, and that turd Thumper is well on his way to getting what’s coming to him. Just takes a little patience and caution from here on out.” She spread her arms wide, grinning. “Everything’s coming up Prin.”

“Except that Thumper is still after you,” Lakshmi retorted, scowling. “If half what you’ve told me about that asshole is true, that’s not a small thing!”

“Oh, sure it is,” Prin said, waving a hand dismissively. “He hasn’t a chance in hell of actually finding me. And if by some miracle he does, he’ll have used up all the luck he’d need to catch me. Everything I needed is in motion, hon. Thanks for playing your part so well.”

Lakshmi shook her head. “I dunno. Yes, you’re a professional, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Yeah? Maybe this’ll make you feel better,” Principia replied, handing her a folded slip of paper.

“What’s…?”

“You memorize that, then you destroy it,” Prin said firmly. “It’s the access details of an account with Heath & Farousi. They’re not one of the biggest banks, but they’re about the most widely-spread; you can get into that account from just about anywhere in the Empire.”

“What account?” Lakshmi said curiously.

Principia grinned rakishly, bobbing up on the balls of her feet. “My account. That’s the product of two centuries of running cons up and down every inch of this continent and beyond. Congratulations, you are now stupidly rich.”

Lakshmi’s eyes went wide and she tried to thrust the paper back at the elf. “Prin, no! I can’t! Are you crazy, this is your whole life’s work!”

“No,” Principia said firmly, thrusting a finger of admonishment into the girl’s face. “The work was my life’s work. You know what I’ve done with that money, Lakshmi? Let it sit, gathering dust and interest, mostly. Once in a while I’ve needed to dip in to extract myself from one of my rare blunders, but for the most part…” She shrugged. “It’s not about the money, hon. It can’t be; don’t let it be. An account full of liquid assets is a wind in your sails; a house full of luxuries is an anchor chain around your neck.”

“Oh, a nautical metaphor. I do believe I’m being pandered to.”

“Watch it, squirt. Just because your grandfather’s not around to paddle your butt anymore doesn’t mean you’re too big.” Prin aimed a halfhearted swat at Lakshmi’s head, grinning. “Look, the fact is, a thief doesn’t need riches. I don’t need that money, and right now, you do. I want you to get out of Puna Dara. This is not a good city for thieves.”

“Oh, not this again,” Lakshmi groaned. “The Punaji way of life is the closest thing to the Guild’s philosophy—”

“Yeah, I know. And doesn’t that make it seem odd that the Guild has such a small presence here?” Prin shook her head. “It’s because you’re ruled by pirates, and pirates do not like competition. Quite apart from the fact that Eserites aren’t wanted here, we aren’t needed. Blackbeard’s laws keep the idle rich humble and on their toes, and he doesn’t rob from his own people. There’s just not much to do here. I want you to go to Tiraas, get yourself set up with a place. Something modest, you don’t want to draw attention. Thanks to my little scheme, you’ve got some rep with the Guild now; you’re the girl who unmasked a traitor, remember?”

“You did this on purpose,” Lakshmi accused.

Principia grinned. “Come on, now, any action that serves only one purpose isn’t an efficient use of your time. Yes, I made an opening for you. Take Sanjay and go. Tiraas is a melting pot; for the gods’ sakes, there’s a whole district full of drow. Anybody can make it there. You’re an information girl, Peepers; try to get in with Sweet, he’s the master of that craft. He doesn’t take apprentices, so don’t go for that angle, but he’s fair-minded and has a soft spot for younglings. Do some good work in his field and make sure he sees it.”

“Prin, where is all this coming from?” she demanded. “You show up out of nowhere after leaving me to stew for weeks, and now you’re insisting we both uproot our lives?”

The elf sighed, glancing out over the bay. A few ships’ lights were visible, but for the most part, the fog made it a featureless blur. “It’ll be a while before I see you again, ‘Shmi. Where I’m going next, I won’t have any need for money. And Shook won’t be able to get at me no matter what he does. Hell, I sort of hope he tries.”

“Prin, you’re scaring me.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” she said more gently, stepping forward and taking both of Lakshmi’s hands, the paper crumpling in their combined grip. “I’m not about to do anything desperate. I think I may be entering the most safe and rational phase my life has ever had. It’s just…unfamiliar territory for me. And since I’m likely to be out of pocket for a while, I want to make sure you and Sanjay will be all right before I go. I promised the old man I’d keep an eye on you as I had time. Go to Tiraas, Lakshmi. Only use the money when you need it; live on your wits. I know you’ve got enough to do so. Promise me.”

“I can’t just—”

“Promise.”

Lakshmi swallowed heavily. “I promise. You promise you’re going to be okay.”

“Aw, honey, nobody can guarantee that about anybody. I give you my word, though, I’ll be taking care of myself as best I can. And I’ll be back in touch just as soon as the opportunity comes up. I’ll expect to find you in Tiraas, clambering up the ranks in the Guild, you hear me?”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out, then managed a weak grin. “Are you kidding? Look who you’re talking to. Hell, once I get out of this backwater to a place where there’s opportunity, I’ll be running it by this time next year.”

“That’s my girl.” Principia grinned and gently patted her on the cheek. “He’d have been so damn proud of you, y’know.” She stepped back, then again, tendrils of fog beginning to swirl around and obscure her from sight. “Live free, Peepers.”

“Live well, Keys.” The lump rose again in Lakshmi’s throat, nearly cutting off the traditional Eserite farewell. By the time she finished it, the fog had closed in around the slender figure of the elf, leaving her alone on the docks, holding the crumpled key to a fortune.

 

Flickering torchlight nearly overshadowed the sickly glow of the spell circle. The corners of the chamber were lost to shadow, but there wasn’t much to see aside from cobwebs and mildew. The sewers of Tiraas had many such private nooks, their original purpose now unknown; those who traversed the dark tunnels knew well enough to stay away from any secluded spot where there was light and voices.

It wasn’t like summoning the sshitherosz demon had been. The basics of the circle were the same, enchanted glyphs standing in for the presence of summoners, the reason this could be done by someone who knew no infernal magic. There were differences in the runes and structure of the circle, of course, and the final product didn’t look the same at all. Where the sshitherosz had clambered up from below, the incubus sort of congealed out of the air, collecting scraps of shadow and sparks into a form.

He flicked his tail idly, peering about. You could always tell whether an incubus or succubus had been recently on the mortal plane by their attire. They liked pretty things, fancy things, but there just wasn’t much to wear in Hell except the skins of things one had killed. This one wore nothing but a ragged fur loincloth hanging to his knees, secured by a wide belt with a hammered pewter buckle.

Naturally, he was ridiculously good-looking. Once you got past the tail and wings, of course, and the garnet-colored eyes. The demon’s face was long and flawlessly formed, somehow combining a rugged handsomeness with an effete pretty-boy look that didn’t seem like they should go together at all, much less as well as they did. He had the lean musculature of a swimmer, and those perfect muscles shifted beneath his exposed alabaster skin with even the slightest motion as he turned this way and that, studying his new environs. Darling had never been interested in men, but he’d also never been this close to an incubus before. It was hard not to admire the sheer artistry of the demon’s perfect body.

“Haha!” he bellowed, throwing up his arms in an over-the-top gesture of theatrical triumph. “Behold your doom, creature of the pits! I have called you forth, and it shall be I who is your undoing!”

“Do I know you?” the demon asked languidly, his expression sardonic.

Darling was dressed in a stained and ragged robe of the sort worn by Omnist monks, though the monks of course kept their attire in much better repair. The right touches of makeup had made his eyes and cheeks hollow, his hair dirty and unkempt. The rest was all mannerisms. In total, he made the perfect image of a deranged religious fanatic, if he did say so himself. Which he had.

“Spare me your blandishments, fiend!” he screamed, spittle flying from his lips. “I heed only the voice! The voice commands and I carry forth its will! Yes, one by one I shall call you, one by one I shall strike you down! The voice knows the way! The pits of hell shall be emptied by my hand!”

“Oh, honestly,” the incubus said in disgust, looking him up and down. “Why do I always get the crazy ones? Useless, the lot of you; one can’t even have proper revenge on a madman. It’s like whipping the wolf that killed your dog. It takes some sanity to truly suffer properly.”

“Be silent, unclean thing!” Darling bellowed, his voice cracking. “You need not speak, you need only die!” A nimbus of golden light sprang up around him; the demon flinched back, sparking where he impacted the cylinder of magic thrown up by the summoning circle. “Yes, now you see your doom!” Darling cackled. “Now you know its face! Repent with your last breath, worm!”

“What the hell are you even doing?” the demon demanded, shielding his eyes. “You’re going to summon demons one by one and kill them? Do you know how many eons that would take? And anyway, the Black Wreath will be on you within days.” A honeyed tone entered his voice. “Look, if it’s dead demons you want, perhaps we can be of service to each other. Between you and me, I can’t stand most of—”

“SILENCE!” he screamed, frothing with mad rage, and called up more light than he ever had in his life, enough that he could feel the burning in his fingertips. Enough that the infernal runes holding the circle steady exploded, winking out and dissolving the demon’s prison. As they had been designed to do.

The incubus snorted, gave one pump of his wings and lunged backward out of the range of Darling’s aura. “Nice move,” he said, chuckling. “Well, I guess this is it, then. Thanks for the lift, friend! I’d been looking for a way back to this plane for years. Ta ta!”

Turning, he darted down the long tunnel into the sewers, fading into invisibility as he went.

“NOOO!” Darling howled behind him, raging and stomping up and down. “This cannot be! The voice promised! This is the way! Reveal yourself, monster!” Throwing his hands out hither and yon, he sent aimless bolts of holy power in all directions, splashing against the walls of the chamber and shooting down the corridor. That kind of thing was well outside his areas of expertise; they wouldn’t have done much against a demon of that caliber, but even the incubus wouldn’t have been able to remain invisible if hit by one. All he succeeded in doing was establishing that the creature was long gone.

Finally, he fell still, then permitted himself a grin. “All right, girls, show’s over. You can come out now.”

From the two back corners of the room, shadows deepened, then fell apart, revealing the forms of the two elves. They stepped forward carefully, eying him as though concerned for his health.

“That,” Flora said, “was a hell of a thing.”

“Care to let us in on the joke, finally?” Fauna added with a touch of asperity.

“Gladly!” Turning to face them, Darling tucked his thumbs in the ragged cord currently serving as his belt. “I don’t know how it is for elves, ladies, but when a human dies, if they weren’t a faithful enough follower for any god to claim their soul, it becomes a concern for Vidius. He’s a pretty easygoing chap; you can be a filthy agnostic your whole life, but if you made a solid effort to be a decent person, you’re still likely to end up on the divine plane. It’s not as much a certainty as if you followed a god faithfully, but there it is. For the rest, though…they get sent to Hell. What goes on down there we don’t much know, but we do know that some of them take to it.”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction the demon had fled. “That was an incubus, a demon…sort of. Incubi and succubi are the souls of humans who were, first, so wicked in life that they warranted infernal punishment, and second, so clever and strong-willed even in death that they managed to survive and advance themselves in the infernal realms, where basically everything is stronger than they are and wants to destroy them. Those who make it long enough or do well enough come to the attention of Prince Vanislaas, the first incubus, and are reborn as…that. Human soul, so corrupted with stabilized infernal magic that they are almost unrecognizable. Not well liked in Hell, and down to the last one, obsessed with getting back to the mortal plane to spread their corruption among their own former species.”

He grinned broadly. “Their powers include shape changing, invisibility, all manner of illusion and flight. They’re cunning almost beyond belief; they live to seduce and corrupt. A nasty piece of work, in other words, and not easy to take down. And, in at least a metaphysical sense, human. Best of all, there is absolutely no question that they need to be destroyed. So!” His grin broadened. “Think that’s enough of a challenge to satisfy your spirits?”

They stared at him, and then as one, delighted grins blossomed on their faces.

“I think that would do very nicely,” Fauna breathed.

“Well, then, you’ve given the bastard a sporting head start. I’d say the hunt is on.”

She dashed past him without another word. Flora paused only to lean in and peck him on the cheek.

“World’s best boss,” she whispered, then dashed off down the tunnel after her sister. They were gone in seconds.

Darling let the cheerful expression drop from his face, leaving him haggard and exhausted. He stepped backward until he came to the rear wall of the chamber and slumped against it. Momentarily he’d need to clear up all this detritus and then bless the space; one couldn’t be too careful when it came to demonology. He just needed a moment, first, to gather himself.

It was the best solution he could think of; the girls had certainly seemed to think it a good one. The incubus was crafty, but not nearly a match for one headhunter in terms of magical firepower, let alone two. The only question would be whether they could catch it… But no, they’d managed to pierce the secrecy around a vault sealed by the Church and the cult of Nemitoth without even trying. They could run this thing down, it would just give them a workout in the process. Of course, he had just set loose a devious corrupter demon in Tiraas. Yeah, there was absolutely no way this could end badly.

But no. They could do it. He just had to have faith in his little monsters.

Darling straightened up and began cleaning up the room, hoping, not for the first time recently, that he wasn’t in over his head.

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The attic room hadn’t changed since she had last been here, though it had been a little troublesome finding it. Last Rock wasn’t a large place, but Trissiny hadn’t wanted to go around asking people for the address. She couldn’t have said why, but the thought of leaving a trail of people who knew she was sniffing after Principia didn’t sit well with her. Still, she allotted herself plenty of time, and remembered the walk back from it fairly well. The space had luckily been designed to rent out, and its door opened onto an exterior flight of wooden steps, which spared her having to walk through the large house atop which it perched and explain herself to the occupants.

Late afternoon sunlight beamed through the narrow window, staining the room red. Trissiny swept her eyes around the space by reflex, finding nothing amiss, before focusing them on the occupant.

Principia rose from where she had been seated on the bed, staring at her with an expression to which Trissiny couldn’t put a name.

“You got my message.”

“Obviously.”

“And you came.”

“Yes.”

The elf smiled. “You even came alone.”

There was nothing menacing in Principia’s aspect, but Trissiny had been trained to be wary of anything that even hinted at a threat. Light flared up around her, overpowering the weak sunset and filling the room with gold. Principia leaned backward away from her, lifting a hand to shield her eyes.

“I am never alone.”

“All right, point taken,” the elf said. “I just meant… I’d half expected you to show up with Arachne or the Sheriff in tow, if at all.”

“I won’t deny that was my first impulse,” she said. “But…perhaps in this one case I can afford to be a little selfish. You being dragged away in chains wouldn’t leave us with much opportunity to talk.”

“A little selfishness never hurt anybody,” Principia said with a roguish grin.

Trissiny felt her own face fall into a frown. “That could not be less true.”

The elf’s amusement faded and the silence between them stretched out. Principia just…stared at her, as rapt as if Trissiny were a puzzle on which her life depended.

“How have you been tracking me?” Trissiny asked finally. “I gave that necklace to Tellwyrn.”

Prin shook her head. “I haven’t been. At least, not in the sense of following your movements. I have friends in Tiraas, though… Both ‘friends’ in the sense of people I like, and several whom I keep well-paid. I made sure to know of it if you ever visited the city. Which you not only did, but went straight to the main temple of Nemitoth and asked for help researching the archives. That’s the kind of activity that couldn’t be better designed to create notice and leave a trail. What did you want with the cult of Shaath and House Conover, by the way?”

“None of your business.”

She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fair enough, I was only curious.”

Trissiny sighed. “What is it you want from me?”

“Well…what do you want? You agreed to meet with me, so I know you have—”

“No,” Trissiny said sharply. “Do not do that. If you try to play word games or mess with my head, I will march right out of here and you’ll have as long as it takes me to reach the Sheriff’s office to get yourself out of town. Just because my primary talents are martial does not mean I’m stupid. I am, in fact, trained to deal with Eserites in particular.”

“Okay,” Principia said simply. “I…will try. Please don’t go for the sword if I slip up, though. The habits of a hundred years don’t vanish in one conversation.”

“My question was quite relevant,” Trissiny said. “I want to know what your interest in me is.”

“You mean, aside from me being the source of half your blood and your entire life?”

“That is a little too close to a word game. Professor Tellwyrn told me about the circumstances of my birth. Or are you going to claim she was lying?”

Principia’s lips twitched once, and she shook her head slowly. “I can’t say what, exactly, she told you…but I’m certain it was the simple facts as she perceives them. I’ve never known Arachne to lie to anyone. Not out of any point of principle; I think she just finds it beneath her to have to live by wits and guile the way most of us do. If it can’t be blasted to ash or teleported away, she can’t be bothered to deal with it.”

“Is it true, then,” Trissiny said softly, “you never so much as asked about me until I became a paladin?”

Prin closed her eyes, but nodded. “Yes…that is a fact. It’s not how it looks, though.”

“Well, I’m here,” she said tersely. “Explain if you’re going to.”

“First things first.” Turning and kneeling by the bed, she reached under it and dragged out a knapsack, which she held out, open, revealing it to be full of books. “Since there are so many ways for this conversation to go badly, you’ll want to take custody of this before you decide to storm out or go for your weapon or something. These are all volumes on diabolism, in one form or another. I was supposed to be working on Teal Falconer.”

“Teal?!”

“Yes, Teal. You didn’t happen to notice she’s sharing a body with an archdemon?” Principia grinned. “The Black Wreath is very interested in that. Their own people don’t operate this close to Arachne’s aegis, however. This is how I got my hands on the spellwork I needed to…well, all I wanted to do was create an opening to talk to you. I hope you can believe that… Anyway, I was meant to be striking up an acquaintance with Teal, gradually working her around to sympathize with their point of view. The books are full of stuff they want Vadrieny to be able to use.”

“Then,” Trissiny said carefully, “you’re not actually a member of the Black Wreath?”

Principia’s eyebrows shot up. “…seriously? Trissiny, the Black Wreath wants to overthrow the gods and end the world. Honestly, what has to go wrong in a person’s brain to make them think that’s a worthwhile use of their time? Not everyone who doesn’t share your outlook or theology is some kind of nihilistic idiot, kiddo.”

“Do not call me kiddo.”

“Okay,” she said meekly. “Sorry.”

“I’ll look these over and get them into the hands of someone appropriate.” She glanced down at the satchel as Principia set it on the floor, but didn’t move to take it.

“Send them back to Viridill,” Prin suggested. “Let the Avenists dispose of them. I doubt there’s anything in there that Arachne doesn’t already know about, but I try not to hand any kind of magic over to her on principle.”

“Oh? You had to know planting that necklace on me would end with it in her hands.”

“Sometimes you have to make sacrifices,” the elf said softly. “I’d have risked a lot more than that to have a chance with you.”

Silence stretched out again, even more awkward than before. Trissiny refused to drop her gaze, but the intensity of Principia’s stare made her deeply uncomfortable. She cleared her throat. “Then, I think you were about to give me an explanation.”

“Yes. Right. So I was.” Heaving a deep sigh, Prin finally tore her eyes from her daughter and sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. “It’s the damnedest thing… I’ve done practically nothing all day but work this over in my head and figure out what I want to say to you, here I still don’t know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning,” Trissiny suggested, “and stick to the truth.”

“The beginning. The truth. Right.” She laughed softly. “You do like to challenge me. All right, well…the truth. The truth is, eighteen years ago I thought the idea of having a child was nothing but a horrifying burden. It felt like the end of the world, like everything I enjoyed about my life—the freedom, mostly—would just be gone, like that. So…Arachne offered to take you off my hands and find you a home and I jumped at it. Thought I’d really dodged a wandshot. And…” Still not looking at Trissiny, she lifted her head to stare at the ceiling. “…and not one goddamn thing in my life has felt right ever since.”

“How so?” Trissiny asked quietly.

“I don’t know!” Finally, Principia looked at her again, and the frustration in her expression seemed to be pushing her close to the point of tears. “I just don’t have the vocabulary to understand any of this, Trissiny. Everything I am is… Well, I’m not an Eserite by accident. I believe. This is how I live: free, unburdened, the only rules my own and my wits and skills the only thing protecting me. I turned my back on my family and tribe because I couldn’t stand to exist the way they did. I can’t imagine how I could possibly have coped with raising a child. All I know is I’ve been thinking of you constantly for eighteen years, and trying my level best not to. It only worked sometimes.”

Silence fell again, and Trissiny didn’t dare break it. She waited, watching, while Principia gathered her thoughts.

“Well,” she continued finally, “I was just starting to feel like me again. Like I could put it behind me and focus on living the way I wanted to. And then…the announcement came out that Avei had called a new paladin. Some orphan girl named Trissiny. As if there could possibly be two girls raised in the Abbey at Viridill named the elvish word for a tree that doesn’t even grow in the Empire. A new Age of Adventures…or a new something, or maybe the return of an old something. There’s been a lot of speculation. All I knew was this meant you’d be involved in the world, in a big way. Your name and face would be all over everything.” She dropped her gaze, staring at the floor. “…that I would never be able to escape you. So…I gave up.”

“Gave up?”

“Gave up trying not to love you,” she said quietly. “May all the gods help me, I have spent the entirety of your life trying with everything I have not to care about you, and it just doesn’t work. You’re still my daughter. And yes, I realize I’ve thrown away any possible claim I had on you, but…” She lifted her eyes again. Tears glittered in them in the dimness. “I love you. I’m sorry for everything. That’s…really all I have to say.”

Only sheer force of will enabled Trissiny to hold her gaze. “I… I really don’t have anything to say to that.”

To her surprise, Principia actually laughed, breaking eye contact to brush tears away with one hand. “Well, that was a better reaction than I was expecting, anyway.”

“You went through all this… All the scheming, antagonizing multiple cults, not to mention Tellwyrn, just to say that?”

“I may have overcompensated,” she admitted. “When I first had my little epiphany… Well, all I can say was I was in a pretty stupid frame of mind, so much so I can hardly understand what I was thinking, looking back. I think I had some idea about making everything right, admitting my faults, and then you’d forgive me and we’d be some kind of family. Fortunately, that extremely scrappy old lady running the place tossed my ass down the stairs, which was not only exactly what I deserved but a much-needed wake up call. I haven’t lived this long by being fluffy-headed and delusional. It shook the wits back into me, anyway, and I resolved I’d approach you more in my own way next time.” She shrugged, wearing a rueful half-grin. “At the end of the day, tricks and schemes are what I do. What I am.”

“That is exactly what troubles me,” Trissiny said grimly. “It might have been better if you were just some shifty con artist using the cult of Eserion for a free ride. If you are truly devoted to his ways… You have to know your faith and mine have virtually the most hostile relationship between any two cults that doesn’t come to actual violence.”

“We don’t see it that way, you know. It’s more like…a dance. Avei has the judges, the police, the lawyers and the soldiers… Eserion has the thieves, sure, but the Guild makes sure that more dangerous forms of organized crime never get a foothold wherever Eserion’s name is honored, better than the law ever can. We put the letter of the law against the spirit of justice, and it drives you guys crazy. Truth be told, most of the Eserites I know think pretty well of Avenists. If we had nothing to deal with but cold, hard law, life would be a lot more challenging.”

“And there we have it,” Trissiny said with a despairing shrug. “It’s not as if I can redeem you or anything… There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just that everything you believe, everything you are, stands in opposition to everything I am.”

For a fleeting, horrified instant, she thought Principia was about to cry, but the expression passed so quickly Trissiny wondered if she might have imagined it. The elf shrugged, managing a slight grin.

“So…that’s it, then? There’s no chance at all?”

“Chance for what? You’ve said your piece. What else do you want from me?”

“I…” She paused to swallow painfully. “I would like to be part of your life, is all. In…in whatever capacity you have room for me.”

“My life is service. Protection, justice, and likely war. I will spend it going wherever the goddess needs me, in the company of my sisters and whatever comrades I meet who share the mission. I…” She sighed. “If not for that, if it was just me… I don’t know. I think I’d like to… Well, it doesn’t matter. My life isn’t mine, Principia, it has a purpose, and I cannot imagine you having any part of it. You are just… You’re not the kind of person the Hand of Avei needs to know.”

Principia kept her expression neutral, but her eyes glimmered and she was twisting her hands fiercely in her lap. “And…what if I were? What would that take, to be someone you could let into your life? I’m pretty sure I’d be a dismal excuse for an Avenist, but…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Trissiny said firmly. “We are what we are. You have your path, your calling. Turning away from it for the sake of someone else is a terrible idea. You’d just end up resenting me for it, at best.”

The elf swallowed and dropped her gaze again. “So…that’s it, then? Is that really all there is to it?”

Trissiny opened her mouth to speak, closed it, glanced around the room for inspiration and said a silent prayer for peace.

“I’m glad,” she said finally, “we got a chance to talk.”

“Yeah,” Principia whispered. “Me too.”

The Hand of Avei picked up the satchel of books, turned and left the room, leaving the thief behind.

 

Shook had blown most of his ready money taking Rail rides around the countryside, and by this point the combination of sprains and bruises from time spent on that damnable thing and his general frustration at the lack of progress had worked him into a fury that was above and beyond, even by his standards. He had ostensibly come back to Calderaas to withdraw more funds from his accounts to continue his search, but truth be told, there was nothing like a big city to work off some pent-up energy. There were whores to be had, and no shortage of seedy taverns and dark alleys full of brutes who’d serve as an outlet for his stress.

As such, when the door of his rented room burst inward off its hinges, his initial response was a sort of savage joy.

What came through, however, was tall enough it had to stoop to get through the doorway, broad enough in the chest that it cracked both sides of the frame on the way through, and appeared to be made of biological armor, like a misshapen amalgamation of crab shells. Its massive hands were tipped in serrated growths that resembled no claws Shook had ever seen, though their purpose was obvious, and rather than legs it had a pair of thick tentacles lined with suction cups.

Shook couldn’t put a name to the creature and had never been in a room with a demon before, but it wasn’t hard to deduce what it was. It certainly had no business being on this plane of existence. The thing looked like it had been created with nothing in mind but sheer destruction.

He threw both the knives he’d drawn in the general direction of the thing’s eyes, let out a roar of challenge and charged it, driving his cudgel at its throat.

The demon moved with impossible speed. It backhanded him in the chest, slamming him against the wall and knocking over the room’s wobbly table in the process. He staggered, barely keeping his footing. Winded and with his vision swimming, Shook lost precious seconds while the monstrosity positioned itself.

“Now, now, let’s all calm ourselves, shall we? There’s no need for any rough stuff. Perhaps we can have us a little chat, like civilized folk.”

The voice came from his right side, from the corner of the room opposite the door. Shook turned his head, blinking to re-focus his eyes.

A man with a well-lined, dark brown face stood there, wearing a pristine white suit and a smug grin. Behind him yawned a shadowy gap in reality which shrank as Shook watched, dissipating back into the mundane shadows of the corner.

The man in the suit appeared to be unarmed, so he returned his attention to the demon. It had stepped into the room and stopped, however, and now stood guard, offering no aggressive action. Two figures in dark gray robes had followed it in; one covered Shook with a wand while the other lifted the fallen door with much grunting and cursing, wrestling it back into place.

“Wreath,” he spat. Well, they weren’t exactly being subtle about it.

“Quite so,” said the suited man, bowing. “Name’s Embras Mogul. I wonder if I might have a moment of your time, Mr. Shook?”

“I’m half tempted to say ‘no,’ just to see what happens,” Shook growled.

Mogul grinned at him. “You won’t, though, and it’s not because you’re afraid of my little friend, here. Man like you isn’t afraid of much, is he? Most especially not when he ought to be. I respect that. No, this is a curious development and you’re interested in learning where it leads, in spite of yourself.”

“You presume a lot, mister. You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.” He tossed a small object from hand to hand; it glinted in the light. “This, for example, is one of my means of getting at information I’m not meant to have. A travel talisman. Know anything about shadow jumping?”

“Just get to the point.”

“It’s not as efficient as a wizard’s teleportation, or so they tell me,” Mogul went on, ignoring him. “Course, a mage has to study for years, not to mention building up a considerable store of personal power, to manage a trick like that. You can shadow jump the same way if you devote enough time and energy to the command of infernal magic, but there are easier ways if you have a travel talisman. Crafted in the bowels of Hell at the behest of the Black Lady herself, they are. These are handed out to our cult as a way to make our lives…easier. So many folk go out of their way to give us trouble. But look who I’m telling! I’m sure a member of the Thieves’ Guild can suss out very well how handy it’d be to be able to go where you want at a whim.”

Shook glanced at the demon and at the cultist holding him at wandpoint before turning his attention back to Mogul. “What the fuck is this? A Black Wreath cultist comes hopping out of the shadows to rough me up and monologue at me? Did I get transported into a novel or something?”

Mogul laughed. “I salute your candor! Very well, I’ll come to the point.” Still grinning, he held up the travel talisman. It was made of bronze, shaped in the twisted symbol of a wreath, and apparently formed of two interlocking pieces. “Now that you know what this is, would you like one?”

For a beat, only the slightly wet sound of the demon’s breathing disturbed the quiet.

“You came here to offer me a magic gizmo?” Shook said finally, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, yes and no,” Mogul replied. He made a complicated flourish of his fingers and the talisman vanished, no doubt up his sleeve. “I need this one, for obvious reasons. I want to convey my blessing to you, however, to obtain one of your own. It’s currently in the hands of someone I recently employed to do some work which, wonder of wonders, did not get done. If you can get your hands on the talisman currently in the possession of Principia Locke, you may keep it.”

“All right,” Shook said after a long pause, “maybe you’d better explain.”

“Oh, had I better?” Mogul’s grin widened. “Well, if you insist.”

Shook straightened slowly, feeling at his midsection. He was going to be a rainbow of bruises, but his ribs appeared to be intact. He kept his attention focused on this for the moment, refusing to gratify Mogul’s posturing with a response.

“I do, in fact, have a little present for you, compliments of my goddess.” He produced an object from behind his back and tossed it too quickly for Shook to get a good look before reflex took over and he snatched it out of the air.

He found himself holding a small reliquary, a tube of green-tinted glass not quite as long as his forearm, capped on both ends and supported internally with rough-shaped iron. A slim chain hung from one end, no doubt for it to be affixed to a belt, and inside was a single rose, suspended in the center of the glass tube, touching nothing. Even the drops of dew on its petals were undisturbed by motion. The color of the flower was impossible to guess; the shade of the glass made it look sickly.

“That,” said Mogul, folding his arms with a satisfied expression, “is the prison of the succubus Kheshiri. Whoever holds it can command her, and she will obey him absolutely. Twist the cap on the end, there, to loosen it; that will summon her to corporeal form. She can’t see or hear anything being said while it’s sealed, so you needn’t worry about your privacy. You’ll forgive my pointing it out, Mr. Shook, but your talents run more toward breaking things than finding things. I think you’ll find her assistance invaluable in locating your quarry.”

“I don’t need help from some whore demon,” Shook spat, but did not drop the reliquary.

“It’s like this,” Mogul went on amiably. “I have been having all kinds of trouble with your Guild lately. Nothing too onerous so far, but the little annoyances are starting to pile up. If it’s not Principia running off with our equipment and not doing the work we contracted, it’s Antonio poking his nose into matters that are no concern of his or his god’s. Everywhere I turn, some Eserite is causing me headaches and having a giggle over it. It’s enough to drive a man to drink.”

“I don’t know anything about any of that,” Shook said carefully.

“Dear fellow, I know very well that you don’t. I have just handed you the means to both outfox and overpower our wayward Miss Locke, and you know it. It’s exactly the thing you need to get everything you want.” His grin widened to downright skeletal proportions. “Of course, it’s still a demon. A trickster demon, a corrupter demon. Kheshiri is trouble enough that someone went to the effort of binding her; that should tell you everything you need to know.

“I see this playing out in one of two ways. Either you prove a much more capable fellow than I expect you are, hunt down Principia and beat some much belated respect into her… Or, more likely, you come to grief screwing around with that thing and become a walking hazard which Darling and his crew will have to go well out of their way to clean up. Either way, some Eserite ceases to be my problem and learns a valuable lesson about messing with the business of the Black Wreath.

“Alternatively,” he went on with a chuckle, “you do the sensible thing, drop that reliquary where you stand and forget you ever met me. Of course, what are the odds of that?”

Shook glared at him in silence.

“Well, this has been fun,” Mogul said cheerily, rubbing his hands together, then flicked his fingers, making the travel talisman slide back into his grip. “But I’ve got just all kinds of things to do today, and not much free time to socialize. You’ll pardon me, I hope, for dropping off your gift and running. Maybe next time we can catch a drink? Till then, ta ta!”

He twisted the talisman in his hands with a soft clatter of its tiny thorns against each other. The shadows swelled around him, engulfing his form in blackness, then receded, leaving nothing behind. A second set of tiny clicks sounded at the same time, and the other cultists and the demon vanished similarly.

Shook was left standing in a disheveled room with a broken door, staring at the reliquary resting in his hand.

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Tricks would have felt more comfortable in one of his disguises. More than keeping in practice, more than having fun with his subordinates or even making a constant effort to keep them sharp, it was a way for him to defray the stress of his position, drawing on another face, another identity. He’d never discussed this with anyone, though he suspected Style had an inkling. She was oddly perceptive at times, for being so bullheaded.

But this business required his own original face as the head of the Guild, and so he waited in the office just off the training pit, wearing a plain, unprepossessing suit, lounging in the room’s one padded chair.

Fortunately, he didn’t have long to wait. The office door opened and Style entered, a quietly seething Jeremiah Shook on her heels. Despite his glower, he was self-possessed enough to shut the door behind them while Style paced down the carpeted center of the room, past the rows of accountants’ desks, to come stand behind Trick’s shoulder.

“Thumper!” he said genially, beckoning the man forward. “Good to see you back safely.”

“Boss,” Thumper replied, making an effort to get his expression under control. Well, the man had due cause to be upset. None of that, as far as Tricks knew, was directed at him. Still, on top of the failure of his job in Last Rock, it was always humiliating, having to be extracted from the clutches of the law by the Guild’s attorneys. At least they’d gotten to Shook before he’d been handed over to Avenists. The cults of Avei and Eserion had a…complicated relationship.

“First of all,” Tricks said, “I want to reassure you up front that you’re not being called down on the carpet. What happened in Last Rock was patently not your fault. You were dealing with a foe extremely well-positioned and practiced at outmaneuvering opponents.”

“We should deal with that asshole McGraw,” Thumper all but snarled, his self-control fraying. “Our rep’s on the line. We can’t have people thinking they can spit in the Guild’s face and walk away.”

“All in good time,” Tricks said mildly. “He’s not the foe I was speaking of, however. One of our people in Puna Dara spotted McGraw less than a week after the events in question.”

“Doing what?” Thumper demanded.

Tricks grinned, well aware that it was an unpleasant expression. “Having dinner,” he said, “with Principia Locke. Apparently they went upstairs together afterward. Our agent heard enough of their conversation to confirm that Prin was the individual who hired McGraw to interfere in your operation.”

For a moment, Thumper just stared at him, completely nonplussed. Then his eyes tracked to one side, then the other. Tricks could almost see him making connections, considering events in light of this new information. Slowly, his posture stiffened until the man was practically vibrating. Fists clenched at his sides, he failed to maintain the mask of calm, his face twisting with rage.

“That little. Fucking. Whore.”

“Here’s the thing,” Tricks went on, feigning a casual air but watching Thumper carefully. The man was clearly on the verge of a complete blowup; it would be preferable if Style didn’t have to beat him compliant. “That operation of hers? Brilliant. One of the more elegant cons I’ve seen, and that is saying something. If she’d just had you roughed up or killed, the Guild would have sent along another, more dangerous agent, escalating the stakes and the risk. No, she had to generate complete chaos, turn the whole mission into such a complete and utter tits-up-in-the-rhubarb debacle that we have no choice but to withdraw all our attentions from the town. That succeeded brilliantly. Any new arrivals in Last Rock for the next little while are going to be examined very carefully, both by the local law and likely by Tellwyrn, which we risk the identity of any of our people we send back in there. And that leaves me in an awkward position. If it were anything simpler—going to the law, hiring an outside thug to take out a Guildmate—you know exactly what we’d do.”

“Drag her ass back here and beat it purple,” Shook snarled.

“For starters,” Tricks said with a faint grin. “But the point of that is to demonstrate to all the the Guild is still in control, that we’re not to be made fools of. In this case… Well, Thumper, we’ve been made right fools of, and no mistake. Keys made you and I look like complete idiots. Only reason she hasn’t managed to make a mockery of the Guild itself is nobody outside this room knows the extent of what she pulled. And it’s going to stay that way. You keep your mouth shut about this business, understand?”

Thumper forgot himself so far as to take a step forward, raising both fists. “You’re actually going to let the little cunt get away with—”

“Settle,” Style said quietly. Thumper stopped, collected himself, and nodded sharply, evidently not trusting himself to speak.

Style yelled, cursed and generally blustered as a matter of course, but as her enforcers quickly learned, when she whispered, people tended to die.

“So,” Tricks continued, “I’m giving you a little time off from your duties. It’s going in the records as a suspension related to a recent failed job. Consider it a well-earned vacation.”

Shook physically twitched as though struck. “You said,” he replied, clinging to a frayed thread of restraint, “I wasn’t to be punished.”

“You’re not,” Tricks said gently. “It’s like this, Thumper. I obviously cannot let Keys get away with turning on the Guild like this, and I cannot afford to spend any more resources going after her without further undercutting our credibility. If it comes down to it, I’ll suck it up and chase her down with whatever we’ve got, but first, I’m going to hope for her to magically find herself back here under completely other circumstances so I can straighten her out and make it look like we were all of us in full control the whole time.”

Thumper’s sneer eloquently said what he thought of that. “And she’ll come back here because…?”

“Hypothetically speaking,” Tricks said, “if an off-duty member of the Guild were to find and bring Keys here… Well, that person would gain quite a bit of rep for exposing and collaring a traitor when they weren’t even supposed to be at work. Naturally, if there were any recent blemishes in such a person’s record, they’d be quite overshadowed. Hell, I could probably see my way to removing such black marks entirely.”

Slowly, visibly, Thumper grew calmer as understanding dawned on him. His face didn’t quite relax completely, but there appeared something in his eyes that hinted at a very cruel sort of smile. “I see.”

Tricks grinned. “Enjoy your vacation.”

“You got it, Boss,” Thumper said, nodding first to him and then to Style, then turned to go.

Tricks let him get the door open and start to step out. “Oh, and Thumper.”

He turned back to look warily at his two superiors. “Boss?”

“In this hypothetical scenario, anybody bringing Keys back here had better be mindful of the condition she’s in. I can’t make an example of a corpse.”

“In this hypothetical scenario,” Thumper replied, “I would know exactly how to teach an uppity bitch some humility.” He nodded to them again, stepped out, and shut the door behind him.

Just like that, Tricks let the mask fall, slumping down in his chair and covering his eyes with a hand. “Ugh…what an absolute cock-up. I still can hardly believe all this, Style. Principia’s disrespectful and ornery, but she’s always been faithful to the Big Guy. I just…didn’t see this coming. Before the end of this, I’ve really gotta find out what it is she wants so badly in Last Rock that she’s willing to cross the Guild to get it.”

“This is why I wish you’d let me deal with my enforcers directly,” she replied. “Before sending Thumper off, I’d rather have spent some time finding out what he did to set her off that way. Yeah, I know my man. You can bet he did something. People don’t just up and turn on their cult on a fucking whim.”

He twisted around and leaned his head back to look up at her. “Do you think he tried to hand her off to the Wreath or something? To Tellwyrn?”

Style shook her head slowly, her expression troubled. “No…not that. Shook’s stuffed to the skull with rage and he’s got bad habits around women… Sweet tried to teach him some self-control, and ended up just teaching him to repress, which has not been helpful. But the Guild is his whole life. Even more than Prin, I can’t see him betraying a member to our enemies.”

“Then it doesn’t matter what he did, it matters what she did about it,” Tricks said firmly. “I will not have treason, Style. It’s not to be tolerated. Anything else we can deal with, work around, forgive if need be. Anybody who turns on the Guild is an enemy, simple as that.”

She drew in a deep breath and blew it out all at once. “You really think Thumper has a chance of collaring Prin in the wild? He’s a kneecapper; she’s a conwoman, and a damn good one. She’s already manipulated the hell out of him once.”

“Of course not. He’ll flush her out, though. Principia settled down in some nest with her defenses up is something I don’t fancy trying to root out. Principia fleeing across the countryside with that asshole at her heels… Well, if we play this right she might still be persuaded to come home voluntarily. After all, Thumper’s not working on my orders here, now is he?”

Style shook her head. “Well, let’s just hope this works out better than your last clever idea.”

 

Emperor Sharidan preferred a simple breakfast. When he had first ascended to the Silver Throne, moving into the harem wing and to a staff of servants who didn’t yet know his ways, he’d been greeted in the morning by a veritable feast, enough to feed a small village, from which he was expected to graze lightly, letting the rest go to waste. Over a dozen servants were posted about the room, ready to dash forth and pander to his merest whim.

He had quickly made his opinions about this known.

Now, breakfast in the Imperial harem was a small, almost cozy affair. He sat at a little round table in the parlor outside his bedroom, only four other people present, none of them servants. Milanda Darnassy, the young lady with whom he’d spent the night, was serving as hostess, pouring tea for those present. Sharidan never slept alone, and this duty always fell to his consort of the evening—which, these days, was more likely than not to be Milanda. In truth, he’d have welcomed her to sit down at the table, and while the other girls usually did, she preferred to keep a respectful distance from the rest of his company. This consisted of his wife, Eleanora, and sometimes a minister of some department or another called to deliver reports. Having breakfast with the Emperor was considered not so much an honor as an occasional duty. Today it was Lord Quentin Vex, who was in the process of running down a list of events he deemed important to bring to the Emperor’s attention, all but ignoring his pastry and braised swordfish.

Vex was more Eleanora’s creature than Sharidan’s, to be truthful, but she made a point of never receiving reports from the man except in his presence. The nature of their partnership was that she handled many of the more aggressive aspects of the Throne’s duties, chiefly espionage and military matters, but she was insistent that Sharidan be kept fully in the loop.

The fourth person in the room, and the reason no guards were present, was a black-coated Hand of the Emperor. Barring another attack by a deity, guards would have been quite superfluous.

“Nothing will come of it, as usual,” Vex was saying. “The orcs are always rattling sabers at us, but even if they did manage to land a raiding party on Tiraan soil they’d be obliterated by our forces. Even that is practically impossible; they’d have to get through the Tidestriders or the Punaji first.”

“We know this very well, Quentin,” Eleanora said with a hint of reproof. “The question was how this new round of saber-rattling will affect our relationship with the kingdom of Sifan.”

“Your pardon, Majesty, but the Sifanese are as aware of the situation as we. If any orcs actually launched an attack from their shores, it would be considered an act of war by them. They’ll never allow it, and the orcs know this very well. It’s all just talk.

“Nonetheless,” said Sharidan, “talk is the first step in every kind of interaction between nations, and there are things far short of war that could more than merely inconvenience us. I think it’s time to arrange a state visit to Sifan. With gifts suitable to express the great esteem in which we hold them.”

“Conveyed by warships,” Eleanora added, smiling at him. “The carrot and the stick.”

“Just so.” He returned her grin. “We have no objection to the Sifanese allowing orcs to dwell in their lands. It doesn’t hurt to remind them, now and again, why they don’t want us to develop objections.”

“Very good, your Majesty,” Vex said with an approving nod. “Then, there are only a couple more domestic issues, related to each other. I have…been in touch with Professor Tellwyrn regarding the Elilial matter.”

There was a moment of stillness at the table. Even the Hand tore his gaze from his perpetual survey of the room’s entrances to look over at them. This was a subject the Emperor did not prefer to discuss.

“Define ‘in touch,’” Eleanora ordered, her voice cold.

“I took the liberty of notifying her of Elilial’s re-entry to this plane, and the fact that she has worked out a way of doing so without tripping the alarms thought to be inherent in opening hellgates.”

“And you did this…why?” the Empress asked quietly. Vex appeared unruffled by her razor stare. He was one of the few who could manage it.

“With respect, your Majesty, managing Tellwyrn is something of an art form. I have been reviewing my predecessors’ notes on her, and the point that jumped repeatedly out at me is that she is usually reasonable and amenable to working with others, even with enemies, if treated with respect. If she feels someone is trying to manipulate her, well… At that point, people begin to vanish and things start exploding. I’ve not come out and said I’m using her to run interference with Elilial, nor will I, but it seems she is inclined to do that anyway, and I’d rather she not get the impression I’m doing anything at her expense.”

“That woman is unreliability given flesh,” Eleanora said with a sneer, but let the matter drop, turning back to her fish. Sharidan held his tongue. He had not asked about the details of Eleanora’s brush with Arachne Tellwyrn, as it had obviously happened before they had met, and hoped he would never have to. His wife’s dislike of the elf was clearly personal.

“In any case,” Vex went on smoothly, “I received, finally, a reply from the Professor. It read, in its entirety: ‘I’ll talk to her.’ Hopefully she will extend the same courtesy in appraising me of the broad strokes of that conversation, if or when it happens.”

“Can she actually do that?” Sharidan asked with interest. He told himself the interest was purely tactical, that he had no hope or desire of ever having another conversation with the woman he’d known as Lilian Riaje. He told himself this every time Elilial came up, in the hope that he would eventually start to believe it.

“That is impossible to know,” Vex said with an eloquent shrug. “I would say that if anyone can, though, it’s Tellwyrn. She is possibly the world’s leading expert on getting audiences with deities. That was the main thrust of what she’s done with her life since she appeared on the scene three thousand years ago. Whatever she wants with the gods, she’s managed to get a personal audience with every single one known, then vanished for thirty years, then showed up again to found that University of hers. I rather suspect this will be just like old times for her.”

“Don’t put us in a position where we must rely on her,” Eleanora said sharply.

“Your pardon, Majesty, but I would never do that,” he said politely. “I will, however, make use of every tool that presents itself. The other thing is tangentally connected. Last week, a Black Wreath cell was uprooted and obliterated in the village of Hamlet in Calderaan Province.”

Eleanora narrowed her eyes. “I thought the cell in that village was already wiped out. By Tellwyrn.”

“Yes, well…it would appear she missed a spot. The fascinating thing is that this was done by four Bishops of the Universal Church, in civilian clothes, who did not identify themselves as such to the locals, though they did not use assumed names. The Imperial Marshal in residence was under the impression they were there on the business of the Throne.”

The Empress’s eyes were onyx slits. “Which four?”

“Basra Syrinx—” This brought a snort from Eleanora, which he ignored. “—Andros Varanus, Branwen Snowe…and Antonio Darling.”

The Hand looked over at them sharply. Vex met his eyes and nodded. This particular Hand was the one who also sat on the security council, of which Vex and Darling were members.

“Isn’t that absolutely fascinating,” Sharidan mused, while Eleanora glared holes in the far wall. “It fairly well has to be Church business, does it not? Those are four deities whose followers tend to try to strangle each other when they come into contact.”

“Perhaps the time has come to have another conversation with dear Antonio,” Eleanora suggested grimly.

“With respect, your Majesty,” said Vex, “my recommendation at this point is to leave him alone and watch what he does. He is, after all, doing more or less what you told him to.”

“While misrepresenting himself as an agent of the Throne!”

“He is an agent of the Throne, even if he wasn’t officially on Imperial business. Consider that the man is balancing loyalties to the Throne, the Church, and the Thieves’ Guild; several of those loyalties are inherently contradictory. I think it would be a mistake to call him down before we learn which of them truly has his heart. If, indeed, any of them do. He’s the kind of man who juggles impossibly complex games for incalculable stakes because anything less would bore him. I am, however,” he added, “placing his home under surveillance over a different matter.”

“Oh?” Eleanora raised an eyebrow.

“It seems Bishop Darling has recently hired two housemaids.”

Sharidan knew Vex well enough to assume that this apparent non sequitur was going somewhere relevant. “I thought I remembered that Darling had a Butler?”

“He does,” Vex nodded.

“And his home,” Eleanora said slowly, “is big enough to need additional servants?”

“It is not, your Majesty. The girls in question are both elves. They are both former prostitutes at the establishment whose proprietress was recently murdered in the headhunter attack.”

He paused, giving that a moment to sink in.

“Go on,” Eleanora said.

“The perpetrator of that homicide was caught and dealt with—or so we assume, as no further incidents have occurred, and it’s not in the nature of headhunters to lie low. The thing that catches my attention about this chain of events was how instrumental Darling’s help was in identifying and apprehending the elf responsible. Who, as an interesting point, was a member of the Thieves’ Guild. It appears that these two elves are now apprenticing at the Guild. Directly under Darling himself.”

“You surely don’t think one of those elves is a headhunter,” Sharidan said slowly.

“There are innumerable other explanations which are more likely,” Vex replied, nodding. “Elves are quick, agile and deft; they make fantastic thieves, and yet are rarely inclined to become so. I can well imagine Darling snapping them up as apprentices. Then, too, he would hardly be the first wealthy man to arrange for a couple of exotic prostitutes to be exceedingly grateful to him. To look at it from another view, headhunters are solitary creatures and rarely evince an excess of self-control; the fact that there are two of these girls suggests neither is one. It is unlikely both would still be alive in that instance.”

“But?” Eleanora prompted.

“But.” He nodded to her. “If there were anyone ambitious enough and reckless enough to think he could keep a headhunter under control… Well, I have no trouble imagining Darling trying to play that game. It’s enough of a possibility, however remote, to justify a few basic precautions. Surveillance, and notifying you—nothing further at this point, but I’m sure I need not tell your Majesties that a headhunter loose in the city is an absolutely unacceptable outcome.”

“Is it possible that he could manage to control a headhunter?” Sharidan mused. “Or two…or more? Think what someone could do with an entire force of those things.”

Lord Vex cleared his throat. “I…do not presume to speak toward what is magically possible, your Majesty. But what you suggest… It is in the category of every reclusive mage who sits in a tower ranting about how he’ll show everyone who mocked him. We simply can’t afford to take all such threats seriously. An army of headhunters under intelligent control is… It’s like a spell to drop the moon on one’s enemies. The odds of such a thing being achieved are not even worth calculating, and if it were somehow to happen, well… There is simply not much that could be done about it.”

Sharidan turned to regard the Hand, who was looking at him steadily. What the two of them knew that no one else in the room did—even Eleanora—was that Vex had also just neatly described the process by which Hands of the Emperor were created.

“The possibility, as you say, is enough,” he said to Vex, and then to the Hand, “begin preparing countermeasures.”

The Hand nodded, a deep gesture that verged on a bow.

Eleanora gave him a look; he gave her one back, and she quirked an eyebrow but turned back to Vex, letting it go. For all that their marriage was a sham as marriages went, the two of them were closer than he had once imagined he might ever be with another human being. The amount of trust between them was enough to permit his occasionally taking actions she did not understand, even to do so without explaining them to her, despite her suspicious nature. He accepted the same from her in turn. Neither had ever given the other cause to regret it.

Vex seemed quite unperturbed at being tacitly contradicted, but then, he rarely seemed perturbed by much. “That settled, then, nothing that remains is a significant interest to the Throne, in my opinion. There are a few minor intrigues among several of the Houses which you may wish to keep abreast of going forward. House Madouri has effectively withdrawn from the city…”

 

The little attic apartment had never been much of a home. She’d only spent three years there, which in an elf’s lifespan was hardly enough time to make unpacking worthwhile—not that she’d ever owned enough to fill the space anyway. Even so, there was something sad and hollow about the sight of the long room cleaned up and emptied of the touches that had made it hers.

The bed, small table and single ladderback chair had come with the space—“furnished,” indeed. Her rug, bed linens and quilt, and the thin little cushion on her chair had all been disposed of. The meager rest of her possessions were on her person in her bag of holding; they really amounted to little but clothes, toiletries and her enchanting supplies. All that was left out was a small disc of crystal, which currently sat in the middle of the floor, in the center of a diagram scrawled on the hardwood in enchantment-grade chalk.

Projected above it was a translucent model of Clarke Tower, glowing a dim blue that illuminated the room better than the late afternoon sun; that window was in the worst possible position for light. The model flickered occasionally, usually accompanied by a tiny spark from the chalk below as some of it burned out. It had grown progressively dimmer the whole time she’d been watching, though even still, she could clearly see the tiny golden eagle, the only object picked out inside the tower. It had been moving around all afternoon, since it had re-entered the tower—since Trissiny had come home from class. Now, it stayed relatively stationary in the upper room.

Principia sat on the uncovered mattress, her back against the wall, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, staring at the glowing little tower. She sat thus, unmoving, as the last of the light faded outside, true night fell and the only thing brightening the room was her magical model. Not until the little eagle had remained completely still for nearly an hour did she stir.

It was the work of a moment to scrub out the diagram, causing the tower to vanish and true dark to fall over the room. It would have been dark to a human, anyway; her eyes had no trouble picking out the details of the attic. She picked up the crystal disc and tucked it into a pocket, then turned without a backward glance and left her room for the last time, leaving behind nothing but a smudge of spent magical chalk on the floor.

 

Lianwe clawed at her sheets, having long since given up on sleep. It was bad tonight.

Mostly the spirits let her be. She could always hear them—except it was more feeling than hearing, for all that she clearly perceived the words—but usually in the distant background, not distracting her. They had at least that much pragmatism, that they avoided disrupting her actions or putting them all in danger. If they were going to act up, it would be when all was quiet, when she was trying to rest. It had rarely been this bad before. But then, she had rarely gone this far without indulging them.

They were a torrent, a cacophony, yet she clearly heard each voice. Some screaming incoherently, some screaming for vengeance, for blood. Insistent voices urged her to hunt, to glory in the chase, the kill. Others whispered advice—one even was trying to calm her. She appreciated the thought, at least.

It wasn’t the voices that bothered her, disturbing as they were. Much as it seemed such things might be enough to drive one mad, something about the transition she had taken on when she’d embraced the spirits had left her able to cope. No, the problem was that one of them—possibly more, she couldn’t tell—had grabbed at the powers, and she clenched and trembled with the effort of controlling them.

She was no mage, no warlock, witch or priest to have picked a magical path in life and learned a deep control and understanding of it. She knew what the powers did intuitively, but it was different each time they came. They always provided what she needed in a given situation. Or what the spirits thought she needed, anyway. She did not need what they were trying to do now.

Infernal spells to rip open portals in reality and slide through the streets of the city. Elemental fireballs. Fae magic to pull thorny vines from the ground and ensnare prey. Lightning, ice… Pain. Lianwe clung to her control.

So intent was she on this that she didn’t even hear Shinaue rising from her own bed on the other side of their small room, didn’t notice her until the other elf climbed into her own bed and wrapped her arms around her. Soft murmurs, gentle hands stroking her hair. Just like that, the spirits began to calm, the powers sliding back into the void from which they sprang. Something in them responded to the spirits in the other woman. They had gone to the dark place together, come out together. The things inside them knew each other. In some ways, they were all one.

Lianwe relaxed, burying her face in Shinaue’s neck gratefully. Soon enough, she knew, it would be the other who risked a loss of control, and it would be she who offered relief. Eventually, if they didn’t give in to what the spirits demanded, no relief would be enough.

It wouldn’t come to that point, though. They would kill before then. Once had been enough to teach them never to let it come to that.

But this time… Things were different now. This time, they had purpose. Prey who deserved, needed to die. This time, Sweet would tell them who to kill.

As she drifted to sleep, Lianwe wondered if it was wisdom or cowardice, letting him make that decision for them. Before the darkness drifted over her, she decided it did not matter.

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Tazlith’s group exchanged a round of glances, Shook began creeping back to place them between himself and Tellwyrn, the three soldiers grinned in unison, McGraw very casually lowered his staff to point in the Professor’s general direction, and Principia said something in elvish that was, even to those who didn’t understand the language, unmistakeably a curse.

“I know what several of you are thinking,” Tellwyrn said, “and the answer is ‘no.’ This nonsense is at an end.”

Marks raised one of his wands. “I think we can take—”

She gestured in his direction and he vanished with an audible snap of arcane energy. In his place a small terrier reappeared at about chest height, yelping when it fell to the ground.

“What the hell?” Tazlith exclaimed. “What did you do?”

“It’s called a baleful polymorph,” Tellwyrn said serenely. “I do not like repeating myself.”

“You can’t just cast a baleful polymorph!” said Lorrie the warlock, her attempts at sententious diction gone in panic. “It takes a ritual circle, multiple spell foci, a huge power source…”

Ox cleared his throat. “That’s Professor Tellwyrn.”

“Oh,” the warlock squeaked, and fell silent, edging behind Tazlith.

“There will be no more acts of violence or general disruptive behavior,” Tellwyrn continued. “Those of you who are under arrest will go quietly with the Sheriff; the rest of you get lost back to your own business.”

“You wretched witch!” Miz Cratchley screeched, brandishing her still-smoking staff at Tellwyrn. “This is all your fault, all of it. This was a good, quiet town before you came along!”

“Except for Mabel, for whom we make allowances,” Tellwyrn said, waving a hand. With a soft pop, Miz Cratchley disappeared.

Sanders cleared his throat. “Ah, if you don’t mind my asking…”

“She’s safely at her home,” Tellwyrn said, “and that staff of hers is in your office. Not sure why I bother,” she added, giving him an exasperated look, “since I know you’re just going to give it back to her again.”

“That staff is an heirloom,” Sanders replied in the weary tone of a man who has had this conversation once too often. “Her husband carried it in the Emperor’s service. It’s also a valuable antique. She’d need to actually hurt someone with it before I can confiscate it.”

“At least have the enchantment stripped off. She’s gonna blow herself up one of these days, and then how will you feel?”

“The vintage enchantment is the better part of what makes it valuable. Damn it, Professor, some of us have to follow the laws!”

“Seems you two could use a mite of privacy,” McGraw said solicitously. “Shall we come back and finish this later?”

“Do you think you’re funny, McGraw?” Tellwyrn asked, turning to face him. She extended an arm and pointed at Rook. “The boy in the scruffy uniform there, he’s funny. You are a pain in the ass.”

“Well, to be fair,” said Rook cheerfully, “I’m also a pain in the ass.”

“With regard to our understanding, ma’am,” McGraw said politely, “I didn’t start this, and I did my very best to prevent it getting out of hand. As I’m sure you are more than aware, reasoning with high-strung youths just ain’t always feasible.”

“Do you know what Zero Twenty means, McGraw?” Tellwyrn asked mildly.

He subtly tightened his grip on his staff. “I’m afraid I do, ma’am.”

“If I may?” the mage with Tazlith said politely. He bowed when Tellwyrn turned to stare at him. “Mr. McGraw speaks truthfully. He made every effort to talk this down before someone intervened, apparently forcing one of Marks’s wands to discharge. It is, by the way, quite an honor to meet you, Professor.”

“Did they, now,” Tellwyrn said quietly. “That’s very interesting.” She shifted her eyes to look straight at Shook.

She wasn’t the only one.

“Anybody who wants to make an accusation had best have more than hearsay backing them up,” Shook said, glaring.

“Oh really? Should I?” Tellwyrn grinned savagely. “And why is that, precisely?”

“If you don’t mind, Professor,” Sanders interjected, “I would prefer to handle this. After all, a fine, upstanding member of the Thieves’ Guild like Mr. Shook here knows better than to resist arrest when he’s fairly caught. Ain’t that right, Jeremiah?”

Shook gave the Sheriff a share of his furious stare, which appeared not to faze him in the slightest.

“It’s true?” Tazlith whispered. She glanced down at Shook’s hands; he tucked them back into his sleeves, but not fast enough. “You stole her rings, too? You said we were protecting her.”

“Oh, shut up, you dimwitted sow,” he snarled. “She’d be dead twice over by now if not for me.”

“Everything was going fine until you blundered into town, dumbshit!” Principia snapped. “Now look. Good fucking job, Enforcer.”

“Yup,” Sanders said. “Looks like everybody’s coming down to the office. Boys, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate your help a while longer.”

“You kidding?” Rook replied, still wearing a grin. “This is fantastic! Most excitement we had at our last post was when they sent us a shipment of bad beans and Moriarty had the runs for a week. Well, until that thing we can’t talk about.” He staggered, having been elbowed hard from both sides by Finchley and Moriarty.

“Shook’s getting charged,” Sanders went on grimly, then pointed at Tazlith. “Also you, missy, since I know for a fact you’re the organizer of this motley troupe. Whatever your intentions, you need to learn a thing or two about law and order, and why you don’t take them into your own little hands.” Tazlith looked absolutely stricken by the unfairness of it all; mouth hanging open, she couldn’t even formulate a response. The Sheriff continued, moving his pointing finger around at those assembled. “The rest of you… I’ll wait till I’ve heard the whole story from all participants before I decide if it’s worth charging anybody with anything. Um…and that fellow who’s now a dog…” He glanced helplessly at Tellwyrn.

“He’s fine,” she said dismissively. “He’ll revert in about an hour, none the worse for wear. You might give him some water, though. This climate is rough if you’re wearing a fur coat.”

Marks yapped furiously at her.

“And her?” Tazlith demanded shrilly, pointing at Principia. McGraw wasn’t visibly aiming a weapon at her, but the elf still held herself as still and small as possible. “Apparently she’s a thief, too!”

Sanders heaved a sigh. “Being a thief is a crime. Being a member of the Thieves’ Guild is not.”

“What?”

“The Guild is the organized cult of Eserion,” Tellwyrn explained, smiling faintly. “You can’t just outlaw the cult of a god of the Pantheon.”

“And as usual,” Sanders said in annoyance, “Prin is sitting pretty in the gray area between what I’m pretty sure she’s done and what I can prove she did. Apparently all she’s guilty of is getting threatened, stolen from, and kidnapped.”

“I would just like to say,” Principia remarked, “fuck you all. Every last one of you in particular. I’m certain you each knows exactly why.”

“Which just leaves the man of the hour, here.” Sanders turned to face McGraw directly. “Kidnapping. Threats of murder. That’s more’n a slap on the wrist.”

“With the greatest possible respect, Sheriff, you are something of a redundancy here,” McGraw said politely, then tipped his hat in Tellwyrn’s direction. “Professor, I’d take it as a kindness if you could suss out just where we stand. Makes quite the difference with regard to what I do next.”

She shrugged. “If you didn’t cause the trouble, you didn’t cause the trouble. You start messing with the Sheriff and matters will be different, but if all the harm you’ve done is to Principia… Well, I did specifically exempt that from any promises of retribution, didn’t I?”

“Wait,” Prin said, stiffening. “You fucking what?”

“I told him I didn’t care what he did to you,” Tellwyrn replied, grinning nastily. “Are you surprised? Offended? Do you think that’s in any way unfair? Grow up already, Prin.”

“Oh, you absolute unutterable bitch!”

“My, my, gendered insults between women. And in public, no less! What would Trissiny think, I wonder?”

Principia fell silent, but her face went scarlet with rage.

“On the subject of gray areas,” Sanders said, “out here on the frontier I sometimes have to make a decision between observing the letter of the law and keeping the general peace. If the good Professor doesn’t care to step in, and considering I don’t fancy havin’ a shoot-out with you in particular… And since I’m also not excessively perturbed by crimes committed exclusively against Miss Locke, here, I might be amenable to lettin’ all this go.”

“You fucking WHAT?” Principia screamed.

“I always appreciate reasonable exceptions to silly laws,” McGraw said mildly, stepping around from behind the apoplectic elf. He held his arms wide, grinning disarmingly. “Course, I’m honor-bound to point out that if you did choose to make an issue of this, and I did defend myself, well… I’m pretty sure that’d cross the line drawn by the esteemed Professor, here. Might be small consolation for having half of Last Rock leveled, but you could go down in history as the man who helped bring down Longshot McGraw.”

Sanders strode forward, straight at him. McGraw didn’t back down by so much as an step, and the Sheriff didn’t pause until his nose was a bare inch from the other man’s. He kept his voice low, but in the sudden stillness, the mild wind of the prairie wasn’t enough to prevent his words from being clearly heard by everyone present.

“Get the hell out of my town, McGraw.”

They locked gazes for a long moment, utterly still. Then Longshot McGraw very deliberately stepped backward, nodding politely.

“Fair enough, Sheriff. D’you mind awfully if I loiter on the platform, there, till the next caravan arrives? It’s a long stretch of nothin’ between here and…well, anything at all. You get to be my age, and the thought of hiking through the prairie for weeks just ain’t as exciting as it once was.”

Sanders held his gaze for another long moment, then turned away. “Ox, me an’ the boys’ll take this lot down to the jail. Kindly stay here and make sure Mr. McGraw gets safely on the Rails. He so much as sneezes, blast him.”

“Sheriff,” Ox said, nodding grimly.

“Feh,” Tellwyrn said, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Half the morning, wasted. If I have to come deal with this again, everybody dies.” She vanished with a quiet pop of air rushing in to fill the space she had occupied.

“Least one good turn came outta this,” Sanders remarked loudly to Finchley as he and the soldiers began herding Shook and the adventurers down the street at wand point. “Membership in the Thieves’ Guild isn’t a crime, but it does constitute probable cause. So much as a butter knife goes missing in this town from here on an’ I get to search Prin’s rooms as a matter of course. Should make several things easier.”

“Well,” McGraw said ruefully, “this’ll be a blot on the record, I suppose. Guess I’ll have to go give back some money, soon as I get to Tiraas.” Turning to Principia, he tipped his hat politely. “Ma’am.”

She watched him stroll over to the Rail platform and lounge against one of the pillars holding up the awning there, taking out a cigarillo and lighting it with his staff.

For a heartbeat, all was quiet.

Then Principia Locke threw back her head and let out a long, wordless scream.

 

Admestus Rafe swam slowly up through the most delicious dreams. As reality began to coalesce around him, he found it just as agreeable, full of splendid warmth and softness. He opened his eyes, finally, just as gentle lips were withdrawn from his own. For a second, all he was conscious of were the big brown eyes inches from his, and the warm, curvy weight resting across his body.

“Hey, it worked!” Juniper said cheerfully.

“Waugh!” Suddenly lucid, Rafe scrambled backward in panic, throwing her off. “No! Bad! Student! Arachne will eat my liver!”

“Mornin’, sunshine!” Ruda said cheerfully from just above him.

He paused to take stock. They were in a covered wagon, trundling along; to judge by the light filtering through the openings, it was early afternoon. Fross flittered around the interior, Ruda sat on the driver’s seat just behind his head, Juniper was…well, right there. Toby and Shaeine were still laid out, unconscious.

“I wasn’t absolutely sure I could do it,” Juniper said, then yawned hugely. “I mean, basic healing, yeah, but drugs are so much more…complicated. But apparently I can sorta…take it on myself? Sort of. Not, like, the drug, but some of the…badness of it?”

“You can suck drugs out of people?” Fross chimed. “Neat!”

Ruda cackled. “Word around campus is she can suck the enchantment off a battlestaff.”

Juniper yawned again. “It’s not easy, though. Been a rough day… I’m gonna…” She listed over onto one side and curled up, asleep before she finished her sentence. For the first time Rafe realized there was a large hole in the side of her dress, its edges burned black, and the flesh underneath it appeared to be covered in some kind of bark.

“What happened to her?” he asked.

“She got shot,” said Ruda.

Rafe bit back a curse. “Oh…hell. Who’s dead?”

“Just the fuckers that did it. All’s well that ends well an’ all that shit.”

“Whew… I guess Naiya was in an uncharacteristically reasonable mood. Last time I heard about somebody shooting a dryad, it was killer bees and wasps from one horizon to the other.”

“Let me get you caught up,” the pirate went on, still in that cheery tone. “The nice people who gave us dinner drugged us with magic cornbread. It was damn good cornbread, almost worth the drugs. Beans baked right in and a cinnamon glaze, I gotta remember that… Anyway, they were gonna steal our shit, dose us with memory-altering magic and leave us somewhere. Except Fross, who was being made into a lamp.”

“Excuse me, I’m an arcane sciences major! That bottle was only warded against fae magic. I would’ve gotten out eventually.”

“Yeah, but not before the rest of us were goners. I still saved all our asses.”

“That’s right, you did!” She buzzed down to hover in front of Rafe’s face. “She did! Ruda’s very smart.”

“Also good-looking and a goddamn terror in a fight,” Ruda said merrily. “So yeah, yadda yadda, yadda, they knocked us out, I’m awesome, and now here we are and I get to make fun of you, Professor Big Heap Alchemist, for getting drugged by cornbread.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly, “but I’m a genius, not a deity. Do you know how many tasteless, odorless and basically undetectable compounds can be cooked into food to knock people out? No, you don’t, and neither do I, because that’s just about the simplest thing there is to do.”

“Oh, please,” she said, grinning over her shoulder at him. “’Bella, get the special cornbread.’ They might as well have been twirling their fucking mustaches. Honestly, how the hell any of you so much as buy breakfast without getting swindled outta your goddamn pants is beyond me.”

“You ate it too,” he said irritably, getting up. It wasn’t easy with the lurching progress of the wagon, but he needed to check on Toby and Shaeine.

“I was hungry, and I don’t get drugged. Just one of the many benefits of being Punaji. It’s pretty much all benefits, for the record.”

“And how did you know they weren’t going to just feed us poison, if you’re so smart?”

“It’s called tactics, chucklenuts. Trissiny might be the military expert, but when it comes to knocking people down an’ taking their shit, we’re in my territory. They had staves, see? Practically pointed at us. If I’d made a stink about the cornbread, they’d’ve just shot us. Contrariwise, the fact they didn’t indicated they didn’t want us dead. So I played along until an opportunity came up to turn the tables. Which, inevitably, it did, and here we are. You’re fucking welcome, by the way.”

“What, you want a medal? I’ll see to it Tellwyrn passes you for the exercise, anyway.”

“Eh, that’ll do for a start,” she said airily. “I expect everyone to go on at length about the glory that is me, by the way.”

“You savor that, kiddo,” he said, grinning. “Now you have a taste of what it’s like to be Professor Rafe every day!”

Ruda’s smile faded; she glanced back again. Rafe was bent over Toby, holding a small vial under his nose.

“Ooh, is that smelling salts?” Fross asked, fluttering close. “Will that wake him up?”

“No, no, I don’t want to just pump drugs into them without knowing what we’re dealing with. I’m just working out what they got dosed with. Then I can apply the right counter-agent without risking a bad interaction. Actually, could you fly a little closer? I need to watch how this changes color and you’re the only light in here.”

“So,” said Ruda, turning back to face forward again. “What’s with you, anyway?”

“Me?” Fross asked.

“No, him.”

“Nothing’s with me,” Rafe replied, showing signs of his old bluster returning. “Merely the extravagant and vigorous splendor that is my stock in trade!”

“Cut the bullshit. You spent most of last night practically silent. Well, talking about like a normal person does, which for you is practically silent. Then you got your ass drugged, and you can make excuses all you want but we both know that’s a sign you fucked up. I bet you’d have seen the trap coming if you’d been paying attention. So, spill.”

They were quiet for a minute while he fiddled with his reagents. Fross buzzed around as if uncertain where she wanted to hover. Ruda didn’t prompt him again, and had just about decided he wasn’t going to answer when he finally did.

“We’ve lost students before, of course. C’mon, the kind of people Arachne recruits? You little bastards are one of the better-behaved years I’ve seen in a while. You just don’t throw the Empire’s most powerful weirdos onto a campus together and then send them out against real-world threats three times a semester without having fatalities. But… I’ve never lost someone before. Having a student I alone was personally responsible for get…” He broke off, stuffed a vial back into his belt pouch and took out another one, not looking at her or Fross. “It’s…something to deal with.”

Ruda nodded slowly. “I think I get you. Man… I didn’t even like her. But she was part of my crew, and…now we don’t even know if she’s gone or not. I’m still wondering if there’s even anything I need to deal with, never mind how the fuck I’m actually going to deal.”

“Yeah.”

“So, get the fuck over it.”

He twisted around to scowl at her. “Excuse me? Real sensitive, Punaji.”

Ruda kept her face forward toward the horizon, but spoke loudly enough to be clearly heard. “That’s what leadership means: everything is your fucking fault, and you don’t get to whine about it. You just keep at it and do the job. Instead, you got into your little funk and walked all our asses right into a trap.”

“If you’ll recall,” he said pointedly, “Professor Tellwyrn reminded everyone that I’m along on this little shindig in an observational capacity. I’m not the one giving orders.”

“Bullshit. That went over the side when you shouted Trissiny down for doing her fucking job and giving us advice on dealing with the centaurs. Which, by the fucking way, was good fucking advice and we probably wouldn’t be in all this shit if we’d just followed it. You took the job, so do the job.”

He scowled and turned back toward Toby, gently lifting the boy’s head and tipping a vial of thick fluid into his mouth. Seconds later, Toby coughed weakly, his eyelids beginning to flutter.

“Well, too late now,” Ruda said lightly. “No sign of the mountain yet, but the kidnapping assholes thought they were gonna get to the edge of the Sea by the end of today. Fuck if I know, I’m just figuring they understood how this place works.”

Rafe had no answer for her. He simply occupied himself tending to the others.

 

The mountain at Last Rock cast a long shadow. Unlike its sudden vanishing when they had first headed out into the Golden Sea, it appeared in a geographically normal fashion upon their return, giving the students hours to prepare themselves for their homecoming. It was hours spent mostly in conversation; even after everyone had been fully brought up to date on events, they found comfort—even Shaeine—in just talking.

Consequently, it was a tired and quiet group who drew their captured wagon to a stop at the foot of the mountain.

Professor Tellwyrn stood alone, waiting for them.

Toby had been handling the oxen; Ruda didn’t actually know anything about steering them, and had simply been sitting up front for the view, Juniper having given the beasts their instructions. He took time to stop and pat both animals as the others filed down from the wagon, Juniper still yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“Well?” Tellwyrn said simply when they had finally assembled in front of her.

“Teal,” Shaeine said, “and Gabriel?”

“Are fine. In their respective rooms, as far as I know, worrying about you lot.”

“We scored us a free wagon, and a small fortune in gemstones,” Ruda said.

“Actually, not such a small fortune,” Shaeine corrected.

“Whatever. It’s our plunder, won fair and square. The two demony types get a cut, too. Everybody, otherwise I wouldn’t feel right takin’ my share. And nobody who has any sense better come between a pirate and her booty.” She glared over at the others.

“Miss Punaji,” Tellwyrn said wearily, “three of your classmates—including you—are heirs to massive fortunes and don’t need gems. Two are paladins who have no attachment to worldly wealth, and two are fae who don’t even participate in the economy.”

“Everybody gets a share,” Ruda repeated stubbornly. “Sell ’em, donate ’em, chuck ’em down a well, fuck if I care.”

“Right. Anything else you’d like to report?”

“Professor,” Toby said quietly. “We…lost Trissiny.”

“Really,” she said dryly. “Have you checked your pockets?”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Ruda responded. “Is that a fucking joke to you?!”

“Pretty much,” Tellwyrn replied glibly. “I assure you, Trissiny’s fine and will be along presently.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Toby demanded.

“I keep forgetting you kids grew up in an era without paladins. Have you heard about the Stand at Stavulheim?”

“One Imperial legion held the city gates, alone, against an army of orcs for three days,” Shaeine replied. “Though the relevance of it to this situation escapes me.”

“The relevance is that that is the sanitized, politicized version taught by Imperial historians. I was around then, and I can hardly blame them for changing it up, as the truth is a lot less believable. It was two Hands of Avei who did that. Two. Against two thousand. And you think Trissiny was felled by a handful of centaurs? Please.

“Quite apart from that,” she went on, raising her voice over the comments that arose, “I am far from Avei’s favorite person; I assure you, if her brand new Hand had just gotten killed on one of my training exercises, we would be hearing about it. Also, she’s right behind you.”

They spun, Toby so quickly he nearly overbalanced, to look back at the Sea. Nobody was there.

“Are you just fucking with us now?” Ruda snarled, whirling back to glare at her, one hand falling to the hilt of her sword.

“A little,” Tellwyrn said with a smile. “’Right’ behind you may have been overstating it, but yes, she’s on her way, and making much better time than you did. Should be here in minutes. Trust me, you don’t argue with elven eyes.”

“You wear glasses!” Ruda shouted.

“Meanwhile,” Tellwyrn went on in a more grim tone, “we can discuss your performance, or lamentable lack thereof. To review: Upon being accosted by centaurs, your first move was to send your two most durable combatants away, hopelessly splitting your group and depriving the rest of their best defenders.”

“The centaurs’ war drums—”

“Miss Awarrion, do not interrupt me when I am chastising you. Then, you set out on a long, exhausting fighting retreat, with the inevitable result that your next most durable member—and also your best remaining counter to your opponents’ infernal magic—collapsed from fatigue. Honestly, how could you possibly have thought a tree nymph would fare well on a cross-country run? And finally, you apparently sacrificed your last magically-endowed fighter to the horde while the rest of you went blundering away to…” She trailed off, running her eyes over the wagon and oxen. “…all right, I have to admit I’m baffled how you got to a wagon full of plunder from fleeing for your lives from centaurs. It promises to be a good story, though. Probably not enough to redeem your grade for the exercise, but something.”

“Then how,” Shaeine asked quietly, “did you know we lost Trissiny to the centaurs?”

Tellwyrn tilted her head forward to stare them down over the rims of her spectacles. “Because, despite the fact that I specifically told you to follow Trissiny’s advice on combat matters, I know she didn’t tell you to enact this utterly hambrained plot. Which means you weren’t listening to her. You know what a paladin does when the idiot civilians she’s trying to protect refuse to see reason? She puts herself between them and whatever is out to get them. Ergo, here you are, sans paladin, and plus plunder. I doubt she’d have let you loot the corpses of whoever else you killed, either. Hello, Trissiny.”

They whirled around again; this time, Toby did overbalance, landing on his rump in the grass and staring up at the spectacle approaching them.

It was as if they’d appeared out of a fold in the ground—which was probably close to the literal truth, the Golden Sea being what it was. The horse was absolutely massive, an enormous, barrel-chested draft horse with a thick arched neck, blunt nose and feathered hooves the size of dinner plates. He wore silver armor over his neck, face and rump, and the golden eagle sigil of Avei was worked into his breast collar. Sitting in the saddle, dwarfed by the huge horse despite her height, was Trissiny. She was covered in grime and dried blood, but appeared as alert and unharmed as when they’d last seen her.

“Professor,” she said, nodding as she guided the steed to a halt next to them. For all his size, his hoofsteps were eerily quiet. “Is everyone all right? I passed these travelers’ other wagon a while back, and their bodies. It looked like they were eaten by wild animals.”

“No, that was me,” Juniper said brightly. “Hi, Triss! I’m glad you’re okay!”

“Hi,” the paladin said slowly. “…and you did that because…?”

“Oh, they drugged everybody and captured Fross and were going to rob and abandon us. And then they shot me.”

“Ah.” Trissiny nodded. “Very well, then. I’m just glad you all made it.”

“We made it?” Ruda said, gaping at her. “You’re glad we made it?! We—you were—we left you… How did… WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE A HORSE?”

“Paladins get mounts,” Tellwryn said serenely. “Avei usually doesn’t bequeath one until the Hand in question has proven herself in actual combat. I guess the centaurs were an adequate test.”

“Less trouble than I expected, honestly,” Trissiny said. “Once I killed their leader, the rest scattered.”

“Yes, for all their size and ferocity, they really aren’t militarily impressive. Which makes it all the sadder that you lot got yourselves routed by them. Honestly, if anybody important had been along to see that, it would go down in the annals of tactical incompetence. I can’t believe you let them do this,” she added directly to Trissiny.

The paladin raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so they have to listen to me, now? Splendid. I want everyone assembled on the main lawn at six AM for drill.”

“You joke,” Tellwyrn said grimly, “but after this debacle I’m half-tempted to authorize that.”

“You got,” Ruda said slowly, as though trying to convince herself of it, “a fucking horse.”

“His name’s Arjen,” Tellwyrn said helpfully.

“How do you know that?” Trissiny demanded.

“There’s a limited number of celestial steeds in Avei’s stable,” the Professor said cheerfully. “These creatures are truly immortal, not merely ageless like elves. If killed on this plane, they just return to their divine point of origin, ready to be summoned again. This fellow has served the Hands of Avei for millennia. We’ve met before,” she added, raising a hand as if to pat Arjen’s nose. He snorted disdainfully and twisted his head away. “See?” she said wryly.

“Arjen, is it,” Trissiny murmured, leaning forward to pat his neck. He whickered softly.

“You know what?” Ruda said flatly. “I fucking hate you.”

Trissiny sat bolt upright in her saddle, gaping at her in shock. “What?”

“Can you just for once not try to fucking show me up?” She clawed a bottle out of her coat and took a long swig. “But,” she added, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

Trissiny stared at her, open-mouthed, unable to formulate a reply.

“All right, it’s been great adventuring with you lot, but I’ve had enough,” said the pirate. “Tellwyrn can tell us all how much we suck another time, I’m done with this horseshit. Anybody needs me, too fucking bad. I’m gonna be in town, and I will not be back till I’ve drunk my weight in the dilute pisswater that passes for beer around here and screwed at least three local boys. Concurrently if I can find enough of these hicks without too many goddamn hangups. Have a good fucking night, all.”

Still drinking from her bottle, she stomped off in the direction of Last Rock.

“Don’t get pregnant!” Tellwyrn called after her.

“Fuck you!”

“So!” Rafe said brightly. “How’ve things been back here?”

“Eh.” Tellwyrn waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing ever happens in this town.”

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McGraw began to have a fatalistic feeling about the day when he wasn’t even allowed to finish breakfast. It wasn’t that the food at the A&W was particularly sumptuous, or even that he could afford to give it his undivided attention. He always kept an eye and ear on his surroundings when out on a mission, and in this particular town he also had his mental senses attuned to the wards that would notify him of his quarry attempting to flee via Rail. It was breakfast, though. There were some things to which a man was simply entitled, things he took it amiss when someone interrupted them.

He had, as usual, chosen a seat in the front corner of the room, which afforded him a view out the windows and one of the inn’s common room itself. After Tellwyrn’s surprise visit, he’d also taken to keeping a weather eye on the door. As such, he of course noted the five figures assembling in the square outside, but didn’t assign any particular attention to them until the one in the middle bellowed his name.

With a sigh, he glanced down at his plate of eggs, beans and hash browns, currently half-finished. The thought of just ignoring them crossed his mind, but with some regret he dismissed it. The sort of fool who stood outside a tavern yelling for someone to come out was the sort of fool who’d create an even more disruptive ruckus if they weren’t obliged. He brought the bite currently sitting on his fork to his mouth and stood, carefully wiping his face and beard with his napkin, and strolled across the room to the bar while chewing.

He swallowed just before reaching the waitress currently minding the tavern and tipped his hat politely to her. “Mornin’, miss. Just wanted to settle up here, in case I don’t get the chance later.” Smiling unthreateningly at her wary expression, he set a small stack of coins on the counter.

“That’s…uh, that’s well more than enough,” the girl said carefully.

“I’m aware. Listen, those kids outside yelling in the street? If they’re in a position to take advantage later, give ’em a round on me. They’re likely to need it.”

Nodding to her again, he turned and strode unhurriedly toward the door.

McGraw stepped outside and descended the short steps to the square, then came to a stop a couple of yards from the front of the tavern.

“Mornin’,” he said politely, tipping his hat. “It’s a mite early for it, don’t you think? I don’t suppose you kids would care to do this later.”

Two of the five—the women—he recognized from the tavern and around town; they were by far the more distinctive. The more absurd, if he was to be honest. The one in the center who’d been yelling was the attractive young lady in the dramatic black leather that showed a distracting amount of skin. He’d done his best not to be distracted, of course. McGraw’s policy was never to ogle a woman unless she specifically indicated that she wanted him to, and this one looked more the type to invite attention just so she could ream some poor fellow out for showing it. The other was a short, waifish, rather hollow-cheeked girl in sweltering black robes, clutching a staff of dark-stained hardwood. A magical staff, but not one that fired bolts of lightning at the press of a switch. No, it was a wizard’s staff in the tradition of his own, an aid to spellcasting. For all that, he didn’t perceive any arcane energies around her. A witch, then, or warlock? Either way, an amateur. People who meddled with either fairies or demons quickly learned to be serious and not waste time on such melodramatic touches as sweeping black robes and ornately-carved staves, or they came to a swift and sticky end.

The men were slightly more respectable-looking, with the exception of the mage, who was actually wearing hooded robes straight out of the last century. The man was middle-aged at least, with a slight paunch and as much gray as brown in his beard; of all people, he ought to know better. Beside him stood a fellow who wasn’t a cowboy but had dressed as one, his leather and denim attire brand-spanking new and embellished with needless embroidery, surmounted by a white ten-gallon hat. He also sported late-model wands holstered at his belt, over which his hands hovered menacingly. On the other side was a nervous-looking fellow in a plain suit, a bronze badge at his lapel marking him a cleric of Salyrene.

“Justice,” said the girl in leather self-importantly, “doesn’t wait till it’s convenient for you.”

“Now, I might be mistaken,” McGraw said mildly, “it wouldn’t be the first time. But I was under the impression that justice in this town was the province of a nice fellow with a badge, who has the actual authority of the Empire to hand it out.”

“Our weapons are all the authority we need,” sneered the “cowboy.”

“That’s no way to live, son,” McGraw told him gravely. “It makes for a world that ain’t fit for anybody to live in.”

“There are things more important than the law,” the girl in leather said sharply, clearly trying to steer the conversation back toward herself. “Especially when assassins hide behind the law to do their dirty work.”

“Was that directed at me?” he asked. “I didn’t realize I was hiding behind anything.”

“There are higher powers,” intoned the girl in the black robe. She had a thin, strained voice. “Higher concerns. A great doom is coming; it is whispered on the wind in every corner of the world. Those who care to stand against the darkness must do so, ere it is too late.”

“Kid,” he said wearily, “nobody talks like that.”

“Enough,” snapped Leather. “We’re not here to argue the point. Any point. We know what you’re here for, Longshot, and it’s not happening. I think you should leave town.”

“If there’s a problem with me minding my own business in this fair little burg, I believe I’ll wait till I hear about it from an official source. Just as a point of curiosity, though, are you kids aware the people you’re protecting are members of the Thieves’ Guild?”

That caused a stir in their ranks. The girl in the leather narrowed her eyes; the cleric actually twitched as if startled, looking over at the leader as if for direction.

“So,” said the mage with a smile, “you not only know who we’re discussing, but that they need protection. Sounds like an admission to me.”

“Well, it seems I’ll have to grant you that one,” McGraw said, chuckling ruefully. “Fairly caught. That’s what happens when I don’t get to finish my breakfast. What’s your story, friend? Forgive my pointin’ it out, but you don’t seem to quite fit in among these whippersnappers.”

“Rotscale,” the other wizard replied, holding up an arm and pulling back the sleeve of his robe to show a long streak of black, hardened skin. “I’ve been to every cleric in Tiraas; they can’t do a thing. The doctors say I’ve got two years, tops. Always wanted to be a hero, ever since I was a boy. Facing the prospect of actually dying in bed, well… A man reassesses what’s naïve and what’s true.”

“That, I can respect,” McGraw said, nodding gravely. The other man nodded in return, his expression still calm and faintly amused.

“So what’s it gonna be, McGraw?” asked the girl in the leather. “Are you gonna leave on your own terms? Or do we have to do this…the hard way?”

“Ideally,” he replied calmly, “the outcome here is that I go back inside and finish my meal, and y’all cut this foolishness out and go get a real job. Ain’t my policy to tell anybody how they oughta live, but I do wish you’d consider the consequences of your actions for people who aren’t you. This here’s an inhabited town,” he nodded to the side, where a dozen or so townfolk had gathered to watch the proceedings with great interest. “Anybody starts shootin’, there’s likely to be bystanders injured and sure to be property damage. Also, the way you’ve been carryin’ on out here, I expect the Sheriff to arrive any second, and as things stand it ain’t me who’s aimin’ to spend a night in the pokey.”

That brought them up short. Some of the bluster leaked out of the leader; she glanced uncertainly around at the buildings and people nearby, while the cleric and the robed girl looked to her for guidance. The cowboy only stared at McGraw, a faint grin hovering around his mouth. That one was going to be trouble, no matter how this played out.

“All of this,” McGraw went on, “is leaving aside that you poor saps have been suckered in by some authentically bad people to do their dirty work. So I’ll turn your question back around on you, miss. You wanna step inside, have a seat, talk this out like civilized folk? Or would you prefer to do something foolish and get buried under the consequences of it? What’s it gonna be?”

 

Watching from the shadows of a nearby alley, Thumper cursed softly to himself. Already it was all going wrong. All those damned kids had to do was be their stupid selves, and they couldn’t even do that right. Even as he watched, he could see their resolve faltering.

As usual, he had to do everything himself.

He pulled a small hinged case from the inside pocket of his coat and flipped it open; inside were several vials from his potion kit. He might be a fake salesman, but the props provided for his cover were quite real, and he had taken the precaution of bringing several along in case they came in handy for today’s work. Selecting one, he shut the case and tucked it back away, flicked the cork off the vial with his thumb, and drank it down, grimacing at the bitter taste. Would it interfere with the functioning of alchemy to add some damn flavor?

At least it worked. In seconds, his own arms faded from view. Clothes and all, luckily; he’d read horror stories of adventurers caught in sticky situations when their invisibility elixirs had only concealed flesh, but thankfully modern alchemy was more reliable.

Shook was no sneak-thief, but he’d grown up on the streets of Tiraas and knew how to move quietly. For all that sneaking out in the open in broad daylight set his nerves jangling, he circled around the little tableau unfolding in the square without being spotted by any of the participants. He’d half-expected McGraw to be able to see through the effects of the potion, but it seemed luck was with him.

He ghosted around behind the five would-be heroes, creeping up on the fool in the cowboy hat just as McGraw was finishing up his little speech. He was right about one thing: the sheriff would be here very soon. Thumper had singled out this guy when Tazlith had introduced him around to the posse she’d put together: he was aggressive, reckless, and exactly the sort of fellow who could be relied on to start trouble. Even if he didn’t actually start it, nobody would have a hard time believing that he had.

As the fives wannabes hesitated, glancing at each other, Thumper crouched, moved in closer, and then lunged. He grabbed one of the cowboy’s hands with one of his and his wand with the other. The man cried out in surprise and tried to pull away, but Thumper was faster, stronger and had the element of surprise. He mashed the wand against the man’s hand, twisted it in the general direction of McGraw, and squeezed the clicker.

The shot missed, of course, cracking one of the wooden supports holding up the A&W’s awning. That didn’t matter; what mattered was that to those watching, it looked like the man had performed a quick draw and fired from the waist.

It had been a gamble; it would have backfired had his targets shown any introspection or reserve, but human nature didn’t fail him. Once the shooting started, the thinking stopped.

McGraw hadn’t been in the path of the wandshot, but he nevertheless threw up a shield, a sparkling blue sphere around himself, which protected him from the blast of unfocused shadow magic hurled by the girl in the black robe. People screamed and ran in all directions. The cowboy had dropped his wand when Thumper let it go, and was looking around in confusion.

The Sheriff would be there in seconds, surely.

Thumper was already on his way back into the alley.

 

Principia had chosen a good spot once she heard the shouting begin. For all the trouble-making types who came through Last Rock, few bothered to make use of the town’s rooftops, which was almost a shame; the stone structures were extremely solid and their slate shingles kept in good repair. They also didn’t transmit sound well, so as long as she stepped lightly, nobody knew she was making her way over their house.

It helped that people never thought to look up.

The sloping roof of the general store had a conveniently-placed chimney from behind which she peeked down at the action in the square. She had marked the alley into which Shook had vanished prior to the action starting, and thus noted the faint disturbance of invisible footsteps in the dust heading toward the adventurers. It was, she had to acknowledge, a good effect. If not for elven eyes and the fact that she’d been watching specifically for something from that point of emergence, she would have missed it.

“You bastard,” she murmured with a faint smile. He was nothing if not predictable.

Prin ducked lower as the first shot went off, hiding herself completely and thus losing her view of the action. There followed two more wandshots and the less distinctive sounds of spells being cast, then a lull. She peeked out again a moment later, taking stock of the scene.

McGraw had vanished. Unless one of those fool casters had managed to disintegrate him—about as likely as a sudden revelation that she was in line for the Imperial throne—that meant he had moved to reclaim the advantage. The fact that she didn’t know where he was…well, that could be all kinds of bad.

Tazlith was trying to rally her troops, who were varying degrees of frightened, confused and pissed off. Principia decided none of this needed to be dealt with by her.

Moving lightly as a squirrel, she darted across the rooftops to the large house where she rented an attic, slipping neatly through her open window into her chambers. Even using her unconventional paths, nowhere in Last Rook took long to reach.

Prin shut the window behind herself, turned to her enchanting table…and froze. She darted over to the door—yes, it was open, the lock broken. Naturally Shook didn’t have the skill, and probably also not the inclination, to pick a lock like a professional. She looked back to the table, where her row of carefully enchanted rings were missing.

“Bastard,” she said with more feeling.

Right. Predictable.

Speaking of, at that moment her broken door pushed open and Longshot McGraw ducked inside.

“Ma’am,” he said courteously, tugging the brim of his hat to her. “Pardon my intrusion, but it seems I need to move up my timetable considerably.”

She stared at him for one silent moment before bolting.

Prin threw down a coin as she fled; its simple anti-magic charm wouldn’t have held against anything a wizard of McGraw’s caliber threw at it deliberately, but it disrupted the stasis spell he tossed after her enough that she only felt a brief tugging sensation before she managed to dive through the still-open window.

She somersaulted midair and landed on her feet in a slide, shooting straight down the sloping roof tiles. In the alley below, she kicked off the far wall to blunt her momentum and rolled as she reached the ground, sprinting for the mouth of the alley.

McGraw’s teleportation wasn’t as tidy or potent as Tellwyrn’s; his appearance was presaged by a split-second flash of blue light, giving Prin enough warning to skid to a stop rather than plow into him, and his reappearance came with a crack of energy and a static buzz that made her hair try to stand up.

“It seems,” he said conversationally as though nothing had just happened, “that your friend Mr. Shook has set a pack of ravenous puppies on me. I actually have to admire his cleverness; I’d feel quite bad if I brought harm to any of those silly kids, which hampers me more than a little. My feeling, though, is they’ll maybe be a bit less trigger-happy if I show up again with you in tow. They did turn up to protect you from my depredations, after all,” he added with a grin.

Principia backed up two careful steps. “Why are you doing this?”

He shrugged. “The money’s good.”

“That is what I meant. Why? You could have apprentices…wealth, a life of comfort. You’re ten times the mage any of those turkeys who go adventuring in the Sea are. Why this?”

McGraw tilted his head to one side, regarding her curiously for a moment before replying. “Short answer is, it’s something to do.”

“Seriously? That’s it?”

“Miss, when you get to my age—”

“I’m at least twice your age.”

“—you start to think about who you are and what you really want, whether you intend to or not. I stumbled into the adventuring life quite by accident and spent a couple decades moaning about it…but come time to retire, I found the thing I truly fear is… Well. Apprentices, wealth, comfort, and all the trappings of a staid life. Won’t say I crave adventure, as such, just…not to be bored. Things like this suit me fine.”

She crept back another step. “I could only wish I had your problems.”

“I imagine my situation looks a fair bit better’n yours at this moment. Not that I’m not enjoying this discussion, ma’am, but I also am not a fool. We can carry on chatting while we walk, if you are so inclined.” He leveled his staff at her and smiled politely. “This way, please.”

 

Shook made a point of breathing hard as he dashed up to the adventurers, who were huddled together in the square. Townspeople had fled; they had the place effectively to themselves for the moment. Where the hell was that Sheriff? It had been more than a couple of minutes already; Sanders had never been so slow to respond to a disturbance, at least not from what the locals had told him over the last few days. He’d had to wait for the counteragent to the invisibility elixir to take effect, and had been sure he’d come back to find his minions slugging it out with the law while their actual quarry slipped away. Well, odd as it was, he’d take it.

“Everybody all right?” he panted, doing his best to look concerned. “Damn, he moves fast. I didn’t even have a chance to get in behind him.”

“Jeremiah,” Tazlith said with obvious relief, turning to him. “Marks says he was grabbed; somebody got his wand and made him shoot at McGraw.”

“We are not of one mind on what to make of this story,” said Lorrie, the warlock. “It seems terribly convenient for him. Terribly inconvenient for us.”

“I didn’t detect any invisible presence,” the mage (whose name Shook hadn’t troubled to learn) intoned pompously. It was all Shook could do not to roll his eyes.

“Dammit, I should’ve expected that,” he said, putting on a rueful face.

“What?” said Tazlith. “What do you mean?”

“The whole point of this was to stand him down, prevent it coming to a fight, right? McGraw told me to my face he’d like nothing better than if I started the shooting so he could claim self-defense. If he realized we weren’t going to oblige him, obviously he made it seem you were starting the fight.”

“Can…can he do that?” Marks asked uncertainly.

“Man’s a famous battlemage. Who can say what he can do?”

“It’s an interesting theory.”

They all spun toward the speaker in unison, those who had weapons raising them. Sheriff Sanders was striding toward them, his stare promising murder. With him came Ox Whipporwill… And the three Imperial soldiers quartered at the University.

So that’s what had taken him so long.

“I cannot recommend strongly enough that you lower those wands,” Sanders said grimly. “Needless to say, a thorough investigation of everyone involved in this mess is forthcoming. If there’s been magical meddling, we’ll find out, one way or another. In the meantime, though, you are all coming down to the office with me. It’ll look much better for you if I don’t have to be assertive about it.”

“All we wanted to do was protect that girl McGraw is after,” Tazlith said stridently. “We’ll cooperate in any way we can, but right now he is still out there, and so is she. We aren’t the threat here. Do your job, Sheriff!”

Shook would have winced if her blustering didn’t so perfectly suit his aim of deflecting the trouble toward herself. That was one of the top ten things you absolutely did not say to law enforcement.

“This ain’t a conversation, miss,” Sanders shot back, placing a hand on his own wand. “I am gonna repeat myself one more time, and after that I’ll assume you’re resisting. We are going—”

“Excuse me,” said the robed mage, “but you should all see this.”

They turned to look where he pointed, Sanders a second after the others as if expecting to be attacked from behind if he averted his eyes. It was no trap, though, at least not for them. McGraw and Principia were entering the empty square from the street beyond. She walked in front, stiffly, her hands balled into fists at her side. The old wizard strolled behind her, staff resting over his shoulder, puffing idly on a cigarillo.

“Hello again,” he said. “Ah, ah, ah, let’s nobody go an’ do something rash. There’s been enough dust kicked up for one morning, I think. Seein’ as how Ms. Locke and myself seem to be the source of all this commotion, we’ve talked it over amongst ourselves and decided the most responsible course of action is for us to remove ourselves from town till everything has a chance to settle down again.”

“That true, Prin?” Sanders asked tersely.

She glared at him. “Of course it’s not fucking true, you half-wit, I’m being kidnapped! Do something!”

McGraw shook his head. “Nobody around here can ever let me do anything the easy way,” he said fatalistically. “Y’know, I believe I’m beginning to actively dislike this town.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Sanders said, drawing his wand. “Elias ‘Longshot’ McGraw, you’re under arrest.”

“If you consider the matter carefully,” McGraw replied calmly, smiling, “I think you will find that I am not. As I was saying, Ms. Locke and I will be leaving the town now. I leave it to you and these lovely people to decide how much needs to get broken in the process, Sheriff.”

“You are astronomically outnumbered, villain,” the warlock intoned. “Submission is your only wise course.” Around her, the others readied their weapons; wands and staves were aimed at him, and Tazlith drew a pair of throwing knives.

“It seems to me,” McGraw said evenly, stepping up behind Principia so that he addressed them over her shoulder, “a show of force isn’t appropriate in your situation. I’m assuming, of course, that you would rather Ms. Locke not get shot in the process. I might be wrong about that. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“We fan out, take him from all angles,” Shook said tersely. “He can’t hide behind her skirts if he’s encircled.”

“Thank you for your input,” Sanders said sarcastically.

“What?” Principia screeched, a note of hysteria entering her voice. “No shooting!”

“Do you wanna get hauled off into the prairie to be executed like a dog?” Shook replied. “Just keep your head down and try not to get shot.”

“No! Fuck you, Shook! No shooting!”

“Prin—”

“Go to hell!” She was shrieking now, eyes wide in panic. “Nobody’s taking shots in my direction just because you would rather I’m out of the picture! You stole my fucking enchanted rings and left me high and dry, you faked the shot at McGraw with that invisibility charm! This bullshit is entirely your fault!”

“Wait, you did what?” Tazlith said, whirling on him.

He glared at her. “This is not the time—”

“He’s wearing rings,” the robed man noted. “Rather a lot of them. I wondered about that.”

“Seems I’m gonna need a bigger cell,” Sanders said wearily. “Goddamn it, the middle of the street with weapons pointed in all directions is not the place for this. Everybody stop whatever the hell you’re doing and stand down!”

“Y’all clearly have matters to discuss amongst yourselves,” McGraw said cheerfully. “We’ll just be heading—”

“No, you don’t!” Sanders raised his arm, aiming his wand right for McGraw and disregarding Principia’s squeal of protest. “Nobody fucking moves!”

McGraw opened his mouth to reply, but cut off, his eyes widening as they shifted to look past the group. Immediately he and Principia were wreathed in a sparkling sphere of transparent blue light. Two wandshots splashed against it, causing it to flicker and dim—Marks and one of the soldiers had apparently been spooked by the sudden spell effect.

“Hold your fire!” Sanders roared, to no effect.

McGraw pointed his staff at the ground between them; light flashed along its length, and an elaborate circular glyph appeared on the paving stones. Everyone backed rapidly away from it, Rook and Moriarty swiveling to point their weapons at the shape that began forming out of mist above it.

“What the fuck?” Marks moved one hand to aim at the figure, keeping his other wand pointed at McGraw and Principia.

“He summons something,” said Lorrie, shifting her staff to rest in the crook of her arm and folding her hands together. “Two can play at this game.”

“No!” Tazlith shouted, whirling on her. “Dammit, we talked about this! Do not bring that damn thing out, this’ll all go to hell if you lose control of it!”

“An elemental!” exclaimed the mage as the missed coalesced into a figure. It wasn’t even vaguely humanoid, though it had two arm-like protrusions. “How does an arcane wizard have access to a water elemental?!”

“Oh, shit.” Sanders’s outburst wasn’t aimed at the elemental, however; he’d glanced over his shoulder, following McGraw’s eyes.

“Shoot it!”

“Don’t shoot it! Don’t make it mad!”

“Will somebody do something?!”

CRACK!

The bolt of power that roared across the square, making all their hair stand up and momentarily blinding everyone, was massive enough nearly to suit a magical artillery shot. It struck the creature dead center; half its mass evaporated on the spot, the rest splashing harmlessly to the ground, apparently now inert.

The weapon that had fired it was clearly antique. Shorter than modern battlestaves and at least twice as thick, it was a throwback to the age when such enchanted weapons were a new invention borrowing from older sensibilities; elaborately carved, decorated across its whole length with bands of silver and surmounted by a globe of glowing crystal, it looked like what an artist designing a cover for a penny dreadful might imagine an old-fashioned wizard’s staff to be.

The person carrying it had made that perfect shot with the cumbersome weapon one-handed, using the other to prop herself up on one of her canes. She glared coldly at McGraw.

“Shame on you,” said Mabel Cratchley.

With a burble and a huge gout of steam, the elemental rose up from the ground; it was smaller now, but clearly re-forming itself.

This time, Marks, Lorrie and the cleric dived away as Miz Cratchley blasted it again, Rook stumbling backward from the incredible force and falling on his rear. It made a smoking crater in the middle of the square where it struck.

The staff, too, was smoking now, though Miz Cratchley didn’t pay it any mind, shifting her aim to McGraw.

“Don’t do it!” Principia wailed, cowering back against him.

“Impressive shootin’, ma’am,” McGraw said, tipping his hat to her. At some point in the last minute he had dropped his cigarillo. “But there’s a reason those old thunderbuses were taken out of service. One more shot and the thing’s likely to blow up.”

“I’ve lived long enough,” she replied, staring him down. “I’m ready to account for myself to the gods. Are you?”

McGraw stared back at her, apparently lacking an answer to that.

Before anybody could act or come up with something to say, there came a soft pop from right between the two groups, the effect rather underwhelming after the recent show of firepower. The effect on the group of the figure who materialized was another matter entirely.

“All right,” Arachne Tellwyrn said flatly, “that’s enough.”

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2 – 17

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Principia was just finishing up, settling her reagents back into place on her worktable, when a sharp knock came at her door. Thanks to the escalating stresses of the last few days, her usual equanimity was frayed; she started violently, then had to move quickly to prevent the vial of glittering powder from spilling even as she slid it back into its holder. Who the hell would be bothering her in the middle of the night?

The door to her attic apartment swung open before she could even call out that she was busy, and Shook strode in. She scowled, putting the cork back on the vial.

“By all means, come in,” Prin snapped. “Make yourself at home.”

“Much obliged,” he said easily, his eyes flicking over her in that skin-crawling way he had. She was reasonably sure he wasn’t even all that attracted to her. That just made it worse. “While you’ve been hiding away in your room, I’ve been getting things set up to get your hide out of this mess intact. Principia, meet our newest ally.”

Shook stepped to the side to admit possibly the most ridiculous person Prin had ever seen.

She was human, an ethnic Tiraan, with the dark hair, olive complexion and narrow face. Most eye-catching, however, was her costume: impractically tight pants, boots with two-inch heels, and a low-cut, sleeveless, midriff-baring top, every inch of the whole thing in black leather. An absolutely idiotic number of knives were bedecked around her in various places which made them far from practical to grasp, their sheaths stitched into the outfit itself. The only remotely useful thing she was wearing was a fairly typical belt with two holstered wands, which clearly had come separately. It was dyed a different shade of black and looked out of place.

“What,” Principia demanded, “are you supposed to be?”

The girl frowned at her. “Name’s Tazlith; I’m an adventurer. And I’m here to help you.”

“Uh huh.” Prin leaned back, exaggeratedly eying her up and down. “An adventurer dressed as what?”

“Be nice, Prin,” Shook reproved her gently. With Tazlith behind him, his face was hidden from her, and he didn’t trouble to conceal his amusement.

“Oh, I’m nice. All peaches and sunshine, that’s me. By the way, it’s pronounced tasleef.”

The “adventurer” narrowed her eyes, color rising in her cheeks. “I know how to say my own name, thanks.”

“It’s elvish for ‘arrow,’” Prin explained to Shook. “I guess it’d come out tazlith if you’ve got a thick Tiraan accent, like this one does. I know your parents weren’t daft enough to call you that. Unless the outfit is an heirloom.”

“I really don’t need to be here, you know,” Tazlith snapped. “If you want to deal with your problems alone—”

“Girls, girls!” Shook said soothingly. “Please! You’re both pretty. Taz, understand the kind of strain Principia’s under; a rather legendary wandslinger’s in town after her head. You’d be grouchy too. And Prin, Taz has a point: she’s helping us for not nearly enough material compensation, out of the desire to do a good deed. I think it’d be appropriate if you were a little more gracious about it.”

“Sorry,” Prin said ungraciously. “You’re right, I’m pretty damn tense. And I don’t see how gathering up stray adventurers is going to help; have you heard the rumors about this guy McGraw? You’re probably just gonna get the poor girl killed.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Tazlith said curtly, tucking her thumbs into her belt and adopting what she probably thought was a cocky pose.

“Anyway,” Shook interjected, “I don’t intend to just throw people at this guy like pies at a clown. We’re still refining a strategy, but when it comes down to it, no matter the quality of everyone’s equipment or skill, taking out a contract on one elf is a very different thing from facing a whole adventuring party. I highly doubt this guy’s badass enough to start something that’ll end with the town being shot up. Quite apart from what the law will say, he’s pretty much done for if he makes enough of a stink to coax Tellwyrn down off her mountain.”

“We’re all done for if anybody makes that kind of stink,” Principia groaned.

Shook nodded. “Exactly. Which is why I aim to persuade him not to do it. Taz here has been in town a couple weeks, and knows some people. She’s already gathered one other and got leads on more.”

“Heroes,” Tazlith said, nodding solemnly, “or those who have the inclination. Much better than hiring mercenaries; you want people who’re in it because it’s right, not because they’re looking to make a quick doubloon.”

Principia had to concentrate hard on repressing her response to this absolutely idiotic statement. Of course people in it for the money were better; someone who expected to make a living at something had an immediate need to be good at it.

“Yes. Well.” She smiled toothily. “Thank you for your assistance, Tazlith. I apologize for any snide things I’ve said, and likely will in the future.”

“She’s kind of a bitch,” Shook said agreeably, nodding.

“I’d argue with that, but the record’s against me. Would you mind if I had a word with Jeremiah in private?”

“Of course.” The wretched girl glanced back and forth between them and smirked faintly. “Take all the time you need.” Principia wasn’t sure whether she wanted to scream or punch somebody, but at least Tazlith stepped out into the stairwell, pulling the attic door shut behind her.

She rounded on Shook, but he spoke up before she could get a word out. “So, how’m I doin’? I never was much for running cons, but I think it’s going rather well. Doubtless you’ve already found a whole laundry list of things I could be doing better.”

“You seem to have it in hand,” she said grudgingly. Laundry list indeed. As if she were fool enough to poke holes in his brittle ego, knowing how he reacted to that. “Of course, you couldn’t have picked a better target. Manipulating people who are desperate to believe something is downright unfair. But…seriously? You’re gonna send that up against McGraw?”

“Not too bright, is she?” he said, grinning. “No, I don’t aim to make this a war. It’s just like I said: the hope is to put up a spectacle that’ll persuade McGraw to step more lightly, without involving Tellwyrn or anyone else who’ll overturn the whole cart. If it does come down to a fight, though, I want him wasting his spells on Taz and her dumbass friends, not us. It’s a shameful waste of a nice pair of tits, but them’s the breaks. While that’s going on, he’ll be vulnerable, and that’s what I came to speak with you about.” He nodded toward her workstation, on which were laid out her glittering enchanting dusts, imbued inks, and the various tools of their use. “What’ve you got?”

She gave him a grudging look but turned to gesture at a row of bronze rings laid out on the table. “Some basic boosts. Luck, protection, constitution…”

“Really?” He twisted his features disdainfully. “That’s it? That’s crap straight out of a museum.”

“No,” she said wryly, “the museum pieces would be gold and set with gems. Yeah, they’re the oldest, most basic enchantments, and that’s about all you can plan on. Modern enchantment is all about specific, reliable effects, which works great for making enchanted objects but if you want to enhance the attributes of a person, you have to be vague, or run the risk of messing them up. People are complicated.”

“Hm.” He stepped over to the table, running a fingertip over the row of rings, and she tensed, fighting the urge to chase him away from her work. “I guess it’ll have to do, then. Can you gear up Taz and her buddies?”

“Excuse me?” Prin said incredulously. “Gear up? Does this look like a production line to you? This took me all day. I’m a hobbyist; I make some pocket change on the side because this town is such a steel market. You want a pile of adventure-grade enchantments, you’re gonna have to go buy some.”

“Shame,” he murmured, stepping away from the table. Shook raised his eyes to her face and she had the distinct impression of something greasy being dragged along her skin. “Well, that’s not in the budget. I guess they’ll just have to trust their luck.”

“Mm hm.” She folded her arms. “Anything else you wanted?”

He watched her silently for a moment that stretched long enough to be awkward.

“You’re wandering why I bother,” he said finally. “I don’t really expect you to like me, Keys. Hell, though you dug yourself into this whole mess, I’ll freely acknowledge you’ve got some just cause to look unkindly on me. But you can trust that I’m quite sincere, here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you if it’s in my power to prevent it.”

He stared at her, the hint of a grin hovering about his lips, until she finally had to ask. “Why?”

“Because I’m responsible for this mission, and for you. You may be a poor resource, but for the time being, you’re mine.” He reached up to brush the backs of his knuckles across her cheek, smiling faintly; her skin crawled so hard it was all she could do not to physically shiver. “I don’t like it when people mess with my things.”

“Your friend out there’s probably wondering what we’re doing,” she said coldly. He laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t want the young’uns to get the wrong idea. You just sit tight for now, doll, and let me take care of this.”

He briefly but very deliberately flicked his gaze over her body once more, then turned and walked to the door. Shook stepped out and shut it gently behind himself without looking at her again.

She stood there silently, regathering her calm. It took a few minutes.

The cultists’ faces were well-hidden, but the man in the suit wore an expression which clearly said he meant business.

“I’m going to take it upon myself to assume you’re here in the capacity of your role as Imperial advisor, Mr. Darling,” he said amiably. His tone was light, his posture relaxed, but those eyes were hard as flint. This was a man worth taking seriously, one who knew that roaring and gnashing teeth weren’t nearly as impressive as some liked to think. “There is…an understanding. Most of the cults of the other gods know it—excepting yours, of course, as Eserion isn’t much for waging war, even against my Lady. Over the last century we’ve even hammered the lesson into the Church, somewhat laboriously. It’s a good system. Peaceable; functional.”

He put on a mild, slightly lopsided smile, taking a step closer to Darling. His steps were smooth, slow, precise and somewhat exaggerated; with his long limbs, in that white suit, he put Darling in mind of a wading stork. “The Wreath guard this world against demonkind, you see. You could say we have an affinity with the children of Hell; we know, better than most, that they can’t be allowed to run amok on this plane. As such, other cultists—even the Sisters of Avei—don’t jump on our backs when we are cleaning up a demon problem. And they most definitely do not abuse our willingness to be helpful by using a demon to coax us out. You’re hardly the first to think of that trick, my boy. The rest simply know better.”

“Well, this is just downright embarrassing,” Darling said genially. He kept his own face cheerful and posture relaxed, concealing the frantic racing of his thoughts. That explained the Archpope’s insistence that they not identify themselves as agents of the Church; posing as Imperials gave them plausible deniability if they were breaking some kind of treaty. “There are customs? Rules, even? I feel like I’ve showed up at a party and nobody told me it’s fancy dress.” But why hadn’t Darling and the others been informed of this up front? What was Justinian playing at?

“Speaking more generally,” the man in the suit went on, his smile growing brittle, “I think it’s considered bad form anywhere to go after an opponent’s kids. That’s the kind of conflict you don’t want to escalate; it gets real ugly, real fast.”

“Now, I’ll have to demur, there,” Darling replied, holding up one finger. “Those precocious little sprouts came at us. I’m pretty sure they put the town to sleep and conjured up Mommy and Daddy’s demon companions, too.”

“Well, little ones grow up pretty fast out here on the frontier,” the man said with a grin, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. His movements were languid, graceful. “They also had the forethought to call for aid; wading right into your little nest of vipers was a somewhat less intelligent move, I’ll grant. ‘Course, matters look different if you put yourself in their shoes. Bunch of outsiders from Tiraas come swaggering into town and kill your parents? You’d be a bit excitable too.”

“I’m reasonably sure you’re already aware nobody’s been killed,” Darling replied. “By the way, sir, it seems you have me at a disadvantage. Aside from the obvious, I mean,” he added, turning his head to wink at one of the cowled cultists.

“Why, I do most humbly apologize!” The man swept off his hat, revealing a shiny bald pate, and executed an elaborate bow. “Embras Mogul, at your service. I’m sorry we aren’t meeting under more cordial circumstances.”

“Ah, well, we go where the gods dictate,” Darling said lightly. Could this be Elilial’s high priest? If so, he had a name and a face, which put the Archpope’s plans and his own miles ahead of where he’d expected this night’s events to lead. Could he advance the one without aiding the other? At any rate, even if this wasn’t the one, he was clearly high enough in the organization not be be bound by their dress code.

“Yes, they’re good at…dictating, aren’t they?” Mogul replied, straightening and replacing his hat. “In honor of our new acquaintance and in recognition of your relative inexperience in this business, Darling, I’m going to let you off with a proverbial slap on the wrist. Obviously, I’ll need my people back, especially those kids. The demon, too. Aside from that, you and your little compatriots are free to go, with my blessing. Provided they behave themselves.”

Darling was spared having to form an answer to this by the opening of the saloon’s door.

Marshal Ross stepped out and crossed the board sidewalk at an even pace, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. By the time he’d descended to the street and turned to face the gathering of Wreath cultists and Darling, the two nearest Embras Mogul had drawn wands from within their robes.

“Welcome to Hamlet,” the Marshal said flatly. His hand hovered at his sides, near but not grasping his wands. “It’s usually a friendlier place, but someone appears to have put my townsfolk to sleep.”

“Present company excepted, I note,” Mogul replied, his tone as even as ever.

“Present company and more.”

Figures rose from the rooftops around them. Two men in denim and leather, each carrying staves, stepped out from behind the sign on the general store’s flat roof across the street. Another, aging and with a gray-streaked beard, knelt on the edge of the saloon’s overhanging porch roof, carrying a pair of wands. A middle-aged woman in a threadbare Imperial Army coat hopped from concealment into the rungs of the iron lattice scrolltower, balancing adroitly and keeping both hands on her staff. All of their weapons were aimed at the group in the street. Darling had to admire their positioning; they had the cultists neatly positioned to be cut to pieces by crossfire without accidentally firing on each other. Unfortunately, he was in exactly the center of the killzone.

“There ain’t a town on the frontier that doesn’t keep at least one practicing witch in business. Casting town-wide infernal magic ain’t a smart move, if you intend to keep a low profile; my girl knew exactly who to wake up and how. Legally,” the Marshal drawled, “I suppose I ought to arrest you. Seems like you could spare me some paperwork, though, if you decline to drop those fucking wands in the next ten seconds.”

“It’s Ross, isn’t it?” asked Mogul politely. “Jackson Towerwell always spoke of you in the highest terms. Marshal, we’re both civilized men, and I presume that we are both followed by more of the same. You don’t want your town shot to bits, and I don’t want any of my people cut down. How about, instead of that, you and I reach an accord, here?”

“Mm.” Ross tilted his head downward so his eyes were concealed by the brim of his hat. “Mr. Mogul, was it? Mind if I ask you a question?”

“But of course,” said Embras, bowing with an elegant flourish of his hands. “Glad to be of service in any way I can.”

Ross lifted his head again, and the look in his eyes was beyond ice, beyond fury. “Did you offer to ‘reach an accord’ with June Witwill?”

For one breath, everything was still.

Ironically, it was Darling who started the action—by diving to one side, throwing his arms over his head. He didn’t quite fit under the boardwalk, but smashed himself against it, squishing down as small as possible, while the whole street dissolved in lightning and hellfire.

Eserion didn’t encourage his followers to draw on divine light, as a rule. Members of his Guild were meant to rely on their wits and their skills; that was the whole point of their faith. The god of thieves was out to set an example, not to solve people’s problems for them. Darling had used more divine magic in the last week than in his entire previous career, what with one thing and another. Oddly, this thought sat in the forefront of his mind as he crept, inchworm-like, along the edge of the sidewalk, glowing with an intensity of held light that was the closest he could manage to a divine shield. It wouldn’t stop a wandshot, but would certainly discourage any demons that might have been summoned in the vicinity.

He didn’t risk looking up until he came to the corner of the saloon, but he could clearly hear the snap of thunderbolts, as well as the crashes and screams that marked their impacts. The air buzzed with static electricity, and his nose was assaulted by the reek of ozone and sulfur.

Finally reaching the corner, Darling bounded up and somersaulted around the edge of the building, keeping himself as low as possible. He pressed himself against the wall, very carefully peeking out.

Three bodies lay in the street, two in gray robes, one where it had fallen from the roof of the general store. The firefight continued, though Ross’s posse were exchanging blasts with opponents now out of his field of view down the street. Retreating? Were these cultists local, or had they come in with Embras? Whatever the case, they’d sure made a mess of the town. Every building in sight bore scorch marks and outright holes where they’d been blasted by wands. Plus, there was that stink of sulfur hanging in the air; someone had summoned something.

Obviously, his original plan of getting to the scrolltower office was off the table. He needed to get back to the house, regroup with the others, make sure all the prisoners were secure and the demon taken care of. Equally obviously, he wasn’t going back up the main street. He’d stick out like a sore thumb, and no place in this town was out of wand range of any place else. All it’d take would be one Wreath with a grudge and a clear shot to put him down.

He reversed course, heading for the alley behind the saloon. Hamlet didn’t have a lot of depth; there was nothing in town that he’d describe as a “street” aside from the main one, but behind the shops there were houses, stables and a few other structures, enough to give him a little cover.

In theory, at least.

No sooner had Darling slipped around the corner into the wide alley that would carry him on a roundabout way back to the house than Embras Mogul stepped out of a perfectly flat shadow lying against a wall, followed by one of his robed cultists.

Darling skidded to a stop; no more than six feet separated them. The cultist was carrying a wand, pointed at him; Mogul appeared to be unarmed, but he wasn’t about to dismiss the man as a threat.

“Well, this has all gone belly up, hasn’t it?” Embras said cheerfully.

“You said it,” Darling replied in the same tone. “What is it about wands coming out that makes people stop using their brains?”

“Must be that fight-or-flight instinct everyone’s always talking about. Ah, well; you’ll note that I did try to do this the civilized way. As will your patron, if he happens to be watching.”

“I like the civilized way. I was never in favor of abandoning it.” He still clung to the glow of divine light. It wasn’t likely to do him much good. “How about we try that again?”

“Alas,” Embras replied with a mournful expression, “the good Marshal’s intervention has played hell with my timetable. Now it seems I’ll have to content myself with making an emphatic statement to your superiors and bugging out. A disappointing outcome for everyone, but such is life.”

Darling opened his mouth without knowing what he was even going to say—it was a good strategy, usually, as his mouth was a finely tuned machine that reliably figured out the proper course of action—but before it even became an issue, a shadow passed over the moon, accompanied by a rush of wind, and the demon which had been imprisoned in the basement landed on the roof of the tiny shed next to them.

“Hi, boss,” he said, grinning unpleasantly at Darling.

“Well, well,” Mogul remarked, and for the first time there was an obvious note of strain beneath his affability. “Every time I turn around, this night just gets more interesting.”

“Bad news, big man!” the demon said, turning its gaze to him. “By way of saving my own ass, I’ve cut a deal with my erstwhile captors. I have come to interfere with you, so as to assure this asshole here’s escape!” He made a silly face, stretching his spiny wings to their fullest extent and waving his hands about over his head. “Grawr! Boo! Boogity boogity! Are you not distracted?!”

Mogul pointed a finger at him and growled a word that was just barely a word, and the shadows around them swirled as though trying to take physical form, sweeping the demon off the shed and dragging it to the dirt floor of the alley. The shadow coalesced into black chains, dark as iron but even less reflective, holding him to the ground by the wrists and ankles.

“Curses!” he declaimed. “Foiled again! Well, shucks, I keep finding myself in jail in this town,” the demon said gleefully, turning to leer at Darling. “Ah, well! Can’t say I didn’t try. You might have a word with that ferret-faced chick of yours, though. She can’t bargain worth a crap.”

“All right, enough,” Mogul said wearily. “You, hush, we’ll get you home in just a minute. Brother, kindly shoot this—”

He broke off as the steel tip of a sword appeared from the center of the robed man’s chest. An explosive grunt was driven from the cultist’s mouth; face still concealed by his cowl, he lowered his head, staring down at the blade. Behind him, the air rippled as Basra Syrinx tossed aside an invisibility cloak, deftly plucking the wand from the man’s suddenly limp fingers.

“Are you not distracted?” she said, grinning wickedly, and kicked the slumping cultist to the side, wrenching her sword free as he fell. She leveled the wand at Mogul’s heart.

“Right,” he said dryly. “Well. Looks like I owe you lot one. Until then!”

Lightning snapped straight through him, illuminating the alley for a split second, but he was already gone; it was as if he had turned to shadow, then was dispelled by the blaze.

Darling blinked rapidly to clear his vision. “Well. You sure have excellent timing.”

“Andros would’ve come too,” she said lightly, “but neither of us thought leaving Branwen in charge of the prisoners alone was the best idea. I guess we all have our strengths and weaknesses. After all…” She turned to the demon, her grin broadening. “Apparently I can’t bargain worth a crap.”

“Hey, just a little drama to sell the story,” he said, all bravado suddenly gone. The chains of shadow were steaming slightly as though coming apart, but continued to hold him, even as he tugged experimentally on them. “All’s well that ends well, right? I mean…we had a deal.”

“So we did! And it’s now fulfilled.” Basra stepped forward and drove her sword straight through his bony chest. She leaned in close, placing her face inches from his. “Avei thanks you for your service,” she said sweetly. “Go, with her blessing.” Light blazed along the blade, wrenching an impossibly shrill scream from the creature. For just a moment, golden radiance burned from his mouth and eyes, and just as quickly ceased.

Basra ripped her sword out sideways; the pieces of demon that were pulled loose more resembled charcoal than flesh. The smoking corpse flopped to the ground, already reeking of sulfur.

It was on this scene that Marshal Ross arrived, panting.

“Ah, there you are,” Darling said brightly. “Got the rest of them rounded up?”

“Three dead,” Ross said tersely, “four including this guy. The rest escaped. I’ve got no real way of tracking demon magic; Mavis is working on the spell keeping everybody asleep.”

“Sounds like a wise choice of priorities. Honestly, I doubt it would matter, Marshal. We’re not going to find them, I suspect.”

The Marshal straightened his back, setting his shoulders; the mantle of authority was all but visible as he pulled it back on. “Well. Seems you’ve had an interesting night.”

“To be honest,” Darling said ruefully, “I feel more as if it’s had me. Well, the good news is we’ll be out of town just as quick as we can arrange transport from Tiraas, and we’ll be taking the last of your Wreath problem with us.”

“Do I wanna know who?”

“Legally, you’re entitled. If you think it’ll make you happy.”

“I don’t do this job because I want to be happy,” he growled. “Right… Clyde took a bad hit, but Doc thinks he’ll live. I’ll round up the others and we’ll help you finish up the last of your business.”

“Thank you,” Basra said sardonically, “but I think we can manage without your help. Just like we have been from the beginning.”

“Bas,” said Darling gently, “just because the man spoke politely doesn’t mean he was asking.”

“Well put,” said Ross.

They allowed the Marshal to take the lead on the way back to the ravaged house. It was still the most damaged structure in sight, much of its bottom floor having been ripped out—Darling hoped they could get themselves and their magic wardrobe out before the second floor came down—but after the shoot-out with the cultists, much of the town matched. Ross’s scowl deepened with every step. It was hardly surprising that he’d take all this personally.

Darling was grateful for the silence; he desperately needed a chance to think. Much had been explained, but more questions had branched out from each answer. The next steps in this dance would have to be taken in Tiraas, where he intended to suss out more of the Archpope’s plans before proceeding with his own.

He hoped, quite sincerely, that Hamlet had seen the end of its problem with demons and cultists. For him, though, this matter had just barely made a beginning.

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Sanders knew his aversion to the campus was irrational. It was an intriguing and objectively beautiful place, the students were typically friendly toward him, or at least respectful, and he had Tellwyrn’s explicit permission to visit at need, or even socially. Nonetheless, climbing the mountain was like putting half a world between himself and his town, for all that he could see the entire thing from up here. He belonged down below, in the streets and humble structures of Last Rock, among its straightforward people. The University was a place for…someone else. A whole other kind of someone else.

Still, he navigated adroitly through the stairs and switchbacks leading up through the terraces, returning cheerful greetings from passing students with as much poise as he could muster. The passage through Helion Hall was similarly well-remembered, all because he had taken great pains to memorize the route. Getting lost in this place…well, once had been enough.

The door to Professor Tellwyrn’s office was open. Voices sounded within, but he approached anyway. The Professor was not one to act carelessly; if she wanted to be private, she would have been. He eased up to the doorway, making sure she could see him from behind the desk, and tugged the brim of his hat respectfully to her when her eyes cut to him from the student standing in the office.

“No one is restricting your right to practice your religion, November,” Tellwyrn was saying patiently. “In fact, I’m not requiring you to do anything. I am simply advising you in the strongest terms, for your own benefit, to take down that absurd shrine to the Hand of Avei you’ve put up in the campus chapel. She’s on the same freshman trek you participated in, not off crusading against the barbarians.”

“All I’m hearing is you telling me not to show support for the champion of my faith,” retorted the young woman stridently. Sanders winced; November Stark was one of the more annoying of the current crop of students. A tall young woman with her dark hair hacked boyishly short, she wore, as usual, a white shirt and trousers in an approximate imitation of the uniform of lay clerics of Avei. The best thing he could say about her was that she rarely visited the town.

“Be with you in a moment, Sam,” said Tellwyrn past the girl’s shoulder. “Stark, if you want to argue further, maybe you’d like to postpone it till you don’t have an audience?”

November glanced over her shoulder at Sanders, and a catlike smile appeared on her face. Turning back to face Tellwyrn, she folded her arms, adopting a smug posture. “What, you’re not comfortable discussing your stance on religious freedoms in front of an agent of the law? I don’t mind if he doesn’t.”

I mind a little, Sanders thought, but wisely kept his opinions out of it.

“Is that really what you want?” Tellwyrn asked in a very mild tone that really should have warned the girl off.

“Absolutely.” November set her jaw firmly, her expression proud and confident.

“Very well,” said Tellwyrn. “As I said, I’m not going to make you take it down. For the record I do have that authority, but despite what you like to tell yourself, I have absolutely no interest in anybody else’s religious practices on this campus unless they convert to the Black Wreath or something. I am suggesting that you remove it for your sake and Trissiny’s, Miss Stark.”

“That’s Ms—”

“No.” Tellwyrn’s voice cracked like a whip, and she leaned forward, planting an elbow on the desk to point a finger at Stark. “Don’t fucking start with me, you irritating little rash. I put up with that from Trissiny because she was raised in a Temple of Avei and actually has a deep understanding of feminist philosophy. You are a self-absorbed child who’s less than a year on from discovering how cloyingly righteous it feels to be oppressed by the patriarchy.

“That ridiculous shrine is not a religious expression, it’s an extension of your schoolgirl crush, which by the way, everyone has well and truly noticed. The only people who are not embarrassed on your behalf are yourself because you lack sense, Trissiny because she’s not here to see it, and Chase, who runs on pure schadenfreude and is probably glorying in the awkwardness. You can avoid at least one of those by getting rid of the damn thing before Trissiny comes back and has to share in the general humiliation.

“And for the gods’ sake, child, quit pussyfooting around. If you want her, ask her. The worst case scenario is that she’ll say ‘no,’ and you can avoid wasting the best years of your life pining after what you can’t have.

“Now,” Tellwyrn finished sweetly, folding her hands on the desktop, “is there anything else you would like to discuss in front of the Sheriff, while he’s here?”

“No,” said November in a strangled voice. Her posture was so rigid now that she practically quivered, her face flushed almost crimson. Sanders felt a rush of pure pity, which he very carefully kept from going anywhere near his expression. It would only have made it worse.

“Right, then. Run along.”

Sanders stepped aside to allow her room to exit, tugging his hat politely. November avoided his eye, stalking stiffly past and away down the hall.

“Sorry about that,” said Tellwyrn as he stepped into the room. She had removed her glasses and was scrubbing wearily at her eyes with one hand. “I don’t mind keeping discipline in an unruly classroom, but gods, how I hate it when they force me to act like their mom. What can I do for you, Sam?”

“I’m in a somewhat awkward position, Professor,” he said, stepping up to the desk. “Something’s moved into town which, if it becomes a problem, I have to frankly acknowledge I won’t have the capacity to deal with.”

“Do tell.” He managed not to flinch as she focused her attention fully on him. She had never been anything but polite, both to him and to his predecessor, but damn it, a man couldn’t stand in a room with a living, breathing legend without being keenly aware of his shortcomings, unless he was an enormous fool.

“A new fellow stepped off the Rail yesterday,” he said, keeping his tone as even as possible. “Name of McGraw. He didn’t identify himself as such, but others have. It’s Longshot McGraw, in the flesh.”

“Longshot, huh,” she mused. “I wonder what kind of pissing contest he had to win to get a moniker like that.”

Sanders blinked, taken aback. “You’re…not familiar with him?”

“Sam, it’s been more than twice your lifespan since I bothered to keep track of who’s who in adventuring. As my students love to keep reminding me, the whole concept of adventurers is a holdover from another time. Give me the basics?”

“Well, today’s frontier wandfighters aren’t exactly the same breed of adventurers you remember,” he said. “Longshot McGraw is a name mentioned alongside the likes of Tinker Billie and the Sarasio Kid. Which…I guess you might not be familiar with, either…ahem. He’s an actual wizard, not just some wandslinger. Popular imagination paints a somewhat contradictory picture, but he’s roamed around the frontier for decades, taking down any wandfighter who challenged him. A man like that doesn’t come to a town like this to just take in the sights.”

“Hm. What’s he done?”

“So far? Had a civil conversation with Ox, sat in on a poker game with several of your students, and then pulled aside Principia and that guy Shook for a brief conversation that left them both lookin’ spooked.”

“Principia.” She closed her eyes momentarily. “Why is it always Principia?”

“My thoughts exactly, ma’am.”

“Who the hell is this Shook?”

“New face in town. So far he ain’t done anything worthy of note, but he’s not somebody I enjoy having around. Oily-lookin’ fellow, which is suitable enough as he claims to be a salesman, but I can’t find a single person to whom he’s sold anything. Mostly loafs around in the A&W, drinkin’ and playin’ cards, when he’s not hanging out with Prin. He’s got a habit of looking at women in a way that makes ’em leave the room. I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

“So that’s two undesirables rolling into town on Prin-related business,” she said grimly. “This verges on impacting my interests.”

“I thought that might be the case, Professor,” he said. “I don’t rightly know why Prin moved in but it stands to reason it’s University-related.”

“Oh, it is. She wants something she’s not going to get and hasn’t the sense to set herself more attainable goals.”

“Well…be that as it may, I can deal with Shook, and probably Principia, if it comes down to it. McGraw, though, is way outta my pay grade. If any serious trouble starts and he’s involved… This is the kind of thing that gets towns burned to the ground.”

“Mm. Where is this McGraw at the moment?”

“He’s stayin’ at the A&W. It’s only been one day, but he’s been a model guest so far. Probably’ll be sitting down to lunch along with everybody else here in a bit.”

“I do believe I’ll be sociable, head down and introduce myself.” She stood, straightening her glasses. “You can walk me down the mountain, if you’ll just give me a minute to grab my privates first.”

It took Sanders a moment to remember to say something, at which point he discovered that his mouth was conveniently already open. “…I’m sorry, what?”

 

“It’s pointless, is all I’m saying,” Rook groused, smoothing out his pillow. “Making beds adds nothing to their utility and little to their aesthetic. It’s just bullshit busy work to fill two minutes in the morning when I could still be asleep.”

“Are you done yet?” Moriarty asked woodenly. He and Finchley had finished theirs long since. It was well understood among the group that Rook’s bed would never be made if Moriarty didn’t chivvy him about it every morning, and it was something of a toss-up which of them had developed a bigger attitude on the subject.

“Yes, done, bed is made, for all the good it does anybody. It’s just gonna get unmade again the first time it gets used for its intended purpose.”

“It is no different from keeping your uniform neat! Cultivating a properly ordered environment is a boost to both morale and especially discipline in the service.”

“Moriarty, have you ever heard the fable of the boy who cried wolf?”

Moriarty rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t think I ever have. How does it go?”

“I’m just saying, it’d be a lot easier to take you seriously on the rare occasions when you have a point if you didn’t talk in that metered singsong like you were reading right out of your operations manual. Especially since that’s all you ever do.”

The door burst open before Moriarty could reply—fortunately—and Professor Tellwyrn stuck her head in.

“Ah! Excellent, everybody’s home. And dressed. Come along, boys, we’re going to take a little walk down to the town.”

She ducked back out, leaving the three soldiers to exchange wide-eyed looks. This was the first time Tellwyrn had expressed an interest in having them do anything since their arrival. Much as they had all bemoaned the lack of anything to relieve the tedium, they couldn’t help but see this as an alarming development.

“Morning, Sheriff,” said Finchley when they trooped out into the hall and found Sanders waiting for them.

“Boys,” he replied, nodding.

“So, uh…what’s up, Prof?” asked Rook.

“We are going to pay a little social call on a new resident of Last Rock,” said Tellwyrn, bounding up the stairs at a clip that forced the men to scramble after her. The dormitory housing this year’s freshman boys and the three Imperials was a subterranean gallery built right against the eastern edge of the mountain. Aside from its floor-to-ceiling windows, which afforded a beautiful and terrifying view of the open plain from high above, it appeared to be a long, naturally occurring cave, with a sanded-down floor and uneven walls sloping up to form an arched roof studded with runty stalactites. Reaching it involved a long staircase which terminated in what appeared to be a small storage shed out behind the music building.

Whoever had designed this campus had a weird sense of humor.

Tellwyrn didn’t seem inclined to wait for them, but they hustled up to rejoin her above, falling into step as they reached the main lawn.

“And how can we help with that?” asked Finchley once they were regathered.

“Just stand around looking uniformed,” she replied. “This McGraw character may not have a lot of regard for authority, but if he’s as sensible as he pretty much has to be, he’ll know that getting rough with Imperial soldiers will have far-reaching consequences.”

“Getting rough with you would have immediate and horrible consequences,” Rook pointed out.

“Yes,” she said, grinning, “but you have to understand the mentality of adventurers. The law is one thing; a fellow spellslinger is another. A rival who is unequivocally more powerful, well…some take that as an inherent challenge. I don’t expect him to start tossing fireballs right there in the tavern; I just want to remind him of the lay of the land should he get a notion to plan something more long-term.”

“Wait, McGraw?” said Finchley. “Old guy, long coat, well-spoken in a prairie drawl kinda way?”

“That’s him,” said Sanders.

“What’s he done? He seemed like a nice enough fellow.”

“He’s done nothing,” replied the Sheriff. “We’d all very much prefer to keep it that way. You boys didn’t realize you were talkin’ to Longshot McGraw?”

“Holy shit,” Rook muttered.

“That about sums it up,” said Sanders grimly.

“It’s…not such an uncommon name,” Moriarty protested. “I don’t know about you, but when I meet a scruffy old man my first thought isn’t ‘legendary wandfighter.’”

“So everyone’s heard of this guy but me?” Tellwyrn said with a touch of petulance.

“You’ve seriously never heard of Longshot McGraw?” exclaimed Rook. “What rock have you been living under?”

“The rock currently affording you free room and board, boy.”

“And an excellent rock it is,” he said hastily, “which I am very much enjoying, and by the way I’ve been meaning to ask if there’s anything I can do to be more helpful around here. Also your hair looks lovely today.”

“A little artless, but points for enthusiasm. Your backpedaling is accepted, Rook.” She glanced over her shoulder at them, one corner of her mouth turned up wryly. They passed under the wrought archway of the University’s main gate and she set a pace down the steep marble stairs that was just short of reckless. “Anyway, I had a secondary motive for bringing you lads along on this little outing. I’ve been informed of something by Lord Vex which concerns you.”

“Orders?” Moriarty perked up visibly at the prospect.

“Any orders would be sent directly to you, not through me. No, it seems Elilial is back on the mortal plane.”

They digested this in silence for a moment before Finchley replied. “That’s…good to know, I guess, but what’s it got to do with us?”

“Just that you not only saw her, she actually stopped to speak to you. It may mean nothing; a goddess of cunning is hard to predict, by definition. But historically, she’s been something of a…people person. She remembers those with whom she interacts, and sometimes visits them again when she needs something from a mortal.”

“What?” Rook squeaked. “She—you—that’s… She might come after us?!”

“Probably not,” Tellwyrn replied, calm as ever. “I’m reasonably sure your role in her plans was brief, obvious, and already fulfilled. However, as I said, it’s a mistake to make assumptions about someone like that; she thinks in very elaborate patterns. Anyhow, this campus is one of the most magically protected spots on the world, but I’m not sure how much good that’ll do in her case. It seems her purpose in returning to the mortal plane the way she did was to make a point about what she can and cannot do.”

“How so?” Finchley asked nervously.

“Just that she came through the hellgate itself without tripping it, without creating any impression that the thing had opened at all. We only know she had because she paused to make an impression on the scrying orbs set up on site. You may not have covered this in whatever theological education you received, gentlemen, but the reason the Pantheon chose the infernal plane as Elilial’s prison is the nature of passages between them. They can’t exactly keep her there by main force; it’s been effective for eight thousand years because even with all her stealth, it’s never been possible to slip through a hellgate without kicking up a cosmic ruckus. When anything comes through, it’s obvious; when she does, the gods immediately know where and when, and can move to do something about it. But not this time. This is a game-changer, boys; her options have just opened up considerably.”

“Well, fuck a duck,” Rook said eloquently.

“Professor,” Sanders said in the tone of a man clinging to his calm by sheer bloody stubbornness, “what, exactly, would you estimate are the odds of the Mother of Demons showing up in my town in the near future?”

Tellwyrn was silent for a moment, before finally shaking her head. “I wouldn’t lay odds, Sheriff. She may or may not—probably not—have some leftover business with these lads. She definitely has some with me, though I’m not yet sure if anything’ll come of it.” She glanced back at him, smiling faintly. “For what it’s worth, any business she’s likely to have should be of the civil and quiet variety. Anyway, Elilial coming to town is honestly a better prospect than some of the Pantheon gods doing the same. She, at least, is very careful about collateral damage. A few of the others have a tendency to…step on people, so to speak, the way you might a passing anthill.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s some kind of blasphemy,” Rook said.

Tellwyrn made a dismissive gesture. “If the gods were going to gripe at me about blasphemy, I think they’d have done so when I did it to their various faces.”

“With all due respect, Professor, I’m not sure I like going on field trips with you,” Finchley said weakly.

“What he means is, we’ll be only too happy to accommodate your needs, nice lady who can kill us with a thought,” Rook said, grinning.

“Actually, painless death spells are tricky to set up and require rather expensive reagents, and I used the last of mine a month ago. If I were going to kill you, I’d use cheaper elemental magic. Fire, lightning, something like that.”

Moriarty frowned. “Wait…who did you—” he broke off, getting elbowed in the sides by both Finchley and Rook.

Sanders heaved a sigh, and refused to ask.

 

One of the fringe benefits of being an old man in less than pristine garb was that he was commonly left to enjoy his meals in peace. The A&W was somewhat less rowdy during the midday meal than it had been the night before, but a hubbub of conversation still filled the room, and more tables were full than otherwise. McGraw had found a seat at an unoccupied circular table in the corner, and so far had been left to enjoy it alone. The waitress having just delivered his plate of sausages and potatoes, he was looking forward to a quiet meal, unless the wards he’d set warned of Principia or Shook making for the telescroll office.

She moved fast. Scarcely had the sudden hush of an attention-grabbing arrival fallen over the common room when Arachne Tellwyrn pulled out a chair and sat down across from him.

That, McGraw reflected wryly, was what he got for boasting of a perfect record. The very next day, there it went.

“Ma’am,” he said politely. “Pardon me for not standing; you kinda snuck up on me there. Can I offer you a bite to eat? My treat.”

“To be frank, I only bother to fence and dance about with pleasantries when my sparring partner exceeds a certain level of significance,” she said, folding her hands on the table and staring at him over the rims of her spectacles. “Don’t take offense; there are very few individuals who make the cut, and most of them refuse to have anything to do with me anyway. So I’ll come to the point, McGraw: what the hell are you doing in Last Rock?”

He chewed a bite of sausage carefully, weighing his options. The buzz of arcane energy around her was palpable, but also…less so than it should have been. Less than his own, even, which far from suggesting that she was a lesser mage, raised the disturbing prospect that she was simply able to consciously contain her aura to a degree that was beyond his abilities. It was Tellwyrn; he wasn’t about to underestimate her.

Her commentary suited her reputation: blunt, aggressive, and heavy-handed. McGraw didn’t much care for needless confrontation, himself, but he knew when trying to deflect would cause more harm than good.

“I’ve been employed by an outside party,” he said calmly after swallowing, “to remove Principia Locke from Last Rock.” Past her, he noted those three soldier boys making a brave but inept try at looking imposing. The Sheriff pulled it off much better, lounging against the wall by the door.

“Define ‘remove,’” Tellwyrn said flatly.

“The young lady is under the impression that I’m here to kill her. I’d take it as a professional courtesy if you didn’t correct her.”

The elf raised an eyebrow. “Then you’re not, in fact, after her head?”

“At this stage in my career, it’d be pretty hypocritical to balk at a little homicide,” he said, carefully maintaining his calm tone, despite the ratcheting tension in the room. Around them, other patrons were steadily finding excuses to cut short their lunches and go elsewhere. Nobody was obviously within earshot. “But no, killing is very seldom necessary, and certainly not my first choice of method in a civilized place like this. Ain’t like the old days,” he went on reminiscently, stirring potatoes around his plate with his fork. “Seems nowadays, nobody’s so inconsequential that a whole mess of paperwork doesn’t ensue when they turn up dead. I do hate dealing with lawyers.”

“But as long as Prin thinks you’ve got a contract on her life, she’s likely to go and do something rash… Which will make it that much easier to chase her out of Last Rock.” She nodded approvingly. “Elegant. I like it. Provided, of course, that you’re not lying to me.”

McGraw finished chewing a bite of potato and swallowed. “Granted, you’ve no reason to take me at my word. Let me assure you, ma’am, that if I am lying, I’m well aware I’d be gambling my life on the outcome. You can trust me to proceed with all due caution and restraint.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. I will be frank, then: it would suit me admirably to have Principia out of this town and out of my hair. I can’t say I’d shed any tears if that involved her death, but I agree that cleaner methods are usually preferable.”

“Mm. I’m less inclined to be careful around her buddy, Mr. Shook,” he mused. “Been listening to the local scuttlebutt… Honestly, a man like that is better off removed from the mortal coil.”

“Which brings me to a point of concern,” she said flatly. “I neither run this town nor enforce the law in it. Generally speaking, the citizens of Last Rock do not need, nor would they appreciate, my help in seeing to their business. I do, however, have an ancillary interest in the doings of the town, for obvious reasons. So, let me establish my ground rules: if you cause such a degree of collateral damage that my help is requested to come down here and deal with it, I kill you. If any of your actions result in harm to my University or any of my students, I may or may not kill you, but I guarantee you will have ample time to repent your mistakes before that final judgment is made. Anything else you get up to is between you, the law, and whoever you do it to. Understood?”

McGraw calmly carried on eating, swallowing another bite as she finished speaking. Many years of practice kept his expression even as ever, despite the unaccustomed frisson of fear that passed through him. It wasn’t often he had been so baldly threatened by someone who could unquestionably back up their bluster. “Seems quite reasonable, ma’am. As I said, I don’t aim to do anything that’ll run afoul of your rules, but a little extra motivation never hurts.”

“Glad we understand each other,” she replied, standing up to leave.

“I was recently reminded,” McGraw said mildly, “that making threats of murder are, in fact, grounds for imprisonment under Imperial law.” He glanced over at Sheriff Sanders, who was still lounging by the door, too obviously not looking at them to be unaware of every detail of the conversation.

Tellwyrn gave him a condescending smile. “That’s adorable.”

Gathering up her uniformed entourage with a peremptory gesture, she swept out as suddenly as she’d arrived, leaving behind only Sanders, who calmly straightened up and wandered over toward the bar in search of a drink.

McGraw chuckled to himself, and tucked back into his lunch.

 

Tazlith made a show of frowning in contemplation as she examined the amulets behind the glass barrier of their display case, hoping the shopkeeper would interpret her expression as a sign she was carefully weighing the pros and cons of each enchantment as they were described on the accompanying notecards. In truth, she was weighing the pros and cons against what remained of her money purse.

She’d been sold on the idea that stocking up on equipment back home in Calderaas was foolish, when things were bound to be cheaper out on the frontier. Last Rock, however, did most of its commerce in the hopes and dreams of people like herself, and she was finding that the pendulum swung the opposite direction. Not by very much, but weaponry and enchanted gear was proving to be a touch pricier than she’d seen it advertized in the city. Foodstuffs, at least, were cheaper, whatever sense that made. Economics was over her head.

Occupied with her grim thoughts, her general disappointment with the way reality was sullying her excitement at setting off into the Golden Sea and her efforts to look as upstanding as possible—the shopkeeper’s patience with her browsing had visibly begun to fray—she didn’t realize she had been approached until the man cleared his throat softly.

Tazlith jumped, and immediately flushed with embarrassment. Great, very heroic. Luckily, he wasn’t laughing at her, though she was hardly delighted to meet the guy with the oily hair and cheap suit who she’d caught checking out her butt yesterday in the tavern.

“Can I help you?” she asked in her unfriendliest tone. Had she been interested in ending up as some jerk’s bedwarmer, the prospects had been better in Calderaas.

“Depends, ma’am,” he said. Well, at least he was polite, and seemed to have less trouble keeping eye contact than some men. “You’ll doubtless find this a presumptuous question, for which I apologize in advance.” Oh, great, here it was. “Are you one of those adventurers in it for the fortune and glory… Or more the storybook-inspired type? Looking to right wrongs and smite evil, that kinda thing?”

She frowned at him. This was a setup to an insult or a scam, she just knew it…and to her embarrassment, a flutter of hope stirred deep inside her. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m just hoping it’s the latter, is all. ‘Fraid I don’t have a lot of budget to hire on muscle, but there’s somethin’ bad about to unfold in this town. Someone who aims serious harm to a good friend of mine, and needs to be stopped. If you require fair payment for your time, I’ll have to leave you to your shopping…” Jeremiah Shook smiled, and maybe it was Tazlith’s own repressed dreams that did it, but suddenly he looked a lot less crooked. “But if you have plans to be a hero, it may be that only you can help.”

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He stepped calmly from the Rail caravan and looked around, resting the butt of his staff on the stone platform. Around him rose Last Rock, a collection of plain stone buildings that weren’t old but would not have looked out of place in a bygone era. Aside from the modern dress of the people passing by, and the scrolltower perched at one edge of the square, it could have been a painting of a medieval village.

To his right, another man weakly extracted himself from another caravan, clutching the edge of its door for support briefly before wobbling out onto the platform. Listing from a combination of dizziness and a limp—probably freshly acquired—he stumbled toward the tavern at one side of the square, its sign proclaiming it the Ale & Wenches.

He snorted. Pretentious. The kind of name designed to sucker in fools who went treasure hunting in the Golden Sea and called themselves “adventurers,” as though they were dungeon delvers of old.

“Made the trip all right?”

He looked to the left, finding himself approached by a towering, burly man with an impressive mustache in a faded old Imperial Army coat. His expression was solicitous, but stern.

“Well enough,” he said easily. Tucking his staff into the crook of one arm, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small cigar case, carefully selected a cigarillo, and lit it by tapping the end against the head of his staff, this whole display giving the big man time to look him over carefully. He knew the way of these small towns.

His appearance, as he was well aware, invited scrutiny. The tan leather duster he wore was old, scarred, and even burnt in places, as was his matching flat-brimmed hat. Around his neck was a sweat-stained bandana, and his boots, though of fine quality, had been with him long enough to bear their own scars, too deep to be healed with polish. Below all that, though, his suit, while also dusty and rumpled from travel, was presentable. Much as it galled him to admit it, his age was an asset. Nobody seemed to expect trouble from a well-lined face framed by steely gray whiskers.

“I think that other fellow came off it a bit worse than I,” he said mildly, jerking his head toward the man who was even now limping through the A&W’s doors.

The big man had fixed his eyes on the lighting of the cigarillo with a faint frown, but apparently decided he passed muster. “That’s Jethro, he comes through here every couple weeks. Works with some bank in Tiraas, has some business with the University. After a whiskey he’ll be good as new. I’m Ox. Welcome to Last Rock, stranger.”

“McGraw.” Clenching the cigarillo between his teeth, he took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. “Good to know you.”

The crack of the Rail re-igniting its transit matrix sounded; a static buzz washed over them and his arcane senses were momentarily blinded by the activation of complex, powerful enchantments so close. It passed quickly, though, as the caravan accelerated away and was soon lost to view.

“Damn fool contraption,” Ox grunted. “I dunno why the Empire lets people ride those things. They kill a couple dozen a year, as I understand it.”

“Control,” he said simply, puffing at his cigarillo. Ox raised an eyebrow. “I was around when the Rails were new, got to ride in some of the very first caravans. They had safety harnesses. The cargo cars still do—all kinds of straps and buckles to hold things steady. Despite what the Empire likes to say, those things were not meant to move troops. They were for moving adventurers, specifically to the frontier.”

“Never heard that,” said Ox, frowning.

“Suppose, friend, you’re in charge of running some rats through a maze. You want ’em to go a specific way, get ’em to the end where you want ’em. Now what’s a better use of your energies: trying to herd and heckle each one along, or move the walls such that they naturally lead where you want?” He glanced over at his new acquaintance; Ox was studying him more closely now, his eyes narrowed. He grinned, teeth clutching his cigarillo. “The world is run by a certain kind of men, my friend. Be it the crowned kings of old or the bureaucrats of today, they’re well-fed men in expensive suits, who have no idea what it means to risk your neck and bust your ass workin’ for a living. To governments, rats in a maze is all we are. The Empire was modernizing, moving from a chaotic loot-based economy to one of systems, structures and laws. Shunting off the well-armed loners to the last place guaranteed to grind ’em up en masse served two purposes: getting them out of society, and helping to push back the frontiers as far as they can be pushed, so society has room to expand. Thus, crazy rattletrap Rails, fit for those willing to risk their necks, but sure to discourage the saner, calmer breed who they want to stay in the cities and pay their taxes. It was…elegant, really.”

“That’s…an interesting theory,” Ox said noncommittally when he finished.

He shrugged. “And I may be wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time. A funny thing, though… There are hardly any adventurers or adventures left, these days. Lo and behold, the Rails are getting upgraded. The ones serving the interior provinces are downright comfy, now, safe as your mother’s arms. Last I heard, the schedule they’re on, even these frontier lines will have full safety features within two years.”

“Well, whatever the Empire’s motives, that I can get behind. All I know is, these Rail cars are insane. Sooner they get straightened out, the better.”

“On that we can agree.”

“What brings you to Last Rock?”

“Oh, I’m just stopping in on my way elsewhere,” he said easily. “I heard a friend of mine might be loitering in this town and thought I’d see if I could catch him. Name of Shook? Greasy-lookin’ fellow, cheap suit… Ostensibly a salesman but I’ll lay odds he’s not been seen trying to sell jack shit to anybody.”

“I know him,” Ox replied slowly. His increasingly serious expression told McGraw this was, indeed, the place. “He don’t cause any trouble, just hangs around the A&W, playing cards and drinkin’. Seems to be an acquaintance of Prin’s.”

“Prin? That wouldn’t be Principia Locke? Brunette wood elf?”

“You know Prin, too?” Now, Ox looked downright leery.

“Only by reputation. We have acquaintances in common, you might say.”

“You’re not reassurin’ me, McGraw. Shook’s not good for much that I can see, but like I said, he’s no trouble. Prin’s another matter. I’m not sure Last Rock needs any more of their ‘friends’ moving in.”

“Oh, don’t worry none about me,” McGraw said, grinning around his cigarillo. “Like I said, I don’t aim to be here long. Just to pay my respects, and then I’ll be on my way. You attached to the law in this town, by any chance?”

“There’s no budget for a paid deputy,” Ox rumbled, “but I help out Sheriff Sanders when help’s needed. I live on a pension; I’ve got the free time.”

“That’s good to hear, friend, good to hear. Do give the Sheriff my regards, won’t you?” He puffed smoke contentedly for a moment, jabbing his cigarillo in the direction of the A&W. “How’re the accommodations over yonder?”

“Clean. Food’s good, whiskey’s…plentiful. Ain’t a quiet place, though; that’s the common watering hole for the University kids and every wannabe hero who passes through on the way in or out of the Sea.”

“Perfect. I believe I’ll arrange a bed for the night. These old bones don’t look forward to another Rail ride any sooner than they have to.”

“I’ll let the Sheriff know you’re in town, then,” Ox said firmly. There was no mistaking the warning in his tone. McGraw just smiled at him.

“Do that, friend. Perhaps I’ll see you around.”

 

No one had ever accused the Ale & Wenches of false advertising.

There was ale, technically, though frontier tastes being as they were, the A&W did more business in whiskey, with beer coming in second. As for the other part, the serving girls did indeed dress in medieval-style attire, prominently featuring low-bodiced peasant dresses and blouses. That was as far as it went, however. There was invariably at least one burly man with a cudgel and a wand on duty, but they rarely had time to step in, even when the need arose. In a town the size of Last Rock, every one of those girls was the daughter of someone’s friend or neighbor. The University kids knew to treat them politely; out-of-towners seldom had to be told twice. Even had any of the young ladies in question been willing, there was absolutely no chance of a traveler slipping her a coin and taking her upstairs.

Despite the way expectations thus yielded to the reality of modern life, the A&W remained a perennial favorite of the students and the would-be heroes who passed through town, because it played perfectly to their fantasies. The fairy lamps illuminating the common room were of the flickery old style rather than steadier modern versions, and housed behind yellow-tinted glass that made their light resemble that of torches. Maps, hunting trophies and well-used old bladed weapons decorated the walls, and the room itself was of rough timber and plaster with fieldstone accents, just like the illustrations of taverns in modern books full of old stories.

It was an unspoken joke among the citizens of Last Rock that the illusion pitched by the A&W succeeded so well because those who bought into it were no more adventuring heroes than the tavern itself was a real adventurer’s bar, such as had formed a basic economic role throughout the frontiers five hundred years ago. The closest thing to real adventurers present were the University students, who were an odd, eclectic and often dangerous bunch, though they were ironically the better-behaved of the patrons. Those who were actually there for adventuring purposes rarely deserved to be taken seriously. People did, occasionally, still find treasure and glory in the Golden Sea. Most of those who went looking came staggering out weeks later, half-starved, traumatized, and hell and gone from wherever they’d entered…those who came out at all. It wasn’t something rational, well-adjusted people attempted.

Principia loved it here.

She didn’t push the swinging doors open and stand in them—aside form being mindful of the cliché, it wasn’t her habit to be the center of attention unless a specific con required it. Usually there was better hunting to be had in blending in. But she did, as usual, slip to one side of the doors and treat herself to a moment of soaking in the ambiance. This was just like old times. The Age of Adventures was already stumbling toward its slow end by the time she’d started her career, but she was still old enough to have been in a few adventurer bars—the real ones. Those were some of her happiest memories.

But that was then, this was now, and she was on a particularly unforgiving deadline. The reminder of her straits soured some of her nostalgic pleasure, and she narrowed her focus to the night’s business.

It was after sundown on a Friday and the A&W was predictably busy, but she had no trouble zeroing in on her targets; they were ensconced at the largest table in the place. The three privates stood out in their navy blue Army uniforms, and were keeping company with a couple of the more exotic University kids. Chase and Tanq blended in as they would in any group of miscellaneous humans, but Hildred, a honey-blonde dwarf girl, and especially Natchua made for a more distinctive sight. There was a card game in progress, as well as tankards and pitchers and platters of the A&W’s simple but good finger food.

Prin took a moment to consider her approach. She needed those boys’ interest, and first impressions were vitally important.

“Hey! PRIN!” Chase waved at her, grinning delightedly. “Perfect timing, get that perky butt over here!”

Her sly smile wasn’t entirely faked. Once in a while, fortune did favor her.

She threaded her way nimbly through the crowd, pulled out a chair between two of the soldiers and plopped down. “What’s this, then, you started without me? Now my feelings are hurt. Somebody better buy me something to compensate.”

“Something shiny or something alcoholic?” Tanq asked with a grin.

“That’ll do for a start!”

She received a smiling greeting from Hildred and a glare from Natchua, which she knew by now not to take personally. It wasn’t personal, and wasn’t even the usual hostility that drow often held toward surface elves and vice versa; Natchua was simply, as usual, trying for the “brooding badass” look, and as usual managing only to come off as surly. The three soldier boys all eyed her with interest.

“Well, hello,” she purred at them. “I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure.”

“Not so far,” said the swarthy one to her right, grinning. “Am I going to?”

“I haven’t,” Chase complained. “Rumor has it that makes me the only one in town.”

“Funny thing is,” she said airily, setting a stack of copper coins on the table, “he keeps saying things like that to me, and yet appears to think he’s going to get somewhere. Deal me in.”

“I am very stupid,” Chase agreed, nodding solemnly. “This is known.”

It was a good group to work. Chase and Rook, the soldier with the olive complexion, were jokers and talkers, keeping conversation going. Finchley, Hildred and Tanq were quieter, but affable; Natchua and Moriarty were too sullen and stiff, respectively, to contribute much, but that was fine. A group that size would have been chaos with everybody talking over each other. Prin could apply her charm in chaos—she could apply it anywhere, but chaos was less than ideal.

A few hands and a pitcher of beer were enough for her to get the measure of her targets. Moriarty she dismissed as a prospect to leverage. Not that she couldn’t do it, but guys like him required a lot of effort and very particular tactics, which she had neither time nor inclination to pursue. Finchley and Rook were likelier prospects, though the personalities demanded such different approaches that she wouldn’t really be able to work both at one time. Luckily, she’d placed herself right between them at the table, and both kept giving her eyes of interest. Prin didn’t devote great time or attention to her looks; sometimes, in company like this, being an elf was all it took.

Half an hour after sitting down (it didn’t do to rush these things), she’d settled on Rook as her best prospect, as he was clearly the more careless of them. Getting useful intel on Tellwyrn out of him here, now, during a loud poker game, wasn’t really an option, but she had plenty of room to strike up a rapport to be leveraged later. This couldn’t all be done in one night.

Hopefully that would be enough to keep Thumper off her for a while longer.

She had just gotten down to a seriously, slowly escalating campaigns of subtle touches and flirtatious glances when a man stepped up to their table.

“Evenin’, folks,” he said, tipping his hat politely. “This a closed game or can an old wanderer join in? Ain’t had a good round of cards in far too long.”

Principia gave him a carefully calculated look—not overtly hostile, but not one he’d have mistaken for welcome. Such an addition would shift the dynamic of the group, and she’d have to take time to adjust her tactics. She needed to come out of this with, at minimum, plans to meet up with Rook later. Something concrete, as Thumper wasn’t the sort to understand subtler degrees of progress.

“Glad to have you, stranger!” Chase said cheerily without waiting to get anybody else’s opinion. “I don’t mind taking your money if you don’t mind donating.”

“Much obliged.” The old man pulled over an unoccupied chair from a nearby table and seated himself beside Hildred.

“Another hand like that last one, Chase, and you’ll be out of it for the night,” Tanq warned.

“Nonsense, I’ll just tap into my reserves.”

“You asked us not to let you do that. Remember?”

“Oh, I say lots of things. You should always listen to what I’m saying now. Past me was naïve and innocent, and future me will probably be drunk.”

Prin appraised the new arrival silently. He was clearly well along in years, and had the dark complexion of a westerner, though his skin was several shades lighter than Tanq’s. The ragged old coat and hat gave off a certain impression, but the staff gave another one entirely. That was no mass-produced soldier’s weapon, but an old and hand-crafted object polished to a dull glow, surmounted by a short obelisk of smoky quartz in an asymmetrical iron setting. There was no clicker, or any mechanism to activate it, meaning its owner did so mentally, which she could have guessed anyway; even from across the table she could feel the haze of arcane energy around the thing and its owner.

He caught her looking and nodded politely, giving her a small smile. She returned an equally stiff one.

Their game resumed mostly unchanged. The stranger, who gave his name simply as McGraw, was on the quieter side, or at least seemed so in comparison with some of the others at the table, though he wasn’t shy about joking along, and quickly endeared himself to the party by paying for his own drinks rather than partaking of what was already on hand. Principia let him be, pursuing her own game, which was also going well. Finchley seemed a bit put out at the lack of her attention, but Rook was clearly quite interested.

She felt a little wistful, in truth. It was a good night: food, drink, noise, and the company of friends and cheerful strangers. It would have been nice to simply enjoy it.

McGraw caught the elbow of a serving girl the next time his tankard was empty, beckoning her closer, and murmured a message into her ear along with his order. She smiled, nodded, and gave him a pat on the shoulder as she straightened, then trotted off. Prin seemed to be the only one paying attention to this exchange; again, he caught her looking, acknowledging her with that private little smile.

“What is it you do, McGraw?” Chase asked without looking up from his cards.

“For starters, I take coin from smug kids who try to distract me from considering my bets.”

Chase laughed in response to that. “Well, that must keep you busy. I was just curious—you’ve got sort of the look of an adventurer, but most of those around here are, ah…”

“Younger?” McGraw said dryly. “By a good thirty years’ minimum, I’d say, yeah. Heh, been a while since anybody accused me of having ‘the look.’ Guess it clings to a man.”

“So you were an adventurer, then?” Natchua asked giving him what she probably thought was a piercing look. It made her look nauseous. Not for the first time, Principia felt an urge to pull the girl aside and give her a few pointers on acting.

“One of the last,” McGraw mused, staring down at his cards without really focusing on them. “When I was your age, a body could still make an actual living roaming about, slaying monsters and looting ruins. Not as good of one as previous generations, of course…even then, the end had already begun, so to speak. The times sure are changin’… I had a couple of good scores, though, enough to set me up. Good thing, too, since there ain’t much room for my kind in the world of today.”

“I wish you’d explain that to Professor Tellwyrn,” Hildred commented, taking a sip of her beer. “I think she’s trying to train us up for a new Age of Adventures, sometimes.”

“With regrets, little lady, I’ll leave you to deal with that on your own,” McGraw said with a wry smile, tipping his hat to her. “I managed to have a full career without bein’ in a room with Arachne Tellwyrn or any of her ilk, and I’m long past being foolish enough to be disappointed by it. Anyhow, I fold, and I’ll have to wish you kids good night.” Grunting softly, he rose from his chair, leaning for a moment on his staff. “Get to be my age, you find yourself heading to bed at decent hours whether you want to or not. Enjoy my coin, kids, and thanks for the game.”

“Cheers!” Chase said, suiting the words with a lifted mug, which he then drained.

McGraw looked directly across the table at Principia. “Actually, if I could borrow you for a moment, Miss Keys? Won’t take long.”

She did not freeze like a startled rabbit, nor allow any emotion to show on her face except mild confusion. She was too old, too practiced and too good for that. “Wh—is that me?” she asked blankly. “I think you have me confused with somebody else.”

“I might, at that,” he said agreeably. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I’d be mighty grateful if you’d spare a moment to correct me, lest I waste an evening barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

“Eh…sure, I’ll sit this hand out.” She leaned over to Rook with a smile, placing a friendly hand on his arm. “I’ll be right back. Don’t let Chase steal my coins.”

“Shock! Outrage! I would never!”

“’Cos you can’t reach ’em from over there.”

“Precisely!”

She stepped smoothly around the table and wrapped herself around McGraw’s free arm, simpering up at him. Keep your enemies closer; that applied double to casters. Besides, she might ignite a spark of jealousy in Rook that she could make use of later. “So,” she said at a good volume as she led him away, mostly for the benefit of the group, “tell me about this clearly attractive and talented acquaintance of yours. You know, I believe I’ve been approached by friends of every dark-haired elf on the continent; we really do all look alike to some people! I wonder what she would say.”

“I’m curious to find that out myself,” he said more quietly, gently steering them toward the only remotely private spot in the common room, a relatively shady nook under the stairs to the second-floor balcony. He had clearly identified it in advance, and timed his approach for a moment when there was nobody in there having a quick grope. That, plus the fact that the arm coiled up in hers was corded with lean muscle belying his apparent age made her consider him a bit more carefully. This one was more than he appeared.

“If you will indulge me in wasting a bit of your time, ma’am, in the interest of not repeating myself I’d like to wait for—ah, nevermind! Speak of the devil.”

Rounding the bottom of the steps into their shadowy alcove stepped the last person she wanted to meet at that moment.

“Why, Jeremiah,” Prin said coolly, “I was specifically not expecting to see you this evening.”

“Always a pleasure, Miss Locke,” Shook replied dryly. “I was just informed by one of the girls that a patron was asking after me down here? You look to have found him.”

“Indeed, at least we’re all gathered,” McGraw said agreeably, gently disengaging himself from Principia. “My apologies for interrupting your respective evenings. It was a bit of bother to follow you all the way from Tiraas, Mr. Shook, and regretfully I didn’t manage in time to grab a word with you on the way. Regardless, and you may well call me a relic of an older age for this, which would be fair enough, but I feel if you’re going to kill somebody, you owe it to ’em to look ’em in the eyes first. Seems to me what little nobility there was in battle went out of it when we moved from blades and armor to magic bursts from a hundred yards away.”

They both stared at him blankly for a moment. Prin eased a step away from him. “…I’m sorry, I think I must’ve misheard you.”

“That’s one of the great peculiarities common to all sentient beings, I find,” McGraw said, reaching into his coat to pull out a thin cigar case. As he continued speaking, he withdrew a cigarillo, lit it by pressing the tip against the quartz head of his staff, and tucked the case away. “I had an acquaintance some years ago…well, a friend, really, as best as men like myself can reckon such things…with the given name of Bell. No matter how clearly he enunciated, upon introducing himself to just about anyone, he’d get back a ‘Nice to meet you, Bill!’” He puffed calmly at the cigarillo for a moment. “Now, nobody thought this over and decided to change his name for him… I reckon none even decided on a conscious level that they’d misheard and corrected it. It’s a thing that happens quicker than thought. Our fickle brains look for patterns, for the familiar. They see somethin’ outside their register of what makes sense, well, they just erase it and substitute something more comfortable. Thus, a man named Bell gets called Bill. Likewise, a man who states his intention to kill the other party in a civilized conversation must have been misheard. Why not? The way we’re accustomed to treating each other, well, it just doesn’t make a damn lick of sense. My apologies for the language, ma’am,” he added, tipping his hat to her.

“Oh, good,” Prin said sourly. “He’s a talker.”

McGraw laughed at that. “Apologies for that, too. Afraid at my age, I’ve already kicked the bad habits I’m going to and made peace with the rest.”

“Just to be clear,” Shook said softly, “you are talking about killing us?”

“Well, her, specifically. Things bein’ as they are, it’s likely to end up being you, too, ‘less you decide to keep well enough out of it.”

“Now why would you want to go and do a thing like that?” the enforcer asked, still in that mild tone. His hands, though, had curled in on themselves, obviously (to the trained eye) preparing to access the knives hidden up his sleeves.

“I don’t concern myself with the likes of ‘why,’” McGraw said, puffing away. “Ain’t a wise thing to ask about, nor a safe thing to know. Once the money’s paid, I proceed with the job. I will say, as I’ve been authorized to do so, that the Thieves’ Guild has stepped on toes that ought not to’ve been stepped on. A rival cult would very much like to see the end of whatever specific business you two are sniffing around after, in the most absolute manner possible. Hence, here I am.” He spread his hands in a gesture that was half-shrug, as though amused by the vagaries of life.

“What cult?” Shook asked tersely. McGraw just gave him a long look. “…right.”

“This is insane,” Principia protested, backing up again. “If you intend to murder someone, you don’t announce it to them ahead of time.”

“Indeed, assassination must come from the shadows, right?” He shook his head. “That’s just the way it’s done. I wonder how many people a year die from seein’ what they expect to, ‘stead of what’s right in front of ’em.”

“You’re in the middle of a crowded bar full of witnesses, most of whom would love nothing better than to jump into a fight and play hero. And threatening murder is itself a crime under Imperial law! All we have to do is go to the Sheriff and you’ll be in a cell faster than you can finish that foul-smelling cigar.”

“You make an awful lot of presumptions concerning what I do or don’t care about,” he replied calmly. “Yes, you could, indeed, go to the Sheriff, at which point the matter would be your word against mine. That can be a dicey thing, when one’s an outsider in these little towns. Folks are more inclined to believe what’s familiar and comfortable to them, as I think I’ve mentioned recently. Course, matters become different when the familiar faces are the town’s two shiftiest residents. My blank slate looks a lot more attractive in that situation, I think. And I happen to find the smell soothing.”

“You can’t just—”

“My apologies for cuttin’ you off, ma’am, but it’s been a long day and I really would prefer to move this along. There are a couple ways this can proceed. Best of all for me is that you try to get the jump on me. Thank the gods for self-defense laws; they’ve allowed me to put down more than a few targets in public without appearin’ so much as suspicious.”

“You’re assuming we can’t take you,” Shook snarled.

“Why, yes,” McGraw said mildly. “It appears I am assuming that. Slightly less advantageous to me is that you try to flee the town, get yourselves lost in the Golden Sea, or the more mundane prairie in the opposite direction. Killing you out of sight of civilization is similarly clean. Just as a word of warning, though, if either of you puts a foot near the scrolltower office or a Rail car, you’ll be dead before the second foot comes down.”

“You can’t watch us all the time, you know!”

“You think not, miss?” he asked in that same tone of calm. “Down the list to the less preferable alternatives, you could just sit on your hands and wait till I’ve got no choice but to act. I have a generous timetable, but I don’t aim to fool around in this town more than a few days. Or, you could attempt to enlist help. It’d have to be help of the illicit sort, since the law won’t be too kindly disposed toward a couple members of the Thieves’ Guild.”

“You can’t possibly prove—”

“That is actually a lot less challenging than you Eserites like to believe. Most people simply don’t bother.”

“That’s because being a member of the Guild is not against the law!”

“Just so, ma’am,” he said agreeably. “But it sure doesn’t make the law more favorably inclined toward you. And if you optimistically assume you’ll be around to continue your operations after I leave town, well, it’d complicate your life considerably to be outed. So, what’s it to be, then? Care to do me a favor and start this right now?”

He puffed placidly on his cigarillo, watching them. Principia glanced sidelong at Shook; she wasn’t armed, and wasn’t much use in a fight anyway. The enforcer was glaring pure fury at McGraw, every line of his frame rigid. He remained silent, though, and made no movement toward the other man. Whatever his prowess in hand-to-hand combat, it didn’t take much wit to see that they were dealing with a magic user of some kind. The way to attack one of those was not from the front, when they were expecting it.

“Pity,” McGraw mused after the silence had stretched out for a few moments. “But circumstances being as they are, I can hardly fault you for being less than accommodating. No offense is taken, I assure you. Well, in that case, I’ll bid you good night.”

He stepped forward twice, till his way was blocked by Shook, who still stood tensely, glaring at him.

“’Scuze me,” McGraw said politely. He received only a murderous stare in reply. After a moment, he grinned around his cigarillo and shifted sideways to slip around the enforcer. “Be seein’ you two real soon,” he said amiably as he turned to mount the stairs.

They stood in silence, listening to the sound of his footsteps above, until they grew too distant to be audible over the babble of cheerful noise in the tavern.

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