17 – 16

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Controlled chaos was the best they could hope for, under the circumstances. Ravana exerted as much control as she was able, of course, mindful that the limits of her grasp were defined not only by the forces at her disposal, but by the consequences of over-using them.

The square outside the cathedral teemed with activity, even more than during the paladins’ surprise attack; it had been enough time for rumor to spread throughout the city, and doubtless beyond. Fortunately that had also been enough time for her people to lay preparations. Barricades had been put up, each manned by armed soldiers of her household guard, delineating space for personnel and vehicles to approach the cathedral and then depart—not to mention securing a protective area around herself. Ravana’s position atop the cathedral steps was encircled by temporary barriers and troops blocking all approach to the stairs themselves, as well as the open church doors behind, and she was accompanied by Lord-Captain Arivani, Yancey, and Veilwin.

Ordinarily she tried not to expose Veilwin to the public, but for a presentation like this, the mage’s skills were a necessary precaution against snipers, magical attacks, and the unexpected in general. The surly elf had been rigorously instructed on the proper public demeanor of a Court Mage, and amply bribed and then threatened to ensure she adhered to these instructions.

The presence of troops was a bit heavier than best practices called for, but it was necessitated by her own presence, and hopefully justified by the situation. Imperial doctrine since Theasia’s day had been to avoid showing force to a hostile crowd unless necessary, as such provocative displays tended to turn protests into riots. So far, there had been no problems here—chiefly because those protesting around the cathedral had been opposed to the Church. Ravana herself was quite popular with this crowd. By far the most unruly onlookers so far had been reporters.

“And thus the matter stands,” she said into the arcane voice projector placed before her. Ravana’s own dress and coat were fully augmented with personal warming charms, as well as two layers of energy shields, not that this had stopped Iris from forcibly draping another heavy shawl around her shoulders. “I will reiterate that House Madouri has no ambitions here. I intervene in this way only with great reluctance, and only out of necessity for the defense of my people. I will not suffer Madouris to be left at the whims of a madman with dreams of omnipotence!”

The omnipresent noise of the crowd swelled into a roar—of approval, naturally. Ravana reflected that she ought to make more public addresses. This was extremely satisfying, as well as politically useful; no wonder Natchua had started making a habit of it.

“But my assurance means only so much,” she continued, raising her hands for quiet. “Just as Justinian has demonstrated his malignant intentions, I shall demonstrate my own: through actions, not words. Thus, I am grateful to the Sisterhood of Avei, and likewise the faiths of Omnu and Vidius, for stepping in. While the full resources of House Madouri labor to learn the truth of Justinian’s abhorrent plans from the personnel and assets we have seized today, the cults shall oversee these holy grounds. This cathedral, and its sister churches throughout the province, belong to the people—to you. They are built for the glory of the gods, not for any aristocrat. In the gods’ hands they shall remain, and once that megalomaniac has been removed from the papacy, to the stewardship of the Church they shall return.”

More cheering; less exuberant than previously, but that was to be expected. Anger was a more powerful motivator than righteousness, but a dangerous tool. A mob was the last thing she wanted here. What mattered was that they were on her side—accustomed to agreeing with her and expressing it loudly. She had been leading them along this way for several minutes now, since the three paladins had departed from the dais upon her arrival to be whisked away in one of her carriages.

Agreement and approval were habits: now was the time to offer them something they might otherwise not have liked so much.

“It was very recently that such an action would have been unthinkable,” Ravana continued in a more grave tone. “This crisis has forced me—forced us all—to reconsider much that we have long taken for granted. Some habits we must change because the threat posed demands it, while others… It may be time to change regardless. Justinian’s vile attacks have reshaped our whole understanding of the world, but perhaps not more so than what transpired at Ninkabi. That disaster I also lay at his feet, based upon the testimony of those who fought there, but I will not credit him with the historic surrender of Elilial to the Pantheon, at another cathedral not unlike this one. However…his actions have caused me to reconsider what else changed that day, and what we should do in response.”

She paused, keeping her face solemn, and deliberately letting the silence stretch out. The murmuring of the crowd was like the voice of a single, vast organism; the visible, audible, tangible anticipation under her control was like a drug.

“And so,” she proclaimed, “I am issuing the following edicts. In light of Elilial’s changed status with regard to the Pantheon and its cults, and in particular the unprecedented threat posed by a mad Archpope and the urgent need to take any and all action necessary to protect my people from his depredations, I hereby nullify and rescind, throughout Madouris and Tiraan province, any laws and policies under the authority of House Madouri and the provincial government prohibiting the open activities of the Black Wreath, and the free exercise of their faith.”

The muttering swelled rapidly—not quite erupting into an outcry. She pressed on, raising her voice and not giving it a chance.

“Likewise, I hereby direct all Sheriffs and law enforcement officers answerable to my authority not to enforce any Imperial laws against the open operation of the Black Wreath within the domain of House Madouri. Infernomancy and demon-summoning shall remain as strictly controlled as the hazards to public safety they are. However, I now direct all relevant government offices under my authority to recognize membership in and authorization by the Black Wreath to practice infernomancy and demonology to be sufficient qualification; any person able to present these credentials shall be issued government certification immediately upon applying for it, providing no other factors disqualify them. In the same way the Silver Legions are permitted to operate within Imperial territory as an independent military, I authorize Black Wreath warlocks to act openly for the protection of the people against demonic or infernal threats, provided they seek certification by the relevant authorities and submit to the customary oversight.”

The stirring had grown to such an intensity that she paused. Not because she couldn’t make herself heard over the noise, given her arcane projector, but because she preferred the impression of control she would gain by not having to resort to it. Instead Ravana waited, sweeping her gaze impassively across the square as the crowd roiled.

They were not shouting, not protesting; they were not happy, but she had successfully dropped this charge in a way that did not provoke open resistance. This was confusion and uncertainty she was seeing.

After letting a few long seconds pass, Ravana raised both her hands, pressing her palms outward toward the crowd. On command, they began to calm, or at least to quiet, and inwardly she reveled in it even as she remained outwardly impassive.

They were still hers.

“I cannot say this gives me any satisfaction,” she said, making her tone grim. “Certainly no pleasure. It is not my intention to erase history, nor suggest that the actions of the past need not be grappled with. My duty as your Duchess is to deal with what is. To protect my people from whatever would harm them, using whatever means are necessary.

“Very recently, Justinian Darnay, the Archpope who would crown himself a god, had the absolute temerity to accuse our Emperor of responsibility for the demonic attacks upon Tiraas two years ago—a scheme in which Justinian was complicit and at least equally culpable. He has the gall to point fingers and castigate those who traffic in the infernal while he does the very same and worse. While he pries open hellgates inside a major city, and unleashes chaos monsters, all for no greater purpose than to deflect pressure from the growing awareness of his various other crimes.”

She raised her chin, staring down her nose at the world.

“Well, it was a warlock who destroyed the necro-drake which attacked Veilgrad. With, in fact, the aid of the Black Wreath themselves. It was with the aid of a red dragon that our own paladins vanquished the rest. Let him feel free to cast whatever aspersions he wishes upon my character. Let him call me another dabbler in the infernal if he wishes. To him I say this:”

She drew back her lips in an open snarl most unlike her normally composed public bearing, but the silence of the crowd told her she had them in the palm of her hand.

“So be it. House Madouri has protected this realm for a thousand years. If you come for my people, I will give you Hell.”

They roared along with her.


A specific chamber had been cleared—originally, a supply closet now emptied for the purpose—near the mission’s staging point, to spare Trissiny having to hike across the entire base from the normal teleportation platform. She and McGraw arrived on site and in seconds had traversed the hallway to the room where the strike force was assembled, where the Hand of Avei announced herself with customary panache.

“Kuriwa, what are you doing here?” Trissiny demanded, striding into the room with the amused-looking mage on her heels.

“Lending my assistance,” the elf in question replied, wearing a benign smile. “It seems my arrival was timely indeed.”

“Right, that’s my fault, I should have clarified that,” Trissiny said with an exasperated sigh. “No one is surprised to find you unilaterally intervening in…anything, honestly. The two things I wish to know are how you learned of this above top secret mission in time to get here in the first place, and then how you managed to insert yourself directly into the core of the mission past the layers of defenses that should surround this!”

“You needn’t worry, Trissiny, your security is quite intact. I was unaware of your plans until I arrived at the base this morning. In fact, I came here to offer my assistance on an unrelated matter. That offer was declined, but I could not be so close to what you are planning without my spirit guides whispering to me of the possibilities. Upon investigating further, Principia decided to request my aid rather than attempt to dissuade me.”

Trissiny turned a baleful stare on Principia.

“It was a judgment call,” she acknowledged. “But in your absence, General, it was mine, and I stand by it. I do understand opsec, but Mary of all people is not going to betray us to the Archpope, and in fact her power would be an immense asset to this operation.”

“In fact, Captain Locke’s capitulation was at my request,” said Khadizroth the Green, inclining his head deeply to the paladin. “Rather than being a matter of magical firepower—which it must be said she possesses in abundance—at issue is that Kuriwa’s skills are specifically applicable to what we are trying to do. To be blunt, General, it would be madness to attempt this without her aid, if said aid is available.”

Trissiny frowned. “Oh?”

“Our chosen method of insertion into the Grand Cathedral is certain to work because no defense against it exists,” he explained. “This is because it is an absurd, impossibly dangerous action which no one attempts. Statistically no one, that is. Kuriwa is, to my knowledge, the only person in existence mad enough to do this with any regularity. She is thus the world’s leading expert on this extremely difficult and hazardous task. Delegating it to her will not only greatly increase the speed and safety of our travel between dimensions, but free up my own focus to considerably increase my protections over our demon companion. I am confident that if I am allowed to concentrate on this entirely, I will be able to completely obviate the danger normally involved by bringing a demon into the space between, at least for the short time we will be there.”

“My opinion may be academic,” Xyraadi said pleasantly, “but I am always in favor of anything which prevents me being torn apart by chaos monsters.”

“Aside from bein’ a boon to the lady,” McGraw added, “the monsters in question’ll go after anybody near the demon with the same fervor, way I understand it. I ain’t eager to see that up close, myself.”

“I did not realize that was possible,” Mary commented, studying Khadizroth with her head tilted.

He bowed to her. “It is beneficial for people like us to be periodically reminded that we don’t know everything. You are welcome.”

“Hm,” Trissiny murmured, still frowning, but then nodded once. “All right, I see the sense in it. Right call, Locke. I’m sorry, Kuriwa.”

“Command suits you, child,” the Crow said serenely. “There is nothing for which you need apologize.”

“Maybe don’t call her a child in front of her troops, then,” Principia said, scowling.

“I appreciate the thought, Locke, but considering that’s how she talks to everyone, there doesn’t seem much point,” Trissiny said with a sigh. “All right, will this change in plan introduce any other variables we need to account for? Anyone?”

“Shut me down if this is a stupid question,” said Joe, raising a hand, “but will this upset the magical, uh…team balance any? I notice we were bringin’ our strongest specialists in each o’ the four schools of magic, plus me as miscellaneous muscle. A green dragon an’ elder shaman is… I don’t wanna say ‘redundant’ but…”

“Not stupid, Joe, but shouldn’t be a problem,” said Principia. “We went for maximum possible coverage because we have no idea what you’ll be walking into. Considering the only certainty is you’ll be facing some form of divine craft, fae magic is the least useful in which to be overspecialized, but so long as the other quadrants remain covered I don’t see how it can hurt. And Kuriwa hasn’t survived to become an insufferable legend without being pretty versatile.”

“In fact,” said Mary, “I understand your primary occupation for most of yesterday was probing at Justinian’s defenses with every form of scrying and divination possible without triggering them, to discern the layout and contents of the secret chambers beneath the Grand Cathedral. I cannot imagine the results were anything close to conclusive.”

“They were not,” Xyraadi agreed. “My own methods proved the most effective; infernal information-gathering is evidently such a rarity upon this plane that reliable defenses against it have not been developed. Even so, we achieved only a cursory plan of attack.”

“You are an expert without peer in the manipulation of the dreamscape,” Mary said to Khadizroth. “I realize this is…an uncomfortable degree of intimacy, given the nature of our relationship, but if you are willing to link your memory to mine in this manner, it will be the fastest means by far of granting me this knowledge. The closer I can place us to a crucial target, the better.”

“I am willing to do so, given the need,” he replied, “but in the course of our investigations, I made a discovery I believe will be more useful than that. Observe.”

He made no gesture or outward sign of doing magic, but the light in the room shifted noticeably more green, and a strange tilting sensation overcame all those present.

“I never get used to this,” Joe muttered, grimacing.

Once the dimensional thinning effect was established, Khadizroth lifted one hand and made a plucking motion in midair.

As if the vibration itself brought them into visibility, the spider webs appeared. Intangible, thickly tangled, wrapped around every person present and extending off into all directions.

“Merde alors,” Xyraadi hissed, brushing at herself as if she could dislodge them.

“This effect is quite harmless,” Khadizroth explained. “Think of it as…a visual metaphor, for a magical reality which has been active for some time. I will be able to bring it to visibility at need—in fact, I believe it will be easier in the space between. Kuriwa, are you able to follow these threads?”

“To an extent,” she said warily, “if I know a destination.”

He nodded. “The destination is their source. Though I have been monitoring this…convergence for some time, I did not stumble upon its point of origin until last night’s endeavor. What we seek is at the center of this web. Take us there, and we will find… Well, it might be premature to declare it will be whatever we seek, but I believe that will be the target of most crucial relevance to us, out of all the unknown contents of those vaults.”

“Justinian did this?” Mary said in open alarm.

Slowly, Khadizroth shook his head. “Given what we know he has been meddling with, I suppose nothing can be conclusively ruled out, but…I think not. Rather, I suspect we are seeing the effects of another force taking advantage of the disturbances he has created in the substance of magic itself. I have discerned that these threads connect across time as well as space, and that is a form of travel we are unable to perform, nor should we. But at their source we will find some mechanism which enables them to spread thus, and connected to that…”

“Whatever he’s using to manipulate the gods themselves,” Trissiny murmured. “It stands to reason… All right. This is sounding increasingly like something that will urgently need to be faced next, but the reality is we can’t spare any effort or attention for it until Justinian is dealt with one way or another. For now, if we can use it, I don’t think we can afford not to. And right now, we do not have time for any further delays. After the production we made in Madouris minutes ago, he will believe I am currently there, along with Gabe and Toby. Ravana should be putting on a performance as we speak that will keep his attention and assets directed there. This is my one opportunity to hit him from behind.”

“You expect your own presence to be the deciding factor, then?” Mary asked.

“We can’t be certain of that,” Trissiny admitted. “We’re operating more on theory than I’m comfortable with, but that’s the best we can do. Based on what we understand about the nature of magic and divinity, we strongly suspect that whatever method Justinian is using to countermand the very will of the gods must require his personal focus to use, and possibly his physical presence. If we’re wrong about that then it doesn’t matter, but the theory is sound, and it means dropping a paladin in a vulnerable spot where he doesn’t expect one is our likeliest counter to the effect.”

The Crow nodded, as did the others.

“Our primary mission,” Trissiny continued, addressing herself mostly to Mary, “is to locate and capture or destroy whatever mechanism Justinian is using to exert his will upon the gods. We’re considering success to be a remote possibility; we will likely be detected and probably come under attack as soon as we arrive, and will have a very short window before resistance becomes too extreme to withstand. There is simply not going to be enough time to carry out the necessary search—not to mention that given the nature of Elder God technology, there may not be any physical apparatus. We can’t even count on the gods to aid us this time, so true success will be a very great stroke of luck. Therefore, unless we immediately locate our primary target and quickly discern a means of securing or destroying it, we will shift ASAP to the secondary objective.”

“Makin’ a mess,” Joe said with a grin.

Trissiny nodded. “Maximum disruption of as many of Justinian’s assets as possible. This is no time for quick, clean, or precise: if we don’t land right on top of that god-bending machine, we will seize anything in the vicinity that looks promising and portable, and demolish everything else. Any and all resistance is to be met with maximum force. Once we’ve moved to the secondary objective, you are all to regard yourselves as crucial assets and of primary importance. Kuriwa, whatever else you do, be ready to create our exit on minimum notice. As soon as we start facing more opposition than we can decisively dispatch, we will pull out. Unless we identify the primary target and a means of securing it, in which case, that goal will trump all others. Clear?”

“Understood,” Mary said, nodding.

“Good.” Trissiny drew in a breath and let it out sharply. “Then that’s all the time we have for briefing. Move fast but think defensively, and watch each other’s backs. Let’s move out, people. Kuriwa, you’re on point.”

Mary nodded once more, and then with no further fanfare, gestured with one hand.

The rip which appeared in midair was barely perceptible, leading to a space that was nearly identical to this room. This far underground, the crucial differences were mostly not visible.

“Get it done, and come back,” Principia said, staring intensely at Trissiny. “All of you.”

Trissiny gave her only a terse nod before following Mary into chaos space.


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17 – 15

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They did not come with the crack of dawn, as would have better suited a story. In politics as in war, timing was everything, and so they waited for their moment.

Two hours after dawn proved enough time for Madouris to not only wake up and shake off the winter chill enough to being the day’s business, but more crucially, for the papers to be in circulation. The Imperial Herald, like its competitors, went to print well before the sun rose, and by the time most of the city had finished breakfast, the news on the page had fully ascended to rumors carried on thousands of voices.

A stalemate had held across the Empire for all of the previous day as tensions had risen further. The Throne had postponed its intended seizure of Chuch assets to avoid provoking outright riots from the protesters chanting in favor of both factions in front of cathedrals and government offices. The Archpope had put out no further public statement, but posted Holy Legionaries in front of churches—both armored ceremonial guards and newer, grim-faced men and women in white coats with shield charms and battlestaves. Imperial soldiers had likewise appeared in front of government buildings and at city gates, but were kept carefully away from protest sites, instead standing by at discreet distances with battlemages ready to teleport at need. The Tirasian Dynasty had learned back in Theasia’s day that a show of force was the fastest way to turn a protest into a riot.

For the moment the peace held. The tension was constantly rising, between citizens, between political factions, and over all from the unseen threat of more necro-drakes. One way or another, soon enough, this would break, but all of the preceding day it had held.

Then the morning began with Carter Long’s second historic interview with the Black Wreath, both validating and contradicting Archpope Justinian’s account of the demon attack on Tiraas. And just when the people had had time to chew on this, but just before it escalated to further chaos, they made their move.

Crowds parted, then swirled along in their wake as they rode through the streets of the city at a brisk trot. Even had all three not been recognizable by sight—and for many people, only the silver armor of the Hand of Avei distinguished them from any other trio of young adults—the horses were unmistakable. A white, barrel-chested colossus of a draft horse armored to match his mistress; a sunny-coated mare wearing an elven-style saddle blanket who gleamed even in the cloudy winter morning as if lit by the sun itself; an eerie black steed with smoke for a mane and tail, fire in her eyes, and legs that seemed not even to touch the ground.

They made their way from the gates of Madouri Manor straight through the crowded heart of the city, giving ample time for warning of their arrival to precede them, and gathering up an audience. By the time the paladins reined their divine steeds to a halt before the towering cathedral of Madouris, the stage was fully set for the coming confrontation.

Forewarned, the Holy Legion had fully assembled—at least, as many of their strained numbers as could be spared from the Archpope’s forces concentrated in Tiraas. There were enough of them, barely, to form a complete line across the great double arches which housed the cathedral’s doors, positioned atop a broad flight of marble stairs.

The crowd murmured, coming to a halt at a respectful distance behind the paladins as they all three brought their mounts to a stop in the square at the foot of those steps. Above, the soldiers stood at attention, tense but not raising weapons.

Alone, while the other two sat their saddles, Tobias Caine dismounted. He let Roiyary’s reins hang loose; the mare whickered gently and nuzzled him once with her nose, then stood peacefully still alongside her compatriots as he stepped away.

He climbed the wide steps in silence, a picture of serenity under thousands of eyes, and came to a stop before the line of soldiers.

“I need to speak with the archdeacon,” he said, calm as a sunrise. “I’m afraid it is urgent.”

The captain of the assembled Legionaries drew in a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, before answering.

“You are denied entry to this holy ground, Hand of Omnu. You, and both of your…companions. Your hostile posture toward this Church is known, and we must assume your intentions are ignoble.”

“We are all of us neck-deep in hostility,” Toby said frankly. He made no effort to project, but also not to lower his voice; the conversation was not clearly audible across the whole square, but his friends below and at least the front few ranks of onlookers were treated to a sufficient understanding of the exchange. “Please believe that my hope is to assuage it, not add to it. I hope we can take this opportunity to recognize that we are more alike than we are different, and handle our business with reason and compromise. My business, right now, is with the archdeacon. You have my word before Omnu that I will offer no harm on this sacred ground unless absolutely forced to, and even then, the utter minimum I am able.”

“You do not have business with the archdeacon, sir,” the soldier said woodenly. He hesitated, his expression shifting slightly, and let out a soft sigh, lowering his voice. “Young man, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. Truly, I do. I have orders, however—and all of us signed up for a sacred calling. We stand for what we believe, and principles aren’t subject to compromise.”

Toby sighed quietly, himself, breath misting on the morning air. “Otherwise, they are not principles.”

“Just so,” the captain replied with a slight nod.

“By the same token exactly,” he said ruefully, “I had to ask.”

The man adjusted his fingers where they gripped his battlestaff. “I’m not too proud to admit I wish I could’ve met you halfway, Mr. Caine.” He glanced past him at the other two paladins waiting patiently below.

“Me, too,” Toby agreed. “But we make do as best we can with what we’re given. May Omnu’s light shine upon you, sir. For as long as any of us have left.”

The captain inclined his head faintly, saying nothing further. With a last regretful look, Toby turned away and descended the steps in the same stately glide.

Murmuring rose throughout the square from the still-growing crowd of onlookers, quite a few of whom were carrying signs castigating the Church or Justinian in particular. For the moment, though, the people kept back, content to watch.

He wasn’t even at the bottom when Trissiny moved; she didn’t even dismount, simply heeling Arjen forward. The divine horse stepped nimbly up the cathedral stairs despite his enormous hooves, passing Toby on the way down.

In the few seconds it took her to ride to the top, the murmuring of the crowd rose in both pitch and intensity, and the soldiers awaiting shifted into a defensive posture, leveling weapons and activating shield charms.

“Don’t bother,” the captain said before Trissiny could speak. “You three made your point at Calderaas. After the Hand of Omnu asks politely, the Hand of Avei comes to force us to move aside. Right?”

“That was your chance to move aside,” she retorted in a carrying voice. Arjen snorted and aggressively pawed at the stone platform, flattening his ears, but gave his rider no reason to rein him back yet. “Toby believes deeply in giving people a chance to see reason. As much as I admire that about him, I have my own doctrines concerning soldiers in the service of a mass-murdering lunatic. The lot of you are now under arrest. If you throw down your weapons now, I will personally guarantee lenient treatment.”

All of the Holy Legionaries had scowled at her oblique accusation against their Archpope, but not a one flinched, nor so much as looked uncertain. At worst, they were grimly resigned. The captain opened his mouth, then paused, glancing past her at another disturbance from the square.

Accompanied by a fresh wave of crowd noise as the civilian onlookers were carefully displaced, a column of soldiers in House Madouri crimson and gray were marching into the square. Gabriel sat calmly astride Whisper, Toby now holding Roiyary’s bridle, neither of them moving as the household troops came abreast of them.

Grimly setting his jaw, the Holy Legion captain braced his feet and leveled his battlestaff at Trissiny, thumbing its lock. A glow ignited along its runic engravings, the tip humming with destruction ready to be unleashed. To his left and right, fellow white-coated Legionaries followed suit, while the four honor guards braced their pikes, positioning themselves to shove her bodily off the stairs. Arjen snorted and stomped one hoof, not giving an inch.

“We,” the captain stated flatly, “serve a higher calling.”

Light flared from the top of the steps, a divine aura igniting with the intensity of the sun as golden wings extended from behind the Hand of Avei.

She drew her sword.

“Mine’s bigger.”


What had been a prayer service had become a huddled mass of refugees alarmingly quickly. Things had been trending in that direction from the very beginning; it was only the most faithful who had come to pray together in the cathedral at a time like this—hence the very small crowd dwarfed by the cavernous sanctuary—and they had already endured taunts and imprecations from the protesters outside just to get in.

But then, just minutes ago, the warning had come, the doors had been shut and barred with the Holy Legionaries taking up a defensive posture outside, and in the ensuing ominous quiet, tension had grown rapidly.

Its sudden release came as the opposite of a relief. Thunderclaps sounded from directly outside the doors, flashes of blue and gold light illuminating their cracks, and a cacophony of crashes and thumps ensued. More than one parishoner screamed; most huddled together, a few beginning to weep.

The Archdeacon of the cathedral had already descended from the pulpit, attempting to project calm as she paced down the central aisle between pews. Most of the worshipers had gathered near the front, and she deliberately placed herself beyond them—between them and whatever was about to come through those doors.

The lights had ceased to flash and there were no more explosions of magic, but scuffling and thumps continued to the ominous accompaniment of shouts.

Then came a particularly deafening crack of a battlestaff firing, followed by a powerful thump directly against the doors that shook them in their housing.

After that, for a few seconds, quiet. The Archdeacon made herself breathe evenly; behind her was only tension and soft crying.

The doors shivered, rattling against the bar as someone tried to pull them open from outside. That the cathedral’s doors even had a bar was an unusual artifact of Madouris’s long and complicated history. Now, it bought only seconds.

Golden light blazed through every crack as the intensity of divine magic burning outside caused a faint musical chiming right at the upper boundary of human hearing. Then a single glowing blade flashed through the narrow crack between the doors, slicing through the thick wooden bar as if it wasn’t there. It tumbled to the floor in two pieces, and the cathedral door was pulled open.

She lessened the blaze of her aura as she came, but it took the luminous eagle wings another few seconds to fade. Trissiny Avelea sheathed her blade immediately, reaching into a belt pouch as she strode directly down the central aisle.

“How dare you,” the Archdeacon barked, planting her feet in the paladin’s path and refusing to yield an inch. “You presume to call yourself a servant of a goddess, but do not honor the sanctuary of a holy place?”

“I’m afraid this place is no longer able to offer sanctuary,” Trissiny replied, holding out the object she had just retrieved from her pocket: a folded sheet of parchment bearing the seal of House Madouri. “If anyone here feels the need to claim sanctuary, I’ll see to it they’re escorted to a Pantheon temple of their choice.”

The Archdeacon had immediately snatched the paper and unfolded it; at the first sight of the words printed there, her eyes widened, then narrowed in anger. “This is— No. You do not have the authority to do this!”

“House Madouri and its Duchess are subject to the laws of this Empire,” Trissiny stated. Behind her, Gabriel had entered and was pacing languidly down the aisle, peering about at the buttresses and stained glass windows. “If you have any complaints about her actions, you may pursue them through the courts like any citizen.”

“So the paladins of the Pantheon serve as lackeys for the Houses now,” the Archdeacon retorted, baring her teeth. “Or is it only the ones you personally know from school?”

Trissiny’s stern expression did not alter by an iota. “All systems are corrupt.”

The Archdeacon blinked in surprise.

“It is my opinion, knowing her personally as I do,” Trissiny continued, “that Duchess Ravana has good intentions and desires the best for her people. It is also my opinion that anyone with her kind of power is trustworthy only so long as someone is looking over their shoulder. I realize my entrance has given you a…very different impression, but that was due to your actions, not mine. I am here, intervening in this, to make sure House Madouri does not exert excessive authority here. Or excessive force.”

Gabriel ambled up behind her and came to a stop, planting the butt of his scythe against the floor with a thunk that echoed through the sanctuary. Behind them, Toby had finally entered and was making his way toward the group.

“By proclamation of the Duchess,” Trissiny said, raising her voice, “due to the harm done by Archpope Justinian to the people of the Empire and Tiraan Province, all possessions and property of the Universal Church of the Pantheon within the domain of said province are hereby seized by House Madouri. Any personnel answering to said institution will be taken into custody.”

She had to raise her voice further as the assembled citizens began to shout in anger and dismay. Trissiny, fortunately, had very good lungs.

“These properties will be jointly administered by the organized faiths of Avei, Omnu, and Vidius until such time as Justinian is removed from office, and then returned immediately to the Church. They will not become the property of House Madouri. Everyone all right out there?” she added more quietly to Toby, letting the crowd clamor.

“I set a broken bone and a dislocated shoulder,” he replied. “A few of them look concussed. Lord-Captain Arivani has taken them into custody; I made sure they were going directly to a proper healer before any kind of detention. Thank you for holding back, Triss.”

“If I’d held back, someone would be dead,” she said with a grimace. “It’s a lot harder to disable an enemy without harming them, as I should think you would know.”

“Then I appreciate it even more,” he said, smiling.

“And I,” the Archdeacon added grudgingly. “It’s a cruel sort of mercy, but even that much is to be appreciated. Shall I expect the same treatment?”

“That depends on you,” said Trissiny.

She was a woman in her later middle years, her face only slightly lined but her hair gone entirely white and a faint stoop beginning to intrude on her posture. Now, though, the Archdeacon of the cathedral straightened her spine fully, staring implacably at them. She folded her hands at her waist, narrowed her eyes, and ignited a divine shield around herself, forming a golden bubble of solid light between the paladins and the parishoners huddling behind her.

“I will not begrudge you your convictions,” she stated. “Do not underestimate mine. I am content to be judged by history.”

Trissiny placed a hand on the pommel of her sword. “You have to know—”

“Triss.” Toby gently touched her shoulder. “Please. Let me handle this.”

“You may all feel free to do what you need to,” the older woman stated. “I will not submit to injustice or brute force within my own church, not while I stand for righteousness, and the well-being of my people.”

“It’s clear that your people respect you greatly, Archdeacon Sharizedh,” Toby replied, his serenity a counterpoint to her rigid defiance. Behind him, armed House Madouri soldiers had begun to stream into the sanctuary, prompting further outcry from the citizens assembled still at the opposite end. “I think they’ll follow the example you set, here. If you want to make a point of offering resistance you know will be futile to an outcome you know is inevitable, well, a lot of the people behind you will, too. In fact, not just them, I should think. Newspapers have been all over this entire business from the beginning. An Archdeacon’s last stand—that story will spread. Just think how many unarmed, effectively helpless but still faithful followers of the Church will throw themselves against blades and staff fire and energy shields, if someone they trust and honor makes that the example.”

She raised one eyebrow, her expression wry and unimpressed.

“We’ve spent a lot of time lately,” Toby continued, still calm, “digging up the trail of Justinian’s actions, and dealing with the aftereffects of them. I’d like to think it gives me some perspective on his mindset, though much of it is still elusive to me. It’s enough, anyway, that I feel reasonably confident this is what he’d tell you to do.”

Gabriel and Trissiny both turned warning looks on him. Sharizedh tilted her head slightly in bemusement.

“Because, as generally ineffectual as it would be,” Toby went on in the same even tone, “as ultimately, strategically pointless…well, it would help a little. Just a bit. It’d make a very small impediment to his opponents, and all it would cost him is the blood and pain of his followers. And I am here to tell you, Archdeacon, Justinian does not care about that. He is after absolute power for himself, and all of us are either obstacles or tools, or if we are very unlucky, both. Every one of these people is just a piece on a game board to that man. Whatever they suffer is of no consequence, if it buys him another iota of fleeting advantage. You have pledged yourself to an amoral manipulator who will be mildly pleased if you persuade those who trust you to fling themselves against the barricades like so much living ammunition. Not appreciative; one does not thank a catapult stone. But…pleased.”

Archdeacon Sharizedh was staring fiercely at him now. Toby met her eyes with a kind, sad little smile, letting the pause stretch out.

“Prove me right,” he said at last. “Or don’t. It’s within your power to decide.”

She stared, narrowing her eyes further. When he said nothing more, she turned her head slightly, just enough to bring part of the crowd behind her into her peripheral vision. The watching parishoners had mostly fallen quiet now, staring with faces full of fear, anger, and indecision at the paladins and the Madouri soldiers who were now advancing on them all.

And then she sighed.

“I really hate that,” Sharizedh stated, returning her gaze to Toby. “I have dealt with a lot of Omnists over my long years, young man. Which means a lot of wishy-washy, intransigent vacillators. It’s only the rare, actually good pacifists who are so…manipulative.”

He inclined his head once in acknowledgment, saying nothing.

With a final grimace, the Archdeacon snuffed out her shield.

“Peace, please,” she implored, turning to face her flock. “Whatever befalls, this is still a sacred place. Let us keep it so.”

The soldier who stepped up to her carrying a pair of manacles spoke softly, almost diffidently. “Your pardon, ma’am. I need you to place your hands behind your back, please.”

“One of us has made a horrible mistake today,” she said to the paladins collectively, even as she complied. “It will be a relief if it turns out to be me. A relief…but a surprise. You children had better know what you’re doing.”


The inevitable confusion helped—the soldiers securing Church personnel throughout the cathedral while escorting civilians outside created plenty of distracting activity—but it still took them several minutes to shake off attention and find a chamber that was both private and close enough to the sanctuary for their purposes.

“This looks…adequate,” Gabriel said, peering around what seemed to be a prayer room while Toby carefully shut the heavy door. “As good as we’re going to find, anyway. Ariel, any snoops or hazards?”

“The expected haze of divine energy; the entire site is consecrated and ritual divine magic has clearly been performed here, regularly. There are no discernible eavesdroppers present, or scrying spells focused on this site. As far as I can detect, I should clarify. My abilities are not insignificant and there is little reason to expect a spot like this to have been trapped, but given this Justinian character’s apparent capabilities, true security may be impossible.”

“Paranoia is as much of a hazard as recklessness,” said Trissiny. “We’d better proceed.”

“Yep, agreed,” Gabriel said even as he set up a small device attached to a power crystal on the room’s small altar. “Still gonna set up this scrying baffler real quick. Thoroughness, and all.”

“Won’t that mess up the…y’know, any of the other stuff you need to do?” Toby asked.

“The really tricky project is fully self-contained and of course I set up the baffler on a frequency that won’t interfere with the beacons. C’mon, obviously I checked that before we came, I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re right, not offense,” Toby agreed. “Just…like you said. Thoroughness.”

Gabriel had been quickly laying out other pieces of small enchanting paraphernalia from his coat pockets, first putting down three objects not unlike ritual candles except made of glass and metal, delineating a triangular section of the floor. Then he produced a far more elaborate contraption out of its own padded case.

“Okay, moment of truth,” he muttered, flicking two switches to activate its power source and then hastily backing away. The thing did not fall to the floor once he’d released it, instead hovering unevenly at roughly chest height while its glass fittings ignited with an arcane blue glow, one by one.

Then, with a faint blue sparkle in the air similar to the aftereffect of a teleportation spell, a second Trissiny appeared where the device had been.

“Ugh,” the first Trissiny said, grimacing.

“May the Goddess watch over you,” her doppelganger intoned. The voice was mostly accurate, but subtly scratchy, much more like the imperfect quality of a modern music disc than the resonant overtones of Ariel’s voice.

“It talks?!” Trissiny exclaimed, taking a step backward.

“The state of the art moves fast these days,” Gabriel said with a grin. “It’s been a couple years since the ones we used on the night of the hellgate; this’ll last a lot longer, has tangible substance if touched, it’s harder to disrupt, and yes, it talks.”

“I sense evil here,” the second Trissiny growled, placing a hand on her sword and peering around with a scowl.

“It, uh, it doesn’t talk convincingly,” Gabriel admitted. “Just repeats a few canned phrases. I’ve programmed it to follow me, but… We can’t let it actually interact with anyone. It will not be…persuasive.”

“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem,” said Toby. “Letting it be seen from a distance is what the plan requires anyway. So long as whatever watcher Justinian puts on this cathedral sees Trissiny here, we’re golden.”

“Right, yeah. That’s the good news: this will fool a scrying spell much more easily than an actual person up close.” Gabriel turned to Trissiny, holding up another small device, little more than a button attached to a power crystal. “Beacons are set up, they’ll compensate for any likely interference and your man’ll be able to home in as soon as we send the signal. You wanna do the honors?”

“Just push the button, Gabe, we’re on an unforgiving schedule.”

“I sense evil here.”

“You…programmed in these little…catchphrases, didn’t you?” the original said suspiciously while he clicked the button, causing the crystal to glow softly. “So help me, Gabriel, if this thing says anything about punchbowls…”

“I’m not gonna stand here and deny that I was tempted,” he replied, grinning broadly. “But this is serious business. That one I filed away for future prank purposes.”

“May the Goddess watch over you.”

“Let’s hope,” she muttered.

A faint whine at the edge of hearing was accompanied by midair sparks and an accumulation of static, and then with a sharp pop, Longshot McGraw appeared in the middle of the three arcane beacons.”

“Report!” Trissiny barked.

“I sense evil here.”

“Uh…damn, that’s uncanny,” the old mage admitted, glancing between the two Trissinys. “Everything’s set up and ready to go, boss lady, we’re just waitin’ on you. Soon as we get back to base we can move out. There’s been one rather disruptive development since you left us yesterday, but it should be the opposite of a problem. I think.”

“How disruptive?” she demanded.

“I sense evil here.”

“Well, not quite that disruptive. Had an old friend suddenly pop into Camp Eagle, then weasel and bully her way right into the heart of our highly sensitive operation and decide she was gonna help. Which sounds bad, I won’t deny, but all things considered I strongly advise lettin’ her pitch in.”

“Who would—” Trissiny cut herself off, clapping a hand over her eyes. “…Kuriwa.”

“The Captain and Mr. K both vouched for ‘er, General. So do I, if that counts for anything.”

“Right, well, guess I’ll go deal with that first,” she growled. “Let’s move out. Guys…be careful.”

“We’ve got the easy job,” Toby said seriously. “You be carefuler.”

“And since we all know you won’t,” Gabriel added, “kick some ass for us.”

She gave them a final smirk, and then with another flash they were gone.

“Right,” Gabriel said more briskly, “let me just get all this shit packed away and then we’ll go make a spectacle of ourselves.”

“Carefully,” Toby agreed, “from a safe distance. As long as we don’t appear to be in a hurry, just making our way to Ravana’s carriage should be visible enough. People might wonder why we didn’t take the horses again, but it’s not a dead giveaway. And let’s face it, this plan was never going to be perfect.”

“May the Goddess watch over you.”

“Did you really only teach it two phrases?” Toby added in exasperation.

“Hey, you build a fake paladin out of spare parts in one night if you think it’s so damn easy. I had a hard enough time making the real one sit still to give me a voice sample to work from. All right, Trissn’t, let’s go. Heel, girl.”

Toby had already turned toward the door, but at that stopped, turning back to stare wide-eyed at his friend.

“What?” Gabriel shrugged. “I have to call her something.”

“Do you, though?”

“I sense evil here.”

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                 Next Chapter >

17 – 14

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                          Next Chapter >

“Ravana! We need more power crystals!”

Fortunately, Fross’s sudden entrance occurred after the discussion had mostly wrapped and the group in the solarium had begun to break up. Ephanie and McGraw had already arrived, summoned by Yancey at Trissiny’s request, and Szith had come with them, the two soldiers having apparently been sparring. Now the several separate conversations into which the sunroom had fallen came to a halt as everyone turned to stare at the pixie.

“Really?” Ravana asked pointedly. “I am the last person to object to more firepower in principle, Fross, but as of the last report I had, the problem was not capacity, but stability.”

“Yes! That! Exactly!” Fross punctuated her excited words by bobbing up and down in the air and emitting melodic chimes. “The whole system is designed to facilitate maximum output but we’re having a heck of a time getting the current steadied enough that it doesn’t blow out all the conduits. See, we’re using those huge power crystals designed for Imperial mag cannons—”

“How did you get those?!” Trissiny demanded, and was ignored.

“—and they’re meant to produce short but intense discharges, not the steadier current we need, and also they’re not built to be linked together. Really, something like this needs its own customized power source, but designing properly calibrated crystals would be an R&D project of months and we don’t have that, so it’s a matter of overcoming the complications caused by working with repurposed components! Anyway, Maureen had the idea to swap out several of the cannon power crystals with the kind used for zeppelin thrusters—also high-power, but meant for longer-term, steadier usage. Billie thinks the resulting loss of firepower should be negligible, assuming we can integrate the two power sources properly, and if it works it should do a lot to stabilize the power network!”

“I see,” Ravana replied gravely. “Very well, then. Zeppelin thrusters? FI manufactures those, I believe. Yancey, please join Fross and the others at the project site to ascertain their exact needs, and then reach out to Geoffrey and Marguerite. Spare no expense.”

“My lady,” he said, bowing, then turned and glided after the excitedly chiming pixie, who had already shot back out through the door.

“Trissiny,” Natchua said quietly just as the paladin herself was turning toward Ephanie. “A word? In private.”

Trissiny hesitated, furrowing her brow. “What’s up, Natchua? We were just about to move out.”

“Sorry, it shouldn’t take but a minute.” She glanced sidelong at Embras Mogul, who was lurking near the door; he grinned at her. “This was the other half of the reason I brought…him. In light of Ravana’s big idea, it suddenly seems more important.”

Trissiny shot a displeased look at Mogul, tightening her jaw, but nodded. “Very well, I suppose it can’t hurt to hear you out. If he’s involved, though, I can’t promise to like it.”

“I didn’t,” Natchua agreed, grimacing. “But…there’s sense in it.”

“Sorry,” Trissiny said to Ephanie and McGraw. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

“We promise not to start withoutcha, boss lady,” he said, tipping his hat.

“Szith,” Ephanie said quietly a moment later when Trissiny had followed Natchua and Embras out into the hall, “please tell me if this is awkward, or…too personal. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“By asking first, you’re doing better than most Imperials,” Szith said with a ghost of a smile. “We Narisians do have different ideas concerning privacy, but I promise I shall take no offense at the question itself.”

“I know you’re a classmate of General Avelea’s.” Ephanie tilted her head toward the door momentarily. “I feel silly asking this, but…what is she like?”

“In…what sense?” Szith asked carefully.

“I’m not even sure I know,” Ephanie muttered. “It’s…complicated. On one level, there’s a very refreshing lack of ambiguity. She’s a senior officer, top of the chain. I know what to do with one of those.”

Szith nodded in immediate understanding.

“But she’s… Well, there’s her relationship with Locke, which is…complicated. Everything around Locke is complicated and this is additionally complicated once removed. Plus, the…paladin thing.”

“I fear I am ill-equipped to understand that,” Szith admitted. “We do not have paladins in Tar’naris. At Last Rock I am aware of all of them, as… Perhaps equals would be overstating it, but all three seem very down to earth.”

“I guess that’s my answer,” Ephanie murmured, frowning. “I was at Puna Dara when… I mean, I got to know the other two, the boys. Yeah, they’re good lads. But then she showed up, just… Exactly like a figure out of a story. Charging out of the storm with those wings up and…”

“Well,” Szith said with a faint smile, “Trissiny and I are not close, but with all due respect to your chain of command, I think you would find her rather personable, if not for the distance of rank. I do understand, though. Your relative positions are…both complex, and intimidating. And there is something about a woman with a commanding aura and a sword.”

Ephanie glanced at her. “If you do say so yourself.”

“There are several to whom the description may apply,” the drow said innocently.

Ephanie’s pale complexion made even her very faint blush stand out vividly.

McGraw had already casually wandered a couple of yards distant and turned his back, busying himself by fishing a cigarillo out of the slim case he always carried, though he did not light it up in Ravana’s solarium.

“General,” Ephanie said quickly as Trissiny strode back in, wearing a scowl. “Trouble?”

“I…no,” the paladin replied, shaking her head slowly. “No, just…complication. Ever heard something that made perfect sense and sounded reasonable but still made you instinctively recoil?”

“Vividly and often, ma’am. I work for Principia Locke.”

Trissiny gave her a fleeting smile, but her expression quickly sobered. “Natchua’s just returned home to Veilgrad. Mogul…will be enjoying Ravana’s hospitality for a while longer, as discussed. Lieutenant…”

“I’ll keep an eye out, ma’am,” Ephanie said in a low voice. “My ability to intervene may be limited, but…”

“I don’t want you tangling with that man,” Trissiny warned. “It is in no way belittling your capability to say that he is above your pay grade. There are likely to be some generally weird goings-on around here, and Ravana…may very well be the source of them rather than the victim. But I’m coming to realize that she needs the support of friends more than castigation.”

“Specifically,” Szith clarified, “friends who will not hesitate to argue with her. Yes, we figured that out fairly early in our first semester.”

“Good,” Trissiny said, smiling. “I’m glad you two are hitting it off. If anything…untoward goes down and your team aren’t accessible, get Szith or Iris. They can support or interfere with Ravana as the situation requires.”

“But not Scorn,” Szith added. “She’s an enabler.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ephanie said warily.

“All right, Elias, sorry to keep you waiting,” Trissiny said in a more brisk tone, turning to face the old mage. “Let’s move out.”

“Not to worry, ma’am,” he replied, grinning and tucking away his cigarillo. “Keepin’ people waiting is one o’ the perks of bein’ in charge. Off we go, then!”

With a short glimmer of blue light and a sharp snap of displaced air, they were both gone.


When she shadow-jumped right into their midst, Hesthri jerked in startlement, then a tiny frown tightened her eyes in annoyance at herself for still not being used to that, which Natchua couldn’t help but find adorable. Jonathan turned smoothly to face her, surprised by nothing and smiling at the sight of her, which never failed to make her feel warm inside. As one, both stepped forward with arms open, and she moved immediately into the double hug.

“That bad, huh?” Jonathan asked as she slumped against them with a muffled groan.

“Not…really. I’m just indulging in a little melodrama, you know how I like that. Least I managed to ditch Mogul; he’s Ravana’s problem for the rest of the day. How’s everything here?”

“It’s been calm,” he said, stroking her hair once. “We’re keeping an eye on things, obviously, but so far the city doesn’t seem about to explode. Tensions are high, but people around here are able to manage themselves.”

“It helps that Justinian has a lack of loyalists in Veilgrad,” Hesthri added, “and even those who’re irate at the revelations about the Empire’s involvement with the Tiraas incident are minding their manners. Going out of their way at their demonstrations not to seem like they’re siding with the Church.”

Natchua pulled back just enough to look at their faces. “You’ve kept well-informed.”

“Credit to Mel for that,” he said, grinning. “It’s only fair, and also let’s not have her slinking around feeling slighted.”

“You people keep tiptoeing around like I’m going to start murdering everybody in their beds if I get bored,” Melaxyna huffed. “That’s the other one. Some of us have coping skills.”

“Oh, please,” Kheshiri scoffed. “I’m twice the—”

“Hush,” Natchua barked, stepping fully away from the embrace. “Knowing what succubi are like and accommodating your needs are about more than just keeping you two out of trouble. Or would you prefer it if we let you get bored?”

“I really can’t see that happening around you, mistress,” Kheshiri simpered.

“You button it. Go on, Mel, anything else from the city?”

“Hes covered the situation in the city pretty well. I’ve also checked in with Lars and Malivette, who appreciates you seeking input before doing anything. She didn’t add ‘for once,’ but the absence of it was very loud.”

“I’d accuse you of adding that gratuitously, but it’s way too easy to hear Malivette doing it,” Natchua grunted.

Melaxyna grinned. “Yes, well, her Grace the Duchess Dufresne courteously requests that you keep yourself out of any public demonstrations until things in the city calm down, and if approached by reporters, confine your statements to platitudes about staying the course and such.”

“When approached by reporters,” Jonathan corrected. “There’ve been three at the manor gates just in the couple of hours you were gone. I don’t think they actually believed you were out, but whether they did or not, you know they’ll just keep coming back.”

“Ugh, was it that fool with the hat?”

“No, but the young lady from Stavulheim was one of them,” Hesthri said. “You like her, right?”

“All right, thanks for keeping on that, Mel. I’ll handle them as gently as possible. Now then! Kheshiri, what the hell are you doing here? I gave you a job!”

“And I’ve done it!” Kheshiri chirped, beaming.

Natchua paused, then narrowed her eyes. “Bullshit. That fast? There’s no way…”

“Why, mistress, if you don’t want things accomplished perfectly with preternatural speed, what’s the point of employing the best in the world?”

“How did you manage to rumble spies that quickly?”

“Okay, presentation aside, I should add a few qualifiers,” Kheshiri admitted, her expression growing more serious. “I rumbled a spy. For a group that size, one seems about right, but I can’t yet rule out the presence of others. At this point it’s a matter of clearing the rest individually, which will take more time. And also, while I am amazingly good—seriously, just the best imaginable—in this case who I’m dealing with was a factor. These Narisians are more sneaky than surface elves, but their background works against them here. They have highly acute senses and a cultural imperative toward discretion, and being surrounded by humans with neither, they seem to think that’s enough. Which tells me we’re not dealing with professional spies, here.”

“It’s an open question whether the Confederacy even has any of those,” Jonathan commented. “It would only be the Narisians, if so.”

“How, specifically, did you identify the agent?” Natchua asked impatiently. “And who is it?”

“Nimin din Afreth yed Dalmiss. Which I believe makes him a cousin of yours?”

“Never heard of him, and Houses don’t work that way. Get on with it.”

“So,” Kherhiri said with mischievous relish, “these elves, like most elves, tend to think themselves invulnerable to stealth, blissfully unaware of the invisible onlooker who knew how to defeat those ears before any of them were born. It wasn’t even that hard, mistress, I simply had to evade them while they cycled in and out of the temporary housing they’re set up in while they go to and from the government offices—Imperial immigration paperwork is so helpfully time-consuming. It’s almost disappointingly prosaic, but I just rifled their belongings. Hardly took any time at all, they have barely anything to their names. And our boy Nimin, in particular, has a two-way communication device. That by itself is beyond the level of Tiraan enchanting—I’ve seen Imperial spies with handheld magic mirrors, but this was even smaller and seems to be strictly audio. It also had no discernible power source. So it’s way more sophisticated than the Imperial state of the art. That means Qestrali.”

“Did you turn it on?” Jonathan demanded, suddenly tense.

“Yes, that’s right, Jonathan,” Kheshiri said, her voice dripping poisonous sweetness. “I activated the communicator and called Nimin’s handlers to blow the whole operation, because I am a brain-damaged howler monkey who was born this morning.”

“If you didn’t, then how do you know what it was?”

“Very helpful labeling,” she said. “It has two buttons, marked ‘transmit’ and ‘receive’ in elvish.”

“Then…he’s a Confederate agent,” Hesthri said grimly, “not just someone from Natchua’s old House sent to keep an eye on her.”

“Maybe,” Natchua mused. “But I think it’s too soon to assume that. Everything I’ve seen of the Qestrali in person, plus what I’ve heard from Ravana and the refugees, paints them as proud but kind of inept and naive. They’ve been isolated for thousands of years and just don’t know how to deal with other people. It honestly would shock me if Narisians haven’t already bought, stolen, or wheedled a bunch of high elf enchantments they’re not supposed to have. Further, we can’t assume Nimin is an actual spy; if his handlers are House Dalmiss, it’s at least as likely they have some kind of leverage over him. Well done, Kheshiri.”

“You needn’t sound so surprised about that, my mistress. You know I only do the very best work.”

“Yes, forgive me. I’m afraid I have an unfortunate tendency to unfairly devalue your contributions just because you aren’t wanted here and everyone hates you. I’ll work on that.”

Kheshiri laughed lightly; meanwhile, monitoring the direct display of her emotions through their unique magical bond, Natchua saw the pulse of genuine hurt, followed by a swelling of satisfaction at the emotional pain and an intense surge of affection toward herself.

Of all the…problematic details about her new life, it was her handling of Kheshiri that she hated most. Because it turned out that Natchua knew precisely how to maintain a succubus’s attention and interest: by treating her with aloof indifference most of the time, randomly interspersed with sudden outpourings of affection or vicious cruelty.

Exactly the way Natchua’s mother had treated her for her entire life. It was manipulative and controlling; a cruel, disgusting way to relate to anyone, and she loathed it on every level. But it was working, because Vanislaads had very particular needs, and Kheshiri was less skilled at self-management than Melaxyna—and so incredibly skilled in so many other areas that allowing her to become bored or disinterested would be a disaster. Succubi craved experience and sensation; pain and pleasure were more or less the same to them, and both as essential as air. So Natchua strung her along and emotionally abused her, and it kept Kheshiri…happy.

It had not come up in words and she was extrapolating from being able to observe the demon’s emotions directly, but Natchua strongly suspected Kheshiri knew exactly what she was doing, and appreciated her for it.

“Thank you for reporting this,” she continued. “You know what to do next, I assume. Continue your investigation, find any other agents if they exist, and focus your attention on this Nimin. Figuring out his real situation will tell us how to handle him.”

“Worry not, mistress,” Kheshiri said gleefully, “I have never disappointed you and I never shall. This one won’t even be a challenge.”

“In the short term,” Jonathan said, “remember how Mel was talking about hiring some more staff for the house?”

“I think I see where he’s going with this,” Melaxyna chimed in, “but that aside, Natch, this needs to be on the agenda anyway. Three hobgoblins can’t keep up with a place this size, even after the renovations are finished and they have nothing else to do. A manor this size needs a staff. Caretakers are what prevent a place like this from turning into… Well, what it was when we found it.”

Natchua considered her, then turned back to Jonathan. “You want to hire Nimin.”

“Several of the drow,” he clarified. “We can’t let him notice he’s being singled out. But we need the staff anyway, and those refugees are prime candidates: they want work, they want to be close to you, and most of them specifically lack the kind of entanglements that may come with Imperial citizens. Dalmiss aside, the other Tiraan Houses will try to plant agents in here; Houses putting spies among each other’s servants is a tradition as old as aristocracy itself. And for Nimin and any others who give us cause for suspicion…”

“Keep your enemies closer,” she murmured.

He nodded. “Putting enemy agents right under the eyes of two succubi is downright unfair. Look how easily Kheshiri caught this guy, in just an hour. Here in the manor, the girls can practically control the opposition outright.”

“Practically, he says,” Melaxyna snorted.

Natchua exhaled heavily. “All right…fine, yeah. I see the sense in it. Sorry, I’m just… A part of me rebels at the idea of having servants.”

“You’re a lady now, lovely,” Hesthri said, pulling her back into a one-armed hug and lifting her face for a quick kiss. “It comes with the territory. Don’t lose that groundedness, it’s part of why I love you. But yes, there are compromises to be made with your situation.”

Natchua pulled her close and rested her chin against her forehead plate for a moment. “All right. Good plan…and good work, everybody. Now… Nobody yell at me, but after today’s meeting, I… Well, I have a particularly insane idea.”

Nobody yelled at her. Jonathan and Hesthri just nodded, giving her expectant and encouraging looks. Melaxyna made a wry face but kept her peace; Kheshiri gasped in theatrical delight.

If nothing else, Natchua reflected, at least she had better friends than Ravana.


This was not even close to the scariest story Carter Long had ever taken on. No, after spending a night in terrifying proximity to warlocks and a truly amazing number of demons, he didn’t think anything else would ever take that title from his Black Wreath story.

But intimidating, that was a different quality. The demons had been frightening, but they’d been under control. Mostly. Probably as much as demons could be. Nobility, though? Nobody controlled the nobility. There was absolutely no telling what a powerful noble might decide to do; the only certainty was that they’d get away with it. And this noble in particular seemed to have made a recent point of proving she was more unpredictable than most.

The sudden summons to Madouri Manor which had arrived at his office at the Herald was intimidating by definition, polite as it had been. The chauffeured carriage sent to pick him up even more so, for all that it was a gracious gesture, especially given that it came with an armed guard. Being deposited in front of the ancient demesne of one of the Empire’s oldest and most powerful houses, most of all; the place was bigger than any cathedral he’d ever seen, practically a city in miniature right in the heart of Madouris.

After all these progressive layers of intimidation, Long’s first impression of the Duchess was…incongruous.

“The cane doesn’t help you if you just hold it!”

“Oh? I assumed you gave it to me as some sort of fashion accessory, since you know very well there is nothing wrong with my legs.”

“The doctor said to rest. If you’re going to turn up your nose at that nice chair Yancey brought out—”

“I refused to be wheeled around my own home like some sort of invalid!”

“I don’t know why you insisted on doing this out here instead of a room with a fireplace, of which you have hundreds. The great hall is freezing in this weather.”

“I assure you, I’m fine.”

“It’s not a sign of weakness to tuck your shawl in, you know. Would you like a cup of—”

“Iris, if you pour any more of that wretched tea down my gullet, my kidneys will explode.”

“Excuse you, that tea is delicious.”

“After five cups in twenty minutes, the novelty rather wears off.”

“It’s good for energy and recuperation, and you’re wildly exaggerating.”

He actually heard them before he saw them clearly. The grand entry hall of Madouri Manor was absolutely colossal—so much so that from its entry, two relatively small figures standing at its opposite end were hard to make out, but the acoustics were incredible. Their voices were not raised, but Carter had a lot of professional experience in picking out hushed words. Fortunately he had at least as much experience in controlling his expression. He just silently and discreetly followed the Butler down the path in the center of the long, towering, museum-like chamber. Omnu’s breath, his entire apartment building could fit inside here…

They fell silent by the time he had come halfway, which was the point at which he could see the pair relatively clearly—and also about the mark where an average listener could have clearly made out words spoken at a conversational tone. In addition to his hostess, whom he’d not seen in person but whose description he of course knew well, there was another young woman: a Westerner in a striking white dress, whom he took for some manner of lady-in-waiting, given the familiar tone she used with the Duchess.

The Butler stepped diffidently to the side as they entered conversational range, and Carter bowed deeply as the man introduced him.

“Mr. Carter Long, star reporter of the Imperial Herald.”

“Mr. Long, how very good of you to come, and on such short notice. House Madouri welcomes you, and appreciates your agreeability. I earnestly hope this visit proves to be worth your time; rest assured I would not have presumed to summon you so abruptly were I not confident that it would be so.”

“It is entirely my honor, your Grace,” he said, rising at her gesture. So far, so good; she was certainly more gracious than a lot of nobility he’d encountered. Ravana Madouri was as diminutive as they said, currently swaddled in a thick winter dress with a fur collar and a heavy shawl draped over that. He carefully ignored the carved walking stick she held loosely at her side. “Please forgive me if this is impertinent, Duchess Ravana, but it’s a great relief to see you looking so well. Reports of the injury you suffered have been rather horrifying.”

“I am quite well, as I keep having to remind various members of my household,” she said, her smile taking on a slightly sardonic cast. “A dryad’s kiss is an absolute counter to poison of any kind. There were simply some side effects—”

“You suffered a massive seizure!” exclaimed the girl beside her. “Your blood was temporarily transmuted into infernally-tainted tar!”

The Duchess closed her blue eyes. “Iris.”

“You should be sitting down, at the very least!”

“I am blessed to have friends who care more for my well-being than public decorum,” Ravana said, opening her eyes again and putting her smile back on. “According to my doctor, I shall be right as rain with only a bit of rest. In any case, Mr. Long, you have my assurance I did not bring you all the way out here to observe this byplay, amusing as I am sure your readers would find it. I believe I promised you an exclusive.”

“My Lady, by invoking that magic word you would render me happily accommodating in the face of far less polite treatment than you have offered. Please, consider me entirely at your disposal.” He kept his own ingratiating smile in place even as he produced his notebook and pencil. “If it would reassure your friend, I’m more than willing to proceed to more comfortable surroundings, though for my own part I’d be just as pleased to stand out in the snow.”

“I’d like to think my House can provide an honored guest with better hospitality than that, but your willingness to accommodate is appreciated nonetheless.” Fortunately, to judge by her expression, she found him amusing rather than presumptuous. It was a gamble, with aristocrats; they could abruptly swing the other way. The young Duchess had a reputation as a woman of the people, however. “But I fear the necessary discretion of my message has given you an incorrect impression. Pray forgive me this little subterfuge. An exclusive you shall have, Mr. Long, but not from me; it was at the behest of another guest that I called upon you.”

“Oh?”

“Carter, my boy! It has been a veritable hound’s age! Delighted to see you’re still pounding the old beat, eh?”

He didn’t jump, barely; he did spin about at the unexpected sound of a familiar voice he had never thought to hear again.

And there he was, having appeared seemingly from nowhere—a thing he was, of course, quite capable of literally doing. The man was exactly as Carter remembered him, from his white suit and wide-brimmed straw hat to his stork-like gait and eerily wide grin.

“Embras Mogul,” he said in disbelief. “This is…a surprise.”

“It’s been a surprising day for us all,” Mogul agreed. “Believe me, ol’ top, when I got up this morning this household was the last place on our blessed earth I expected to find myself. What fascinatingly complex lives we all lead, eh?”

“It’s certainly a revelation to me that you are…acquainted,” Carter said with all the caution he could muster, glancing between the leader of the Black Wreath and the head of House Madouri.

“On that I have no comment,” she said pleasantly. “I am sure Mr. Mogul will explain the broad strokes as he is sharing his perspective on the Archpope’s recent allegations. My own public comments will be held tomorrow, Mr. Long, and while you will of course be welcome to attend my press conference, on that front I regret that I cannot offer you an exclusive of my own. If you will settle for a quote, however, I have one.”

She tucked her hands under the dangling ends of her shawl, holding the cane horizontally in front of herself, and smiled a ruthless little smile.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

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17 – 13

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“I can’t believe he did it! The son of a bitch actually went and did it!”

Natchua glanced over her shoulder at him, then returned her gaze to the manor window, with its view of Veilgrad spread out below. The city’s predilection for tall buildings and decorative spires meant there was no unobstructed view to be had of any of its public spaces, but the Leduc estate’s altitude provided a sufficient angle to see parts of several. Even from this distance, her elven eyes could make out bigger crowds of people milling about than she would have expected for the time of day.

There had been protests all over the Empire in the last few days, in Veilgrad more vehemently than most. As of today, there were now counter-protests. So far, it didn’t seem the two groups had crossed paths and exploded into conflict…here, at least. She had no way of knowing what was happening in other cities.

Archpope Justinian’s dawn address—or parts of it, at least—had been snapped up by reporters, telescrolled to all corners of the Empire, and printed off in special editions which had already been read by countless citizens. Natchua would likely have found the story soon in any event, but Embras Mogul had gleefully shadow-jumped right to the gates of Leduc Manor with a stack of papers to brandish under her nose.

“So,” she said quietly. “This story is true, then?”

“Oh, that’s just the most delicious part,” Mogul said with sadistic relish. She’d never seen him grin so much. “It’s a brazen lie, and the absolute gospel truth. Those are the best lies, you know. The ones made entirely of pure, unimpeachable facts. Selectively pruned from important context and presented just so that they present a very specific impression of what happened, regardless of what actually did.”

“Embras,” she snapped, “if you can find it in your shriveled little soul to provide information without editorializing or bardic melodrama, do so. Otherwise, shut your mouth and fuck all the way off.”

“Your pardon, dear lady,” he declaimed, sweeping off his hat and executing a florid bow that very nearly earned him a shadowbolt to the face. Probably sensing that, he continued in a much more brisk tone. “The Archpope’s account contains no inaccuracies, but it prevents only a partial description of that night’s events, designed to mislead the public about what went down. What he’s trying to present as an Imperial initiative that he chose to tolerate for the greater good, despite his…” Mogul’s grin grew to psychotic proportions. “…troubled conscience, was in fact a fully mutual Church and Imperial joint operation. Most of the actual demons were brought into Tiraas by holy summoners answering to Justinian. It was the Church which actually succeeded in capturing several of my closest allies, and the Church which detained and gratuitously tortured them over the following months.”

He paused, tilting his head slowly to one side in a posture of thought. Natchua waited.

“What really fascinates me about this account,” Mogul finally continued, “is one all-important name which is nowhere near it. The entire thing was Antonio Darling’s idea. His plan, suggested for his own surreptitious purpose—he exploited the chaos to wrangle himself a brief audience with Elilial. Now, don’t let me overstate the man’s involvement; he hadn’t the power to institute an action like that, the blame must rest squarely on the Church and the Empire. Still… Darling is a former close confidante of Justinian’s, who went on to start the rebellion of the cults against the Church. It’s very odd to me that his Holiness would so carefully refrain from throwing him of all people under the carriage.”

“Darling,” Natchua mused. “I know that guy. He fought at Ninkabi. Along with Snowe; I thought that was an odd business for a couple of Bishops to randomly show up in.”

“Oh, Darling has his sticky little fingers in a lot of pies,” Mogul cackled. “He’s an Eserite, after all. Either the best or the worst of the lot, I truly can’t decide.”

She turned fully to face the room. “Jon? What do you think?”

“Well, for one thing, some newspaper offices are about to get mobbed,” he noted. Jonathan was seated in one of the room’s armchairs, with Hesthri on his lap, holding open one of the papers Embras had brought so they could both read it—along with Melaxyna, who was leaning over his shoulder. The other papers lay in a haphazard stack upon the end table at his elbow. “The editorial slant in these is just about as brazen as I’ve ever seen; every one of these rags is either calling Justinian a liar and a heretic or pushing right up against the line of calling for rebellion against the Silver Throne. When the press is this divided and this agitated, popular sentiment is going to be even worse.”

She glanced back down at the city. “I think I can see the beginnings of that from here. I’m not sure how to… I mean, obviously I ought to do something. I just don’t…”

Hesthri carefully extricated herself, crossing to Natchua and slipped a comforting arm around her waist.

“Lovely, maybe you should sit this one out,” she murmured. “You’re good at working up a crowd; working one back down is a completely different skill set. And a lot harder.”

Natchua grimaced and leaned her cheek against Hesthri’s armored forehead plate. “Yeah, you are…definitely not wrong.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to check in with Malivette and Lars, though,” Jonathan suggested. “Specifically, before doing anything proactive. We should probably all keep in mind that House Dufresne actually rules the province, and taking initiative in supporting them can accidentally stray into undermining them. You and Vette tend to dance on each other’s patience at the best of times, kitten.”

“Yes, well, in my defense, you’ve met us both. Kheshiri.”

Natchua, of course, knew exactly where she was at all times, but Kheshiri made a habit of lurking invisibly whenever Embras Mogul was about. The two had a complex relationship. She now materialized seemingly from the air while slinking up toward Natchua—causing Hesthri to instinctively tighten her grip. Mogul did not visibly startle, but instantly fixed his attention on the succubus.

“Mmmmistress?” Kheshiri purred.

“You are easily the worst, most destructively minded person here,” said Natchua.

Kheshiri grinned widely, her tail waving. “I love you too, mistress.”

“What’s your take on the situation, as a…let’s call it a professional.”

“Oh, it’s a succubus’s playground out there,” Melaxyna commented from across the room.

“She asked me!” Kheshiri snarled, rounding on her. Melaxyna threw up her hands in exasperation and turned her back. Mogul glanced uncertainly between them, and Natchua carefully kept quiet.

Individually, Melaxyna and Kheshiri were mature and fiendishly intelligent women, full of pride and poise. In combination? Well, in public, they squabbled very much like toddlers, while in private they spent their time sharing the kind of imaginatively kinky sex that would kill anyone who wasn’t a shapeshifter. And thus the both of them remained…stable. Diligent, helpful, and not causing problems behind Natchua’s back. She had figured out that whatever twisted relationship they had, they were using the stress of it to satisfy the Vanislaad itch—which meant it must have been deeply twisted indeed—and so she carefully watched them, from a safe distance, and let them do what they needed to. It was a weird but functional compromise and that was probably the best result anyone had ever gotten out of a pair of succubi.

“If this is what it’s like across the Empire,” Kheshiri continued, turning back to her, “then the situation in and of itself is…barely stable. The kind of thing that could, in theory, be calmed down again. But leaving aside the active powers that won’t let it be calmed—and oh, yes, every one of those crowds just needs one person with a silver tongue and a good set of lungs to turn it into a riot—leaving that aside, this is Justinian very cleverly turning the Empire’s position against it. All yesterday, people were out demonstrating in front of cathedral against Justinian’s actions, and that on the strength of mere accusations. The Empire let them, without a peep. Now? If they crack down on this, it will look so hypocritical it will agitate those who believe Justinian’s allegations, and possibly alienate some of those who are siding against him. And yet, they cannot ignore this kind of social disorder. It’s an impossible position for the authorities, not to mention an absolute smorgasbord of opportunity for creatures like me. Hell, not even creatures like me; anyone with the aptitude and inclination to cause serious trouble in this climate.”

“And more specifically?” Natchua prompted. “You worked directly under Justinian for almost two years.”

“Less…directly than you may think,” she said, grimacing. “I rarely saw him in person, and his operational security was annoyingly tight. I wasn’t the only capable member of that crew very interested in prying out details of the Church’s surreptitious operations, but we all came away with nothing except some unhelpful personal details about the specific Holy Legionaries set to watch us. What I can tell you, mistress, is that this is a move of pure desperation. That tight control is the absolute core of Justinian’s strategy, his entire mindset. He’s cautious, conservative, meticulous and detail-oriented; he never exerts force into a situation unless he either has full control of it from all sides, or is cornered and has no choice.”

Jonathan cleared his throat. “You paint a very different picture than the one we saw in Ninkabi, assuming we still believe that was ultimately his doing.”

“Oh, you are damn right,” Kheshiri agreed with a particularly ghoulish smile. “Plus, there was that predecessor event of his, with the Tide cult. I haven’t heard any proof, but I’m positive the remnants of that were what he used to set up the hellgate altars in Ninkabi. Think about what that means. He deployed massive force when he was cornered—but in a very Justinian way, using an asset he had developed surreptitiously, able to be leveraged with the full element of surprise however he leveraged it because nobody even knew it existed! The necro-drakes are more of the same. That’s what Justinian looks like when on the back foot. This? This is something different, something entirely new. Riling up civil unrest? Leveraging popular sentiment to undermine the overall stability of the Empire? He’s creating a situation he cannot possibly control. Justinian is all about control. If he’s doing this… Then either he is desperate, with his master plan hanging by a thread…or it is so close to its ultimate completion that he no longer needs to be careful about collateral damage.”

She returned her full focus to Natchua, eyes burning avidly. The succubus chewed her lower lip for a second in an expression of uncomfortably carnal delight.

“I can’t say definitively what’s in his mind, mistress, but… I have been around more than my share of plots, schemes, and carnage. My gut tells me this is both.”

“Both stronger and more vulnerable than he’s ever been, hm,” Jonathan murmured.

Embras cleared his throat. “Just throwin’ this out there: a meticulous planner like Justinian is at a disadvantage in a situation like this. What’s called for here is the ability to move fast and scheme on the fly. And…well, we know someone whose aptitude is right along those lines, don’t we?”

They all turned to look at Natchua, Hesthri pulling back just enough to study her face.

The Duchess of House Leduc drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She gave Hesthri a last squeeze and kissed her temple, then gently pulled away.

“All right. Melaxyna, I’d like you to go check in with Malivette. She’s in charge here and it seems like a good time to emphasize that I haven’t forgotten it. Don’t…just do whatever she tells you, but bring her instructions back here. Jonathan, Hes, you’re on point on that. I trust your judgment. House Leduc needs to be ready to be of service to the province in whatever way its Governor decrees. Kheshiri, I want you snooping among those Narisians we just sponsored. Don’t interfere with them—in fact, don’t let them find out about your presence at all. We’re looking specifically for anyone among them planted by the Houses in Tar’naris. Jonathan thinks we may have a mole.”

“Boy knows his work,” the succubus said with approval. “Yes, that’s exactly how I’d put a listening ear in your camp, if I were running House Dalmiss.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be out, exactly, but I’m not planning for it to be long,” Natchua continued. “I need…some perspective, and an outside opinion. You!” She pointed belligerently at Mogul. “With me. And mind your damn manners for once, Embras. We are going to make a state visit.”


As decreed by the lady of the house, upon shadow-jumping into the grand entry hall of Madouri Manor, Natchua and Embras were swiftly met by servants and escorted to the Duchess herself.

Ravana was ensconced in a solarium in a chair positively stuffed with cushions, a plush quilt covering her legs and a shawl draped over her shoulders, a tray of tea and cookies upon her lap, and bearing it with wry good humor as three of her guests fussed over her while Yancey stood impassively in the background. The mood in the room switched instantly upon the entry of the new arrivals.

“What is this doing here?” Trissiny demanded, baring her teeth.

“I’m in the process of housebreaking him,” Natchua said, giving Embras a single disparaging glance over her shoulder. “By all means, feel free to give him a kick if he needs it.”

“Natchua,” the paladin began in a warning tone.

“Come on, Trissiny, you were there. What’s left of the Wreath fought to protect Veilgrad. I gave my word and I’ll keep it: as long as they continue to behave, they’re my responsibility. And I was dead serious about what I said at the time: I welcome anyone willing to help keep an eye on them. What about your pushy dragon friend, what’s he up to? For some reason he hasn’t taken me up on my invitation.”

“Lord Ampophrenon has been somewhat busy,” Trissiny said pointedly, “as have the rest of the Conclave, and all of us. For all the socializing we’ve been doing lately, it has been mostly strategic in purpose.”

“Right, fair enough,” Natchua agreed, grimacing.

Ravana cleared her throat. “Speaking of strategic socializing, I gather from the presence of your companion, Natchua, that this is not a strictly congenial visit?”

“You gather correctly. But first, how are you doing? Did Justinian really poison you?”

Iris snorted, loudly and derisively, finally tearing her gimlet stare away from Embras. “Oh, please. She poisoned herself.”

“Oh.” Natchua’s eyebrows rose. “Oh! That’s actually brilliant. I don’t think I would’ve had the orbs to do that.”

“Do not encourage her!” Iris yelled.

“I’m fine,” Ravana insisted, reaching up to squeeze Iris’s hand. “Seriously. All of this was planned, and has been firmly under my control. Barnes does excellent work; even had it run its course the poison would not have been lethal.”

“I have to say you’re not looking great,” Natchua observed. “Someone with your complexion really doesn’t need to get any paler.”

“How kind of you to take an interest, Natchua dear,” Ravana said sweetly. “I once had a bad cold as a child; that was worse than this. I’ve suffered no permanent damage, it’s just that the need to create sufficiently dramatic symptoms placed quite a strain upon my body, however briefly. Some rest, fluids, and proper nutrition, and I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

“And may I just say,” Embras interjected, “that was an impressive move, your Grace. That kind of daring and slyness in one gambit? You’d have done brilliantly in the Wreath.”

“I shall assume that was meant as a compliment, and in the interest of precluding needless hostility, accept it as such.”

“No hostility here is needless,” Iris hissed, gripping Ravana’s shoulder and glaring at Embras.

“Ow,” the Duchess protested.

“He was there,” Trissiny said, also staring at him. “The Archpope’s accusations… Allegedly the reason the Empire summoned demons into the capital was to trap the Wreath. Is that why you brought him, Natchua?”

“Exactly. We need to discuss…this development. Embras has filled me in on his version of what actually happened and I wanted to bring you all up to speed. And then… I’m at a bit of a loss what to actually do about this, ladies. I’m open to advice.”

“Well—”

“Not from you!” she snapped at Embras. He grinned and held up both hands placatingly.

“And we are to trust what he says?” Scorn asked. She was far less tense at the sight of Embras Mogul than Trissiny or Iris, simply looming protectively over Ravana’s chair from behind.

“Now, now,” Mogul himself chided, grinning and tucking his thumbs into the lapels of his trademark white suit. “I would never dream of maligning the intelligence of any of you fine young ladies by suggesting that I would hesitate to lie right to all your faces if it suited my interests. I will simply issue a gentle reminder of what my interests are. As of Ninkabi, my cult has no hostile business with any of you Pantheon lackeys. Thanks to Vesk’s information, we know that it was Justinian himself who meddled with the archdemon summoning and killed my Lady’s daughters. And with the insight our good paladins have brought forth that the Archpope is clearly acting against the Pantheon’s interests, not only is he our sole remaining enemy, there is nothing in the truce forbidding us from going after him. We don’t need to like each other, ladies. We need only acknowledge that none of us can afford to turn down valuable help.”

“How valuable, though?” Scorn asked mildly. “The Wreath now are…what? A dozen traumatized warlocks?”

“Less,” said Natchua.

“This one’s value would seem to be chiefly in what he knows,” said Ravana, “as I gather is the reason Natchua brought him here. What have you to contribute, then?”

“According to Embras,” Natchua said as Embras himself opened his mouth to answer, “Justinian’s account is only partially true. The Church is at least as much to blame for the attack on Tiraas as the Empire, and it was the Church who actually defeated and seized most of the Wreath. And also,” she added directly to Trissiny, “your buddy Darling was involved in that and working some angle of his own.”

Trissiny narrowed her eyes to slits. After a second, though, she shook her head. “First things first, and Darling is obviously far down the list. If we are taking Mogul at his word—and I will reiterate that he is a known conniving backstabber—that means that the Emperor took advantage of the hellgate crisis in Last Rock to unleash demons in the streets of Tiraas, toward his own political purpose. Which, I should hope it goes without saying, is unconscionable.”

“Okay, but…” Iris finally tore her glare from Embras to look at the paladin. “What exactly do you wanna do about it? Even at the best of times, it’s not like we can go…punish the Emperor. And these aren’t those times, Trissiny. It sounds like Justinian is just as guilty of that, and what with all the other stuff he’s guilty of, he needs to be our sole priority right now.”

“There is the obvious fact that he said this now to deflect anger from himself,” Scorn grunted, folding her arms. “I am thinking we should not give him what he wants. Deal with the Empire after he is settled.”

Ravana cleared her throat. “I concur with Scorn and Iris. And further, I venture to suggest that we should take steps to learn more—from, it must be said, more reliable sources—before presuming to chastise our Emperor.”

“Oh, let me guess.” Trissiny turned on her with a tone of weary disgust. “You think unleashing uncontrolled demons in a major city to trap the Black Wreath is a fine plan.”

“No, I do not,” Ravana replied instantly, meeting her eyes with a level stare. “Speaking as someone whose aggressive tactics have become something of a running joke in my social circle, that is not a call I would have made. The weapon of choice is both unreliable and diffuse—in short, impossible to aim. The strategy would be to target it generally at the Empire’s own subjects and hope that its intended targets were among the collateral damage. It can be justified to cause collateral damage in pursuit of a strategic goal, but I consider this a categorically different act. And above all, the Black Wreath has always been a religious issue; for all their virulent opposition to the Church and the Pantheon cults, they have very rarely attacked secular authorities or forces, and were known to be useful in cleaning up demonic incidents.”

“It sounds,” Trissiny said very evenly, “as if it’s the nuances you object to, rather than the basic strategy.”

“Yes, precisely.” Ravana did not look away from her eyes, but leaned back in her chair as if the effort of sitting up were beginning to tire her. “Rulers are not paladins, Trissiny. A ruler must frequently make decisions in the full knowledge that they will cause direct harm to their subjects. To rule is to constantly apply one’s best judgment in pursuit of the greater good, with the ever-looming certainty that one will inevitably misstep as all mortals do, and that countless innocents will suffer for one’s errors. I will not malign my Emperor for making a hard choice. On the contrary, the fact that the entire Tirasian Dynasty and Sharidan in particular have pursued a notably gentle and hands-off approach to governance tells me that if he approved such a scheme, then his Majesty knew something of crucial importance which I do not.”

She barely made it to the end of her sentence before the increasing rasp in her voice suddenly broke entirely, resulting in a hoarse cough. Scorn and Iris both reached to lay hands on Ravana’s shoulders, but she impatiently waved them off, clearing her throat and shifting her intent stare to Embras.

“What about it, Mr. Mogul? As you have come here specifically to tell us the truth of that night. Perhaps you can tell us why, of a sudden, the Silver Throne deemed the Black Wreath a sufficiently important target to diverge from its entire established policy and embrace such a moral compromise and massive strategic risk.”

All eyes turned to the warlock, Natchua folding her arms and raising her chin with an expectant look.

Embras put on a disarming smile, and a theatrical shrug. “Now, now, kids, be reasonable. A truce is a truce, but I’m still a servant of my goddess. You must know I can’t just go spewing her secrets willy-nilly.”

“And silence gives assent,” Ravana said wearily. “Frankly, I am surprised you did not deny it outright—which you surely would have, were the suggestion untrue. So we do not know why the Emperor agreed to this scheme, only that the Wreath did something to make him believe it necessary.”

“Now that,” Trissiny said quietly, “I believe. Natchua, I understand the position you’re in. Just know that he had to have put you in that position deliberately, and this is exactly why.”

“Trissiny, kindly refrain from implying that I’m stupid, at least while I’m in the room. Obviously I’m aware the Elilinists will take full advantage of any scrap they’re given. Considering you don’t know anything about how it came about than I told you, I gently suggest you climb down out of my business.”

“I am trying to spare you having the exact experience I did at the hands of this—”

“The Black Wreath must die!”

Silence fell, everyone turning to stare at Embras Mogul in astonishment, Trissiny and Natchua both deflating from the squared-up posture they had begun adopting toward each other.

Mogul reached up and pulled his hat off, the motion uncharacteristically lethargic. In fact, his entire bearing was suddenly out of character. He stood straight and still, his expression grim and intent.

“I wonder if you kids have any idea what it’s like,” he said quietly, “to be given a divine charge and utterly fail it.”

He looked directly at Trissiny; she visibly tightened her jaw but refused to look away.

“I am not just talking about the Dark Lady being forced into surrender on my watch,” Mogul continued. “Oh, believe me, that would be enough to haunt my every dream for whatever remains of my life. To be the last, the worst leader of the Wreath, the one under whose guidance it all came crashing down? Yeah, that’ll weigh on a guy. But… Somehow, amazingly, that wasn’t even the worst of it.”

He shrugged, helplessly, turning to Natchua.

“We’re not cunning. That is the crucial thing I never even suspected, that I’ve only been made to understand in the aftermath of the surrender at Ninkabi. She’s the goddess of cunning, and we… What we do, our meticulous subterfuge, our lurking in the shadows and weaving of webs? That’s not what cunning is. You know who’s cunning? Natchua Leduc, Ravana Madouri…Antonio Darling. People who stay on the move, who act aggressively and scheme while pushing forward, who are constantly doing bonkers bullshit that makes everyone around them think they must be stupid or insane no matter how consistently it works. That’s not us. And considering what I now know about how gods work…”

Mogul dropped his eyes, staring a the floor for a moment. No one interrupted him.

“I have to wonder,” he finally continued, more quietly. “Was it truly our fault? Did we weaken her—her mortal followers, twisting her aspect into something that damaged her own strength? It really does seem like that’s what happened.”

Natchua looked away, frowning through the glass walls at the snow-covered garden outside.

“Justinian is a creature like me,” Mogul continued after a moment, straightening his posture again, some of the steel returning to his voice. “Smart. Devious. Above all, careful. He isn’t cunning, either. The fact that he’s out kicking hornets’ nests left and right to keep people off his back… Well, not to underplay the damage he’s causing, but you need to realize what it means. The man is cornered and desperate; he has completely ceded the ground on which he’s strongest. The more chaotic it is out there, the more the terrain favors you: adventurers, not entrenched powers. When an opening comes, what’s left of the Black Wreath will be there, ready to avenge the Lady’s daughters and wipe the smug motherfucker off the face of the earth. I don’t have to tell you that warlocks with nothing to lose can kill just about anything, at the expense of everything else in the vicinity.”

Trissiny drew her lip back, but Mogul pressed on before she could interject.

“Because that’s how it has to be. Justinian is going down, no matter what it costs. And we are going down with him. The Black Wreath…has failed. We’re an anchor around Elilial’s neck. Once we’re gone… Then she can start again, with somebody new. With a fresh cult that won’t… That suits her. Those of us in the old guard, we just don’t have what it takes. It’s time to clear the way for the next generation.”

He carefully placed his hat back on, tugging the brim down to conceal the pained expression in his eyes.

“Take it from an old failure, girls. Do not let Justinian goad you into squabbling and infighting. Take the fight to him. Stay moving and think fast. It’s time to listen to your crazy Duchesses, not to the likes of me. Time for you to put aside parade formations and draw on what the Guild taught you, paladin.”

One by one, they tore their eyes from him, looking instead at each other.

“Natchua,” Ravana said after a heavily loaded pause. “Inspired by one of your own more surprising gambits, I have a…reckless idea.”

Iris winced, Scorn smiled, and Trissiny pensively chewed her lip.

Natchua just tilted her head to one side expectantly.

“I’m listening.”

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17 – 12

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“Your Holiness?” Branwen asked hesitantly.

He laughed, softly but suddenly, causing her to flinch.

“There wasn’t a thing I could have said,” Justinian mused out loud, gazing at the door through which the assembled nobility had just departed. “Even the attempt would only have cemented the impression made. And I could have made arguments, you know; so many details of that performance don’t stand up to scrutiny. But it did not matter. The impression given, the sheer pageantry of it, would brook no rebuttal. That is not easy to do.”

“Your Holiness,” she repeated, wary and uncertain, “I don’t… Did you poison Duchess Madouri?”

The Archpope finally turned to her, his eyebrows drawing together in an expression of mild reproach. “Branwen, why in heaven’s name would I do such a thing? I am not well practiced at the art of murdering young women, but I’d like to think if I felt the need to do so I would not choose a time, place, and manner that cast maximum possible suspicion upon myself.”

“Well, that’s what I thought, but…”

“She touched the rim of the glass,” he mused softly, making a slow, circular gesture in midair with one forefinger. “Making it sing, like an annoying child at a boring dinner party. I even thought it an incongruous affectation, never suspecting… Well, I’m sure it will come as a relief to know that the young Lady was in no true danger, dryad’s kiss notwithstanding. Working from a sample of her own blood, House Madouri’s alchemists could easily brew a toxin that created those…dramatic symptoms without posing a risk to her life.”

“It…it looked like it reacted to divine magic,” Branwen said. “When you tried to heal her, it…”

“Yes, that was a particularly shrewd touch. If I am not mistaken, it was the Jackal who pioneered such recipes. How impressive that she learned of and set out to mimic the technique; I am certain she did not get the formula directly from him.”

“You’re suggesting she poisoned herself?”

“Counter-intuitive, is it not?” he asked, turning a gentle smile upon her. “Precisely the sort of imminently logical, elegantly strategic action at which the mind rebels. There are things people simply don’t do, or at least don’t think of, regardless of how effective the action might be. The deviousness I expected, but…what an utterly fearless young woman.”

Branwen gazed quizzically up at him, studying his expression of pure admiration, then glanced around at the remaining onlookers. Everyone who had been guarding or serving at this function possessed skills well beyond carrying trays, and a hard-earned loyalty to Justinian personally. It was one of those very old ploys that never ceased to work simply due to human nature: the easiest way to get powerful agents close to aristocrats was to hide them among the servants, because aristocrats simply never noticed servants. Now they were all watching the Archpope as she was, in confusion and consternation, awaiting orders and some resolution to the debacle which had just unfolded.

“Ah, Branwen,” he said almost wistfully, causing her worried expression to intensify. “Imagine if we had learned of young Ravana years sooner—reached out to her while she was young enough to be impressionable, before she was hardened by her reprobate of a father and then exacerbated by Tellwyrn. What an excellent ally she could have been. I sought, today, to learn chiefly whether her generosity toward the common people of her domain was a political ploy or motivated by personal mercy…and unfortunately never got to broach the subject. Either way, though, I feel certain I could have swayed her to my perspective, given the chance.”

The Archpope’s broad shoulders fell momentarily in a sigh.

“But now, she has firmly set herself against my plans—she, with all her unexpected determination and cunning, and the vast resources of House Madouri. And at this late juncture, I have no choice now but to eliminate the threat she represents using every power at my disposal. What a loss of promise… What a waste.”

“What do you wish to do now, your Holiness?” Branwen asked carefully.

He turned, the momentary wistfulness seeming to evaporate as the Archpope showed his followers what they were more accustomed to seeing: serene calm and the assurance of control.

“I fear, my friends, that the intent of this event has not only failed but backfired. I will not understate the seriousness of this, but I remind you all that despair is the greatest of sins. Take heart, and stand ready to take action. The situation is far from unrecoverable. No, in fact… The true loss, here, is not in what we have lost, but what we must do next.”

“Whatever comes, your Holiness, we’re behind you,” the man who had been serving as sommelier vowed, echoed by nods, approving murmurs, and resolute expressions from all the others.

Justinian inclined his head graciously. “I never cease to be humbled by your faith, my friends. Gather and hold to it now. We are nearing the end—the point at which, if we all persevere, all our sacrifices and hard decisions will be made worth it. Soon, we must take further actions I am certain we would all rather not. But we have come too far, come too close, to falter now.”


“The five hours since the incident have been the most politically disastrous for the Universal Church since the Enchanter Wars,” Lord Quentin Vex reported. Sharidan and Eleanora preferred to multitask, rarely indulging in a meal purely for its own sake; when not engaged in a state dinner, they often dined while receiving reports. Now it was Vex’s turn to stand beside the table in the harem wing’s smaller dining room and deliver an update. “Your Majesties have doubtless been informed of some of these developments already, but I shall be thorough. It has been too quick for any of the more meaningful actions the Houses will take, but I have solid intelligence that the standard funding and patronage of cathedrals, rural chapels and Church-sponsored projects aided by the nobility of Tiraan, Vrandis, Calderaan, and Lower Stalwar Provinces has already been slashed to virtually nothing. At least some of that will have been in response to the Trissiny Avelea’s public revelations this morning, but the aristocracy have clearly chosen to take great offense at the attack on Duchess Madouri.”

“How very popular she suddenly is,” Eleanora said in her very driest tone.

“The symbol matters more than the girl,” Vex replied with a sardonic quirk of his eyebrow. “Many of those same Houses would be delighted to see her dead, but a Universal Church which dares to assault a sitting Duchess is a threat to all their power. Ahem, that aside. In the same period, the cults of Vesk, Nemitoth, and Ryneas have all publicly announced their withdrawal from the Church. None of them are powerful or politically significant, with the possible exception of the Veskers, but this marks the tipping point: there are now more Pantheon cults boycotting the Universal Church than supporting it. I suspect the Salyrites may soon follow, but not necessarily out of principle; the Wizards’ Guild has already begun aggressively attempting to usurp the Collegium’s business interests on the pretext of Salyrite complicity in Justinian’s crimes.”

He paused, permitting himself the indulgence of an uneasy frown before continuing.

“There are massive public demonstrations outside the cathedrals of Madouris, Veilgrad, Calderaas, and Ninkabi—loud and angry enough that Panissar has quietly mobilized troops. Those crowds in particular seem almost poised to storm the cathedrals. The one in Veilgrad is currently heavily damaged and unoccupied, but there could be widespread injury and loss of life in the other three locations, particularly as I am far from certain exactly how that little snake Ravana will exacerbate whatever happens in Madouris, only that she will do something. Your Majesties are undoubtedly aware that the corresponding protest right here in Imperial Square, while large, has been calm and well within the scope of the Writ of Duties. Protests on a similar scale are transpiring in Anteraas, Leineth, Jennidira, Thaka Tambur, and Kampaka. Shaathvar is still under curfew and martial law due to the previous disturbances there, but this has further riled that already volatile situation to the degree that I consider it another potential flashpoint. Smaller demonstrations are occurring in every major city I have been able to ascertain, save Mathenon and Onkawa, and in uncountable towns across the Empire.”

“Panissar has been making hourly reports,” Sharidan said, wiping his mouth with a silk napkin. “My mother’s protocols for riot management have been implemented. For the first time at scale since her own reign, but the General reports that so far they have been successful.”

“Human nature has not changed since her late Majesty’s day,” Vex agreed, “and she always had a keen understanding of it. Pertaining to that, your Majesty, I have a recommendation.”

Both were chewing again at that moment, but Sharidan gestured for him to proceed.

“In my estimation, Panissar’s troops are properly handling the dangerous points. In the four cities I specified, his current approach seems most likely to maintain order.”

“He will undoubtedly be flattered to hear it,” Eleanora commented, delicately spearing a bite of fish.

Vex did not acknowledge the little jest, simply continuing in his normal, somewhat droning delivery. “I suggest increasing the visible presence of our forces at the calmer demonstrations, however. Placing troops where they are clearly evident and able to intervene on minimal notice.”

Both of the Imperial couple paused. Eleanora resumed chewing after a second, Sharidan taking time to swallow before speaking.

“The core of the riot protocols, Quentin, is that troops are staged discreetly, out of sight of demonstrators, and deployed only at urgent need. We learned definitively during the Voter demonstrations that the sight of military or even police forces is antagonistic to an already angry crowd, and risks provoking violence where it has not yet begun.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Explain yourself, Quentin,” Eleanora ordered.

“I advocate, in general, a harder stance toward Justinian, your Majesties. Unfortunately, the fact remains that all our power and resources are unable to make physical headway against the personal defenses of the Archpope. As all we can do is deprive him of external support, we should take every possible measure.”

“You know very well that appropriate measures are underway,” Sharidan said sternly.

“Your Majesty’s public address this afternoon was correct on all points in terms of political theory, but I fear—”

“I am willing to frame the truth in whatever manner best serves our interests, but I will not lie to the people,” Sharidan stated, “not about this. It is a matter of pragmatism as much as principle, Quentin. I have told the public that the Strike Corps, the Azure Corps and the Corps of Enchanters are fully mobilized, and that ImCom is devising a method of countering the necro-drakes in which they are reasonably confident. I will not promise them definitive safety from the beasts, because if I do and then our countermeasures fail, trust in the Imperial government will be absolutely gutted. I thought you of all people understood this.”

“With all possible respect, your Majesty, that is something of a tangental issue. The Church’s sway with the people—”

“Is, as you just reported, crumbling on its own. I have announced the potential upcoming seizure of the Church’s facilities and assets pending our verification of the paladins’ claims. This is a war of perception more than anything, and one for which Justinian has been preparing and positioning himself for years. The appearance, at the very least, of impartiality and reason must be maintained. We will move decisively, but not rashly or hastily. When we take Justinian’s assets, it must be in a manner that does not direct sympathy back toward him, in the full knowledge that he will use every trick in his vast arsenal to make that happen.”

“Very good, your Majesty, but even that leaves plenty of room to further mobilize public sentiment.”

“The Interior Ministry is already fully occupied mobilizing public sentiment—as is Intelligence, presuming you have been carrying out my instructions, Quentin. What you are talking about now is not that. Provoking those citizens who are already firmly on our side to endanger their lives in a hopeless, pointless threat to public order is counterproductive to that goal.”

“I sympathize with your desire to go on the offensive,” Eleanora added, staring evenly at Vex, “but the Empire is its people. Our citizens are not ammunition to be hurled into the jaws of whatever threat arises.”

“It shall of course be as you command,” Vex said diplomatically. “That aside, then, my other recommendation is that we take steps to bring the triad of Houses Dufresne, Leduc, and Madouri to heel.”

“Is there some question of their loyalty?” Sharidan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Some slight question in the Duchess Leduc’s case,” said Quentin. “Natchua has loudly and publicly expressed support for the Throne on several occasions, and she is of course closely allied with the other two, who are fully and formally committed to backing House Tirasian. I would like to clarify House Leduc’s stance and tighten relations with her in as public a manner as possible, but that isn’t my real concern. I am not worried about disloyalty from the triad, but…erratic behavior. Duchess Dufresne knows her place is most admirable in her determination to toe the line. Duchess Madouri, however, is prone to precisely the kind of unpredictable antics we saw this afternoon; even when she is trying to help, she causes disruptions, and we specifically do not need the additional headache right now of all times. And that girl Natchua is, not to put too fine a point on it, a rabble-rouser. Quite apart from the crisis with Justinian, her very loud public antipathy toward Tar’naris is an additional strain on our discussions with the Elven Confederacy exactly when neither we nor they need it. She needs to be taken in hand.”

“You are quite certain Ravana poisoned herself?” Eleanora asked in a deceptively mild tone, an amused little smile playing about her lips.

“The fact that it would have been an utterly imbecilic thing for Justinian to do suffices to assure me that he did not, your Majesty. And Ravana Madouri has literally done that exact thing before, to even worse results. During the Sleeper attacks at Last Rock, she dosed herself with Nightmare’s Dream to counter the sleeping curse and likely would have suffered serious brain damage were Tellwyrn not so adept at managing the antics of presumptuous and overpowered adolescents. There are advantages to having a ruthless and devious creature like Ravana in our corner, I certainly don’t contest that. It’s her habit of launching herself claws out at the most unpredictable moments that must be contained. I consider that the lesser problem; she is well aware of House Madouri’s situation relative to the Throne, and her obvious loyalty has not yet pulled her name out of the pit her father dug. A polite but firm reminder should suffice, I think.”

“What of the other Houses?” Sharidan asked. “Have you seen signs that any of them saw through her gambit?”

“Inveterate schemers that they are, I would be amazed if some of them have not figured it out. However, between the necro-drake attacks and this, they have predictably chosen to rally in favor of protecting their own power base. As your Majesty is well aware, in politics what happened is often less important than what appears to have happened.”

“Then it is Natchua Leduc you consider the greater concern,” said Eleanora. “What is your recommendation with regard to her?”

Vex grimaced, a rare open expression of displeasure. “The summation of my analysis so far, your Majesties, is… In essence, Natchua is a less mature and less reliable Tellwyrn.”

Both crowned heads winced in unison.

“I believe she will respond better to the carrot than the stick. It is necessary that she be made aware the stick exists—there will simply be no managing someone like her otherwise—but that must be done with the utmost care. As long as the stick is not shaken at her directly, I believe she can be coaxed to be more reasonable. All we really need is for her to check with the Empire before doing things like whipping the population of Veilgrad into a frenzy or thrusting herself into international diplomacy with a barrage of shadowbolts. My suggestion is to politely and gently increase House Tirasian’s social ties to House Leduc, while getting Malivette Dufresne to take a firmer hand and teach Natchua some proper ducal behavior.”

“You consider this a priority,” Sharidan asked pointedly, “now of all times?”

“I consider the times to make it a priority, your Majesty. This is the sort of thing that would ordinarily require slow and careful handling, but Ravana and Natchua being loose cannons who are determined to help makes it urgent. Whether they prove to be decisive factors in ending this crisis or in exacerbating it beyond all hope will depend upon whether they can be brought to heel. This is no time for shepherding the kinds of friends who are not preferable to enemies.”

Sharidon looked sidelong at Eleanora, who tilted her head in consideration for a moment before nodding once.

“Proceed, Quentin,” the Emperor ordered. “Bring me a detailed action plan as soon as you can, and we’ll put it into effect. Other ministries will need to be involved, but given your established relationships with Malivette Dufresne and Ravana Madouri, I’d like you to take point on it. Provided it does not distract you from your other duties during the ongoing crisis.”

“It shall be done, your Majesty. I am accustomed to multitasking.”

“I believe,” Eleanora mused, “I shall seek out young Lady Natchua’s company as soon as I can find the spare time. What I have heard of her impresses me…up to a point. She clearly needs proper friends, role models, and people who can tell her ‘no.’ I flatter myself that I may be suited for all of the above tasks.”

“Tomorrow,” Sharidan said gravely, “we begin sweeping up every asset of Justinian’s outside himself and that Cathedral. I’m counting on you to have all the evidence needed to conclusively link Justinian to the necro-drakes. Whatever you’re unable to find, manufacture. It has to suffice for propaganda purposes, not stand up to counter-intelligence or a court of law.”

“He will definitely unleash more of those necro-drakes in response,” Eleanora growled. “Having seen the plans, I am very optimistic about ImCom’s countermeasures… But we may well find ourselves relying on the paladins and the Conclave again.”

“Understood, your Majesty. You’ll have everything you need by breakfast, along with a detailed plan to unfold interception actions over the course of the day.” Vex hesitated for a moment. “Forgive me if this is outside my department, your Majesties, but… What is the plan to deal with Justinian himself?”

Sharidan and Eleanora exchanged a grim look.

“The plan…is the last thing any head of state ever wants to admit,” said the Emperor. “There is nothing we have that can reliably get to him. An all-out war on the Cathedral…might. If the paladins and their allies are successful in turning Justinian’s divine power back against him. But remember that in the Enchanter Wars, it was the gods themselves and their chosen agents who had to unseat Archpope Sipasian.”

“It makes my skin crawl, having to rely on those children,” Eleanora murmured. “But…they are aggressively taking point on this, and in a more measured and strategic manner than that outlandish young fool Ravana.”

“We must trust the gods…up to a point,” Sharidan agreed, looking at her. “But even if Justinian has so secured himself that the might of the Empire cannot prevail… I still have a few tricks he has not seen.”


“I understand. I know.”

Security for the sunrise prayer service exceeded any public function the Universal Church had ever put on in its millennium-long history, and rivaled the measures securing some of Justinian’s greatest secrets in the catacombs deep below.

The Holy Legion being out in force was only the most visible element. Elaborately armored, polearm-wielding ceremonial guards stood in a few strategic places throughout, but they were not the main force. For the first time, the actual core of the Holy Legion were in evidence, and present in far greater numbers. Men and women in white coats, armed with battlestaves and wands, and positioned throughout the room with grim expressions, served as a vivid encouragement toward good behavior. Everyone knew the armored Legionaries were little more than props, but anyone could tell at a glance that these troops meant business.

Even that would hardly have sufficed on a day like today, however. The chanting had abated overnight, but even at this early hour, more demonstrators had assembled outside the Cathedral. The Imperial Army and the Silver Legions were both out in force, not only forming up in Imperial Square but taking siege-like positions around the Grand Cathedral. They had not yet moved to secure the entries and block people from passing in and out, but their very presence served to send the message that that measure was coming.

Inside the enormous main sanctuary, Justinian had resorted to methods he had long disdained, but the point of crisis was coming and this morning’s service was too crucial to allow disruptions. Influence lay heavy over the crowd, both magical from a variety of carefully hoarded sources, and using several pieces of Infinite Order technology whose functions he and Rector had meticulously mastered. True, proper mind control was both firmly against his few remaining inviolable principles and would render the entire point of this meeting moot, but the measures in place imposed a heavy psychic pressure that discouraged the crowd from any violent or even disruptive behavior.

“I have spoken recently of the fear which grips us,” he said from his position at the elevated pulpit. His voice resonated throughout the vast space without the aid of any magic, projected skillfully as always. “I have spoken of the means we must all use to counter that fear, even as justified as it clearly is. I have faith in you, the people of this city—of the Empire, of this world. Together, I believe without a shadow of a doubt that we will prevail over that which threatens us.”

He paused, just a moment for effect, and also to reach out with the divine power coursing through him. Gathering up a blazing concentration of that energy, while carefully refraining from letting any visible sign of it emerge, Justinian reached out with his will and pressed down ferociously on three individuals in the crowd whom he sensed via the same power had been about to unleash some havoc of their own.

Veskers. He feared little from Vesk himself, holding the Pantheon’s reins as he did, but the god of bards exerted nearly as little direct control over his followers as Eserion did, and they were going to become a real problem now that they had decided to join the Eserites and Trinity cults in opposing him. Justinian was not worried about violent or forceful intervention by anyone here, but disruption of his careful, critically important presentation? That was a risk which could not be countenanced. Somehow it was always the bards who created the most chaos out of the most meticulous order.

Now, three bards went glassy-eyed and slumped in their seats, held down by the all but physical force of his will.

“But more than fear,” Justinian continued aloud, “in light of claims that have been made, you are now assailed by doubt. You have questions, and concerns specifically about the actions of this Church—and of myself.”

Again, a momentary pause. He held his mental grip on the Veskers, adding a few less intense points of pressure to other minds he felt about to speak out. The rest of the crowd was kept pacified by the subtler methods in place—a delicate balance, as he needed them intent and interested.

“The time has come for confession,” the Archpope stated, and he felt the interest sharpen in the room, even more than he saw it in dozens of faces. Particularly in the reporters he had taken pains to assure had preferential seating for this service. “I do, indeed, have offenses against the people of this city to acknowledge. And…it comes as a relief to finally be able to do this. In my defense, I will say only that what I have allowed to happen—and the silence I have since kept over it—I did because at the time, in my best analysis, it was…if not justified, then necessary. I cannot even say for certain whether I was right in that judgment; I am but a mortal man, as fallible as any. On that, I will be judged by history, and I will accept that judgment with humility. It is due to that selfsame fallible judgment that I speak now, for while I still see many factors in motion that would seem to encourage continued silence…in my imperfect understanding, I think it is time. May the gods deal with me as they deem fit.”

He paused again, letting the anticipation hang. It had grown to an intensity that could be practically felt, even were he not in mental command of the room through the auspices of borrowed divine power.

“Two years ago,” Archpope Justinian finally said, in his gravest and most solemn tone, “while a hellgate was opened on the Golden Sea frontier above a certain University in the town of Last Rock, this very city was torn apart by an onslaught of demons. You, the people of Tiraas, deserve to finally know why.”

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17 – 11

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It was well into the afternoon when Natchua and Jonathan returned home, appearing in the reconstructed entry hall of Leduc Manor in a swell of shadow. They were expected.

“Just so we’re absolutely clear,” Melaxyna said by way of greeting, “did you ask Embras bloody Mogul to show up here and wait around for you to return at some unspecified time for a meeting?”

“I did,” Natchua answered. “Wow, he actually waited this long? I wasn’t trying to drag that out but by this point I honestly figured he’d have lost patience and was gonna make me pay for it later.”

“Oh, he’s being the perfect houseguest,” the succubus said acidly, her spaded tail lashing behind her. “Quite the charming conversationalist when he wants to be. Hesthri is keeping him entertained, Kheshiri is lurking invisible in the same room, the horogki are hiding in the basement, and Sherwin’s monitoring the ward network for the slightest hint of any funny business. So far, nothing. At least, nothing we’ve spotted.”

“Sorry to dump that on you, Mel. It was the least annoying compromise I could come up with on the spur of the moment. Thanks for covering for me.”

“Oh, we’re all pretty used to scurrying along after you and smoothing out the ripples you cause. I suppose there’s no point in asking if you’re sure dealing with that guy is a good idea?”

“It’s not, but it’s also not really up for discussion. Not to shut you down, Mel, I always take your concerns seriously and this time you are dead right, no argument. But, the situation around us is…different. The Wreath have been culled down to almost nothing, they’re not even technically at war with the Pantheon anymore… And aside from the fact I’ve got Elilial looming over my own shoulder, the truth is they fought to protect Veilgrad when it made all the difference and they could have far more easily not risked themselves. I gave my word I’d protect them in return, and that matters to me. So we’re stuck with them until they resume misbehaving.”

Jonathan patted her back gently, his smile full of warmth and pride. It still irked her a bit, how much his approval mattered to her. Not so much she couldn’t enjoy the sensation, though.

“Well, I guess all of that is inarguable,” Melaxyna said, still frowning but with less agitated movements of her tail. “I’ll never say I’m not a schemer, but integrity matters to anyone who wants to live with themselves. All right, anyway, you’re here now. Please do whatever you need to with this guy and get him out of here.”

“Done and double done,” Natchua said grimly, already striding past her.

“They’re in the—”

“I know, I can hear them.”

“Elves are bullshit,” the succubus grumbled, falling into stride alongside Jonathan as they walked behind the Duchess. He chuckled.

The manor was still a work in progress, with one entire wing still uninhabitable in this weather and much of the rebuilt and repaired sections still barren of any furnishings, but as Natchua had been elevated to noble rank and begun taking an active role in Veilgrad’s affairs, other members of her household had quietly arranged to put together suitable environs in which to formally entertain guests. She didn’t even know who, except that it wasn’t Sherwin. Hesthri, Jonathan, and both succubi were all far-sighted and detail-oriented enough to think of that. They certainly all enjoyed commenting that it took four such minds in Natchua’s orbit to cover for her own brash antics. Thus, elven hearing aside, there was really only one place where they would be hosting a visitor.

The northwest parlor occupied a tower affixed to that corner of the main building. It was a three-story affair, with tall windows looking out on a panoramic view of the snow-covered mountain forests surrounding the manor, its two upper floors consisting of circular balconies reached by narrow ladders, the walls lined with laden bookshelves between their windows. On the ground floor, the original features had survived the manor’s long neglect: a huge fireplace carved of black stone into the shape of a fanged mouth and further decorated with snarling and exaggeratedly sinister gargoyles. Similar oppressive flourishes decorated the moulding and wall pillars, all in a grim melange of dark basalt and wrought iron, with strategic glimmers of polished onyx and obsidian. The renovations had added dark-stained mahogany wall paneling up to waist height and deep crimson wallpaper above that, with surprisingly comfortable furnishings laid about which matched this theme.

The historical predilections of House Leduc suited Natchua’s political strategy very well: anyone who needed to be impressed simply needed to be reminded they’d better step carefully in this house.

“First things first!” she declaimed, stalking into the room followed by her entourage. Hesthri gave her a relieved smile from her own seat; she could detect Kheshiri’s invisible presence, hunched on one of the balcony rails above with wings spread in readiness to swoop down at need. “Potahto? Is that a real thing? I’ve never once heard it pronounced that way.”

“It comes out like that in a Svennish accent,” Jonathan explained in a mild tone. “Most of the breeds of tuber commonly eaten in the Empire were originally cultivated in the Five Kingdoms.”

“Come on, that’s an old colloquialism,” Mogul chided, grinning unpleasantly at her. “It can’t be the first time you’ve ever heard it. Unless you wasted not a ducal second finding yourself too good to mingle with the plain-spoken riffraff.”

“Excuse you, my Tanglish is amazingly fluent considering how recently I learned it, and I’ve spent most of my time in the Empire in a frontier town. Now what the hell do you want that’s so important, Mogul?”

“Yes, to business.” He tucked his thumbs into his lapels, lounging casually against one of the intimidatingly-carved pillars. “My thanks for this audience, your Grace. I’ve come to plead for your support in dealing formally with the Imperial government.”

“With the Empire?” she replied incredulously. “You can’t possibly imagine I have any pull with the Throne.”

“Yes, I’m sure the relevant ministries and departments have complicated feelings about you in particular, but the fact remains, you are a Duchess. That gives you enough weight to throw around that even the Throne can’t afford to blow you off—though I hope I don’t have to remind you that any throwing of weight should be judicious and circumspect.”

“You don’t.”

“Attagirl. But yes, you can intercede with the Empire up to a point, which is part of what I’m asking. The other part is that you can call in additional help to whom the Empire also has to listen. A lot changed at Ninkabi, the Wreath’s standing most of all. I wouldn’t bother except I firmly believe we have a perfectly legal, perfectly reasonable case to plead. It’s a case which has every chance of succeeding if heard on its merit—but which will be summarily dismissed if we try to go through the usual channels. All I want, Natchua, is to make someone in charge listen. And the only way I can see that happening, realistically, is if the request comes from a Duchess and a paladin.”

Natchua let out a low whistle. “Now that’s an even worse idea. Do you need me to explain just how very low an opinion the paladins have of you in particular?”

“Oh goodness gracious me, no,” he chuckled. “What’s worse is I specifically need the help of the vindictive one! It’d be bad enough if I had to turn to the sunshine and cuddles one, or the one who doesn’t know which end of his digestive system to shit out of—”

The shadowbolt ripped right past his left ear—and, before damaging the brand new wallpaper, froze. It hovered in the air, a purple and black shaft of seething energy that looked almost crystalline in structure, slowly rotating around its long axis and putting off shifting patterns of muted light.

Embras did not flinch, but shifted his eyes to study the frozen spell, then very slowly leaned his head away from it.

“Gabriel is family to this household,” Natchua said, her tone a layer of ice over a river of fire. “That means we are all aware of his shortcomings, and we get to talk about them. Anyone else who does so is asking for an asskicking.”

Jonathan folded his arms, expression impassive. Hesthri was staring at Mogul through slitted eyes, her clawed fingers curling aggressively against the armrests of her chair.

Embras took one deliberate step to the side, away from the suspended shadowbolt, swept off his hat, and bowed deeply to them.

“Quite right. I can’t even call you hypocritical—that’s exactly what family means, after all. Those are the rules, universal and eternal. You have my sincere apology for that wrongful venting of my misdirected annoyance.”

He straightened back up, wearing a direct and open expression that looked downright odd on his face.

“Especially now. It’s a matter of family that has brought me to swallow my pride and beg for your help in the first place.”

Natchua studied him in pensive silence for a moment, then glanced to the side at Jonathan. He met her eyes, shifting his head in an infinitesimal nod. With a soft sigh, she waved one hand, and the shadowbolt dissolved into wisps of purple smoke.

“All right. No promises, but I’m listening.”


“I can’t help but feel this must be on some level sacrilegious, and I am struggling to decide how I feel about that.”

“You are ambivalent about sacrilege?” Ravana asked with a faint smile.

“It all comes down to the circumstances, does it not? Obviously I’ve no quarrel with the gods, or with…most of their followers. But the Church… Well, I needn’t narrate the unusual circumstances to you, your Grace.”

“If it helps resolve your dilemma, Lady Tamarin, for most of its history until the current pontiff, and with nefarious exceptions such as Sipasian, the Universal Church has been more an interfaith bureaucratic coordinator than a proper religious institution. A callow aristocratic meet-and-greet is surely one of the less profane uses to which the various chapels of this Cathedral have been put. Including, in all likelihood, this one.”

“But that’s just it,” Tamarin said with a sly little smile. “This situation…is what it is. Should I enjoy thumbing my nose in the Church’s face, or cringe at doing so to the very gods?”

“You can do both, my Lady. The entire crux of the current debacle is that the Church and the gods are far from united in purpose.”

“Ah, that truly does cut to the heart of it. My thanks, your Grace, for putting my mind at ease.”

She smirked, and Ravana smirked back, contemplating. She did not at all care for Tamarin Daraspian, and that was so far down the list of factors to consider here as to be quite inconsequential. Noble relationships might be driven by personal animosity, but they never hinged on personal amity; she didn’t much care for Natchua or Malivette, either. Lady Tamarin was the only aristocrat invited to this event who had sought out Ravana’s company, and she was clearly trying to position herself as a subordinate ally.

It had to be considered. Formally or even informally allying with House Daraspian itself was off the table; they were on hostile terms with House Dufresne, and Ravana could not risk Malivette’s goodwill. If that was where this was going, that was that. However, House Daraspian had been in decline for decades, their reputation was even worse than House Madouri’s or that of either of its allies, and rumor said they were splintering internally. Tamarin hailed from a branch family in Anteraas; if either her little faction or just she alone were aiming to disentangle themselves from the Daraspian banner and seek House Madouri’s aegis, it was an opportunity Ravana couldn’t afford to squander. She would have to do some quick research on this, as if she didn’t have enough going on.

“I do wonder what faith’s designated worship chamber we might be accidentally desecrating, however,” Ravana said aloud. “This place is clearly meant to be ceremonial—the altar upon the dais seems conclusive. But its shape is different from most chapels, and I note the careful lack of any cult-specific iconography.”

“It depends,” Tamarin replied, glancing about. “Rounded chambers such as this are traditional for Omnist and Izarite ceremonies—the relatively few public ceremonies germane to the latter practice, that is. Ryneans and Nemitites also like them, albeit more for the display of art and books, respectively, than any ritual practice. A chapel like this in the Grand Cathedral is likely meant to serve any faith which may have a use for it.”

Ravana gave her a thoughtful look disguised behind a bland, polite smile. Lady Tamarin was half a head taller than she, but most people were. More importantly, she was good at this game. Diffident without being fawning, striking the perfect balance between Ravana’s superior position and her own dignity. And only now, when her more careful initial overtures had been accepted, interjecting some actual personality.

“You are a student of comparative theology, Lady Tamarin?”

“In my modest, laywoman’s way,” she replied, smiling back. “We daughters of the Houses are raised on politics and war, of course. I have always enjoyed the often prickly relations between the cults. So much more of the same, yet with an added grandeur and pageantry which appeals to me.”

“Ah, indeed. For what use is life, without style?”

“Never a truer word, your Grace.”

They were positioned before one of the stained glass windows which predominated six of the octagonal chapel’s walls, the others housing the entrance and dais respectively; Yancey hovered discreetly behind Ravana as always. Aristocrats milled about in various small groups, quietly talking while servants glided between them, all eyes focused on one of the three points of social interest in the chamber: Archpope Justinian standing before the altar where nobles approached him in singles and pairs, Juniper surrounded by an avidly fascinated cluster of mostly men, and Ravana off by herself—or she had been, until Tamarin took the social risk of positioning herself here. It was only natural that Justinian took up the only position of primacy in the symmetrical room, framing himself as the authority to be approached.

She had colonized this piece of the room and done likewise, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge him. No one present could fail to understand the message.

Ravana had been curious how he would react, since this entire thing was a thin pretext for him to speak with her personally. Even so, public presentation obviously mattered very much to Justinian. She was thus mildly surprised when he ceded the high ground after barely enough time spent exchanging courtesies with others to avoid giving offense. Even as she glanced his way, he graciously dismissed his most recent petitioner, then turned and relinquished his position to glide toward her with his small entourage in tow.

“Duchess Ravana,” he said in his velvet baritone. “Lady Tamarin. I am most grateful that you consented to attend this gathering.”

“There are those who might contend that a social event for aristocrats is a frivolous use of the Church’s resources during such a time of unprecedented crisis,” Ravana replied with syrupy calm, “but I confess my curiosity got the better of me.”

“I’m sure I needn’t explain to you of all individuals, your Grace, the role that the Houses can play in both calming the people’s fears and distributing material aid during such perilous times. The Church has long served to mediate and bring together disparate points of view. I dare to hope that my humble efforts may yield some public benefit today.”

“Yes, I believe it is a favorite refrain in your sermons that hope is a spiritual duty,” she said, showing teeth.

“You are acquainted with his Holiness’s philosophies?” inquired the woman hovering at the Archpope’s elbow. “How splendid! Already we have common ground from which to begin.”

Ravana gave her a quick, silent once-over, then returned her attention to Justinian, visibly dismissing Bishop Branwen Snowe from consideration.

“And I believe you are a noted connoisseur of vintages,” Justinian said with a beatific smile. “In hopes that you would grace this meeting with your presence, Lady Ravana, I commissioned something rather special.”

At his gesture, a servant glided forward with an empty wineglass; after a second’s consideration, she relinquished her nearly-untouched drink to accept it, permitting her eyes to widen at the bottle being uncorked by a second servant who stepped up as the first retreated.

“A seventy-year-old Arkanian crimson,” she breathed. There was no point pretending not to be impressed. “Truly, what treasures must lie within the Church’s vaults. Even I don’t have one of these.” She watched with unfeigned reverence as the sommelier, after giving the bottle the requisite moment to breathe, carefully poured a judicious portion into her fresh glass.

“It is as we just discussed, my Lady,” Justinian agreed. “Sometimes an expenditure of resources which may, at first glance, seem frivolous can serve to facilitate a way forward. Particularly when it is only needless personal conflict which obscures the path ahead.”

“Needless,” Ravana repeated softly, eyes on her wine. She gently swirled the liquid, its closer closer to garnets than blood, before raising it to her lips to take the first careful sip. Holding it on the tongue, inhaling its bouquet deeply…

Tamarin had to pointedly extend her own glass to receive a serving of the crimson, which she did after a momentary hesitation by the sommelier. She did not protest at this disrespect as most aristocrats would, however, and Ravana mentally added a tally in her favor.

“In the end,” Branwen said gently, “I have to believe all conflict is, on some level, needless. Even when conscience commands us to take a stand against malfeasance, it is at the end of a chain of events which at many points could have been stopped had others only been willing to seek reconciliation.”

“Mm.” Ravana exhaled softly. “Magnificent. Worth the trip for that sip alone, I confess.”

“Watching you enjoy that,” Tamarin said with a wry smile, “I can only feel that I must be too ignorant of wine to appreciate it as much as it deserves.”

“It would pair exquisitely with that cheese—the Jendi white.” Ravana finally directed a look at Branwen, then tilted her head toward another waiter who stood patiently across the room with a tray. “Bring me a piece.”

The Bishop continued to smile gently, showing no displeasure. “Forgive me, Lady Ravana, but I’m not part of the staff. I am—”

“I know who you are, Snowe. A lackey is a lackey, and a bosomy poster model is not called for in this situation. Make yourself useful.”

They were all too well-bred to gasp or anything so gauche, but the momentary quieting of conversations throughout the room told Ravana she had succeeded. Branwen only smiled slightly wider; trying to get a rise out of an Izarite cleric was profoundly pointless, but that had never been her objective. A display of open, public contempt toward a Bishop of the Universal Church loudly loyal to Justinian was a message to the others in this room.

“Branwen,” the Archpope said gently, “Would you be so good as to grant us a moment of privacy?”

“By all means, your Holiness.” The Bishop inclined her head graciously before retreating. The servants had already discreetly absented themselves.

“I was enjoying our conversation, Lady Tamarin,” Ravana said. “We should continue it soon, if you are amenable. With apologies for the travel involved, it would be my honor to host you at my residence.”

“On the contrary, your Grace, the honor will be entirely mine,” Tamarin replied, curtseying and stepping back twice before gliding smoothly away herself. Ravana was, somewhat reluctantly, impressed at how well she took the dismissal. It increasingly seemed the woman might be worth investing at least a little effort into.

Then she was alone with the Archpope—or nearly so; even he didn’t presume to suggest that Yancey remove himself—in an island of space which encompassed nearly a quarter of the chamber, the other aristocrats present drifting backward even as they pretended not to watch like hunting falcons.

“You present a fascinating portrait, if I may say so, my Lady,” Justinian said softly. “Tiraan Province has inarguably prospered mightily under your reign, even in such a brief time as you have ruled—and even with part of that having been in absentia from Last Rock, and part of that rendered magically unconscious.”

“This is why it is important to delegate,” she murmured. Placing one fingertip on the rim of her glass, Ravana moved it in slow circles, causing it to emit a soft but high-pitched tone. A few of the gathered nobles winced. “And to do so before the need becomes urgent. No doubt your Holiness is familiar with the theory, even if you have not, yourself, been thus incapacitated.”

Justinian glanced down at the gesture, then returned his intent focus to her face, ignoring the musical sound.

“I suppose more than otherwise of the circumstances at that school must be exceptional. But there, too, it seems you have made yourself quite popular in Last Rock. Chiefly, as I understand it, by dispensing money and influence.”

Ravana ceased making the wineglass sing, lifting it to her lips for another appreciative sip. “Mm. Well, one works with what one has, yes? Mine has never been called a winning personality.”

“It has been my experience that courtesy and respect toward others are sufficient to compensate for any failing of personal warmth—a lesson I cannot help but think you have long since taken to heart.”

She smiled, faintly. “A lesson hard-earned, your Holiness?”

“In fact, I owed my allegiance to Izara before accepting my current role. It has never been difficult for me to embrace the perspectives of others—to find the good even in those who seem most adamantly opposed to me.”

“Ah, and this kindness you now deign to offer my humble self.”

“I cannot claim such familiarity, my Lady. Rather… I am curious. While it is true that you have made yourself…slightly worse than a nuisance to me already, what preoccupies my mind is why. Do you do this because you truly believe it to be in the best interests of all? Or is this an exercise in political positioning? In fact, I rather think, the better question is how much of each is true.”

“And so the real dilemma is…is the… I…”

Ravana trailed off, her coy expression dissolving into blankness, then consternation. The blood drained from her face; subtly, her hands began to quiver, sloshing wine.

Justinian frowned. “Your Grace?”

The glass tumbled from her suddenly shaking fingers, shattering upon the marble mosaic floor and splashing the priceless wine over Ravana’s slippers. Blue eyes bulging wide, she emitted a strangled croak, a few flecks of foam appearing on her lips.

“Lady Ravana!” the Archpope said in clear alarm, reaching out to her. His hand glowed with brilliant golden intensity as he laid it upon her shoulder.

Ravana’s scream was abortive, ending in a strangled croak. She collapsed, lines of black shooting up the side of her neck from the side he had touched, as if her suddenly bulging veins had been filled with tar.

All around the room, nobles were shouting in alarm, pressing forward and craning their necks for a view. Yancey shamelessly pushed Justinian away, catching his mistress as she fell. Her small body seized and thrashed in his arms, muscles clenching and twisting. Blood sprayed from her gasping lips in dark droplets; blood began to well from her eyes, from her nostrils and ears, as tendrils of blackness spread across her face from every capillary—

“Move! Move it!”

Juniper crashed through the crowd, knocking aristocrats aside like ninepins. She alone Yancey allowed to approach. The dryad seized Ravana’s face in both hands and bent forward, pressing her lips to the girl’s, heedless of the blood the squished between them.

For a second she had to struggle to hold the thrashing Duchess in place enough to kiss. But under her lips, Ravana’s unconscious struggles ceased. Blood ceased to flow; as viciously swiftly as it had come on, the spreading darkness receded, the color of her face returning to normal. Almost normal; Ravana was left deathly pale when Juniper finally pulled back, slumping into Yancey’s arms with a gasp. But she was breathing again—with some effort, but freely, for the first time since she had collapsed.

Her blue eyes rolled back forward, blinking, but coherent, if exhausted. Before Ravana could muster the breath to speak, Yancey whirled and stalked toward the exit, his mistress cradled in his arms.

The nobles got out of his way.

“Did anyone else drink that wine?” Juniper demanded, wiping Ravana’s blood from her mouth as she turned to address the crowd.

“I did!” Lady Tamarin said shrilly, her own glass falling from her fingers. “Oh gods, what was—that was—mff!”

Juniper wasted not a second, simply striding forward, grasping her face, and pulling her into a kiss.

“Sorry about that,” she said seconds later after pulling back. “I hate to trample on personal boundaries, but it was an emergency. Dryads can neutralize poisons, just…that’s the only way.”

“I…that… It’s all right. It is quite all right.” Tamarin’s unconscious eyes flicked to the stretch of floor bedecked with wine, shattered, glass, and noble blood. “Thank you. By all the gods, thank you. I owe you my life.”

Glass shattered, again. This time it was Lady Edenna Conover who had dropped her own wineglass. Deliberately, rather than in the throes of poison.

“Well,” she said in her iciest tone, “it would seem that your Holiness’s point has rather been made.”

She was only the first. Glasses continued to smash as one and all, the gathered aristocrats released their grips, every one of them staring silent daggers at the Archpope. Shards and spilled wine tainted the chapel’s floor in every direction.

Practically as one, they turned, tearing expressions of vicious contempt from Justinian. The assembled aristocracy of three cities pivoted and walked away from him, gliding toward the door with the grace of offended swans. A meeting of so many factions was ordinarily a discreet but ceaseless struggle, but not now. They flowed into formation, passing through the door as smoothly as if choreographed.

All the normal infighting of nobility instantly put aside as they united against a rival force which had dared to threaten their own power.

Juniper was the last to go, directing a lingering frown back at him. And then Justinian stood in a chapel, frightened servants huddled against the walls, Branwen dithering in confusion just behind him, with shattered glass and spilled wine all around, and a brand new collection of deadly enemies set against him.

“Masterfully done,” he whispered.

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17 – 10

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“And… This place was your family’s summer hunting lodge?”

“Are you by chance a student of history, Sheriff Ingvar?”

He did not miss her choice to address him, out of the several possible titles, by the one which tied him to her own regime, but Ingvar also knew very well when something was not worth making an issue of. “Very much so, my Lady, but of a quite…specific focus. I’ll no doubt be suitably surprised by whatever anecdote you are about to share.”

Ravana smiled, glancing up at him; the difference in their heights meant she was looking up through her lashes, but there was nothing remotely coquettish about her demeanor. Nor ever had been, that he could recall, which seemed notable. Noblewomen had a tendency to flirt by default, whether or not they meant anything by it.

“Well, I shan’t bore you with the minutia, but suffice it to say that if you were acquainted with the exploits of House Madouri you would find nothing odd about the presence of a prison beneath our summer home. Fortuitous, given your new position as law enforcement, is it not?”

“It…raises a different point of curiosity. Knowing this was the private jail of medieval nobles, I’d expect something more…medieval.”

“Oh, it was. The flagstones are original.” She gestured at the suitably ancient-looking floor of the aisle between the cells, long since worn smooth and with a slight but noticeable groove down the center. “Behind the polished oak wall paneling is more of the same; picture that, and torches in these sconces instead of fairy lights, and you’ll have the look. My great-grandfather was obsessed with modern innovation and had everything he could find renovated. Those fairy lamps—and the plumbing in the cells—are somewhat rustic now, but they were beyond cutting edge when they were installed, just before the Enchanter Wars.”

That seemed like enough preamble.

“Then the question is what to do with their current occupants.”

Ravana nodded once, slowly, her blue eyes panning around the prison beneath her lodge, the current headquarters of the Shadow Hunters. It was not a large prison as such went, but adequate to contain the captured Huntsmen of Shaath without overcrowding them beyond the two-occupants-per-cell recommended by the designers. Scowling, bearded men stared back at her through the bars, every one of them poised and unbowed, many outwardly serene.

And, to a man, silent.

“Their equipment?” she asked.

“Secured elsewhere. With all the respect owed to sacred implements, which they are, and methodical notes to ensure there shall be no confusion in reuniting each artifact with its owner at the end of this. Should that be how it ends.”

“And the dead?”

“I have commandeered empty spaces in the adjacent crypt. Stone tombs will suffice for now; after due consideration and discussion with the survivors, I shall proceed with proper funerary rites. I consider my ordained hunters sufficient to return those men to nature in accordance with Shaath’s ways, but the situation is…spiritually complicated. If I judge that their kin would find this offensive, they can be held where they are until all the fighting and politics have been settled, and then can be returned to their lodges. I noted the crypt’s iconography, my Lady. More Shaathist than Vidian, if archaic.”

“Ours is a new chapter in the association of Shaath’s faithful with House Madouri, but not the first. Well, then! I believe that first I should hear the input of he who arranged this outcome.” The Duchess turned around, raising one eyebrow, and her tone became noticeably cooler. “Well?”

“For now, we are still upon the path.” The nameless, elderly lizardfolk shaman leaned upon his walking stick, inner eyelids flickering in a horizontal blink as he met Ravana’s stare. “I thank you for heeding my warning, young Duchess. Now, you have seen your faith rewarded.”

“Have I?” she asked, a bite to her tone. “Your forewarning of an incipient attack was sufficient, elder. Had I met it with my own forces, the outcome would have been no less decisive.”

“But much less clean,” Ingvar observed. “A confrontation would have created a political shockwave whose outcome none of us could predict, but it is likelier that the Wild Hunt would have seen the extra defenses and retreated. This way, we have damaged the strength of the Archpope’s political faction and gutted that of the orthodox Huntsmen, while protecting our own interests, taking no casualties, and causing no disruption. I was not best pleased by the loss of life, but even so, I cannot see this outcome as anything less than optimal, my Lady. More so than any of us should ever expect an armed confrontation to be.”

“Silence and secrecy,” the old shaman stated. “These are paramount. Everything hangs by a thread; too many souls are aware of us. No others must know of the People’s involvement. Our strength is meager; our contribution to averting the final catastrophe will come because we are unexpected, overlooked, disregarded. The enemy cannot learn of this. They must be silenced.”

Ingvar pinned the old shaman with his hardest stare; in the way of old shamans in general, he was unmoved.

“They are silent enough as is,” Ravana said after barely a moment’s thought. “They will be kept here, for the time being. There is no possible justification for the mass execution of prisoners.”

“Here, they are at best quiet,” the shaman insisted. “Only silence can—”

“If you find me a troubling person for whom to work now,” she replied, flashing her teeth in an icy smile, “you should be mindful of moral lines and where I stand with regard to them. This is not a slippery slope, gentlemen, it is an abrupt plunge. If I can order such a thing once, I can do it so much more easily the next time, and the next. Tell me: does the thought of me with a learned disregard for the value of life fill you with comfort?”

Ingvar and the shaman exchanged a loaded look. After a moment, he folded his arms, subtly shifting position to frame himself alongside the Duchess, joining her in staring the shaman down.

“Wise, for such a young one,” the old lizard murmured at last. “Wise only in the ways of evil—a thing such as I have never seen. But you use that wisdom to avoid the pitfalls of your forebears, and that I can only honor. Very well, little hunting spider, you speak truth. It is a risk…it is a compromise. There have been too many already. But on some things, perhaps we should be unbending.”

She raised her chin. “I’m so glad you approve. The Huntsmen will be kept here and treated fairly and as gently as is feasible until the matter of the mad Archpope is settled, one way or another. Then…we shall see how things stand, and decide what to do with them.”

The shaman bowed his head to her once. “Then the present is settled. We must discuss the future.”

“I confess I am not overly optimistic,” Ravana said, still visibly on edge. “This event had a satisfactory outcome, yes. But the thought of being led around by vague and ominous portents makes me viscerally unhappy. I am a patient person, but only when I can clearly see the benefit toward which my patience leads.”

“Would I be right in guessing that this is your first experience with following the visions of a shaman?” Ingvar asked.

“The first time one has been nominally on my side, as it were. I was rather embarrassingly outflanked by a kitsune, once, but I hardly consider those a fair standard by which to judge anyone else.”

“It seems strangely characteristic,” the elder noted, “that you would manage to run afoul of a fox-goddess, despite being so young and so very far from their domain.”

“You are not helping your case,” she said in an even cooler tone.

“As with all things,” Ingvar said in a deliberately gentle tone, “it becomes easier with experience. Until the experience has come, you can only proceed upon faith that it will. I understand that you have no personal cause for such confidence, my Lady; that being said, I implore you to lean upon mine.”

Ravana half-turned to regard him thoughtfully, but said nothing, so he continued.

“I am here to tell you that following a shaman’s visions never becomes less frustrating. From the vague phrasing to the utter lack of explanation, every part of it is more annoying than the last. Having been through this many times, I can only promise you that it is always worthwhile. I would not be here with you, had I not trusted the advice of several shaman who explained nothing and immediately proceeded to drag me through the most ludicrous, dangerous experiences of my life—well, up until Ninkabi, at least. And I regret none of it.”

The Duchess still said nothing, but her expression had mellowed to a more thoughtful one at least.

“He puts it well,” the old lizard said, thumping his cane on the stone floor once for emphasis. “I feel for your frustration, little Duchess. These are the ways of my people, but I too was once a youngling suffering inexplicable guidance from inscrutable elders. This I will say to you now: that you followed my advice when it went against your nature showed wisdom. If you will follow it still, what comes next will be more to your liking.”

She subtly tilted her head to one side. “You have my attention.”

“You are laying a trap of your own, are you not?”

Ravana’s expression turned wry. “Is that meant to impress me? Anyone who knows me in the slightest would assume as much.”

“A thing you have been advised not to build—a snare meant for prey anyone sensible would warn you not to challenge.”

“Again—”

“A thing of arcane fire and lightning,” he pressed on, eyes boring into hers, “with which you mean to bring down a demigod and parade its defeat before your subjects and foe alike.”

The Duchess fell silent, narrowing her eyes.

“I tell you this, little spider.” Once more, he thumped the staff, causing the bones hanging from its head to rattle. “Our defeat of the Huntsmen was the first step. Others I have foreseen—and laid safeguards, that my presence and influence will not be noted by they who move against us. Let me seek out each step of the path, follow where I guide, and I shall lead the monstrosity straight into your fangs.”

She stared at him, frowning, silent. After a moment he continued.

“A great doom is coming—is nearly here. It is not your fate to avert it. Nor is it that of my people, for all our careful preparations. Our destiny is to create but the smallest opening, to act in a moment of such perfect opportunity that even our meager strength will topple the mountain. Yours is to seize the enemy’s attention and hamper his plots, that those whose destiny is his defeat will find their own moment. We shall none of us be the heroes when this tale is told, but without us, all is lost.”

This time, he thumped the staff twice, his voice falling into an almost musical cadence.

“You have shown forbearance at my urging, and great faith that took, for it is not in your nature. I do not ask forbearance of you now. Today—this very night, you plan to enter the lair of the beast. Those closest to you have told you it is foolhardy, a risk to be avoided. I tell you this: now is the time to strike.”

Thump thump; his tail swished twice across the floor behind him in the echo of the staff’s impact upon ancient flagstones.

“This Archpope Justinian is a spider, a weaver of webs. He sits in the center, pulling each strand with care. You are a hunting spider, a fierce thing of venom and speed. You have shown the discipline to wait for your moment, little spider, and by the counsel of my spirit guides I tell you that your patience is rewarded. Prepare your venom. Go into his web, and tear it asunder. This night, follow your nature, and you shall know success.”

His thin chest expanded slightly as he drew in a breath, then a shiver went through him almost as if he were shaking off a dream.

“And then, when you have twice succeeded upon my counsel… Perhaps you will have cause for faith when I next tell you something I cannot yet explain.”

Very slowly, Ravana tilted her head back, then nodded once. “It goes without saying that I would have executed my plans for this evening regardless. Still. The one voice out of all who assures me victory is…not the one I would have suspected. Very well, gentlemen. I will leave matters here in your care; as just mentioned, I have another task to carry out tonight.”

“You are planning to go to Justinian?” Ingvar asked warily. “I…certainly see why your advisors would urge you not to, my Lady. Is there anything I…?”

“Frankly, Ingvar, the less you are involved with this, the better for us all.” She patted his arm once, then strode away to the rising staircase without another word, leaving them to watch her go in silence.

“That’s quite the little monster you’ve climbed into bed with, Brother Ingvar.”

He turned to regard the speaker through the bars of his cell. Cameron had been the leader of the Wild Hunt, a survivor of the lizardfolk’s poison due to luck and fast medical attention.

“Is that judgment I hear, Brother? From a follower of none other than Justinian?”

“Justinian is a…circumstance. I follow Veisroi, and Shaath.”

“In that order.”

The ghost of a smile tugged at the Huntsman’s face, subtly shifting his beard. “We have made our respective positions on that argument clear long since. Still, your point is well-taken. Men of the world such as we must make our alliances…wherever they must be made. I must tell you, Brother, I don’t like your little monster’s chances against mine.”

“If it all rested upon her tiny shoulders? No indeed. But if all she needs to do is make a wreck of others’ careful plans…”

He trailed off, and the smile drained from Cameron’s face as he watched.


“VEILGRAD STANDS!”

“VEILGRAD STANDS!”

“VEILGRAD STANDS!”

Natchua shut the door to the stage outside and slumped, letting out a heavy breath that puffed out her cheeks. It wasn’t the pressure—actually she felt oddly at home in front of an audience. It was just…the emotional intensity. Working a crowd into a fury involved entering a fury oneself, unless one were a two-faced anth’auwa like Chase. Stepping out of view and trying to let it go was like a lesser version of an adrenaline crash.

Just for her, though. The crowd was still chanting powerfully enough to be clearly audible through the stone walls and reinforced wooden door.

“Press conferences sure have changed since my day,” Jonathan commented, stepping up and gently resting a hand against her back in support. Emotional support; it wasn’t like she needed his help to stand, but the reminder prompted her to straighten back up. “Traditionally they just involve reporters.”

“I wasn’t actually…planning to do that,” Natchua admitted, leaning against him. “Just, I asked the reporters to assemble in the square to make sure there was room for everybody, since we’ve got a bunch of out-of-towners from across the Empire this time. And, well…I didn’t expect half the city to turn up. How’d they even find out about it?”

“You put out a public announcement, kitten. Well, I can’t hear an uproar like that without being a mite concerned over what that crowd’s going to do with that energy next, but I think we’ve learned by now that you’re at your best reacting to circumstances rather than laying schemes.”

“Yeah, good for me. There are just so many circumstances.”

Jonathan draped his arm around her shoulders as they moved down the corridor, giving her back another gentle rub. “With all that said… Listen, sweetheart, please stay calm.”

Natchua nearly missed a step. “Well, that’s something that’s only said to people who are about to have a very good reason to get mad.”

“You’re about to have a reason to be surprised and frustrated. I’m only mentioning it because that’s exactly when you tend to say the first thing you’re thinking. This is your gentle reminder not to show the sharp edge of your tongue to people who don’t deserve it, because if you do, you’ll feel awful about it for the rest of the day.”

“Fine, fine,” she grumbled. “How alarmed should I be?”

“Not very, I don’t think. While you were out there, a…let’s call it a surprising development showed up here looking for you. Lord Lars has them comfortably ensconced in one of the bigger meeting rooms. Just through here.”

“Them? Wait, here?” They were in the renovated castle near Veilgrad’s center which housed the government facilities for both the city and Lower Stalwar Province. “Not at the manor?”

“I think we want to encourage that. There are all kinds of reasons it’s preferable not to have people popping up randomly at Leduc Manor.”

“Well, that’s for damn sure,” she grumbled. “This one?”

He nodded, reached out, and opened the door for her. Natchua stepped through and stopped, taking in the sight.

Lars himself—formerly Lars Grusser, steward of House Dufresne, and as of his recent formal adoption Lord Lars Dufresne, heir to the entire House—was present, as was his consort. In fact, Natchua reminded herself, his fiancee; Eleny Feathership’s hand sparkled with a brand new and (in her opinion) borderline excessive engagement ring. It was all politics: House Dufresne required the backing of powerful allies to legally adopt new members, and now with a formal alliance with Houses Leduc and Madouri that was on the table, enabling not only Lars’s admission into the house, but his marriage to a gnome now that the two could adopt children themselves to carry on the line. For once, Natchua didn’t mind the politics, as it enabled two decent people to be happy and also put the province in capable hands. Right now, the pair were solicitously entertaining the other guests present.

The entire chamber was full of Narisian drow, nearly all of them in traditional robes that showed they hadn’t been on the surface long enough to acquire new clothing. Sixteen of them, Natchua counted with a swift movement of her eyes. Women, men, and even three children, all with the blank-faced reserve characteristic of their culture. As one, they turned up on her entry, and bowed toward her.

And even with all that, her own attention snapped immediately to the last person present.

“Mogul, just what the hell are you doing in here?”

“I have come to beg of thee a boon, good lady!” Embras Mogul, leader of the Black Wreath, proclaimed as he swept off his hat and bowed to her, bald head glinting under the fairy lamps.

“You’ve got some brass balls on you, mister.”

“True enough, and also I will never hesitate to bring up for leverage that time you murdered half my friends.”

“Murder is an inapplicable charge during a time of war—a war which your side declared and started, by the way!”

“Potayto, potahto.”

“Apples and oranges!”

He waved his hat at her. “In any case, these good folks were here first, and if I am not mistaken their business is rather more urgent. Let it never be said that Embras Mogul is too prideful to wait his turn.”

So he wasn’t with them. That was a point in their favor. Natchua turned her attention back to the drow, eyes darting back and forth until one stepped forward, clearly nominating herself the speaker for the group.

Lars cleared his throat. “Natchua, this is Niereth yil Lissneth y’nad Naalsoth, whom these guests have nominated to speak on their behalf.”

Natchua quirked an eyebrow at those particular honorifics, but just nodded in response when Niereth bowed deeply to her.

“Duchess Leduc, I thank you most humbly for this audience.”

“What is it I can do for you, exactly?”

Ordinarily more pleasantries would have been called for, but Niereth took the hint from her brusque response and got right to the point, which itself earned some brownie points from Natchua.

“With the greatest humility, your Grace, my companions and I have come to beg sanctuary from House Leduc. We are as beggars, bereft of home and any assets not carried with us, but we do not ask charity. You will find us able and most willing to work. We seek only the opportunity to support ourselves.”

Natchua blinked twice. “…from me?”

“It will not come as news to you, your Grace, that there are many in Tar’naris who…fall through the cracks. The formation of the Elven Confederacy has upended many norms. One is that Confederate law stipulates the right of movement within its territory for all citizens, at the insistence of the plains tribes who have joined. No longer can the Queen and the matriarchs physically restrain people from leaving. We fear there is a very short window of opportunity before entrenched powers in Tar’naris contrive a…workaround. As they did to preserve their slave trade in defiance of the treaty with Tiraas.”

“You don’t need to explain to me of all people why anyone would want to escape that hellhole, Niereth. I’m asking why you would bring this to me, personally. If you’re hoping for special treatment, I should warn you that my feelings toward Tar’naris are strongly negative.”

“On the contrary, your Grace, all of us here share that attitude. That…is why we sought you out. Your rebuke of Matriarch Ashaele at your ascension ceremony is already widely whispered throughout the city, as was your defeat of the Highguard sent to abduct you.”

“You’re welcome,” Mogul commented. Fortunately everyone ignored him.

“Hm,” Natchua grunted. “I’d have figured that of all things would be a secret.”

“Such would be my assumption as well,” Niereth said evenly. “The Qestrali are prideful, indiscreet, and unskilled at keeping secrets. The other surface elves, little better. You are known throughout Tar’naris as the city’s rebellious daughter. She who most successfully escaped its grip, and continues to defy its authority. The name Natchua is held in great contempt by the matriarchs and their circles, but very much the opposite among the poor and the powerless. It is…truly an honor even to meet you, Duchess Leduc.”

That was something, all right. Natchua blinked again, too lost in the sheer impact of that revelation to even begin sussing out how she felt about it. Jonathan shifted subtly, moving to stand closer behind her shoulder, a silent but much appreciated gesture of support.

“Lars?” she asked, more to buy time than because she really expected him to have answers.

Fortunately, Lars’s characteristic competence was in full effect. “The sponsorship of a noble House considerably streamlines the immigration process,” he explained. “Truthfully, the normal process isn’t onerous. It’s always been the Tirasian Dynasty’s policy that anyone willing to work and pay taxes is welcome in the Empire; there are even housing and food programs available in coordination with the cults to help new arrivals settle in.”

“There are?”

“That’s something you in particular would be familiar with, if it weren’t for your chronic aversion to doing anything the normal way,” he said wryly. “Yes, in fact, data collected by the Surveyor Corps indicates that immigrants are less likely to commit crimes and more likely to participate in civic functions than natural-born citizens. Perhaps because they don’t take citizenship for granted, but whatever the reason, the Throne considers them worth investing in, even if it does cause friction with locals from time to time. We could easily get these people settled in—and in fact it’s my intention to do so even if you decline to aid them.”

She turned her attention back to Niereth. “Well, there you go.”

“We do understand this,” Niereth said smoothly. “And we are of course deeply grateful for Lord Lars’s assistance and support. Your Grace… If all we needed was a place to go, there is an entire expat community in Tiraas itself which would welcome us. We are people who have only been given the opportunity to leave Tar’naris since the unexpected announcement of the Confederacy created gaps in its customary control over its citizens. All of us are wanted back there—not because anyone wants us, but because they desire to have us under their thumb. In some cases because not having us thus causes a loss of prestige, but just as often for reasons of petty spite. You know very well that a lack of legal recourse will not stop the Matriarchs from reaching out and seizing what they consider to be theirs. And…there are others. Many others. We seek not only a place to go, but a place where we can be safe, protected, and beyond Tar’naris’s grip. Where others can follow and join us, as many as can escape before the jaws clamp shut again—which you know they will, sooner than later. Veilgrad is known as the city which faces monsters and eats them. Duchess Natchua, you are known as the hand which slaps away Queen Arkasia’s grasping fingers.”

Niereth drew in a deep breath, then bowed deeply, bending herself fully double. Immediately every other drow in the room did likewise, even the children, and they all held that pose.

“Please,” Niereth whispered. “We need your help.”

“Please don’t do that,” Natchua pleaded. “Stand up. One of the best things about life in the Empire is nobody has to do that!”

“Natch,” Jonathan murmured, “a moment of privacy?”

She looked up at his intent expression, then nodded. The other drow had straightened up, but even their Narisian reserve was thin, now; she could see the fear and pleading in too many of their eyes. Especially the young ones.

“Just a moment,” Natchua said, then raised a hand. A wall of swirling shadows rose from nowhere, encircling herself and Jonathan and filling the space with a constant, soft tumult of incoherently whispering voices, concealing anything they said even from elven hearing.

Both of them turned their backs to their audience and Jonathan wasted no time in getting to the point.

“If Narisians or the Confederacy were interested in planting spies, this is exactly how they’d do it.”

“Why the hell would any of them want to spy on me?”

“There are potential strategic reasons, but considering who we’re dealing with, Niereth’s right: we can’t rule out petty spite.”

“Hm. So you think I should turn them away?”

“Very much the opposite, and not just because helping them is the unambiguously right thing to do. The Confederacy is a jumble of cultures that don’t like each other and are all various incompatible flavors of isolationist. There are a lot of areas in which no one else should dare challenge elves, but when it comes to spycraft? None of them have ever had to learn how, or even had the opportunity. The Narisians are, at best, the least incompetent. And you have two succubi and a lesser djinn on your payroll, which they do not know. If the entrenched powers in Tar’naris are going to come stalking after you, let them plant an agent. The girls will sniff them out immediately, and then you can feed Tar’naris whatever misinformation you want.”

He paused, then smirked.

“Either strategically, or out of petty spite.”

A smile blossomed slowly across her face until she had to bite her lip to control it.

“I love you.”

“You’d better,” he said, his voice slipping into that raspy near-growl which said if they’d been in private the rest of their discussion would be passionately non-verbal.

Thus, she took the luxury of a few extra seconds for them both to regain composure before dismissing the wall of whispers and turning back around.

“All right, Mogul,” she said briskly. “I hate you, you hate me. Insults, injuries, and we both think we’re right—it’s all very bardic. So if you actually came and sought me out to ask for a favor, it must actually be really important.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” he replied with a broad grin. “Well, obviously I could have, but I’ll let you have this one.”

“Mm hm. Just…go to my house and tell Hesthri. I’ll be there as soon as I can to hear you out, without keeping you waiting unnecessarily. But I am going to be fairly busy in the interim, so it’s likely to be a bit.”

“All other things being equal, I believe I can live with that,” he said, doffing his hat once. “By your Grace’s leave, then.”

Shadows swelled, receded, and he was gone.

Natchua let out a relieved breath. “I can’t stand that guy… All right, so, legalities and paperwork are not among my strong suits. Lars, I know this isn’t your job, but can I ask for your help in getting all this set up?”

“You hardly need to ask,” he replied, smiling. “I’m always up for doing some good, especially when it’s to the benefit of Veilgrad.”

“I appreciate it. All right then! Niereth, everyone else, welcome to Veilgrad. Let’s go get you settled in, and then talk about the future.”

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17 – 9

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Most of the group departed toward their own various objectives, but Ravana’s school roommates, plus Scorn and Fross, had congregated in the cathedral-sized grand entrance hall of Madouri Manor when the Duchess herself and Trissiny returned from their own after-breakfast task.

“It itches.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Ravana, I think I know what my own face feels like!”

“It feels unfamiliar,” Ravana said with amusement. “Trissiny, people of both sexes wear cosmetics on their skin all the time and don’t even notice once it’s applied. As soon as you’re engaged in a task that commands your attention, I promise you’ll forget it’s there.”

“I’m not sure that’s better,” Trissiny muttered, raising one hand halfway to her face and then lowering it. “I’m gonna absently rub my eyes and end up looking like some kind of clown…”

“Your first foray into makeup is of the highest quality, I assure you. It will withstand a modest amount of rubbing or even crying with no ill effect. Which reminds me, rejoin me after the press conference; I’ll need to provide you the requisite removal cream. I presume you wish to have the stuff off at the earliest opportunity.”

“Very much so, please and thank you.”

“I think you look nice, Trissiny!” Fross chimed as the pair strolled up to the rest of the group. “Actually… You look normal. From a distance your face just looks like it always does.”

“Well, of course,” Ravana said reasonably. “That was the objective. Using cosmetics to enhance her attractiveness would probably just cost Trissiny credibility with her core supporters.”

“What a narrow line we tread,” Trissiny said with weary resignation.

“So…I know this is a vacation and all, but it feels like a weird time to be just sitting around,” Iris said suddenly. “Ravana’s working, you paladins are out there neck-deep in it… Um, what I mean is… Can I help? Is there anything I can do?”

Trissiny regarded her in mild surprise. She didn’t know Iris very well, nor any of the girls in the year below hers more than casually, with the possible exception of Scorn.

“Is there something in particular you had in mind, Iris?”

“Iris is an excellent witch,” Scorn said, nodding emphatically. “She beat the Sleeper, that little idiot Chase. Unfortunately didn’t kill him, but there’s only so much to be done about a warlock that powerful.”

Rather than appreciation at the compliment, Iris’s expression turned bleak. “That…that wasn’t exactly…”

“At the moment,” Trissiny said carefully, “I think you’re better off asking Ravana about that than me. Much of what we’re doing is…frustratingly political. It’s not my own strong suit; if you have a knack for social maneuvering, you might be more useful than I am. If you’re talking about combat, though… Frankly I can’t imagine it won’t come to that, in the end. But there’s a great deal of more careful buildup that needs to be done first.”

“Indeed,” Ravana said, studying Iris closely. “We must position ourselves as well as possible for the inevitable confrontation before it arrives. Iris… It pains me to send any of my friends into danger, but the truth is that for such stakes and against such a foe, I suspect every spark of strength any of us can summon will be needed before the end.”

“It is the waiting,” Szith said softly. “I feel it too—as does Princess Zaruda, I have noticed, though she bears it with admirable discipline. None of us long for conflict, but it is painful to watch others risk themselves while we can do nothing.”

“Yeah…that,” Iris agreed. “It’s that, exactly. Thanks, Szith, you put it much better than I could.”

“I cannot imagine an outcome in which my humble blade will be a deciding factor,” Szith added, “but regardless, I pledge it to the cause. For such stakes… I have my commitments to my House and to Tar’naris, but I will be relieved to be able to contribute in any way which does not violate those.”

Ravana shifted her head subtly, looking silently at Trissiny.

“I understand how you feel,” Trissiny said, looking at each of them in turn, and also Maureen, who was chewing her lip and staying mute for now. “Every soldier does. Ravana is also right, ladies. We will probably all have to fight, but it’s crucial not to take the first swing when it is not yet time. We have to trust our strategists to find us the right moment. It’s never easy, but faith and patience are crucial aspects of war.”

“General Avelea.” Yancey arrived, in the way he always did: suddenly, smoothly, and with unparalleled discretion. This time it verged on the uncanny, as they were standing in the middle of an absolutely enormous open space with no cover save support pillars, the nearest of which was several yards away. “Your guests have just arrived.”

“Ah, perfect! Thank you, Yancey.”

Three more figures were approaching the group, apparently in the Butler’s wake but not having moved as swiftly as he; sometimes it seemed almost as if he teleported. Ordinarily Yancey would have shepherded guests himself, but this approach gave him the opportunity to step back and let Trissiny make the introductions.

“Thanks again for agreeing to this, Ravana. Ah, everyone else, this was Principia’s idea, not mine, for the record.”

“But a most sensible idea it was,” the Duchess said, nodding. “Since Trissiny is staying here—my hospitality aside, Madouri Manor is an excellent strategic compromise, in terms of being accessibly close to Tiraas and the Archpope’s shenanigans while being at a reasonable distance and powerfully defensible—Captain Locke is thus donating some command staff to serve as her entourage here for the duration. They’ll provide direct support to the Hand of Avei, as distinct from the network of allies assembling here, and serve as a link to the First Legion’s headquarters.”

“Which I believe is my job specifically,” said the tallest of the new arrivals as the group stepped up to them, tucking his crystal-headed staff into one elbow and politely doffing his hat.

“Yes, this is Elias McGraw,” Trissiny said, “a teleportation mage by specialty, but rather notably adept in personal combat as well. I know we have Veilwin on site, but…she’s primarily attached to Ravana, who has no shortage of her own responsibilities and a need to move rapidly around the province.”

“Also,” Iris said dryly, “she’s a little bit…Veilwin.”

“A pleasure, ladies,” McGraw said courteously. “Or several, as it were. Ah…by any chance, that wouldn’t be Veilwin Lightrider? Wood elf, likes to wear blue, usually drunk?”

“Hm,” Ravana mused. “I did not realize she had a surname.”

The old mage winced. “That bein’ the case, your Grace, I humbly beg you to deny havin’ heard it from yours truly.”

“Consider it done,” she replied with a smile. “It’s the smallest of courtesies I might afford the famous Longshot himself.”

“Lieutenant Avelea is the XO of the First Legion,” Trissiny continued, gesturing to the red-haired woman in Silver Legion armor, who saluted. “She has command of this detachment, subordinate only to myself. She’s also the First’s resident expert on Shaathists and Shaathism, which Locke thought might prove relevant to…another of Ravana’s projects. I told her,” she added to Ravana with an annoyed frown, “that you didn’t require and wouldn’t welcome oversight of your provincial business.”

“While that is true,” Ravana replied, “Locke’s instincts are again meritorious; advice is not the same as meddling, if it is solicited. Indeed, I have been more than satisfied with the work of Brother Ingvar and his followers, but they do bring with them certain…baggage. I might very well need to pick the brain of an outside perspective.”

“Please consider me at your disposal, your Grace, whenever I am not directly acting under General Avelea’s orders,” the Lieutenant said, saluting again. Then, faintly, she grimaced. “Also…please feel free to call me Ephanie.”

“Is that…standard practice for the Silver Legions?” Szith inquired, raising one eyebrow.

Ephanie’s grimace deepened for a split second before she smoothed it away. “It is not. Captain Locke has drafted certain…specific codes of conduct for our Legion, given our nature and composition. Cohesion among adventurer groups is apparently a different thing than among a conventional military unit.”

Trissiny sighed. “Principia…”

“She nearly always turns out to know what she’s doing, General,” Ephanie offered. “No matter how…uncomfortable it may be in the short term.”

“I understand,” Szith said with a deep nod. “The whims of one’s superiors, yes?”

The two soldiers shared a commiserating look while Trissiny cleared her throat and gestured to the final member of the trio. “And this—”

“You’re Tinker Billie!” Maureen burst out, unable to contain herself any longer. She had been all but quivering the entire time the others had been speaking. “You’re my hero! I mean… Augh, Arachne’s boots, I didn’t mean…would you—” She broke off, apparently too choked up to remember what she’d been in the middle of asking.

“Well, how ‘bout that!” Billie said cheerfully, the tufted tips of her ears twitching. “I don’t ‘ave many fans from among the Folk, most reckon I’m an embarrassment. Some nonsense about ‘ow advanced tech ain’t proper adventurin’ kit. Ruddy balderwash.”

“Exactly!” Maureen squeaked, nodding emphatically. “It’s amazing—I mean, it’s so satisfying, how you can jam together bits an’ bobs an’ make somethin’ new outta the old. Somethin’ that nobody’s seen before! It’s so…it’s…” She gesticulated widely, struggling for words.

Trissiny cleared her throat again, smiling. “Well, as I was saying, Billie Fallowstone here is the First’s…actually, Billie, what title did Locke end up giving you?”

“Oh, ‘ell if I remember,” the gnome said airily. “Am I the quartermaster? No, wait, that’s Spooky’s job. I’m the one what works up the unconventional weapons an’ knicknacks.”

“Maureen is an engineer at Falconer Industries,” Ravana said with a warm smile of her own. “One of their true rising talents, or so Geoffrey tells me.”

“Oh, now,” Maureen protested.

“It’s true!” said Iris. “You designed their new flagship product, didn’t you?”

“Well, that…I mean, Teal did just as—”

“Teal insists that it was your design, with which she helped,” Trissiny said innocently.

“That a fact?” Planting her fists on her hips, Billie eyes Maureen up and down. “I may just ‘ave to take you under me wing, aye? Can’t let a talent like that go ta waste cobblin’ together carriages.”

Maureen froze with her mouth hanging open, seemingly unsure whether to squeal or faint.

“Bringing Billie along was my idea,” Trissiny continued. “The truth is, Ravana, I thought the two of you might find ground for…let’s call it collaboration. You do enjoy overpowered, unconventional weapons; Billie loves building those.”

Iris cleared her throat. “No offense, Trissiny, but introducing the two of them might not have been the best idea…”

“Yeah, I know,” Trissiny agreed, grimacing. “Desperate times and all that. Let’s just say I’m hoping we all live to regret this.”

“Do they often talk like this right to yer face?” Billie asked Ravana.

“Incessantly. In truth, I don’t really mind. I am firmly of the belief that any person with as much power as I have should be regularly criticized and denied. Unchecked power tends to cause criminal insanity; I have seen that all too personally.”

“Oh, aye?” The gnome studied the Duchess with a growing smile. “Well, blow me down. That might make you the least ‘orrible aristocrat I’ve ever met.”

“Perhaps you should wait and observe a bit before committing to that determination,” Ravana replied with a coy smile. “In point of fact, I find myself contemplating more than a general meeting of the minds. My House engineers and enchanters are working on an apparatus at my direction which I need finished posthaste, and they seem to rather resent what they call the inherent impracticality of it. I wonder, if you are amenable, if the insight of a noted expert with a less conservative mindset might prove efficacious.”

Billie’s ears physically perked up. “Do tell?!”

“Yancey,” Ravana said smoothly, “would you kindly show Ms. Fallowstone to the project site under the south terrace once she and her companions have settled into their rooms?”

“Ah, forget settlin’ in,” Billie said, waving a hand impatiently, “a bed’s a bed; ye can’t taunt me with a project an’ then leave me hangin’!”

“Best not to challenge her on this,” Ephanie said with a faint smile. “I’ll get our gear stowed away, don’t worry.” McGraw chuckled, shaking his head.

“Splendid!” said Ravana, beaming. “Maureen, I know you are on holiday, but perhaps you would consent to join her?”

“Oh! Oh, but I’d… I’m afraid I’d just be in the way…”

“To be clear,” the Duchess said, meeting Maureen’s gaze with a more serious expression, “I absolutely will humor you for the sake of friendship, but only up to a point. Considering what is at stake, and our unknown but obviously tight timetable, that I’m asking you to lend your eye to the project is strictly because I deem your input valuable.”

“Don’t sell yerself short, lass,” Billie said, winking at Maureen. “Consider that yer first official lesson from the great Tinker Billie.”

“Ravana,” Trissiny cut in warily, “how much of a runaround will you give me if I ask what exactly you’re cooking up this time?”

“It can hardly be kept a secret when I am sending your subordinates and my friends to have a look at it, Trissiny. Justinian has several terrifying new toys; I have commissioned a little something to counter them. More than that, I think I will leave to Ms. Fallowstone to describe to you when next she reports in. Truthfully I’m certain she can do it better; I lack the expertise even to follow along the efforts of my own people already on site. Who,” she added directly to Billie, “can likewise explain the intended function of the device better than I.”

“Say, would you mind if I went along to have a look at this?” Fross chimed. “I’m an arcanist, not an engineer, but I’m curious. And it’s pretty hard for me to get in the way!”

“Actually, Fross, arcane expertise may be precisely what is called for. Knowing your talents as I do, I would be extremely grateful if you would lend your practiced eye.”

“I’m gettin’ more intrigued with this by the word,” Billie said, grinning and cracking her knuckles.

“Yes, let us not dally,” Ravana said more briskly. “We have each our tasks for the day. Trissiny, Teal and Shaeine should be outside soon, if they are not already, with a carriage to take you to the press conference. I would of course have provided you a House driver, but…”

“But she insisted?” Trissiny guessed, grinning. “Teal takes exception to anyone else driving her friends around, and where she goes, Shaeine goes. Actually that suits me fine; if I have to talk to reporters I’ll be happier with some friendly faces in the crowd.”

“Iris and I would be glad to show you to the suite of rooms we are using, Lieutenant—that is, Ephanie,” Szith said, bowing toward the Legionnaire. “Since Yancey will be occupied showing the magical and mechanical talents among us to their new toys. It is adjacent to the suite General Avelea and her party have occupied.”

“Thank you kindly, miss…”

“Ah, please forgive me. I am Szith nar Szarain dal An’sadarr.”

“Iris Domingue, pleased to meet you!”

“The pleasure is mine,” Ephanie said dutifully, nodding to each of them; her eyes lingered on the saber hanging from Szith’s belt for a second. “An’sadarr? Perhaps you’d be willing to indulge me in a bit of sparring, when we have downtime? I’ve never had the opportunity to study Narisian fencing in person.”

“I would be delighted,” Szith replied with one of her rare little smiles.

“Yancey, before you go,” Ravana said, “where is Veilwin? I instructed her to meet me here.”

“Yes, my Lady,” the Butler said, managing to convey disapproval of the Court Mage’s intransigence without making an unseemly display himself. “I am uncertain what Veilwin intended that was taking her away from the Manor on a morning when she knew her services would be called for, but Princess Zaruda very adroitly engaged her in a drinking contest in the blue rose solarium. I believe they are still there.”

Trissiny whistled softly. “A drinking contest? With Ruda? That elf is in for a humbling.”

Ravana closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Thank you, Yancey. Hopefully Veilwin is carrying vials of sobriety potion as usual.”

“She customarily does, my Lady. I have also taken the liberty of keeping at least one on my person, and discreet but accessible stocks of them in all the rooms she habitually frequents.”

“Yancey, you are a treasure. Concerning my afternoon appointment at the Grand Cathedral—I trust preparations are underway as I instructed?”

“Barnes reports he will be finished within the hour, my Lady. He had the expected reservations about the idea, but claimed it was not fundamentally difficult. All should be in readiness well in advance of our departure time.”

“Barnes is your witch,” Iris accused, staring at Ravana through narrow eyes. “What exactly are you conjuring up this time?”

“It was not a slight at your skills, Iris, I assure you. I do pay Barnes’s salary, however; there is little point if I don’t put him to work now and then.”

Iris’s eyes narrowed further. “And?”

“And if I told you what I planned, you would not only refuse to help, but try to stop me. Much as I am gratified by your concern, I simply do not have time.”

“And there it is!” Iris exclaimed, throwing up her hands.

“There it is,” Ravana agreed. “And now I had best corral my mage before she contrives to make today’s work even more difficult than necessary. Everyone, I wish you the best of luck on your respective tasks.”

“This way, if you please,” Yancey said with a diffident bow to Billie, who sauntered off after him with Maureen in tow and Fross fluttering along overhead. Szith, flanked by Iris and Ephanie, headed away on a different course, the three of them conversing softly. Trissiny and Ravana strode off alone in opposite directions, the paladin toward the great hall’s front doors, the Duchess toward a side hallway.

Which left two figures standing alone together in the cavernous space.

“I’m Scorn,” she said with a grin, extending a huge clawed hand.

“Elias.” McGraw stepped forward and reached out to clasp her hand. “Now, I might be mistaken—it wouldn’t be the first time—but would you happen to be a Rhaazke, miss?”

“Hah, good job! Not many people on this plane recognize that.”

“Well, they don’t let you be a wizard unless you’ve read a whole heap o’ books. Gotta say, ma’am, this is a privilege I never expected to have.”

“I have read about you, too, Longshot McGraw. I wonder how many of the stories are exaggerated?”

“My educated guess is all of ‘em,” he replied, grinning. “Least I hope so; I did my best to ensure it. Well, what a very impressive pair we are.”

“Indeed, yes, the most impressive forgotten leftovers in the whole place.”

“Well, the nice thing about bein’ left at loose ends is you get to pick your own assignment, so to speak.”

“Yes! The paladin does not need help and you had probably better let your soldier friend give out bed assignments after she has finished having girl time.”

“The LT ain’t the flighty sort,” he said gravely, “but y’don’t get to be my age without recognizin’ an interaction that oughtn’t be intruded on, it’s true.”

“So we have two options! Would you like to follow Ravana on her administrative business across the province, or watch two mad gnomes and a pixie mess with a half-built super-weapon that only probably won’t blow us all up?”

He made a show of stroking his beard. “Thaaaat’s a thinker, all right.”

“One comes with a side of watching Veilwin get yelled at for being an obnoxious pantload,” Scorn smirked.

“…you reckon there’s any way to do that without her knowin’ an’ rememberin’ that I saw it?”

“That is tricky, with those ears.”

“True, true. Welp! How’s about we go get blown up? It may not be quicker an’ definitely won’t be cleaner, but it’ll sure as hell be less annoyin’.”

“You.” Scorn grinned. “I like you.”

McGraw tipped his hat. “Feels a mite presumptuous to declare likewise of a young lady I just met, so let me just say that beats the hell outta the alternative.”

“Yes, it does. Come, let us go supervise! When they get drunk on tinkering fever, and they will, you grab your gnome and I’ll grab mine.”

“It’s a plan.”

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                   Next Chapter >

17 – 8

< Previous Chapter                                                                                               Next Chapter >

Trissiny was the last to arrive at breakfast—dressed casually without her armor, yawning, and with her regulation braid emitting a few uncontrolled blonde wisps.

“You look like hell, Shiny Boots,” Ruda stated.

“And good morning to you too, my dear friend and comrade Zaruda. I trust you slept well?”

“I slept at all, which is clearly not true of everybody here.”

“I got a solid four hours,” Trissiny said, interrupted by another yawn. “I just need a—oh, bless you, Yancey.”

“General,” the Butler said diffidently, sliding around her chair as smoothly as a martial artist, now that he had set a cup of strong black tea in front of her. He had only just arrived in the room seconds ago.

“Triss, I feel a nag coming on,” Toby warned.

“You see what you’ve done?” Raolo said reproachfully. “You’re making him nag. At breakfast!”

“Oh, climb down out of my hair, all of you,” she grumbled. “I will catch a nap when I can, later.”

“If you don’t get your rest, you can’t be at your best,” Toby said severely.

“It’s not like I went out dancing! We’re at war, I was working on strategy. As I hope all of you were as well.”

“Yes, but we managed to get at least six hours in,” Gabriel said. “C’mon, Triss, you gotta learn to sleep faster.”

“…what does that even mean?”

“Young lady, I expect you to take a nap at the earliest opportunity,” Toby instructed. “I will not hesitate to make a disappointed face at you.”

“You wouldn’t! Not the face!”

“Full puppy eyes, you see if I don’t.”

“Shaeine, make him stop!” Trissiny pleaded.

“Alas, there are forces in this world with which I cannot contend,” Shaeine intoned. “I dare not risk being grazed by the face, even indirectly.”

“Last time we had to go to a week of sunrise services to feel normal again,” Teal said gravely, “and that was just from a glancing hit. We’re not even Omnist!”

“Miss Juniper, this arrived for you,” Yancey said softly, presenting a cream-colored envelope sealed with old-fashioned wax.

“Oh! Um, thank you.” Nonplussed, the dryad accepted the letter and pushed aside her plate, flipping it open.

“I am sure Trissiny needn’t be lectured on the importance of sleep,” Ravana said smoothly from her customary position at the head of the table. “Soldiers of all people know how crucial it is to rest when they can, and work when they must. As she was not with us for last night’s strategy session, this gathering is the first opportunity for her to be brought up to speed.”

“Exactly,” Trissiny said with more emphasis, seemingly somewhat invigorated by her first few sips of tea. “See, Ravana gets me. I want you all to think about that, my so-called friends.”

“I am so glad I can serve as the designated villain in any situation,” Ravana said with a pleasant smile.

“Yeah,” Ruda snorted, “that’s a real mean thing everybody does at your expense which has nothing at all to do with the archetypal villain shit you’re constantly doing on purpose.”

“All right, all right,” Gabriel said soothingly, “picking on our hostess is always fun and all, but she’s got a point. Sooner we bring Trissiny up to speed, the sooner she can go back to bed until it’s time for her press conference or Justinian pulls some fresh carnage out of his hat.”

“Does the Archpope wear a hat?” Fross chimed. “Yes, yes, I recognize the colloquialism, it just prompted me to wonder.”

“There is a hat,” said Toby, “a sort of crown with a turban attached, but it’s…well, it’s the most amazingly pompous looking thing. Only about half of the Archpopes have actually worn it. Justinian never has, he likes to present himself as down-to-earth.”

“A real man of the people, when he’s not unleashing zombie dragons on them,” Teal muttered.

“You see what I mean,” Scorn said pointedly to Ravana.

“Indeed, the banter,” the Duchess murmured. “There’s a streak of Vesker in all of them. Ahem! As I was saying, we do have actual business to discuss.”

“Yes, marching orders for our press reveals,” said Trissiny. “What’d we decide?”

“Natchua is going to take point in leveling accusations of Justinian’s culpability in everything that’s happened to Veilgrad,” said Toby, his tone now all business. “Not that she’ll be exclusively on that—the whole Belosiphon thing is at the bottom of a lot of what we can lay at his feet, and needs to be spelled out first. But Natchua’s a big deal in Veilgrad now, bizarre as that twist of fate is; her word carries a lot of weight there and it’ll look very natural and logical for her to be mad about that in particular.”

“Yeah, she’s in good with the reporters out there, too,” Gabriel added, with the slightly quizzical frown he often wore when discussing Natchua. “And from what I hear, she’s got a knack for working a crowd. I’m reasonably confident that by the time she gets done, Veilgrad and most of that entire province will be firmly our territory. Both in terms of the public siding with us, and the two Duchesses out there viciously rooting out any agents or assets Justinian still has in the region.”

“I wish I could be so confident about Tiraan Province,” Ravana murmured. “I am popular here, and my network of influence has served me well, but Justinian has been working the same angles since before I took power. His own base of power is in Tiraas itself; Madouris and its surroundings will be a fight. One I do not expect or intend to lose, but one I also do not expect to be easy.”

“So, we need you to take point, Triss,” Gabriel said seriously. “Establishing that Justinian has the skull of Belosiphon is the necessary background for explaining where those necro-drakes come from. The three of us saw his forces seize it in person, but you also have those recruits in your Golden Legion who provided the firsthand accounts of his maneuvers at that time.”

“I’m up first, then,” she said grimly, tossing back the rest of her tea. “Well, good. Always better when you can get the worst part of the day over with first.”

“Public speaking not getting any easier?” Teal asked sympathetically. “Hang in there, Triss, you’d be amazed what you can learn to like with enough practice.”

“I will provide you the necessary cosmetics to conceal those circles around your eyes,” said Ravana with a sly smile, “as well as the proper instruction in their use. By a great stroke of fortune your complexion is close to identical to mine; my own personal supply should suffice.”

“Makeup?” Trissiny recoiled physically, her lip curling up in revulsion. “Ravana, I realize I haven’t spelled this out in so many words, but I’m not like Laressa; Avei didn’t call me ironically. I actually am an Avenist.”

“And this is war,” Ravana retorted. “A war of words and perception. You cannot appear before a crowd of reporters and spectators looking so haggard; we must all project strength. The options are makeup, or the necessary fae magic or alchemy to actually suppress fatigue and all its symptoms. I have practitioners on my payroll who can provide both, but such measures will interfere with your body’s ability to actually rest, and thus should only be used in an emergency. Are your aesthetic sensibilities an emergency, Trissiny?”

The Hand of Avei slumped down in her chair in a most un-military posture, scowling. “Ugh. The things I do for my goddess.”

“Face paint bothers you more than all the killing?” Scorn inquired. “Religions here are so fascinating.”

Toby cleared his throat, shooting an annoyed sidelong glance at Raolo, who was trying (but not very hard) to suppress a laughing fit. “Anyway. The other big matter that we need to pin on Justinian is Ninkabi. That one is less certain… Even with the additional perspective from Trissiny’s recruits and the Thieves’ Guild, the evidence that he was behind the hellgates remains circumstantial. It is overwhelming and compelling as circumstantial evidence can get, but…still.”

“Hence the order of attack,” Teal added, nodding. “Trissiny has to present the testimony of Khadizroth as the key acquisition which busts the whole case wide open, so to speak. Once that’s established, we’ll continue to build the story based on it. What we’re doing is crafting a narrative; things have to be set up before they can be paid off. That’s why I recommend taking today to get the Belosiphon matter out there, make it the subject of discussion.”

“Indeed,” Ravana agreed. “And once it is firmly ensconced in the public’s minds, we proceed to extruding our additional accusations out from it. First Veilgrad, and then Ninkabi, as the events proceeded themselves.”

“Is that really all we’ve got on him?” Ruda demanded, scowling. “Just off the fuckin’ top of my head, what about the Rust? They didn’t just come outta nowhere.”

“We talked about that,” Toby said, not looking much happier. “It’s…it’s really tenuous, Ruda. For what it’s worth, I think that’s super suspicious—we know Justinian has been into Infinite Order facilities and that suggests he may have had something to do with opening Fabrication Plant One and all that followed… But that’s still only suggestive and seems at least as likely to have been coincidence. Nothing the Rust were doing was related to anything happening anywhere else until the Fourth Legion spooked them into attacking preemptively. It was a Punaji internal matter that unfolded very predictably according to the politics of Puna Dara. The only outside actors we can confirm were Principia’s squad and that spooky lady with the curse who we’re all sure was Imperial even if she never actually admitted it.”

“In the course of normal politics,” Ravana said seriously, “laying the blame for all sorts of unrelated tragedies upon one’s foes is a time-honored tactic, but I feel it would be a mistake to employ that gambit against Justinian. He is an adept manipulator of rumor and public opinion; if we engage him as equals on that front, I do not believe we will win. The backing of confirmed facts is our secret weapon, and one we ought not lightly abandon.”

“So we don’t have anything else, then?” Trissiny asked, frowning as hard as Ruda. “No indication he was behind… I don’t know, Sarasio? That rogue Hand’s raid on the University? Lor’naris?”

“No, no, and probably not,” Gabriel replied.

“Probably?”

“I reached out to Bishop Darling via messenger,” Ravana explained. “We are not acquainted in person, but he is an ally and I am on good terms with the Madouris chapter of the Guild; he was refreshingly forthcoming concerning our shared interests. Indeed, there are unresolved questions surrounding the Lor’naris affair, but nothing that is more than merely suggestive. Someone attempted to escalate tensions into violence by distributing firearms to the citizens of that district at the height of the trouble—an attempt which was thwarted, as I’m sure you recall, by the citizens themselves, by collecting said firearms and turning them over to the police, along with the most detailed descriptions they could furnish of the troublemakers in question. It is suggestive that no one since seems to have found any leads on said troublemakers—not the Guild or the Empire, which is…telling. Unfortunately, that gives us nothing from which to spin a story. The Church would have resources to do such a thing, but…why would they? It doesn’t seem to contribute to Justinian’s aims, apart from what Mr. Darling described as a general pattern he has of trying to cause maximum disturbance.”

“Khadizroth and Vannae talked about that, too,” Trissiny mused, sipping her second cup of tea. “Justinian’s habit of only killing off his own agents, while trying to keep as many of his opponents alive and active as possible. If I hadn’t heard that same account from multiple observers I wouldn’t believe it. It’s crazy. That is the opposite of what anyone running any kind of campaign should do.”

“Yeah, don’t need to be the paladin of the war goddess to see that,” Ruda agreed. “It’s basic common sense.”

“And a reminder we fundamentally have no idea what the hell Justinian is trying to accomplish with all this,” Gabriel added.

“It comes down to what kind of god he wants to be, right?” Juniper said suddenly.

Silence fell over the room as everyone turned to stare at her.

“Sorry, maybe that’s getting a little ahead,” the dryad continued apologetically. “I know we haven’t talked about it in so many words, but… He’s almost certainly going for godhood, right? He’s been messing with the Elder God machines that make gods and schools of magic, he’s wrangled some kind of control over the Pantheon…it all points to godhood. Right?”

“Interesting,” Ravana mused, “and…logical. Go on?”

“Right, so, remember what Elilial said at her surrender? Not that she’s exactly trustworthy, but Vesk was right there and didn’t contradict her. Gods have aspects; the way to destroy a god is to separate them from their aspect. Or, well, it’s the first step anyway, there’s no way it’s that simple. So if Justinian’s goal is his own, you know, bespoke apotheosis, and he’s been mucking around with the Elder God machinery enough to have an idea how it works, he’d definitely want to have a custom aspect. Something he’s the god of. What if he’s just trying to become the god of conflict? That would explain wanting to have everybody fighting him.”

The silence continued, marked by pensive expressions as the rest of them digested this.

“I don’t believe so,” Shaeine said finally. “Not that your insight is wrong, Juniper—in fact, I think you have hit upon the core of it. It was that aspect in particular I meant. Someone like Justinian, a maker of intricate plans, would choose an aspect on the basis of its power and security, rather than his own personality.”

“How do you mean?” Gabriel asked. “You kind of have to know what the man’s been up to for ‘conflict’ to be the word that comes to mind. He sort of radiates peace and calm in person.”

“It is as Juniper said,” Shaeine answered, “a god’s aspect and the vulnerability thereof is the key to said god’s undoing. It seems to me that there are two factors that determine a deity’s safety from such attacks. One is that the aspect itself is simply not subject to attack. For example, take the nature gods: Naiya, Naphthene, Ouvis. How would you even begin to turn their concepts against them, or induce them to act contrary to their aspects? The other, of course, is multiplicity. For further example, Izara could be made vulnerable to attack if she were made to act cruelly…or Themynra were she induced to act rashly. But to attempt the same against Avei, one would have to coerce or manipulate her into being simultaneously unjust, misogynistic, and pacifist. A circumstantially impossible task.”

“I see what you mean, love,” Teal said, nodding slowly. “Conflict… No, that’s way too easy. Too vulnerable. People are prone to conflict, but also to reconciliation, peace, and cooperation. It all depends on the individuals and the circumstances. A god with conflict as his aspect…”

“I think you’re all forgetting that there literally was one of those,” Trissiny pointed out. “Sorash was god of conquest and bloodshed, and that lasted until he got on Tellwyrn’s bad side. I think Juniper’s right about apotheosis being related to Justinian’s fundamental goal, but Shaeine is also right.” She leaned back in her chair and frowned through the steam rising from her teacup. “Hm. Ambition? Subterfuge? I can’t think of any aspect that would come from keeping everybody primed to fight him that doesn’t leave him with the same vulnerability.”

“A timely reminder that, whatever insight we gain, we are still missing too much fundamental information to truly understand our opponent’s aim,” Ravana said.

“I don’t…know,” Toby said, absently squeezing Raolo’s hand on the table. “Remember Vesk’s whole quest? The entire point of it was that… He said Justinian could very easily be the protagonist of this tale, if it was looked at from his perspective. Vesk wanted to to make us…counter-protagonists, so to speak, so he wouldn’t be locked into supporting Justinian by his own aspect. I don’t think the man is trying to do something fundamentally selfish. Whatever his goal, he’s doing what he earnestly believes is right. Something that makes all the horrible things he’s done…if not justified, then at least necessary.”

“Okay, sure, but that’s everybody,” Ruda said impatiently. “Everyone thinks they’re the protagonist of their own story.”

“Not in the Vesker sense,” Teal said, shaking her head. “Everyone thinks they’re justified in whatever they’re doing, on some level. But whatever most people are up to lacks… Let’s call it narrative weight. There’s a significance, a moral or at least philosophical importance that would be necessary for Vesk to think his own actions could be constrained by it.”

“We need more intel,” Trissiny said.

Yancey glided back into the room with his usual preternatural timing. While none of them had even noticed the Butler’s earlier departure, he entered at the perfect lull in the conversation to make himself apparent without being disruptive, proceeding directly to his mistress’s side with a folded piece of paper in hand.

“Your pardon, my Lady. A message has just arrived for you, from Archpope Justinian.”

This time, the silence was sudden and harsh, everyone turning to Ravana with eyes either wide or narrowed to slits as she accepted and unfolded the page.

“The messenger, a Holy Legionary, insisted upon delivering it to your Ladyship in person,” Yancey continued, straightening to his full height and folding his arms behind his back. “I expressed, with appropriate emphasis but all due consideration for the sanctity of a messenger’s person and the dignity of House Madouri, that the Universal Church insists upon nothing in this household. Eventually he relented, and departed.”

“Perfectly handled, Yancey, as always,” Ravana said, lowering the letter. “Well. His Holiness is hosting a gathering of, it seems, all the most powerful nobles who are able to travel to the Grand Cathedral by this afternoon. The big names from Tiraas, Madouris, and Anteraas, in essence.”

“This should go without saying, but you all know me and saying stuff,” Gabriel said. “This is a trap.”

“Well, yes,” Ravana agreed. “Clearly. The Archpope has never shown the slightest interest in the favor of the nobility—indeed, few of his predecessors have, and none since Sipasian’s antics helped launch the Enchanter Wars. I believe I am not flattering myself unduly when I suggest that my recent actions pertaining to Justinian have commanded a measure of his attention. He does not wish to be seen to acknowledge me directly, that would only lend public credence to my accusations, but very much desires to…feel me out, as it were. My noble peers will make an excellent smokescreen.”

“Hey, y’know what’d be the perfect petty revenge?” Ruda suggested brightly. “Don’t show up. Leave him stuck entertaining a bunch of hoity-toities for a few hours with nothing to show for it.”

“Now, now, Zaruda,” Ravana chided with a sly smile, “if one is to indulge in revenge, it ought never be merely petty. Don’t the Eserites have a doctrine about that, Trissiny?”

“The Eserite doctrine about taking revenge is in the vast majority of cases do not,” Trissiny shot back.

“Lemme just be racially appropriate and play demon’s advocate,” Gabriel interjected, raising a hand. “Can we afford not to take the opportunity? The three of us have had one in-person meeting with Justinian—”

“I don’t recall that having been a smashing success,” Toby said pointedly.

“Sure, not if you define ‘success’ as accomplishing anything we were trying to. But we did gain a lot of valuable insight from it. And we don’t know nearly enough about the man or what the hell he is actually trying to do. We were just discussing that.”

“I am of a mind with Gabriel on this subject,” Ravana said placidly.

“Of course you are,” Iris said in disgust. Throughout the meal, Ravana’s University roommates had been sitting in wide-eyed silence, following the discussion without interjecting, but it seemed this was a bridge too far. “Ravana, you have got to stop Ravanaing everything! The man is going to kill you!”

“Yes, that must be taken into account,” Ravana said thoughtfully.

“Well, at least she’s taking her obvious incipient murder into account,” Ruda snorted.

“To be clear,” Ravana said, “I do not believe that is what he will do. My own involvement in this affair is quite new, and it would be much more in Justinian’s character to carefully investigate a new factor than to lash out against it in blind fury. The presence of other nobility is…an assurance of safety, if an oblique one. If the Archpope attacked an aristocrat in any way, the rest of the Houses—all of them—will instantly turn on him. He will not risk that.”

“Who wants to tell her?” Trissiny demanded of the room at large. “If I do it, it’s gonna come out rude.”

“As we were just discussing,” Toby said far more gently, “turning everyone against himself seems to be a cornerstone of Justinian’s entire plan. Ravana, this is an opportunity for him to accomplish that while decisively putting a stop to your meddling in his business. Please don’t hand him a double victory!”

“Also,” Fross added, “if you get murdered, we’ll miss you.”

“Some of us will miss her,” Ruda corrected.

“Oh, don’t be a prig,” Gabriel scoffed. “We’d all miss her. Let’s face it, Ravana isn’t any more weird or difficult than anyone else at this table. We do like her, annoying habits and all.”

“I could very nearly take offense at that,” Maureen muttered into her teacup. Szith shot her a sidelong look of silent sympathy.

“You’re going to make me blush,” Ravana said serenely.

“Forgive me, Toby, but I must disagree.” Shaeine’s voice was smooth and even as always, serving to dampen the rising agitation around the table. “While it is a noted tendency of Justinian to deliberately keep his established antagonists active and in play, he has not indiscriminately antagonized the world at large. Indeed, much of his subterfuge—including notably this gambit with Angelus Knights and necro-drakes—has been aimed at creating mystery and confusion, to prevent universal opposition to him from rising up. Whatever his power, it is unlikely he can withstand a united attack from every or even most of the powerful factions arrayed throughout the Empire.”

“Precisely,” Ravana said, lifting her teacup toward Shaeine in acknowledgment. “What it comes down to is this: the risk should be taken if it can be managed. Obviously I will bring Yancey and the customary honor guard to the event. I am uncertain, however, that a Butler and two soldiers will suffice for my protection should our assessment prove incorrect and the Archpope attempt physical harm.”

“Just the Butler, practically speaking,” Ruda pointed out. “I know how noble parties go, to my eternal fuckin’ annoyance. You can’t just take your bodyguards with you to circulate amongst your peers.”

“And I was not invited to bring a plus one,” Ravana continued, “but it would be surprising if one were turned away, should I do so regardless. In fact, that will serve as a perfect litmus test: if the Church refuses to allow me the company of another protector, I will take that as a sign the risk is too great and immediately leave.”

“Okay, but that leaves the question of who else is going to risk whatever surprises he might spring,” Teal said. “I know a lot of us are pretty heavy-hitters, but… The way the trio described him manhandling three paladins? I’m not sure Vadrieny could do that.”

“Can I come?”

Everyone turned to stare at Juniper again. She shrugged, lifting her own recently-opened letter.

“I got an invitation too, from Glory, so… I’ll be going to Tiraas anyway. That’s perfect, Ravana, you can come with me after the Chruch thing; I bet you and Glory would hit it off.”

“Goddess preserve me, they really would,” Trissiny muttered.

“It’s like the old joke,” Juniper continued. “Where does a dryad sleep?” She smiled around the table at the various confounded expressions aimed at her. “Everyone there will either want to take me to bed or be afraid of what I might do if provoked. Or both. I’ll just smile real big, jiggle my boobs a bit and mention how odd it is that humans taste so much like pig. Nobody will try to stop me from doing whatever I want. And not even Justinian wants to risk my mother having a temper tantrum in the middle of Tiraas.”

“June, you don’t have Naiya’s protection!” Toby exclaimed.

“Sure, I know that,” she shrugged. “He doesn’t.”

“I do believe,” Ravana said slowly, “that is…perfect. Indeed, Juniper, I shall be absolutely delighted to have your company—as will all my peers, I am certain. I’m afraid I must decline your very kind offer in return, however; I fear I shall not be able to join you in visiting Ms. Sharvineh. I never dared hope that Justinian would place me under his authority, before an audience of my fellow nobility. I know precisely how to capitalize on this. With the assurance of Juniper’s protection, it becomes an opportunity I simply cannot afford to miss.”

Gabriel sighed heavily and slumped down in his chair. “I knew it. You’re gonna Ravana this, aren’t you.”

The Duchess smiled a vulpine smile and demurely sipped her tea. “I am going to Ravana this harder than I ever have yet.”

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17 – 7

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“Sir, please. This is a place of peace.”

“And there’s no reason it can’t remain such,” Colonel Ravoud said in the tone of stern and implacable calm he had perfected during his years in the city’s military police. Then as now, it helped to be backed up by a squad of soldiers—even if the Holy Legionaries in their elaborate armor and polearms were obviously more ceremonial than combat-ready. “The investigation we require should be minimally disruptive. At this season, surely even your gardens don’t demand much attention.”

“Excuse me, but with the greatest respect, friend, you ‘require’ nothing here,” replied the monk. He, too, had the knack of projecting implacable calm—weighted more toward the “calm” part in his case, but he remained planted in the gateway to his temple grounds like a living barricade. “This is a house of Omnu. You have neither legal nor religious authority to impose your presence.”

“Are Omnu’s temples not open to all comers?”

“All who come in need,” the monk replied, his serenity backed up by his own support: three more robed monks stood behind him, hands folded and faces impassive. Four Omnist monks were enough to deter most interlopers who didn’t come carrying lightning wands. “Should you find yourself hungry or homeless, you may find refuge here. As you come in force with clearly hostile intent, you are denied entry.”

“You may be assured that the Universal Church means no harm to Omnu’s faithful, or anyone. The Archpope simply requires—”

“Nothing,” the monk interrupted, smiling beatifically. He was almost as good at that as Justinian himself. “As you have been told.”

“These are dangerous times, friend, and what we do is for the benefit of all. That is the Church’s historic role.”

“Perhaps you have not heard,” the monk rejoined, still unruffled. “Omnu’s faithful do not acknowledge the authority of the current Universal Church, thanks to the actions of your Archpope, and will not until he steps down from his role. You are not coming in, and I am content to stand here until the military police arrive to express the Emperor’s opinion of Justinian attempting to throw around brute force in Tiraas.”

“The brute force his Holiness is capable of ‘throwing around,’ as you call it, is not represented by me,” Ravoud said, deliberately keeping his own voice low and calm. “This is a conciliatory offer, brother monk. Everyone would prefer to keep this discussion perfectly civil.”

“So! Tell me, apprentice, what our boy here has done correctly.”

At the voice which rung out across the street, all four monks shifted their focus, as did most of the armored Holy Legionaries and the steadily increasing crowd of onlookers. Nassir Ravoud instinctively went rigid. He knew that voice. Slowly, he turned, one hand drifting toward his sidearm.

On the other side of the street stood two women, surrounded by a wide berth of space despite the general press of onlookers; the effect was like a school of fish parting around a shark. One was a half-elf: slim, blonde, ears subtly pointed but shorter than a true elf’s and with that distinctively ageless face of someone who might be between twenty and two hundred. She was idly rolling a doubloon across the backs of her fingers.

“He’s applying pressure to a weak point,” said the other woman with her, who looked barely twenty if that. Both of them had pitched their voices loud enough that it was obvious they were making a deliberate show for the whole street despite the pantomime of conversing with each other. “Justinian wants to lean on the paladins, but they’d kick the ass of anyone he sent at them, so he’s threatening their families. But Arquin’s family all live in Veilgrad with that scary warlock girl, and Avelea was raised by the Sisterhood…’nuff said, there. So he’s reduced to harassing the temple where Caine grew up.”

“Precisely! That’s my girl,” Grip said, grinning with approval. “Soldier boy there shows a solid grasp of enforcer strategy. He might’ve done well in the Guild.”

Ravoud bristled so hard he failed even to notice the monks behind him quietly pushing the temple’s iron gates shut.

“Tell me, then, what he is doing wrong.”

“He’s…making a fool of himself, strutting around like that,” Jenell said with a bit less confidence, studying Ravoud and his Legionaries more pensively. “A show of force that has no force behind it is pointless. Unless he demonstrated some actual capacity for violence, all he can do is stand out here making noise until the police arrive.”

“Incorrect,” Grip snapped, causing her apprentice to wince. “You never directly or overtly threaten the weak or the innocent, apprentice. That’s a crime, and more importantly it is immoral—according to both conventional and Eserite ethics. Further, it’s bad technique; behavior like that rouses anger and tends to provoke retaliation, both from your intended target any any bystanders who happen to see you at it. Don’t ever let me catch you menacing bystanders, girl.”

Jenell ducked her head, grimacing.

“No, on the contrary,” Grip continued, staring directly at Ravoud now, “that part of his performance is spot on. It’s precisely how enforcers lean on someone: find a perfectly innocuous excuse to show up at other places in your target’s life, places they should feel safe, and scrupulously mind your manners. It’s a gentle reminder: ‘I know where you live, and who else lives there.’ Nah, the boy’s got talent. He really could’ve made it in the Guild, with some proper training.”

Ravoud forcefully marshaled his restraint. He had not been personally threatened by Grip during the Guild’s campaign of pressure against his old barracks over the Lor’naris matter, but she’d gone after several of his men, and he had caught the tail end of several of her appearances. For the sake of his squad’s morale, he now maintained his outward composure, but couldn’t help the sinking feeling that grew ever stronger as he failed to come up with a way to turn this back around. With a few sentences she’d turned his entire mission back on him, and now? Attacking Guild enforcers directly—even verbally—was a terrible idea, and if he retreated from her it would undercut his whole purpose here. It was not in Ravoud’s nature to retreat from opposition, especially when his Holiness was counting on him, but he had the terrible feeling he had lost this one as soon as this bitch had shown up.

“His failure is twofold,” Grip lectured. Despite still ostensibly instructing her apprentice, she continued to stare right at Ravoud with an unsettling little grin, and now actually stepped forward into the street, ambling toward him at a deceptively aimless pace. He held one hand to the side, quelling the forward movement a few of his men started to shift with their halberds. “First, on the moral level: however indirectly, bullying the weak is a bad look. When we Eserites employ that tactic, it is strictly against an enemy whose comeuppance is an urgent moral necessity. And sure, maybe Justinian and his camp see the paladins that way. But all they’ve been doing is rushing around protecting the innocent from monsters, while pointing the finger at him as the reason they had to. Any Eserite would know better than to lash out in a predicament like this. Poor form. Just for starters, counting on a crowd of random onlookers to spread the rumor and spook the intended targets is a bad idea, when you consider that Tobias Caine and Gabriel Arquin grew up in this neighborhood.”

He carefully did not look around, but even from peripheral vision he could see expressions darkening, posture shifting toward the aggressive. None of these civilians were likely to try anything aggressive with his soldiers, but… Damn it all, he’d been coasting on shock and ambiguity to sow confusion and defray any hostility, and then she had to spell it all out at the top of her voice.

“Second,” Grip continued far too loudly and with increasingly open relish, having now sauntered nearly into halberd range, “and far worse, he is revealing weakness. You were dangerously off target, apprentice, but your first thought wasn’t without merit. It’s not that this little gaggle of gussied-up cadets is functionally helpless—though they are—but that attempting to pick on the weakest link in the paladins’ network of contacts is pathetic. And when your gaggle of trussed-up cadets is functionally helpless, it is a bad idea to piss off a crowd while broadcasting that your patron is both a bullying asshole and lacks the muscle to back you up.”

Ravoud drew his wand, the motion deliberate and controlled; the muttering that had begun to rise from the onlookers during her speech quieted noticeably, and people began drifting back. Most of them. A few, looking particularly angry, actually started shuffling forward. There were always a few.

“You’re careful enough not to bust out an overt threat, but not enough that I can’t press you for incitement, Quintessa.”

She grinned, taking the last step until she was close enough to reach out and snatch for his wand. Which she didn’t.

“You’re not pressing for jack shit, Nassir. The Army kicked your ass out, remember? Go right ahead and complain to the Imperials. I’m sure they’re feeling real sympathetic to the Archpope’s lackeys right now.”

“It’s the most Eserite thing I can imagine,” he snapped, “to assume someone is weak because they refrain from threatening and abusing people. The Church is the only thing protecting everyone during this crisis. Our Angelus Knights—”

“My apprentice and I held the line against demons at Ninkabi,” she interrupted, her grin having stretched to a disturbing rictus that he knew had to have been practiced. “We witnessed Elilial’s surrender with our own four eyes. Your entire arsenal is an itemized list of shit that does not scare us. Funny… I don’t remember seeing any of you fancy lads there.”

Colonel Ravoud stared into her ostentatiously psychotic smile, then glanced about. Noting the overt hostility of the still-growing crowd…and the shut gates of the Omnist temple he had been sent to investigate.

Those damned kids. They didn’t even have to be here to turn everything into a disaster.


“Disappeared?”

“Utterly, your Holiness.” Bishop Varanus’s voice was a barely-restrained growl. “Shamans have sent spirit hawks to scout. The trucks are still there—abandoned beside the road, and being investigated by local police when they were spotted. Of the Wild Hunt there is no sign. None. Even the snow is undisturbed. Far too undisturbed, considering the weather; it is as if it had been brushed smooth. Hjarst is consulting his spirit guides to learn more. At the time I left the lodge, he attested that some of our hunters are alive, and some…are not. More than that he has not yet seen, and did not expect to.”

“I foresaw opposition, not…”

“Your Holiness, this is not Ingvar’s doing,” Andros said with flat certainty. “I know him as a brother. If attacked, he would fight like a man, and will train his followers to do likewise. Whatever he has learned and however he has changed, his actions against us have been driven by principle, and were set in motion by the call of Shaath. That he remains so committed tells me he would not resort to…cruelty.”

“Cruelty,” Justinian repeated softly, nodding once. “Then you see it too.”

Andros nodded in return, his expression behind his unkempt beard bitter and pained. “No man fears the dark; men fear what they do not know may be lurking in it. This…silence. The mystery, the lack even of acknowledgment? This is designed to instill terror. Even men who would clamor for revenge against a victorious enemy will quail at the thought of vanishing without a whisper into the unknown. I know who among the Wild Hunt’s intended prey would plan such a thing, and it is not Ingvar.”

“I cannot imagine morale is high among the Huntsmen. You are right, my friend, but even so I expect at least some of your brothers must be angrier than they are frightened.”

“The Grandmaster is keeping order as best he can,” Andros growled. “You speak truth, your Holiness. The men of Shaath do not show fear even when they feel it—even when it is the obvious and sensible reaction. Perhaps especially then. Some, even, bury it too deeply, express too much fury instead. I think it will be a challenge to maintain control in the coming days.”

“I have confidence in you, Andros, and in Veisroi. Any aid I may lend is yours, you have only to ask. It is paramount that no more loyal Huntsmen be squandered. I never imagined that by aiding the Wild Hunt I would be sending them into such peril.”

“None are to blame but the guilty, your Holiness. Not even a Wild Hunt is knowingly sent to harry prey we know cannot be brought down. We are not Avenists. What befell was the intervention of an unexpected foe, with unexpected resources. And a streak of…extremely canny sadism.”

“Indeed.” Justinian frowned, staring at the wall above the Bishop’s head. “We… I have badly misstepped. What I had taken for an opportunistic dilettante with powerful friends, even until… Well. I see that I must begin taking Duchess Ravana seriously.”

The doors to the private chapel burst inward so hard that both rebounded off the walls. Andros whirled to confront the intruder, then froze.

Arachne Tellwyrn marched into the room, leaving behind her an open doorway displaying half a dozen Holy Legionaries slumped to the ground in the hall outside.

“Professor,” Justinian said mildly, “this is an unexpected pleasure.”

She snorted, not slowing. Indeed, she was marching straight at him.

“Andros, please,” the Archpope said as the Bishop moved to bar her way. “Let us not be discourteous to a guest in these sacred halls. How may I help you, Professor Tellwyrn?”

The archmage didn’t even slow; she just went right past him, and began bounding up the tall staircase to the altar high above. “How do you open this?”

“Open what?” he asked with a pleasant smile, turning to watch her.

“That’s right, boy, try my patience. I have so very much of it left. You have to realize how very easy it would be for me to just smash everything up here until the hole is revealed.”

“That would not be in your nature,” Justinian replied, proceeding after her at a more sedate pace. “Despite the reputation you have so meticulously cultivated. Oh, a wall you might smash, to be sure. But that is masterwork stained glass. Four hundred years old, and originally installed in the chapel of the Heroes Guild, retrieved with vast difficulty and lovingly reconstituted by the greatest artisans of a generation. You appreciate craftsmanship, do you not? To say nothing of history.”

“Ah, well, doesn’t really matter. Sometimes simple tricks are the best tricks.”

Having arrived at the top, she stood before the altar, peering critically around at the towering backlit glass windows depicting Avei, Omnu, and Vidius, as they had been envisioned by artists of centuries past—recognizable to modern eyes, if varying noticeably in the details. Tellwyrn waved one hand, and there was a sudden spike in the air pressure in the room, causing both humans’ ears to pop. Following it was a thin, piercing whine just at the highest edge of hearing. Andros braced himself to charge, but the noise faded almost immediately, as did the sense of pressure.

“Ah, there we go,” Tellwyrn said with audible satisfaction, reaching unerringly for the hidden switch. The central panel swung outward on its silent hinges, revealing the concealed stairwell which led to the Chamber of Truth. Without pausing for a moment, the elf marched right in.

“Andros, please check on the men outside. I will attend to this.”

“Your Holiness—”

“I assure you I am in no danger. I cannot with certainty say the same of anyone else in her presence, even here in the Cathedral. Go, please. I will not risk you, not here and now.”

Bishop Varanus grimaced bitterly, but bowed and turned to stride out into the hall. Justinian did not see him go, already having followed Tellwyrn into the stairwell. Whatever she was up to, every second she was at it unsupervised was a potential disaster.

That she had made it even this far was a surprise. Justinian remained confident in the protections over himself—to say nothing of the divine power he could wield at need, the auspices of the Pantheon directly shielded him from any attack, all the more so now that he had far more conscious control of them than any of his predecessors. However, an individual as powerful as she, who had clearly come here with hostile intent, should not have been able to proceed unopposed this deep into the Grand Cathedral. In the catacombs below he had additional security that would have posed a hazard even to the likes of Tellwyrn; up here the protections were more subtle, but they too owed their strength to the Pantheon’s own oversight. That was not something she could have pushed past with brute force.

It was not news that Tellwyrn had resources and strategies beyond her famous face-first explosive bull rushing, but seeing the evidence of it in person was a sobering experience. Especially with her in this kind of mood.

Justinian arrived in the chamber where the Church stored its priceless collection of oracular resources to find Tellwyrn muttering to herself as she made her way down one row of shelves, picking up the irreplaceable treasures one at a time and making them vanish, presumably into her own dimensional storage.

“…didn’t know any of these were still intact, nifty. Pedestrian, weak, tacky… Oh, this is rather nice, Direstaan used to have one like it. This is mine, dammit! I’ve been wondering where—just because I take a thirty-year walk in the woods does not mean everybody can help themselves to my stuff! Ooh, Zanza’s always wanted one of these. Wonder what he’ll give me for it.”

Justinian cleared his throat. “I would be glad to discuss your concerns, Professor, but I must insist that you cease—”

“Shut up, boy, I am busy.”

Well, reasoned discussion was by far the preferable outcome, but that had always been a rather forlorn hope.

Archpope Justinian summoned in one impossible torrent the entirety of divine power at his command. It welled up and surged, a quantity of energy that would instantly incinerate any mortal cleric, sparing him that fate only thanks to his privileged status under the Pantheon’s aegis.

The working he unleashed should have filled the chamber with implacable weight, seizing and stilling any within—not by any mere physical force, but with the actual will of the gods themselves. It should have been instantaneous, effective against any rival power here in the Cathedral. An instant victory.

He blinked, watching the glow of searing divine light suspended barely beyond the reach of his own aura.

No, on closer inspection, not quite suspended. It was moving, but so impossibly slowly that it would take hours to extend another inch. That wave of energy was traveling at the speed of light itself—or should be.

Time magic. He only knew what had happened because he could sense it directly. Here, immersed in the power of the gods, any action which fell under their purview was an open book to him. However, he should be the only person who had this kind of direct control over the domain of Vemnesthis. Not even other Archpopes had achieved such a thing. There was no way he understood that it could be possible for anyone else.

Tellwyrn gave him a single, scornful look, and went back to sorting through the oracular devices.

He watched as she systematically looted the place bare, stepping out of his own time-bound spell to better see without the glow in his eyes. That was, of course, not by any means his only trick. It was the mere fact that she had so effortlessly countered it that stayed his hand. Archpopes of the past had vanquished archmages and worse; Justinian was confident that, should he press the issue, he would prevail. However…

This woman had some kind of counter to his direct influence over a god. Could she be where Tobias had…? No, that was not something she would teach a student, but a card she would hold in reserve for a time such as now. The danger was that forcing her to engage him in a battle of divine influence risked everything. There was a very real chance she could pierce his protections long enough to force the Pantheon to observe the confrontation consciously. If they were allowed to understand what he had done, how he had achieved control over them…and if their lucidity were enforced long enough for them to act…

Everything would be lost. Everything he had done, sacrificed, the sins he had added to his conscience. All would be for nothing.

So he stood, hands folded, watching, in silence. They were too close to the end, now. Sacrifices could be accepted.

“Hmf.” She tucked away the final object, a crystal globe of the world, and turned her back on the bare shelves. “Never just jam stuff into a holding space without sorting it into the proper categories; it’s a much bigger pain to re-organize it all later. Learned that the hard way, early on in my adventuring career. All this, though!”

Along the opposite wall were shelves containing books. Tomes of prophecy, volumes containing imprisoned or willingly consigned familiar spirits, books whose contents changed depending on the reader, infinitely unrolling scrolls of history that extended forward as well as back… Every possible kind of book which could be used to discern truth or gain a glimpse of the future.

Tellwyrn made a single gesture, and with an echoing pop the entire collection vanished at once, leaving both sides of the Chamber of Truth bare.

“I have a librarian to do that, fortunately,” she said with audible self-satisfaction.

“Some of those may have been acquired through less than reputable means,” he said evenly. “Many—most, in fact—were gifted to the Church, or created for it specifically—”

“Do not mistake me for some kind of avenging crusader, Justinian,” the elf snorted, stalking over to the fountain which occupied the far wall. “I’m out of the world-saving business; I teach history, now. Well, well. Gifted, eh? Queen Takamatsu is going to be fascinated to learn what happened to her grandfather’s oracular koi. On the bright side, your Church has no presence in Sifan, so nobody’s going to be exiled or executed over this. I’d hesitate to assume she can’t make your operations difficult in other lands, however.”

A large sphere of rippling water rose from the surface of the pool, the shimmering fish swirling gracefully within it. He took note of a stream of tiny bubbles rising constantly through the orb, oxygenating it so the fish wouldn’t drown. Most people would not even think of that. And she worked so hard to present herself as a blunt instrument…

“No, this is not about justice or honor or whatever,” Tellwyrn said, turning to stride back toward him with the globe of water hovering over one hand. “Remember I handled your previous poking and prodding with good humor. However, one of those ludicrous chaos beasts of yours went right for my University, and I have deemed that the last straw. You have pissed me off, boy, and I’m confiscating your stuff. Don’t like it? Do something about it.”

She came to a stop directly in front of him, staring him implacably in the eye. He stood a head and a half taller than she and was at least twice as broad in the shoulders. Never had it had so insignificant an effect. Justinian just gazed back, not gracing her with a response, nor yielding so much as to portray the slightest discomfiture.

There were limits to her power, here. They might be fewer than most people suffered, but they existed, and were beyond even her ability to transcend. He might be unwilling to force a physical confrontation, but so, it seemed, was she.

“I once put a Hand of Avei over my knee, y’know,” she said after a few seconds of tense silence. “Right in front of her own army. Yanked down her trousers and paddled her ass purple. I’ve humbled multiple gods, killed one of the bastards, and broke the back of Scyllith’s entire cult. And you presumed to think that just because I can’t kill you, I couldn’t punish you? Megalomaniacs scheming world domination… Exactly the same, every one of you. I have watched your kind come and go and I’ll see more long after you’re dust, you overweening mayfly. You are not special. You’re not even that interesting. You won’t leave the world any differently than you found it.”

“I think you are mistaken about that,” he said gently. “Of course, no doubt everyone else to whom you’ve made a similar speech thought the same. We shall all learn together what tomorrow holds.”

“Mm.” Her eyes flickered subtly behind her golden spectacles, taking in every minute feature of his face. “Ravana Madouri is one of my students. I hear she is hosting several others this winter—including those three paladins. By all means, Justinian, test them: I heartily approve of that. I’m not here to solve their problems for them any more than I care to insert myself into the fate of the world. I advise you not to push them beyond their capacity, however. If I have to intervene again, I am going to be altogether less amiable about it.”

“Unfortunately,” Justinian said with a serene smile and an apologetic semi-shrug, “you are the only one with the luxury of restricting your interests to the educational. The rest of us are playing for higher stakes entirely, and have not the option of holding back.”

“That little problem is yours to worsen, son. You’ve been warned.”

She vanished right before his eyes. Not all the way; he could hear her feet ascending the stairwell behind him, stomping far harder than was typical for an elf, or necessary for anyone. Apparently the Cathedral’s defenses limited her movements somewhat, at least. Not enough to prevent her from neatly sidestepping the physical obstacles of his frozen stasis spell, and his own body.

Justinian turned to gaze thoughtfully through the haze of the Light at the doorway, his back to the painfully empty room.

The irony was that dealing with Ravana was going to be altogether more troublesome; there was too much about that girl he did not know. The necessary plans to keep Tellwyrn occupied were fully assembled and waiting to deploy. He had simply hoped he would not have to.

One more necessary crime he wished not to commit. But what was one more?

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