Tag Archives: Jonas Crete

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“I guess we missed the freshmen,” Trissiny noted as they made their way across campus toward magic class. “Rafe must’ve let them out early.”

“Or he’s entombed them to serve as components in his foul experiments!” Gabriel suggested.

“Aw, such a shame,” Ruda said, grinning. “Any particular frosh you were hoping to meet?”

Trissiny glanced at her, forehead creasing in puzzlement. “Not really? I mostly get on with the girls, though. And they’ve been helpful in all the…stuff…going on. Most of my social circle is you guys. More friends can’t hurt.”

“I choose not to take that personally,” Shaeine said serenely.

Trissiny sighed. “You know I didn’t…”

“Yes, I do,” the drow replied, turning to give her a smile.

“Well,” Ruda drawled, “I know poor Sekandar must be devastated he missed you.”

“And that’s the third time today,” Trissiny said irritably. “What is with this obsession you suddenly have with Sekandar?”

“Triss, you are not this obtuse. Nobody is this obtuse.” Ruda leaned over and threw an arm around her roommate’s shoulders, leering insanely, and lowered her voice to a widely audible stage whisper. “He desires to sex you.”

Trissiny flushed slightly. “Ruda…”

“Probably in the butt.”

“Ruda!” The paladin shrugged her roughly off, glaring.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” Ruda held up both hands, but her grin only widened. “Nobility and especially royalty are some freaky fuckers.”

“I guess you would know!”

“Fuck yeah, I would! This one time—”

“Stop!” Trissiny shouted.

“Um…” Teal came to a stop, causing the others to do likewise, looking at her inquisitively. She was peering at a creased sheet of parchment in her hand as if she’d never seen it before. “It looks like class is canceled. I’ve got a note from Professor Ekoi.”

“Huh?” Juniper frowned. “When’d she give you a note?”

“She didn’t. I just found it in my pocket.”

“I can’t decide if Professor Ekoi is so awesome she’s scary or the other way around,” said Fross, orbiting over Teal’s head.

“Huh. I got one too.” Toby unfolded the note he’d just retrieved from his vest pocket. “…mine just says to tell Teal to check hers.”

“Me too!” said Gabe eagerly. Immediately his face fell, descending into a scowl as he studied his own note. “Okay…does anybody read Sifanese?”

“A lot of Sifanese people do, presumably,” said Fross.

“Man, Arquin,” Ruda said with a grin. “What did you do to get on her bad side?”

“Oh, who knows,” he grumbled, stuffing the folded sheet of unintelligible calligraphy back into his pocket. “Just being my usual charming self, I guess.”

“Yeah, that’d do it.”

Suddenly, Trissiny straightened up as if stung, her eyes widening.

“Oh oh oh oh,” Fross said worriedly, abruptly zipping back and forth. “I just got a ping on—Triss, you felt it too?”

“That demon again?” Toby said sharply.

“Yes,” Trissiny said tersely. “Exactly the same as before. Fross, did you modify the wards at all?”

“Um, was I supposed to? They seemed to work right…”

“No, it’s fine. I was just checking if anything was different about it this time.” Trissiny closed her eyes. “So weird to be able to sense something that far away so precisely… It seems to be just wandering around the town. Just like it was doing last time, at least until I got down there.”

“All right,” said Ruda. “This time, we do this smart. We go in organized, and we do something they’re not expecting.”

“Like what?” asked Juniper.

“Getting help,” said Gabriel, absently clutching Ariel’s hilt. “We get Sheriff Sanders and Father Laws. Plus Val, Sister Alia…” He glanced at Trissiny. “And Takli, I figure. Whatever else she’s doing, she’ll help against a demon.”

“You do realize,” said Teal, “we are talking about leaving the campus during class hours?”

“This is not a coincidence,” Ruda snapped, pointing at the note still dangling from Teal’s hand. “We already know thanks to Arquin’s invisible bugaboos that Tellwyrn and Ekoi are in on this. I say we consider it a class exercise and stick with that if they call us on it. But this is the real deal. It’s a fuckin’ demon, or a shadow of one being puppeted by the Black goddamn Wreath, fucking around Last Rock.”

“And Gabriel’s right,” Trissiny said, turning and climbing smoothly into Arjen’s saddle. “I was in error last time for trying to do this alone. Rallying the townspeople is the best move we can make here—both against the demon, and to help mend the rift Justinian’s propaganda has opened. Gabe, we should go on ahead; we move faster on horseback. We’ll get whoever we can and meet up with the rest of you in town. Fross, can you keep up?”

“I’m gonna stay with these guys,” Fross announced. “Remember, the ward network is keyed to your senses specifically—I can find you through it. That way we can meet up without wasting time.”

“Good thinking,” Trissiny said approvingly.

Gabriel raised two fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. Instantly, an explosion of smoke and shadow blasted out of the ground beside him, sending the others scattering from it, and Whisper dove straight up from the darkness. She landed on her hind hooves, rearing and letting out a challenging whinny, before planting herself firmly on the ground and allowing Gabriel to mount.

“Damn,” Ruda said approvingly. “Sorry, Boots, but his is better.”

Arjen twisted his neck around to face her and snorted so hard her hat blew off.

“You’re the demon expert,” Gabriel said, nodding to Trissiny. “Lead the way.”

She nodded back, gathering her reins, and said to the others, “We’ll see you shortly.”

Then both paladins were galloping down through the campus toward the front gates.

“Never thought I’d say this,” Ruda mused, dusting off her hat, “but I gotta get me a horse.”


There were few meeting spaces of enough size in Last Rock to accommodate any serious fraction of the population, fewer still indoors, and both the church and the town hall were spoken for at this hour of the day. Thus, the unofficial town meeting convened in a disused barn on the outskirts of the village, blissfully unaware of the Black Wreath rituals which had recently been carried out there. A few enterprising attendees had lugged folding stools along with them, but for the most part, the three dozen or so townsfolk were standing, or leaning against the walls.

The barn did have the advantage of a raised platform in the form of an old wagon resting on its axles, the wheels having been commandeered long ago for service in a less rickety vehicle. Despite the aid this provided in increasing his height, Wilson was having trouble keeping the arguing assembly on point.

“Everybody, please!” he exclaimed for the fourth time in the last two minutes. Those who intended to quiet had already done so; the rest of the discussions going on continued, paying him no heed. Helplessly, he looked over to the side, where Sam Sanders lounged against the wall near the wagon. “Sam, can ya give me a hand here?”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Sanders drawled. “I’m just here to make sure this doesn’t degenerate into shootin’ or somethin’ similarly stupid. You buttered your bed, Wilson, as usual. Have yourself a nice nap.”

Wilson sighed, scowling, and turned back to face the crowd. “Would everybody SHUT UP?!”

Somehow, it worked this time—not instantly, but a hush fell over the front ranks of the throng, rippling backward as people nudged one another and pointed up front, most suddenly looking extremely nervous.

“That’s better,” Wilson said in satisfaction, lowering his hands. “All right, now, thanks to everybody for meetin’ here like this. I know we’re all feelin’ pretty sore about the other night, an’ I’ll acknowledge I made just as much a fool o’ myself as anybody. Still an’ all, there’s still a matter that’s been brung up by all this ruckus that I reckon deserves to be discussed! I think you all know what that is.”

He paused expectantly. The gathered townsfolk were edging backward from the wagon, staring up at it; Wilson frowned at them.

“Oh, c’mon, I ain’t gonna bite anybody. Y’all know dang well what I’m talkin’ about!”

“Wilson,” Sam said wryly. “Might wanna take a glance over your shoulder.”

Wilson scowled at him, but followed his advice. A second later, with a shrill yelp, he jumped so violently away from the back of the wagon that he tumbled to the ground, only missing the front row of his neighbors because they had already edged out of range.

“Very graceful,” Professor Tellwyrn said dryly, unfolding her arms and stepping forward from the rear corner of the wagon onto which she’d teleported. “Interesting time of day to be having a town meeting, isn’t it? I always thought these things took place in the evening because most of you had jobs.”

She glanced around with one eyebrow coolly raised, answered only by nervous shuffling. “Now that I think of it, I don’t see Father Laws…or the Mayor…or any clergy from either temple. Hell, Wilson, you couldn’t even get Hiram Taft to come? At least the banker would provide a veneer of respectability.” Tellwyrn grinned wolfishly down at Wilson, who scuttled backward toward the crowd. “Omnu’s breath, if you’re going to go to the trouble of organizing a meeting when I’m in class, you could at least bother to find out what my class schedule is. It’s easy: just tell Chase Masterson you’re looking to put something over on me.”

A couple of people chuckled nervously.

“For heaven’s sake,” Tellwyrn said with a grimace, “quit creeping toward the door, you turkeys. I teach college students for a living. Believe me, if I were in the habit of vaporizing people for arguing with me, you’d have damn well heard about it before now. If you have a problem with me or my University, tell me so. Well, we’re all here now. What’s on your mind?”

A few coughs were all that answered her. Tellwyrn sighed and glanced over at the Sheriff.

“Hey, I’m supervising these galoots, not participating,” he said, holding up a hand. “In fact, with you here I reckon I just might be entirely unnecessary.”

She fixed her gaze on Wilson, staring down at him over the tops of her spectacles. “I’m sure we all know the answer to this, but is there any chance the person who organized this little charade would like to step up?”

“Ah—well—uh—um—” He had managed to clamber to his feet and now nervously clutched his hat in front of himself with both hands, not meeting her gaze.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Jonas Crete exclaimed, pushing forward out of the crowd. He tipped his hat to Professor Tellwyrn. “Ma’am, I have to confess came along here outta ruffled feelings as much as the belief there was any point to this, after one a’ your students tore through my saloon, damaged my stuffed bear an’ broke into my kitchen.”

“I heard about that,” Tellwyrn said mildly. “I was also told that the kids spent the remainder of the evening fixing damage, but let’s be honest; they’re not always the most industrious little bastards without someone cracking a whip at their heels.”

More chuckles sounded at that, and Jonas cracked a smile himself.

“It didn’t amount to more’n a busted lock an’ some scuffed furniture, easily fixed. Miss Fross came by th’next day an’ even fixed up my bear with a stitchin’ charm, which I thought was right neighborly. Still, a man’s home an’ business is his castle, know what I mean?”

She nodded. “Quite. If anyone wants to put forth a claim for any damages to the University, I assure you it’ll be taken seriously. Sam and the Mayor can reach me at need, if you don’t feel like making the climb.”

“I, uh, can’t speak for nobody else, ma’am, but I don’t feel the need.” Jonas drew in a breath to steel himself, squaring his shoulders. “It’s like this. We’re mostly over all that, ‘specially once it came out what that Vidian witch had been doin’ to the town. In all the ruckus, though, somethin’ came up that still deserves consideration.”

Tellwyrn nodded again. “Go on.”

“It’s like this,” Jonas said seriously. “The way the papers were all carryin’ on, an’ the way Bishop Snowe put it, made it seem like the folks up at the University were holdin’ themselves above us all. Now, for my part, it never really felt that way to me till very recently. This town was a sad little patch o’ farmhouses before the University came along, an’ even if I wasn’t around then to remember it, my pa told me plenty. It’s cos o’ you an’ your staff an’ students that most of us have a livelihood, yours truly included.”

“But?” Tellwyrn prompted when he paused for a moment.

“The thing is,” Jonas continued with a frown, “It gets hard to overlook the fact that who you got up there is nobles, royals, demigods, paladins… An’ a lot o’ miscellaneous others who’re scary powerful, whatever else they are. An’ aside from wherever they come from, they all got places to go. Kids who graduate from that University can write their own ticket in the world. I ain’t bothered to follow up on most of ’em, but the way the papers’ve been carryin’ on, I’d had the chance to learn. The ones who’ve spoken up to journalists all seem to be leadin’ pretty remarkable lives, an’ the lot of ’em give credit for it to you an’ your school.”

“That’s rather the point of education, you know,” Tellwyrn said mildly.

“I don’t disagree, ma’am. In fact…that’s kinda the point. Last Rock’s got kids, too. Not so many, but more of us grew up here than otherwise. All this business… Well, it’s pointed out there’s a divide there. Now, we all know you’ve got a good number o’ just common folk like us attendin’ school, but that’s just it. Them kids go on to lead great lives out there in the world. Those of us just reared down here in the town…well, we stay in the town.”

Jonas got a lot more sympathy than Wilson had; there were a great many nods and more than a few spoken agreements in the wake of his speech.

Tellwyrn, too, nodded slowly, her eyebrows drawing together in thought.

“It ain’t that I mean to criticize,” Jonas said hastily as the chorus died down.

“Of course you do,” Tellwyrn said. “That was a criticism, Mr. Crete. You’ve taken your stand; don’t spoil the effect by backing down from it.”

He coughed, suddenly looking nervous. “Uh, well, anyway…”

“You make a pretty good point, too,” Tellwyrn continued, cutting him off. She nodded slowly, staring into space above their heads. “Hm. I’ll be frank: the fact is, I know very well I’m not the most approachable person. Habits older than the Empire are difficult to shake, I’m afraid. Furthermore, I have a tendency to latch onto ideas that are important to me and not consider other things going on around me. For that reason…if there’s a problem in this town, specifically one with my University, I really need people to let me know. Just because I don’t notice or think about things like this doesn’t mean I don’t care, or that I don’t think you matter.”

Sam nodded approvingly.

“Very well, then,” Tellwyrn said, her tone suddenly brisk. “This is an extremely valid concern, and I thank you for bringing it up, Jonas. And Wilson,” she added puckishly, smiling down at him; Wilson squeaked and backed up into the crowd. “And it seems to have a simple enough solution. Starting with enrollment season next year, any citizens of Last Rock who can meet the academic requirements will be welcome to attend the University, irrespective of any other qualifications. Hm… We normally enroll at age eighteen, but considering the circumstances… I’ll make that open to anyone between fifteen and, let’s say, twenty-two. Any older than that and they’ll be on a different level entirely than the rest of the student body. So, appropriate age, able to pass a basic admissions exam, and at least five years’ residence in Last Rock for qualifications. In fact, I’ll do you one better: we’ll make that a scholarship for anyone who meets the criteria. Last Rock citizens can attend the school at no charge.”

She had to stop there, as the swelling commentary from the crowd became too much to easily talk over. This time, though, the voices were almost entirely jubilant in tone. Some few were still obviously shouting questions, but no hostile or argumentative voices rose above the throng.

Tellwyrn let this continue for almost a minute before snapping her fingers and causing a crack like a thunderclap to ring through the room. “All right, enough! It’s more than half a year till we start enrolling, which should be enough time to work out any kinks. I’ll draw up a more comprehensive document, and anybody with questions or concerns can send them up. I’ll also want to talk with Miss Tanner, who I note is one of those with more important things to do at this hour than attend Wilson’s latest vanity project,” she added more severely. The town schoolmarm, indeed, was at work at this time of day. “And Omnu’s breath, people, if you have something to say, say it. Those old stories are mostly exaggerated anyway; I do not blast people unless they richly and specifically deserve it.”

She shook her head, snorted, and vanished with a soft puff of air.

“Welp,” Sanders drawled, finally straightening up. “That pretty well address your concerns, Wilson?”

“I think that was a, uh, satisfactory conclusion, yeah,” Wilson replied trying at dignity.

“Hey,” Jonas added suddenly, “how come he ain’t in jail, Sam? There was that business about assaulting the Duchess if I recollect rightly…”

“You don’t,” Wilson said furiously. “I never got near the lady!”

“It was assaulting Imperial troops,” Sanders said, rolling his eyes. “And not only did nobody wanna press charges, Duchess Madouri specifically interceded on Wilson’s behalf, requesting leniency.”

“She don’t know him too well, I guess,” someone chimed in from the back of the crowd, earning widespread laughter.

“I got nothin’ bad to say about that young lady an’ I won’t hear nothin’ said against her,” Wilson proclaimed, swelling up like a cockerel. “A right stand-up gal, that one!”

Sam’s attention shifted abruptly; Ox had just entered the barn through its wide-open doors. He towered above almost everyone, making the worried frown on his mustached face very apparent. The Sheriff strode toward him around the side of the mostly-oblivious crowd, rather than trying to push his way through. Ox took the same route, coming to meet him, and as soon as he stepped out of the doorway, Trissiny and Gabriel became visible in it behind him.

They were quickly noticed by the rest of the crowd, and another hush spread through the barn, this one marred by whispers and mutters.

“Sam,” Ox rumbled, “the kids have news you might wanna hear.”

“I see,” said the Sheriff, glancing between them. “Should we head to my office an’ talk in private?”

“I think not,” said Trissiny, her voice low but carrying well through the barn. “This affects everyone.” She turned to face the crowd, all of whom were focused on her now, quite a few still muttering. “There’s another demonic presence in the town.”

At this, there came a mass outburst of shouting and waving arms.

“Will y’all SHUT UP!” Ox thundered.

The quiet was instantaneous.

“Is this anything like the last one?” Jonas asked, pushing forward and folding his arms.

“Exactly like the last one,” said Trissiny, nodding, “and probably the same thing. And after last time, I realize that I made a serious mistake in trying to deal with it. If we just keep chasing this thing away, it’ll just keep coming back.” She glanced across the sea of faces aimed at her, and took in a deep breath. “More importantly, I’ve come to realize that Ms. Cratchley hit the nail on the head. You are all capable people who are accustomed to being responsible for your town and your own lives. For a paladin to come riding in here trying to rescue everybody is a completely wrong-headed approach. This thing is interested in Last Rock, specifically; it’s for Last Rock to fix.”

Sanders nodded approvingly, as did some of the onlookers.

“What can we do?” someone asked.

“It’s an invisible demon!”

“Repent!”

“Carl, I’m beggin’ you.”

“Please!” Trissiny called, holding up both hands, and for a wonder everyone quieted. “We have the outlines of a plan. Some of our friends are on the way down from the campus right now, but to do this we need numbers. Specifically, we need men and women who have weapons and know how to use them, and who can keep a level head under pressure.”

“To put it plainly,” said Gabriel, smiling thinly, “we’re rounding up a posse.”

“The demon is currently on the other edge of the town,” Trissiny continued over the low hubbub that arose, “and so far it doesn’t seem to be hurting anyone directly. We should have a little time, but it’s best not to dawdle. Everyone who’s willing to help, please gather in the intersection right outside here; take time to run home and grab wands if you can, and bring along anybody who might want to help. I’ll also need someone to collect Val Tarvadegh, and Sisters Aria and Takli.”

“Ox, Jonas,” said Sanders, nodding to each of them, “head to the temples an’ do as she says, please.”

“Sheriff,” Jonas said in acknowledgment, tipping his hat and following after Ox, who had simply nodded and strode out into the streets.

“Time is a factor, everyone,” Trissiny said seriously. “Don’t rush, but move as efficiently as you can. Remember that this creature’s method so far has hinged on agitating people and causing damage incidentally, so it’s vitally important that everyone remain calm. I believe I can trust the people of this town to do what’s needed. All right, let’s all get moving. We’re going to try to set out from this spot in fifteen minutes, so I’ll need everyone back here in time to go over the plan.”

Nods and verbal agreements met her pronouncement, but the people appeared to be taking her plea for calm to heart; there were no cheers or shouts this time. People poured out of the barn, streaming around Sanders and the paladins and heading off into the side streets.

“You certain about this, Avelea?” Sanders asked pointedly. A handful of townsfolk remained nearby, those who apparently had nothing and no one to collect; most were now holding wands, pointed safely at the ground. Frontier people were generally most conscientious about wand safety.

“It’s a mistake to be too certain about anything,” Trissiny replied seriously. “This is a demon, after all, and a tricksy one besides. Also…” She hesitated, glancing around at those listening nearby, then nodded almost imperceptibly, as if to herself. “We have intelligence suggesting the Black Wreath is involved in this directly.”

“Here now,” said a middle-aged woman in denim and flannel, two wands holstered at her belt, “think somebody oughta go get Tellwyrn?”

“If someone wants to,” said Gabriel, “we won’t argue. We didn’t, though.”

“Why not?” asked a younger man.

“It comes down to this,” said Trissiny, resting the palm of her left hand on the pommel of her sword. “This demon, or warlock, or whatever is behind it, has not targeted the University—probably because they’re afraid to challenge Tellwyrn. Which is just sensible. What they’re doing is feeling out the town, seeing what reaction they get from poking at people here. Last time, I came charging down here to drive it off, doing a lot of incidental damage and accomplishing nothing in the end. I owe you all an apology for that. And, notably, as soon as things calmed down, it came right back. This is not a problem that can be solved by higher powers coming to the rescue. Demons, warlocks, and servants of evil stop when they are stopped, and not before. They are held back only by the awareness that they cannot win, and only when and where that point has been made inescapably. I don’t intend to leave them any gap to wiggle through, no hint that they can come back here and work their mischief as soon as there’s no paladin or archmage keeping an eye out.”

She drew her sword, pointing the blade at the ground, and spoke subtly more loudly, her voice ringing with confidence. “I intend, by the end of this day, for there to be a very chastened warlock out there who won’t be trying their luck on Last Rock again. Not because of any University on a hill, but because they’ll have seen the character of the people here, and will know that they came to the wrong town.”

This time, the cheers broke out in earnest, and neither she nor the Sheriff made any attempt to stop them.

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10 – 28

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The gentler slope of the mountain was challenging but not too arduous to climb on foot, but that same angle made for a rather frightening descent when one was pounding down it on horseback at a full gallop. Nonetheless, Arjen’s every step was sure and unfaltering, even when he leaped over the switchbacking stone path that crossed the slope multiple times. He was, after all, no ordinary horse. Trissiny rode low in the saddle, keeping her body angled forward in defiance of the instinctive urge to lean backward against the slope, trusting her steed to manage the way and focusing fully upon the ephemeral sensation she was tracking.

She could feel it in the same subtle way as her customary ability to sense evil, a grating, tingling sense of alarm in the back of her mind. Now, however, augmented by Fross’s wards, there was direction to it. Trissiny could have pointed to each of the arcane wards set up in the streets of Last Rock, and could feel the connections between them. It was like a giant spider web, in a way; the links between the wards, and the threads of magic connecting them to her own divine senses, hummed when touched. Now, she was the spider, able to interpret those patterns of motion to pinpoint exactly where they were stemming from. That had to be an effect of the spell, since she didn’t have such powers of discernment ordinarily; she could barely sense magic, and had never been able to interpret patterns this way before.

The transition from slope to flat ground was jarring at the speed at which they took it, but Arjen handled it smoothly by gathering himself and leaping the last few yards, landing heavily at the start of the street that ran through Last Rock. It was evening, and despite the falling dusk, people were still up and around on the sidewalks; they all stopped what they were doing and stared at the paladin’s arrival. In fact, the number of them standing around suggested that her approach had been watched at least part of the way down the mountainside.

Trissiny wasted not a second before urging Arjen forward, charging down the street at a gallop. “Clear the way!” she bellowed, trusting the horse not to trample anybody. As it was, a few people who were unwisely still in the road had to scamper aside, a couple with shouted imprecations, which she ignored.

Demonic taint was like a beacon, searing at her subtler senses rather than her eyes. She could feel the incubus—assuming it was the same kind of thing that had disturbed her before; unlike Scorn, she wasn’t able to distinguish between demon species by aura alone. This time, though, she also had the network of wards pointing her onward. It wasn’t as if she could see the creature, not enough to make out its shape, but its presence, and its location, were given away completely.

It was up ahead, and on the move, zigzagging about the street as if dodging around people.

Trissiny and Arjen charged after it, the horse’s speed and straight course rapidly closing the distance. People saw her coming, fortunately, though they weren’t all equally adroit at getting out of the way. One man in the process of pushing a wheelbarrow across the road yelped at the sight of the mounted paladin barreling right at him and fled, arms over his head, leaving Arjen to leap over his barrow rather than waste precious seconds dodging around.

They rounded a corner, thundering down a slightly narrower side street, and at that pace reached the outskirts of the town in moments. She still couldn’t see anything in the roads, but she had felt the several ward points as she passed them, and could sense the disturbance leading her own. Up ahead, though, loomed the new Vidian temple. The demon seemed to be heading right for it.

Trissiny reined Arjen back to a canter, then gradually came to a stop, staring ahead through narrowed eyes. It was still there…but not fleeing, now. It seemed, instead, to be simply drifting. Still toward the temple.

Why would a demon head for holy ground? It made no sense.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doin’, young lady?!” a man shouted, stomping up the road behind her.

“My duty,” she said curtly, not taking her eyes off the fixed point up ahead. Something was wrong here… “Keep back. There is a demon nearby.”

“Demon…” The middle-aged townsman paused, peering around uncertainly. Several other residents of Last Rock crept forward behind him, a few within earshot and most giving her distinctly unhappy looks. “I don’t see nothin’ like that.”

“That’s why they’re dangerous,” Trissiny said.

Suddenly, the target ahead moved, zipping off around the side of the Vidian grounds. She started to spur Arjen after it, but then hesitated, sensing its course, and instead guided him the opposite way. Indeed, as she swept around the temple in a wide arc, the invisible presence in front slammed to a halt, having been attempting to circle around it and head back into the town. It abruptly reversed course, arcing back the way it had come, with Trissiny in hot pursuit.

“Clear the road!” she roared as Arjen rounded the amphitheater. This time, the townsfolk were quicker to obey.


“I almost feel bad,” Embras Mogul confessed, his cheerful grin belying the claim.

“Guilty?” Kaisa asked mildly, her tail waving slowly in the wind.

“Not so much that, as embarrassed,” he replied. “This is just more fun than it ought to be. Seems a little petty, doesn’t it?”

He made another smooth motion with his hands, holding them palms down and with fingers shifting in complex patterns, as if he were manipulating the strings of a marionette. Perched as they were at the base of the church’s steeple, it left him no hands free to hold his balance, but the use of infernal magic was, itself, a balancing act at all times. Embras was surefooted enough not to worry about a fall, but still leaned back against the steeple itself for safety’s sake.

“There’s no harm in enjoying one’s work,” she said lightly. “Especially if one’s work encompasses an invigorating chase. Games are meant to be fun, after all. Now, if you unnecessarily taunted or abused your prey after finishing your hunt, that would be beneath you.”

“Quite so,” he agreed. “Not to mention, in this case, bringing me afoul of our agreement that the girl would be unharmed.”

“Yes, indeed,” Kaisa said solemnly. “There is that.”

“Well, I suppose there’s an element of satisfaction in the long history behind this moment,” Embras murmured, smiling coldly as he watched Trissiny chase the phantom demon trace he was puppeteering far below. “Eons of relations between our respective faiths end up either this way, or with swords and fire. I do believe I like this better. Dance for me, little paladin.”


The demon swerved partway down the street, abruptly diving through the doors into the Saloon. Arjen skidded to a halt at Trissiny’s direction, the paladin flinging herself from his saddle before he fully stopped and charging through the swinging doors.

It was a fairly typical night at the establishment, most of the tables occupied and with Jonas Crete currently plucking out a cheerful tune on the old pianoforte. Every conversation in the place abruptly stopped at her entrance, as did the music, and everyone turned to stare; she had burst in hard enough to make both doors slam against the walls to either side.

The presence was there. It had paused just in front of the stuffed grizzly bear, as if taunting her. Trissiny pivoted on one boot and charged at it, sword out, and her aura blazing to life.

Her blade cut a golden arc through the space where she sensed the demon, cleaving a slice from the bear’s belly in the process. A split-second too late; she felt she might have been close enough to nick it, and indeed it seemed to move unevenly as it fled, but move it did, fast enough that she had clearly not finished it off. The invisible demon skittered away toward the doors to the kitchen.

“Hey!” Jonas shouted, jumping upright hard enough to knock over the piano bench at the sudden damage to his bear. “Kid, what the sam hill are you doin’?!”

“Everyone remain calm and in your seat,” Trissiny barked, whirling to race toward the back door as fast as her boots could carry her. “There is a demon in this room.”

A babble of excited, frightened, and irate voices broke out at that.

“A demon? Where?”

“I don’t see no demon.”

“Bullshit!”

“Keep yer head down, you idjit, the paladin knows her business!”

“Repent!”

“Aw, shuddup, Carl.”

“Now, hold it!” Jonas shouted, rushing to intercept her as she reached the kitchen doors. “That’s off limits to customers—”

“I’m sorry,” Trissiny said curtly, grasping the door handle, “but I don’t have time for this.”

“Look, miss, this here’s my bar, and I got rules. You don’t have the right—”

“I’m very sorry,” she said. Finding the door locked, and not pausing to wonder how that could possibly work with the saloon obviously in business, she drew on pure divine light as Professor Harklund had taught, letting it fill and invigorate her, and slammed her armored shoulder into the door.

Trissiny felt the distinct electric shock of an enchantment breaking as the door burst off its hinges, and shrugged it off, charging through into the kitchen beyond. Jonas Crete followed on her heels, now shouting imprecations, which she also ignored.

There was a lot of arcane energy in this room, enough to slightly dampen her own aura; no wonder a demon would flee here. The usual fixtures of a kitchen were present, as was a lot of enchanting equipment at whose function she couldn’t even guess. Standing by the sink, a portly middle-aged woman whirled, gaping at her in shock.

Trissiny lunged after the invisible presence, which was making for the rear door. It turned at the last second, though, shooting sideways; she skidded to a halt and lunged around the island stove in the center of the room, seeking to flank it. The thing was faster than she, faster than anything merely biological possibly could be. It backtracked again, dodging around, her, and she pursued, her shield catching a pot full of something and sending it crashing to the floor in passing.

Jonas was still blocking the kitchen door; the demonic presence went back out the way it had come, apparently right through him, which seemed not to phase him at all.

“Move,” Trissiny barked, charging after it.

“That is it!” Jonas bellowed in pure fury, leveling an accusatory finger at her and seemingly unperturbed by the sight of an oncoming paladin. “You park your ass right there, girl, I am gettin’ the Sheriff—”

“MOVE!” Trissiny roared, golden wings flaring into being behind her. Jonas actually staggered backward in surprise, but didn’t get quite all the way out of the doorway. She had to catch him with her shield and shove him against the wall to push past.

The demon had taken full advantage of her momentary distraction to zip back out into the street. Trissiny went after it in a straight line, ignoring all obstacles in her way, which involved shouldering four men roughly aside and bounding onto and over a table, disrupting a poker game and multiple tankards of beer.

She charged out, whirling to pursue the presence on foot, and leaving behind a maelstrom of shouting and cursing.


“What on earth?” Teal asked, frowning. The sound of a galloping horse had been present only briefly, but the shouting which had followed had not died down. In fact, it had seemed to move around, to judge by the way the distant babble had waxed and waned. The students at their picnic had ignored it for a couple of minutes, but by this point, all of them had stopped eating and were frowning toward the end of the alley.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Sekandar said.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing from here,” Iris replied, her tone slightly nervous.

“Trissiny,” Shaeine said softly.

Ravana’s eyes cut to her, the Duchess’s expression growing guarded. “Pardon?”

“They are shouting about her,” Szith confirmed, “those I can make out over the hubbub. She… I’m not sure what she did, but it appears to have upset quite a few people.”

“Those were some loud hoofbeats,” Maureen agreed. “Coulda been that honkin’ great horse a’ hers, I guess. What’d she do ta mix up the locals, though? She’s one a’ the calmer sorts on campus.”

“That very much depends on the situation,” Shaeine said, shifting as if to rise from her chair.

“She is chasing demons!” Scorn exclaimed, actually standing up. “We must go help!”

“Stop!” Ravana said sharply. “Whatever she did has clearly agitated the residents; let us not add to the chaos.”

“Your Grace, permission to go investigate,” Finchley said crisply, stepping forward.

“Please do,” Ravana replied, nodding to him. Teal, meanwhile, had taken Scorn by the arm, attempting to tug her gently back into her chair.

“I have to agree with Scorn,” Sekandar said, frowning now. “If there is a demon in the town, and Trissiny is after it—”

“I’m not certain that actually is a demon,” Shaeine said softly, her eyes following Finchley until he rounded the corner. “I think… This may develop into a serious problem.”


She had hopped astride Arjen again to charge down a narrow side street, causing two women in bonnets to shriek and press themselves against a picket fence, one actually tumbling backward over it into someone’s yard, but Trissiny remained on target, ignoring all distractions. Following her quarry, she dismounted in another flying leap, landing in a garden and pursuing over another fence, around the corner of a house, and through a back gate which she accidentally knocked off its hinges in her hurry to get through. She did not stop to acknowledge the questions, demands and insults that came hurling after her.

Her aura blazed to life and she hurled a blast of pure divine energy forward, swamping the thing as it leveled out in a garden path and she got a clear shot at it. Indeed, it faltered, staggering drunkenly to one side and the size of its presence in her senses diminishing markedly. That was a horribly inefficient attack, however; the divine did not lend itself easily to such spells. She also couldn’t keep up the stream of energy for more than a second, and as soon as she was forced to let up, the demon strengthened again and zipped forward. In fact, it seemed almost to be pushed ahead by the force of her aura.

And this time, it shot right through someone’s front door into a house.

A second later she was after it, yanking the door open and charging in without hesitation.

“Stay where you are!” she barked at the astonished family sitting around the fireplace. “You’re in danger—head for the chapel as soon as I’m gone!”

She tore past them, into a cozy kitchen and out through a back door, which she left standing open behind her.

The next fence she had to vault hid an older man, who had been sitting amid a small stand of rose bushes into which she plummeted, relaxing in a rocking chair. She was forced to adjust course mid-leap, grabbing the fence with her shield hand and barely avoiding slamming her armored bulk into him. Unfortunately, this caused her to land right on a rose bush, and even more unfortunately, the demon put more distance between them, swerving around the side of the house and toward a street beyond.

“Sorry!” she shouted in passing, her aura flashing and healing away the multiple tiny scratches she had accumulated apparently over every inch of skin not covered by her armor. Roses did not make for a friendly place to land.

“My garden!” the man howled behind her, hurling his walking stick ineffectually. “You hooligan!”

Trissiny vaulted over the front garden gate, tore past the cottage and launched herself into Arjen’s saddle beyond, immediately spurring him forward and down the side street.

The demon seemed to be tiring; at least, it wasn’t keeping ahead quite as fluidly, now. Arjen kept creeping up on it, the invisible presence momentarily faltering and then regaining ground in little bursts rather than at an even speed.

Trissiny barely registered the sound of hoofbeats coming up from behind, not acknowledging the second rider until he pulled abreast of her.

“Trissiny, stop!” Gabriel shouted. “You’re going to cause a riot!”

“You can’t sense it?” she replied, eyes fixed on her invisible quarry. “Just follow me, it’s right there!”

“There is nothing there!” he insisted. “Listen to me, you’re being played!”

They rounded a corner, Whisper falling momentarily behind as they charged past the edge of the little town into open space. Up ahead, the marble columns of the small Silver Mission rose up out of the prairie, the Rail line stretching into the infinite distance behind it. Once around the corner, though, Whisper proved faster than Arjen, and Gabriel urged her forward.

A moment later, he actually guided his steed directly in front of her, turning sideways and forcing Arjen to skid to a halt to avoid plowing into them.

“Get out of the way!” Trissiny shouted in fury.

“Will you listen to me!” he bellowed back. “Trissiny, you have to stop, this is not what it seems to be.”

Her eyes widened, and she turned her gaze from him, peering around in dismay. “What—no! It’s gone!”

“Triss, I’m trying to tell you—”

She heeled Arjen forward around him, trotting in a circle in front of the Mission grounds and looking about frantically. “It was right here, but it’s gone! Just…gone. You made me lose it!”

“That is not all you’ve lost!”

Both paladins turned to face the speaker, a dark-skinned woman with her hair in a multitude of bead-decorated braids, wearing the white robes of a Sister of Avei and a thunderous scowl.

“Young woman, get in here this second!” the priestess snapped. “And you, too, boy. Now.”

“There’s a demon—”

“Enough!” Sister Takli shouted. “I don’t care what rank you have, you silly girl, you are causing a disaster! Get yourself off the street and into the Mission. Immediately, before you make this even worse!”


“Aaaand there we are,” Embras said in satisfaction, flourishing both his hands in an unnecessarily showy gesture as he snuffed out the spell mimicking a demon for Trissiny’s senses. “Brought to a halt at the Silver Mission, as directed. And now, I’m very eager to learn how you plan to extricate her from this fracas.”

He turned expectantly, then blinked his eyes in surprise. Where the kitsune had stood moments before, there was only the faint wind, leaving him alone upon the steeple.

“Huh,” he mused. “So that’s what that feels like. Vanessa’s right, that’s just irritating.”


“It’s not good,” Finchley said seriously. “The whole town’s in an uproar. It looks like she dashed through basically…well, everything. There’s people everywhere, all of ’em mad as hell… Your Grace, none of us have done civil disturbance duty, but it was covered in basic. This is exactly the kind of thing that can get really ugly.”

“I see,” Ravana mused. “How unfortunate… I believe it’s best that we keep our heads down for the time being. This will all be quieted soon enough; the Sheriff in this town is most admirably efficient.”

“What are you talking about?” Scorn exclaimed. “There is demon, Trissiny is chasing, people are in danger! We go to help!”

“There is a better than even chance that there is not actually a demon,” said Shaeine. “We discussed the theory that a false trace was being used to taunt Trissiny, remember?”

“She is not stupid,” the Rhaazke retorted. “If she does this, there is a real problem!”

“Maybe,” said Teal, frowning. “Remember what Malivette said? Hands of Avei apparently get…like coursing hounds, almost, around demonic energy. If she’s being manipulated anyway…”

The conversation broke off at a sudden swell of shouting from the town only a few dozen yards distant, the upraised voices obviously furious. They had stepped away from their table, toward one end of the alley, and now turned in unison to frown in the direction of the bellowing.

“This is too risky,” Moriarty said curtly. “Your Grace, I must respectfully insist that we retreat to the campus. We can’t protect you from an angry mob.”

“I am deeply gratified by your concern, Private Moriarty,” Ravana said, giving him a kind smile and placing one delicate hand on his arm. “And for future reference, that will be the last time you use the word ‘insist’ when addressing me. I cannot imagine we are in danger from—”

She broke off abruptly as Szith drew her sword and held the sinuously curved blade in front of her face, its edge pointed at the ground.

“Ravana,” the drow said in a tone just short of outright anger, “I will speak to you as a warrior and the daughter of a line of warriors going back millennia. Whatever titles you hold, you do not outrank your bodyguard unless you wish to die. He is entirely right; this is a ceremonial guard. They are not equipped or prepared to contain a riot. And if we are forced to defend ourselves against angry townspeople, the political repercussions will be an absolute disaster. We retreat—now. Do I need to carry you?”

Ravana stared up at her in uncharacteristically open surprise, blinking her eyes twice, before visibly gathering herself. “Yes. Well… Upon consideration, I believe I see your point. Forgive me, Private Moriarty. Ah…this way?”

“That leads to the prairie outside the town,” said Sekandar, frowning back at the opposite end of the alley. “We’ll be less likely to run into angry townsfolk there…but it’ll take a lot longer to circle around than the other way.”

“We are to run?” Scorn said plaintively. Teal reached up to pat her on the shoulder.

“Other way’s faster, but riskier,” Rook said tersely. “If we turn right here instead of heading out to the main square, then left, we’ll come out at the little square around the well. It’s a straight shot to the mountain stairs from there. Deeper into the town, though.”

“Most of the noise I hear is coming from the other direction,” said Sekandar, turning to Ravana. “I think it’d be better to take the faster path.”

“I concur,” she said, nodding. “Very well, let’s be off. Gentlemen, if you would?”

Rook and Finchley both saluted her, stepping to the head of the group as they set out, Moriarty waiting to fall behind and bring up the rear.

They moved in tense silence around the first corner, speeding up at another surge of angry shouting from behind them. Coming to a stop at the mouth of the alley leading out into the little plaza surrounding Last Rock’s central well, Finchley held up a hand to stop them while Rook carefully peered out.

“It’s clear,” he said quietly, then hesitated. “Ah…wait. Voices… Man, they’re passing by awfully close.”

Indeed the sound of furious shouting was clearly running adjacent to their route now, close enough that the orange flicker of torchlight was visible against the walls of the other side street opening onto the well yard.

“Go,” Ravana said quietly, having finally picked up the soldiers’ urgency. “We can’t hide here; make for the other side.”

The group moved in unison at her order, stepping out into the yard and making their way rapidly to the right, where the mountain loomed up beyond only a few more buildings.

They made it halfway before a dozen people burst into the square from the opposite side, two carrying torches, and all shouting.

Both groups came to a stop, staring at each other.

“Aww, shite,” Maureen muttered.

“Hey, you!” the man in the lead shouted, stalking toward them.


The interior of the Silver Mission was laid out somewhat like an Avenist temple in miniature, but with more informality. The white marble was softened by rugs and wall hangings, the windows were plain glass instead of stained, and there was no statue of Avei nor weapons displayed. Padded benches were set along the walls, and rather than a dais at the back of the main room, there were doors into the other rooms at the rear of the structure.

Trissiny looked quizzically around, still tense and on edge from her chase. “Where’s Sister—”

“Out trying to clean up the mess you were just busy making,” Sister Takli snapped, “along with, no doubt, Father Laws and the Sheriff. What were you thinking?”

“I was pursuing a demon!” Trissiny shot back. “That’s my calling!”

“You tore up half the town, damaged who knows how much property and accidentally assaulted at least two people that I know of, and that’s just what I know from listening to the shouts and talking to the young woman who fled here in a panic after you apparently demolished the Saloon!”

“Nothing’s demolished,” Trissiny said, affronted. “It was barely—”

“Well, you scared the waitress there badly enough that she fled to the Silver Mission,” Takli retorted. “She’s now hiding in the back, thanks to you. Trissiny, running through a town shouting about demons is bad enough even if you manage to do it without smashing through people’s property and kicking them out of your way!”

“What would you have done?” Trissiny shouted at her. “Just leave everyone in danger from a demon attack because it’s not convenient—”

“It’s called grand strategy!” Takli roared back. “You know this! You’ve had the finest strategic education the Sisterhood can provide—or so I thought! There is more to your calling than just destroying unclean things. You are part of something much greater than yourself, and your actions have consequences that reach far beyond yourself. Do you have any idea how much damage you just did? To the Sisterhood, to the University? To the Church, even? The Hand of Avei stampeding through a town like a madwoman is not acceptable!”

“How dare you lecture me!” Trissiny snarled. “Who are you, anyway? I wasn’t called by the goddess herself to have to explain myself to some—”

“If you are going to act like an undisciplined child, General Avelea, I will treat you as one! Either go for that sword or sit yourself down and take your medicine!”

“HEY!” Gabriel shouted.

“WHAT?” both women snarled in unison, rounding on him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “and I’m also sorry to drag us back out there, considering as mad as everyone is bound to be at you right now, Triss, but according to Vestrel there’s something happening on the other end of town that we had better go deal with.” Seemingly unfazed by their glares, he drew Ariel and turned to stride to the door. “Now.”


“What the hell is wrong with you kids!” Wilson shouted, stomping right up to the group and pointing an accusing finger at Ravana, who stood between and somewhat behind Rook and Finchley. “You think you can just do whatever the hell you want in this town?”

“Pardon me, sir,” she said calmly, “but perhaps you have us mistaken for someone else? We were having a quiet dinner until just minutes ago.”

“Oh, sure,” he sneered. “Walk around with your nose in the air all you want, but as soon as folk start tellin’ you off for it, suddenly you don’t know nothin’ about any trouble!”

“Wilson, calm your ass down,” a man in the group behind him said in exasperation. “Them kids weren’t anywhere near the ruckus; you know which one done it. It’s not like she ain’t distinctive.”

“They’re all alike!” Wilson raged, pressing forward and glaring at Ravana, who merely regarded him with a curious expression. “Well, I don’t aim to—”

He broke off, finding himself staring at the tip of Finchley’s staff, the soldier having stepped directly in front of him.

“Sir,” said Finchley coldly, “if you want to pick fights with paladins, that’s on your head, but I’ll have to insist that you step away from the Duchess.”

“Duchess, bah,” Wilson snarled, curling his lip. “I’m just about done takin’ shit from snotty brats I wouldn’t hire to wipe my boots.”

“You are addressing the sitting governor of Tiraan Province,” Moriarty said sharply, pressing through the students to join the others. “Back away.”

“I don’t see you makin’ me!”

“Wilson, you idjit!” a woman exclaimed. “Boys, don’t pay him no mind, you know how he is.”

“Ma’am, this is a different matter,” said Finchley, not taking his eyes off Wilson. “We are on duty, protecting Lady Madouri. You all need to disperse. Now.”

“Now, you just hold your horses,” another man said, stepping forward with a scowl. “Ain’t nobody here doin’ any harm. You got no call to order us around in our own town.”

“Gentlemen, please,” said Ravana, attempting to crane her neck to be seen around the soldiers. “Let us all step back and calm ourselves; there is no need for any—”

“Boy, you get that damn thing outta my face!” Wilson snapped, grabbing the end of Finchley’s staff and jerking it sideways.

Instantly, two more staves were thrust directly into his face, both suddenly bursting alight with charged energy ready to fire; at that range, the static made his hair stand up.

“ON THE GROUND!” Rook roared with uncharacteristic ferocity. “HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”

“You are under arrest!” Moriarty bellowed. “For interfering with a functionary of the Tiraan Empire and assaulting an Imperial soldier! These are military charges—any resistance can and will be met with deadly force!”

“Wait!” Sekandar shouted fruitlessly. “Men, stop!”

Wilson, meanwhile, had had the bluster apparently spooked right out of him. Wide-eyed and suddenly ashen-faced, he dropped to his knees, whimpering incoherently and placing his hands atop his head.

Behind him, though, the other townspeople were pressing forward, most of them glaring and muttering angrily.

“This is turning very bad,” Scorn growled, trying to push forward.

“Stop,” Teal ordered, catching her arm.

“I will not stand here and be pushed and yelled by these!” the demon grated, shrugging her roughly off.

With a burst of orange flame, Vadrieny emerged, seizing the Rhaazke by the shoulders. “Stop at once before you make this worse!”

“Oh, love,” Shaeine whispered mournfully.

“We’re under attack!” Wilson wailed, throwing himself face-down in the dirt.

A furious outcry rippled through the crowd at Vadrieny’s sudden appearance, complaints and threats jumbling together too rapidly to be discerned from one another.

“This is your final warning!” Moriarty shouted, leveling his staff at the crowd. “Citizens, you will disperse immediately!”

And then, at one edge of the group, a boy of about twelve stooped and picked up a rock.

Rook took aim at him with his own weapon, even as his face went sickly pale.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered.

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10 – 3

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Between wanting to have this over with and being unable to get back to sleep, Ingvar ended up at the temple very early. Dawn was well-risen, the sky a pale gray and fiery in the east, but on city time that meant the night dwellers had long since staggered home and most people were still asleep. The convenient thing about paying a visit to soldiers was that they could be relied upon to be up with the dawn and probably already working. On the other hand, it was a strangely early hour for visiting. Not to mention that soldiers probably didn’t appreciate having their work interrupted first thing—or maybe they did; Ingvar had little notion what soldiers even did in peaceful times.

Plus, there were the obvious pitfalls of coming here.

Though not wishing to be indecisive, especially after Hrathvin’s upbraiding the night before, he found himself pausing at the foot of the steps of the Temple of Avei, staring uncertainly up at it. He remembered the back entrance to the Silver Legion grounds, but walking into an Avenist military base dressed in his full Huntsman gear was a very different prospect alone than when he had been in the company of a Bishop, several brother Huntsmen, and a squad of actual Legionnaires. Oh, and the Eserites, whatever use they were. Generally, clerics were easier to approach than warriors. Hopefully.

He was galvanized into action, not by having reached a conclusion, but by the subtle shifts in posture of the Legionnaires guarding the temple’s entrance, making it plain they were watching him almost to the exclusion of all else.

Carefully keeping his hand away from his tomahawk, Ingvar mounted the steps, nodding respectfully to one of the armored women in passing. She continued turning her head to stare at him, making no gesture in reply. He could barely see the glint of eyes behind her helmet, but could not make out an expression. Didn’t they usually forgo helmets on city guard duty? It wasn’t as if he’d ever paid close attention to the Legions, but he recalled having heard that somewhere.

The temple’s main sanctuary was quiet, currently inhabited only by a handful of Legionnaires posted at regular intervals along the walls and a couple of priestesses at the back, near the great statue of Avei. A few other women in white, some robed, some wearing simple tunics, passed through, most giving him suspicious looks, which he ignored. He also tried to avoid looking at the statue, unable to shake the irrational impression that the goddess was glaring at him. It was bright and peaceful, though, illuminated by fairy lamps. Obviously, no major temple ever closed, but there had evidently been no great business of war or justice overnight, nor any female emergencies. Whatever those might entail.

Well, he was here, now. His half-formed idea of speaking with a priestess and seeking permission to approach the Legion grounds was apparently the one he was going with. That was probably for the best, anyway.

“Are you lost?”

One of the priestesses approached him, a rather diminutive woman of swarthy, sharp-featured Tiraan stock. Her expression was very, very neutral. Ingvar carefully repositioned himself to face her directly, showing full attention even though an Avenist was unlikely to understand or appreciate the gesture, and bowed.

“I don’t believe so. I wish to speak with a Silver Legionnaire. Have I come too early in the morning?”

The priestess raised her eyebrows in mild surprise, turning her head to look pointedly at one of the soldiers standing at attention at the base of a nearby column.

“A…specific Legionnaire,” Ingvar clarified, feeling rather foolish. “I’m sorry, I’m not aware of the Legion’s…visitation policies. I don’t wish to…violate any rules.”

He hated himself a little for the hesitant tone, but it was the simple truth; he didn’t know the rules here, and the fact that Avenists were champions of weird and socially destructive ideas didn’t mean he was obligated to spit in their faces. He certainly wouldn’t get anywhere with them that way.

“What is this about?” the cleric asked.

“It is a religious matter,” he said, then hastily continued when her eyebrows climbed still further. “She knows me. I simply have a question to ask; it won’t take long.”

“A religious matter,” the woman mused. “I assume you are aware that religious matters between Shaathists and Avenists are rarely amicable.”

“Yes,” he said as calmly as he could. “And some men—and women—of lesser character take that as an excuse for rudeness. I see no benefit in treating people disrespectfully.”

Her expression did not soften, precisely, but she looked slightly more interested at that. “I see.”

“Sister, if I may?” The priestess glanced aside at the armored Legionnaire who had approached while they were talking, and nodded. The soldier nodded back and turned to Ingvar. “Who are you looking for, Huntsman?”

For a moment, he was tongue-tied. He recognized this one, obviously: Ephanie, Feldren’s runaway wife. She was a distinctive beauty, and he vividly recalled escorting her squad with Brother Andros. That was the problem: it was inappropriate to speak so directly with another man’s wife in his absence and without his permission, and anyway, he ought not to acknowledge her at all until Feldren brought her to heel. This conversation had the potential to encompass multiple insults to his fellow Huntsman.

On the other hand, she knew Shaath’s ways, might even recognize him, and most importantly, was in the same squadron as Locke. He couldn’t possibly ask for a more useful person to run into. Well, his whole presence here was placing practicality above tradition—might as well continue in that vein while the opportunity was before him. These things didn’t just happen, and the fates tended not to hold out another hand if one disdained their first offer.

Barely a second had passed while he furiously deliberated. He could tell by Ephanie’s wry expression that she had marked the hesitation, but he turned to her and bowed politely before it could stretch out any further. “Ah, good morning. In fact I would like to speak with your squad mate, Principia Locke, if possible.”

Now it was Ephanie’s turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise. “Locke? Sorry, but what do you want with her?”

“It’s…” He glanced at the priestess again. “It is a spiritual matter, pertaining to a vision. I actually need to ask about a family connection of hers.”

Ephanie pursed her lips. “She won’t like that. Locke doesn’t get on with her family.”

“All right,” Ingvar said, struggling to keep his expression neutral and tone polite. “And she is under no obligation to talk to me, of course. But I would like to ask her, please. It’s important.”

“He’s a fairly respectful young…man,” the priestess said, glancing at Ingvar, and he fought back a sigh. “It’s not as if they are banned from the temple grounds. I’ll leave this to your judgment, private; she’s your sergeant.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ephanie said respectfully, bowing to her. Ingvar took note of that. So they only saluted other Legionnaires, then? Weren’t the clergy above them? Such observations were just habit, of course; Shaath grant that the structure of the Sisterhood never became something he needed to pay attention to. Brother Andros had encouraged his political perceptiveness, and he tried to be in the habit of practicing it.

“It’s this way,” Ephanie said to him, half-turning toward the far end of the sanctuary. “This actually is a very good time for you to visit. Breakfast is about to be served, no one’s on duty yet, and we don’t have the day’s orders.”

“Good,” he said, then belatedly added, “My thanks.” She glanced back with a faint smile, and he simply followed her the rest of the way across the sanctuary and through the doors in the back corner. Eyes tracked them the whole way.

There weren’t many people about in the temple yet, but those they did pass gave him very sharp looks, several stopping to stare rudely. At least nobody accosted them, since he was clearly in the company of a Silver Legionnaire. Ingvar did his best to ignore them.

Of course, that left him with the problem of where to direct his eyes.

The Legion armor was modest, he had to give them that; he could see basically nothing of the shape of her body through it. As a downside, however, that left him staring at her most attractive visible feature: her rare, flame-red hair. That was hardly proper, nor respectful. It was a quandry, though, since his inability to actually see her rump or the curve of her waist didn’t make him comfortable casting his eyes in their general direction. Ingvar finally decided to study the interior of the temple as they passed, and lifted his gaze just in time to get a very hostile look from a priestess who had halted in a cross-hall, planting her hands on her hips.

Maybe he should have affected a less traditional style of dress for this visit, and foregone the weapons. On the other hand, so far, this was going about the way he had expected, and better than he had feared. If he was going to encounter opposition, better to do it honorably, without sneaking around.

“So…Locke made sergeant?” he offered, casting back to a brief mention from the sanctuary.

“Yes.” She glanced back at him again. “You can ask her all about it if you’re interested.”

He turned what wanted to be a sigh into a noncommittal little noise of politeness. Well, he’d tried.

Ephanie’s silence didn’t much bother him. It wasn’t really appropriate for them to be interacting at all, which of course she knew. Clearly she wasn’t holding to proper Shaathist behavior, now, but he’d been half-afraid she would swing in the other direction and go out of her way to spit on his standards, as some wildwomen did. Instead, she appeared to be conducting herself as a model soldier—which, errant as it was for a woman, was a better outcome for their interaction than he really could have hoped for.

It was not a short walk through the temple—they were traversing nearly its entire length, from the main hall in the front to the Silver Legion fortress at its rear, and the temple complex itself was massive. It was like a city, compared to the Shaathist lodge in Tiraas. Ingvar was keenly aware that the journey seemed longer because of his discomfort in this place, both inherent and caused by the glares and whispers that followed him.

Eventually, though, they did reach the fortress; built right into the temple complex itself, the transition was marked only by a checkpoint manned—womanned?—by bored-looking Legionnaires. They livened up considerably at the sight of a Huntsman in their midst, but did not challenge them, even verbally. He wondered at the significance of that; it seemed like lax security for a military installation, if all you needed to get in was the company of someone in uniform.

Crossing the parade ground he remembered from his previous visit to the fortress, they gathered more stares from other Legionnaires, who were trickling toward the temple in the opposite direction Ephanie was leading him. These, perhaps unsurprisingly, proved a less reserved group than the priestesses in the temple proper.

“Oy, Avelea!” one woman shouted in passing. “You got something stuck to your back!” A few of her fellow harridans cackled at this.

Ingvar stopped, turned very deliberately to face them, and bowed courteously before resuming his way, having to lengthen his stride to catch up with Ephanie, who hadn’t waited. The soldiers seemed surprised; the one who had catcalled jeered at him, but none of the others backed her up this time.

Simple courtesy. Much as he’d have liked to pin the lack of it on Avei’s degenerate ideas, he’d met far too many Huntsmen and people from all walks of life who seemed to think they could advance themselves by putting someone else down. Not once had he ever seen anyone improved by another person’s suffering.

They met the rest of Ephanie’s squad midway across the parade ground; apparently the others were among the last to head in for breakfast. They slowed and stopped as Ephanie led Ingvar up to them. Like his guide, they were in armor, with short swords buckled at the waist, but not wearing helmets nor carrying lances or shields. Principia, of course, he recognized immediately. The others didn’t leave much of an impression, except for the sandy-haired girl who hardly looked old enough to be away from her mother, much less enlisted in an army.

“Morning, Sarge,” said Ephanie, stepping over to join her squadmates and turning to gesture at Ingvar. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“I do?” Principia said incredulously, staring at Ingvar.

One of the other women, a dark-haired girl a little shorter than the elf, sighed dramatically. “Why is it always Locke?”

“He was in the sanctuary in front, talking with a Sister,” Ephanie explained. “I thought I’d better intervene.”

“What were you doing up there at this hour?” Principia asked her.

“Praying,” Ephanie said dryly. “In case it’s escaped your notice, Sarge, we live in a temple.”

“Oh,” the elf mused. “I didn’t realize you were…observant.”

“Yes, that’s correct. You know exactly as much about my spiritual life as I’ve cared to tell you.”

“All right, fair enough,” Principia said peaceably.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” Ingvar said courteously, bowing to Principia, who finally turned her attention to him. “My apologies for intruding. I hope I’m not keeping your squad from their duties.”

“My squad wouldn’t stop in their actual duties to chat with you,” she replied. “All we’re missing right now is breakfast. Which they could still be heading off to, if they wanted, though of course that won’t stop them from griping all day about missing it.”

She didn’t so much as glance at the others as she said this, but the youngest girl tugged at the arm of the last member of the squad, a tall, lean woman with skin a shade darker than the Tiraan average, and the two of them resumed walking toward the mess hall. Ephanie, Principia and the sharp-tongued one remained.

“Well, then,” said the elf. “It’s… Ingvar, yes? What can I do for you?”

He drew in a breath; this was it. “I need a little guidance. It has been said in the lore we keep of the elder races that all dark-haired wood elves are of a single family. Is that correct?”

Principia’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

“I need to know how to contact Mary the Crow.”

Ephanie blinked; the other girl snorted derisively. Principia just stared at him.

“The smartest thing you could possibly do,” she said, “is stay as far away from Mary the Crow as you can manage. I’d say that to anyone, but in particular, she doesn’t have a high opinion of Shaathists.”

“What?” said the third girl. “I thought they didn’t hold elves to their bullshit double standard?”

“I really don’t feel like having a theological discussion before breakfast,” said Principia, turning to give her a sharp look, “and keep a civil tongue in your head while we have a guest, Private Lang. The Crow has her own issues with the Huntsmen.”

“Well, maybe this one would have better luck anyway,” Lang said, eying Ingvar up and down. “I’ve never seen a female Huntsman before.”

“Lang,” Ephanie said sharply, “shut up.”

Ingvar drew in a breath and let it out slowly. It was just to be expected; this one seemed particularly ignorant even by Avenist standards. It happened all the time; sooner or later he would just have to stop being bothered by it. Surely, someday.

“What is it you want with Mary the Crow?” Principia asked him.

He hesitated. Discussing spiritual matters with outsiders wasn’t smiled upon, and for good reason. On the other hand, he clearly wasn’t going to get any further here without explaining himself, at least somewhat. Give and take.

“It pertains to a vision,” he said finally, “and a quest. In a vision I was directed to seek guidance from a crow. It…could mean something else, but I believe Brother Andros and I encountered her previously, just before our last meeting. Visions are challenging,” he admitted. “I don’t know whether I am even tracking the right spoor, but this is the best idea I have.”

Lang rolled her eyes, but Principia nodded slowly, her expression more serious. “Well. Actually, that casts another color on this. You wouldn’t be the first; spend enough time being a big heap shaman and things like this start to happen. Mary has been the target of vision quests before, and she does take them seriously.”

Hope rose in him, mingled with unease. Progress was good, but a weak little part of him had wished for an excuse to give up on this whole venture. “Then you’ll help me?”

“Well…up to a point,” she said, shrugging. “I honestly have no idea where Mary is, nor do I wish to. I follow my own advice with regard to her. The less anybody interacts with the Crow, the happier they are.”

“I see,” he said, sighing. “Well. I thank you for your time, anyway. You have at least helped me see the path.”

“Now, wait a moment,” she said with a faint smile. “I can give you a little more help than that. If you want to get in touch with Mary the Crow, she has some kind of established relationship with the Eserite Bishop, Antonio Darling. Check with him; he probably can’t call her up either, but he may know more about how to reach her.”

Ingvar’s recently lifted hopes plummeted.

Oh, he remembered Darling. Much as he had to acknowledge some personal antipathy, due to the man’s generally foolish countenance and his failure to address Ingvar as a man, there were much better reasons to keep away from the Eserite. He remembered very well what had happened to Angner. It wasn’t even that he regretted any harm suffered by that Wreath traitor, but it was the way Darling had been. He’d heard very detailed accounts of it, how the man’s silly exterior hadn’t wavered through cold-blooded torture and shocking cruelty.

A man like that was… Scarcely human. A viper in a songbird’s plumage.

“You have a problem with Darling?” Principia said dryly, and Ingvar realized he’d done a poor job of marshaling his expression. “I must say that’s a first. His favorite thing in the world is making friends with everybody.”

“I’ll bet,” Ingvar muttered. “That man is… He’s just… Creepy.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then Principia and Lang burst out laughing in unison. Even Ephanie hid a smile behind her hand.

Brother Andros liked to say that women were to be experienced, not understood. Ingvar had questions about that logic, but this wasn’t the first time he’d had the thought that he was better off not bothering.


 

“Wilson,” Ox said wearily, “did your mama ever tell you the story of the boy who cried wolf?”

Wilson broke off his gesticulations to squint suspiciously at the bigger man. “What? Course I know that story, what of it?”

“I want you to consider that in light of this here situation,” Ox rumbled. “You carryin’ on about this, an’ the general lack of interest in what’s got you so worked up. Every time anything happens, here you are complainin’. When nothin’ happens, you complain about that.”

“What’s your point?” Wilson snapped.

“His point,” said Jonas idly, watching the progress of the various personnel breaking down the tents, “is that you’re the boy cryin’ wolf. You complainin’ an’ stirrin’ up trouble ain’t worth a prairie dog’s fart, you do it so damn much. Someday you’re gonna have an actual point, by accident, and ain’t nobody gonna pay you any mind then, either.”

Wilson swelled up like a bullfrog, leaning forward and planting his fists on the table between the other two men. “Y’all can be assholes all you like, that don’t mean I’m wrong! You heard the Bishop speak—I’m just embarrassed I never thought about what she said before, even after livin’ in this town my whole life!”

“Too busy havin’ thoughts about a bunch of other shit that ain’t none of your business either,” Ox said dryly.

“Yeah, you laugh it up, big man. I ain’t the only one who feels this way,” Wilson said stridently. “It ain’t fair, the way them kids lord it over us. What gives ’em the right?”

“I oughta just ignore him, I know it,” Jonas said to Ox, “but I got this allergy to people talkin’ out their asses about stuff I actually understand.”

“That there’s a serious condition,” Ox said gravely. “You should see the doc.”

“Omnu’s breath, Wilson,” Jonas said before Wilson could start up again, “sometimes I think if I put as much effort into anything as you do into bein’ wrong I’d be Emperor. Them kids are exactly like any bunch o’ kids anywhere. Yeah, some of ’em do look down their noses at us. Course some do; there’s assholes like that anywhere. An’ y’know what? Most don’t. Ain’t always the rich ones, neither. That Falconer girl’s just about the sweetest thing I ever did meet, an’ I remember young Lord Ravinaad who got his own hands dirty helpin’ me clean out the stables after a couple of ‘is friends got drunk an’ raised hell behind the Saloon. No complainin’, didn’t even offer, just rolled up his sleeves an’ got to work like a good neighbor.”

“Them kids ain’t anything but different,” Ox agreed. “All types, from all over the world, but in the end they’re basically just folk. If you’d pay attention, there’s a lesson in that.”

“So how come none of our kids are invited to the fancy education up on the mountaintop?” Wilson demanded.

“Why, Wilson,” said Ox, “an’ here I had no idea you were a father. Who’s the unlucky lady?” Jonas snorted a laugh.

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Wilson said irritably. “Not my kids, our kids. We got young folk of our own, just like any town anywhere. What do they grow up to? Learnin’ a trade, takin’ over the farm or the shop. Some go off an’ join the Army or some clergy.”

“Name to me one thing that’s wrong with any o’ that,” said Jonas.

“Not a damn thing an’ you know it,” Wilson pressed on. “It’s the comparison. You know what those kids up there on the hill become? Rich. They leave here knowin’ all about the world, havin’ skills none of us could even dream of. A graduate of that University can write their own damn ticket any place they feel like goin’. Most of ’em leave with connections that’ll get ’em into the highest levels of whatever part of society they want, an’ I know you two hicks ain’t backward enough not to realize it’s who you know that matters in life. Well, we know ’em. How come the children of Last Rock have nothin’ better to look forward to than takin’ over a saloon or a farm?”

A thoughtful silence settled over the table, Ox and Jonas holding their mugs of beer without raising them for a sip. Both stared out from the shade of the Saloon’s awning, wearing identically pensive frowns as they observed porters, pack animals and the odd enchanted carriage hauling folded tents and religious paraphernalia toward the Rail platform.

“Huh,” Jonas muttered at last. “Ox, I suddenly wonder if this ain’t that moment. With an actual goddamn wolf he’s hollerin’ about.”

Ox heaved a sigh, causing his thick mustache to flutter. “Some folks have the good stuff, some folks don’t. That’s the way of the world, every damn part of it. You set yourself up to fix that, and you’re gonna have a hard time. Professor Tellwyrn’s always done right by this town as I see it, an’ I got no problem with a lot more o’ those students than I have got one with. Dunno what more a man can reasonably ask for.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s always done right,” Wilson said sarcastically. “’cept when those little assholes are opening up hellgates right over our heads.”

“One time that happened,” Ox grunted.

“So fuckin’ what?” Wilson exclaimed. “It was a goddamn hellgate! Omnu’s balls, man, one is all it takes! An’ they never did figure out which of ’em even did it! What the hell is gonna be next, is what I wanna know!”

Again, they fell silent, and after a moment, Wilson straightened up, folding his arms across his chest and adopting a smug expression.

At the other end of the shady front porch of the Saloon, Embras Mogul pointed to the three men, turning to his companion. “Now, there, y’see? Isn’t that absolutely fascinating?”

“Not particularly,” Bradshaw grunted. “That was a pretty direct jab Bishop Snowe launched. It’s bound to set people talking. Talk is easy.”

“Talk is the first step to things which are less easy,” Embras replied, “either to do or to live through. And you just got here, old boy; take note of how quickly I managed to find a suitable target for us to eavesdrop upon. I’ve been hearing little chats like this all weekend, starting before our dear Bishop Snowe fired a shot across Tellwyrn’s nose.”

The three men started up their conversation again, taking no notice of the two at the other end of the porch. Neither did any of those passing by on the street, despite Mogul’s glaring white suit and Bradshaw’s ominous gray ritual robe.

“I hope you’re not leading in the direction I think you are, Embras,” said Bradshaw.

“Well, it’s not as if this is a particularly difficult trail to follow,” Embras mused, lounging against the pillar at the corner of the porch. “The pattern I’ve been observing throughout this…revival…is consistent enough, and surprising enough given the general state of things in this town, that I can see the hand behind it. We already know Snowe is little more than Justinian’s charming and attractive mouthpiece, and there’s nothing like a religious festival to give him an excuse to flood the town with agents spreading dissent.”

“There’s not enough town here to flood.”

“You are being needlessly argumentative,” Embras accused. “Face it, Bradshaw, the Archpope is trying to stir up Last Rock against Tellwyrn.”

Bradshaw shook his head. “I just can’t see it. Even if there’s evidence hinting in that direction, which I’ll admit, it’s just that. Hints. Come on, Embras, Justinian’s smarter than that. What could he possibly hope to achieve? Tellwyrn is…outside the social order. Stirring up resentment against her, even if successful, would barely inconvenience her. The gods aren’t about to step in to bring her down, the cults wouldn’t bother to, the Empire has an actual policy about Zero Twenties that hinges on not stirring them up. Any other agents who wanted Tellwyrn taken out would’ve done it long since, had any of them the capacity.” He snorted, shaking his head again. “It’s ridiculous. He can’t do anything but piss her off, which is not a winning move. Justinian’s not nearly dense enough to try something like this.”

“And there, my friend, you’ve hit the nail on the head,” Mogul said gleefully. “He wouldn’t try something so insane—and yet, clearly, he is. Therefore, this is not Justinian’s game, but only the smoke screen obscuring his true motives. As you rightly point out, he’s more than savvy enough to operate on multiple levels, and not about to throw effort after foolishness.”

“Hm,” Bradshaw grunted, stroking his chin and frowning at the arguing men at the other end of the porch. “All right…let’s run with that theory, then. Offhand, I can think of two possible goals for stirring up trouble with the University. First, he’s trying to provoke a reaction from Tellwyrn that’ll get someone else to step in and finish him off for her. I’m inclined to dismiss that, since pissing off the cranky archmage is how stupid people throughout history get themselves dramatically dead.”

“On the other hand,” Embras said, raising a cautionary finger, “if there’s one man in all the world who could take that risk, it’s a sitting Archpope. As long as he stays in that Cathedral and keeps on top of his prayers, she can’t bring him down by force. Dear Arachne might be on a level to challenge the gods individually, but the whole Pantheon would crush her if she provoked them to.”

“Which is the fatal flaw in this idea,” said Bradshaw, nodding. “Despite her reputation and reliance on blunt force, the woman isn’t in any way stupid. She wouldn’t take such a risk even if provoked, and honestly I would expect her to see through such a transparent trap. Which brings me to my other theory: this is an effort by Justinian to coax us out.”

“Seems rather roundabout, doesn’t it?” Embras mused. “Tellwyrn and the Lady have a sort of detente in place; it doesn’t mean we have any connection to her.”

“As you said, there are currents here we don’t yet see,” Bradshaw agreed, “but after Tiraas this spring, we know Justinian’s interested in drawing us out and thinning our numbers. And yes, I know that was Darling’s game, but he couldn’t have done that without the Archpope’s support. Seems to me the best course of action here is to butt out.”

“The safe way isn’t always the best way, my friend,” Embras said with a wide grin. “I see great potential, here, to advance the work I started in Veilgrad.”

Bradshaw groaned, lifting his trembling hand to cover his eyes. “You and those paladins…”

“Yes, those paladins,” Embras agreed. “Think of it, Bradshaw. What would happen if the Trinity’s paladins learned their great secret? Would they strike them down like they do everyone else? How would they cover that up, in this age of printing presses and telescrolls? And the other option is even more intriguing!”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard this speech at least thrice this week.”

“Then you should see my point by now without all this naysaying,” Embras said with mock severity.

“And you should pay more mind to the Lady’s agreement with Tellwyrn. We are not to harm or interfere with her students. Chaining them to trees is hard to justify as anything other than interference, Embras!”

“I saved those wretched kids’ lives, and you know it.” Embras chuckled, shaking his head. “This is more of the same. Think of it! The Church against the University—those paladins are going to be caught right in the middle. They’ll be in just all kinds of trouble. What better opportunity to do them a few favors? And if we have to interfere with them a bit first, well… Eggs, omelets, you know how it goes.”

“The Lady may appreciate your hair-splitting,” Bradshaw warned. “Tellwyrn will not.”

“Indeed. That’s why we’ll have to be very careful to stay out of sight until we can produce evidence of just how useful we are. Do the kids a solid favor and vanish into the night before there’s any talk of reward—that’s the kind of thing that gets us in Tellwyrn’s good graces.”

“I don’t think she possesses any such thing as good graces.”

“Well, it’s how we get her to owe us a favor, then,” Embras said irrepressibly. “And the active immortals always respect a favor owed. That’s the currency that keeps them from killing each other off, after all.”

Bradshaw sighed, staring down the street. The square beside the Rail platform was visible in the distance, bustling with activity; more caravans had arrived and departed today, carrying Church and cult personnel and material, than the town saw in the average month.

Across the porch, Jonas rose and turned to enter his saloon, leaving Ox and Wilson to carry on their argument. The bartender’s expression was thoughtful, and troubled.

“I still think the odds are good this is a trap, and quite possibly one aimed at us,” Bradshaw grunted.

“But of course,” Embras said with a grim smile. “Spotting the trap is only the first step—next comes leading the hunter who laid it to step in it. And really, old friend, isn’t that the fun part?”

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