 
White Mage

Book 2 of the Six Books of Magic

By Jolie Jaquinta

Published by Jolie Jaquinta at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Jolie Jaquinta

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

# ARC 1

## Chapter 1

### Relief

Bianca shuddered and gasped and drew a ragged breath as the tremors subsided. She could feel them depart as she exerted her will against them. But they did not withdraw completely. They reflected and rebounded around the geography, the dissonant chords of their progress mocking her with echoes that sounded of laughter. She stilled herself, and took three deliberate deep breaths, holding them and willing her body calm. Pale hands pushed straw colored hair away from blue eyes. She then took stock of her situation.

Off grey parapets and causeways, buttresses and ramps filled her sight in all directions. They intersected at all angles and paid no heed to any conventional notion of up or down. They also shifted and changed. Slowly, when left to their own ends, but rapidly and reactionary when the crescendo of the Noise was upon them.

Amongst the chaos there was structure. They grew thicker in some directions, and more branched in others. A certain section was more grey-green, another grey-pink. The faint color differentiation along with the thickness gave a radial clue. It was enough to navigate by.

Her peripheral vision caught a stirring of changing branches further out. She pushed off and focused her will in that direction. Physical movement was almost as irrelevant as orientation here. She flew across the space in-between, somersaulting halfway over a balustrade and refocusing her will to stop. She landed in a small outbreak of Noise, crashed and rolled quickly to recover, gaining her feet right away. She ducked and dodged its shimmering sonic presence easily and keened her own response. Vocalization was not really necessary. In reality it was only a battle of Will. But the focus made it easier to actualize.

The echo died. It was only a small outbreak. She looked around suspiciously and then saw it. Rolling in from opposite directions came two breakers of Noise. Archways twisted and writhed in their passage and they were moving too quickly for Bianca to evade the trap.

They crashed on top of her and she screamed as the cacophony of non-sound invaded her consciousness and filled her head with visions of twitching crawling things that bent in all the wrong ways. Focus gone, she dove in one direction, whipping out her knife. Tendrils of Noise undulated towards her and she slashed at them. In her vision they took on the aspect of a nightmare form. But it gave her a base to react against. Instinctively, she darted at what appeared to be vulnerable points, ducked under its haphazard flailing, and dodged around it.

Her mind cleared as the familiar actions gave her an anchor. Driving her knife tip into a joint and evading a set of dropping coils she forced a mental separation between herself and the Noise. She circled and jumped lightly from one parapet to another, then slashed at its "back". That had been a close call. But now she had her focus back, and it only took a few more telling blows before the Noise dispersed once more.

She did her breathing exercise again and sheathed her knife. On one level she knew that none of this was physically real. Her knife could no more hurt what she fought than harsh words. Reality was metaphysical. It really came down to her Will against the Will of the Noise. She had a lot of training, though, in expressing her Will through her knife against another's physical weak points. So bending the perception of the environment to that analog played to a strength of hers.

She had no idea how the Noise saw things, or if it had any consciousness at all. From what she knew, it wasn't even a whole being. Just the merest fraction of the tiniest splinter of Will from an Ancient. A being of such magnitude that the most brief and passing encounter with it had left this rippling Noise cascading around the psyche of the man whose mind she was lightly jogging through. Left unchecked, it drove him screaming and raving insane. Such was the fate of those who dealt with powers beyond mortal knowledge.

However, dealing with powers beyond mortal knowledge was her job. Not usually the Ancients. She was, personally, more familiar with the Grey Elves. Although of the same order of being as the Ancients, there was more of a basis of understanding, as they had created the world as she knew it. At least one had interest in the affairs of the Empire she served, although exactly what interest was very hard to tell.

Bianca preferred much more concrete problems. You couldn't stick your knife into the Noise unless you could see it as a physical target. Her dealing with the Grey Elves took the form of a book. The Book of Creation. Purportedly written by them in some impenetrable eldritch language. The written word was far too crude a mechanism for them to record their unfathomable thoughts in. So they used a Hydragyranium based ink. More commonly known as the poison 'fixated mercury'. This would produce death through madness if ingested. Proximity merely caused wild hallucinations. When employed as an art form, coupled with the pictures in the book, a greater meaning was conveyed in more than just words.

So she was not a stranger to courting insanity. Especially as interpretation was difficult and the temptation was always there to spend more time with the book rather than pursuing the myriad avenues of research that its potential opened up. But the book was 8,000 years old, and she was not the first to plumb its depths. The previous owner had gone quite deep. He paid the price, but he left some of his work: the Ævatars.

Twenty times the height of a man, these giant creations of stitched together flesh were done, apparently, at the direction of the sections of the book on anatomy. One had been found intact, one in the process of being built, and one in the process of being destroyed. Based on the notes, these creatures were expected to have powers proportional to their size. Enough to challenge the gods. Which is exactly why her Empire needed them.

However, they were not simply machines. They were genuinely like the humans they emulated, down to the metaphysical level. Every creature that moved had Animus. Biology differed from species to species, but it was always the spiritual Animus that imparted the directive to move a creature. This was the simplest of the three metaphysical qualities. In the case of the Ævatar, Animus was easily supplied via directed magical energies.

Animus is just the directive to move. In and of itself it could do nothing. What was needed was a Will to impose _why_ to move. A Will was an intellectual force, a desire, an intention. Animals are mostly creatures of Will. They seek and hunt according to this. The Ævatar possessed a latent Will. It was there, but undirected. That's where its rider came in. Built into the frame, in the abdomen, was a compartment for a rider. The design of the creature was such that its Will was linked to that of the rider. When a rider expressed their Will, it was reflected and amplified by the Ævatar.

What the Ævatar lacked was a Soul. The essence and the function of the Soul was not yet well understood. All animals and even many species of humanoids that did not dwell on the surface lacked a Soul and seemed to get on just fine. But what they also lacked was the inherent ability to work magic. Something in the complex interaction between Soul, Will and Animus created mana; spiritual energy. In the religious, it was implicitly offered up to their gods, who collected it and maintained their majestic domains, and granted the occasional miracle. A mage was one who could use their own mana to work their own miracles; spells.

An Ævatar did not have a soul. But it hungered for one. This was the biggest problem Bianca faced in her research. She, herself, had attempted to drive the Ævatar several times. However, as the bond strengthened the observers saw an increased pressure on her Soul, drawing it into the Ævatar, and aborted the attempts. Given the theoretical power of an Ævatar, she shuddered to think what one would do if it had its own soul and could operate undirected.

It was just a technical problem. Unless she was forced to go back to basics and reinterpret The Book of Creation from scratch, it should be solvable. Given time. But time was not a luxury there was much of. The gods considered the Empire of Romitu an affront to them, having already meddled in divine affairs. It was only a matter of time before they overcame their natural dysfunctional nature and joined together to cleanse her Empire from the face of the earth. Unfortunately her Empire had plenty of dysfunctionality to overcome to mount a defense against this inevitability.

And that is why she was here. The mage whose mind was being trampled by the Noise was considered important. No so much by Bianca, since he was doubtful of the Ævatar project. But the only person Bianca could count on for support felt this man not only important enough to marry, but also to spent the time she might otherwise be spending helping Bianca fighting up and down the highways and byways of his mind to keep the Noise at bay and secure his sanity.

And there she was.

In a contorted tangle of bridges of a greyish yellow she fought. The amplitude of Noise here was much greater than Bianca had seen so far. She steeled herself and felt the cold settle inside as she realized that all she had fought so far was but misplaced trifles. The peaks of the standing waves of Noise converged here. She did not hesitate and, instead, flung herself across the space, rolling to a landing in the midst of it all.

"Hello Mother," she said.

## Chapter 2

### Mother and Daughter

Goatha's eyes narrowed momentarily, and then refocused on the cacophony of noise surrounding them. She spun around and put her back to Bianca and darted out with her twin blades. Bianca drew her own knife and was immediately forced into a frantic defense as a wave of chaos assaulted her. This first brush was worse than what had nearly overwhelmed her before. She heard herself scream and laugh at the same time, while she thrashed wildly with her knife.

Flashes of magical energy coruscated around her and she realized distantly her mother was fighting with both steel and mana. She sought to change the analog she faced the Noise with and bring her own magical training to bear, but the concentration eluded her. The feel of her mother's back against her own became numb and tendrils of other thoughts started slipping into her own mind.

Bianca's vision faded and she felt bitter disappointment in herself. When her mother had not answered the summons, she had come here to find if she was in trouble or insane. She found her, and immediately increased her mother's burdens. She drove herself hard to live up to her mother, but always fell short. This was just one more time. Not that her mother expressed disappointment. It was not the way of their tribe to express much, either positive or negative. But she did not have the strength yet of her mother, and so she considered herself lacking.

But another face came unbidden. Her mother's husband: Moss. The man whose mind she fought to protect. He was not at all shy with his expression. He was quick with a "Way to go kid" when he approved of her actions. A rolling of the eyes, and a "Just like your mother," when she confounded him. On the surface she cared not for his opinion. He was nothing to her. But this worm eating into her mind pulled at an inner truth. One she would never mention. More secret than her name.

The women of her tribe never acknowledged paternity. To admit such was to remove responsibility from the tribe for the child and place it on a single individual. When a child could be anyone's, everyone had to take care of it. When it was just a single person's, no one but that person did. Such children most often ended up exposed on the ice.

But this canker dug into her. It poked and prodded what she suspected. What she knew. For as often as Moss had mocked her for acting like her mother, there were many more times she had the urge to act in other ways. A flick of the head. A turn of phrase. As much as she rejected it, she saw Moss himself reflected in her. She clung fiercely to what she knew of the ways of her mother's people. Not because she ever knew them. They were dying primitives in a tundra desert. But to deny that Moss was her father.

There! It had dragged it out of her. Buried under all those layers, it had wrenched the awful truth she knew out and held it in front of her. And like when a knife is pulled from a heart wound, more and more came gushing out. His face. His laugh. His essence. But more than that. Her own face, when she was alone. Her own laugh, which never escaped her lips. Her own essence that was a reflection of his, which she repressed every day. It was there now, pouring out of her. All that was him that was within her was brought to the fore. She held it up and screamed it into the noise.

And then it stopped.

The force pulling these memories out of her relaxed. And she realized it was other than the Noise. That was gone entirely, but this force remained; slowly, slowly releasing. Letting the memories slide back into her. Gently preventing her slamming them back in as fast as she wanted, in her panic and shame. But tucking them back inside of her with a care she had never seen in the waking world.

She opened her eyes and stared into those of her mother.

"I'm sorry," Bianca said. Goatha raised her eyebrow. "I distracted you."

Goatha lowered her eyebrow and raised her up to a sitting position. She summoned water to her hand and tipped it into Bianca's mouth. "Quite the contrary. I was in difficulty. You gave me such aid as no one else could."

They sat, in one of the larger workshops in Irontree with their backs to a plinth. Above them, encased in blue crystals was the solidified form of Moss. In stasis neither he nor the Noise within him warred. All was quiet.

"I regret that I had to break a taboo of our tribe to use what you brought," Goatha said quietly.

Bianca swallowed. "I do not know what aid I rendered," she said. "I was overwhelmed immediately."

Goatha took a deep breath and drank deeply herself. "It is a battle of Will. Between Moss's Will and that of the Ancient. My fight is one to stop the cancer from destroying Moss's Will. In effect, it is to reinforce his Will." She patted Bianca's thigh. "You, my daughter, as you have always known, also possess a fragment of his Will. You provided me with a template to create a pattern from, to amplify and apply, and to turn against it, dispersing it once more."

Bianca's mouth made a thin line. She said nothing.

Goatha rose to her feet. "Maintaining the affectations of our dead tribe is not important in the long run. Saving the three of us from peril is. Yet I know we both find it... against how we have been raised. Let us not speak of that part anymore." She reached down and helped Bianca to her feet. "I take it there is a reason you came to bring me forth. Do circumstances require a swap?"

"Yes," said Bianca. "It was at his request." Goatha bent over the still form of Moss, encased in blue crystal while she waited for Bianca to continue.

"He halted his work on vegetation generation at, roughly, the level of efficiency when last you reviewed it." Goatha turned to her and raised her eyebrow. "He had made a breakthrough on mana generation that changed the balance of things. With copious and easy power, efficiency is less important."

Goatha rubbed her chin. "Power is never copious or easy. What was this breakthrough?"

Bianca picked up a wax tablet and drew a diamond. She added lines radiating from each point. She placed arrows along the square edges, leading away from the lower point and towards the upper point. "As randomly fluctuating magic enters and leaves along these two points," Bianca indicated the left and right points of the diamond. "The polarizers here guide it so that it leaves, with a purified flux, along these points." She indicated the top and bottom points.

Goatha's eyes traced the diagram. She followed the lines and verified that no matter what the input was, the output was consistent. When satisfied, she grunted.

"Moss has created a pattern representing this, and instantiated it magically, and in a variety of materials. These have been exposed to vortex energy and usable mana has resulted," Bianca finished.

Goatha grunted again. "Seems simple enough. Even obvious in retrospect. At what stage are we in production?"

"Vortexes are wild energy. No matter how robust the material tried, sooner or later there is a peak fluctuation that exceeds the integrity of the pattern." Bianca handed her the tablet. "Moss is good at theory, but he says you are better at application."

Goatha nodded. "What materials have you used so far? What's the highest flux you've seen?"

"I'm not on that project," said Bianca. "Eadwyn and Miasma have been working with Moss."

"Still working on the Ævatars?" asked Goatha. Bianca nodded. "What progress have you made?"

Bianca sighed. "Activation is much smoother now. It can be powered directly from the strategic mana reserve. But I have not found an effective soul shield to prevent it adsorbing the soul of the rider."

"Is it worth the effort?" asked Goatha.

Bianca wrinkled her brow. "The gods grow bold. They will test our strength soon. The reserve is low. The burdens on it prevent it being filled. Everyone frets and wrings their hands while we lay vulnerable."

"Still bickering over reincarnation versus resurrection?" asked Goatha dryly.

"The Queen called a council of all interested parties to come to a conclusion on the matter," said Bianca.

"What did Jesca do when they failed to come to agreement?" asked Goatha.

"After a month she sent them home and made her own decision," answered Bianca.

Both of Goatha's eyebrows went up. "There may be hope yet for Romitu. What did she decide?"

"That a soul should decide its own fate. If it wanted to be resurrected, so be it. If it wanted to be reincarnated, so be it. If it wanted to become a slave of the gods, so be it."

Goatha rubbed her chin and thought about it. "She is the daughter of Scioni. I can see that displeasing everyone equally. How did they take it?"

"As you surmised, no one was happy. But no one was upset enough to protest too much either." Bianca folded her arms across her chest. "The problems came in the implementation."

"Power?" asked Goatha.

Bianca nodded. "Resurrection takes a lot of mana. It takes power to keep all those souls we recovered from the demons in their jars. All the ones we have resurrected have been insane. So we have to reincarnate them. But we do not know how to reincarnate a soul."

"And they hope this will save them?" asked Goatha, handing back the wax tablet.

"That will only buy them time," said Bianca. "Only Ævatars will save them."

"As Moss learned, sufficient power negates the need for efficient use. If we can harness a vortex, we will not need an army of Ævatars." Goatha shrugged. "But who can tell. I have my work. You have yours."

## Chapter 3

### Souls and Ice

A minute or so after Goatha left a woman in a tailored blue dress floated down from a balcony. Her hair was beyond the whiteness of Bianca's, it was completely colorless. The same for her skin. And the redness of her eyes was not only a lack of sleep, but made her complete lack of pigmentation clear. "Was it difficult?" she asked.

"Yes," said Bianca. "More than I thought it would be."

"I monitored the pattern of Wills from up there, as you asked. But even with good templates, the readings were confusing." She sounded apologetic.

"Thank you, Lilly," said Bianca. "I understand why now." She moved her hands and drew from herself a spider web of bright tendrils. From Moss's encased body she drew out another. "It isn't just a question of the pattern being strong or weak. The patterns actually merge and change." She demonstrated and distorted each pattern towards the other.

The two of them talked for some time of this. Butterfly like patterns, in various shapes, hung around them as they described and examined the interactions and conjectured what the reasons were and what possibilities arose.

"I think this is not unlike the effect the Mackheath sword has on those it has come near," said Lilly. "It has been hard to find because we have been unable to locate a strong presentation of the pattern of its Will. Perhaps that is because it just bends the Will of those whom it influences rather than imposing its own Will upon it."

"It is not how the Ævatars work," said Bianca. "Their Will has no pattern until you impose one on it." She rubbed her eyes. "Perhaps I have been working with them too long."

"We have all been working too long," said Lilly. "There is too much to do."

Bianca nodded, and with a wave dismissed all of the summoned patterns. She started towards the door to the warehouse and Lilly fell in step next to her.

"Do you remember?" asked Lilly. "Before?" Bianca shrugged. "We would do things. Other than work. Jesca would turn up, and drag us to something. Somewhere. I find the details hard to recall."

They stepped out into the bright sunshine. Soldiers and townsfolk busied themselves about their business. Once, an older soldier noticed them after they passed, stood up straight and gave them a respectful salute. The endless line of carts full of irontree bark chips moved slowly down the main street. Tended by teams of troglodytes as they moved towards the forge built around the immense hollow irontree trunk the town was built around. Its roar formed an unchanging backdrop.

"Jesca is Queen now. We, too, have equally important duties." Bianca shook her head. "We don't have time for... ice skating."

"Yes," said Lilly, looking around her as she walked. "I remember now. Mistress Devonshire accidentally froze the harbor. The fishermen were quite cross. But Jesca found irons to strap to our feet and we skated."

"But what good came of it?" asked Bianca, watching the ground as she walked.

"I drew some interesting conclusions about rotational energy which helped with some of the naval wind summoning spells," said Lilly.

"Well then," said Bianca. "When I can make an Ævatar walk we shall freeze the harbor again, strap skates to it, and test its manual dexterity."

Lilly nodded. "Yes, that would be a good test."

Bianca looked sidelong at her. Lilly, like herself, almost never joked. But she seemed in an odd mood today. "Is there anything in your work with Devonshire on reincarnation that you think might help strengthen the bond of the Soul?"

Lilly pondered. "Perhaps," she said finally. "Our main challenge has been Soul transference and acceptance, rather than binding. But knowing one may lead to another." She paused briefly and watched some children playing. "We have a shortage of children, though."

"Is that really all that hard to solve?" asked Bianca, also watching them.

"Reincarnation involves the transfer of a Soul that has departed from its previous life into the empty vessel of a forming life. The younger the child, the greater the chance that is has not precipitated a unique Soul of its own. Fetal is the best bet." She moved on. "Only we have to find a willing parent. Using money as an inducement has moral implications. As well as failing at our task. Since Souls only form in intelligent life, there is no way to experiment on animals."

"Morals," snorted Bianca.

"Yes," said Lilly. "They have mistress Devonshire in quite a tizzy. She is having difficulty weighing the greater good. Individualism versus collectivism."

"It's an Elfin thing," said Bianca. "Tell me what you have learned of transference and what is acceptance?"

"The best analogy," said Lilly "is that a body has a metaphysical chamber within it for housing a Soul. This has a particular shape to it. In a mature individual, such as you, the shape of the chamber is exactly the shape of the Soul. If a magical force displaces the Soul, it is naturally attracted back to the chamber matching its shape."

"That is why after the Ævatar attempts to draw my Soul into it, that my Soul returns without having to be emplaced," said Bianca.

"Exactly," agreed Lilly. "In the case of a new life, it has the chamber, but no Soul. Our theory is that when the Souls were not being taken to the land of the gods, there were enough around that a compatible one was attracted to the chamber and became the child's Soul. Now that they are not there, the vacuum of the chamber seems to spontaneously generate one, or attract one from somewhere beyond."

"It would stand to reason," said Bianca, "that an Ævatar has such a chamber, but the scale of it means the pull is strong and not as particular."

Lilly pursed her lips. "If that is so, then it is the first created living thing I am aware of that can house a Soul. If we were able to replicate it, then we might have something to experiment with that didn't have moral entanglements."

"That would require a deeper understanding of the Book of Creation," said Bianca hesitantly. "It may come to that, but I'm not ready for that yet."

"What is your plan for creating more Ævatars?" asked Lilly. "Don't you have to come to that understanding sooner or later?"

"The other two we have are not in good shape," admitted Bianca. "But I have hoped that with a pattern and reconstruction spell that they can be restored. Reports were that they have some regenerative capability anyway."

They had come to the Academy of Magic. A magical twitch passed over their bodies as they crossed the threshold of the wide gate with a nod from the guard. The ever present roar of the forge died away as the magical dampers kicked in. The only sound was their feet on the gravel.

Bianca looked sidelong at Lilly. "You've ridden the Ævatar," she said. "Do you have any insight?"

"It seems so long ago," said Lilly. "So much has happened. I have a Soul now. I could not do it again."

"I understand that," said Bianca. "I'm just asking... what the experience was like."

Lilly paused a long time. "The smell was unpleasant," she said. "It was hard to concentrate. You really didn't have much of a sense of operation. If you wanted it to walk, you thought of walking. I'm sorry, I don't remember much more."

Bianca nodded. "It's further than I've ever gotten."

"It is too risky for someone with a Soul," said Lilly. "But troglodytes and many Underground species have spirits, not Souls. You have never experimented with those?"

"No. Too risky. Too little to gain," said Bianca. "If their spirit can be bound, then the Ævatar would have a spirit we could not control. If they could control it, it would be of little use. Those without Souls cannot work magic. It would be insufficiently powerful to fight the gods."

"Much thought has been put into this," said Lilly. "It seems unlikely that the answer will be easy."

"And yet Moss came up with the rectifier in an idle moment," said Bianca. "I need such a moment."

"Then you need more idleness," said Lilly. She mimed ice skating.

Bianca came as close as she ever did to smiling. "It has been a pleasant walk," she said. "I'm afraid that will have to do for now." She looked up at the sun and stretched. "But someday. Soon. If the gods don't attack, we should do something idle."

"Yes," said Lilly. "Lets." She looked up at the sun as well. "It is nearly noon. Mistress Devonshire will probably be up by now. She said she was going to try uncompressed sleep for once, to see if it cleared her head."

"Let me know if that works" said Bianca. "One of the students optimized the spell and worked out how to remove the need for sleep altogether with only a slight loss of efficiency. However, it's probably not worth the two extra hours for us."

"Probably not," said Lilly. "I once used Jacques multiplexer to animate several bodies at once. But it only allowed me to do basic tasks quicker. I didn't think any faster."

Bianca pushed open the door to the main tower and the two entered. The in-house teleport had a sign on it reminding people to conserve mana where possible. Bianca looked down the steps and Lilly looked up.

"Good luck," said Lilly.

"You too," replied Bianca.

They went their separate ways.

## Chapter 4

### Preventing Insanity

Devonshire was not present when Lilly returned to the lab. So she reviewed the experiments set up on the table herself. There was a variety of soul gems, crystals and other containment mechanisms. The inner wall was lined floor to ceiling with soul jars containing hundreds of souls they had liberated from the demonic planes on their attack there several months ago. Devonshire wished to keep them there to remind her of the importance of their work.

Lilly drew one out and brought it to a light containment field. She took readings and noted that it still had a natural attraction for the demonic plans. If released it would return there, back into the thrall of whatever demon lord had taken over from Halphas, the one they had destroyed.

She placed her hand into the work area and closed her eyes. Tendrils of her mind touched that of the Soul. She felt, rather than heard, a screaming gibbering of mindless ramble. Insane. No telling how long this poor Soul had been tormented in the pit. Whatever it had done, or whomever it had offended to be traded to the demons, was long overwhelmed by its treatment there. Reincarnation was really the only answer for it. To seal that lifetime away as one bad layer and to start afresh.

She brought some other instruments to bear and checked a few more things. As was usually the case, the Soul had no past lives. Since the Change, when reincarnations mostly stopped, the number of new Souls compared to reincarnated ones had risen in proportion. They had briefly thought to pierce the barrier between the current life and the past lives. As Lilly had partially done when she inherited her Soul from Angelika. However the chance of those older lives calming the present one was about the same as the currently insane one corrupting the older ones. And, in any event, as most Souls were new ones, it was not generally applicable.

There was a rough scraping as the door to the lab was pushed open. A panting Devonshire pulled herself into the room and leaned against the door, closing it again. Her deep red hair was awry. She had given up on the magical conformance she normally kept it under. Her tunic was a short rough work-piece, secured around her waist with a wide red belt with a large ruby buckle. She wore red leggings and her usual high boots.

"Good morning mistress Devonshire," said Lilly, as Devonshire got her breath back.

"Afternoon," she said in a husky voice. "Don't coddle me. I know I'm late."

"Do you feel the uncompressed sleep helped?" Lilly asked politely.

"I feel like hell," said Devonshire. She had made her way over to a table that had bread, cheese and weak wine set out on it.

"You often say that," said Lilly. "Would this be one of the lesser hells or a greater hell?"

Devonshire laughed. "I swear, Lilly. You are developing a sense of humor." She tore off some bread, wrapped it around a chunk of cheese and gnawed on it as she made her way over. "I guess you can say I'm feeling better than I have in a long time. Although that's not saying much." She watched Lilly transfer the Soul into a work gem. "What have you got?"

"The usual," she said. "Another insane Soul from the rescue."

"Any idea what you want to try today?" she asked.

"I had a conversation with Bianca this morning," said Lilly.

Devonshire eyed her warily. "Is she putting ideas into your head? She thinks this is a waste of time."

"There was difficulty retrieving Goatha from Moss. She had to render aid" continued Lilly.

Devonshire shuddered and swallowed more cheese. "I really don't like either of their approaches. But I have to admire Goatha's devotion."

"It sounds a terrible thing," said Lilly. "To battle endlessly to thwart the Will driving a mind insane." She touched the Soul again, now in the work gem. "I wonder if the insanity this one experiences could be similarly combated."

Devonshire sighed. "Moss's case is more of an imposing of Will. It's just that the Will that's doing the imposing is insane. These poor creatures' problems are mental, not metaphysical."

"I understand that," said Lilly. "But there may be a similar approach. Say if the pattern of the mind could be divined, and then filtered to separate out the sane. Magically constraining the Will of the mind to the sane pattern might fix a new path that might remain after the magic was lifted."

Devonshire nodded. "Tenuous. But we're at the bottom of the barrel."

Lilly looked at the floor. "I know this does not bring us any closer to controlled reincarnation. It would only leave the Soul free to be resurrected."

Devonshire waved at the racks of soul jars lining the walls. "Personal politics aside, we need a solution. It's costing us a fortune to maintain the magic on these jars. What are there? Over a hundred thousand souls? Even if we could reincarnate them, where are we going to put a hundred thousand babies?" She slumped against the table. "I'm opinionated. I'm not fanatic."

"Well, if we destroy the gods, maybe things will naturally go back to reincarnation," said Lilly.

"One can hope," said Devonshire. "Let's see what sort of pattern we can get."

They worked through the afternoon. There were elements of progress in subsidiary and related issues. Questions were raised that Lilly duly noted for further study. But there was no immediate breakthrough.

"I think there is some potential here," said Devonshire, when the sun had sunk past the window. "At least we're covering ground that hasn't been gone over. I don't know if it will move us closer or not."

"There is always the case that it might help someone in related work," said Lilly.

"Hmm," said Devonshire. She rubbed her head. "We certainly have to find a better way of measuring insanity. Partial empathy has got my nerves completely frazzled."

"Shall we try some of the calming patterns on you?" asked Lilly.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet!" said Devonshire, laughing. "I think I'll do it the old fashioned way. I'll take a break and get dinner in town."

"I'll take my sleep while you are out," said Lilly. "And we can resume when you return."

"It's always easier to work at night," said Devonshire. She pulled a cloak from a peg on the wall and threw it over her shoulders.

"Mistress Devonshire," said Lilly. "May I ask you a non-technical question?"

Devonshire looked at her oddly. "Certainly Lilly. What is it?"

"What do you do for entertainment?" Lilly asked.

Devonshire chuckled, then coughed, and then sat on the edge of a stool. "Well. It's not that it's a hard question to answer. I'm just not sure I'd recommend all the things I do for entertainment to you."

"How so?" asked Lilly.

Devonshire scratched her head and grinned wryly. "I'm not sure that short southern sailors would be exactly your thing."

"I suppose not," said Lilly. "I ask because I perceive that we are all working very hard. I am advised that entertainment boosts your efficiency more than the time taken. I thought I might try it."

"Well, I'd say that is good advice," said Devonshire. "But everyone's different. They like different things. I guess in my 'wayward youth' I tried all sorts of stuff and learned what I like. But then I also like trying new things."

"I did not have much of a wayward youth," said Lilly.

"Good gods," said Devonshire. "did you spend your whole life in that lab we found you in?"

"Yes," said Lilly, simply.

"How dreary," Devonshire said, with sympathy.

"It did not seem dreary at the time," said Lilly. "But I guess I had nothing to compare it to."

"Despite all that, here we are, working you 22 hours a day," Devonshire sighed.

"This is much better than before," said Lilly, earnestly.

"Yes," said Devonshire, shaking her head. "The thing is that it can be that much better again."

Lilly thought on this. "So you recommend entertainment?"

"Maybe not the docks," said Devonshire. "But I go down to The Rest. We have a table there, right in the back. It's quiet enough, and loud enough. There's music sometimes, song other times. There are always people. Quite a mix."

"You find this entertaining?" asked Lilly.

"I do. Sometimes more than others." She shrugged. "Take it like a game. Sit there, with your pint or a plate, and watch the people. Try to work out what they are thinking, or feeling. Without magic."

"A game? I'm not sure I've played a game before," said Lilly. "Except maybe with Jesca."

Devonshire smiled. "Think of it as a game. People are strange and very different. Often in entertaining ways."

"Very well," said Lilly. "Perhaps I will try tomorrow. Thank you Mistress Devonshire."

"No problem," she said, and went out, shaking her head.

## Chapter 5

### Entertainment

Devonshire walked the darkening streets. On a whim she passed by the gate district. It was the nearest thing they had here to a wharf. She lingered outside one of the taverns for a while, listening to the rough merriment overflowing from inside. However her mind drifted to souls and containment fields and barriers between past lives. She was unable to lose herself. Sighing, she moved on.

She passed on through the square and found herself in the military quarters. There was always a large army presence these days. Most mundane resistance had ceased, and with deployment through the gates the physical location of the armies was not as relevant. So here was as good a place as any to station troops. As a colony, there was no local populace to complain and the proximity to the academy helped with equipment and training.

There was a general bustle of soldiers on duty, or playing dice in doorways. She contemplated joining a game. After watching for a while they noticed her. "Magister Devonshire!" one cried in delight. "To hell and back!" cried another. "A wineskin! A wineskin for the scourge of Halphas!"

She drank politely, and let them reminisce briefly about the campaign to the demon lands. Then she made her excuses and moved on. She pulled her cloak about her and drew up the hood. Out of options she went, resignedly to The Russet Monster's Rest, the tavern she lived above.

She passed through the door, into the light and noise. Several people looked up, but most went back to their drinks. Her face was a familiar sight here and the usual patrons respected her privacy when she wasn't mixing. There was a long terrace at the back of the room along the rising hill. The corner table at the end was reserved for her, and the other owners of the tavern. As she approached though, she saw someone was already there.

"Coral!" she cried. "It's been a long time since I've seen you in this place. I nearly didn't recognize you without all the plumes and falderal."

A man with fine features sat there and grinned back at her. He wore a close cut tunic of muted blue and white, a floppy red hat not quite covering his elfin ears. His eyes, however, were not quite as almond shaped as her own, showing he was of mixed blood. "The Queen's Champion does get the occasional night off," he said. "When all the dragons have been slain and the derring's do'ed."

"Looking for a little entertainment?" she asked huskily, bending over suggestively as she sat next to him.

"Well, ahem," he said, in mock embarrassment. "I'm not sure it is the example my Queen would like to see me set, but I could hardly leave a maiden in distress!"

"Pah," said Devonshire. "I gave up being a maiden a long time ago." One of the staff arrived with a tankard and plate. She nodded in thanks. "Seems a scarce commodity, these days."

"Which? Maidenhood or entertainment?" asked Coral, mischievously.

She sipped her drink. "Hah. I'm just in a funny mood. Had Lilly asking me about how she should entertain herself."

Coral sputtered into his drink. "I hope to the gods that you didn't give a straight answer! The poor creature wouldn't know an innuendo if it slapped her in the face."

"She's an odd fish," said Devonshire. "But I'm not cruel. She can't help her abusive upbringing." Then, after a moment, "Although, I'm not sure we treat her any better."

"She has a Soul now," said Coral. "Borrowed though it may be. Remember I was named judge for that decision. The court was satisfied of her adult competency. She has free will. Don't add more guilt to your plate than you need. You probably work the same hours."

"Touché," she said. "Yeah, but talking of it all got me worked up looking for a bit of entertainment myself."

Coral held up his hands. "Don't let me stop you! The last thing I want to do is get between Ole' Dev and some 'entertainment'."

She grimaced and took another sip of her beer. "Don't worry about it. I'm just not... in the mood."

"That truly is a national emergency!" laughed Coral. But he stilled it when he saw she was serious. "Working too hard?"

"It's not just that," she said. "The simple pleasures are just too... simple. And anything else, well, I'm not just 'Ole Dev' anymore. People know me. People look up to me. All that 'Order of the Valiant' crap. Six Orcs in a bathhouse just isn't on the cards anymore."

Coral smiled wryly. "It's tough growing up." Devonshire gave him a dirty look. "Actually you don't sound unlike the Queen. Always fretting and angsting over the life she's left behind, what she can't do anymore, and what people will think of her if she does."

"I guess I should count myself lucky," said Devonshire. "At least I can still take a drink in a tavern." She poked at the stew she had been brought. "I thought it would all be over when we took Romitu. Then I thought it would be over when we defeated the Republicans. Now we've been to hell and back and it's still not over."

"I'm not sure it ever will be," said Coral.

"Don't be so fatalist," said Devonshire. "We war with the gods. Either we die and we're done, or we win and we're done. It's got to end sometime. Just when?"

Coral laughed. "I am being an optimist. I'm assuming we go on winning. Only you are forgetting our friends the Grey Elves. According to them we still have 2000 odd years before the world is supposed to end. Unless, of course, we do better than they think, and then they have something else in mind for us."

Devonshire sighed deeply. "I hate that."

"You hate what in particular?" asked Coral.

"I'm an Elf. I'm used to lording the 'long view' over other people. How they think too much in the 'now' and the 'today'." She pointed her finger at him. "You know what I mean, you're a half-blood." Coral shrugged. "And then this Grey Elf comes along, revealing some ten thousand year plan with intricate gears and wheels intermeshing and subtleties of moonlight. Bastard."

"Serves you right," said Coral, popping an olive into his mouth. "Oh, right!" he said, hurrying to spit out the pit. "Speaking of 'bastard', I almost forgot. I have a message for you!"

"What's he done now?" asked Devonshire, warily.

"What? Huh?" Coral looked confused. "He hasn't done anything. It's just a message. He knew you wouldn't take it from him personally."

Devonshire looked confused in her turn. "Why couldn't my own son give me a message?"

"No, no," said Coral. "Wrong bastard! And besides," he chided her, "I wouldn't make a joke like that."

"Fair enough," said Devonshire. "So what other bastard are we talking about?"

"Jack," said Coral.

Devonshire put down her tankard. "He's right. I don't want to hear anything from that traitorous scum."

"We all make mistakes," said Coral, gently.

"Seldom of that magnitude," Devonshire said flatly.

"He acknowledges the mistake and is working his Dwarven butt off trying to remedy it. And do his day job at the same time," said Coral.

"Can we assume that there is nothing you can say that will make me think well of him." Devonshire stated.

Coral winked at her. "It won't stop me trying. He benefits the Empire, and that's good enough for me."

"So what's the message," said Devonshire.

"He wants to help," said Coral, shrugging.

"Help?" said Devonshire, unbelieving. "He's been against reincarnation from the get-go. Thinks it's a waste of time. A distraction. He's been continually pouring poison in The Queen's ear against it. And now he wants to help?"

Coral held up a finger. "I don't think he's been that adversarial. Just remember: he's a Dwarf. He was against reincarnation because it was expensive and he saw no immediate benefit from it. Now he's in favor of it because he sees it is the only way to reduce the cost of maintaining the rescued souls from Halphas. It's pretty simple."

"Simple when morality doesn't come into it at all," growled Devonshire.

"Morality is relative. Cost-benefit analysis is objective," said Coral.

"Demara would have your ear for that," said Devonshire.

Coral laughed. "I'm just channeling my inner Dwarf." He picked up another olive and Devonshire went back to her drink.

"It's an empty offer," she said. "What could he do, anyway? This is mage territory. He can barely curl his beard."

"Think of it as rehabilitation," said Coral. "Some task, any task, would encourage him to listen to you more. What is there you _aren't_ doing because you're doing so much research?"

She stroked her chin and thought. "I don't know. Drinking. Flirting. Relaxing. Sleeping. Nothing he could do for me."

"How about investments? Land speculation? Assassinations?" Coral shrugged. "I'm just trying to think of something that plays to his strengths."

"I don't know. I don't care," she said forcefully. "I've no interest in coddling him."

"But I do," said Coral. "I want to keep him productive."

"Then you think of something," said Devonshire. "Give him some reply and say it came from me. Make something up."

Coral raised his eyebrow. "Are you sure you trust me with that?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Swear by the Queen's honor, oh Champion, and I'll trust you."

"Very well, Bearer of the Rose of Courage," said Coral with a hint of a smile. "By the Queen's Honor I shall deliver such a message that will be in your interest and cause no one embarrassment."

"Except Greywind," added Devonshire.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Coral.

"You have my leave to embarrass Greywind," she clarified.

"I see," said Coral. "That shouldn't be too hard."

"Good," said Devonshire. "I want to get something entertaining out of this."

## Chapter 6

### Cross Training

Coral walked cautiously up the tunnel. He wore heavy boots and gloves, and sturdy, but not dressy armor. A plain surcoat kept it relatively protected from the grime of the environment. His shield was slung over one shoulder, and his sword was buckled at his waist. A variety of other equipment hung from his belt, and more from a backpack slung over his shoulders. He wore an open faced helm, with a magelight crystal on the brow. He paused and surveyed in the environment.

The passage was slightly wider than he was, and up to his shins in water. There was the ever present sound of dripping, and his breath fogged in the air. Slime marred the walls, which were roughhewn stone set in a crude arch. The passage opened out into a room just ahead of him. Something dimly glowed within, but he couldn't make it out from where he stood.

"Check the ceiling, check the floors," he hummed to himself. Moving one foot at a time, Coral gingerly stepped towards the entrance. First he would lift his foot, then balance, then move it forward and tap it lightly on the ground. If nothing untoward happened, he would place it down and shift his balance again.

When he got to the threshold he stopped and played his magelight about the room. There was a small plinth just past the middle of the room and in a corner on the left wall glinted a white stone statue, hands raised in reverence. "Huzzah!" cried Coral, softly.

He took two steps into the room towards the statue and felt something give under his foot. With a scrape and groan a portcullis crashed down in the doorway behind him, sending a wave of filthy water over him. He winced and wiped his forehead. "I knew that was going to happen."

He moved, gingerly once more, towards the plinth near the center of the room. It proved to be about thigh high, made of mortared rubble, with a solid stone slap top. There were some engravings in highly ornate calligraphy that glowed under the magelight. In the center was a small bowl in which burned a thumb sized flame, the origin of the glow.

"I like this not," said Coral. He looked around and examined the plinth as best he could. "It smells of a trap," he said. "Of some sort." He fished, back handed, amongst the things hanging from his backpack. Eventually he unhooked a water skin and brought it out.

"Take that!" he said, squirting water from the skin onto the flame. It hissed and steamed, but the flame did not go out. He poured more out until the small bowl overflowed. The water boiled, frothed and steamed away. "Or not" he corrected himself.

He bit his lip in thought for a while. Then he fumbled in his girdle and pulled out a small bottle. "Blessed Forbearance" he read from it. Then shrugged, pulled the wax top from it and drank it. "I feel very forbearing now." He placed the empty bottle on the plinth, and took out a knife and started to cut into the water skin. Water gushed out, and continued to gush. He widened the hole, put the knife down, and fished around inside with his hand.

"There you are," he said, drawing out his hand, which continued to flow with water. He played the magelight over it and cupped in his palm was a slightly darker blue spot. He dropped it into the bottle which quickly filled up and began to overflow.

Coral picked up the bottle and squatted to get nearer to the flame. "If I recall my alchemy, water and fire are opposites." He then quickly upended the bottle and slammed it down over the flame. Blue and red light danced within the jar and steam and water spurted from the rim as he held it down.

"Ow, ow, ow" said Coral as the heat began to radiate through the gloves. He was just about to let go when the lights went out. He drew the jar back and all was still. "Huzzah for me!"

He then looked to the statue. It was the same size as him and only roughly carved. He traced the light around the edges and saw that it appeared to be free standing. The base was hidden by the water. "I bet something happens if I move it from that base," said Coral, moving forward to try to see through the water.

He groaned again as he felt another slab on the floor shift beneath his boot. There was another rasping sound and dust fell from the ceiling. He then cried as he felt something drench his face. Wiping furiously and whipping the light around the room he saw that several nozzles had appeared and were drenching him and the room in a fine, oily liquid. It shimmered on the water's surface and rippled in rainbows in the magelight.

"Ha!" he cried in joy. "Foiled you!" He pointed at the plinth. "I knew it was a trap. If I hadn't put that out and set that off then... whoosh! Half-elf flambé! No fool am I..." But his words trailed off as he heard another grating noise and saw movement.

In the niche, the statue had begun to glow. Then it moved, taking a step out. Coral held up his finger. "I knew that was going to happen too." He backed away, drawing his sword and unlimbering his shield. The statue lurched towards him.

"Great. I have to fight a stone creature?" He looked sympathetically at his sword. "Sorry friend. I promise you a quality whetstone after this."

He drew the statue into the center of the room and tried an experimental lunge. The point caught the statue in the hollow of its shoulder. A small bit flaked off and a bright spark was struck. "Whoa, wait!" cried Coral, backing away. He looked from the statue to his sword and back again. "No, no. It can't be." He cautiously lunged again, evading its clumsy strike. He drew his sword gently across it and a brief trail of sparks was stuck. He looked, worried, at the oil still floating on the water. "Flint? Flint!"

He thrashed around, looking for something, anything, which might help. Then he cried out as a blow from the slow moving statue landed on him, and he gave back. He sheathed his sword, looked at his shield. Also steel. He slung that as well. Then backed off again into another corner as it was catching up. "Think, think," he said to himself. "You can't keep dancing forever."

Then there was a clank and bubble, and his foot sank into a hidden cleft. He tugged upward, but some sort of barb held him in place. "Well that's lovely," he commented.

The statue approached, and Coral pivoted as best he could on the trapped foot. When the first blow missed, he tackled it by the waist. It was heavy, but not quick. Thus embraced, it lacked the leverage to deal telling blows to him. However Coral's blows also appeared to do no harm to it. Coral growled, and tried to pinion its arms to its sides, but its relentless strength stymied this tactic. Slowly it bore him backwards until he was bent about it, trapped by his ankle. Suddenly, his foot pulled from his boot. Thinking quickly he pushed off with his other foot and tightened his hold. The momentum from his fall coming at the same time as the creature's swing pushed it past its tipping point and the two came crashing down, Coral on the bottom.

The weight of the statue held Coral down and he struggled to get his head above the water. The statue pounded his back, dealing no hurt through the tough armor, but making it harder for Coral to rise. As his breath was running out he let it push him all the way down, and then stuck out at the arm it was supporting itself on. Rolling in that direction he got past it and it went crashing down in the water. Wasting no time Coral rolled back on top of it and switched positions, now holding it down.

"Of course, the fact you don't need to breathe makes this less of a tactical advantage" muttered Coral. It thrashed around, but each time it got one or two limbs under itself, Coral swung his weight in the other direction and collapsed it again. "What I'd give for a flint napper," he cried.

He then waited for it to slowly get half up again, and then threw his weight against it in a different direction and rammed its shoulder into the wall. There was a large crack and the arm snapped clean off. Coral leaped up and grabbed the arm, now gone stiff. With a whack he slammed it against its head as it rose up, unburdened. A shard flaked from the head but the arm snapped in two. Coral tried again with the remains of the arm, but this time aimed at its arm. He was rewarded with another crack as that arm snapped off.

"Well, now I'm getting somewhere." He collected the fresh arm and used it repeatedly against its legs. The torso of the statue fell to the water and writhed there. He watched a while, and was satisfied that it was unable to rise. He tossed down the chipped arm on top of it.

Coral stomped over to the corner, no longer caring about hidden pressure plates. He felt around, removed the barb from his boot and extracted it. Sitting on the plinth and replacing the boot, he eyed the now empty niche warily. "There has to be a hidden compartment under the statue. That's where they always are."

He sloshed over and started poking about the base. Nothing moved at his gentle prodding. So he pushed harder. Nothing continued to happen. With rising annoyance he kicked the base. Then stamped it. Then jumped up and down on top of it. Water and oil splashed everywhere. "Move! Move! By the grace of the Queen, move!" But nothing happened.

Breathing heavily and feeling defeated, Coral slumped against the wall. One of the stones shifted under his weight and the panel that had been at the rear of the statue slid away. Behind was a shallow compartment lined in soft material. Suspended in it by pegs and wire was a fine fair sword. A magically large fire opal glistened from the pommel. The grip was wrapped in dyed red leather. The cross hilt was black burnished iron. And the blade. Oh the blade! It shone of blue steel undimmed by the dank surroundings. And as Coral watched the flicker of lightning could be seen flashing over its surface followed by a deep vibration of muted thunder.

"Yes!" he cried. "Lightning Lord!" He reached out an eager hand to grab it. There was a sudden flash as a spark arced to his outstretched hand. He knew no more.

## Chapter 7

### Post Mortem

Coral lurched forward, flailing around him, trying to connect with something. A firm presence prodded him in his shoulder and knocked him back onto the bed. He gripped the mattress and took stock of his surroundings.

"One of the many uses of 'the pole'" said a gruff voice from a safe distance. "Pity you left yours behind."

Coral growled in frustration and pulled himself up again, although more slowly. He sat wearing nothing other than a plain under tunic on a fairly stiff bed in a nondescript room. A window let in filtered light and the buzz and rumble of voices from the main thoroughfare of a town were heard nearby. "I couldn't get it down the corridor," he said, by way of explanation. "It was too big."

"You didn't notice it came in three screwing sections?" asked the Dwarf looking sadly at him. He demonstrated on the one he had been prodding Coral with. His clothes were the color of granite with a contrasting belt and hood of slate grey. His beard was salt and pepper and his expressionless eyes brown.

"Three screwing sections" repeated Coral, raising a finger. "I'll remember that for next time."

"Still haven't had enough?" asked the Dwarf.

"Not until you have, Jack" Coral grinned. He slapped his thighs and looked around. "Where's my stuff?"

"It's being laundered," replied Jack. "And, in some cases, repaired." Coral looked disappointed. "Electrocuted, roasted and crushed. Quite something." Jack shook his head.

"OK," said Coral, counting off on his fingers. "Electrocuted: picking up Lightning Lord while standing in water. Yes, yes, incredibly stupid in retrospect. I get it. Roasted? I presume that ignited the oil?" Jack nodded. "But crushed? I don't remember that."

"The detonation rattled the portcullis and brought down the weakened ceiling." The Dwarf shook his head. "That wasn't supposed to get you until you were on the way out."

Coral whistled. "Zapped, fried and flattened. Not a good day."

"Technically asphyxiated and poisoned as well. But those were just secondary," said Jack. "You did seem to set off every trap that was in there."

"That flint statue... that was... mean," said Coral, reproachfully.

Jack shrugged. "I have to admit that was one of mine. It wasn't in the original."

"Do I want to know what was there instead?" asked Coral.

"It was in a cyst. One of those vaults that was proofed against the cataclysm. Back when we worked for the government under Moss and Goatha, trying to work out what the cataclysm was all about." He tugged on his beard with one hand. "It was a different setup. Those cysts had been there for 2000 years. Some were proof against the cataclysm, some not."

"I take it this one was, since you found Lightning Lord in it," said Coral.

"Actually it wasn't," said Jack, leaning back in his chair. "The Cataclysm wasn't the earth shattering purging by fire we first thought it was. We worked out it was very specific. Very targeted. In some places specific words, passages or engravings were burnt from pages with everything else intact. Now we know that it was really all the work of your patron and her 143 friends. Once the use of the Six Books of Magic got out of hand, they banded together with the aim of erasing all knowledge of the 'New Magic'. The new magic is strongly pattern based and so they created spells seeking out the pattern of the books and sent them out seeking and destroying. They put a lot of power into it, but the world is a large place. Some cysts out in the Outer Waste survived nearly intact. But they've been hard to find. This one was not far from their base of operations and no reference to the works survived."

"But hugely powerful swords such as Lightning Lord didn't really rate?" laughed Coral.

"Apparently not," said Jack. "Looks like they just targeted the Six Books themselves, and not magics created by the knowledge of them. In any event, Moss thinks that Lightning Lord predates that time anyway. It is referred to in some romances from the cataclysmic era."

"Wow. That's pretty old then." Coral thought for a while about that. "Well, thank you for the history lesson," he said. "And, well, the more practical one as well."

Jack inclined his head and returned his chair to the floor, shifting his weight as if to get up.

"The lesson being over," continued Coral, "I did manage to do that other favor you asked of me."

Jack raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. "And?"

Coral took a deep breath. "Devonshire thanks you for your offer. On the matter of magical reincarnation, she is fully occupied and, given your own limited abilities in these areas, there is little assistance you can offer. Given that it is a priority of The Queen, she feels that there is also little use that your influence can offer. However, there are other pursuits of hers that she holds equally important that she has been unable to pursue that she feels you may be of some assistance on." Coral stopped to be sure Jack was taking this all in. He nodded. "Winter, her son, is still fostered far away from her in a nominally hostile court. If things go ill with the gods we may find ourselves in direct conflict with them. She is concerned about his safety, and where safety cannot be guaranteed the ability to speedily extract him from a danger zone. Fostering is just polite language for hostage taking. She has not been able to keep on top of things as much as she has wanted to. This is your specialty. And a place where your assistance would be quite beneficial."

"The words are well put," said Jack. "And I thank you for pursuing it. But they seem well rehearsed and more your words than her words. I take in then that she completely refused my help and you're just trying to patch things over."

"There's more." Coral grinned thinly. "Those were the things that played to your strengths. This being Devonshire, there are other bits that play to your weaknesses."

Jack gave him a long look and nodded. "Continue."

"What she most regrets about her situation is that she has not had the time to do an adequate job of being a mother to Winter. Not only because of the pressure of her work and the remoteness of him, but also because he appears to be aging as a human, and not at all as an Elf. Whatever work you do for him, she wishes you to do it in such a way that he feels he has a mother who loves him and cares deeply for him. She does, but she just hasn't been able to convey it as well as she would like, given the situation. So no duplicity is warranted. Just expression." Coral concluded and bowed his head.

Jack sighed deeply. "You're right. That really isn't my strength." He thought for a while. "Very well. If that will put her at ease, and improve her work, I'll agree." He shook his head. "I don't know how I'll do it. But I'll find a way."

"Many thanks," said Coral. "Devonshire, Winter, and all who hold Romitu dear, will be glad of it."

"I may have to call on you," said Jack. "For... advice."

Coral held up both hands. "No problem. I'm happy to help, although I don't have many ideas on the subject."

"At least you had a comparatively normal upbringing. You knew your parents," said Jack.

"Yes, and we all loved each other dearly," said Coral. "However, I'm not exactly sure that a normal upbringing is the best baseline here. She's an Elf. He's human. His father was a god."

"And I'm a mental patchwork put together by a magical artifact obsessed with assassinations," exclaimed Jack.

Coral pointed his finger at him. "And that sets you apart from everyone else. I don't know the boy well, but I'd put good money down that he's feeling exactly like that right now. So reach into your drama and pain, remember how it felt, how it feels, and work out what you could have had that would have made it all that much easier for you."

"A loving mother? Perhaps." Jack sighed. "I'll do what I can."

"OK," said Coral. "I'll see you in two weeks?"

"Yes," said Jack. "Time for _my_ lesson then."

"And don't think I'll forget what you've put me through!" laughed Coral. "I'm thinking I might introduce you to jousting."

## Chapter 8

### Archaeology

General Alessa walked the battlements of the High City of Romitu. She did not do so every evening, but she tried to make it a habit in whatever city she was stationed. It was the sort of thing General Scioni would have done. It was not hard to emulate. She could see it would have a beneficial effect on the troops, but she also found it particularly rewarding for two reasons.

Firstly, as the sun set over the world's largest city, the view from the High City was spectacular. The low light brought the buildings into high relief. It shone over the white marble of the immense buildings lining the forum, the terracotta roofs of the tower houses and finally the mud brick of the outskirts. Smoke from cooking fires rose up to greet it. The various monuments that studded the city from over a thousand years of history cast lengthening shadows over the neighborhoods they ruled.

In a sort of ironic modern inverse, two long snaking rivers of green wound their way into the city from the south and north. The old aqueducts had been demolished and replaced with parks when they replaced their water supply to one driven by new magic. The Queen would not hear of erecting new monuments. With the capabilities they had, anything new would stand head and shoulder above the old. She did not feel they had yet done anything worthy of that. There was talk, from time to time, of an appropriate memorial for General Scioni. But he was, perhaps, least loved in his own city. And Jesca felt he would rather the effort be put into civic works.

General Alessa would pick a spot, and study it closely. Thinking on what she knew of the people who lived there. This was her city. She had grown up here. It hadn't been terribly pleasant. The only daughter of an Amazon immigrant, trying endlessly to live up to a mother's inflated notions of her invented past. The best she could do was a government hired mercenary. Only by an amazing quirk of fate did it lead her to the military prowess her mother had dreamed of. She was probably down there now, getting drinks bought for her, bragging of her daughter. It didn't give Alessa any sense of pride, though.

She moved on down the wall and approached one of the many corner towers. She was quickly seen and she could hear calls of "The General!" spread amongst those on duty. As she drew up to it several soldiers presented themselves, saluted enthusiastically, and cried "To hell and back!" It was almost becoming the army's motto. She grinned and returned the salute, passing into the tower.

Several more troops stood to attention as she passed through the tower. Less formal cries of "Huzzah Romitu!," "Sharp Blades," and "We Stand Ready," greeted her there. She waved to them in acknowledgment and left them with a "Lucky Dice to You," quickening her step. It would not do to have them see their general with a tear in her eye.

That was the second rewarding thing for her. She had not earned her position; it had fallen on her. When thrust into a crisis, she had no idea what she should be doing and, in terror and panic, had just done what she was told, or what she expected she would be told to do. It took her a long time to learn that this was exactly what leaders did: they lead. Commanders plotted strategy, subordinates logistics.

Dismayed to be put in charge of so many lives, she had thrown herself first into any engagement. If it went disastrously, then she would be amongst the fallen and would not have to deal with the failure. But her troops saw her as fearless, and threw themselves after her. As they cried now: they had followed her to hell and back and lived to tell the tale. They loved her for it and would do it again, eagerly, if she asked. That was what gave her a sense of pride. It brought a tear to her eye as night fell across the city and made the long circuit of the battlements worth it.

* * *

"There is someone here to see you, ma'am," said Alessa's attaché, when she returned to quarters.

"It's late," said Alessa, "but I'm guessing they have a good reason." She moved on into her office and stopped short when she saw the Dwarf sitting in the guest chair.

"Good evening General," said Jack. "If it is too late, I can return in the morning."

"No, no," said Alessa, reflexively. She sat behind her desk, picked up a crystal skull paperweight and weighed it in her hands. "What can I do for you?"

Jack steepled his hands. "There is a matter of security I have been pondering. It has occurred to me that it may have a strategic side to it. Together that may change it from a burden to an opportunity."

Alessa held her hands in the air. "I'm all for turning burdens into opportunities."

Jack nodded. "As part of coordinating espionage, I also need to see to the security of our spies. To provide cover to both activities, I am charged with ensuring the safety of all sensitive personnel of Romitu government, their associates and families. The ninth army has an analogous duty. Judged as the strongest army, decorated junior officers have been promoted to other armies, recruits drafted in, and you have been dispersed, providing security at sensitive installations of the Romitu government."

Alessa thought on this, fingering the skull. "I see what you are saying. Do you see an overlap?"

"Not as present. But I think there is opportunity for overlap," Jack said. "Civilians worry about war with the gods. They hope it won't happen, and fear the day. Militarily, if it is at all a possibility, we must assume it will happen, and prepare for that day." Alessa nodded. "Waterbearer is one of the triumvirate of the pantheon of Romitu, with a domain of the oceans and rivers."

"Certainly," said Alessa. "She is already ill disposed against us from when we killed Sel de Mar while raising that sunken fleet. She will be involved in the forefront of any action against us. We've studied her likely tactics."

"I'm glad," said Jack. "I hope you have considered her allies as well. That is where my concern starts."

"Winter," said Alessa.

"Yes," confirmed Jack. "He was fostered to Atlantica, demigod of the northern ocean as blood price for the death of his daughter. He still resides there."

"Is he one of our spies?" asked Alessa, narrowing her eyes.

"It is not my habit to put minors in harm's way," said Jack, sternly. "Even if they have divine blood in them. But as the son of a sensitive person in the Romitu government, I am concerned with his safety."

"I can't see Dev being delighted with that," said Alessa, offhandedly. Then seemed to regret it.

Jack lowered his eyes and smiled. "I don't think either of us is. But if things go to war, he will be at risk. Great risk." He let that sink in. "The delicacy of the situation has lead me to explore other ideas."

"Other ideas involving me?" asked Alessa. Her grip tightened on the skull.

Jack lowered his head again. "Winter has not been the only visitor to the court of Altantica. Twice in the past year a teacher at the Scioni Magic Academy has visited. The first time on her own, the second time with her class. Do you remember Penelope?"

"Penny?" said Alessa, sitting up straight in her chair, skull forgotten. "Wow! She's pretty cool. Her grandmother is one seriously scary little-old-lady-Orc."

"So I've heard," said Jack. "Apparently she has developed an interest in Triton history. The court of Atlantica happens to be near some Triton ruins of historic importance. Her students cleared some of the structures last time for better study."

"Did it offend them that we have more of an interest in their history than they do?" asked Alessa.

"I'm not entirely sure," said Jack. "But apparently the 'little favors' that her students did while there were very well received. I had hoped to possibly use the good will to temper the court more in our favor. Possibly to blunt any action, when war comes. But the... ah... sensitivity of things has prevented me."

"I'm not a diplomat," said Alessa, simply.

"No. You are a general. But a general with many new recruits to train," said Jack. Alessa raised her eyebrow. "It has been a tradition in your army, has it not, that recruits are trained in discipline by engaging in works of public service?"

"It has," said Alessa, cautiously, "but I'm not sure they really need roads under the sea."

"No, but they might need excavation." He leaned forward. "Say the army offers to help the student's effort by sending in troops to do the heavy work of shifting mud and shale so they can concentrate on restoring the structures, mosaics and what have you to their original glory. All with the understanding that they are the properties of Atlantica and will remain so.

"I can see them buying it," said Alessa. "It wouldn't be bad training."

"That's just the start." Jack smiled and began ticking points off on his fingers. "You would also get what was effectively a garrison right at the doorstep of a likely foe in war. As you rotate troops through, you will be building up experience in your army for underwater action. We get ears closer to the court of Altantica and thereby possible early knowledge of divine plans. And, of course, we would be in a much better position to secure the safety of Winter."

"Yes. I see where you are going now." Alessa put the skull down and nodded. "I see you have put a lot of thought into this."

"That is my job," said Jack. "I have no doubt I can persuade the Queen to support this, once the ancillary benefits are explained to her. Although Penelope is not a Romitu citizen, she would make a natural person to propose this to Atlantica. I'd talk to her myself, but she works in such close proximity to Magister Devonshire that I hesitate."

Alessa pointed her finger at him. "So you want the whole thing to look like my idea?"

"I think that would... give it the best chance of success," said Jack.

Alessa nodded. "I think it would be a good thing to do. Leave it with me."

"I thank you," said Jack. He rose, bowed deeply, and left.

## Chapter 9

### History

Fretful winds blew bursts of showers against the towers of the Scioni Academy of Magic. It dripped from the eaves and dribbled down the stone walls. The stone of those walls had been summoned from the elemental plane of Earth as one piece and then sealed, giving no surface for the water to seep into. Windows dotted the surface with more frequency than wise in a military edifice, if its defenses had been merely structural. But even the windows offered no entrance, having magical seals that could be turned up during inclement weather. So the rain ran over their surface leaving little rivulets suspended in the air. Although not unusual to anyone resident in the towers, they proved a tempting distraction to the bored students being lectured within.

Penelope's voice rose and fell animatedly as she discussed the evolution and history of the letter forms used by the troglodytes. She moved back and forth from the mounted slate behind her lectern to illustrate her points and show the forms and each change that time wrought in them. Occasionally she would fire out a question to the most distracted student in the class. She would let them sputter a while, then either supply the answer or allow a more attentive student do so.

Today she wore a short tunic over leggings. Although they appeared to be of a pale grey, close examination showed them to be intricately woven in patterns of a slightly different color. She wore a grey scarf loosely around her neck and had her hair tied back in a multitude of small braids.

"We have now traced this alphabet back forty centuries to a record of brick engravings from the Juhász Dominion. The diatricals we saw first tracing back the, now defunct, letter eth appear on many letters now, belying the antiquity of this display form. Most curious, do you not think?" She looked up and around the classroom. Eyes snapped back to hers as a dozen or so minds attempted to pick up the track, or at least appear to do so. "Does this, perhaps, bring to mind topics covered in other lessons? Anyone?" She looked up and down the rows. She smiled slightly as her eyes saw possible interest in someone sitting in the back row.

"I know I should cease asking myself why it is our honored guests that seem to get more from these lessons than the students to which they are directed." She sighed. "Nevertheless, General Alessa, have you, perhaps, perceived something my esteemed my regular scholars have not?"

The class turned and looked in surprise. They had noted that someone had joined them, but as she was just wearing her fatigue duty clothes they had just assumed it was a curious soldier. The class was open to all, and the odd and unusual showed up.

"Your pardon, ma'am," said Alessa. "I was thinking that it looked a bit like some of the carvings I saw on the Ancient sites when I was in the Underground."

"That's a pretty broad category," she said, a little reproachfully. "But you are essentially right." She drew a very abstract and intertwined design on the board above the letters. Then she circled bits and connected them to the simpler letters. "There are fewer and fewer examples of troglodyte writing as we go earlier than this period. And the frantic pace in which we have to cover material in this course prevents me doing the full derivation justice. However this is sufficiently far back that we can start to see a direct influence."

She took out a parchment with more of the intertwined designs on it. "Hakan, would you be so good as to copy this onto the board?" He looked at it and blanched. "You may use magic if you wish. The rest of you please copy this down. Your prep work is to identify within this as many letterforms as you can." A much relieved Hakan used a simple pattern spell to transfer the design, as did many in the class into their notebooks. Penelope met their annoyed glares impassively as they collected their things and filed out.

"And which 'Ancient' site did you visit?" Penelope asked conversationally to Alessa when they had the room to themselves.

"It wasn't that deep past Frontgate," said Alessa. "Your grandmother was with us, and didn't even deign to take rubbings. So I'm sure it wasn't that important."

"Ah. Probably Redstones," she said.

"Sounds right. It was near a mining village." She hefted up a tied bundle of books. "I thought I'd pass these on to you."

Penelope took them and looked along the spines. "Human works?"

"Yes. Histories. Mostly pretty fanciful. They are duplicates from Ainia's library. There are actually three editions of the same work, there. I know it isn't your period, but I thought you might find it interesting to compare the evolution of the work."

"True, true," said Penelope. "Then I might pass them on to Cornelius, if you don't mind them being sent into the Underground."

"Not at all. They are generally thought to be outrageous lies and traveler's tales. Although Ainia would swear otherwise." Alessa grinned. "No military secrets there."

Penelope stowed them away. "So have you developed a sudden interest in the evolution of the troglodyte alphabet? Or do I owe this visit to another reason?"

Alessa smiled and sat back down. "I do like your lectures. And the next time I'm stationed here I certainly hope to attend more. But, you are as observant as I would expect. There are some other things I would like to discuss."

Penelope pulled out a wax tablet and stylus, sat opposite her, and gave Alessa her full attention.

"I'm told that you've taken a few class trips to visit Winter," said Alessa. "Were you planning more?"

"Ah, the Underwater," said Penelope. "Not really my area of interest, but there so little known of its history that it seemed short sighted not to collect what I could of it. They seem to barely know their own history, so even better to collect knowledge untainted by modern interpretations."

"Is there much there?" asked Alessa.

"Their written records are non-existent. Their oral traditions are woefully modern and appear to be largely to serve the current political situation. But the Triton culture left quite a material record. I'm still trying to come up with a dating structure, but it appears they were a dominant force until quite recently. Archaeologically speaking, that is."

Alessa nodded. "I've heard you have been excavating some ruins nearby."

"Indeed," said Penelope. "Only the topmost layers. But they were quite rich in artefacts and even seem to spur local interest in the history of the region. As appears to be my fate, they were far more interested than my students. Winter foremost amongst them."

"I'm glad to hear he's doing well," said Alessa.

"His stature at court appears to have improved since our visits," said Penelope. "It appears that they now think that surface dwellers are good for something."

"Your class made a good impression, then?" asked Alessa.

Penelope snorted. "Mostly it unnerved them. They were not used, at all, to being considered an oddity. This makes me quite determined to go back as soon as the Academy can arrange it. Nothing focuses the mind more than being unnerved. So hard to do that in the classroom, though I try my best."

"As it turns out," said Alessa. "I agree completely. I have quite a few new recruits that I'd like to unnerve myself."

"Oh?" asked Penelope, raising her eyebrows.

"Would the work you would like to do on these ruins require heavy labor? Ditches to be dug, mud to be shifted? That sort of thing?" Alessa grinned.

"Why, yes," said Penelope. "It would. Magic can only do so much and it misses the finer details."

"The army considers heavy labor, especially on civic works, to be character forming," said Alessa. "And throwing them into an exotic environment where strict maintenance of their magical equipment is paramount to their survival will build attention to detail."

"I suppose that would answer any question about security the Academy might ask," said Penelope, eagerly.

"Well, that's one of my concerns," said Alessa. "Atlantica, surge of the Ocean, might, well, take it the wrong way if a troop of soldiers landed on his doorstep."

"Hmm," said Penelope. "True. He, also, has been somewhat dismissive of Triton history. I suspect the rise of his polity has something to do with the downfall of theirs."

"Well, I've talked to some of my friends in the government," said Alessa. "A section of the civic works funds is released for work beyond the borders of Romitu. You know, raising the opinion of Romitu amongst those we haven't yet conquered. Only given as most of the known world is already under our dominion, it doesn't get used that much. If you wanted to not merely excavate the ruins but to restore them, I'm quite certain I could swing the funding."

Penelope stroked her chin. "That is, indeed, a very interesting idea. It would be informative, indeed, to replicate their building techniques and see what we are uncovering more in context."

"And, if we make it clear that, once we've finished turning the ruin into a fort, palace, or what have you, that it will be a gift to Atlantica, it might also make them more receptive," finished Alessa with a smile.

"A very good point," said Penelope. "Although, not being a Romitu citizen, I'm not sure I'm the right person to broach the subject."

"Should you wish to become a citizen that would be no problem. You have plenty who would vouch for you," said Alessa, "But I think as a non-citizen, you are actually the perfect person to broach the subject. There aren't exactly warm relations between the two of us. No matter what we do, they will suspect the motives. However, as a neutral third party with a clear non-political personal interest, you probably stand the best chance of anyone to broker an agreement."

"I cannot argue with your logic," said Penelope. "I shall draft a letter tonight to the chair of academic outreach."

"Do you think it will take long to get approval?" asked Alessa.

"The current chair is Magister Devonshire," said Penelope. They both smiled.

## Chapter 10

### What We Leave Behind

Radiating circles of white could be seen far above on the surface of the water as something large and heavy impacted. A dark, bulbous shape began to plummet through the water, but was then brought up short. A large, manta like shadow emerged behind it, breaking its plunge. It continued to sink, but slowly in a wide arc.

Shortly a silver looking shape swam up quickly towards it. It darted around it, pulling at one rope holding the drag chute to the parcel and then another. Its course altered, and began to draw a bead on a wide, flat spot not far from where Penelope watched. Once the final course was set, the swimmer kicked clear towards her. There was a shock and a rumble as it crashed into the surface.

"Spot on!" said Winter, catching his breath. "That should save the grunts a bit of work and make things go a bit faster."

"Certainly," said Penelope. "Thank you." She moved closer and picked up some of the rubble that had spilled out from the bound crates. "Perfect," she said. "It is totally unlike any rock native to this region."

"Does that make it better?" asked Winter.

"No, just different." She assumed a lecturing mode. "It is important in restoration to distinguish between what was reconstructed, and what was replaced. Our excavations have revealed much of this structure, and from it, and the mosaics we have found, we can deduce what the upper forms were like. However, much of that is either lost to decay or thieved for other building projects."

"Yeah," Winter said. "I have noticed that the rocks of Atlantica's court floor look an awful lot like the ones here."

"It's a lot easier to garner building materials from the remains of your predecessors than to mine and work your own. And so, as we attempt to rebuild what was, we needs add new material. One approach would be to find the quarries originally used, and cut more of the same stone that was used here. Another is to use a completely alien material. Why do you think we have chosen the latter?" she asked him.

Winter thought for a moment. "My first thought was that it was cheaper. Since we have access to many surface mines and transport is not that hard. But then I remembered that you're not paying for it, and you're not one to let cost trump the correct scholastic approach."

Penelope gave him a long look. "And your second thought?"

Winter bent and picked up two rocks. One, a fresh cut stone that just arrived, and the other an encrusted rock from the local ground. "My second thought is that you wish to distinguish between what we know," he hefted the local rock. "And what we suppose," he hefted the new rock. "So as future evidence is discovered, it can be compared to actual evidence," he hefted the local rock again. "Should a new deduction be made, we can easier alter our conjecture." He tossed the new rock back onto the pile.

Penelope nodded slightly. "Not bad. Those are good points and pretty close to what I was thinking. I was, however, look at it with a bit of a longer view." She turned and gazed around them at the cleared ruins. "Say, in the future, our civilization here passes, and this site once more falls into ruin. And further say that those ruins are rediscovered again. It will be an elementary matter to distinguish the original from the reconstructions. Those future scholars will have both the original work to ponder, but also our own work. What we build and what we reconstruct tell volumes about our civilization. That fact that we cared enough to preserve the past while we saw to the needs of the present is a statement that can be read over the millennia."

"OK," said Winter. "You're right. I was not thinking that far ahead at all."

They moved on towards the remains as a squad of soldiers shuffled out towards the rock pile. They cheered and gave thumbs up to Winter for guiding it in and he smiled back at them. After they had passed, his smile faded.

"Do you think the fall of our civilization is nigh?" he asked.

"I deal in history," said Penelope. "Not current events."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "Just seems a bit... coincidental. Talk at court was growing quite dark. Rumblings of war and evil looks at all things human. That sort of thing." His face was quite expressionless. "I've dealt with that sort of thing my whole life. But it was definitely starting to ratchet up. Then, bang! You come back for a second visit and bring a whole bunch of bumbling naïve students. They are laughable, and no one sees them as a threat. But they can all work magic, and do so at the drop of a hat. Polishing silver, mending walls, or even just blowing air bubbles for children. Everyone is delighted and suddenly humans aren't so bad after all."

"I'm glad your lot has improved here due to our visits," said Penelope. "I assure you, though, it was all serendipity. I am not even a citizen of your Second Empire."

"So it is purely to wrest what secrets you can about Triton history from old Charonia?" he looked at her impishly.

"It was at your suggestion I first came," she said defensively. "To find something so esoteric my grandmother had never heard of it. He certainly was a great source for that." She gestured ahead to one corner where a bunch of young humans and locals were carefully clearing mud from the remains. "But I saw this as an excellent opportunity to educate my students. Seldom is there a new find for which no prior work has been done. It is a chance to apply the methods they have learned in the study of other cultures afresh and to conjecture with one another rather than scholars long dead."

"Mostly they seem to flirt with one another," said Winter.

Penelope looked disapprovingly where Winter was glancing. Her attention was noticed and the students in question busied themselves with their work. "If my interests were in modern mating rituals instead of the historical process I would have a wealth of material," she sighed. "I would have thought that being in such a perilous environment would instill some sense of seriousness. But they are as frivolous as when behind secure walls."

"Especially if my interpretation of the foundation is correct and they are excavating the abattoir," said Winter.

"I accept your superior knowledge of current building techniques in the Underwater, but I remain unconvinced as to your deductions," said Penelope.

"Time and digging will tell!" said Winter.

"I have no doubt." She looked approvingly upon him. "I wish I had more students such as you. Your mind is on the work, and not trivial distractions like these others."

Winter laughed sheepishly. "Only promise me one thing?"

"What would that be?" asked Penelope.

"Don't tell mom." She looked surprised. "I think she would rather I was being frivolous with my fellows than studious of my foster fellows."

"Your mother is a scholar, Winter," said Penelope. "She works very hard uncovering the unknown. Your interests here are in the same vein, though a different subject."

Winter looked skeptical.

"That does remind me," said Penelope. She glided over towards a desk she had set up on a flat surface. She picked up what looked to be a thick scroll case and handed it to Winter. It was made of dark leather with a red tint. A strap was attached such that it could be slung securely over the shoulders. A buckle held a cap tightly on one end.

"What is this?" asked Winter.

"When the last unit of workers arrived they brought some mail. I believe this is something for you from your mother."

## Chapter 11

### Deep Words

Winter swam through deep tunnels in the Triton ruin. Although much new attention was being paid to it, the deep halls had been a refuge for him for half his life. It was not hard to slip away, around a few turns, and have space, and privacy, to himself.

His fingers traced along stone, both rough and smooth, and he navigated by feel. The mosaics were mostly abstract. There would have only been artificial light this deep in the palace when it was built. But his destination was a wide room in the deep underbelly, almost directly below where the restoration work was taking place. He was quite certain it had not been a store room. There were warrens of tunnels, more easily dug, for such things. The work seemed too fine as well for such a use. He was pretty sure it was for some ceremonial purpose, but more than that he couldn't tell.

He reached it, finally, and swam into the open space. He removed a buoy from his belt, ignited the mage light within, and let it float up to the ceiling. He, himself, sank to the floor, landing lightly on his feet. The clumsy motion of the military grunts showed how new they were. Most expected living underwater to be like swimming. However, the magic that let them live here allowed them to, literally, breathe water. Without a lung full of air you didn't have the same buoyancy as when you swam. But you also did not have the same weight as when on land. Winter, however, had lived most of his life in these circumstances. It was all effortless to him. Plus he had some additional movement magic associated with his belt which he used sparingly.

He unslung the red scroll case from his shoulders. In the weeks since it had arrived, people had asked him of it, since he kept it with him constantly. But he said nothing more than that it was a present from his mother. Now that he was unobserved, he opened it. He pulled from the case a bundle of four small rods. They were cleverly connected by chains which prevented them from separating. However they also did not obstruct the rods from being fit closely together. When so assembled it formed a solid shaft, as long as him, with a sharp spear point on the end.

Winter warmed up by practicing ranged shots. He started first from a standing position, merely stabbing. High, low, and at various heights between. Then he did a step and thrust. Moving forward with legs together, or with a full step. Finally he did a full step forward, and thrust with complete extension, holding the spear by its very base with one hand at full length. It was an extreme shot and left him in position that was hard to recover from. But it could strike home at a distance over twice his height. He remembered clearly, in one of the few tournaments he had seen on leave one of the combatants had used this technique when her opponent thought he was out of range and won the match in a single shot. It had made a big impression on him at the time.

He felt the blood flow within him and was ready to move on to different training. He held the base of the spear and twisted a hidden control he had found after some experimentation. The sharp bits of the spear point spread down the shaft until fully half of it was blade. At the same time some inner mechanism shifted the weight of the spear such that the balance point was much closer to the base. Small prongs popped out just below this point allowing him a firm grip on the end with two hands. But, most importantly, how the weapon interacted with the water changed.

Stabbing weapons were the norm here because water produced a drag on everything, and slowed movement. A thrust presented a minimal surface in the direction of motion, and so was impeded least. A weapon that was swung to deliver a blow was close to useless. The drag was too high to be overcome by muscle and no blow was heavy enough to be telling. However, whatever changed in his magic spear also changed this factor. It moved through the water as if it was air.

Holding it two handed he swung it forward, up, around and over in a great figure eight. He swept it up, high beneath him, and brought it down again in a great J-hook. He tried different combinations and motions. Although the range was not as great as his extended shot with the spear, he could recover and strike again. And the momentum was strong, and would strike tellingly when it connected.

He concluded a move and stood, for a moment, breathing heavily. He then noticed a figure, standing on the balcony, watching him. "Hey!" he cried, alarmed. "Who?"

"That was... beautiful," said the girl.

"Cindarina?" he said, less alarmed, but still concerned. "How did you find me?"

She swam down to be on level with him, and looked at him calmly. "I have marked your comings and goings. I, too, have explored the ruins. Although not as thoroughly as you have. I followed my intuition, then your scent, and then your light."

He had returned the weapon to spear form, and was disassembling it without taking his eyes off of her. "It is not something I would wish others to know about," he said quietly.

"Naturally," she said calmly. "And I will speak of it to no one."

The weapon was back in its case and slung over his shoulder. "It would not be good for anyone to see you alone with me."

"Not yet," she agreed. "When we are done talking, I will leave by another means."

"There is nothing to say," said Winter. "We will be missed."

"Not for a while yet," she said, and made no move to leave. "I know I am not as fair in your eyes as the teacher Penelope is. I can tell by the way the students look to her that she is considered beautiful. But I had hoped for kinder words from you when there were not minds bent on evil to overhear."

Winter snorted a laugh. Then he said gently. "Your eyes do not know surface ways. Penny is counted an unlovely specimen of an unlovely race on the surface. The deference you see paid to her is because she walks straight and speaks with a commanding voice. It is not because of her looks. I have lived nearly my whole life under the sea, yet still so alien are the ways here that neither can I determine who amongst your folk is fair and who is not. I can only judge based on words and deeds."

"Have I then disparaged you? Or shorted you?" she asked, confused.

"Never" he said. "You are the only one of all I have known here who has not." He held up his hand. "That is precious to me. More than I can say. So much so that I would not put it to the test. If you were to be mocked for it, and repented of it, then I would have no one."

Cindaria sighed deeply. "I see," she said simply. "I thank you, at least, for your explanation."

"Well, it may not always be so," he said, trying to be more cheerful. "Things may be changing. They looked dark for a while, but I think the court is seeing that the surface can bring more than death to the depths."

She did not smile. "I fear not," she said.

Winter looked upon her, and saw she was serious, not woeful. "I guess I'm missing something."

"The dark words have not gone away. They are just spoken now in dark rooms, behind closed doors. And only amongst those who feel the same." She shook her head. "The gods grow restless and will move before the season is out."

He looked surprised. "How do you know such things?"

She smiled slightly. "Because those whose hearts are filled with their own arrogance deign not to see those who wait upon them. They are invisible to them and they forget not to speak before them. While those whose hearts are filled with kindness see those who wait upon them, converse with them, and learn what was thought to be in confidence."

Winter stroked his chin. "These are grim tidings." He looked up at her. "You have promised to tell no one of what you have seen here. Do you require me to promise to tell no one of what I have heard here?"

"If I asked, would you?" she challenged him.

"If you asked, I would say nothing," he answered.

"Even if it put your beloved mother, who gave you this weapon, in peril?"

He took a deep breath, and let it out. "I was serious when I said that your kindness to me is precious to me. How much more would I then value your trust?" He shook his head. "My mother knows of many things. I would hope she knows of this too."

"I appreciate your trust," she said. "But on such an important matter, I would not have told you if I was going to ask you to hold it to yourself."

He looked up, surprised. "But, then, why? Why tell me and put your own people in peril?"

She smiled. "Where do you stand?" She lifted her arms. "This is a mighty edifice that my people built of old. We were once the rulers, not the ruled. It has been scorned for lifetimes. And, suddenly, these surface dwellers we fear come, and praise them. The heads of my people lift in pride. It has been a long time and it is good to see that."

"You cannot be thinking of taking our side?" Winter said, alarmed. "Whatever way it goes, the surface cares little for here even if your rose against our enemies. They would slaughter you."

"No, Winter. Alas no." She shook her head sadly. "My people are not, yet, so bold as to even be aware of how their hearts are leaning. I speak for no one. There is no talk of that sort amongst us." She smiled slyly. "We may not go to war against them, but it may be that they may not go to war as strong or as quickly as they might."

"Do not put yourself in peril," said Winter. "The surface has soldiers enough."

"There is no peril," she smiled wryly. "Those who look down on us do not expect much of us. We just have to fulfill those expectations."

Winter smiled back. "That is most noble of you."

"But, may I ask one thing of you?" Cindarina said.

"How could I refuse?" said Winter. "You are offering me an ear in the enemy of my people's court."

"Take me with you on your next trip to the surface," she said.

Winter stared, stunned. "That's... I don't know..." He fell silent. She turned away disappointed. "No," said Winter. "Wait. I am thinking." He clenched his hands, and rubbed his chin. Then his forehead.

"I fear to make you my guest. It would bring too much ill will upon you," he said. "But, you have been a regular student at Penny's classes. And I believe she thinks well of you. I will have a word with her. As Atlantica has been generous to allow her to bring students here, it would only be fitting for her to return the favor and to offer to bring Charonia and some of his students a while to study at her academy. You would certainly be amongst them."

She smiled widely. "Well you have learned the ways of court, Winter. Your mastery of diplomacy will serve you well."

He bowed low to her. "At least the abuse has been good for something, then."

# ARC 2

## Chapter 12

### Chaotic Dreams

Eadwyn was exhilarated. She banked and soared on stabbing waves of magical energy as she rode the surge of the vortex storm. Coruscating curtains of pure mana exploded around her in a riot of over saturated colors. Incandescent tendrils writhed over her leaving glittering trails of sparks that stuck to the fabric of the air and dripped slowly, fading to red and then black. The conflagration of force buffeted her like a leaf in a hurricane as eddies and swirls pulled her first one way, and then another.

Between her and chaotic destruction was a disk shaped field formed by a tightly woven pattern of rectifiers. The same magical pattern that they were trying to use to harvest the force of the vortex storm. Here it was used in a protective sense. The incoming waves of energy were adsorbed, re-routed, and recycled. The more powerful the chaos, the more powerful the protective force against it. Apparently the first discoverers of the New Magic had used it for this, not thinking of using it to harvest wild energy. However, it had the same problem their harvesting efforts had: there would eventually be a spike of energy to massive and fast for the pattern to adsorb and it would fail. It was just a matter of time.

What little leaked through made her skin crawl with chaotic sensations. The feel of spider silk might suddenly change to the small biting pings of sleet, and then to the suckers of an infinitely large octopus tentacle. The smell of lamb's wool might meld into rotting food, then burning Sulphur or something between cinnamon and grass. It was not as a dream: where the chaos experienced was that of memory. The random energy of the vortex played directly with your senses and produced sensations that were completely unique.

She rode the storm; high and low, fast and slow. Her belt contained a series of crystals automatically scanning the surroundings and recording their patterns. By deflecting the protective disk, Eadwyn controlled its reaction to the surrounding force and could propel herself in one way or another. Nominally she kept to what she thought were the low intensity areas. However it was hard to tell for sure, and she mostly pursued the sheer euphoria of it.

Vortexes had enthralled her from when she had first heard of them. A raw recruit into the magical college of the first empire. She had intentionally taken duty on the far frontier for a chance of seeing one and was assigned to the 9th army. The original 9th army. It was a depressed and despondent regiment. Searching the outer waste for an enemy who wasn't there. Getting hammered occasionally by vortex storms was not good for morale either.

Eadwyn was not a particularly good soldier. She lacked discipline. She would stalk vortex storms across the waste, searching for the origin and operation of the magical storms. Often she would return to charges of desertion or being absent without leave. The commander, a taciturn Dwarf, thought she was mad, but possibly mad enough to gain some useful information.

And she did. She discovered the positions of several vortex fonts. Odd and disturbing holes in reality from which occasionally erupted the vortex storms. She even discovered some elementary spells, in the old magic, that could be used to precipitate a vortex from a font. That nearly earned her time in the brig, but the commander commuted it based on the potential tactical use of being able to unleash one in the wake of a pursuing enemy. He hinted strongly that it would be even better if she could control, even if only slightly, the direction a vortex storm traveled in.

And so she had unofficial leave to continue her research. They wouldn't wait for her if she went astray. But they wouldn't reprimand her if she missed a few mess calls. Until one day she was caught in the edge of a storm and walked out of it several hundred years later.

Suddenly there was a searing flash and the taste of hot peppers in her mouth. She found herself wrapped in tight bands of sepia and felt herself falling, falling through a sensory deprived world. After a moment's panic she realized that the fail-safe system had kicked in. Since an overwhelming surge was unavoidable, there was a hair-trigger reactionary spell. As soon as the rectifying field was sensed to be in collapse, it would bring up an anmanic inner field. Similar in principle to the rectifying field, they had discovered it while researching the former. But instead of deflecting magical energy, it was totally impervious to it. Physical energy too.

Eadwyn felt the impact when she hit solid ground, but being frozen in all but mind, did not suffer from it. Now all she had to do was to wait out the storm. When it passed they would scan for her, pick her up, and nullify the field.

It was impossible to track the passage of time from within the stasis of the field. The simplest thing to do was to just go to sleep. If you woke up naturally before the shield was broken, odds are it was a bad thing.

However, such was not the case. Eadwyn had a rude, but welcome, awakening being shocked awake suddenly finding herself sprawled on the cold floor of the waste. A pale figure bent over her, blocking the stars. "Ah. Goatha. 'tis you."

"Yes Goatha" she said simply. "We should move. The storm is just past, but you know how they can change direction."

"Quite aright," said Eadwyn, accepting her hand and getting up. Despite having been immobilized for an undetermined time, her limbs had not had time to stiffen. They took a sighting on the storm and started an easy jog in the opposite direction.

"Was it a long ride?" asked Goatha as they moved through the night.

"Aye," said Eadwyn. "Least far as I known." She felt her belt and ran her hand over the crystals in it. "Eight it seems."

"Good," said Goatha. They were then silent until they had moved a good distance from the storm.

They caught their breath, and then Goatha summoned up a sphere of thin mana filaments, like a ball of dandelion fluff. It swayed slightly in the direction of the storm, but showed no warning fluctuations. Goatha scooped it up again and said "Looks flat. Let's teleport."

Eadwyn nodded and offered Goatha her arm. She took it, did the incantation, and ended up back in their local camp some distance away, near the vortex font.

Eadwyn unslung her belt and laid it across a large, flat rock. She ran her hand along it and started pulling out patterns from the crystals. Each one locked into place in the air and overlapped the previous one along her route. Slowly the picture filled in.

Goatha scowled as she looked at the emerging picture critically. "Same as before," she said shaking her head. "There's nothing there."

"Nay," said Eadwyn. "There's somewhat detail here." She gestured towards one region of the aggregate scan from which could be seen stalks of bifurcated trees.

"That's only because you have incomplete scans of that area," said Goatha. "It fades into the general quagmire of general peaks and troughs on the edges where you have more information."

Eadwyn sighed and looked at it. "There be something in it," said she stubbornly. "I've sailed anon. I feel when I glide. There aught more than randomness to it."

"I just don't see it," said Goatha.

"Aye," said Eadwyn. "I can no argue that." She waved at the scans. "This is a right mess." She dismissed the images.

"More scans will give us better parameters for maximum field strength," said Goatha. "But I don't think we'll find an approach vector that minimizes flux."

Eadwyn shrugged. "Coddle me not. Besides I enjoy the scans, still see no need to seek the fruitless."

"I do not," said Goatha. "This was your longest ride yet. I see no evidence of a pattern, but based on your increasing proficiency of prolonging the experience, I am not ready to write it off yet."

Eadwyn nodded and laughed. "What, eh? You have me tow a string of collectors like fish hooks from me behind!"

Goatha shrugged. "It may be better than just making thousands of them and leaving them in the path of a storm to collect what they can, and explode when they can't."

"A right expensive way to garner free energy," said Eadwyn.

"It's the best we've come up with so far" said Goatha.

"Aye, tis so," said Eadwyn. "Tis so."

Goatha crossed over and picked up the belt. "I will take these to Miasma to consolidate with the other scans. I'll get an array of prototype collectors and we'll summon another storm in a day or two. You can ride it and we'll see how many collectors survive."

"I'll take my rest till then," said Eadwyn. With a wave Goatha was gone. Eadwyn unrolled her bedroll but did not immediately lie down. She sat for a while more watching the vortex storm pass, aurora like, beyond the horizon.

## Chapter 13

### Art

A thin, brass wire was stretched tautly across a frame. Holding it with delicate pliers, Miasma lowered it carefully into position amongst a nest of other such wires. With her other hand she threaded in a slender rod to meet up with where she held it against a brass plate. When the two touched there was a bright spark, and the wire was neatly cut. She touched them again and there was a thin trail of smoke as the wire was welded to the frame. She blew on it, inspected her work, and then picked up the wire and sought the next position to attach it to.

She worked intently and with focus. Her greying hair was drawn up away from her face, and her sleeves were tied up at her shoulder. Small scraps of brass glittered around her, reflecting the magelight that burned in the lamp. The bench was in the corner of a room made of the one-piece stone walls of magically extruded structures. A stove was along one wall, with some barrels of produce, and shelves of crockery nearby. Other large tables were set up with maps and crystal structures laid out carefully on them. Dark doorways stretched to other rooms.

The magelight flickered and guttered briefly, although there was no breeze at all in the room. Miasma paused briefly, still holding the wire with pliers in one hand, and slid a kettle across the stove to a hot spot with her elbow. She then finished attaching the wire, and put her instruments away as someone walked in.

"Welcome back, Goatha" said Miasma. Standing up and dusting herself off. "The kettle is just on. The water should be ready in a minute. There's some stew left in the oven if you are hungry."

"Thank you," said Goatha. She laid Eadwyn's belt with the crystals across one of the tables. She took a stone tankard from the shelf and placed it next to Miasma's. She fished out a few pinches of herbs from various boxes and put them into the cups.

"Eadwyn's new readings?" asked Miasma, pointing to the belt.

"Yes," said Goatha.

Miasma clucked her tongue and moved to the belt.

Goatha poured the kettle as it began to whistle. While the cups steamed the kettle refilled itself, Goatha picked up a thick rag and explored the oven.

"She did well this time," said Miasma, enthusiastically, running her hands along the crystals.

Goatha shrugged. "She was able to take many more readings. But with much the same results." She lifted the thick stewpot to the surface and looked inside. "Would you like some?"

"No thanks," said Miasma. "I was just about to go to bed."

Goatha looked over at her workbench. "Is that a new collector?"

"Good gracious, no," said Miasma. She had pulled up one of the patterns from the crystals and was looking at it. "Just something I'm puttering with. I used to make stained glass before I became a mage. I still like to create things for relaxation. Helps me sleep."

Goatha scooped some stew into a bowl, and returned the pot to the oven. She then moved to look at the workbench. "I don't recognize the shape. What is it?"

Miasma's face was lit by the lines of the vortex pattern as she enlarged one recording. "Oh, hmm? Nothing practical. I thought some of the captures looked pretty and wanted to do something based on them. I do it occasionally before bedtime. It clears my head."

Goatha lost interest and sat, eating her stew. "We'll summon another storm at the same font in a few days. That will give Jacques some time to create another array of collectors."

"This one is nice," said Miasma, opening up another pattern. "I like the detail over here."

Goatha watched distractedly. "The resolution goes down with multiple images, not up. I don't think they will help find areas of low flux."

"Oh," said Miasma, sorting through a few more patterns. "There was another message from Jesca."

"Did the Queen have anything new to say?" asked Goatha. She scraped another large spoonful of the thick stew.

"Same old, same old," said Miasma, zooming in on another pattern.

"Asking progress. Stressing the importance of this. Declaring it our only hope?" asked Goatha.

"You got it," said Miasma. She had brought a part of the pattern over to her workbench and was comparing it with her sculpture.

Goatha sighed. "Unfortunately she is right."

Miasma moved back to the belt and started on another crystal. "I thought Demara might be able to talk some sense into them."

"Into the government or the gods?" asked Goatha. The bottom of the stew was getting thick. She got up and poured some hot water into it.

Miasma laughed. "The gods! She actually seemed pretty pleased with Jesca's declaration at Greymount."

"I don't think the gods will deal unless they are forced to," said Goatha. Her stew was now more like soup, and she sipped it. "And we're too weak to force them."

"Thus the overwhelming importance of filling up the mana tank," said Miasma. Then, "Aha!" as she found another interesting pattern.

"I wonder if my daughter is on the right track," said Goatha. She put down the empty bowl and picked up her tea.

"With the Ævatar?" said Miasma. She had found another pattern segment and brought that to her bench. "That takes a lot of mana to sortie."

Goatha shrugged. "Not as much as an army."

Miasma scratched her chin. "Now if we could plug an Ævatar into a vortex. That would be a sight!" She went back to the belt.

"We had hoped to, indirectly," said Goatha. "Via the strategic mana reserve. Collectors pumping mana in, the Ævatar drawing down from it. To pull directly we would have to mount a large collector on the Ævatar itself. And, of course, it could only operate from within a vortex storm."

"Mmm hmmm," said Miasma, zooming out another pattern.

"Of course one large collector could be more robust, and sustain a higher maximum flux," continued Goatha. "But an Ævatar is a large sink, and could take quite a lot of energy." She mused for a while, watching Miasma spin the pattern to different orientations. "A vortex would make a pretty impressive shield, though. Moving it is a solvable problem. Eadwyn has touched on the basics. The problem is we don't know how to create one other than at a vortex font."

"Yes!" said Miasma. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Goatha looked up from her tea questioningly. Miasma all but danced from one work table to the other. She had a bit she had clipped from the pattern held in her hands. Goatha walked over to watch more closely.

Miasma arranged the pattern along with the other two. She then held up her wire sculpture and compared it to them. "This is the bit I liked," she said. "I was trying to copy it here. I just wasn't sure what it looked like from underneath. Eadwyn finally got a scan from that angle."

Goatha stared at the patterns. The swirls and writhing tentacles had been drawn taught into filaments. They formed an interlacing pattern of lines and spaces.

"I kind of got how they connected above," said Miasma, indicating the top of her sculpture. "But I wasn't sure how they all worked out at the back." Miasma overlapped the three patterns she had clipped, adjusted them, and more of the structure could be seen. "I was worried they intersected or overlapped. Something I wouldn't be able to do with brass. But I think I can sort this out."

"I have not seen this before," said Goatha. "When I've overlaid patterns the resolution gets lower, not greater. It all just gets fuzzy."

"Well, I'm just picking stuff at random." said Miasma. "It may have more to do with glitches in the crystals we are recording things in than the random chaos of the vortex. That would explain why I'm actually seeing some sort of order."

"Show me where you clipped these from," said Goatha.

The two of them moved over to the belt. Miasma pulled out the patterns from the sequence, rotated and zoomed them in. "There. I think that's where I got them from."

Goatha crossed her arms and frowned, staring hard at the patterns. Miasma watched her for a while, and then picked up her tea and came back. "Let's go outside," said Goatha. She picked up the belt and Miasma followed her through the vestibule and into the waste.

It was pitch black and silent. There wasn't a living thing in the waste and no wind at present. Just a ceiling of millions of brilliant stars, far brighter than anywhere else. Goatha laid the belt down and started a spell. She created a few basic patterns, connected them up, and then activated them. A copy of each pattern in the belt leaped into existence, enlarged to twice her height, and spread out in a long line to either side of their station.

The walked down the line of them. "This one?" asked Goatha, pointing at one.

"Yes," said Miasma. "But like this." She rotated and moved it slightly. They repeated the operation on the other two points she had.

"Where are you going with this?" asked Miasma.

"You may be right, that it is an artifact of the crystals," said Goatha. "But, if so, I want to prove it."

Miasma shrugged. "OK. But how?"

"You can to move the image in those three spots for a clear view of the region you wanted. We have done so, and they are aligned. Assuming they represent a fixed spot, either in the recording or in what was being recorded, if we align the other images accordingly, we should see a consistent pattern."

"But I aligned each differently," said Miasma.

"Yes. I thought we might interpolate those adjustments for the in-between settings," said Goatha. "its elementary patterns work, but I'm trying to think how to put them together."

The two of them sketched out patterns and joined them in different ways. Eventually Miasma though to make a pattern of the adjustments, and they duplicated mixtures of the adjustment patterns for each of the recorded patterns. All the ghostly images up and down the line snapped into new alignments.

"Nothing," said Goatha. They both sighed. The images had leapt up and down and were barely in a line at all.

"Hmmm," mused Goatha. She gestured again and they all consolidated into a single location. It was just as blurry as before. "I thought they might consolidate once they were aligned," she explained. With another gesture they coasted back to their original positions.

"Wait," said Miasma. "I thought I saw something there. Do that again." Goatha consolidated and dispersed the images again. "These are moments in time," said Miasma. "I think we've got it wrong to try to see them all together, either in one location or separate locations."

"What are you suggesting?" asked Goatha.

"Let's look at them one at a time, but only for the moment they were captured," said Miasma.

Goatha folded her arms again. "Again, simple transition patterns. But a complicated combination."

"We need to extend the pattern-of-arrangement trick and add in a time element," said Miasma.

The two of them went back to tracing elementary patterns and connecting them. The stars swung overhead as they puzzled it through. However, it was straightforward, if difficult. And they slowly whittled it down to the solution. Everything being set up, they energized it.

Before them hung the ghostly pattern of the vortex. Impossible tendrils and distended shapes gleamed. That pattern faded into the next, somewhat offset. And then the next and the one after it. Instead of chaos, though, a phantom of structure emerged. It was fleeting, as the point of view rapidly shifted. Something hovering at the edge of one pattern, was full on in the next, and nearly vanished in the one following. They were complex and ethereal, but they were definitely there.

"Well fancy that," said Miasma. "It was in front of us the whole time."

"This changes everything," said Goatha.

"We need to fill in the blank bits," said Miasma. "But at least we know where to look."

"Yes," said Goatha. "We need to record from many points at once. Change of plans. You go back to the Academy and see if Jacques can multiply up smaller recorders. We can go for a broad sampling rather than a long sampling."

"Good idea," said Miasma. "You should go and tell Eadwyn. She'll be really excited."

## Chapter 14

### Positive and Negative

Miasma paused on the long stair to catch her breath. _The Outer Waste may be boring, but at least it was flat_ , she thought to herself. She was trying to be dutiful and not waste mana using the Academy teleportation system. After reporting Goatha's request to Jacques, he suggested that she update Lilly with their findings. As luck would have it, she was currently experimenting at the very top of the highest tower in the academy. Since the academy was erected with magic it didn't know the limitations of stonemasons. So the tower was high indeed.

While her heart returned to a semblance of a normal beat she admired the view. It was quite spectacular from this high. Troops drilling on the parade ground. Smoke drifting from the great ironwood chimney. The delicate shapes of the great Elfin gate amongst the Ancient ruins. The endless line of troglodyte wagons bringing iron infused bark chips to the smelter.

With a deep breath she pushed herself up and began to climb again. She was not young, but, thanks to the new magic, she wasn't old either. This was her third or possibly fourth career. If you counted motherhood. It was new, and interesting, and kept her busy. And then there was the whole making the world a better place aspect. She liked that too. But it didn't drive her quite the same way it drove many of the others. If was a good thing to do, so she did it. But she didn't let it stop her doing other things, like her art. If it did, then she'd have a harder time seeing it as a good thing.

Finally she reached the top of the tower. She took a swig from flask and mopped her brow with a bit of the cool water. So refreshed, she pushed the trap door up to the topmost room.

Only it was no longer a room. The conical roof had split and separated out of the way like the petals of a great flower. The view was even more amazing, but rather dizzying, there being no balustrade. She swayed slightly, caught herself, and looked to Lilly.

Lilly stood in the center of what was now a platform, staring upward with a look of intense concentration. Above her outstretched hands she could see two containment orbs, slowly filling. The one on Lilly's left throbbed with darkness. The light dimmed at its edges and faded to absolute black in the middle. She guessed it contained a gate to the extreme elemental plane of negative energy. The orb to Lilly's right made up for it by glowing with bright energy. The light was more than bright; it stabbed at the eyes in ways that were beyond what one could see. There was no doubt that it was filling with positive elemental energy.

Miasma could infer the patterns from the results and Lilly's motions. Lilly exerted herself both maintaining the fields, and also keeping them this close together. Positive and negative energy were the results of decayed elemental matter. They were polar opposites and formed the alternate ends of the mystical spectrum. They were not natural to the material plane and both repelled each other and sought to disperse.

Evidently the orbs were full enough, as Miasma saw a small canceling gesture from Lilly and they stopped getting larger. She left them drift further apart and worked another field between them. This contained the pattern Miasma was all too familiar with: the rectifier, but not in a configuration she understood. But when Lilly finished erecting that she left it unfettered and returned her concentration to the two containment orbs.

Miasma watched curiously as they drifted further apart, stopped for a moment, and then with a sudden gesture from Lilly they raced forcibly towards one another. They slowed slightly at the end, halfway through the rectifying field, as their repellant force started to overwhelm their velocity. At that point Lilly breached the containment on the inner side. Their force of dispersal got the better of them and jets of opposite energy raced out and combined in the middle.

There was a small yelp and a titanic explosion.

Lilly lowered her arms and observed the result. Stray strands of energy rocketed far and wide, degenerating into random elements and molecules. The main force of the blast had been caught by the rectifying field and drained into a mana bottle that slowly drifted down towards the platform. Lilly reached out, touched it, and drained the mana into the strategic mana reserve. She took out a notebook and began logging some figures. That was when she noticed the large brown egg next to her.

She looked at it curiously and removed a pair of plugs from her ears. She looked up at the drifting smoke, and back down at the egg. She walked around it and sent out a few probing spells.

"Most odd," she said to herself. She could detect nothing through it. Not even a soul. She touched it with her hand and it felt smooth with no temperature at all. She pushed it and it wobbled slightly. She rapped it with her knuckled and it was unyielding.

Lilly put her notebook away and took out a small ring. From it hung samples of a variety of metals. All matter was made from the four basic elements. However they could be arranged in near infinite varieties producing the wealth of materials in the world. Different arrangements, however, had different properties. Some, such as Plubonium, also known as 'true lead', were inimical to magic. She selected this, grasped it firmly in her hand, and brought it down hard on the egg.

There was a loud crack and the egg disappeared with a resinous scent, releasing a startled looking Miasma, mid-yelp.

"Hello Miasma," said Lilly unperturbed. "How did you get in there?"

"In where?" asked Miasma, trying to get her bearings.

"There was a large brown ellipsoid here a moment ago," said Lilly.

"Oh, right," said Miasma, sheepishly. "I was watching your spell, and when it went off I guess it triggered my stasis field."

"I'm sorry," Lilly apologized. "I must not have heard you through the earplugs." She offered her a hand up.

"That's OK," said Miasma. "You looked kind of busy."

"Annihilation is a tricky thing," said Lilly.

"A new weapon?" asked Miasma.

Lilly cocked her head. "That's a possibility, I guess. Mostly it is for energy research. It does not take much mana to open a small gate to the extreme ends of the elemental planes. The natural pressure brings the substance forth. When forced to interact it annihilates, releasing energy."

"Does it release more than it takes to contain?" asked Miasma.

"Almost," said Lilly. "But it's quite... erratic."

Miasma looked up at the dispersing cloud, and then swayed. "I don't suppose you could close the roof?"

Lilly made a gesture and the flower segments started to close up again. She then looked back to Miasma. "What is the nature of this... stasis field?"

"It's a double anmanic field with an added physical repellent in the middle," she explained. "It's something Moss and I cooked up in the outer waste to try to keep Eadwyn alive."

They discussed the specifics of the field for a while. Lilly brought out some wine and fruit which she shared with a grateful Miasma. "I keep a stock up here," Lilly explained. "It's a long walk."

"You don't need to tell me that!" said Miasma. She then brought Lilly up to date with their possible breakthrough with the vortices in the Outer Waste.

"I'm glad to hear that," said Lilly. "I will suspend the annihilation work then. At least until we know the vector of their progress."

"Have the neighbors complained?" asked Miasma, laughing.

"No," said Lilly. "It isn't in their nature to complain. It's a military town after all. But, based on your experience with the vortex storms I fear that a random fluctuation would exceed my safety controls."

"Boom," said Miasma. "I'll write down the pattern combinations for the stasis field. Sounds like you could use it."

"Thank you," said Lilly. "But I think I know someone who might be able to use it more."

## Chapter 15

### Erecting Barriers

The Academy annex was on the side of town furthest from the Ancient ruins. The ruins extended quite deep underground. The most recent parts were at least 8,000 years old. No one could even guess how deep or how old the rest went. Or who had been around then to build them. Penelope's histories went back very far, but they were dark and full of fell beings and barely known empires of the Underground. What of them touched the surface no one knew.

Readings showed that this region was a particular point of permeability to far off planes, which had attracted magical experimenters of every age. Possibly it had been more greatly connected in the past. Either that or else there were secrets even beyond that which the New Magic held. It was thought the great ironwood tree that formed the chimney of the forge had owed its size to its taproots reaching down into some part of the ruin and drawing the energy of that.

Lilly watched the great chimney recede as she rode one of the bark carts. It had dumped its load at the smelter and was returning to the woods. It had been a long climb down the tower and was a long walk to the annex. So she had hitched a ride with a wagon, as many did. The driver had only looked up briefly before returning its attention to the draft animals.

The great walls of the foundry passed and they entered the new city. It was bright and clean with wide roads, clear gutters, and spacious buildings. It had been designed to provide capacious living spaces to replace the original hovels. However, the local troglodytes crowded into them as dense and cramp as they had lived previously. They just preferred to occupy half the space with twice the people. But at least their sanitation was greatly improved.

The cart slowed down as it approached the city gate. Lilly hopped off, as the annex was the last thing inside the city walls. She walked up to a low sill set into the wall, pressed her hand against it, and the panel receded. As she stepped in, it reformed behind her.

The building was long and wide, and deeper than it appeared from the outside, as it was dug below the surface. She stepped in and onto a balcony that surrounded the edge. It was one, huge room, with catwalks and ladders and bulky apparatus spread across it. She felt slightly unsettled seeing it all. Much of it had been recovered from the wizard's stronghold where they had found the Ævatars. And her. She had spent her early life amongst these objects.

She walked slowly along a catwalk. Beneath was an enormous vat filled with amber liquid. Barely visible within was part of a gigantic forearm. It was a piece of the incomplete Ævatar. Glistening white tubes protruded from the unfinished ends of it. Artificial sinews and what passed for nerves in the gigantic construct. Lilly involuntarily flexed her own muscles when seeing it.

She descended a ladder and walked between the tanks. It was the most direct way to where she was going but also did not require her to look into the vats. Between them were stands of equipment. Much of it was shrouded with dust covers. Obscure forms only hinted at in the indirect light that filtered in from the high windows. Occasionally she would recognize a piece. The memories they brought were not happy ones. But they were not sad ones either. She was not sure if the lack of emotion she felt for most of her life was due to her lack of a Soul at the time, or the lack of human contact.

Passing between two tanks bigger than any so far, Lilly moved into a wider open area occupying about a third of the length of the building before the final and largest tank. None of the equipment here was shrouded and much of it was clearly of new manufacture. Before the New Magic, the crafting of magical creations was a slow and intricate process. The instruments used tended to be custom, unique and frequently embellished with arcane designs. Given the massive cost, they were built to last and were often decorative. New Magic constructs tended to be utilitarian and bare. They were created quickly and to an exacting pattern. Ornamentation would take more work than their creation, so was seldom seen.

She found Bianca seated at a bench. A length of artificial sinew was stretched between vice grips and a spring which connected to a brace above the table. Behind a sheet of material was Bianca with a look of concentration. The sinew slowly contracted and released, moving the spring and a small ribbon attached to it.

"Hello," said Lilly, looking around the shield.

Bianca started slightly. "Hello," she said, surprised. "I didn't hear you. Will test."

Lilly nodded. She rapped the material with her knuckles. "Brass?"

"Just as a base," said Bianca. "its pattern etched with copper and I'm trying different arrays of magical supplements." The sinew moved again. "It doesn't block my Will. But I do not think it is as protective as needed for the Soul."

"I have something new," said Lilly. Bianca pushed her chair back, got up and stretched. "Your mother has had some success in the waste."

"Did she solve it with quantity or quality?" asked Bianca.

"They think that they have discovered how to work out the pattern of a vortex," said Lilly.

"Quality then," said Bianca. "Good. That's much better than just throwing thousands of collectors at it."

"What I thought you would find interesting is that in the course of doing so they have discovered a new technique of shielding," said Lilly.

"Yes, that does sound interesting." Bianca moved over to a large wax board set up and blanked it.

"I think the key was that instead of just trying to strengthen it, they used a double layer," she sketched out a few pattern formulas. "Say, the first is 90% effective. She second doesn't have to be enormously strong since it only has to guard against 10% of the ambient force."

Bianca chewed her thumb and nodded. "I see that you could add multiple layers if you wanted. Possibly even erect them as the need arose." She added her own formula to the board. "This is the closest that I've tried to that. Single layer only."

They spent an hour sketching several more formulas on the board and trying several of them in place of the shield on the bench.

"I'm impressed with how effective this is," said Bianca. "And so obvious. It is like we're stumbling along in the dark blundering into the wonders of the universe."

"According to Lady Gwendolyn they only had the New Magic for fourteen years before the first cataclysm," said Lilly.

Bianca shook her head. "That's a short time from enlightenment to destruction. We're halfway there." She circled one group of formula. "This is the best so far. However more optimal this arrangement is, the raw power needed to counter the flux from the Ævatar is prohibitive. It would need to be at least another order of magnitude more efficient."

"I have been thinking about that," said Lilly. "One of the things I noted when I first scanned Miasma was that I could get no reading on her Soul at all."

"That's a fundamental property of the shield," said Bianca. "That is the whole point of this. It's the one thing that the Ævatar operational sphere is missing."

"Exactly," said Lilly. "So far we've be assuming we are shielding your whole body. What if we just shield your Soul?"

"Just the Soul?" echoed Bianca. "Will that even work?"

Lilly pointed at one of the patterns in the formula. "Well, we are conforming the shield based on a pattern. The pattern of your body. If we substitute in the pattern of your Soul... the formula still seems to make sense."

"A body is physical. A Soul is metaphysical," said Bianca.

"The formula only cares that it is a pattern," said Lilly.

"Let's try it," said Bianca. She took a deep breath and started the motions to copy a pattern from her soul.

"No. Bianca," said Lilly, reaching out and touching her hand. "Let me."

Bianca looked at her. "Why?"

"I've suffered a dislocated Soul once before," said Lilly. "It would be easier to fix me than you if things went wrong."

Bianca stared at her for a while. Then she slowly nodded. "I see the reason in what you say. Very well then."

Lilly drew a pattern from her breast without thinking. She then carefully added the remaining elements, connected them, and created a small mana jar. She looked up to Bianca who checked her work, then nodded once. Lilly fused the mana jar to the spell which flashed into action and descended into Lilly's body.

"Gone," said Bianca, scanning. "I see no trace of your soul."

"I feel..." said Lilly. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" said Bianca, slightly alarmed. "Is it gone? Detachment? No passion?"

The corners of Lilly's lips turned up. "No. Not that at all. I feel no different."

Bianca tried to create a Soul pattern from her. Nothing registered. Bianca created a Soul net and drew it through her. It caught nothing. She drew up a copy of a previous pattern of Lilly's Soul and used that to target a spell. Nothing again.

"It works," said Bianca.

"And minimal power needed," said Lilly. "There's your order of magnitude improvement."

Bianca looked up that the tank that filled the end of the room. "Let's try it out."

## Chapter 16

### Activation

Bianca stood before the operational sphere. It was of a dull grey metal with two hinged doors. They stood, open, and inside were a small, bare couch, contoured to a person's form. The arm rests and foot rests had grips on them, and there were straps across the base and head rest. Crystals grew from the inner surface of the sphere with their translucent white tips pointing inwards, like daggers.

After a pause, she gingerly stepped over the threshold, directly onto the couch. She had removed all her clothing, but for a short, thin under tunic, all her jewelry and any trace of magic implant or spell. The only magic she kept was the shield on her soul.

She turned, squatted on the couch, and eased her legs into the rests, pulling back against the grip with the top of her foot. She leaned forward, and fixed two straps across her calves, and two across her thighs. Her pelvis eased back and she fixed a wide strap around her hip and another across her chest. With a little concentration and magical energy, the remaining straps tied themselves holding her arms, shoulders, and head in place.

A crystal to her right flickered and Lilly's face appeared. "Strapped in?" she asked. Bianca nodded. "Step 13 complete. Moving on to step 14." The doors swing silently shut and the sphere became completely dark.

Lilly counted down the checklist, and Bianca responded as needed. It had been designed with as little input as necessary from the operator. It had been designed for an operator that was a 15 year old girl. Bianca was nearly ten years beyond that and had her stoic composure to keep her focused. It was no wonder Lilly had been an emotionless shell when they found her. It was probably the only way to operate an Ævatar and stay sane.

Bianca felt the sphere lift, and the machinery levitated it up and into the tank with the Ævatar. After a while there was a buoyant rocking, as it floated on the artificial amniotic fluid. "Step 38, flooding the chamber," said Lilly, and then stopped. "Are you ready for this, Bianca?" Bianca took a deep breath and nodded.

There was the sound of movement and a pressure change. Things got a little warmer but that was all for a while. Then she felt wetness on her heels. This raised up to her ankles, and then over her feet. It was, roughly, body temperature, which felt warm at first, but quickly became neutral. The liquid crawled its way up her legs, then her body, finally reaching her neck.

She knew what came next. She had done this twice before. It was the hardest part of the process. The fluid rose up her chin and over her face. With a tremendous fight against every natural urge, she exhaled, blowing bubbles as it rose past her head and inhaled the fluid. Despite her efforts she still thrashed and resisted. But there was no way to release the straps and she had no choice but to succumb in the end. She wrestled her mind back into control and willed her heart rate down and focused on breathing in and out the thick fluid until she no longer felt it.

"Are you OK?" asked Lilly. "Shall we move on?" Lilly sounded cold. But Bianca knew she had just retreated into her own childhood nightmare, but this time as the operator.

"Good to go," said Bianca. Her voice sounded odd. The acoustics were considerably different when immersed. But Lilly understood, nodded, and moved down the checklist.

Several steps later and she was adsorbed into the Ævatar. It was more than Lilly's recited steps. More than several other diagrams appearing on the crystals of the inner surface. Something felt qualitatively different. It was like an enormous presence was standing behind her, watching her intently, and she couldn't turn to look. She became conscious, once more, of her breathing. As it sounded in her ears she felt as if the noise of it masked another breathing that started and stopped when she started and stopped.

Lilly moved on relentlessly. Magic poured into the system. Crystals glowed as more and more systems were energized. The sensation of paranoia eased as other distractions arose. Some systems had problems. They had to triage those and work on which ones were important, and which could be skipped. They weren't taking the Ævatar into battle. Not today. Sub-optimal conditions from long storage were not blockers right now. Lilly took meticulous notes on what they did and did not do.

"Primary preparation complete," said Lilly. "We can proceed to activation." She rolled up the scroll she had been reading and picked up another. "Are you sure you want to do this Bianca?"

"Yes," said Bianca. "But slowly."

"All right," said Lilly. "Preparing to bring activation level to one part in twenty."

A surge of magical energy suffused Bianca. It felt as if the pressure was increasing around her. She curbed her increased breathing. Her hands tingled on the armrest grips. She flexed them, but it almost felt as if they were magnetically drawn to them. Similarly she no longer felt the restraining straps. They had merged into a single compressive force uniformly distributed over her body.

"Steady at one part in twenty," said Lilly. "Are you in discomfort?"

"Yes" said Bianca, uncharastically peevish. "I'm strapped down underwater being irradiated by magic."

"Are you in any spiritual discomfort?" clarified Lilly.

Bianca closed her eyes caught some of the magical energy that was coursing past her. She sought inside her essence and felt the small hard lump of her soul shield. "Shield intact. No stresses," she reported.

"I concur," said Lilly. "No undue pressure on your Soul detected. Will and Animus synchronized at one part in twenty."

"Bring it up to one part in ten," said Bianca.

Lilly made notes on her wax tablet. "One part in ten," she echoed.

Magelight crawled over her body and the crystal interior of the sphere. Everything glowed a little brighter. The tingle increased, but with it she felt elation. She felt no pressure. Her Soul was intact. This was the highest level she had been at before, briefly. It was then they detected the Ævatar forcibly ripping her Soul from her through the protections they had erected like spider web. But she felt none of that now. Instead she felt empowered, as if her muscles were magically enforced. She gripped the restraints tightly, although she felt, if she wanted, she could rip them to shreds.

"Steady at one part in ten," said Lilly. "All readings nominal."

"I concur," said Bianca. "The shield is working."

"No deflection detected. Not even slight," said Lilly.

"One part in five," said Bianca.

"One part in five," echoed Lilly.

Bianca explored her feelings. She tensed and relaxed various muscles. The echoed breathing had returned, but instead permeated her whole body. When she contracted, she felt it contract in turn. It was like being in a dream, or slightly drunk. It was a feeling of immortality. Of omnipotence. She felt the power of the Ævatar. She knew what she could do with it.

"Steady at one part in five," said Lilly.

"I feel the synchronization," said Bianca.

"Yes," said Lilly. "Monitoring is confirming. Let's try a basic test."

"Are we ready for that?" asked Bianca.

"One in five activation is enough for basic motion," said Lilly. "Try to touch your finger to your nose."

Bianca glanced down at her hand. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Concentrate," said Lilly. "The restraints are there to help you. If you could just do it, you would. You need to focus your Will; project your Animus."

Bianca closed her eyes. She understood this in principle. The Ævatar was a blank slate. It was a constructed being with no metaphysical properties. It could do nothing on its own. It took the Will of the operator to give it meaning, desires, and motives. The magically enhanced Animus of the operator then was projected into the being and acted as its own proxy Animus. A mage such as herself was more in tune with her metaphysical limbs, but nowhere near as facile as with her physical ones.

She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Then she moved her limbs against the restraints. She tried not to mind that her limbs did not actually move. She assumed they did and brought her imaginary hand to her nose. Then she opened her eyes.

"That's a good start," said Lilly. She was looking from monitor to monitor. "We got some motion from the Ævatar. That's very good for a first time. Let's try it again."

Bianca sighed and tried it again. There was an odd discontinuity. Before, the phantom limb effect had followed her own motion. This time, since she didn't in fact move at all, it appeared to precede it. After a few more times, she could disconnect from her own feelings, and judge precisely where her phantom limb was. She smiled and opened her eyes.

"Very good," said Lilly, drenched to the skin.

Bianca started, "What happened?"

"You need to build a little more control in. It's getting a little wet out here."

Involuntarily Bianca move to sit up. Another wave of amber liquid splashed over Lilly. She closed her eyes and tried to relax. "Bring the activation rate back down," said Bianca. "I think we've done enough for today."

"OK," said Lilly. "Reducing to one in ten." She made motions to controls on the console. A frown crossed her face. "Something's wrong."

"Something's wrong?" asked Bianca. "Clarify. Please." She felt her heart rate increase.

"It's..." started Lilly. "Activation rate climbing! One in four."

Bianca willed herself steady. She checked the soul shield, but it appeared intact. "Turn it down Lilly. Deactivate it."

"I can't," said Lilly. "The controls are frozen. There's a... red force... covering them. I don't know what it is. One in two now."

"Pull the plug. Disconnect it from the strategic mana reserve!" said Bianca, panic slowly rising.

"I have," said Lilly frantically. "I don't know where the power is coming from. There's a... smell. Activation rate three in four now."

"That makes no sense," said Bianca. She dared not move, or even think of moving. She had the power to defeat the gods, but no control. This was making no sense. What could be powering it?

"Five in six now," said Lilly, helplessly. "Seven in eight."

"No," said Bianca. She started to exert her Will. Willing it to stop. To be still. To withdraw. But it was like trying to pick up a fish. Something struggled there, but she could not grip it.

"One in one," said Lilly, swallowing hard. "Full activation." She banged her fists on the console. "Nothing. Nothing. It's all red." A look of confusion crossed her face. "It smells of roses..."

The operational sphere went dark. Bianca felt as if a hole had opened in the world and that she was suddenly being poured down it.

## Chapter 17

### Encounter

Bianca fell. Down, down, and down. She felt rigidly still, although she did not think she was strapped into the chair anymore. For a moment she thought she might be floating unconscious in the operational sphere. But her inner ear told her she was falling and she felt, faintly a breeze across her. First from one direction, then another as she tumbled.

She tried to move, just like she moved the Ævatar; through an effort of Will. Maybe her Will was dislocated. Maybe it was just she wasn't anywhere physical. Maybe this perception was only her Soul. The rest of her body destroyed in some disaster with the Ævatar. Just her Soul left trapped in stasis.

Next she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. One direction seemed ever so slightly brighter than the rest. It was the down direction. She counted her revolutions and after several more she was quite sure. There was a reddish glow in that direction. Had the demons counterattacked while she was in the Ævatar? Did isolating her Soul make her vulnerable and had they drawn her into hell?

But then another sensation became apparent. She smelled something. Roses. Hadn't Lilly said something about that? Red light and rose scent? If not hell, some deity? Had they decided to strike as soon as the Ævatar was activated? She dredged her mind but could not think of a god whose symbol was the rose.

The light got brighter and it looked to be a surface, rushing up at her. She had no sense of scale but instead felt it growing close, quickly. Reflexively she curled into the fetal position and, to her surprise, found she could move. And instant later she had impacted into something, It was soft, resilient, and overwhelmingly rose scented.

Bianca bounced a few times, and thrashed around for a solid surface. But it all came away in her hands. After a moment of panic she righted herself, and found she was in a vast field of rose petals. She held them up, unbelieving, and watched as they sifted through her hands. Each one was perfect. Slightly white at the base, darkening quickly to red. But as she squinted she saw tiny little throbbing veins in them.

"Sorry for that," said a voice. "I'm given to dramatics."

Bianca looked up suddenly, and tried to assume a defensive combat position. But the surface was awkward and she was wearing nothing but her flimsy under tunic.

Sitting cross legged nearby was a woman. An elf. An Elf. She wore casual boots, in red leather, folded down just above the ankle. Her dress was a fanciful tangle of straps and buckles, in more red leather, contrasting with her pale skin. Her hair was black and worn high in an elaborate style, held in place with roses. Her almond eyes were looking at Bianca with bright focused attention. She was leaning slightly forward, her chin resting on her fist, her elbow on her knee.

All thought of combat fled Bianca. This was an Elf. A "big-E" Elf. One of perhaps 40. Or maybe 400. No one knew much of them. Other than that they were responsible for the creation of everything people knew. All they knew was it was some ten thousand year long 'experiment'. Eight thousand years of it had passed, and there remained two thousand more, but their hopes were not high that it would succeed. All but one had given up. Only one was ever known to anyone in modern times. And this was not him.

"You are the Elf known as Rose?" asked Bianca, trying not to stutter. The notes of the last conversation with an Elf mentioned one by that name who had a growing interest in their affairs.

The Elf smiled easily and nodded, waving her hand to indicate all around them. But Rose's eyes never left Bianca.

Bianca took a deep breath and tried to gather her thoughts. Interactions with Elves were incredibly rare. And, as they held the fate of the world in their hands, extremely important. What to ask? What was the most important question to get an answer to? Almost immediately she realized that it probably didn't matter. The Elf was going to say what the Elf was going to say.

"Why are you here?" asked Bianca, to get her started.

Rose seemed to think. "It's been a while since I took an interest in how things were going." She tilted her head to one side. "Although once I did spend a lot of time at it. I was patron to the Kings and Queens of Londra. Before the first cataclysm." Bianca's eyes widened. They were the people who discovered the New Magic. "Yet they aren't quite gone. Poor Princess Kimberly waits in her tower. I'd visit her. But she waits, and you do not."

A sudden thought came to Bianca. "Did you give them the New Magic? Those of Londra?"

Rose laughed. "Oh, no!" She seemed quite amused. "They worked that out themselves. It was bound to happen. It always does." She continued more quietly. "And they almost destroyed themselves. They always do. We haven't found a way to make it otherwise."

"And we. Will we destroy ourselves too?" asked Bianca.

"Probably," said Rose. "Or possibly." She scratched her cheek. "Things have gone quite awry. Well off plan."

"Are you here to put us back on plan?" asked Bianca.

"Good gracious no!" said Rose, putting her hands into her lap in alarm, and sitting up strait. "By the plan you won't destroy yourselves for another two thousand years. Note: that's _completely_ destroy yourselves, not _almost_ destroy yourselves." She winked at her. "By all logic, since the plan is the most optimal one we have worked out, any deviation means you destroy yourselves sooner." She waved her finger at Bianca. "To put you back on plan would tell us nothing. To let you continue... If you do wipe yourselves out, it validates what we know. If you do not... it could be quite insightful."

Bianca blinked and felt cold inside. What she said chilled her to her bone.

Rose threw back her head and laughed, breaking eye contact for the first time. When she finished she looked slyly at Bianca. "Your people pride themselves in their passionless detachment. By so casually discussing the fate of your world have I bested you in this?"

"My tribe are miserable peasants who live and die a hard life on the ice," Bianca said, her blood rising.

"It was not always so," said Rose, still smiling. "When Finlandia joined the table of Londra they amazed all at tourney. As passionless as the Norslanders were passionate. Yet once both swore allegiance to the ideals of the crown, they each outdid the other in their nobility. The last two to join, and accounted the most noble of all."

Bianca had no idea that her tribe was so old. The Norslanders she did know of. They were the people of Winter's father. "It is a coincidence then that the gods of both people are dead and their tribes have withered to nothing?" she challenged her.

"Oh?" said Rose. "As I said, I have not kept up with current affairs." She focused back on Bianca. "You are quite unlike the heirs of Londra I taught. They, I came to know, over time, as an aggregate. It is only as an aggregation a people may be understood and their fate calculated. You are an individual. That is much harder to... compute."

"I'm sorry to be difficult," said Bianca, with annoyance.

"I have answered your first question," said Rose. Bianca looked puzzled. "I am here to determine if you are calculable. If so, then the fate of this deviant path can be determined. If not," she shrugged, "we have to wait and see."

Bianca's annoyance vanished. "Am I that significant?"

"I cannot say until I can answer my question," said Rose, putting her hands up in the air. "Many things certainly do pivot upon you. But, then, there are many pivot points. Without a plan it all gets lost in the weeds." She looked off into the distance.

Bianca sense she was about to leave. She started to get alarmed. She needed answers. "The Book of Creation," she said suddenly. "How do we read it? What is the key to understanding?"

"That old thing?" said Rose, amused. "It is a child's drawings. It won't lead you anywhere."

"It lead to the Ævatars," said Bianca. "And that lead here."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "The question is: would you have been lead here anyway, by a different means if not that one?" She tapped Bianca on her chest and she felt the impact on her whole body. "That little lock box on your soul. That's far more important."

Bianca was completely confused. "What? Why?"

Rose opened her mouth, and then shut it. "Swan would kill me if I told you."

Balling her hand into a fist Bianca started to object.

"Oh, whatever," said Rose. "I'll deal with him later." She fixed Bianca with her eyes. "How else are you going to re-introduce all of those souls into living bodies? Those you have? The stockpile in The Black Hole."`

Bianca looked exasperated. "But, the gods are on the verge of wiping us out! Without the power of the Ævatar, without a plentiful source of mana... we'll never be in a position to resurrect anyone!"

"Maybe Swan is right," said Rose, contemplatively. "Damn but this is hard to predict. I really will have to start paying closer attention."

"Wait!" shouted Bianca, but Rose had already left.

## Chapter 18

### Awakening

Bianca sat bolt upright. She thrashed amongst the rose petals, and found they were sheets. She scented rose, turned towards it, and found flowers in a bowl. Her eyes darted around and she found herself in a well-appointed room, with a wide window.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," said Jesca, Queen of Romitu, turning from the window.

"I... I saw an Elf," Bianca said breathlessly.

"Yes," said Jesca, walking over to her and sitting in a chair next to the bed. "We know."

Bianca tried to get up, but faltered, feeling how weak her body was.

"Just lie down," said Jesca. "Lilly has been here the whole time. You've talked a lot in your sleep, and she's read your dreams."

Bianca eased back into the pillows. "How long?" she asked.

"Just a few days," said Jesca. She patted her hand. "Alarm bells went off when the strategic mana reserve started draining, so there were already squads on their way by the time the controls locked. When they got the operational sphere free you were out of it. So they brought you here."

"Was the Ævatar damaged?" asked Bianca.

Jesca laughed. "It's fine. Although I don't think you'll be taking it out for a while."

"I need practice," said Bianca. "Now that we know we can operate it, we need to prepare."

Jesca shook her head. "We've made scant progress filling the strategic mana reserve. Your little jaunt drained three months' worth of accumulation."

Bianca hit the bed, weakly, and looked out the window.

"I'll send for some broth," said Jesca. "Unless you want to wait for Lilly to get back."

"Where did she go?" asked Bianca.

"To get pastries," said Jesca, and smiled.

"From the shop on Via Michael?" asked Bianca.

"That shop indeed," said Jesca nodding. She too looked to the window. "Odd, though. That she would be the one to go there."

"Yes," said Bianca. "It was always you who was dragging us off on some adventure, to end up there after it all."

"You followed because your pride wouldn't let you _not_ follow," said Jesca. "Lilly. I was never sure. I think it was she just always did what she was told."

"That was then," said Bianca. "This is now."

"Yes," said Jesca. "This is indeed now. I am Queen of Romitu. You are preparing to fight the gods, hand to hand. And Lilly... is getting pastries."

"Lilly is happy," said Bianca.

"Are you sure?" asked Jesca.

"She does what she wants to do. That implies that she actually has wants now. Because she has wants, and can fulfill them, she is happy" Bianca concluded.

"Lucky her," said Jesca.

"Yes," agreed Bianca. "Lucky her."

Jesca sent for broth anyway, which Bianca dutifully drank.

After Bianca finished she asked, "Do you understand all the Elf said?"

"If you are asking if we have a full accounting, yes I think so," said Jesca. "Lilly, despite having come so far, really has very little sense of personal space and I didn't think you would mind, given the circumstances." Bianca nodded. "If you are asking if I know the meaning of what she said... No. Do we ever know? Swan said this one wanted to speak more directly. Yet she was so... obtuse."

Bianca snorted. "They toy with us. It is just a game to them."

"No," said Jesca. "I don't think so. Or, if it is, I do not think it is _just_ a game to them. There is something at stake. Something big. It's just not something we understand."

"She said she had been patron to the royalty of Londra," said Bianca.

"Yes," said Jesca. "After I found that out I didn't sleep that night." She looked sheepish. "I had hoped she was planning on turning up to be my patron." She then looked wistful. "I could use a new patron."

"We should ask Gwendolyn about her," said Bianca.

"I'm not sure we need to check her references," said Jesca, with a trace of a smile. "But, yes. She must have been around when Gwendolyn was at court."

"She is someone else who could be less obtuse," grumbled Bianca.

"Do I have to remind you that you and your mother are somewhat known for being obtuse!" said Jesca.

Bianca snorted. "We do not speak the obvious. Only the necessary," she retorted.

"Gwendolyn is of the same order as the gods," said Jesca. "Perhaps less in power. But she has no gaps in her memory. That's a power of a type."

"She knew of the rectifier, but did not tell us," said Bianca.

"I don't think she understood the implications of it," said Jesca. "I'm not sure we understand all the implications of it, given how crucial Rose seemed to think your shield was." She helped herself to some of the broth. "No, I don't think she is holding out on us."

"There is much she could teach us. She's been studying the six books for millennia," said Bianca.

"I didn't say I thought she was extending herself for us," said Jesca. "I wish she would. She knew the gods when they were people. That could be invaluable."

"Yes," said Bianca. "The gods will act soon."

"Mostly they just posture and stir up the people," said Jesca. "It's pretty irritating."

"They will stop posturing and start acting," said Bianca. "Soon. Probably very soon."

"How do you know?" asked Jesca.

"Because that is what I would do," said Bianca. "First: The reserve is low. Lower than it has ever been. Our standing army is useless against a direct attack from the gods. We are at the weakest we've ever been, from their point of view, right now."

"Second," Bianca continued. "We're not filling it quickly. Why? Because we've started resurrecting all who want it. That costs us mana, but it also deprives the gods of mana."

"Third," said Bianca. "We've just made a breakthrough that holds hope for filing it quickly. Put it all together. We're weak, but every day that passes we grow stronger, and the gods grow weaker. Any delay they make lowers their chances of winning."

Jesca nodded slowly, drinking the now cool broth. "That is what you would do," she said. "But the gods are fractious and temperamental. It has been so long since they went forth, themselves, into battle that they do not remember it. They are not yet even decided to act."

"They will act," said Bianca. "It's just a matter of time."

"I agree with you. Your logic is sound. That will win out in the end. Despite all their bickering," said Jesca. "They certainly will attack. But how soon? I am not sure."

"At least we now know the Elves will not aid us," said Bianca.

"I didn't hold out much hope they would," said Jesca.

Bianca wrinkled her brow. "Perhaps that shield. Maybe we can deploy it with the troops to shield them from divine wrath. Then they would be a force."

"You said, yourself, they are useless if the gods come personally," said Jesca. "If they bring their heavenly host with them, sure, like with the demons, it would give them something to do. But if Sky Father turns up personally and is flinging deadly sleet left and right, I don't think a shield will help."

"We need the Ævatar," said Bianca.

"We need power," said Jesca. "If we had enough mana to power the Ævatar, we would have enough mana to put up a credible defense against the gods by other means."

Bianca glowered for a while. "The Elf was right about one thing."

"What's that?" asked Jesca.

"The connections are complicated," said Bianca. "There is no measure of what is most important."

"I didn't need an Elf to tell me that," said Jesca. "I'm the wretched Queen. I know all too well that it's impossible to know how to spend our forces. That's the problem of my life."

"Are you still trying to find a successor?" asked Bianca.

Jesca rubbed her forehead. "What would be the point? None of the generals will do it. We're well past any scenario envisaged by Scioni. Even if he was alive, I don't think his idea of five-year reigns would work. The armies are nigh unto redundant. Why select a leader from amongst their commanders?"

"The armies still have use," said Bianca.

"But they are not the power at the forefront right now. That's in the hands of the mages," said Jesca. She then looked up. "That's it! Why not appoint a mage to the throne? That's where all the tough decisions are now. We need a leader who understands that." She stood up and pointed at Bianca. "You! Why not you? You're no younger than I. You've been raised in almost the same way: to be a power. You shall be Queen Bianca!"

Bianca looked at her horrified. "No! I do not think that is a good idea! Who would follow me? Bianca is not even my name. You gave that name to me."

Jesca shook her finger at her. "Only because you have some bizarre cultural tradition of not telling anyone but blood relatives your name."

Bianca's eyes narrowed. "There is power in a name."

"Fie on your superstition," said Jesca. "Tell me your name and I will make you Queen."

"No," said Bianca. "I do not want to be Queen."

Jesca's shoulders slumped. "Neither do I."

## Chapter 19

### Diplomacy

It was Thursday in the city of Romitu. It was the day the Queen held open court. Citizens with a grievance that they felt was inadequately addressed by the judiciary could bring it before the Queen and appeal directly to her. It was a long, hot, climb through the forum and up to the high city. It was an even longer wait once they reached the summit. And, since the Queen's time was limited, there was never any guarantee that their case would be heard. Yet it did not stop them coming in throngs.

Recent reforms have come down hard on the lucrative practice of paid place-holders. Cases were pre-registered as people arrived and the truly frivolous ones turned away. However the standards were deliberately light and persistence was rewarded. Otherwise too much bureaucracy would recreate the problem the open court sought to avoid. Most of the time it served its function, to show a human side to rule and take care of unique cases that didn't fit into general rules. But it was not beyond abuse, and a fair share of long winded, pontificating bombasts that had no interest in having a case heard but just wanted a platform to berate the personage of the Queen got through.

Queen Jesca sat on her throne, chin propped on her hand making no effort to hide her contempt. She looked for the twelfth time at the clock, dripping away the time until the court was over. It was another priest. This time from... she had forgotten. She looked over the raiment of the stern faced patriarch shaking his fist at her. Ah, yes, The Water Bearer. It happened during almost every open court. Many more applied but her schedulers arranged it so that no more than one got through per session, and usually as the last case for the day.

His monologue wasn't much different than any other one. The actual case was some tenuous excuse involving blasphemy or contempt of natural law. He harangued her for defying the gods by resurrecting the dead. Of hubris by offending the gods with her contemptuous threats. And, at length, the presumption of throwing down the aqueducts and using foul (non-divine) magics to procure water for the populace. The last, at least, she understood. The temple's propitiatory rites were no longer needed, and they had lost a source of income and influence. But she had offered them governorship of the new magical founts, with a roughly equal stipend. That, however, would have made their other protests harder, and so they had turned it down.

Eventually one of the schedulers, mercifully, gave the signal. Neither a drop too soon, nor a drop too late. She had made it clear to them, despite how she hated it; they had to do their job meticulously to ensure fairness. One of the benefits of that is that she felt no guilt whatsoever in terminating the case. "Thank you very much for bringing this to my attention," she began, although he had not ceased speaking. "As our resurrection offer is optional, I suggest you take the matter up with your congregants and if they, too, find it blasphemous, they should not ask for it." It was formula. All it did was incense him. But it was a formula to be followed. "I regret that is all the time I have today. Please return if you feel your complaint was not adequately addressed."

She rose and moved away. This, of course, did not deter him either. The two guards to either side of him did, although gently and only to prevent him making physical contact with her. As she left he continued to address her, and probably would continue, for some time, hurling imprecations at the door by which she left, or the empty throne. After another hour, they would shut the hall and gently remove him.

"My turn?" asked Coral, who had joined with her guards as they left.

She gave him a poisonous stare and she flung herself into a cushioned chair in an antechamber she used as her personal office. He smiled and brought her a glass of watered wine and some chilled pear slices. Jesca ate them hungrily and rubbed her forehead.

"I only caught the end of it," said Coral. "Worse than usual?"

"No," said Jesca, morosely. "Nothing particularly new or biting. He was just from The Water Bearer. The worst is when they let someone from Harper through." Her hands gripped the goblet white knuckled with the memory of it. "They have tongues made of sharpened adamantine." After some silence she looked up to see Coral holding back tears. "I forget," she said quietly. "You've heard Harper play. Personally."

Coral swallowed hard, and poured a goblet of wine for himself.

"Was The Water Bearer in court when you were there?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes," said Coral, after a swallow. "She didn't say much. Just played with her water jugs and gave me disapproving looks."

"You and I are no strangers to the sword," she said. "How you stand, how I sit. We both can see it in the other. Once you learn to size someone up, you never stop."

"I lined some good shots up on your guards as I walked behind them," joked Coral.

Jesca smiled. "So. The Water Bearer. How did she sit? When it comes to it, will she come bearing trident to battle?"

"I really didn't..." started Coral. But he stopped and through hard. "No," he said finally. "Thinking back on it I didn't get that sort of vibe from her. Other than overwhelming remonstration, she was definitely calculating. But her hands caught and weighed the water that flowed through them; they did not balance an imaginary weapon. If she comes, I think magic will be her weapon."

Jesca nodded. "Sky Father will, of course, use his mace of sleet. Grave Keeper allegedly uses a scythe, though it seems a bit unwieldy."

"You think it will be those three?" asked Coral.

"I really have no idea," said Jesca. "I've just been with Bianca. If she's right and it comes down to personal combat, I'm just trying to think of the scenarios."

"How is she?" asked Coral.

"Unperturbed," said Jesca.

"Ah. A full recovery then!" said Coral, laughing.

Jesca laughed as well. "She must have asked me five times for more mana for the Ævatar project."

"Tell her to line up for open court," said Coral.

"That's the last thing I'd wish on anyone," said Jesca. "Let alone a friend."

"Ah, yes. Lilly is around as well, yes? The triumvirate of terror. I remember the three of you causing all sorts of chaos in Scioni's household when we were just a camp in Irontree," said Coral.

"You don't know the half of what we got up to," said Jesca. Then she was beside herself laughing. "Oh, my! Lilly said to me yesterday they wanted to take the Ævatar ice skating!"

"That's... That's a mental image I could do without," said Coral.

Jesca laughed for a while longer. Then pushed aside the plate and goblet. "All right. I think I am recovered."

"Ah," said Coral. "It _is_ my turn then."

"Yes," said Jesca. "Yes it is." She steepled her fingers on either side of her nose and breathed into her hands, as if warming them. "I take it you have heard by now that Bianca has talked with a Grey Elf."

"Jack mentioned it when I checked in with him this morning," said Coral. "He said it was a new one."

"There is a transcript here," said Jesca, indicating her desk. "As near as we can put together between Bianca's recollection, and Lilly's probing. It's hard to capture all of their subtleties, so there's a lot more there than that. Gesture, inflection, and speculation as to significance of each word or phrase."

"A five minute conversation expanded into dictionary size?" asked Coral.

"Yes. Just like last time," said Jesca.

"Can you summarize?" asked Coral.

"No," said Jesca. "When you try, there is nothing there. We never know what they're really getting at until much later. If ever."

"Just like last time," said Coral.

Jesca shrugged. "My take from it is that we're being really interesting and she's fascinated in finding out how things turn out. If we survive, that is."

"But no actual... help," said Coral.

"No," said Jesca. "Worse. I get the distinct impression she really doesn't understand what's going on. Can't shift from looking at the ten thousand year view to looking at today."

"Unless, of course, that's the impression she wanted to give," said Coral.

"Of course," said Jesca, rolling her eyes. "I'll leave such paranoia to you Elves and my spymaster."

Coral started to protest and she waved him down.

"You'll have to read it yourself and form your own opinion. It may be quite different," said Jesca. "In fact, I expect to be completely different. That's kind of how they work."

"I didn't need my own copy," said Coral picking up the scroll. "I can just read yours."

"You can read it, but it isn't for you," said Jesca. He looked up at her. "That's for your mistress."

"Oh," Coral said, quietly.

"I'd give you specific questions for her," said Jesca. "But she'll just tell us what she wants to tell us anyway."

"On her behalf then, I thank you," said Coral, formally. "The Grey Elves are a particular passion of hers."

Jesca shrugged. "The more viewpoints we have on this the better. She has not formally thrown her lot in with us. I wish that she would. We could certainly use her help."

"I will continue to convey that to her," said Coral.

"Understood," said Jesca. "Serving two masters is difficult. I don't want to put you on a spot. Neither do I want a tit-for-tat exchange with the Lady Gwendolyn. So I give to her freely without strings all I can that I think that is in her interests and hope that she sees fit to return such."

"She has not been contrary to our interests," said Coral.

"Oh, no," said Jesca. "She has been very instrumental." She held up her hands. "No complaints from me."

"Well," said Coral. "I guess I'll be off then."

"Good riding," said Jesca. "But when you do talk to her... remember she once fought alongside of the gods. You might consider asking her the preferred combat styles of them."

Coral grimaced, saluted, and left.

## Chapter 20

### Fighting Memories

Coral warily crossed the threshold of the cave, sword drawn. He stood a moment, listening to the depths, then calmly sheathed his sword, but remained wary. Although somewhat sheltered on the side of the mountain, there was still enough of a breeze to ruffle his hair. The view he had his back to was quite spectacular. He was near the top of the tallest of a jagged chain of mountains, near the edge of a steep sided valley. On the other side was a similar chain, but with one peak that was slightly higher.

Satisfied at last, Coral turned and looked out over the valley as he tightened the straps on his armor and harness. His eyes lingered on the highest mountain and he broke out into a wry grin. At once he turned and strode deeper into the cave.

As he progressed, it became darker and darker. But just when the darkness threatened to become total it gradually started to become lighter again. Outcroppings of blue crystal sprouted from the walls. They glowed slightly, and as he felt his way along, they were slightly warm to the touch. He didn't know what they were, but they meant he had the right cave.

They grew more and more frequent, until over half the surface of the tunnel was covered in them. He could see the cave open wide ahead, and there was a white ring of crystal around the entrance. Coral slowed down and put his hand out. Once there had been some sort of magical force screen here. To keep away those who were not meant to be here. Most probably the giants of the valley. But nothing blocked his hand, so he continued in.

It was impossible to tell if the chambers within were originally natural, or originally crafted. Certainly the delicate twisting ramps that lead from one level to the next had been added. The blue crystal was everywhere here as well, both growing out of, and into the rock. The furniture was minimal, and hard to tell if purely decorative, or functional. When he finally found the right room, she was as she always was when he found her; standing, staring at nothing in particular.

"Welcome Sir Valkyr," said Gwendolyn.

Coral bowed deeply, if a little awkwardly. "It is always a pleasure to see you." He straightened up, wincing. "Would that your doormen were as welcoming."

"They are useful at keeping away unwanted visitors," said Gwendolyn, smiling. "Shall you be refreshed?"

"Yes, I think I would like that," said Coral, looking around for a chair.

Gwendolyn made a slight gesture. Coral felt something like either the wind, or a multitude of little, plucking hands. In seconds his armor had been undone and removed, replaced with a soft garment, and sandals on his feet. All the aches and strains of the long, contested climb vanished and he felt wide awake.

"Well," he said, fairly startled, "that was... refreshing."

"Please, be at ease, and tell me why you have come visiting?" said Gwendolyn.

Coral looked for a chair, again, but then decided he didn't feel that he needed one anymore. "The Queen sends her greetings, best wishes, and some information she thinks would be of interest to you," he said. He felt he garments, but they were all of once piece with no pockets.

Gwendolyn smiled and gestured to a five legged table nearby. The neatly tied scroll lay there. "You must thank the Queen for me," she began. "It is, indeed, most interesting that Rose has returned her attention to the world. Rose! In times past she was the last of the Elves to form pacts with us."

"You've read it?" asked Coral.

"No, no," said Gwendolyn. "Such information is so rare; I would not wish to consume it all at once in haste. I shall savor it. For now I review the memories it brings."

"Did you know Rose?" asked Coral. "Back then."

"No," said Gwendolyn. "None did. Save the Princess, the Queen, her Father, and so on back up the line." She stood in thought for a while. "But it is more complicated than that. I drew Queen Winifred once, in a tournament, when she was a Princess. Every pace, every turn of her head. Even the way she would stand perfectly still." Gwendolyn shook her head. "It was all Rose. Her training. Her coaching."

"What was the difference? Were they just techniques you had never seen before?" asked Coral. "Like fighting someone left handed."

"No," said Gwendolyn. "That would just be a different take on what we know. This was... Imagine having to fight someone who built you. Who designed every bone, every sinew, you moved with. Who drafted every thought you might ever think. Who knew exactly how you would react to anything you might do." Gwendolyn nodded. "She was not as good as that, but the shadow of that was on her."

Coral contemplated it. "It doesn't sound much of a fair fight."

"If it had been a fight, it would not have been. But it was a tournament," said Gwendolyn, less serious. "One could never have a fair fight with your monarch anyway. It was all in how well you deported yourself."

Coral laughed. He stretched out his arm at the remembered stiffness. "I'm afraid I did not deport myself all that well against your friends, the giants."

Gwendolyn nodded. "I think you did well enough. You arrived in one piece and I did not feel any of their spirits pass."

"I tried to avoid any real fighting," said Coral. "Although I didn't realize you kept track of their Souls."

"They have spirits, not Souls," said Gwendolyn. "Only the giants of Norsland had souls."

"Oh?" said Coral, intrigued. "Why the difference?"

"The local giants are just part of the fauna of the world. Created by the Elves as part of their design. To amuse, challenge or interest us. As with all but the five races, they have spirits not Souls." She waved her finger at him. "The giants of Norsland were created by Othr and Grigjar after they took godhood over their lands. They saw how Sky Father made much of battling the giants here and reasoned that it took a great enemy to make a great people. So, lacking any local enemy of sufficient mettle, they just took an outlying tribe and enhanced their stature magically,"

"So they were really just twisted humans," said Coral.

"Exactly," said Gwendolyn. "No one other than the Elves has ever been able to create a unique living creature that would attract or generate a Soul."

"Hmmm," said Coral. "Intriguing, but not really my department."

"And your department is?" asked Gwendolyn.

"Well, thank you for mentioning it," said Coral, bowing slightly. She smiled and returned the bow with her eyes. "It is felt that a confrontation with the gods, your old comrades in arms, is immanent."

"Fractious though they are, enough of them will eventually join to take action," she confirmed.

"You are the only one I know, the only one anyone knows, who has firsthand knowledge of how they fight. You have fought with them in tournament. You have fought beside them in war. Now," said Coral, "I know this is our fight, not your fight. I'm not asking you to take up arms with us... Well, actually, I'd love to... but I'm wondering if you have any tips? Advice? Flaws in their combat styles?"

Gwendolyn canted her head to one side. "It has been rather a while. My knowledge is not recent. They forget anything more than a few hundred years old."

"Well, the gods haven't ridden to battle since the The Black Hole. That's a few thousand years, at least. I don't think they've forgotten how to fight." He raised his hands. "There must be something for them to fall back on. Instinctual. Like with Queen Winifred and Rose. It's hard to forget your first trainer."

"I have memories," said Gwendolyn distantly. "Iowerth favored the tall sword. Same height as him. Very graceful he was with it. You do not fight with a sword of that size, for it will fight back with you. You dance with it. He said that to me."

Her eyes still distant, Gwendolyn assumed a fighting stance, one foot forward, both hands back holding, two handed, what would have been the haft of a tall sword next to her head. Her eyes focused again, and she dropped her hands.

"I do remember," she said. "Possibly enough to be of use. I shall create a pattern of it, extend it to fill in the gaps. Then let that guide my Animus with as close a reproduction to his style as can be."

"I have this feeling I'm about to get my skinny Elfin butt kicked," said Coral.

She smiled and laughed, uncharacteristically deep in her throat. "Afraid of learning something?" she said, loudly.

Coral found a sword in his hand, and saw her back in that fighting pose, with a great, tall sword held high. He swallowed hard.

## Chapter 21

### Deeds in Darkness

It was early night in the sprawling city of Romitu. A rancid smell filled the air as the municipal hot plates burnt off the grease of the night's cooking. Most folk were indoors doing the final tasks of the day before going to bed. Stragglers who had not quite finished the nights drinking, or were coming home from it, wandered the streets, alleys, and corner wine troughs. A cadre of others, though, slunk through the shadows, looking for prey.

Gwendolyn walked through the semi-darkness, wreathed in a hooded cloak that muffled her Elfin face and female nature. Only her eyes glinted from it, darting in one direction after another. She knew the temperature and tenor of this, the largest of cities. She was drawn to where people congregate in her attempts to understand the pattern of humanity. The slums were not a subject of frequent study. But, tonight, she walked them alone and unshielded.

She was edgy. It was not a feeling she was used to. In her sparring with Coral she had summoned up the ghost of multitudes of past companions. Past memories. They still rattled around in her skull. It had been a long, long time since she handled a weapon. But it all came back. Both the magically induced Animus based on recollected patterns, and her own decades of training in various tourney forms. Her hands twitched and sought action.

Gwendolyn bent, slightly, and let a long strand of golden hair slip from her cowl. Then she straightened and moved into a darker alley, seemingly unsteady. The bait was taken, she was being followed. Sensations came to her. The sound of cloth brushing wood, the vibrations of boots on the pavement, the smell of cheap beer. She was good, but this was more than her skill could account for. Perhaps some lingering hypersensitivity from her sparing. Or maybe she was now subconsciously enhancing her own senses. How else could she feel their very Souls as they moved?

A smile played across her lips and she hummed, precisely off key, a tune she had once fancied before her follower's great grandparents had been born. Their hearts beat faster, excitement stirred their emotions and there was a sharp crystallization of Will as one came close from behind and reached for her elbow.

Only it wasn't there. She had lurched to one side at the last minute, seemingly naturally, and he had missed. The momentum passed. She felt his hot flush of anger tinged with embarrassment. "Hey," he called at her. She turned, head bowed. He pushed at her with both hands. A simple gesture to knock her off balance and throw her to the ground. She went with it, flailing, but grabbed his arms as he drew them back, as if trying to stop herself falling over. With a twist and shift of weight he was thrown to the ground and the transfer of momentum kept her upright.

"I thank you kind sir," she said. There were loud laughs from his companions.

He recovered quickly and sprang to his feet, drawing a knife. "I'll cut you for that!" He slashed at her, once or twice, moving in and out in front of her.

Gwendolyn stood still, balancing on the balls of her feet. "Well, go on then," she said calmly.

Immediately he jumped forward and slashed at the folds of her robe. The knife snagged on them, but didn't contact her body. She had not moved.

"I think she's plastered," said one of his companions.

Her antagonist edged forward, holding the knife out towards her face. He slowly brought it up to her face, and then slid it down towards her neck. "Yeah," he agreed. "She's not tracking at..."

His reply was cut off by a gasp. Gwendolyn had placed her hands on either side of his elbow joint and locked it in place. She held his hand in place and straightened up to her full height, at least a hand span taller than him.

The others jumped forward and tried to grab her from behind, but she had ducked out of the way, releasing the first. She turned back to them. Her hand held a haft from which unrolled a long sword. They stopped sort in confusion. She held it there for a moment, and then turned it and it sagged, suggestively. "Lost your manhood?"

They circled her now, more warily. Their blades were much shorter. They would dance in, when they were on her edges or behind her. After many feints one jumped in for a real strike. Gwendolyn turned slightly, and flicked her wrist. The sword snapped up and arced around her, slashing the man's arm and making him abort his move.

"Festering maggots!" he swore. "That's a snake, not a sword."

She lashed it out at another who was staring, dumbfounded at his friend. "It is a sword, all right," she said. "Favored in ancient Indostan." She spun in place, the sword arching high and low, biting the ankle of the first, who hopped back. "Quite tricky, actually."

"There's no money or sport here," said one of them. They split and backed from her. She smiled and lunged at them. They fled.

With stunning celerity Gwendolyn raced after them, banked up the side of the alley wall, overtook them, and slid to a stop where the alley reconnected with the main street, blade straight and pointed at them. Astounded, they back-pedaled in panic. Two of them fell over and the third slid to a stop right in front of her, his throat impacting the end of her unwavering blade. The tip, however, was rounded and blunt. Only the edges were sharp.

"Not much sport at all," she said. Then she turned and left.

The night wore on, and the ruffians looking for random violence became fewer. Gwendolyn's fey mood was passing, but she was not yet sated. As she prowled the alleys, she became aware of a presence. Her senses had dulled a bit, and, whatever it might be, it was being extraordinarily careful.

She played the innocent, but it was not drawn out. Doubling back did not outwit it. Neither did a quick scramble over rooftops. For a moment, she thought she might be imagining it. Some slightly crazed echo from the Will juggling she had done. No one had ever lived as long as she had, and it was a nagging concern that operating so far outside of the Grey Elves specifications would lead to some deterioration. But when she passed through the crowd of a late night dice game by the docks she was certain. Her senses were still alive enough to sense their vibrant souls. But amongst them was a gap.

When she had crossed back into the side streets she had formulated a plan. Her ghost was no figment, but someone skilled in stealth and with magical shielding to boot. This is not a contest that would be won by force, but by intelligence.

She crept towards an alley that bordered on one of the minor temples. That would cause a disturbance in magic. She had passed it earlier and from the smell she knew the recent rains had overflowed the sewer there and the ground would be muddy. Hard not to leave footprints. The temple walls were too high to scale, and the other side was rickety shingle; far too noisy to attempt. She had also chosen it because the moon, high in the sky, was aligned and filled it with wan light.

Gwendolyn smiled to herself. Only the most masterful would even think of attempting to follow someone down such a hazard laden course. The slightest mistake, the most trivial fumble, would give them away. She moved down the alley slowly, on full alert for any hint of her shadow. Not a sound came. There was no whisper of wind, no creak of wood, nor any indication at all that she was followed. That meant that either her adversary was a master beyond belief, or else...

She lunged over right at the end of the alley, behind a large lead planter, and grasped behind it. Her hand connected with something and she lifted it up in front of her. Realizing the difficulty, and the fact the alley had only one exit, he had circled the block and awaited her on the other side.

"Good evening Lady Gwendolyn," said Greywind, sheepishly.

"Master Greywind," she said politely, setting him down. "You are becoming quite good."

"Not good enough, apparently," he said, adjusting his cape where it had caught on his neck. "But I'll take any compliment from you."

She smiled and nodded. "Do you often stalk the streets at night like this?"

"Yes," he said, "but you do not."

"True," she admitted. She rose up on her toes and flexed her back. "I had something to work out. But I think I am done now. Thank you for the merry chase."

"I'm honored to be of service," said Greywind, executing a highly satirical court bow. "It's refreshing to see someone who isn't all doom and gloom about the political situation."

Gwendolyn raised her eyebrow. "I find my mood on that changing."

"Is that so?" said Greywind, raising his eyebrow in mirror of hers. "Are you planning on returning the god's memories to them?"

"Whatever for?" said Gwendolyn. "I'm not even sure that is possible. Once information is discarded, its pattern is lost. Unless you can find it reflected elsewhere it is gone for good."

"Well, I guess you are safe from revenge," said Greywind. "They've grown quite powerful over the centuries."

"Yes," said Gwendolyn. "But they have learned nothing. I, on the other hand, have not grown comparably in power, but I have learned an awful lot." She smiled and gestured around her. "I think the events of this evening confirm my belief that skill and knowledge outweigh numbers and power."

"I would be foolish to doubt your wisdom," said Greywind, bowing again.

## Chapter 22

### Deeds of Darkness

Greywind continued on through the night. It wasn't late for him at all. He preferred the night. The darkness. The lack of people. No one looking down at him, or askance. The little guttersnipe Elf. It didn't really bother him anymore. He had access to far more power and influence than anyone he passed. He just found it tedious.

Almost without breaking stride he vaulted up a low wall, shimmied up a gutter he knew was strong, and pulled himself up onto a terracotta roof with overhung eaves. He reached into the third chimney pot from the left and pulled up a string of coins. He blew the soot from them and hefted them, approximating their weight. They were from Huaxia and had convenient holes in the middle for simple storage. He dropped them into a pouch on his belt; let himself down to a balcony, and from there to another roof.

Running into Gwendolyn was a stroke of luck. She was nearly as inaccessible as the Grey Elves themselves. Her knowledge wasn't as deep, but it was far easier to comprehend. That was good enough for him. Even if he hadn't run into her, it probably wouldn't have changed his mind. But the information was a bonus and pushed him to move now.

At the end of the row of houses, Greywind hung from his fingers and lowered himself gingerly onto the top of a wall. It had sharp potsherds mortared onto the top which he stepped carefully around. At the end he reached into the crack between it and the wall, and fished out a long cane he had stolen from an annoying old man. He leaped gently down and walked to the corner. A large piss-pot was stationed there, habitually full. It was at the end of the tanner's run, and usually their collection jars were full by here. He dipped in the cane, fished around for a while, and then brought up a ceramic jug. He smashed this carefully on a nearby stoop and fished out the coins from it and added them to ones in his belt pouch.

He swayed down the street, nodding to the drunks starting to sleep in the gutters. He felt almost like a lord amongst his people. The lowly and oppressed were his people. He had been there, he understood them. Unlike everyone else, he had no desire to raise them from their state. There was something free in having nothing. Sure, enough food to keep anyone from starving much, and municipal healing helped. Desperation leant an unpleasant edge to his domain. Far better to just be deprived.

He swung into an all-night tavern, received a tankard of some truly awful beer from a suggestive bar maid, and watched a dice game for a while. When he finished he moved to the bar and called the barkeep over. "I think I'd like to settle my tab," he said. The barkeep looked downcast, and made to persuade him otherwise. Greywind shook his head, and held out his hand. The man sighed, and counted out several coins form his cash box into his hands. Greywind smiled, handed one back to him with a tug of his forelock.

Across the street from the tavern was a dark temple. The facade had been reappointed, as all down-on-their-luck shrines had been when Scioni came to power. However it had not been maintained and the mire of the city had dulled it, once more. Inside was a single faux candle with a flickering grey magelight. It more accentuated the darkness, rather than banished it. This was appropriate.

There was movement in one corner and a priest came forward. "Why do you disturb the darkness? What is it you seek?"

Greywind unlimbered the, now heavy, bag from his belt, and tossed it to the priest's feet. "It's me," he said. "I think you'll find the amount you asked for in there."

The priest looked surprised, and a little apprehensive. But he picked up the bag and methodically counted out the pieces, mostly by feel. "Very well," he said with resignation. "Follow me."

He led Greywind into the back, rolled up a dark plush rug, and opened a stone trapdoor. They went down for some distance and then into a small alcove. The priest said several prayers and then opened a final door. He led Greywind by hand into the pitch blackness and to a seat. It was covered in what felt like long fur over soft cushions. There was the sound of the striking of a match, but there was no light. The strong smell of incense quickly followed. The priest then started up with his prayers.

Between the aroma and the chanting, Greywind lost track of time. The seat was almost impossible to feel underneath him, and it was as if the walls of the chamber had receded to some indeterminable distance. With a slight start he noticed the chanting has stopped. He didn't think he had nodded off, but he wasn't sure. There was a chill to the air, and either his eyes were playing tricks on him or else there was a dark shape before him, illuminated by a gegenshein like light.

"Who summons Nocturne?" called a quiet voice. "What mortal considers himself important enough to take a god's time?"

"Just me," said Greywind. "A casual admirer."

"Insolence!" came the voice, affronted. "You shall never see the light of day again for your impertinence!"

"I think you'll need all your mana for the upcoming war," said Greywind, pleasantly. "Don't you think?"

There was a long pause. "I cannot read you. You are cloaked well upstart. Are you with those who defy the gods? Did you have my priest drag me there to taunt me?"

"I'm cloaked in honor of you," said Greywind. "I said I was an admirer. But yeeees, I am with those who defy the gods, but nooooo, I'm not here to taunt you."

"You have more than tried my patience, mortal," she hissed back. "Make your point quickly if you would stay my hand!"

"Why does everyone have to be so touchy?" Greywind lamented. "OK. OK. Look, I'm all for thumbing your nose at authority. You might even say I'm a bit of a professional at it. But, you know, you gods are kind of a cultural foundation here. I'm not entirely up with the whole drive to wipe you out."

"How gratifying," said Nocturne, sarcastically. "I think you will find our power more than you reckon."

"Is that so?" said Greywind. "Do you know where the power of the gods comes from?"

There was a pause. "Are we here to discuss elementary theology? Everyone knows. It is from the might of their presence, the greatness of their celestial court, and the adoration of their worshipers."

"Ultimately the first two come from the last one," said Greywind. "Do you know where the power of the New Magic comes from?"

"I care not," said Nocturne, haughtily. "It is a heresy. All who practice it will be dismissed from the presence of the gods."

"You should care," said Greywind. "Because it is pretty much the same thing. The adoration of the people, as you put it, is sort of an unfocused mana generation. The mages of the New Magic have a much more focused version of the same thing. And they retain that power for themselves to do their own miracles. It's direct competition. That's what really has the bigwigs all upset. Or did they not tell you this?"

"They have not dwelled on the technicalities," she admitted.

"There is more," said Greywind. He left a pause, but Nocturne did not speak. Neither did she interrupt. "It was the discoveries of this same New Magic, long ago, that lead to the creation of the gods. They were but mages, like those now wielding the New Magic, back then."

"You are sadly misinformed," said Nocturne. "I am a god. I remember no such thing. I was raised to godhood for my deeds."

"You are a new god," said Greywind. "Where do you think the first came from?" He let that sink in. "And, you and the other new gods are different. You remember being raised. They do not. In fact, they do not remember anything but the most recent century or two."

"Their minds are on higher things," said Nocturne.

"They may tell you that, but it's not true. They cannot remember. It is part of the curse that they placed on themselves in order to forget the New Magic and become gods," he said.

"That does not even make sense," said Nocturne. "Why would they use this great magic to forget this great magic?"

"How could they be gods if they knew their power was something that anyone could learn?" said Greywind. "So they forget. And I have it, on good authority that they cannot remember. No way. No how."

Nocturne thought on this. "Why do you bring me this information? Do you seek to ingratiate yourself to me by betraying your own people? Do you hope to be spared from the slaughter during the war?"

"Oh, I'll just lie low and muddle on through, I always do," he said. "There are bound to be casualties. I just have to make sure I'm not one of them, bide my time, and see where I stand amongst who is left."

"You pray for night to hide you?" asked Nocturne.

"Well, I was thinking that if that made sense for me, it might make sense for you," he said.

" _You_ give _me_ advice?" she said, incredulously.

"There are bound to be casualties. _On both sides_ " said Greywind with emphasis. "Like I said: I like you. Much better than the stuffy old gods. I wouldn't cry at all to see more of your lot and less of their lot."

"Or do you just seek to stir up dissent?" Nocturne asked. "To make said casualties a self-fulfilling prophecy?"

"Take my advice or leave it," said Greywind. "I'm not asking you to withhold support or anything _treasonous_. Just consider being in a position to capitalize on any... change in leadership."

"How gracious of you," she said. "While not all of us are in the high one's inner circles, it is no secret that your mages are on their last legs. Their little foray into the demon lands was at great cost to their power. Gods know something of mana and it is obvious to even a 'new god' such as myself that their reserves are pathetically low. There is nothing to stop us cleansing the earth of their memory."

"What you say is completely true," said Greywind. "Right now."

"Right now?" asked Nocturne.

"Yes, right now," repeated Greywind. "But that will not be true tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month. Hard to say exactly when."

"What are you babbling about?" said Nocturne, impatiently.

"Just some... progress that has been made recently," said Greywind. "They have found another way to fill their mana reserves. One that does not require the tedious worship or focus of a multitude of people. They don't have to compete with the gods anymore for adherents. They can just plug in and fill up! Thank you for playing."

"If that were true, we would have seen this. They would have used it," protested Nocturne.

"I said progress has been made," said Greywind. "There has been a breakthrough in knowledge. It has yet to be brought to fruition. But when it is, it will be too late... For the gods."

"I am somewhat doubtful," said Nocturne.

"Why would I bluff? It isn't exactly a tactic to save time. And that's what they need most now." Greywind shrugged. "Suit yourself. I've had my say. Thank you oh worshipful eminence. You can go back to your ambrosia now. I shan't bother you further."

There was a long, drawn out pause. "I'll think on this conversation" said Nocturne, finally. And then there was an absence.

Greywind waited for a while. No thunderbolt struck. He reached out and felt a carpeted wall. The room seemed merely dark with lingering stale incense. He then smiled a small smile to himself.

# ARC 3

## Chapter 23

### Testing the Limits

General Ainia and General Porterhouse walked slowly, reviewing their marshalled armies. The hot sun of Mundiraj beat down on them and the potent smell of spices being immersed in hot oil wafted in on the sea breeze. It was unusual for two armies to be stationed in a single town these days. But there was a sea wall to be built and the magic was low. And the army always had need of building character.

General Porterhouse stopped before one of his troops. She was short for an Orc, but as tall as General Ainia. She stood as ramrod straight and polished as the other Orcs. As was their custom, she wore her parade dress uniform with many flourishes and rhinestones. Porterhouse narrowed his eyes then lunged at her, bellowing at the top of his lungs. The soldier didn't even blink. And when his echoes faded she shouted "Thank you Sir!" He nodded and they moved on.

Many of the town had acted warily to the alienness of the 22nd and 31st Armies. The citizen liaison office played dumb to the very tangential complaints, forcing the locals to specifically note that one was composed entirely of Orcs and the other of Amazons. By the time the conversation got to an admission of racism, it was easily dismissed. The folks of the poorer quarter, who stood to gain the most from the sea wall, had no such bigotry. They regularly showered troops returning from their work shift with marigold petals and left out little offerings of pungent food.

Now it was General Ainia who stopped. Her troops were more traditionally dressed, but it was hard not to focus on imperfections. They didn't make the soldier any less combat ready, so Ainia checked her rebuke. Instead she asked "At the battle of Anthela what act of discipline amongst the Syrosian soldiers turned the tide?"

"Holding a close spear formation in the face of a cavalry charge, Ma'am!" shouted the soldier. Ainia nodded and continued.

"Although I'm not sure how much good a close spear formation will be against the gods," she remarked to Porterhouse as they walked on.

"If spear tip strong enough, and force behind doughty enough, I dare say we put out the eyes of god or two," he replied.

They stopped at a table that had been set up along the line. Porterhouse picked up the long spear with a bulging tip that lay on it, and Ainia picked up the parchment note.

"It says it has a 'force multiplier tip'" Ainia read out.

Porterhouse twirled the thin shaft in his hand. He brought it suddenly to a stop and thrust it double handed into the breastplate of one of his troops. There was a fizzle, and a snap, and the tip broke off and fell on the ground. He grunted and tossed it back on the table. They resumed walking.

"Need stronger tip for god eye," commented Porterhouse.

"Maybe some of the local curry," said Ainia.

"Ah!" said Porterhouse enthusiastically. "Curry nice! Very nice! Too good for gods." The Orcs were enormous fans of the local cuisine. Their own ethnic food mostly revolved around large hunks of charred meat. Northern herbs had no interest to them. But the southern hot spice along with charred meat made them quite excited and they avidly participated in the local economy.

"Ever got it in your eye?" asked Ainia. "I walked past a spice stall in a wind. Woo hoo. I thought I would go blind. Put some of that in a spear tip and then we might be talking."

The next table contained a complicated looking bow that Ainia picked up. Porterhouse picked up the tag. "Far Range" he read.

"You," said Ainia, to the nearest soldier. "Far side of the compound. Hold up your shield. Now!" The soldier double timed it as Ainia strung the bow and tested the pull. It was odd, in that her fingers didn't actually pull the bowstring. The string pulled itself as she moved her hand. It was hard to gauge the force, other than the fact the bow appeared to be made of solid steel.

When the trooper was in position, she fitted one of the thick arrows to it, and drew. She sighted along the draw and released. There was a bang as the rear end of the arrow exploded into flame. It rocketed away with increasing speed. "I didn't need that ear anyway," said Ainia rubbing it. The arrow had cleared the compound, yards above the soldier and continued out above the city, leaving a thin trail of smoke behind it.

"Yes, far range," said Porterhouse. "But how you aim?"

Ainia shrugged, and put the bow down. "Crazy mages. Don't think things through."

Porterhouse grunted. "But this next war their war. We mostly watch."

Ainia looked sidelong at him. "So you don't think there is much future in the army?"

"We watch from close," he said, and flashed his large teeth at her. "Very close. If they not manage, then our turn. There is honor in being backup."

She nodded and looked to her own troops. She saw several who had lined their shields with local cloth. As the Orcs had taken to the local food, the Amazons had taken to the fabric. The shield lining was where General Ainia had allowed her troops to express their individualism. Mundiraj was a cross roads town. There were many colors and exotic designs here that were highly expensive elsewhere. Allowing them such liberties made them complain less about the backbreaking work.

In a sudden motion General Porterhouse spun on his heel and landed an impressive punch into the abdomen of one of his soldiers. He was driven back several inches and grunted, but did not break his stance. Porterhouse nodded, and the trooper gasped out a "Thank you, sir!"

The last table contained a painted red amphora. "Flame Bottle" read Ainia.

"Hmm ah!" said Porterhouse, picking it up heartily. "Woosh boom! If not good for gods, at least good for a laugh."

It was a bit unwieldy. He juggled it and ended up cradling it in his arms as he worked the cap loose. There was a roar and flames shot out from the end he had uncapped. The amphora shot out of his grasp, backwards. With a crunch it impacted into an Orcish trooper, and then exploded, knocking him head over heels.

They walked to where he lay, dazed and badly burnt. His lips moved and Porterhouse bent over. "Thank you... sir," the trooper gasped out. Porterhouse, nodded, then solemnly removed one of his carpet of medals and pinned it to the soldier's chest.

"I think we go to healer now," said Porterhouse.

Ainia motioned to her troops. Several upended the table, brought it over. They eased the downed warrior onto it and hefted him up. The two generals lead the way towards the healing compound.

"Woosh, boom, indeed" said Ainia.

"Crazy mages," agreed Porterhouse. "Sooner gods are dead, better it is. Get back to honest fighting."

"What honest fighting is left?" asked Ainia.

"The Black Hole," said Porterhouse.

Ainia looked at him, startled. "What? You can't be serious."

"They damned. They forsaken," continued Porterhouse. "Souls in living limbo. Many tin hats say we should save."

Ainia shuddered. "That doesn't mean it's a good idea. The living dead creep me out. How do you kill the dead? I know many say we should, but who actually wants to?"

"She wants," said Porterhouse, pointing towards the healing house. "Says gods are culpable. Put dirty laundry there. Worse than demon lands. Older too. They should fix. If not, we should fix."

Ainia shook her head. "I understand your sense of honor better than her sense of responsibility."

"Not mystery to me," said Porterhouse. "If she go, I volunteer 22nd, double time quick. They like her."

"Now that she's back on our side, sure," said Ainia. "I'll go if I'm ordered. But I'll not seek my death there. Why would you?"

"They there long time. Many thousand years, yes? What they do all that time?" Ainia shrugged. "They fight each other. Best fighters in world now. I bet." Porterhouse grinned at her. "Most honest fight in world."

## Chapter 24

### The Theology of War

The bell that hung above the doorway of the healing house clattered as Porterhouse walked through and held it open for the Amazons. They marched in and deposited the table, with the scorched Orc on it. The General gave them a quick salute and they quickly returned outside.

"Is someone dying or can it wait a minute?" came a voice from the rear.

Porterhouse looked down at the wounded soldier. "I think he still breathe."

Demara bustled up from the back dusting flour off on her apron. Her brown hair was pinned back with clips fashioned in the shape of sheaves of grain. "Well let's see if we can keep him that way, shall we?" She looked briefly over him. "God's above. What happened to him?"

"We try out new mage weapons," explained Porterhouse. "Not all worked."

"I'd scold you for being reckless with your troops. But judging by what's left of your eyebrows you've learned your lesson," she said. He assisted as she field stripped his armor.

"Save medal," said Porterhouse, rescuing it from the breastplate. "Good brave warrior."

"Anyone serving you has got to have more bravery than brains," said Demara.

"Thank you!" said Porterhouse, radiant.

"That's not quite how I meant it" said Demara as she started sponging the wounds. Consciousness had returned to the Orc and he bit his lip as she worked on him. "One thing about your machismo, though: at least you don't squirm when I clean your wounds." She sniffed the air and looked up in alarm. "Oh, hells. The scones!" She looked from the wounded Orc to her ovens and back. "Be a dear, Porterhouse. Can you pull the sheets out of the oven?"

"Oh!" he cried. "I cannot handle your holy hot buns!"

"Damn straight. I may worship a fertility goddess, but there are limits," she swore. "Fortunately they are scones, and they are in the oven. And _they will burn_ if you do not _get them now_." He moved quickly to obey. "And this is not a test of your Orcish manhood!" she called after him. "Use the oven mitts!"

Demara shook her head and pulled some healing salve from a shelf. "At the rate we're clocking up peacetime injuries, I'm going to have to make more of this," she muttered to herself. Nevertheless, she applied it liberally on all surfaces. "Now the hard part."

She fished inside her tunic and brought out a medallion. The sides were made of sheaves of wheat and a gentle woman's face in cameo. "I pray to rich-haired Grania, lady of the golden sword and glorious fruits. Bringing of seasons and giver of good gifts, grant to your devout worshiper your blessing and heal this man." She placed her hands upon the soldier. There was a soft glow, the salve disappeared, and the blisters on his flesh faded. "Well," said Demara quietly. "She's still listening."

The trooper sat up at Porterhouse came up, taking off the oven mitts. "Good Grania! I thank you!" he said to Demara.

"Grania's blessing on you," she said, putting away the medallion.

Porterhouse handed him the cut up armor. "Go. Get fixed," he said. Then handed him his medal. "Take care this too" He looked up at the General, misty eyes, then went to duck out.

"Wait," said Demara. He turned and she tossed him a scone.

"I thank Grania for fixing soldier," said Porterhouse.

"Don't count on it for too much longer," said Demara, shaking her head.

"Oh. You leave when war starts?" asked Porterhouse.

"No," said Demara. "Not as long as the Queen stands by her agreement. But I'm not sure Grania will work her magic through me after the fighting breaks out."

"Ah," said Porterhouse. "When happens, we pray to you then."

She looked at him, long suffering. "You know, it would be a lot easier and faster for you if you just used your magic thingies to heal your troops instead of dragging them here. I'm really just here to bake." She handed him a scone.

With great joy he delicately bit off a small piece with his wide teeth. "It was magic thingies put him here," pointed out Porterhouse.

Demara pursed her lips and nodded. She didn't really mind healing the Orcs. Or the Amazons. She just rued the day when it didn't work, and didn't want to tempt fate.

"Troops like you," said Porterhouse. "Elders teach that holy war band had Grun-ya to make food for war march. Same important as Clan Father and War Lord. Each has place. Many stories of holy war band and how each helps win great battle."

Demara couldn't stop herself laughing. "I'm sorry. I know it is not very culturally sensitive of me." Porterhouse did not look offended. "I guess it serves us right. The First Empire of Romitu invaded you, converted you to our gods, and then collapsed, leaving you on your own. It's not surprising that you made our gods your own."

"So you see then?" said Porterhouse. "We make you our own. You are our strong armed Grun-ya."

"Yes, yes," said Demara, rolling her eyes. "Provider of the blessed beer and pretzels."

"Best food for march!" said Porterhouse. "Easy to carry. Keeps well." He watched her collect the scones from the sheets, pile them in a basket and toss the sheets into the sink. "Troops understand you," he said, more quietly. "Crazy mages have wild magic. Makes our hands strong, but sometimes blows up. Your magic not so boom-woosh, but reliable."

Demara shrugged. "For as long as it works."

"Do not worry, my Grun-ya," said Porterhouse, leaning against the counter and finishing his scone. "I see many fights. War Lord, he talk tough. Send out champions. Many chest beat on both sides. But once nose bloody, Clan Father say stop. Then new line gets drawn. Territory changes. Both go home."

"What if Clan Father goes to war himself?" asked Demara. "I can't see Sky Father sitting this one out and sending in Martius, who you call War Lord"

"War Lord job to lead war. If Clan Father go, Clan Father die," said Porterhouse simply. "New line is drawn. They find new Clan Father who not so stupid."

"I'm not so sure this is as simple as a territorial dispute," said Demara.

"Fight never for territory," said Porterhouse. "Fight happens when too many people with no future." Demara looked at him quizzically. "Sons follow fathers. Daughters follow mothers. When times good and many sons and many daughters, what they do? Join army! See world. Some win new land. Some die."

"But that's not exactly how the gods operate," argued Demara.

"Oh?" asked Porterhouse. "You have Sky Father. We have Clan Father. One god or two?"

"Hmm," said Demara. "That is a delicate theological question. There has definitely been some divergence in dogma. The philosophers are not sure if there has been a split, but if things keep going they figure one is inevitable."

"Yes," said Porterhouse. "And Grun-ya. She new god. Not old god. Not one of One Hundred Forty Four."

"True, true," said Demara.

"So gods same. They have new sons and daughters," said Porterhouse.

"Yes, but the only reason there are new gods is when there are new needs to be fulfilled," said Demara. "As agriculture became more important Hearth Mother's duties as Sky Father's consort didn't leave her enough time. So Grania was accepted into the pantheon to take on those duties."

Porterhouse shrugged. "If Sky Father goes to battle, will War Lord be happy? I think not. There is overlap. So there is tension. I think with fewer gods, they have no problem with duties. Not real reason."

"If true, that's depressing," said Demara. "The thought that war is the inevitable consequence to plenty."

"Not if you see glory in war" said Porterhouse. "Then it happy thing!"

"I'm not sure I can ever see war as a happy thing," said Demara. "I'd rather try to avoid it."

"Do not worry my Grun-ya," said Porterhouse. "There will not be many more wars."

She looked at him askance. "I thought you just said you thought war was always unavoidable?"

"This war. It too soon. Not stop." He tapped his head, more serious now. "Crazy mages not always crazy. They say no one die. Resurrections for all. OK. What they eat? Oops. We got make deserts bloom. Make all outer waste into garden. Then OK." He waved his finger. "If we can kill Death by making so much life, then many sons many daughters no problem. That small problem, then no war."

"I have to say," said Demara. "That's probably the most cogent argument I've heard so far for greening the waste."

Porterhouse gave her a casual salute. "You think argument good enough for Grun-ya?"

Demara sighed deeply. "I have no idea. Nothing I've said so far seems to have been of any use."

"Ah, but you tough Grun-ya," said Porterhouse, rocking her with a punch to the shoulder. "You like champion fighting up blood slicked hill. You try. You try. You try."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence," said Demara. "Honestly, though, you are the last person on earth I would have figured discussing theology with."

"Ah," laughed Porterhouse. "This Orc full of surprises! War Lord say, best if enemy thinks you less than you are."

Demara laughed back, nodding. "Well I feel better. Get back to your troops. I need to make several more batches of scones before evening mess."

## Chapter 25

### The Choice of Free Will

The demon horse circled the skies of Mundiraj and those of the town watched it warily. The encampment of two Romitu armies had brought many odd sights, and their priests warned them daily of the doom the gods intended for them. A few ran through the streets decrying this as another sign that the final battle was nigh. Most, however, went about their business, their eyes cautiously upon the sky.

As the creature drifted lower on the city thermals, it became apparent that it had a rider. In contrast to the black of the horse and the occasional bursts of flame and smoke, the riders were dressed in bright armor with a blue and white tabard. And, as it came lower, it trended more towards the eastern side of town, where the encampment was. And, so, it passed out of the interest of most residents.

The garrison in the camp, however, grew alert. No general call to arms was made. The lieutenant on duty did not do so, since one individual was unlikely to be a significant threat. And a repositioning of the defense could make them vulnerable if this was a ruse. She did not order the main gates of the encampment shut either. To do so might betray undue wariness, and it would be pointless, given what they were tracking could fly. However, she did order the gate guard out onto the threshold.

The creature alighted a moderate distance away from the gate. Outside of immediate threat of combat, but well within bow range. "Greetings, traveler," hailed the lieutenant from the top of the tower. "Do you have business with the fort?"

"I am Desdemona, Knight of Grania. I have business with Demara, her priestess," said the rider. She stood in her saddle, and the emblem of grain could be easily seen on her tabard.

"I will send her word," said the lieutenant.

"I would rather save you the trouble and go myself," said the rider. The lieutenant looked hesitant. "If you require it, I will leave my mount and weapons beyond the gate."

"I do not wish to give offense," said the lieutenant. "If you allow me to confirm with the officer on duty I am sure we can do you the courtesy warranted by your station."

"It is no matter," said Desdemona. She dismounted and took a smoking great sword from her back and hung it on her saddle. She whispered a few words to her mount and walked toward the gate.

"I will post guards to ensure no one gives trouble to your steed or belongings," said the lieutenant.

Desdemona nodded in acknowledgment as she walked past. She saw the banners of the 22nd and 31st armies. These were not ones she had worked with before. They stared at her as she passed. Not terribly surprising, given her demonic appearance. She figured they were wondering the same thing she was: is this a friend or an enemy.

She didn't need to be told where to find Demara. She would be in the kitchens. Didn't matter if it was her own temple, or the camp of those sworn to kill her god. Desdemona just had to user her nose. Where there was smoke, there was fire, and that would be where the ovens were. It helped that every single Romitu camp was laid out the same.

A soldier stood by the door and held it open for her. Doubtless a runner was sent to let Demara know she was on her way. They were efficient in ways like that. The highest evolved killing machine the world had seen. And now they hunted the gods.

She had once been a killing machine. A poor choice of parents had left her with demon tainted blood. Having no solace amongst her people of birth, those of her blood took her. They trained her and gave her the great sword that hung from her saddle. A fearsome weapon for tracking down and returning demons escaped from their torment. Until one day she exercised that small spark of self will that was buried deep down inside and made a choice. That choice was witnessed and raised to a god's attention by the priestess whose doorstep she stood on. The goddess recognized the action and absolved her damnation. She didn't bless her; she just removed the predetermination set by her blood taint. Her choices were her own now, for good or ill. She had served Grania since then, most often through Demara. Yet here she stood: once more hunting, bringing doom. Was it what she was good at? Or was she just gravitating to previous patterns?

"I'll be right with you," said Demara. She had two pans sizzling on the hot plate that she kept throwing vegetation into as she chopped. Once they were in, she opened the doors to the ovens, pulled out the sheets and, with a jerk, slid the scones on them onto a cooling rack. The sheets steamed as she dumped them into the half-filled sink. Then back to add a dash of some oils to the sizzling pans. She reduced the glow on the hot plate, covered them and dusted her hands off. "It's good to see you Desdemona."

"And I, you," said Desdemona. Then she paused.

"I know why you're here," said Demara. "Let's just get it over with."

"There is some concern that you haven't received your instructions," said Desdemona.

"You mean the visions, omens, and oracles all screaming at me?" asked Demara sarcastically.

Desdemona smiled, thin lipped. "We wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"I will not preach hate," said Demara. "I will not preach lies. This is not religion, this is politics. It is not a valid request."

"Your god orders it," said Desdemona.

Demara raised an eyebrow. "So?" she asked. "That doesn't make it the right thing."

"Is the hubris of these people infective?" asked Desdemona.

"They made a perfectly reasonable offer," said Demara. "One, I must say, I had some hand in negotiating. You too."

"It was not deemed reasonable by Grania," said Desdemona.

"That's not true and you know it," said Demara. "Any rational person can see that. Jesca declared at Greymount that any souls that wanted to go to their reward in heaven would not be interfered with. If they did not, they would be willing to bring them back to life." She looked exasperated.

"I don't know what the goddess thinks, I only know what she said," said Desdemona.

"What do _you_ think, Desdemona?" asked Demara.

"I think the premise of your argument is false," said Desdemona. "It is presumptuous to place mortals on the same level as the gods. They are of a different order. When it comes to the metaphysical, they have the authority, the sole authority, to determine such things as a soul's eternal rest."

"Twaddle," said Demara. "They are _not_ of a different order. Grania once walked this earth. Sky Father too, although much longer ago."

"But now they do not. They have been raised to a higher calling," said Desdemona. "You would not let an acolyte in the temple set the liturgy?"

"I would if it was better," said Demara.

"But who can judge that?" said Desdemona.

"Sometimes it's just obvious," said Demara.

They glared at each other for a while. Demara pulled the pans from the plate and tossed their contents onto a cloth, tied them up, and tossed them in a basket.

"What message would you have me take back to our goddess?" asked Desdemona.

"I don't care," said Demara. "Make something up. She's got her hands tied by those she serves. But do you?"

"What do you mean," said Desdemona.

"Your mission is over," said Demara. "It's just you and me now. Not herald and errant priestess. You know what's going on."

"A pissing war?" asked Desdemona.

"More or less," said Demara. "But there is a point to it all that everyone seems to have forgotten."

"I'm sorry. I seem to have missed it," said Desdemona.

"The gods want to create a heaven for their worshipers. The Romitu want to create heaven on earth for everyone," said Demara. "Eternal life up above or eternal life down here. The gods cannot object to the stated aims of Romitu since they are the same as their own. The only difference is that souls eternally residing in heaven create mana for the gods to use. For their own ends. Those residing here do not." Desdemona nodded slowly. "So, ultimately, the god's objection is only self-serving, no matter how they dress it up."

"Do you really think it is as simple as that?" asked Desdemona.

"I do. Any way I've cut and sliced it, it comes back to that," said Demara. "The potential of the new magic removes the traditional need for the gods. But the genii is out of the bottle. It's not going back in. This change is permanent. They tried to do this before. Back when they were just the Hundred and Forty Four. It didn't work."

"So you think there is no future for the gods?" asked Desdemona.

"Not in those traditional roles. If they could get over themselves all they would have to do is seek new roles. That's what I tried to show them." She shrugged. "Too much of a stretch for them I guess."

"Well," said Desdemona slowly. "Assume you are right. What Grania says is not necessarily what she thinks. That may imply that it is not necessarily a stretch for _all_ of the gods."

"I'm listening," said Demara.

"I will return to her service," said Desdemona. "But I will look for signs that Grania understands your message. If so, I will encourage them. Her influence is not great. But I think those driving this are more likely to be dislodged from their path by subtle influences."

"Yeah," said Demara. "It's only going to work if they think it is their own idea." They both smiled. She handed Desdemona the basket. "There are some fresh scones in there for you and some other stuff for Pookie. The locals have something called 'fire weed' that I thought might please the palette of a demon horse."

Desdemona peeked in. "I thank you, from both of us."

"Just don't get them mixed up!"

## Chapter 26

### Information and its Sources

Desdemona rode in through the gates of heaven. When she had gained enough altitude to separate her from mortal concerns, her horse transitioned the planes to the god's realm. Great bronze giants guarded the gates, their axes held high in eternal vigilance. No sign would they give of their disapproval until they struck. Certainly her demon parentage was clearly evident to them, let alone the full demon blood of her horse. But she had the blessing of Grania, and they should know that. Even so, she always felt uncomfortable beneath their axes.

She landed just through the gate, and left her horse to feast on Demara's gift in its steel mesh nosebag. There were many more guardians in the lands. The giants obeyed the will of the gods. The rest had some element of will themselves, and were more prone to be biased by her origins than her mission. It was just simpler to move on herself.

Great amber fields lay resplendent ahead of her. They grew without weeds and without tending. There were, though, people scattered throughout them, harvesting by hand or by tool. The labor was not one of necessity, but one of devotion. The work was not hard, the good grain came away effortlessly and there was never any rot or worm. As she progressed inwards she passed great threshing stations, where many more worked their ritual devotions, singing hymns to Grania.

Many times, when her messages were not urgent, Desdemona joined in. But not today. Her message was too weighty and the discussion with Demara echoed in her head as she walked. Were these eternal souls here for their benefit, or for the gods? Was the mana they generated by their devotions freely given, or extracted. She supposed the test for that would be if one wished to stop. Would they still be tolerated in the divine realm? But that was a pointless question. Those that were here were here because of their adoration of the goddess. The same for each of the other realms. They would never wish to stop because this was the culmination of their life's hope.

But what of those who were not so devout? There was penance for some, until they mended their ways. The truly unrepentant were often traded to the demons. Was this just deserts, or an intricate selection process?

Desdemona was now passing the mills. Great windmills turned some, waterwheels others and some were driven by oxen. Everywhere the piles of grain heaped up going in, and sacks of flour leaving. Wheat, barley, rye, oats, millet, and other varieties that she didn't have the training to distinguish. All grades, as well, were there. From coarsely rolled to finely crushed.

The sentinels stationed there gave her wary looks, but did not stop her. There was much more of a commotion here. Heaped tables extended in all directions. The flour was joined by produce and goods of all kinds from other areas of the realm. A great number of people bringing things to set out, and taking things away. And, yet, it was quieter than a mortal marketplace. What was missing was people hawking their wares. All here was freely produced, and free for the taking. Nothing ever spoiled. Nothing ever wasted.

Was this not perfection? Everyone's needs were met. Both the need to consume, and also the need to produce. All did so willingly, and no one was left out. No one was worried about their next meal, the size of their coin purse, if they'll have to sell everything before it rots, or even what time of day it was.

It was simple to say this was the same world that those with the New Magic sought to make. With enough power from whatever source they could probably use their magic to create such a thing. In theory. But would they, in fact? In her childhood she had seen plenty of human spite and small mindedness. She didn't trust that they would keep to their ideals. Some would reap the rewards, others would suffer the consequences. Maybe heaven _was_ a dictatorship. If so, it was a benevolent one. Their origin didn't matter. The gods were a different order of being than the rest. They didn't have to compete with their subjects. So there was no scope for abuse. And strict custom kept them from competing with each other. It had to be a better choice. It _was_ a better choice.

She had arisen from the forum up the steps past the terraces of bakeries. She smells of cooking drifted up, an offering in and of itself. She followed it to the colonnaded wings of the temple palace. The guards here were much sterner as she greeted them formally. But they knew her, expected her, and after their ritual exchange, she was allowed to pass. She passed several more as she made her way inwards, through more magnificently appointed porticos and rooms until she stood on the threshold of Grania's antechamber.

The final guardian had none of the martial trapping of the previous ones. She was a tall, matronly woman dressed in brown livery holding a sheaf of wheat.

"Sir Desdemona," she said in greeting. "You return from your travels."

"Greetings Dowager," said Desdemona, bowing deeply. "I have done my lady's bidding and return to report. At her pleasure."

The Dowager nodded slightly. She consulted her sheaf of wheat. "Please take your rest," she indicated a nearby set of plush chairs and tables overflowing with food. "She is engaged right now. But I do not think she will be long."

Desdemona bowed deeply again and retired to the chairs. She composed herself. Technically she had failed in her mission to return Demara to orthodoxy. However she felt that Grania did not actually expect her to succeed, and the message was merely a formality. It was to set the stage for whatever disciplinary action was to follow. Grania was a fair god, not given to the whim of changing moods. Desdemona did not fear being dealt with harshly. She reviewed her actions, and felt she had done her honest best. She became at peace.

"Sir Desdemona," the Dowager called, not long afterwards. Desdemona stood and approached her. It seemed that the summons into the divine presence only came when she was ready for it. Briefly she wondered if the waiting had less to do with the god's schedule and more to do with her mental state.

"I thank you, my lady," said Desdemona. The Dowager nodded and looked critically up and down Desdemona's tabard. Finding nothing amiss, she nodded to her. The doors opened to some unseen signal, and Desdemona approached the presence of her god.

The throne room was wide and circular. The main structure was made of brown stone marbled with white veins. Two pairs of columns held up the domed ceiling. The very top was pierced with a circular opening through which shafts of light came. Courtiers in blue and white stood in various positions, with small tables, chairs and couches of blue velvet and silver wood around the room. Small steps lead up from each circle of columns, and a final one to the dais in the middle. Desdemona stopped and kneeled at each one.

On the dais was a massive throne of the same brown marble. A larger than life woman sat in it, swathed in blue robes with a white belt and hem. Her skin was nearly as brown as the sheaf of wheat she held. She had golden hair, blue eyes and a kind face. Desdemona kneeled one last time before her and did not get up.

"Rise, my knight," said Grania in a clear voice. "Let me look into your eyes." Desdemona obeyed and the goddess's gaze held her a while. "How do you fare?"

"My heart has been troubled by my conversations with your priestess Demara," said Desdemona. "But it is at peace once more in your realm."

"I am glad you are at peace," said Grania. "But, my priestess, she is still troubled?"

"Alas, my goddess," said Desdemona. "She is still committed to her dissent."

Grania sighed. "That is unfortunate." Her fingers stirred her sheaf of wheat idly. "Did she speak of what troubled her most?"

"She wonders why, if the gods and men have the same goals, that there must be war," said Desdemona.

Grania smiled. "She is very plain spoken. And very direct." She sighed again and looked about her court. "Is this what troubled your heart as well?"

"Yes," said Desdemona. She had full trust in the goddess and did not hesitate to hold anything back. "But when I arrived back, I was reminded of the good works of the gods and how they care for their own. This, in turn, reminded me of the works of man, and how they do not. Men may profess the same goals, but their methods are otherwise and, I fear, they are not equipped to achieve them."

Grania nodded, a bit distracted. "I am glad you are at peace," she said again. She sighed again. "You visited her in one of the Romitu camps?"

"I did," said Desdemona.

"How did you find it?" she asked.

"They were suspicious, but courteous," said Desdemona. "They were not armies I had dealt with before, and were unfamiliar with me. But they offered me no harm, and stood to guard my steed while I did my business."

"Which armies were there?" asked Grania.

"The 22nd and 31st," said Desdemona, after a pause. "The Orcish and Amazon army."

"Two armies?" said Grania. "That's quite a force. What appeared to be their primary activity?"

Desdemona paused again. "I believe they were building a sea wall. To protect the poorer quarters of the city."

Grania nodded. "Were they full strength armies? Or have some of them stood down."

"I," said Desdemona hesitantly. "I am not sure. I did not look closely. Was my mission to deliver a message or to reconnoiter the camp?"

Grania sighed and paused a long time. "When I meet to pay homage to Hearth Mother she will ask of me what I know of our enemy's strengths." She looked to her sheath of wheat again and searched amongst the stalks. "She will wonder why I tolerate my errant priestess so long, if not to use her for insight into our enemy."

"Is it not enough that my lady is being gracious to her to encourage her back to orthodoxy?" asked Desdemona.

"Not for Hearth Mother," said Grania. "I know she will not return, but for her own reasons."

"Then why did you send me?" asked Desdemona. "If you knew she would not listen?"

"I am sure she listened," said Grania. "And she may think more of it later. But she will not change her mind. Not right now. For she is right."

"Right?" said Desdemona, taken aback.

"From her own world view," said Grania, looking right at Desdemona and holding her gaze. Then she looked away. "She reminds me a lot of myself when I was mortal."

Desdemona regained her composure. And, after a time, said quietly. "Will Hearth Mother not understand that? She is mother to us all."

Grania shook her head. "Her thoughts are on much more lofty affairs. She does not remember when she was mortal." She went back to looking into her wheat. "Someday when I attain such a refined state, I, too, will have my thoughts so elevated and not remember my days as a mortal."

Desdemona looked down, not knowing what to say. Briefly her mind drifted back to her childhood. Before her taint became obvious. Running barefooted in the sparse grass of the rocky island her fishing family called home. She looked up she saw Grania was watching her.

"Hold on to your happy memories of home," she said. "They will be an anchor for you when you have to make difficult decisions."

Desdemona nodded. "What will you tell Hearth Mother?"

"I have come about some other information of Romitu and their plans. By other means that would not be politic to reveal." She looked off into the distance. "If she brings up the subject of my priestess I shall inform her of what I know. I think it would be of sufficient interest to her to distract her. She can draw her own conclusions as to where the information came from."

Desdemona looked upon her apprehensively, and then kneeled again. "And what would you have your servant do?"

Grania took a moment to notice. "Return to the world. Go home if they would welcome you. Or serve the needs of any of my temples. I will summon you when it is time."

"As you wish, may it be so."

## Chapter 27

### The Messenger

Grania rode, in state, from her realm, up the mountain of the gods. Her wicker chariot had great millstones for wheels and was drawn by an enormous ox; head high at its shoulder. The pace was slow and stately, without chance of outdistancing the blue and white robed attendants who walked alongside, waving sheaves of wheat.

Dressed in the same style, but with richer and more voluminous fabric, Grania sat, head aloft. Her golden hair was woven into tight braids, themselves resembling strongly wheat ears. Extending the resemblance was a subtle golden tiara also composed of wheat ears.

The mountain itself was a symbolic analog of Mytikas in human world, the traditional home of the gods of Romitu. There were many shrines surrounding it to the gods and a great oracle where the rumbling answers to the prayers of mortals could be heard in the thunder of Sky Father. So too the top of the peak here was shrouded, hiding the court of Sky Father from others.

On earth the mountain of Gerakovouni stood in contrast to Mytikas across a great valley said to have been carved in the wars with the giants that plagued mankind before Sky Father and the oldest gods drove them away. Grania had not arisen to godhood until afterwards. But she was very familiar with the lore as it formed the primary canon of stories and epithets.

Gerakovouni had no analog in their realm.

They were met at the border to Hearth Mother's domain by flocks of maidens in gaily colored dresses of woven rags. They brought jugs of chilled creamy milk and honey biscuits still warm from the hearth. Above them, drawn back from this friendly delegation, burned the fire dogs; the real defense of the realm.

The maidens distributed their largess and all drank and nibbled. It was traditional, but also a requirement. One of the oldest laws was that anyone accepting the fruits of the hearth was bound to bring no violence to the house in which it burned. The bad ends suffered by those doing so featured highly in the cautionary tales preached by the church. Hearth Mother was opening and welcoming, but her vengeance upon those abusing her hospitality was some of the darkest in the mythic lore.

The lands here were rolling and pastoral, and the locals engaged in thatching, weaving, and other crafts of the home. The tenor of the land was not at odds with its location on the mountainside. The constraints of earthly geography did not apply here. What they represented was more important. Distance was relative, time was fluid, and appearance mattered most.

The palace of Hearth Mother was a sprawling edifice made of uneven blocks of different hued stone. Great arms extended to either side of a wide courtyard like the arms of a mother stretched around her flock. The escort of maidens sung out to waiting stable hands that joined them in an energetic dance as the company was welcomed. Grania dismounted while her attendants engaged in the dance. The great ox and chariot were lead away as the dance climaxed and all fell down, laughing.

"Greetings to rich crowned Grania, blessed daughter of the hearth!" cried a loud, jovial voice. A large, stout woman stood in the palace doorway, both hands raised in welcome. "The keeper of the hearth sends warm greetings to she who bakes upon it."

"My thanks to my deep bosomed mother." Grania bowed. "It is my pleasure to labor in your home and do homage to my mistress."

"Then I shall take you there directly!" The woman held out a thick arm and grasped Grania's hand as she came forward. Her attendants were lead away by the others to their own duties in setting up her court in the palace.

The matron sang a low, lilting song as she led Grania through the disordered corridors of Hearth Mother's palace. The walls were of the same simple materials, the lofty roof was thatched and fresh reeds covered the floors of beaten earth. Despite its rustic nature, there was no dirt, smell, smoke, or unpleasant repercussions of its apparent homely construction.

They came, unexpectedly, upon the throne room, for all the passages appeared to be the same, with none of greater display than another. This room, unlike the rest, was flagged in roughhewn, but smooth, stones of large size. A great fire filled the center behind a lip. Although the size was huge, the warmth it gave off was hearty and its crackling cheery, giving a pleasant heat from all distances that warmed both body and soul. Wrought iron fire implements, stands, chairs and furniture surrounded the fire in readiness.

The Matron, rosy cheeks glowing in the light, walked her around the rim of the fire counter clockwise. They went much further than its apparent circumference. But eventually she came to a stop and bowed low. Standing there was a woman who would have towered over any moral. She had long, long dark brown hair, in a loose braid. Her homespun gown was of dark red with a simple black belt tied in a Y with a great glowing ring. Her eyes reflected the firelight of the hearth as she pushed and prodded the logs contained in it with an iron poker nearly as long as she was tall. Her face looked mature, as though it should have lines in it. But it had none other than the shadows cast by the fire.

"Hearth Mother," said Grania, bowing low. The Matron receded quietly.

"Grania," said Hearth Mother, simply. "Welcome to my fire."

Reflexively Grania looked to the fire. Logs burned in all states from freshly caught to ashes. The licking flames, the glowing embers, the cracking bark presented an infinitely varied tableau that her eyes became lost in. As her focus blurred she felt for a moment she was seeing through the flame to another, more humble hearth. Many voices mingled in quiet prayers and the aroma of ablations wafted over her. She blinked as awareness returned to her and faced back upon Hearth Mother again, who had been watching her.

"What news do you have of the world?" asked Hearth Mother.

"What news have I?" asked Grania, a little surprised. "The wheat fields and bakers bring me much I wish to know, but, I think, little of interest to you."

Hearth Mother shrugged and repositioned a log. "Pauper, worker and king, all gather before their fire. They feel my heat, and I feel theirs. So I touch all. But one."

Grania looked confused.

"The armies of Romitu," said Hearth Mother derisively. "They do not use fire. They sear their food with magic, forge their weapon with magic, and I hear they are distributing magical garments to keep their very buttocks warm with magic." She broke up a log that had burned through into smaller pieces and pushed them into new locations. Then she looked sidelong at Grania. "But you have an agent in their midst. And, if the border guards report correctly, you have just received information from her."

Grania swallowed and looked to the fire. "It has been long since I paced the flags of an earthy kitchen. Since my hands have worked dough that was imperfect. I remember, but distantly." She looked back to Hearth Mother. "Before you chose me, and looked down upon me as a mortal, did it remind you of your mortal days?"

A trace of annoyance crossed Hearth Mother's face. "You are my daughter and always were. Eternal and unchanging. We manage the affairs of mortals, we do not live them. Yet as these upstarts wish to become gods, are you longing to be mortal? What is it you have discovered?"

Grania looked long upon her, and then turned away. "They have made some progress recently," she said.

"Progress?" said Hearth Mother shortly. "Of what sort? Their armies are engaged in civic works. Their power reserve gets lower by the day. The indications are all that they are moving backwards. What progress do you speak of?"

"They have discovered a new way to fill their reserve," said Grania. She waited, but Hearth Mother was silent. "I do not know the details. But is not a source dependent on people and is not limited in scope by people. It is something new."

"Have they tapped the hotspot under Gerakovouni? We've never been able to penetrate that."

Grania shook her head. "This is something new. Of their own ingenuity. It is apparently limitless." Before Hearth Mother could object she continued on. "Or so they believe. They have only just discovered it; they have not yet used it. But I'm given to understand they are close."

Hearth Mother switched to a rake and worked over the coals. She shook the ashes loose and the embers flared into new life. "That is not good news," she said. "How sure are you of this?"

Grania shrugged. "I have it from a single, unreliable source. I cannot absolutely vouch for it."

Sparks flew in the updraft as Hearth Mother considered. "If we ignore it, we court disaster, if it is true. If we act on it, there is not much loss if it is false."

"That is true if you consider war inevitable," said Grania.

"The others must know this," said Hearth Mother distractedly. She hung up the rake and took a hooked pole. She dragged the logs around the revitalized hot spot into position. "Thank you Grania," she said. "As you are quite aware, I had considerable doubts about your leniency towards your apostate. These tidings may be the beginning of her redemption."

"We shall have to see how it turns out," said Grania.

## Chapter 28

### Coin of the Realm

Hearth Mother worked her fire. She had dismissed her servants along with Grania and took up her tools. Sparks flew as she repositioned logs, raked ash, and settled a few new branches in strategic spots. She worked, slowly, from her left to her right, edging around the immense hearth. As she gazed into the flames she saw the world spread out before her.

From worshipers in the capital she took the tenor of the city. From the poorer quarters to the high houses. All had shrines to her. She felt their support, their vague disdain for the new rulers, but without much fire in their hearts. The high city itself had hallowments all over it. But nothing of any importance was conducted there. At least not in consultation with her.

Those who had inherited the power of Romitu slunk off to dark corners. They did not consult auguries. They erected small little fences to hide their thoughts. Nothing she couldn't penetrate, but it took concentration. However the most pertinent information they hid with distance.

Her domain was the land of Romitu. Their nation was the most populous in the world, and had ruled over most of the others at one time or another. But they did not worship her as widely in these other kingdoms and she was forbidden to exert power there. Relations were generally cordial, and in this matter, quite cooperative. But the misanthropes went beyond that. Forsaking any civilized nation, they settled their own hovels in the wilderness and waste. To these she was blind, as were all the gods.

Spies she had. There were those, even in their midst, who kept the gods sacred. Messengers. Scouts. Those who passed beyond and back. But the information that trickled through was scarce. Power she could feel, but the potential for power, or the knowledge of power... that she could not. Her glowing coals could not confirm what Grania had said. Rousing an agent for a more pointed answer would take time, and time they did not have.

She pursed her lips and watched the fire burn. She took a few more steps and tended it anew. After a few adjustments, she put the poker down and turned from the fire.

When she turned, though, she was no longer in her hall in her domain. Neither was she wearing the smoky homespun gown. Instead she wore black satin, with panels of stiff damask silk, the color of blood. Fire opals burned from her collars and cuffs and her brown hair floated in a light nimbus around her head. Her eyes, though, still burned with the reflected light of fire.

She stepped away from the fireplace that burned along one wall of the throne room. The floor was a single, immense slab of pale marble, textured like clouds. The walls were of the same material, gradually softening into actual clouds that arched over the ceiling. She walked, crisply, across the expanse, towards the great throne dominating the room.

Sky Father was seated there, glowering at the array of attendants and supplicants before him. His frosty skin was bare, but for a kilt of sleet. Muscles rested uneasily under alabaster skin, and blue flames danced in his eyes. His hair was a wild mane of white shot through with blue tinges. His forehead was permanently wrinkled, varying between concern and disapproval. It made a slim change into slight annoyance when he looked up and noted her presence. Nevertheless he stood up and stepped down from his throne, scattering his entourage.

"Welcome Mother of the Hearth, and Wife to the Sky," he clasped her and kissed her on both cheeks.

"Devotion to you, Father of the Sky and Husband to me," she replied.

"Please," said Sky Father, "rest yourself. Did you come to watch the court? It is very busy today, since, as you know, these are tense times." He looked at her meaningfully.

"They are tenser than you think," she said coolly.

"I'm quite well appraised of the situation," said Sky Father, staring intently at her. She withstood his stare, unflinching. Seeing this, he inclined his head. "But, perhaps, you come here to bring some trifle to my attention you feel I have missed?"

"Let us repair to the balcony, my husband," she said. "Let us look out over your domain and consider."

Grumpily he took her arm in his, and the two walked to the edge of the palace. All others held back, understanding this to be a private conference.

The palace was on the very pinnacle of Mytikas. And the balcony was on the very highest part of the palace. All of the domains of the Romitu gods lay before them and beyond that the world itself. Although distant and mist shrouded, if you looked long upon any one quarter, the mists parted and the view cleared. Night or day, all was revealed as to an eagle flying above.

"Now what is it you have barged into my court to trouble me with," said Sky Father, much less formally.

"What do you see when you cast your all seeing eye down there?" asked Hearth Mother, pointing into the far distance of the human world.

Sky Father's annoyance increased, but he followed her finger. Beyond the lands of Romitu, beyond Gartica and its great lake, to a huge forest bordering the Orcish lands she pointed. Deep within that forest, in a wide clearing was a town of shining stone. It had many towers. New ones of white, an old one, black, belching smoke. And ancient ones, bent at all angles.

"It is the barbarian town," he said impatiently. "Where they skulk and hatch their blasphemous plans. All this I know. Why do you trouble me with it?"

"But what do you see of it? What do you know of what goes on there?" she asked, insistently.

"They train troops, they plot and conspire, they engage in foul magics," he glowered at her. "It is the heart of our enemy. Don't you have better to do than quiz me on the obvious?"

"Yes, yes, yes. All that is plain and obvious. But how dim is your eye? How many troops do they train? What plots do they conspire to enact? And, most importantly, what foul magics are they bringing to fruition?" she said, critically.

"I see enough to know they are a danger and need to be dealt with. The specifics do not matter," he said dismissively.

"Bah!" she cried. "Your blindness is more in your head than your eyes. The specifics _do_ matter," she insisted.

He looked at her, unkindly. "Then, pray tell," he said, with exaggerated politeness, "specifically what specific do you think, in your wisdom, that I, in my wisdom, am blind to?"

"In that building, right there," she said, pointing at the one from which the many white towers rose. "Right now, they are crafting our doom."

"And have been for years," said Sky Father. "It is where they produce this 'New Magic' from. Thank you for your wonderful insight. Will you leave me in peace now?"

"Mock me not," she sneered at him. "What they craft now is a new source of power. One that does not derive from the worship of souls. It is a spigot they can turn on, and leave on. And, should the need present itself, to turn up, and up. Whereas we must supplicate the waning devotion of those who worship us. A task that grows harder and harder as their largess grows greater and greater."

"Such is not possible," said Sky Father. "Magic comes from souls. It has been this way always. How can you think otherwise? Where do you know of this from?"

"Never mind that," said Hearth Mother, evasively. "You have your secrets, I have mine. What is important is that they do not have it yet. Soon. But not yet."

"Not yet?" He crossed his arms and stared long at her. "You mean they do not have it at all. They merely hope to have it."

"Their hope is not unfounded. It only relies on their limitless enthusiasm for the profane, which they have in great measure. Ours lies in your ability to bring those you command into some sort of reasonable consensus behind you. This is sorely lacking."

"You know it is difficult," he said, turning his glare into the distance, at the white towers. "When we are at our most critical point, and we need each and every god to join to save us all; that is when each and every god comes up with their own little pet peeve, favor or grievance and holds all to ransom over it."

"Cajole them! Threaten them! Shame them!" she cried. "Is it not a travesty if the mortals in the world can work with more unity than us, their betters?"

"Do you not think I've tried?" Sky Father cried, turning back to her. "They are obstinate idiots. Each is interested in their own vainglory and they care not for our own good."

"Bribe them," she said coolly.

"With what?" he said acidly. "Gold? Jewels? Positions of influence?"

"Power," she said simply. "Power that does not derive form the worship of souls. Power they can turn on, like a spigot."

Sky Father rolled his eyes. "I am not convinced that this is anything but a demented dream of theirs."

"Then work on being convinced," said Hearth Mother. "It does not matter if it is true or not. Only if you are convinced."

"But how will I reward them if it doesn't exist?" he asked.

"It will not matter _after they have helped_ ," said Hearth Mother. "You can simply declare afterward that, in your wisdom, you have decided that it is not in everyone's best interest to unleash such power on the world. You should probably do that, anyway, even if it does exist."

He frowned at her. "I do not like your womanly deceit."

"Fine," she said, waving him away. "Do it your way. Keep using your divine presence to rally the troops, win their hearts, and launch the war. Because that is working so well."

He grumbled deep in his belly. "Who else knows of this?"

"No one who will gainsay you," she replied.

"I do not like it," he said, but with less force.

"You'll like being in thrall to mere humans less," she said.

He snorted. "I didn't say I wouldn't do it."

## Chapter 29

### Courting War

Along the eastern slopes of the Mountain of the Gods was Lake Larius. Wide and pristine, it reflected the sky, clouds and the mountain. Sky Father flew above it, pale skin fading into clouds as he cruised through his domain. He dipped low to the waters and was shadowed for a time by dolphins. They raced beneath him, leaping up occasionally and looking at him with intelligent eyes. On some invisible signal they all dived down again and were seen no more.

The waves of the lake were small and gentle. Ahead, though, they appeared to be cresting. Only they were not so much breaking as rising up. Gentle fountains rose up in spectacular arrays. Some flowed freely, others were frozen still. Together they formed intricate and fluid shapes. It was the palace of Waterbearer.

Sky Father alighted slowly, his waist condensing from mist to muscles and skin. The form of his legs became apparent, then solidified. Last were his toes, which touched down and left ripples on the smooth soft liquid surface. He parted a curtain of water and entered a side chamber. Surprised looking fish and mollusks scampered away, within the water walls whispering "Sky Father" over and over.

He paused, letting his fingers play through the fountain of water playing on pearls. They glistened and gleamed and their depths reflected vistas other than this room.

"My, my, my," came a deep liquid voice. "So it _is_ the Sky Father." He turned and a woman of his own stature was leaning casually against the doorway. Her skin was the color of a stormy ocean, and her hair was made of ocean foam. It cascaded up and down her long back, live waves on a shore. She wore no clothes from the waist up and the flowing skirt like the cascade of a waterfall that covered her from the waist down was hardly modest. "It's been quite a while since you visited... my temple."

"Waterbearer," he said, inclining his head respectfully.

"So many summonses, to such a dry court," she complained. Walking slowly into the room. "Doom, gloom and war. Tempest and fugue are the only songs heard there." She ran her finger along his chin. "Do you tire of such tunes? Is that why you visit here?" She looked pointedly behind him. "Alone?"

He took her hand from his chin, kissed it, and gently returned it. "I do grow tired of talk. I grow eager for action."

She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, through the curtain of her foam hair. "How forward of you."

He gave the barest of sighs. "The need is urgent..." he began.

"I'm not surprised," she interrupted. "With such a frigid wife."

"I need your help..." he started again.

She laughed and glowing bubbles sailed from her mouth to pop against his skin. "After having ignored me for so long, you'll have to court me better than that."

"This is serious!" he said, his temper rising.

"Of course!" she said. "I have my reputation. Come back tomorrow. Anticipation will make your tongue gentler." She leaned against the doorway again, facing out.

"There is no time for this," he said. "Our fate hangs in the balance. We must to war and I need you by my side."

She turned back to him, folding her arms. "This again?" She shook her head. "I've had my say. I see no profit in rushing to war. Let us see if _they_ are bold enough to make the first move." She eyed him suggestively.

"You see no _personal_ profit in it," Sky Father said. "You toy with the doom of all of us."

"Our doom or your doom?" retorted Waterbearer.

"We've been through all of this," said Sky Father.

"Yes, yes," said Waterbearer, holding the back of her palm to her forehead. "So much so I feel a headache coming on."

Sky Father paused, getting his temper under control. He took a deep breath, and then released it. "There is more," he said. She looked at him idly between two of her fingers. "They have uncovered something with their new magic." She moved her hand to her cheek, and considered him. "Something even we do not have."

"We are the gods," she said. "We have everything," she smiled sarcastically.

"They have discovered a power. A source of magical energy." He smiled at her. "The gods need people. Soon, they will not."

She moved her hand to her chin. "And then people will not need gods."

"Precisely. This is why we must strike now," he said.

"Why me? Why aren't you batting your eyelashes at Martius?" she said.

"Martius is a general. He is not a leader," said Sky Father. "This is bigger than that."

"Bigger?" she asked. "What could be bigger than him and his... spear?"

"Don't be coy," said Sky Father. "You, me and Grave Keeper. We're the powers of the pantheon. Think of your stature. What if we went to war without you? How would that look?"

"It depends on if you won or lost," she said, moving her hands to her hips. She pursed her lips. "Does Hearth Mother know you are here?"

"She sent me," said Sky Father.

"Is that so?" said Waterbearer, sashaying forward. She stopped, close enough so he felt her breath on his skin. "Then I guess she doesn't mind we're together. Alone."

"I'm not sure I would say that," he said, carefully. "She understands the importance of this, though."

"Unabated magical power," said Waterbearer. "That would be nice." She moved her lips towards his, then away. "So would being Queen of the gods."

"If you went to war, and came back with such power as that, the populace might demand it," said Sky Father.

She placed her hands on his chest. They were cold, he was hot. "And we just bend to the whims of the populace?"

"We have up till now," he said, looking down into her eyes. "If we secured this new power source... All that could change."

"And we could do what we wanted?" she asked pressing the rest of herself up against him.

"For those who had the power, yes," he said.

"And what is it _you_ want?" she asked, looking deep into his eyes.

His eyes looked down upon her, but not quite into her eyes. "I think you know what that is."

She drew back, and sat on the edge of the fountain. He drew breath quickly in the sudden absence. "Where do they keep this power of powers?"

"Beyond the civilized world," he said. "Where they hide all their blasphemy."

"The Scioni Academy of Magic at Irontree," she said.

"You are familiar with it?" he said.

She raised her eyebrows. "Just because Heqet is my understudy in magic now does not mean that I have no interest in the subject. You are not seeking my aid because of my prowess with weapons! So, certainly, I am well informed with the blasphemy of our enemy."

He nodded his head. "Indeed, in this you are valuable."

"I hope for other things too," she said coyly. "Is this where we attack?"

"No. It is a strong point for them and a weak point for us. We attack in Romitu. They cannot afford not to contest us there," said Sky Father.

"Still," said Waterbearer, a finger on her lip. "It is precious to them. A feint in that direction could provide a valuable distraction."

"Yes. But it would be a stretch. Our resources are limited. A frontal strike is best," he said.

She smiled and shrugged. "Well, I think I happen to have a few 'resources' that I could specifically deploy in that direction."

"We cannot afford to support them," said Sky Father. "It would be suicide."

"They're expendable," said Waterbearer. "For a cause such as this."

Sky Father sighed. "Well, you've always been good at getting people to fight for you to their own detriment."

## Chapter 30

### Instigation

A great inverse fountain of air plunged through the surface of Lake Larius sending a wave of turbulence rocking through the water. Balanoptera dived to one side, rode the initial tumble, then righted himself and swum on. Several of the bubbles detached themselves and pursued him, one pair converging on him, leaving him stranded for a moment in air. Unsupported he fell suddenly and hit the new surface hard and painfully. But, again, he righted himself quickly and swum on, angling lower.

He was unharassed for a minute or so and grinned widely as he skimmed the bottom. Then, to his surprise, the sand and silt stirred up before him, clouding the water. He was blinded for a moment, and odd echoes and chirps came through the water to his ears. A rough and gritty force pummeled him in his stomach. He grunted and lashed back reflexively, but mostly beat water to get away. Another force whacked him from the other side and then more and more. He grit his teeth and swam upwards, trying to get away from whatever it was.

With powerful strokes Balanoptera cleared the clouds and was, once more, in clear water. He steered a middle course, away from where he felt either the surface or the depths could pursue him. Ahead he saw the grooved columns of the underwater portico. He redoubled his efforts and accelerated towards it. And shadow passed above him, but he ignored it. The ground beneath seemed to ripple, but he just strove forward. At full speed he dived to pass through the arch into the interior and slammed headlong into some sort of magical force.

Shaking his head to clear it, he looked around in panic. There was no obvious pursuit, but the light was reflecting in odd parallax through the nearby water and he did not trust it. The spaces between the columns appeared open, but some force stopped him. He reared back and slammed his body against it, hoping to break it with brute force. He did so again, and again, and a third time, nearly knocking himself senseless.

Then he felt a tendril wrap around him. He thrashed quickly away and looked back, but didn't see anything. He did feel a disturbance in the water and dodged immediately away, around the side of the portico. Scanning the water he noted some swirls in the debris of the bottom and guessed it was some sort of invisible cephalopod. However he was taken by surprise when another several tentacles latched on to him.

Thrashing and rolling he spindled up the arms until he felt a heavy body against his. He then pushed off to bash it against the side of a column. He felt a satisfying thud as it connected, and a slight loosening of its grip. Balanoptera arched his back and battered it several more times against the column, knocking bits of masonry loose. On the third time he slipped to one side and with astonishment fell right through the two columns to the floor inside the portico.

The feel of the squid vanished and Balanoptera caught his breath. Looking down upon him was Waterbearer, who stood in the middle of the columns.

"Well," she said, hesitantly. "That was a novel approach."

Balanoptera righted himself with a bit of a swagger. He grinned, pulled a pearl from his mouth, bowed, and proffered the pearl to her. "My father praises my ingenuity!" he said.

Waterbearer indicated to an attendant who came forward to retrieve the pearl. "Indeed," she commented. "Based on the reports I've heard while you have been attending my court, I am glad I sought to test you myself." She began to swim back towards the main palace, and motioned him to come along.

"I have won the Crown Pearl Sprint every year since I have come of age," Balanoptera boasted.

"What was your sister's record?" asked Waterbearer.

"I... I am not sure," said Balanoptera, hesitantly. "She was much older than me. But I'm sure it was impressive. That is until those foul humans killed her!"

"Such a tragedy," said Waterbearer. "Is your foster brother not the child of she who killed Sel de Mar?"

Balanoptera started to make a spitting motion, and then thought better of it. "He is no brother of mine. My father keeps him around for amusement. He is quite dull and slow witted. Like all of the humans."

"But, still. They do have a base cunning, do they not?" she asked.

"Maybe, like an eel. But it is no match for the brilliance of Balanoptera, the King's most favored son!" he said, triumphantly. "I'll break their spines and pull out their ribs."

"Have you fought many from the surface, then?" she asked.

"No," he said, crestfallen. "Father forbids it. He says the time is not yet right."

"But if the time is right, you would do so, without hesitation?"

"Of course!" he said. She paused. His eyes wandered over the following escort. He then stopped, and looked up at her. "Is the time nearly right?" he asked, eagerly.

She smiled a fixed smile. "I can see your intelligence is all you claim it to be. I can keep nothing from you!"

His chest puffed up and his swagger increased. "Whatever you need, I can do it! I'll break any of their spines and pull out their ribs."

"What I really need is someone to lead an advanced assault force. Deep into their territory."

"I'm the one you want!" he crowed. "I know every ocean, every current. All my friends will follow me anywhere!"

"Well, that's what is special about this," said Waterbearer. "Deep into their territory means onto the surface. To their Magical Academy."

Balanoptera hesitated. "I'm not sure how..."

"Magic, my dear boy, magic," said Waterbearer. "After all, do they not come to Atlantica's court, clothed in magic with no impediment?"

"Yes," he said forcefully. "They have started visiting. It amusing the Tritons and it's funny to watch them play with their sand castles."

"Did you think our magic is any weaker?"

"Oh no!" said Balanoptera, shaking his head forcefully. "I'm sure your magic is a thousand times more powerful than theirs."

"Well, as they visit you, it only seems a reasonably hospitable request for some of Atlantica's court to visit them. I will provide you with the magic. You and your... friends... will go. On the scheduled date you will attack." She looked him up and down. "Can you do that?"

"I can do anything!" he said quickly. Then, after a pause, "What shall we attack?"

"Why don't you start with the one who killed your sister?"

Balanoptera looked surprised, then pleased. "Yes. That would be great." His eyes narrowed. "That will put Winter in his place. I shall break the spine of his mother before him."

"Very good," said Waterbearer. "I'll be providing you with some very special weapons. Very magical weapons."

"Excellent!" said Balanoptera, excited.

"They shall make you nearly invulnerable, and give you fearsome abilities to cause great damage," she explained. "You shall be almost like a god yourself."

"I am no stranger to that," he said. "I am Atlantica's son. I am already almost a god!"

"I have no doubt!" said Waterbearer. "But, please, go with my armorer. She will take you to be fitted. These are... most powerful. You have a few days to train, and then everything begins."

"I am ready, my goddess! I will happily do your bidding! You can count on me!"

"I expect I know exactly how you will do," she said.

## Chapter 31

### The Mission

Cindarina stood, eyes lowered, in the doorway of the chamber. It was an antechamber to the throne room that Balanoptera had taken over for his own use. She looked over the floor and foundations as she was kept waiting. She recognized the style of stone, and bits of mosaic decoration from the Triton ruins. Re-used here. She even thought she could see some resemblance in the architecture of the fallen edifice of her people. With her new training, Cindarina speculated that her people had been forced to build this for their new masters. Certainly it was old, as was most of the palace. She couldn't think of any part that had been built in her lifetime. Quite the opposite. Parts that had fallen had been let fall and declared, by Atlantica, to stand testimony to the surpassing strength of the sea to all works of mortals.

The raucous laughter of Balanoptera and his friends echoed over the room. She was quite sure he was aware of her waiting. After all, he had summoned her. She was not actively listening to what they were saying, but she sensed they had moved on from talking about whatever boastful thing they had been to making crude comments about her. Instead she paid them no heed and contemplated her imagined history of the place and what changes the future might bring.

Eventually the delegation left, swaggering past her. Stopping briefly to make some uncouth suggestions that she did not deign to notice. Instead she moved on in to where Balanoptera sprawled, still chuckling and basking in his self-importance.

"Good evening," she said.

"Yes," he confirmed. "It is always a good evening with me!" He preened at his own witticism. She smiled politely but gave no endorsement of his assertion. She always tried to walk a fine line between what was politic and what left her with some dignity. She did not wish to provoke him, but if she fawned over him, she would be no better than the sycophants he surrounded himself with.

"So..." he said into the gap. "I hear you've been having a lot of fun with the humans on the mud pile?"

As with much of the court, he had never shown any interest in the nearby Triton ruins. It was only with the coming of the surface dwellers that any attention was shown them. And, as his contempt for all things of the surface was well known, his disinterest had turned to disdain. She shrugged. "You can learn much about someone by what they are interested in," she said. "And it is never a bad thing to know as much as you can about someone who might be an adversary." She trusted the double application of the statement would go above his head.

"Yes," he said, repeating it slowly to himself. "That is exactly what I was thinking!" He nodded to himself, as he processed that into his own idea. Once he had completed the assimilation he was convinced it had been his idea from the start. "I was just telling my friends the same thing."

"Are we then to expect that you and they will be joining our classes?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. It was really the last thing she imagined would happen. He had no temperament for learning and Charonia could not even make him sit still for the lessons on his own history that the Sea King had commanded him to learn.

"Better than that," he said, grinning. "Not many people know this. But I think you can be trusted." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm just on the verge of convincing my father that as they have sent their people here, we should demand to send some of our people there!"

In fact, many people already knew this. He had already bragged of being sent on an espionage mission by Waterbearer herself to many of his wide circle of flunkies. Those of Cindarina's friends who courted his favor told her of it, his chamber maid told her of it, and those who waited upon his table told her of it. Nevertheless it was never a good thing to make the son of Atlantica feel stupid so she merely said "Is that so?" Less amusing though than asking if he was planning on being sent as a foster child to the surface.

He nodded and winked. "I'm just not all that sure they are civilized enough to understand the notion of reciprocal hospitality," he said. His own self esteem was firmly rooted in denigrating others.

She nodded. "Their ways are strange to us." Sufficiently strange that it was irrelevant to compare their societies with such loaded terms as 'civilization'.

"But you," he said. "You know them better than most." He smiled slyly.

"I suppose I might," she admitted. After all, she had taken the most time to talk to them, to ask them questions, to learn of their ways. Winter first, and then all he brought here. At first it was just mere politeness, but as she understood more, she understood how little she understood.

"And that teacher of theirs," he struggled, looking for her name. "Anemone?"

"Penelope," said Cindarina. The syllables were unusual and dissonant, but not unreasonably so.

"See!" he said triumphantly. "You do know them best! Her. Dad said she mentioned you specifically."

She lowered her eyes. Penelope did often praise her. But she wasn't always sure it was for her insights, for her interest or mistakenly interpreting local knowledge for true understanding. "She has said I am more attentive then her own pupils."

"Of course!" said Balanoptera. "The least of us is bound to be better than the best of them."

Cindarina said nothing. She pondered the level of obliviousness that could deliver an insult while intending to deliver a compliment.

"So you are the perfect one!" Balanoptera concluded.

"Perfect for what?" she asked. She knew what he was working up to, based on what everyone had said. But he hadn't specifically said it yet. It wouldn't do to reveal she knew more of his plans than he thought.

He looked momentarily confused. "Perfect for asking her, of course." He then shook his head. "Let me spell it out. You need to talk to her and get her to agree to take me and my friends back to her home."

"You and your friends?" she asked. It seemed implausible that they would take him and others who had never even attended a single class and them only. But she wasn't sure he realized it. "Do you think anyone else should go?"

"Well, you too. And whoever else in the class you think would allay suspicion," he said.

Since she already knew reciprocal hospitality was already far from his mind, she did not question what suspicion might be raised. "If I also suggested that Winter went, it would probably make it easier," she proffered. "He is always eager to see his mother."

Balanoptera's eyes narrowed. "Seeing his mother?" He thought on it, and then smiled a cruel smile. "Yes. Yes. I think I would very much like for him to see his mother when I see his mother."

For the first time, Cindarina felt a little alarmed. This seemed to be something outside of what he had bragged of to others. Either he did have the capacity to be discrete about some things, or else it was something he had thought of on his own. She steadied herself and focused. "You will then arrange with His Majesty permission for him to come with us, as it is outside the normal foster visit?"

"What, oh? My father will refuse me nothing," said Balanoptera, still musing on his private fantasies.

"Do you have a precise date that you were thinking of for this?" she asked. That precision had also not been in what was overheard.

He started out of his reverie. "Yes. We need to be there in six days' time. That is very important. Everything hinges on that." He looked at her intently. "Very important. Too late would be too late."

"Six days' time," she smiled. Looks like something had been hammered into him. If so, then it was important to she who sent him on this task. "I will talk to them. I will get them to agree. I do not see how your plan can fail."

Balanoptera cackled. He looked her up and down, and then his eyes lingered on her. "You know," he said. "If you do well, I'll be highly appreciative. Highly."

Cindarina shuddered. Balanoptera's unwanted advances were quite the whispered talk of the younger girls of the court. "The son of Atlantica is kind. You don't need to do anything for me. My duty will be reward enough."

He shrugged and went back to amusing himself at his table. She took that as a dismissal and slipped away.

## Chapter 32

### Kings and Queens

Winter thrust and lunged with his magical sword in the deep hall of the Triton palace. His concentration was not on his practice, though. He had been getting mixed signals from Cindarina for days. She had showed him a particular way she would fold her hair in her hands that looked to be toying with it, but said she would use it when she was 'thinking about him'. She had been doing that almost constantly when he was around, but beyond that, would not talk to him, and seemed to be all but avoiding him. He did find her looking at him furtively through reflective surfaces, but could not read her expression or guess her intent.

In one class Penelope was discussing a certain type of flourish found in a mosaic and challenging them to decide if it was older or newer than a similar motif found elsewhere. Inspiration struck and he told her that he thought he had once seen something like that in a deep chamber in the depths of the ruins. He said he would go there after class and sketch it. Since that was, unquestionably, from the great building period of the site, it could be compared to the other two and a chronology devised.

Penelope was very praiseworthy of this suggestion and Winter used the excuse to grin sheepishly at the rest of the class. He saw Cindarina's hands clenched around her folded hair. She was looking out into the distance, towards the surface. But she slowly brought the fold up, kissed it, and let it fall.

He took this to be an acceptance for a rendezvous. But after pacing up and down for a while, he began to have his doubts. Things seemed tense in court, in a way he couldn't read. Perhaps she was finally being pressured to turn on him. Had he given her the perfect setup for an assassination? He didn't want to think that of her. But he split the difference and drew his sword for practice. If it was to be an ambush, he would be prepared. If it was not, this was something she had seen him do before.

Finally his ears brought him the sound of movement. Someone was coming through the corridors. They were in haste and were not silent. He listened intently but continued the set moves of the practice form. When he finished he looked up and saw Cindarina there, biting her lip, looking worried.

He bowed formally, and twisted the hilt of his sword, causing it to snap back into a spear and disassemble. Seeing this she rushed upon him and threw her arms around him, pushing him back against the wall in the fierceness of her embrace.

Winter stiffened in astonishment and awkwardness. He hesitated to put his arms around her in return, but thought himself foolish for hesitating. He considered that it had been a very long time since he had been held such, or even touched. Only his mother had really embraced him like this. The sea folk were generally averse to touching. And he saw precious little of her.

But, he decided, it was nice to be held. It did remind him of his mother. And he did like that. Slowly, he put his arms around her as well and held her too, though not as tightly. His feelings for Cindarina ranged the spectrum from complete fantasy to the reality of the different worlds they were destined to. He had thought on it endlessly and of all of the complexities and political horrors it could lead to. However, right now it was simple. Holding her, and being held by her felt nice. He didn't need any more. He didn't want anymore. He just wanted it to go on forever.

But it didn't.

She drew back and moved her hands to his face. She looked deep into his eyes and he thought, for a moment, she was going to kiss him. But instead she spoke. Or tried to speak. She took a deep breath after a halting attempt and then tried again. "The gods have started their attack."

Winter felt a deep cold in the pit of his stomach. The warmth of the embrace completely left him and his limbs felt like wood. "Where?" he said. "Do they come here? Have they destroyed the above already?"

"No," she said. "No. The spear has been cast, but their first blow has not landed yet."

"We have time to warn them?" he asked, suddenly understanding her caution and conflict. Would he have risked as much to warn her if the attack had been from his side?

She shuddered and bent her head to his breast, holding him close again. "We can do better," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "If we dare."

"No," he said, firmly. "You have dared enough. It is my turn. Tell me what you know and I will take the burden from here. I do not want you in any further danger."

She shook her head against him. "If I do not act, I am dead. If I do act, and you do not, then I will be the instrument of your mother's destruction."

"My mother!" said Winter, fiercely. He held her back and looked in her eyes. "They strike at my mother? How dare they!"

Cindarina looked past him. "Balanoptera has asked me to arrange for an exchange student visit with the surface. With the provision that he and some of his hooligan friends go along." She then looked at him, her eyes wide. "I believe they plan to assassinate your mother." Her voice tailed off in a hoarse whisper.

"Balanoptera is a fool," said Winter, a calmness slowly replacing the chill. "I have been outsmarting that idiot since childhood." He renewed his grip on her shoulders. "I will not let him hurt you. I will not let him hurt my mother."

She smiled up at him, weakly. "It is the gods you fight. They are..."

"They are as foolish as the tool they are trying to use if they think he can do anything," he said dismissively.

"I do not think they expect him to succeed. Even his father is quite aware of his failings. The goddess must also." She shook her head. "The best they can hope for is to spread confusion."

Winter pursed his lips and nodded. "That makes sense. Which means their first strike is not at Irontree. This means we are not fighting the gods. Just their agent." He slid his hands down her arms until he clasped her hands. "I would spare you this, but I think you are right. You are inexorably linked. Will you do this?"

"Yes'', she said, without hesitation. "I would do anything..."

Winter had lunged forward and kissed her full on the lips. Her breath drew in, surprised and hesitant in her turn. But then she closed her eyes and returned his warmth.

And then it was over, before either of them wanted.

"I said I would take you from here when it all started, anyway," said Winter. His mind spinning. "He's given us the golden opportunity. I don't even think we need to tip off Penelope or the troops. They're always looking to extend an olive branch."

"But shouldn't we warn them?" asked Cindarina.

"No," Winter said firmly. "I do not trust their priorities. If they know, they will probably evacuate immediately, take me away, and leave you here." He shook his head. "That would put you in mortal danger. I do not like cutting it fine, but I do not trust them to put your safety over that of their nation."

She stood up straighter and looked at him seriously. "I will tell no one either. I will not play favorites with which classmates I'd rather see rescued and which I would not. I cannot think what might happen to those we leave behind."

"Cindarina," said Winter, taking her hand, gently this time. "This is not permanent. I will come back. You will come back."

"You said before the surface does not care what happens here. There is no coming back," she shook her head. "I am prepared for that."

"I am not," said Winter. "My price for this information to them will be the emancipation of your people. I swear to you I will make it so."

"Do not swear," said Cindarina. "Do not promise. We do not know where this will lead. Let us hope. Let us try. But the dice will fall where they will and we cannot help that."

"I don't know," said Winter, with a lopsided grin. "My mother is pretty influential. If we destroy all the gods and I ask for the Underwater as my fiefdom, she can probably swing it!"

She laughed softly. "If that comes to be I will hail you as a better King of the Sea than we have now."

He kissed her hand before letting it go. "Don't think you will get off so lightly. If it comes to be I shall make you Queen and defer to you in all matters!"

She laughed and then her lips brushed his cheek as she swam away.

Winter watched her leave until she was out of sight, and then out of hearing. Then he turned back to his practice and did not leave it for several hours. However, this time, instead of blindly following the set moves as an abstract exercise, he had a face before him to target with every cut, blow and strike.

## Chapter 33

### Reception

Devonshire Beth, Magister General of the Scioni Academy of Magic, formally welcomed the students of the Court of Atlantica to the academy. She was particularly pleased that, as Chair of Academic Outreach, Penny's crazy scheme of bringing the world of the Surface and the Underwater closer together had paid off. For all of the chest beating these primitives had done, it was a good thing to at least see some acknowledgment of mutual interest. Especially in the midst of the escalating tension with the gods that these people were direct servants of. She took it as a sign that maybe the gods themselves were really just posturing and there was hope it might, yet, blow over.

And, of course, she was especially pleased to see her son.

It had been a delicate thing to arrange. She wanted it to be perfect, and to be seen to be putting the surface's best foot forward. Apparently there was a Changing of the Tides ceremony soon in the Underwater at which certain of the more highly placed students simply must be present at. So, for there to be a visit of any length, it had to start very soon. If they waited until after their ceremony was over, the opportunity might have been lost.

A great feast had been prepared to welcome them. That was quite a headache too. Although they wanted to present many 'exotic' surface dishes, they also needed to have things familiar to their palette, so that their picky eaters would also be satiated. Fortunately Penny had previously made the study of modern food collection in preparation for a class assignment some weeks previously. That saved them some embarrassment.

As they had entered for her opening words of welcome her eyes had immediately gone to her son. He floated amongst them, as one of them. Their students were as badly adapted to walking on land as her students had been to floating in water. So they had prepared minor spells so that while they were here they could breathe the air as easily as water and "swim" through the air. It was so very odd to see him, older than she remembered, as always. But also his body language was a crazy mixture between what Elvish she had taught him, and their own. He looked intently to her and she could not work out his expression. The spotlight was on her so she just smiled to him specifically, then the rest, and began her address.

It was all fairly minor pleasantries. She refrained from making too much of a metaphor between this and the larger conflicts. Or from giving in to Elvish loquaciousness. She kept it simple, direct, and handed it over to Penny.

Penny had full license to be pedantic, go on at length, and bring up tangential, yet informative, asides. And she did quite well at it, not caring a whit how bored her audience was. As usual those most fascinated were those who weren't her students. Devonshire was drawn into some of her stories, but mostly tried to keep her mind free and ponder her son.

Winter was staring directly at her. Everyone else probably thought he was paying rapt attention to Penny, as Devonshire was seated just to one side of her. But she met his eyes directly. He was clearly trying to signal something to her. But she couldn't read it. She 'fidgeted' slightly in her chair, attempted to broadcast some of the elementary Elvish signals surreptitiously. He responded, but without clarity. She was pretty sure he understood that she was trying to reach out to him, but understood no more than she did.

She took a break from this to survey the other students. The ones from the Scioni Academy she knew well, and had lectured them herself occasionally. The ones from the Underwater were quite different. About half appeared to be from the same species. She assumed these were Tritons based on reports that they had developed a keen interest in the digs. The rest were almost all different. Just as when she visited Atlantica's court, it was hard to tell the difference between the courtiers, the servants, and the random fauna that swam in and out.

It was even harder to read their body language. They didn't sit or stand or shift their weight. They floated, with occasional station keeping like gestures. Or possible fanning and flexing of gills. Devonshire felt strangely like she had been struck deaf. She was used to being in and amongst humans and the like who fairly readily radiated their inner attitudes and thoughts through their bearing. It was very useful in negotiating the compromises often needed as Magister General. But she was at a loss here.

Penny eventually finished and let their own scholar, Charonia, speak. He was very humble and deferential. Clearly not used to public speaking. He kept it short and polite and looked at bit at a loss what to do when he finished.

Devonshire took control again, but only to thank everyone again, point out where the food was, who to talk to if they had questions, and to encourage all to mix, mingle and enjoy. There was a general hubbub as they did so. Many of the Academy students made a bee line for the buffet, and many of the Underwater collected into their cliques. Penny strode amongst them all, stirring things up, forcing people to mix. People were constantly introducing themselves or being introduced to Devonshire. Charonia had gravitated to her side, not really seeming to know what was required of him, but just made awkward small talk.

Winter came up to her, with the same intent expression. But there was no privacy here, so she could not ask him straight out what was the matter. They greeted each other with what might be expected in public. The words themselves were meaningless, since, under it all, they were both trying desperately to talk about something else. Amongst it all she seemed to catch a flash from him. Something going back a very long time ago to when he was very small. He was afraid.

A new urgency overtook her. Something was definitely up. But they were in a room with a diplomatic party in full swing. She thought of a few ways she might ditch the well-meaning Charonia and find somewhere private. But all had negative repercussions. If this just turned out to be some sort of adolescent angst, it was too much to risk. But was also too much to dismiss.

"Mother? Did I really see such a selection of food from the Underwater?" asked Winter, nodding towards the buffet.

_Pretty good_ , thought Devonshire. _Some of my tricks have sunk in._ "Why yes," she said. "Courtesy of Penelope's student's studies." She turned slightly. "Charonia, I would be most interested in your opinion of what we have produced. I do hope it is somewhat palatable! Please, be honest." He mumbled something reassuring and self-deprecating as the three moved there.

Winter, very pointedly, offered her his arm. She took it, wondering quite what he was up to. As he did so, he clamped down on her very tightly. My, he had grown very strong. He was now taller than her. Aging entirely as a human, she thought sadly. Much quicker than she had expected. And she had seen so little of it. Damn that Atlantica! As her own annoyance rose he clamped down, again, with renewed pressure, and steered her towards a different end of the banquet table than she had been heading. She looked up at him and he looked desperately at her.

"If you wished to try a taste of the surface," said Devonshire to Charonia, "I might recommend the bisque. The contents you are familiar with, but the method we use to prepare it with is different. Here, let me get you some." She reached across to her right, incidentally right in front of Winter.

He did not miss as thing and hissed quietly in her ear as she bent over, "use your magic."

She stood up again, pondering what he said, and then it occurred to her in a flash. Why trifle with reading body language, far corrupted on both sides. With a simple matter of concentrating she could connect directly to his mind, especially as he was in physical contact with her.

"What's eating you?" she asked when she set up the link.

A wave of emotion came across. Since she was in control of the magic, she had much better broadcasting fidelity than receiving, and she got everything that was on the surface of his mind. Fear, anxiousness, and worry surged over her for a moment, before he realized she was connected. Then, amongst the jumble, "They are trying to assassinate you."

She froze her side of the link, and swallowed hard. She paused and asked something complicated of Charonia that should keep him occupied for some time. The fear and wariness was still radiating from Winter. Clearly he felt very strongly about it, but he was young and Devonshire was not sure she completely trusted his judgment.

"Who is trying to assassinate me?" she asked him.

"Balanoptera," he said, "and I think him, and him," mentally gesturing at a few classmates.

Devonshire sighed inwardly, but kept that from going over the link. Winter had always had problems with Balanoptera, his foster brother. He did sound a brute and a tormenter, but not a political genius. "You've handled him pretty well so far. I think together..."

She was interrupted forcefully "He's been to see Waterbearer. She sent and equipped him."

That stopped Devonshire. She pivoted to take something from the buffet so that Balanoptera was in her field of view. He was looking at her particularly intently. But, then, he hated Winter as much as Winter hated him, and she was the focus of a lot of that. She stretched her communication spell to cover him. Even at this range and not being in physical contact, the gloating, haughty and self-important malice came through quite clear radiating the anticipation he felt at dismembering her and worse. The courage of his convictions was also focused on something he was fidgeting with. Whatever The Waterbearer had given him, it didn't include mental shielding.

"Treacherous little bastard," Devonshire radiated over the link and dropped all pretense of listening to Charonia. Her lip curled in disgust and she began summoning her power up. She had no idea what he had or how close he was to the trigger so it was no time for subtlety. She drew patterns in the air, charged them with the energy, and sent them flying though the room before the conversation had time to become completely stilted. A blue nimbus grew up over everyone from the Underwater delegation. It grew bright, became faceted, and then faded away, leaving them all covered in translucent blue crystal.

"Penny, take your students out of here. Now!" shouted Devonshire over the growing hubbub.

"Mother? What have you done!" said Winter, in horror.

"They're just frozen," said Devonshire, waving the few senior mages at the reception to her.

"You need to unfreeze her, now!" cried Winter. He was pointing at one of the delegation, a blue statue like all the others.

"We can't risk it," said Devonshire. "We'll probe them later and sort out the guilty and the innocent."

"NO," shouted Winter in a commanding voice Devonshire had never heard him use. Those who were not being forcibly pushed from the room stopped and stared. Waves of defiance and building anger seeped through the link. "Do you have any idea what she risked to save your life?"

Devonshire stared at him. She bit back the dismissive comment that had been on the tip of her tongue. She had not seen this forcefulness in him before. Ever. She realized that, and that the fire in his eyes, reminded her of his father. A pang of sadness struck her heart. This was not her child anymore. This was a man. She had deluded herself too long. She had missed his childhood decrying how fast it was passing. And now it was gone. Her heart yearned for him, but with battle crisis clarity she knew that she needed to forge a different relationship with him. Mother-son was not going to work. She needed to acknowledge his maturity if she was to retain his respect. She reached out her hand and made a gesture.

The blue crystal shattered into nothingness and the figure he indicated collapsed. Winter rushed to her side and supported her as she foundered about. A mage approached to renew the breathing and motion spell. Devonshire watched silently and felt his relief over the link. There was that and... love? Love for... this... pop-eyed, slimy, scaled, kelp haired, web fingered... Devonshire shook herself mentally. That's what she felt from Winter, unquestionably. He then looked up at her, once he was assured the creature was well. Then she felt a surging wave of love from him for her, his mother. He began to bring her towards Devonshire.

This was her, Devonshire realized. He had hinted there was someone who didn't revile him. Something must have happened. Something must have bloomed. She had wanted that so badly for him, but had been unprepared for the reality of it. Now, for the second time in several seconds, she needed to adjust her attitude. She needed to be a different sort of mother.

"Mother, this is Cindarina," said Winter. The kelp woman was looking around her wide eyed, and especially at Devonshire.

"I owe you my life." Devonshire bowed deeply. "Tell me who is not part of this and we will release them immediately."

Winter beamed at his mother and Cindarina pointed at the other students, one at a time. Devonshire released them, and the other mages saw to their comfort. Cindarina reassured the newly released and started to escort them away.

"Sorry about that," said Devonshire to Winter.

"About what?" asked Winter.

"I should not have hesitated. I won't do that again." He looked at her funny, then smiled, and nodded.

She grinned wryly and punched him gently in the shoulder. "I'm quite fond of men of the sea myself. If nothing else, I'm glad you've inherited my taste!"

Winter gulped and stared at her, eyes wide. "Mother!" he protested.

"No time," she said. "The attack is starting, isn't it?"

"Yes" he said, serious again. "Not here. This is just a distraction."

"It will be Romitu then," said Devonshire. "Do you want in on it?" she asked him. If she was going to start treating him as an adult, she might as well go the whole way.

He looked up, both hesitant and hopeful. Then to the doorway Cindarina had left through.

"Oh, she'll be alright," said Devonshire. "I'll give specific orders promoting them to the top rank of protection."

"Let's raise hell then," said Winter.

"That's my boy!"

# ARC 4

## Chapter 34

### Weaponry

Bianca started from her contemplation of patterns in the Ævatar lab as Devonshire's broadcast come in on the emergency military channel.

"Dev to all senior command: high probability of immanent attack. This is not a drill people. My son just thwarted an assassination attempt against yours truly. Magical follow-up pointed the finger at The Waterbearer as instigator. It's probably a prelude to something more direct. I'm declaring high alert."

Bianca cleared all her work from her desk. It could just be paranoia on Devonshire's part. She was always a bit high strung. But it might not. The timing was certainly right. This was almost the worst possible time that the gods could attack.

Queries went up and down the channel. Alessa, as raking general, took charge. She confirmed the high alert and ordered all troops and senior command to check in. Bianca did so as she heard the sirens go off outside her building in Irontree.

The Queen joined shortly afterwards and took command from Alessa. She confirmed all orders and further directed the mages of Irontree to set off some explosions and have the death of Devonshire reported. Bianca recognized the hand of her spymaster in those suggestions. She then called for status reports from everyone in turn.

Bianca dutifully reported that one Ævatar was available. Not in perfect order, but in a state to be activated with twenty minutes notice. Queen Jessica acknowledged and moved on. Regardless, Bianca moved quickly to the main holding tank and began to set about work. There were a number of simple regenerations she had intended to do but had not got around to. They didn't need strategic mana, so she started them now. It wouldn't hurt if this turned out to be nothing.

Her ears perked up when she heard her mother report that they had a test system for pulling energy from a vortex into the strategic mana reserve. It had not been verified yet but they could quickly reinforce it and hope for the best. The Queen immediately ordered Goatha and Miasma to do that and for Eadwyn to summon up a vortex.

The line grew silent when Alessa broke in to announce worsening weather conditions in Romitu. Dramatically worsening.

"If there was any questions about this being it," said Jessica, after a pause. "Let them be put to rest. We are at war." She ordered the 9th army into the field, and for the 22nd and 31st to immediately gate to Romitu to stand by.

"Request permission for Lilly to help preparation for Ævatar activation," said Bianca.

"Sorry, Bianca," replied Jesca. "I need her with the 9th. Let's give the conventional approach the best shot first. But do all the preparation you can for activation without draining the reserve."

Bianca scowled and mentally tuned out. There was no hope that their army could dent the gods. At best, they would be a minor inconvenience and worst, a draw down on the reserve to resurrect them after they were slaughtered wholesale by the gods. But she was not about to argue with the Queen in the middle of all of this. That would get nowhere. Short sighted or not, Bianca had to let her do it her way, and just get ready what she could for when it came to it.

Ævatar activation was not something that was designed to happen fast. Nor were the steps constructed to be performed out of order. But, in the least, Bianca could call up clean checklists and do some of the completely trivial steps.

That didn't occupy much time, though. By the time she had finished the 9th was in contact with the arriving gods. Positive sightings were given of Sky Father, Water Bearer, and Grave Keeper, as expected. A wave of casualties was reported with the first attacks; however the gods beat a quick tactical retreat. Apparently Lilly had a string of company mages erect an energy adsorption umbrella from her annihilation experiment and directed it to Devonshire who funneled it into caustic venom with a targeting pattern based on the god's souls. There was some subdued cheering, but it was clear to all that it was merely an acknowledgment that there was a real fight going on here.

Bianca knew it wasn't a trick that would work twice. Not unless the trick wasn't apparent. The Ævatar was a construct of immense power. Most of their efforts, so far, had been in activating it and harnessing its power in a controlled way. Their thoughts of actual use had been in casting spells. At its scale even simple magics could wreak tactical damage. However, that assumption assumed mana was in ready supply. That's not what they had.

But in inventory storage there was a range of items recovered from the initial Ævatar lab. Massive armor and weapons to scale with the Ævatar. Apparently its original constructor had envisaged a more hand-to-hand deployment. Most of what they had found was incomplete. Making normal sized magic weapons and armor was a huge task with the old magic, let alone enormous ones. With the new magic, though, such things were much less difficult.

Bianca's recollection dimmed when she came amongst the storage cases, standing like dusty monoliths in the corners of the lab. They had been reorganized several times over many relocations and she had forgotten how many there were. Giving up on her memory, she summoned up the pattern of a sword, attached a seeker phrase to it, and set it off hunting in the dusty rows. There were not a lot of swords in the immediate vicinity to confuse the spell, and it fairly readily led her to a group of boxes she did recognize.

She read the labels on some and magically scanned the contents of others. There were a lot, and they were large. She was going to need room to dig through them, and even more room to put them on when in the Ævatar. She looked up and studied the ceiling. They had, generally, planned on teleporting the Ævatar from the lab to where it needed to be deployed. But another contingency was leaving through the roof. The walls and ceiling were designed to be supportive of its weight. So she cast a simple activation spell and a large aperture opened in the roof above the main holding tank. A few more and she and the boxes she had identified levitated thorough it to the roof of the lab.

The sirens were silenced now -- the troops all mustered. She could see all perimeter towers were fully manned; her own actions drew interest from the nearest ones. The only token normality was the roar of the forge and the endless creak of the line of carts ferrying bark chips to it.

She broke apart the boxes with more magic. They and their contents were far too large for her to manipulate by hand. So far she had only used her personal reserve. This was all simple stuff and she had not had to tap into the strategic reserve. She knew she would need the Queen's permission for that right now.

The sword was very roughly worked and ill-suited for further magical enchantment. Fortunately they had patterns aplenty for all sorts of well refined metal. She just had to invoke one, target the sword with it, and use a transmutation phrase to align the sword more strongly like a good one. It wasn't brilliant, but it probably wouldn't shatter when used, and she could lay down more magic on top of it. It was large, but the magic didn't care about scale. Doing permanent enscorclement would be very expensive, but she reckoned that nothing needed to last more than a day, and enough energy to make it last only a day was pretty easy.

The armor was in better shape. Clearly the original mage had come closer to using that than anything else. Assembly wasn't difficult. She would magically alter the straps when she donned it. Interestingly enough it already had some magic imbued in it. It was old magic so the pattern of it was not clear; all mixed up with the general dross of ignorance before the six books were discovered. She figured it was best to leave well enough alone.

When she unboxed the shield she was glad to find that it was both in good condition, and also free of old magic. A rare smile crossed her face as she considered a variety of patterns. What Lilly had done on the battle field was good, but she felt she could do better. First she lay down the basics of the power adsorption substrate. She tied that not to the shield, but the pattern of the shield. She then further put in a projection mechanism that, when Will was applied, would use the pattern of the shield to create a projection of it, effectively making the shield more than just a physical block, but a magical one as well, and potentially to a wider radius or displaced position than it occupied physically. This meshed with the absorption so that it would adsorb energy directed at both the physical shield and its magical projection. Lastly she routed the output of the absorption through the handle to the wielder. This should be able to directly power the internal reservoirs of the Ævatar through energy directed at it.

The only other pre-prepared weaponry was a large halberd and an odd twin pronged spear. Of the two she was more familiar with the halberd, but reluctant to spend much energy adding magic to it. She was unlikely to use it unless desperate.

She paused after this to listen in to the battle. It seemed to be mostly maneuvering. Both sides had been playing with magically enhanced weather and it provided both physical and magical screening. So everyone was stumbling around in the dark.

Bianca decided she had time to do something she had been formulating while repairing the existing weaponry. She created the simple pattern of iron, and textured it for temperature. She attached a simple sense and seek phrase and directed it towards the forge. Not surprisingly, it quickly registered contact. She felt it through the magic, and drew it towards herself. There was a distant cry of surprise from workers and crashing of masonry as a globule of molten iron rose into the air above the forge. As it coasted towards where Bianca stood, she slaved actuator spells to her hands, and kneaded the iron, like an immense loaf of dough. She stopped it when she felt the heat on her face. She set it to another pattern and let it take over the stretching and folding of it. Touching her own knife, she made a pattern of it and confined the shape, balance and weight distribution to that. There were several more spells to process it, but all had been well researched to produce their army's magical weaponry and all she needed to do was scale them up. Since those were mass produced, they were optimized for minimal energy and time. When the steam cleared from the super cooled elemental water quenching she released the shatter suppressing constraints. A fairly good facsimile of her knife lay on the roof before her.

She smiled for true and longed to handle it. This she knew how to use. Of all the weapons, she knew she would do the most damage with this. Sure, it was for close range, but if it came to that, she could give a fair accounting for herself.

Almost on cue, an attention alarm sounded over her battle link. It was the Queen. "Bianca. We're winding down the ground operation. You're cleared to activate the Ævatar."

## Chapter 35

### Limbering Up

Lilly arrived a few moments later, as Bianca levitated down to the activation platform. She looked up, slightly dazed, at the missing ceiling, then scanned the table and found the fresh checklist.

"Are you alright?" asked Bianca.

"Yes," said Lilly. "Just shifting context."

Bianca began to strip down. "Many casualties?"

"Yes," said Lilly.

Bianca snorted. "I thought it foolish to send in the army. It is not that sort of battle."

"The Queen did not spend their lives frivolously," said Lilly. Bianca looked closely at her. She had never seen Lilly annoyed and wasn't sure if this was what she was expressing. "The purpose was not to defeat them militarily, but to draw them out. The real goal was for them to provide cover for me and Mistress Devonshire."

"Mmmm," said Bianca, less critically. She was dressed only in her undershirt now. "Did it work?"

"Yes," said Lilly, quietly. "They're still out there, making them think we're still in the field."

The Operational Sphere had already been extracted and waited, adjacent to the platform for Bianca. She stood on the threshold of it while Lilly plugged into the strategic mana reserve and began the opening steps that Bianca had skipped.

"What did you find out?" Bianca asked.

There was a pause as she completed another step before Lilly answered. "Sky Father and The Waterbearer were as expected. Confident and forceful. It was purely strength versus strength. As long as we have the mana, you should be well equipped for that. The Grave Keeper we knew least about."

"He's not that popular, except amongst bankers and magistrates," said Bianca.

"I get the impression he is not very friendly with his fellow gods either," said Lilly. "He mostly stood apart and fought on his own. The other two: they will team up to take you. Not the Grave Keeper."

"What weapon does he use? What defense do you recommend?" asked Bianca.

Lilly completed a step, and then thought for a moment. "I believe he had a scythe, as traditionally portrayed. It wasn't the weapon but the method." She looked up and met Bianca's eyes. "The others were content with merely smashing the troops to stop them. Grave Keeper aged them."

Bianca contemplated that. "Tricky," she said. "Our support magic is about restoring gross physical trauma. Worst case if the soul departs it is captured and kept handy for resurrection. Aging..."

"Is not a contingency we planned for," said Lilly. "We'll have to solve that when the battle is over."

Bianca stepped into the Operational Sphere and started strapping herself down. "How do you think it will affect the Ævatar?"

"It won't," said Lilly. Then she sealed the door. A moment later one of the dark crystals lit up and her face appeared. "The Ævatar does not rot, does not putrefy. Nothing will eat or live on it. So it appears to be immune to the ravages of time."

"True," said Bianca, starting with her legs. "But will it shield me?"

"I cannot be sure about that," said Lilly. "I am even unsure what sort of magical screen would best protect from such an attack."

Bianca thought on the problem. Aging was not damage to a body, per se. It was a natural process. The magic Grave Keeper used probably just accelerated it. Time was a hard thing to play with. But if he could do it, it could be done with the new magic. That means it could be undone, our countered. But without knowing the pattern it was quite difficult. It made the pit of her stomach cold.

The chill reminded her. "Stop Lilly," she said, suddenly. Lilly's image appeared and looked at her quizzically. "Open it up again, I need you in here."

"Are we aborting the activation," asked Lilly.

"No," said Bianca. "Just back up a step. I forgot to emplace my soul shield."

"Ah," Lilly said. "We forgot to add that to the activation protocol." Her image went out and light stabbed in as the doors opened.

Bianca lay half bound to the chair. But her arms were still free enough to call up the requisite patterns and bind them to herself. "I think that is it. Please test."

Lilly passed her hands across Bianca and nodded. "Shield in place."

"Careless of me," said Bianca. "We should have been given more time to practice."

Lilly shrugged. "Then we probably wouldn't have enough mana left to sortie." She left the chamber and sealed it again.

Bianca resumed the binding. Her stomach still felt cold. As far as their research showed, the Soul had no specific physical place in a body. But as long as a body remained intact, the Soul remained. If the body was destroyed, the Soul was freed. She could not feel the soul shield other than with a magical scan. It existed in the same metaphysical dimension as the Soul.

Several steps later the chamber was flooded. Despite her determination, Bianca lost control, as always, and struggled against it. But the moment passed, and her body succumbed. She hung limply in the restraints. If she could not control herself against something so clear and known, how could she hope to direct the Ævatar?

Problems arose, and the two of them discussed their importance. This was not just an activation test, they were going into battle. Bianca had fixed all of the easy things that just required simple generation. What remained were problems that needed more energy for a simple fix, or were not fully understood. However, the battle had already started. Any delay meant the risk of losing all. In the end they fixed what they could and just put a close watch on what they couldn't.

"Primary preparation complete," announced Lilly, rolling up the checklist. "We can proceed to activation." Her voice was as calm as it ever was. Bianca couldn't guess what sort of flashbacks she was having during this. But there was nothing to be done about it.

"Give Jesca an update," said Bianca. "Then proceed."

"The Queen wishes you luck," said Lilly, after a moment. "Our forces have withdrawn and we are letting the gods do a victory lap while we prepare."

That reminded Bianca of her mother. She and Lilly were not the only ones working to a crazy timetable. If anything, it was likely that Goatha's attempts to bring the mana harvesting to production were even more critical. Without that mana, it was going to be a short battle. Just because she wasn't going to be staring down the throats of the gods like Bianca didn't mean there was any less pressure.

"Activation one part in twenty," said Lilly.

Bianca felt the connection. Yet it seemed different this time. Smoother. Perhaps fixing numerous minor systems had a holistic affect. Maybe now that the need was real her own Will was more focused. Maybe it was just luck.

"The connection is good. Bring it to one in five," said Bianca.

"Ramping up to one in five," said Lilly. "No aberrant fluctuations on the monitor."

"Trying hand to face test," said Bianca. She breathed the warm, cloying liquid deeply, closed her eyes, and concentrated. She felt for her ghost limb, lifted it to her face, and then replaced it. She opened her eyes and saw Lilly's face on the monitor looking apprehensively upwards.

"Check," said Lilly quietly.

Bianca raised her eyebrows. "Check? You aren't even wet? Did I do it without even a splash?"

"Yes" said Lilly. "Perfect control."

"I think we must have inadvertently fixed something," said Bianca.

"Or Rose did," said Lilly. "Or the Ævatar just wants to go and fight."

Bianca didn't like any of those two alternatives very much. "Bring it to one in two," she said.

"One in two," echoed Lilly.

This was much further than they had ever gone before. Other than when Rose took over. Bianca felt an almost magnetic connection between her body and the ghost she felt. She tried a few more simple movements and it snapped in place to where she felt her limbs. But, so too, did her limbs seem bound by its motion.

"I'm getting minor tremors in the left arm," said Lilly.

"I feel them," said Bianca. She flexed her arm. "Check the triceps."

Lilly disappeared for a while. Bianca felt the shaking diminish and vanish. She dared not move while Lilly was absent. But she returned shortly. "A pattern scan found some internal degradation. I rejuvenated it back into normal condition."

"Thanks," said Bianca. "Much better."

"We need to start bringing the sensory systems into synchronization," said Lilly. "It can be... confusing."

Bianca was in new territory. She had no basis for preparation and no time to take it slowly. "Acknowledged," she said.

Lilly's hands moved, out of sight, over several controls on the activation board. "Tuning in the vision loop. I suggest you close your eyes"

Even with her eyes closed, Bianca felt a stabbing pain. She did not so much see, but feel as if she was seeing. With her eyes closed there was brightness, slowly resolving into a yellowish tinged waving light. As her mind got used to this input it resolved further into indistinct lighter patches on a slightly darker background. She realized she was looking up at the sky through the synthetic amniotic fluid in which the Ævatar lay. She was seeing through its eyes.

"Calm, calm," said Lilly. "Now, try opening your eyes again."

Slowly, Bianca opened her own eyes. A wave of vertigo passed over her. She saw both the inside of the operational sphere, but also the sky above. It was as if she had suddenly grown a second pair of eyes. "It is... disconcerting," said Bianca.

"Try focusing on just what you see inside, and then just what you see outside. You should be able to give primacy to one or the other," advised Lilly.

Bianca tried that, and it made things a little easier. When she concentrated on the clouds drifting, high, overhead, they became clearer. In fact when she attended to them her vision clarified and brought in more detail then she would see normally. She then looked "down" and was able to re-focus on Lilly's face on the crystal. "OK," said Bianca. "I think I can cope."

"Good," said Lilly. "You now need touch; otherwise you won't be able to stand up." She moved some more controls.

Bianca waited, but only felt the tingling she'd been feeling ever since activation started. "I'm not feeling anything."

Lilly's brow furrowed, and she looked over the control. "I'm reading nothing wrong. You are floating in liquid that is the same temperature as you. So it may not feel like much. Try raising your hands again.

Bianca did so, carefully and then did feel a cold sheathe cover her arm. "I'm clear to the elbow, yes?"

Lilly looked on several monitors. "Yes. Now: try sitting up. Focus on your external senses and take it slowly."

Bianca stilled herself and turned her mind inward. She brought both hands towards her face and saw them silhouetted against the sky. She then tried bringing them forward and shifting her balance. The scene shifted and jostled and slanted to one side. There was then a pressure against her bottom. She figured that must mean she touched bottom. She looked about, but couldn't see clearly. So she just shifted her weight until the pressure felt equal. She opened her eyes to see how she did.

"You are now sitting," said Lilly. The area behind her was dripping with yellowish fluid, but she, herself, was dry. "I took the liberty of an umbrella spell."

Bianca snorted. "No faith. Should I stand up now?"

"Not yet," said Lilly. "Let me drain the tank. Not just to spare deluging the rest of the lab, but it will help with your balance."

Bianca refocused to the outside, and tried to watch the progress. She could dimly see the tank and her own form, and the lighted platform on which Lilly stood. After a time the pressure on her lower half changed and it was easier to feel the ground underneath her. She reached up and experimentally gripped the edges of the hole she had opened in the ceiling. It should be designed to take her weight, but she didn't want to push it. Slowly, using the edge for balance, she stood up.

"Don't rush things," cautioned Lilly.

"If we don't rush, we're dead," said Bianca. "The war won't wait." Lilly had no reply. Bianca pushed on the edges, supporting the Ævatar's body. She swung back and forth, gently, feeling the balance and the motion. Once she thought she had it, she lifted her feet to the rim and vaulted completely to the roof.

Bright sun shone down on her and she could feel the wind playing on her skin. As she turned her head to look the whole town was there in fine detail. She could see every house, every bark cart, and all the way to the perimeter of trees, a mile or so away. She took a few experimental steps around the roof, and felt steady.

"Be gentle," said Lilly. "I'm not sure the roof can take too much."

"Fair enough," said Bianca. "I have motion. But there is one more real test to perform." She spread the Ævatar's arms and summoned her Will. She strung a few simple patterns together and vitalized them with mana. With a sweeping gesture she attached a target phrase to them and directed it at the armor and weapons on the roof. They rose, floated around her, and assembled themselves on the body of her Ævatar. "I can cast spells," said Bianca. "And that was holding back a lot. I can channel a _lot_ of mana through this body."

"That _was_ a lot of mana," said Lilly. "The reserve is nearly empty. It was enough to alert people. There are queries coming in."

"Tell Jesca I'm ready," said Bianca.

## Chapter 36

### Deployment

Wind whipped around Bianca's Ævatar as she pulled herself through the gate from Irontree to Romitu. The inclement weather in Romitu the gods had summoned up contrasted sharply with the warmer weather in Irontree. A great mist condensed as the moisture laden air rushed through. Great breezes were not uncommon when transitioning through a tactical gate. However, in a normal cycle, the gate remained open for only a short time. Closing and opening in sequence around the tri-form arch to serve the deployment. An Ævatar was far too large to simply double-time it thorough in a normal rotation. The entire three arches needed to be held open while she crawled, with guides on every side, through it.

Teleportation would have been far simpler. If she could cast simple spells through the Ævatar, doing complex ones was not much harder for one as skilled as Bianca. But, the more complex the spell, in general, the more mana needed. And since saving mana was the order of the day, she crawled.

"Your widest point is clear now," said Lilly.

Bianca refocused her eyes and looked at Lilly's image reflected on the crystal. "I can't see a damn thing in this fog. Am I clear ahead? Can I just pull through?"

"Yes" said Lilly, after double checking with some others. "The fog also gives you cover from the gods. So we're not dispelling it."

Bianca shook her head and dragged the Ævatar forward without resyncing her vision. "I'm sure we don't want to spare the mana either."

Lilly raised her eyebrow, but checked herself from saying anything. "I'm working on integrating the command link with Ævatar operations."

"That will save you playing switchboard," said Bianca. Something was attracting her attention in the peripheral vision of the Ævatar. She concentrated and saw a trooper waving the 'clear of the gate' flag. She stopped crawling and moved to her haunches. The wind blew for a while longer as more troopers appeared carrying the larger gear she had stripped from the Ævatar before crawling through. They laid the sword, shield and halberd on the field within her reach then backed off. The wind died down.

"Bianca," said a new voice.

She brought herself back to the presence of the operational sphere and saw Jesca's face appear on another crystal facet. "Jesca," she said.

"The ground situation is this," started Queen Jesca. "Water Bearer has set herself up on Oak Grove hill. Sky Father is mostly circling the Capitol and Palatial hills. Grave Keeper was last seen around Martial Hill, but no one knows for sure."

Bianca nodded. "Probably best to ambush. They should be pretty obvious and my only ranged weapon is magic."

Jesca shook her head. "Don't bet on that too much. Sky Father has been pretty flamboyant. But Water Bearer has been doing some ambushing herself and is not shy about ranged magic."

Another crystal flickered into life. Coral's face appeared. "I would provoke rather than use ambush. Sky Father is a sucker for showy duels. Also, if you don't used ranged weapons his sense of honor will prevent him from doing so as well."

"At least until I start winning," said Bianca, skeptically.

"All of their worshipers are watching this," said Coral wryly. "If they fight dirty, they'll have to cook up a lot of explanatory mythology."

Bianca grunted. "I'll make due. Based on Lilly's reports from Devonshire I've ensorcelled the shield with a mana trap. If I spot any of their ranged magic before it hits I should be able to adsorb it. They'll work it out, but I should get the drop on them the first few times."

"I'm flattered," said Devonshire's voice. She appeared on another crystal, her hair being whipped in the breeze. She was, apparently, at Bianca's feet. "One thing first with that shield. It's blank. It needs to have Romitu's arms on it. I'll get that for you."

The only way to do that quickly was, of course, with magic. But no one objected. "Yes," said Bianca. "That would be fitting."

"We don't know when Goatha will come through with the vortex magic," said Jesca. "In many ways it will depend on you. The longer they have to set up and harden things, the longer and more reliably the magic will flow. Keep them occupied as long as you can. When your need becomes desperate, we'll give her the signal."

"When the reserve is drained, that'll be the time," said Bianca.

"Fair enough," said Jesca. She bit her lip and Bianca could tell she was fingering her sword hilt. "I should say something supportive and Queenly right now, but you know the score."

"I do," said Bianca. "Consider it said." She stood the Ævatar up and reached for her weapons. "Let me get clear of the gate, to the parade ground, and then banish the mist. I'd rather he came to me. I still don't know if I can do more than walk in this thing."

Bianca returned her complete focus to the Ævatar. Her vision seemed limited, but she found when she looked hard in a certain direction, that things became clearer. She guessed it had the night vision of a cat. It was not something they had an opportunity to look into with much detail before.

Once she was assured of her weapons, she moved cautiously forward. From her memory of geography, the parade ground was clearly visible from the Capitol Hill. She didn't like being an easy target for Water Bearer, so she choose to stand in the far corner, where the main temple of Maritus would give her some screening.

The wind died down and the fog began to settle. It was still overcast though and a bit dark. She looked out at the surrounding rooftops as they became visible. The military quarter had a thin band of mid-class dwellings around it, surrounded by slums. It was originally set up during the infamous Summer of Riots many years before Bianca was born, during the first Empire. It had been the first occasion that an army of Romitu was brought within the city gates. They cleared the worst burnt out neighborhood and set up a full military camp there. The implicit threat had softened over the years, and the business of the station had brought work and prosperity to its immediate surrounds. But its implications were not lost on the rowdy neighborhoods nearby and although there was much agitation of late, there were no riots to compare with the historical ones.

The fog had pooled around her ankles by this point. She had a clear view of the sky and quickly spied Sky Father riding about above the city in his ice chariot. He thundered and roared and hurled sleet from his mace, seeking out anyone to defy him and, she presumed, proclaiming all who would not face him cowards. She started to wonder how and when she should attract his attention. Evidently she had been successful at keeping her power consumption low. It being in their nature, the gods were particularly attuned to mana flow. If Water Bearer had not seen or sensed her, it might be up to Sky Father to make the discovery, if he chose to take a break from posturing.

Her problem was solved for her. The remaining fog on the ground lit up brightly and unmistakably. Bianca was briefly puzzled, and then realized that she, herself, was the source of the light. Or, more specifically, the Romitu coat of arms on her shield was glowing like a beacon. Evidently when Devonshire had laid down the patterns to color it she had also put in a phrase to radiate light. She must have activated it from wherever she was providing support from. Bianca raised it and held it unmistakably high.

It did not take long for Sky Father to notice. He wheeled his chariot around and bore down in her direction. His angle of approach was not one of interception, and Bianca trusted Coral's judgment that he would refrain from unequal weapons. So she stood defiantly, and did not flinch. Lest he think she was a statue, though, she did slowly draw her sword and hold it ready.

The chariot passed overhead with a crack of thunder and a rain of sleet. It made a wide turn over the river Dubr and headed back, slowing. As he approached the parade ground his chariot began to dissolve into mist. The two points of his eyes blazed a fierce blue through it all and from that she could track his progress as he came down, and the mist retreated to a cloak about his shoulders and he stood before her.

"Does Romitu lack for men that they send an automaton against me?" he bellowed.

Bianca lifted her sword, stepped forward a pace, and then executed a jerky salute with it.

Sky Father's eyes narrowed and he looked her up and down, taking a few steps one way, and a few the other. He tapped the head of his mace in his hand. "I see," he said. "One of you hides inside. A woman," he sneered contemptuously. "Do you fear for your skin so that you must cloak yourself in several feet of armor? You might have done as well to stay behind your castle walls. It would have done you as good."

Bianca took another step forward. She found it hard to both concentrate on controlling the Ævatar and also watch his moves. His words were meaningless. She could tell by his stance he was just sounding her out. Seeing how quick her reactions were. Testing if his movement would make an opening for him to strike. She would have liked to surprise him and jump him first. But she didn't trust her control over the Ævatar.

He was good, she could tell that. Just the way he moved and reacted. She must seem amateurish in return. The Ævatar barely moved at all in response. She lacked the control to finesse the position. She was going to be meat for the slaughter if they didn't get more magic in time. With a pause she felt out and touched the reserve, judging roughly how much was there. It seemed a lot, but she had already seen how voraciously the Ævatar drank from that well.

Sky Father stopped and held his mace loosely. "You are pathetic," he began. "Do you really intend to fight me? Bow down now and worship me as is right and I will spare you."

Bianca shook the Ævatar's head. They had not hooked up speech. She wasn't even sure it could speak.

Sky Father rolled his eyes and went to rub his forehead with his hand. However, he quickly turned it into a lunge and leapt for her. The attack was on.

## Chapter 37

### Round One

Bianca overshot blocking Sky Father's first swipe with his mace. Her shield rose too high, blinding herself. Her own return with the sword was clumsy and easily evaded. Sky Father backed quickly, though, and circled, still unsure of his opponent. Bianca pivoted, following him, taking care not to let him move her into a constrained position.

He tested her range by advancing and then retreating certain distances to see where her threshold was. Bianca, unsure herself, reacted very conservatively. She did not even try for an attack with the sword unless she was sure she had a chance. But, at this stage, he gave none and just baited her. For someone who hadn't allegedly fought in over a thousand years, he was in pretty good form.

When he finally did commit himself, she saw it coming. Something about the shift of his feet, or when he stopped looking at her, and just went into general peripheral focus. She knew it was coming. He feinted low and struck high, which she had expected. The mace, being a short weapon, required close fighting. Although getting it around a shield was a challenge, so anything he could do to get her to move the shield out of the way was to his benefit. Additionally, you held a mace further down the shaft than a sword, and if correctly strapped, you had the ability to pivot it not only from the wrist but also the palm. It was like having an extra joint which enabled you to arc it around the edge of a shield. A trick you couldn't do with a sword.

But her sword did give her the benefit of range. So she swung a textbook forehand blow. It forced him to keep his head down, and spoiled his shot, although the thunder of it clattering against her shield shook her. And back he went again, to circle and assess.

The second time he came in she responded likewise with similar results. This time, though, he did not back away, but stuck close to her, striking from one opposite side to another. She backed, to increase the distance to where it was to her advantage and brought the sword from her recovery high and across the front of her shield. It did not connect though and she guessed he was circling to her shield side. In this position her shield protected him almost as much as it protected her, which is why he was clinging, lamprey like, to her. She drew the shield more to her left, toward the expected blow but lowered it, figuring he would try to wrap her low rather than high. This also gave her clearance as she brought the sword recovery around and down again. This time she had the clearance for a sharper angle and managed to connect with him, but not before he clipped her in the kidneys around the shield.

This time he did back and stood assessing once more. She considered as well. She had felt the blow strike, but it was more of a dull pressure and no actual pain. She suspected Lilly was finessing the synchronization. Letting some feelings through and not others. Bianca would have to check with her later.

Sky Father himself appeared unscathed, though she knew her blow had struck and he had no armor. She was mystified for a moment, but realized he must have healed himself as soon as he had a moment. After all, she could do the same. Grimly she accepted that this battle would not be metered out by blood on the sand, but of mana in their respective stores.

He approached again, smoothly and steadily, with subtle shifts as he came to mask his true intentions. Bianca locked stance, not trusting her control to be up to the task of responding in kind. In the close he bent his knees, coming in low and close again, and preventing her forehand strike from making any contact. This time, though, he just feinted with a few blows around her left side, and did a rolling tumble to her right. She realized this as her sword swung through air and his mace hit her solidly in the back of her right shoulder. Her unimpeded swing and the momentum of his contact pushed her off balance and she stumbled forward. The stumble turned into a stagger as she failed to recover and, with embarrassment, she careened across the parade ground until she tripped on a barracks and fell, full length on the single story building.

She rolled first one way, and then another to right herself. However no blow came. When she got the Ævatar under control, she saw he had walked to the other side of the grounds and stood there, waiting for her. Was he sneering at her?

She stepped back into the grounds and nodded to him. He nodded back. That was it, she realized. He was fighting tournament style. If he truly had not fought in so long, there must be some instinct buried deep of his years fighting in the tournaments of long lost Londra. Back before he was a god. Bianca was not used to such genteel fighting. Her mother had taught her the dirtiest of dirty fighting. But she had also made her serve a six month stint in the army as a shield wall trooper, for perspective. Moss had also impressed upon her the importance of fighting fair and honorably. At least until pushed to the extreme, whereupon a surprise dirty trick would be doubly effective.

Right now, though, she was seriously outclassed. This was not her preferred weapon form, nor her natural body, and her opponent was a god. Nevertheless, she would see how far she could push it.

She changed the circumstances this time by advancing herself. He did not back, as the closer the better for him. When he ducked down this time, she met him, bending her knees and lowering her stance. A low stance made it hard to move decisively, but since she was not going to be doing any lunges it didn't matter. And since she had a better view of him, she could pivot easier as he tried her left and right.

After a swing or two from each of them she launched herself straight at him, straightening her bent legs. She brought the shield, full force into his face sending him flailing back in his turn, desperately blocking the overhead backhand she followed it up with. As her recovery forehand started he sprung backwards to get out of her range and smacked solidly into the temple of Martius where she had been driving him. The pediment crumbled and tumbled down with the impact, blinding him.

Just to be obnoxious, Bianca turned and walked back to the far side of the parade ground. She could have stabbed him while he was down. But that would just have blown some of his mana and made him indignant. Giving him her back and the grace to recover was bound to infuriate him. His temper was famous and could only be to her benefit.

Or so she thought. After an extremely frosty exchange of readiness, he came down upon her like a winter tempest. She could barely keep up a defense, let alone counterstrike. She was backing continuously, to try to get out of his range and put him in her easy range. Not wanting to fall into the trap she had set for him, she made sure to turn for every two steps back and keep aware of the edge of the grounds.

But a complicated multi-sequence bluff caught her off and he delivered a mighty blow to the back of her knee. It was from a high angle and so skirted the wings on her poleyn and collapsed her joint. She felt herself go down, almost in slow motion. She drew her shield in, tucked, and rolled on her shoulder, channeling the momentum into a drive upwards with her sword, straight into his thigh. She rolled the other way into a crouch as he howled in pain and rage.

He glared at her, crouched and breathing heavily as he healed. They were both within weapons range, but neither moved for the moment. Bianca's mind was racing. What she had done was a knife fighting move; something she was very familiar with. She hadn't planned it, it had just happened. Instinctively. The Ævatar had responded, flawlessly.

Maybe she had approached the whole thing wrong. Mostly she had been fighting to control it like an automaton. To distinguish between her own body's position and its position. To move it, since she knew she could move herself. But in that moment of panic she had dropped all of that and just moved. Its body _was_ her body. She grinned and twitched her shoulder. Sky Father jumped to one side, and stopped. His brow furrowed deeper. Bianca's grin grew broader.

The tenor of the battle changed after that. With her renewed confidence Bianca pressed the fight and she was the one stringing together consecutive feints. Several times her sword bit deeply into him as he struggled to change gears and reassess the skill of his opponent.

If he had been mortal, he would have been dead several times over before he finally came to terms with her. But he was a god, and just burned through a lot of mana to get to the same position. Working purely on instinct limited him to adapting slowly. This was no tourney form she used. However, her most comfortable fighting form was unsuited to a long sword and large shield. He sensed this and favored her instinctual desire to be knife-close, and triggered defensive responses that did not take advantage of the shield.

Although less frequent, his telling blows on her were more effective. By the time the threshold of pain was high enough for her to notice the wound was severe enough to require immediate attention. She finally started to dip into the mana reserve to repair the trauma. It was hard to do that and fight at the same time, which further complicated things.

Gradually he got close to the point of getting the upper hand. Bianca knew she could not afford to let that happen. The next pause she bought herself she applied magic to her damage, but over changed the spell, and crafted a quick seeking phrase. It would hover until needed and then apply itself.

She closed again and then dived to one side, leaving her shield limp; the habit she had been trying to avoid. He dived for the opening, taking the bait she offered. She took the blow but dampened its effect by going with it and letting it knock her down. What looked like a sprawl, though, was actually a body swipe. She pivoted on her bottom and swept his legs clean out from under him. As he fell she arched her back and kicked him in the face and sternum.

He crashed to the ground and she flipped upright. A hacking roundhouse swing bit deeply into him. Two more kept him from rising and forced him to heal double time. She changed her grip and stabbed the sword down, dagger like into his abdomen. She stamped his throat to hold him down as she pulled it free and stabbed again. Twice more and she shifted to kicking his head and chopping again. He rolled to his side, almost trying to curl into a ball, and she hewed the gap between his ribs and pelvis. He was virtually glowing with mana expenditure, struggling to keep up with the mayhem she was wreaking. It was worse than slaughter. Any other foe Bianca had fought would have been long dead by now. It felt surreal to keep chopping what her mind swore was a dead body, but it kept moving and struggling. Even the undead she had fought were not as grotesque as this.

Then there was a huge icy blast. She was blind for a moment and swung unseeing at her adversary. But Sky Father was no longer there. When her sight cleared she saw him, in mist form, soaring straight up into the sky, in open retreat.

She paused, felt for injuries, but nothing pained her. The delayed spell had done its trick. She watched him arc high and make for Oak Grove Hill. Bianca walked to the edge of the parade ground, to the half destroyed temple of Martius. She climbed what remained and stood upon its dome, holding the brightly glowing shield of Romitu high above her head for all to see.

## Chapter 38

### Reaching the Pinnacle

Bianca locked the Ævatar into its current position and brought herself mentally back to the operational sphere. "Lilly?"

"Here," said Lilly, almost immediately. A crystal flared into life with her face. "Just had it dimmed to avoid being a distraction. Are you all right?"

"Yes," said Bianca. "Considering." She flexed her real-body muscles to be sure. She was uninjured, but there was some memory of pain. "I feel like I should be a bloody mess, given what the Ævatar went through."

Another crystal lit up. "Well played," said Jesca.

"We're not done yet," said Bianca.

"We were worried at the start," said Jesca, "But then you got your feet under you."

"It's hard to explain," said Bianca.

"Yes," said Lilly. "I couldn't think of how to put it across."

"Of course, Coral is still having kiniptions over your fighting form with sword and shield," said Jesca, with a dry smile.

"He can climb in the next Ævatar we build," said Bianca.

"I'll tell him that," said Jesca. "Right now I've sent him out with the scouts to Oak Grove Hill to find Sky Father."

"He's probably having the Water Bearer lick his wounds," said Bianca.

"Sorry about that," said Lilly. "Devonshire wasn't close enough to throw in a mana shield. I think if you can get him down, and then we surround him with an anmanic field, nothing will get in or out and you'll be able to finish him for good."

"Otherwise we're going to have to kill him a lot," said Bianca. "Let me know the phrases. To wrap a god you'll probably need the Ævatar to cast it."

"The scouts are reporting they are hunkered down in the sacred grove on the summit of Oak Grove Hill," said Jesca. "After that retreat, they probably are going to let you come to them this time."

Bianca grunted. "Where's Grave Keeper?"

"We're not sure," said Jesca.

"He's here somewhere," said Lilly. "The mana flow indicates so."

"I don't like having an enemy at my back," said Bianca. "I can't look all ways at once."

"We've got the army deployed throughout the city," said Jesca. "Their job is your perimeter guard."

"It will have to do," said Bianca.

Jesca looked about her. "The weather is kicking up again," she said.

"That can't be good," said Bianca. "I'd better..."

She was abruptly cut off. A complex wave a feelings ran over her. Physically her real body felt her being tossed about. Her weak link to her Ævatar body felt alternately burnt and battered. But she also felt a wave a pleasure, like being immersed in warm bath water.

Tentatively, Bianca resynchronized with the Ævatar. She found herself flat on her back looking up at tortured clouds in the sky. She shook smoking masonry from her and the pain quickly receded. She realized the warmth she was feeling was from her mana reservoir. Well, not _her_ mana reservoir, but the Ævatar's mana reservoir.

"Lighting," said Lilly, through the link. "Sky Father struck you with lightning."

"Are they on the move?" asked Bianca, righting herself.

"No," said Jesca. "You were just standing on the highest point around with a glowing shield held up."

"I guess I was a pretty obvious target," said Bianca.

"And a very embarrassing one as well," said Jesca.

"Time to go," said Bianca. The crystals flickered out and she shifted her vision fully to the Ævatar.

Bianca retrieved her shield, which was still warm from the energy it adsorbed. With luck, they hadn't worked out that the shield could do that. The more she could adsorb, the less she needed from the strategic reserve. Not only that, the Ævatar seemed to have much more of a spring in its step and had healed itself autonomously. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She stuck her head around the side of the building to orientate herself with where the hill was. After a moment, her vision seemed to zoom in towards the crest. She saw Sky Father there, standing amongst the oaks, watching her. She pulled back, and then quickly jumped across the gap.

It wasn't quite like dodging through a forest, but it was pretty similar. But instead of ducking behind bushes and trees, it was buildings and promontories. She would duck, dive and roll from street to street. Going against her was that most streets either went directly towards the summit, or around the contour of the hill.

At one point there was nothing to do but to sprint up a stretch of road in plain sight. Right at the end of her dash the lighting struck. She had the wisdom to keep the shield deployed and it did little harm. But she had to leap to the side to keep up the ruse.

She paused to recover, and then peeked up over the townhouse she was using for cover. She wasn't that far from the top now and it was easy to see Sky Father and Water Bearer. They seemed to be having a heated exchange. Quickly though it seemed settled. Sky Father retreated further into the grove and Water Bearer started making expansive gestures. The prickling in her skin spoke of the mana surge and she moved back under the cover of the townhouse.

As she did so her eye caught something at a much closer focus. There was a young man, maybe even a boy, standing on the balcony staring at her, hands clenching the railing in a death grip. There was probably a wonderful view of the city from this high up. She understood the morbid curiosity that probably drew him out here to watch instead of being sensible and cowering in the basement. She could empathize with wishing to meet one's fate eye to eye.

There was a great surge, both magical and physical, and a sheets of water gushed down over the hill. Instinctively Bianca thrust up the Ævatar's shield to cover both herself, and the balcony with its panicked observer. A moment later a blast of icy wind followed the deluge and froze everything, instantly. She still held the eyes of the boy, whose breath fogged the air. His expression, now, was one of astonishment. He looked at her, her shield, and the wave of frozen water. Some sense of self possession returned to him. He let go of the balcony and backed away, into the building. But before he disappeared from sight, he gave her a tentative salute.

_Well_ , thought Bianca to herself. _We've made at least one convert tonight._

Practically, however, her situation was much worse. The ice coated everything, and she found it impossible to stand up without bracing herself against the downslope buildings. She slung her shield and unlimbered the halberd. With a wide swing she embedded it in the terraced row above her. Using it as an anchor, she pulled herself up a street.

It was slow going. There was no mistaking where she was. And at this range Sky Father could fling concentrated blasts of sleet at her whenever she leaped a row of buildings. The small pellets didn't hurt much, but collectively they threw her off balance and knocked her back two whole terraces at one point.

Irritated, she pushed together some of the rubble from the wreckage she had made. A small touch of mana melted the water, and another refroze it. She hefted the congealed mass up, and then hurled it where she had last seen him. As she heard its distant crash, she leaped back up the slope to try to regain some ground.

The sleet blasts came less frequently after that. And Bianca choose random strategic times to hurl whatever she could find back at them. After a considerable effort, she ended up just beneath the point where the hill top flattened out. She stowed the halberd and switched back to her shield. Taking a measured amount of mana she had stored she let forth a blast of hell fire, blowing away the final buildings and topsoil between her and the edge of the grove. She charged into the smoking gap, drawing sword as she barreled through, holding her shield foremost.

She had barely emerged from the chaos when a blast of magical energy struck her. It barely checked her charge, though, as nearly its entirety was adsorbed into her shield. But as they saw her, she could see them, and now had a target. Sky Father was to the fore, mace ready, a physical shield for Water Bearer, who was winding up another blast. She looked confused, and not quite sure why the first had not met its mark.

Bianca rammed into Sky Father with her body behind her shield. She followed up with a stab for his gut form the sword. A classic move of the Romitu army straight from her days in the shield wall. As he fell Water Bearer let loose with another blast, this time of eviscerating shards. The shield took it all again, but Bianca could see that Water Bearer was wise to it now and it wouldn't work again. So she blasted a good portion of it back, melting and then solidifying the stone of the ground around her feet. Bianca then lay into her with her sword until she dissolved into water. Bianca used the rest of the energy in an anmanic field to keep her put.

Sky Father was up again by now, healed of his wound. Bianca put a quick spell on the shield; to give it Animus to move and a seeking phrase to look for directed magic to interpose between. That should give Sky Father pause from blasting her. She dropped the sword and pulled the halberd out and advanced towards him.

Up here, shielded by the grove, Sky Father was not quite as forward as on the parade ground. He gave ground quickly, and used the great oaks as cover. Ironic, since it was the new magic that restored the grove with such stately trees as a sop to the priests of the city. His short mace was at an even greater disadvantage against the long pole arm. Bianca, however, lacked for speed. Although she could keep him at bay, she could not land a telling blow. She magically enhanced one stroke and chopped straight through a tree to gash him on the other side. But even a little blunted, the blow was not critical.

She switched to using the weapon mostly as a spear. It was faster to lunge forward with it than to swing, and the trees afforded less cover. After nearly putting his eye out, he retreated more rapidly until she had him on the brink of the steepest part of the hill. There he stood, cornered, with no cover. She thrust and slashed, trying to line up a debilitating shot and he dodged her with full concentration.

Then something in his eyes gave her pause. She hesitated, wondering if this was yet another feint, when a white hot pain lanced through her body. It cut out, moments later, but the echoes of it shook her. She grasped with clearing vision for the halberd she had dropped and found a great blade, emerging from her chest. A slightly curved blade sharpened on the inner side. A scythe.

She pushed herself off of it as she fumbled for healing patterns. Dimly she wondered that it had missed the operational sphere. But she pushed that thought from her mind. She could not afford to start disassociating with the Ævatar. She turned and it struck her again, opening a new wound as the other was closing. Blackness was before her and she was not sure if The Grave Keeper was cloaked in darkness or her eyes were failing. He struck at her a third time and she had nothing to block with except magic. She redirected her energy to a forceful push and found she was now draining the strategic mana reserve directly. Another field appeared before him, deflecting the force around either side of him. Bianca realized he had freed the Water Bearer. His blow struck and stabbed deep into her shoulder, forcing her to her knees.

A large hand closed around her neck from behind, and another around her leg. Sky Father had closed. She felt him lift her bodily from the ground and hold her high above his head. It was all she could do to pour the last of the reserve and maintain bodily integrity. With a great heave Sky Father flung the Ævatar off the promontory, across the city, and down into the slums.

## Chapter 39

### Parley

The warm fluid of the operational sphere flowed in and out of Bianca's lungs, slowing her breathing by inertia alone. She had disconnected completely from the Ævatar and hesitated to reinstate any connection. She imagined it was a twisted mass of limbs, timber and masonry in the lower city.

A crystal flickered to life with Lilly's face on it. "Need..." began Bianca. "Turn on vortex energy" she managed to gasp out.

Lilly's face was expressionless. "We..." She hesitated. "We did. As soon as Grave Keeper showed up."

"What..." said Bianca, trying to get up against her bonds.

"It blew," said Lilly. "Miasma had to be resurrected. Eadwyn is... gone." Lilly looked as close to crying as Bianca had ever seen. "Goatha is trying to pick up the pieces. But it's not going to work. Not today at least."

It took a moment. But then it sank in with Bianca. "We're finished," she said, slumping in the contoured seat.

"No." Another crystal lit up, with Queen Jesca's face. Her mouth was a thin line. "Gwendolyn will be joining you shortly."

"Gwendolyn?" asked Bianca. "Has she finally chosen a side?"

"Not exactly," said Jesca. "She named a price. I met it." She looked at Bianca grimly. "She just wants to sound out the other side."

"The other side?" said Bianca. "She's going to see what the gods offer and take the highest bidder?"

Jesca shrugged. "Perhaps. But I rather doubt they will be cooperative."

"And we're going to facilitate this?" said Bianca, incredulously.

Jesca shrugged again. "I do not see that we have much choice." The glared to one side and looked back. "These used to be her friends. Her comrades in arms. I think she wants to give them one last chance before she becomes the instrument of their downfall."

Bianca snorted. "I hope you are right."

"So do I" said Jesca. Then she just looked very tired.

"Initial transfer complete," said Lilly. "We should have enough mana now to repair the Ævatar."

"Then I'll leave you to it," said Jesca, and her crystal went dark.

"Gwendolyn has advanced us some mana from her personal store," said Lilly to Bianca's questioning stare.

"How kind of her," said Bianca, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"I'll start synchronization from the ground up," said Lilly. "I don't want to overwhelm your nerves. I'll add in your hearing. You'll probably need it to follow the negotiations."

It was a little tricky. The healing was best cast through the Ævatar itself. However it was dangerous for Bianca to attune herself too much while it was in such a damaged state. Fortunately a squad had arrived on the scene and was physically and magically clearing the rubble it was embedded in.

The final stages were interrupted by another face in the crystals. "My truce has been accepted," said Gwendolyn. She was as inscrutable as always. Bianca stared at her impassively. "They will be arriving here shortly."

Bianca felt a wave of warmth pass over her.

"Systems nominal," said Lilly. "Thank you." Gwendolyn inclined her head.

"Activating," said Bianca, shortly.

She focused back on the Ævatar and found herself in a small crater. Smashed tenements surrounded her. The squad had retreated into one of them. Curious faces protruded from the more intact ones. She righted herself and moved to one side. Gwendolyn appeared, floating before her. Bianca raised her hand and Gwendolyn stood in the palm.

The breeze picked up and the clouds descended. The icy breeze solidified and Sky Father stood before them, arms crossed on his chest. He glowered, looking disapprovingly at them. From behind him stepped The Water Bearer and took his right side. She was dressed in the formal robes of her priestesses and carried her water jug. She stared intently at Gwendolyn. From a crack in the ground came a dark smoke, which quickly condensed into The Grave Keeper. He was dressed in an all-encompassing grey robe, drawn down over his face. His scythe was strapped to his back, where it glinted.

"You command the power lodged under Gerakovouni?" asked Sky Father, accusingly.

"Do you not know me, Iowerth?" asked Gwendolyn.

"You threaten to aid these blasphemers with the treasures of the giants?" he asked.

"I have no agenda or interest in the dispute between the gods and people of Romitu," said Gwendolyn.

"What is your agenda, then?" growled Sky Father.

"The one we all once shared," said Gwendolyn. "To rid the world of the Ancient evil that plagues it. That which our masters were slave to, which killed the flower of our age. That which the magic both you and they wield was created to fight. We barely spanked them back then before turning on ourselves, as you and they do now. But they are still there, slumbering. I have not forgotten and swore vengeance. What say you?"

"You come here speaking of allegiances that don't exist and calling me by a name I have never heard of," said Sky Father, with rising anger. "You babble about some nebulous force and ask for our help. What nonsense is this?"

"Are you that dense, Iowerth?" asked Gwendolyn, showing a trace of indignation. "Do you really have no memory? I would have thought you would have left some sort of back door open to the forgetting curse." Sky Father fumed but gave her no answer. "Aeron? You were always two steps ahead of the rest."

The Grave Keeper shifted, considering. Eventually his voice came, thin and distant. "I am familiar with the limitations of our memory." Sky Father glowered at him. "And so I keep excellent scribes and historians. Does that constitute a 'back door'?"

Gwendolyn smiled and nodded a small bow to him.

"I think you probably speak true," he continued. "As it may solve a very old mystery." Both gods now looked to him. "The records attained from the very oldest of souls make frequent mention of the number 'One Hundred and Forty Four' as an accounting of the gods. But the most careful name lists of the time only offer up one hundred and forty three. Are you, then, the hundred and forty fourth?"

Gwendolyn smiled and bowed lower. "You prove again your knack, Aeron, of not putting down puzzles all else felt impossible. I am, indeed, of the same order as you. But when it came to swear Iowerth's oath, I declined. I forsook godhood, but retained my memory."

The Grave Keeper's sleeve stirred and he seemed to be scratching his chin. "I should love to compare notes," he murmured. "Someday." He then returned his hand to his chest. "But that is only of academic interest to our discussion today."

"You will not take up the old cause with me then?" asked Gwendolyn, disappointed.

"You presume too much on an association long past" said Grave Keeper, coolly. "Even if I did remember, even if it was with fondness, your offer would have to prove profitable in the present time and present circumstances."

"Did you ever wonder how it all started?" asked Gwendolyn. "You. Everyone. Everything. Where did it all come from?"

"We killed the giants," said Sky Father. "And fashioned the world from their bodies."

Gwendolyn looked at him skeptically. "Then who, oh mighty Sky Father, made you?"

"Gods arise naturally," said The Water Bearer, speaking for the first time. "When worshipers have a need, that need is addressed in the form of a god. We've seen this even within our 'limited' memory."

"Same problem, Olwin," said Gwendolyn. "If that is the case, who made your worshipers?"

"I don't care," said Sky Father. "What matters is here and now. What matters is the blasphemy being perpetrated by these upstarts." He shook his fist, indicating the Ævatar. "I have no time for these abstract ponderings. By your own claims you defied me long ago, and now come asking me to serve you. I am the supreme head of the supreme pantheon of gods. I serve no one."

Gwendolyn smiled slightly. "Do you really wish me to be an enemy?"

"If you aid our enemies, you make yourself our enemy," rumbled Sky Father.

"You said you have no interest in our dispute," said Grave Keeper, quickly. "That you just request aid against whatever this 'Ancient Evil' is that doesn't seem to have troubled anyone in my records. The power you have sequestered under Gerakovouni is significant, but it does not surpass ours. The New Romitu have no power left at all. I would think that you need us more than we need you and that choosing opposition to us is not a wise course."

Gwendolyn regarded him. "I refused godhood in return for memory. I have spent that time studying this 'New Magic'. I have learned much, and am capable of much." She paused. "Quite capable." She broke her gaze and waved her arm indicating the Ævatar. "These 'New Romitu' have studied it but for a fraction of the time I have. And yet they have been... quite inventive with it." She crossed her arms and looked at Sky Father. "You may be concerned with here and now. But I am patient. I have pursued my goal for a long time. It will be a long time yet before I realize it. It is quite clear that they are progressing, and you are stagnating." She inclined her head. "I am not here just trying to advance my own interests. I'm trying to save you from yourselves." She then smiled broadly, but not brightly. "For old times' sake."

"Impertinent worm!" bellowed Sky Father raising both fists. "I did not come here to be mocked! Not by a would-be god who has manipulated these into serving you and your ends. I damn you! I damn your followers! I will obliterate you all into dust and the world will forget your names!"

He drew breath to hurl more imprecations at her but Gwendolyn was already shaking her head. "You were always bombast," she said sadly. "This truce is over." She disappeared in a shower of sparkles.

## Chapter 40

### Armageddon

With the disappearance of Gwendolyn, Bianca felt warmth. It started somewhere undefinable and spread to her torso, and then to her limbs. It wasn't unlike being immersed in the amniotic fluid of the operational sphere, but without the suffocation. She was just about to ask when she realized it was mana. She felt metaphysically and found another energy source, like the strategic mana reserve, but from another location. And it was hers to draw from.

How long had Gwendolyn been stockpiling mana? The entire three thousand years since the first cataclysm? If so, she was, indeed, patient.

Bianca synchronized with the Ævatar body and stirred. The gods had withdrawn a pace and stood, watching her warily. They looked nervous. That made her happy. She drew her knife.

Sky Father scowled at this and looked sternly upon her. "Foul magics you may have. But do you dare pursue this? Do you really think you can fight three gods together?"

"Easily," thought Bianca, bathing in the radiance of the mana. She tossed the knife from one hand to the other and nodded.

"How about eight?" came a new voice. Bianca turned sharply. From the shadows came a stern faced woman with fire in her eyes. She wore clothes woven of burning embers and held a poker with a red hot end. Hearth Mother strode forward and stood next to Sky Father, in front of Water Bearer. To the other side stepped a strong man, wearing traditional Romitu armor, with a scarred face and grey eyes. Martius, god of war, stood to Sky Father's left. Filling in behind them were The Harper, clothed in his aspect of a drunken brawler and The Weaver, fingering her net seriously.

Bianca looked from each face to the next. Eight gods. She had barely held against one before, and crumbled when two teamed up on her. But that was with virtually no mana. She felt this new reserve, plumbed its depths. It was large, but not vast. She could not do it head to head in a contest of mana versus mana. Nor, did she reckon that the binding trick would work. That was sufficient to hold a god once down, but Grave Keeper proved that another unbound god could easily undo it.

The gods straightened, and looked at her with renewed confidence as she hesitated. But Bianca's mind was racing. Everything seemed to slow down. She considered patterns and spell phrases, fitting each together and discarding them, quickly searching for a solution.

In the center was the pattern of her knife. She had that well and of high fidelity. Every fold and tempering of the steel was recorded since she held it herself and had made it herself. To that there was no difficulty in attaching phrases to make it more potent. Seekers to guide it towards flesh and repellers to guide it away from armor, movement amplification to give more weight to the thrusts, and even a animation spell to return it to her should she throw it. That could be a nasty surprise in a pinch.

These are all pretty standard. But a new idea had been forming in her head. She took the patterns for the anmanic field and turned them inside out. Instead of keeping magic from passing outside, it kept magic from passing in. She bound the output of the adsorbed magic into a simple self-strengthening and growth spell. Then she bound the shape of the field to an in-potentia phrase and wrapped the whole thing in a trigger pattern. This she bound to the knife to be activated, with a repeat phrase, upon a strike to flesh. And, when activated, it was to launch with a quick seeker to discover the pattern of the wound made and fill in the in-potentia placeholder of the field. Everything fell into place and her mind slowed back down to normal.

A smile played about her face. She felt the weight of the knife in her hand. It was just like her most familiar weapon. But now, the cuts it made would not just wound the bodies of the gods, but would leave a spell lodged in them, canker like. This spell would adsorb the energy from attempts to cure it, or the flesh around it, and, instead, expand the wound further. There would be blood on the sand in this fight. And, with skill and luck, she could win at eight to one odds.

Bianca straightened up, did a quick pattern and summoning phrase, and dropped what felt like a single erg of mana into the spell. All of the soot in the district of slums they stood in was instantly drawn to them and coated everyone in thick, black choking clouds. As Bianca dived and rolled to get a new position, in the back of her mind she was thinking of the municipal benefit such soot cleaning would have in reducing chimney fires. But then she was back up, in a crouch and reaching out. She felt tough muscles flinch against her. She was where she expected. She drew back and plunged her dagger deep into Sky Father's chest.

Not waiting to see the result, she sprinted away to change position. The chaos would only last a few moments, and she had to make the most of it. She quickly circled back from a different direction. Blackness still enveloped everything and her Ævatar's cat like eyes didn't help. But with that inspiration she reached out a simple seeking spell, brought back a pattern, and then force-grew magical tendrils of cat's whiskers from her hands. She swept them back and forth, found another target, and lunged forward and low, and sliced someone's hamstrings.

Upon this retreat she stayed. They had got their wits and were listening for her while Water Bearer brought a deluge down to clear the smoke from the air. Bianca took a pattern from a nearby tenement, and raised a section of fallen masonry into a façade to screen her.

It was Martius who came prowling in her direction first, backed up by The Harper. Martius's reactions were up to hers and he managed to dodge her thrust thorough a window of her hideout. He countered quickly and smashed the thin wall to pieces. She broke cover and dived over a row of houses into a neighboring street.

Uncaring, Martius smashed through those too, to bear down upon her. Distantly she heard the screaming as the occupants who had not yet fled either ran or perished. Magically she grabbed up a handful of slates from nearby roofs and sent them sailing towards Martius' face in a stream. While he blocked high she lunged in with the knife low and caught him a dig under the ribs.

Bianca then felt herself caught by both arms from behind. It was The Harper trying to pin her like a wrestler. Martius took quick advantage of her immobility and lifted his sword high overhead. Bianca pressed back upon The Harper and lifted a relatively intact chimney stack from the rubble with her feet. It smashed into pieces, but dulled Martius's blow enough to slow him. With a bit of magical impetus Bianca overbalanced him forward, and as he fell grabbed him around his neck with her legs.

The Harper's pin on her just immobilized her, while hers on Martius was suffocating. It was to her advantage as long as there was no third party. She scanned and, sure enough, Water Bearer was hovering nearby winding up a hurricane of water. Bianca was ready when she flung it, and bent inwards, using Martius as a shield. He bore the brunt but the blast broke them up and separated them.

Bianca got her feet under her and made for the dockside. She heard Martius, quick on her heels, thundering after her. She put on a burst of speed to draw him out away from the others. When she got to the edge of the river Dubr she leapt high into the air and smashed down on the other side, into the City of the Dead. With a sweep she gathered up a magical armload of smashed tombs and flung them at Martius, mid leap. That halted him and sent him plummeting into the river. Bianca sent the tombstones down upon him, magically bound into a solid mass, to hold him there. She wrapped that with an anmanic field and froze that section of the river, for good measure. They could dig him out, but it would take one of them time and effort.

Bianca did a slow turn to see what quarter she could expect the next attack to come from. A small flash drew her attention to her feet. A small party of people was there and appeared to have just cast a spell on her. She looked closer and saw a collection of priests of the Grave Keeper. The spell, of course, was utterly ineffectual on a creature the size of her Ævatar. But she admired their pluck for trying. If she ignored them, they would probably get trampled underfoot. So, instead, she swept them up and deposited them on the ice floe in the river. That should keep them out of the way for now.

When she turned back, The Grave Keeper himself was there. He could have struck her back, but had withheld. Was it because she held his worshipers, or because of her gesture to spare his worshipers? It did not matter as the moment passed. He raised both his arms and the dead of the graveyard crawled up, maggot like. They began to assemble themselves in a heap before Grave Keeper.

Bianca had seen this before. In hell when they fought the demon lord Halphas. He had built a huge body from his minions. She was not going to let things go down that route. With a blast of mana she blew apart the mound, disintegrating and scattering the pieces.

Grave Keeper scowled at her. He raised his arms again holding his scythe high. Bianca felt for her shield reflexively, but, of course, it wasn't there. She brought up her hands and released a pattern recognition phrase to see what he was doing. It only returned a confused jumble, as with most old magic. However her eyes saw the armor on her arms first tarnish, the cover over with a patina of oxidization. She realized it was this was the same spell he had used to age the troops to senility. Lilly said it was unlikely to affect the Ævatar, but she couldn't be sure what it would do to her equipment or if it would reach the operational sphere.

Time seemed to slow down again. Patterns flowed before her. Aging could be simulated by opposed motion pulling in different directions. The counter to that would be to inhibit all motion. But that wouldn't age metal like she had seen. Altering the flow of time itself was difficult. But mostly that would cause the passage of time to appear differently. To do so for just her inanimate objects would require targeting them specifically. That was too convoluted. Perhaps if aging was a disease, he was applying the pattern of the disease to her and reinforcing and accelerating it. But it was hard to understand how a malady could affect metal.

Bianca pulled herself out of her analysis. Dead end after dead end was getting her nowhere. She focused on Grave Keeper until her vision zoomed in on him. In one fluid motion she pulled out her knife and flung it across the space between them. It arced across the graveyard, spinning one complete revolution. It then lodged deeply and firmly in The Grave Keeper's throat.

## Chapter 41

### Dock fight

Bianca turned from the City of the Dead back to the river. She waded back to the other side, skirting the edge of the ice floe that encased Martius. He didn't show any sign of breaking out so she had to assume the spell was doing its work and preventing his healing from working. She checked in on the mana reserve she had been tapping. A lot was gone. But at this rate there should be enough to finish them off. Probably.

The Ævatar reached the far side and Bianca hauled herself up. Almost immediately something smashed over her head and sent her flying headfirst into a warehouse. She righted herself quickly and spun around to find The Harper there, with the broken remains of a galley in his hands. He dropped the ship and put up his fists. With no weapons, a brawl was about all Bianca could manage anyway. It would conserve mana in any event.

She stepped out onto the docks to meet him. Suddenly a large wave of water rushed up, enveloped her, and dragged her into the river. Bianca cursed herself for being drawn so easily. The water started to solidify into ice in imitation of her own trick. The difference was that she was not incapacitated. She crafted a return spell that would follow the trace of the mana to its source. There it would blossom into myriad magically resistant palms, each with independent motion trying to cover the target's eyes. It was one of Jacques hallmarks, bearing both multiplicity and inanity. But she judged it would keep Water Bearer busy for a while.

With another burst of mana, she shattered the ice and leaped from the river bottom back onto the docks. The Harper put up his fists again but Bianca was not so foolish to fall for it twice. And, with a roar, she wrenched up the heavy stones of the quayside and flung them at him. Under cover of that she closed and tackled him. He went down easily. Too easily it turned out, for he just rolled and came up on top of her. She brought her knee up sharply between his legs, not knowing if gods were as sensitive as mortals. It certainly caused him to roll off. As she came up, though, he hit her full in the face with something dark and sticky. Probably the dung heap of the market.

This was dirty fighting. But, in a strange way, Bianca reveled in it. Of all the gods, she would not have expected this from the effete Harper. But this was his other aspect: the patron of drinking and excess. And they were on the dockside, so it was fitting. She really missed her knife as he grabbed her in a headlock and repeatedly punched her nose. But she had her own tricks, gouging his eyes.

She tried to keep the presence of mind and to remember to keep a scanner going for The Waterbearer. When it triggered Bianca yanked The Harper's head up by his hair and let him take the blast of steam to his face. He back-pedaled away and fell next to the mercantile exchange. As she leaped for him as he grabbed at one of the columns from the exchange to snap it off and use as a dagger. However, that building was a classical one, where the column was made of many pieces and it fell apart in his hand. It did, however, make a good imitation of brass knuckles and sent her reeling.

Bianca knew the city better. The harbor tax office was new construction. One solid piece of stone extruded and hardened by new magic. She grabbed it, poured mana into her muscles, and lifted it as one piece and brought the whole building down on Harper. That, at least, knocked the wind out of him.

She hunched down behind it, out of line of sight of Water Bearer. Ultimately, she considered, this was not making progress. The fight would not be won with fists. Her mind kicked into overdrive once more as she considered the possibilities. She readied her spells and stood, looking down at Harper. He was pretending to still be winded, but was really biding his time to jump her. But Bianca wasn't concerned with him; she was presenting herself as a target for Waterbearer. Not failing to take the bait, a wave of magic shot from the warehouse district at her. Bianca's seeker spell reported that Water Bearer had learned from the last blast to put a directive trigger on her magic, so that it hit the right target. Merely interposing Harper or something else would not deter this. Bianca was pleased that she was learning, and more pleased that she was one step ahead of The Waterbearer. She took a readied pattern of her Ævatar, set it to project and targeted it at Harper. Symmetrically she projected Harper's pattern over her own. Lastly as the spell came grounding in, she applied a variation of the magic she had used on her dagger on the spell itself. All of its damage would be reinforced by anmanic growing fields.

Apparently Water Bearer had felt Jacques multitude of hands also worth copying. She chose for her spell a horde of magically reinforced crabs, each independently attacking and inflicting its own wounds. Harper's melodic voice screamed through all the notes of the scale as they tore into him.

Bianca pumped more mana into her legs and immediately sprinted off in Water Bearer's direction. Tiles ripped from roofs in the wake of her passage and cobbles were flung up like pebbles from her feet as she raced at her. Water Bearer stood there, uncertain of what had just happened and not yet reacting to Bianca bearing down on her. As she closed, Bianca leaped in the air, and struck her, magically supplemented feet first. The impact split her rib cage, and knocked her backwards through two warehouses. Bianca hit her immediately with a stasis field before she could dissolve into water.

Bianca shook the rubble off and started off, at an easy jog, back towards the slums.

The flattened bit was easily recognizable, as were the three figures in it.

Sky Father lay where she had left him. He thrashed occasionally and his hands clawed the ground. Hearth Mother stood above him, eyes glowing with rage and her poker shaking in her hand. Weaver stood next to her, at an angle with her leg wrapped in a woven cast.

"What have you done to him!" screamed Hearth Mother, stepping forward a pace. Weaver reached out and touched her arm, but Hearth Mother brushed it off. "What have you done?"

Bianca stood, mute. Lilly had not hooked up her power of speech. She wasn't even sure if the Ævatar could speak; or had lungs. But she didn't think she had anything to say.

The gods were parasites. The sucked the mana from the world and spent it on themselves. They kept to their cozy little worlds shielded from the dirt and dung of reality. Through their priests they threw a few crumbs to the masses, in exchange for more fervent worship. It was the biggest con-job ever.

She often advocated a stricter approach for Romitu. Mana harvesting from the armed forces. Suppression of priests. But she wasn't Queen, and wouldn't be. She would find it difficult to suppress her personal motives for the good of Romitu. But the gods were not so restrained. They were free to act out their personal whims. Their foibles. Their individual dictatorships.

And here, when that was threatened, they were pathetic. They bickered, they fought. If they had stood shoulder to shoulder from the start it wouldn't have been a contest. And this wasn't even all of their gods. Some still cowered in their homes, belying further internal divisions. Their time was over.

Bianca pointed forcefully to Hearth Mother's poker, and then to the ground. In deference to Gwendolyn it was only reasonable to try to not drain every last erg from the power they had been loaned. Bianca was unsure what Jesca had promised. But she didn't want to add burdens to Romitu unnecessarily.

"Surrender? Surrender!" shrieked Hearth Mother. "Why you..." she lunged forward with her poker.

Bianca side stepped easily, grabbed the poker and wrenched it from her hands. She backhanded Hearth Mother's face on one side with it, then immediately forehanded her other side. While the goddess was stunned, Bianca swept her feet sending her to the ground. Once there, the Ævatar's boot stamped her stomach. As Hearth Mother arched forward Bianca bent the poker around her neck, wrapping it around three times tightly. Hearth Mother rasped out a breath, and then immolated, sending raging fire at Bianca's Ævatar, and forcing her back several steps and burning her severely. Mana fixed that quickly enough, and then wrapped Hearth Mother in stasis as she writhed on the ground, clutching at her neck.

Lastly Bianca turned to Weaver, perched on her cast, swaying amongst the rack and ruin. Bianca made her the same offer, pointing to her net, and the ground. Weaver inclined her head and looked her with disgust and defiance. Bianca wrapped her in stasis where she stood.

After a time of silence there was movement. A squad of soldiers emerged from the edge of the flattened space carrying her sword. She bent and retrieved it from where they left it, and moved to Sky Father.

He looked up at her from his pain. The wound she had made was a simple knife thrust to gut. It hadn't been debilitating until their healing magic had grown the spell and wrenched it through whatever internal organs he possessed. His eyes met hers and his brow furrowed. Defiant to the last, Bianca thought. The tree that does not bend in the wind breaks. Flexibility is a survival trait. She cast the standard soul harvesting spell on the sword and lifted it up.

Then she heard horns.

They echoed from the seven hills of the city.

She turned. Figures stood high on the foothills that lead to Romitu. Her eyes zoomed in and she saw Clan Father, War Lord, and the other Orcish gods.

A bright light surged from the south of the city. The colorful gods of the south stood there in war raiment.

Beneath her feet, the ground surged. Tendrils of stone with hands at their tips squirmed quickly up her body. The coal black eyes of a Dwarven god she did not recognize pierced into hers.

At once they were all upon her. Her magical defenses held up, briefly, but were hemorrhaging mana at a rate that would drain all that was left in seconds. Her mind raced looking for a solution but found none.

"No!" she screamed, forced back to the operational sphere. "It can't end like this. It can't end!"

Darkness surrounded her. Only the dull thud of whatever the surrounding Ævatar body was being subjected to.

She reached deep within her and found the shield protecting her Soul. The Ævatar craved a Soul. With its own Soul it could direct its own Will. To what end no one knew. But all was lost.

"No," she said a final time. "It cannot end like this."

She dismissed the shield.

A deep coldness filled her, and she knew no more.

## Chapter 41

### Dreaming Away

Bianca floated.

And she dreamed.

The dreams were not insightful or prophetic. Just dreams.

She and Lilly were having tea with Rose. Lilly had a box of pastries from the Via Michael. Rose did not drink or eat. Later she said goodbye to Lilly and went with Rose away to a black tower on an island.

In another dream Eadwyn came to her with a problem she couldn't work out. Bianca couldn't either. Jacques appeared and was able to figure it out by adding a precise selection of anchovies and freezing them solid.

She dimly wondered, once or twice, if she was in stasis, but then her mind wandered on to other things.

Her mother visited her a lot, but said nothing. Her Father on the other hand, spoke at length. A small green monkey sat on his head, pulling his hair. But he paid no notice. She didn't understand anything he said, but he was just making idle conversation so it didn't matter. Odd, though, that she had no problem thinking of Moss as her Father while dreaming. And that his meaningless prattle was so comforting. But her mind wandered away from that, too.

Her most lucid thought came shortly after waking up. She felt relaxed and realized it was the first time she had felt so in a very long time. Possibly years. With that thought in mind, she fell asleep once more.

The first buffet hit her in a long dream about running over rooftops. It surprised her, and she lost her train of thought. The slates of Romitu faded away into the slabs of the Outer Waste. She walked there for a while, looking for the green oasis that Moss said he had made. Instead another, stronger, buffet hit her, and she sat down heavily.

Around her it was noontime in Irontree. But they city was at a small scale. The parapets of the Academy were at eye level for her. She paid it no mind, her concern growing. She levered herself upwards, holding on to the smokestack in the forge for support. Another buffet hit, and she held on to the iron tree tightly to keep from falling.

But the tree, now life sized, was one in Oak Grove. Green filtered sunlight streamed down, unnaturally bright. She looked up, shielding her eyes against it.

Then she was thrown around violently again and found herself at sea. Ice floes crashed around her from her tribal homeland, though the water was warm. The light shone even brighter above her and it was only a moment before an extremely violent buffet shook her.

She was sucked down into the water, but for some reason it was brighter. The concussive force of the buffeting was continuous now, she felt herself being pounded from all sides. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think, and she couldn't see from the brightness.

And then it ended. Her limbs flailed about her and she felt many times her normal weight. She coughed something from her lungs with a guttural grunt. One set of bonds remained across her chest, but it was soft and resilient. She felt around her and pushed her wet hair from her eyes. Blinking in the brightness she looked up into the face of her mother.

She stopped struggling and smiled, and her mother smiled back. She let herself be hugged close and put her head on her mother's breast. It was unusual, she thought distantly. Neither often smiled and never showed tenderness. But it felt nice right now.

Goatha rocked Bianca and hummed a song. It was not a song of their people. They had none. It was some rhythmic nonsense that Moss used to sing when Bianca was a baby. Neither had ever asked him if it was from his childhood, or something he had made up.

"I am alive," said Bianca, after a time. She wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question.

Goatha rocked for a while longer and then said "Yes, my child."

Bianca let it go on a while longer, and then felt herself getting cold. She didn't appear to be wearing anything. She lifted her head from Goatha's breast, but her eyes still weren't focusing well. "Cold," she said.

Goatha paused and drew a short grey cloak over her. It smelled of her father. Bianca snuggled into it, with no reserve for propriety. It warmed her as she dried. She took a deep breath and released it, and looked up to her mother's face again. "What happened?" she asked.

"What do you remember? "asked Goatha, gently.

Bianca wrinkled her brow and thought. She had her dreams. But she was sure there was something else. "The Ævatar," she said finally. "I was in the Ævatar."

"Yes," said Goatha. "Yes you were."

With that confirmation the memories came flooding back. "We lost," said Bianca. "We lost and I shattered my Soul shield."

"No," said Goatha, just as simply. "We won. You shattered your Soul shield and we won."

Bianca sat up, confused. "No," she said. "I'm quite sure. We almost won. But I remember the horns, and all the gods rallied against us."

"Yes," said Goatha. "They did. But you shattered your Soul shied. The Ævatar took your Soul and... woke up."

Bianca stirred uneasily. "I don't remember that bit."

"That is good," said Goatha, with a trace of her usual skeptical tone returning.

Bianca turned to her. "What happened?" she asked again.

"The reports are scattered," said Goatha. "We still don't have all of them and they are hard to reconcile. The Ævatar fought the gods and won."

"But... how?" asked Bianca. "They had me. I had no weapons. There was no mana. How?"

Goatha released her arms from her and shrugged. "We're still trying to work that out," she said. "As near as we can tell, it summoned its own vortex, wrapped it in a rectifier field, and internalized it."

Bianca's mind wrapped itself around the possibilities. She could see that such a thing was potentially possible. She didn't know how but the direction of their research could lead to that. If so... "That's nearly limitless energy."

Goatha nodded.

"What... what did it do?"

Goatha looked past her. "It destroyed them. All the gods that came against it. It pursued those who fled the field. It summoned back those that escaped to their own realm."

Bianca shook her head. It was staggering. One creature, with so much power. It had been hers to command and she had barely held against one, then three, then eight gods. But all she had been able to do was knock them about. Parcel them up to be collected and dealt with later. "What, precisely, did it do?" she asked. "Did it just kill them? Are their souls out there awaiting resurrection or rebirth? Are we back to square one?"

"No," said Goatha. "There is no sign of the souls of the gods."

"Did it annihilate them, like with Scioni?"

"We're not sure," said Goatha. "Someone saw the Ævatar... eating the heart of Sky Father. So maybe."

Bianca shuddered. She was not quite back to her imperturbable self. It was a great victory, but it was still monstrous. "Where is it now?" she asked suddenly. "What did it do afterwards? Is it still loose?"

"It is back in the lab," said Goatha. "When it finished, it finished. It went back to sleep. After time, we moved it back to the lab and began your recovery."

"My recovery..." said Bianca. "I was in it the whole time? It didn't eject the operational sphere?"

"No," said Goatha. "You were in it. Your essence was dissolved in the fluid. Up till now we had assumed that you were in command of it. We weren't sure you wanted to come back. Or knew how to."

Bianca had coldness in the pit of her stomach. She didn't remember any of the fight. Had she been in command? Would she have done such things? The ruthlessness was not unlike her. Goatha was looking at her, searchingly. "But you got me back. I am back. This isn't just a vision or something?"

"This is your body," said Goatha, carefully.

"My body?" said Bianca, hand to her breast. "But is this me? Am I a recreation? A simulacrum?"

"This is your body," said Goatha. "Your Will. Your Animus." She did not continue.

"My Soul?" asked Bianca.

"We were unable to recover your Soul," said Goatha. "It is still in the Ævatar."

Bianca clutched her chest. "My Soul? It's gone?"

"Yes," said Goatha, sadly. "We could not separate it from the Ævatar. We had to amputate it to recover the rest."

"But... I don't feel any different," said Bianca.

"Neither did Lilly," said Goatha.

"Then... can I still do magic?" asked Bianca. She concentrated, and felt within her. But there was nothing. "No," she said, slumping. "No mana reservoir. Nothing."

"I'm sorry," said Goatha.

## Chapter 42

### Skating Away

The three met on the repaired quayside. The large granite slabs were warm from the sun. Business was still disrupted and they were left in relative peace.

"The day turned out nice after all, don't you think?" said Lilly. She sat looking at the people moving about, the ships on the water, and the fish in the water. Jesca looked out over the water, towards a distant mountain. Bianca stared at her hands in her lap. "The clouds were kind of threatening this morning, but it's all cleared up now." Jesca grunted something non-committal.

Undeterred, Lilly produced a box of pastries from a large bag and offered them around. Neither of her companions took notice. "They're really quite good," she said. "Not the usual from Via Michael. I picked them up at the soup kitchen the gods set up for those whose homes haven't been rebuilt. They said Grania made them herself."

Bianca looked at the pastries suspiciously. "Gods? Within the city limits?"

"It's OK," said Jesca. "After our rampant deicide, the surviving gods proved quite ready to accept our original truce." Jesca idly looked at the box. "They've been quite helpful. Greywind says that one of the night gods has even been taking on some of the anti-looting patrols."

"It's fine," said Bianca, less agitated. "It wasn't me."

"Oh?" said Jesca, distantly.

"It wasn't me who killed all the gods. It was the Ævatar," said Bianca.

"But that was you," said Lilly. "It had your Soul. The Will that motivated it was just a logical progression from the Will you had imposed on it. The Animus was just magic."

Bianca glared at her. "If it's me, than who am I?"

"You're you too," said Lilly, unconcerned. "It's your Will and your Animus. Lacking a Soul doesn't make you any less you than it did me or the countless troglodytes in the Underground."

"And you think the Ævatar is still me?" asked Bianca.

"Of course," said Lilly. "It still has your Soul. But the Will has wound down, so it doesn't do much."

"But it could," said Jesca.

"Oh yes," said Lilly. "It still has the vortex and converter inside of it. Quite a lot of power." She nodded at Bianca. "Quite clever. I look forward to working out the phrases behind that and copying it."

"We can't turn it off then," said Jesca.

"No," said Lilly. "But without a Soul, it should be a snap for Bianca to ride it again."

Bianca shuddered. "Not likely."

Jesca shook her head. "I really hope we never need to fight a foe that we need that sort of power for." But as she said it, she was looking back towards Mount Gerakovouni.

"Looks like The Book of Creation was a dead end," said Bianca glumly. "Rose said it wouldn't lead anywhere. What did they write it for then?"

"Oh, right," said Lilly. "That."

Bianca and Jesca both turned to look at her.

"It occurred to me the other day," said Lilly. "I guess it is kind of obvious in retrospect."

"You've worked out the purpose of The Book of Creation?" asked Bianca.

Lilly shrugged. "Seems likely." She ate the last bite of her pastry and brushed off her hands. "As far as we can tell, when a Human, Elf, Dwarf or other creation of the Ancient Elves is made, there is a sort of vacuum inside of it that either attracts a Soul, or causes one to be spontaneously created. That doesn't happen for any creatures other than these. And, although we've made many animals and hybrids from magic, its never happened to one of those either." She had drawn some stick figures in the dust. "But the Ævatar has such a Soul cavity. It's very large, very strong, and attracts any Soul that is near it." She drew a circle in the middle of the biggest stick figure. "I think if the original mage had got it right, or we had fixed it right, then the cavity would have caused a Soul to spontaneously be created." She filled in the circle.

"What would be the point of that?" said Jesca.

Lilly blinked. "Then we would have achieved something that only the Ancient Elves had achieved. We would have equaled our creators."

"So you think the book is a kind of test?" asked Bianca. "To see if we are ready to join them."

Lilly shrugged. "Rose doesn't think so. Maybe Swan did. Or maybe it was a joke of his."

"Maybe we'll be ready to join them when we find their jokes funny," said Jesca, morosely.

They contemplated this for a while. Lilly rubbed out the drawings. She then proffered the box again. "You really should try these. You will regret it if you don't."

She was so insistent; the other two gave in, reluctantly.

"Yes," said Jesca, after a bite or two. "These are better."

They chewed in silence and listened to the water slap the dock side.

"If The Book isn't part of their plan," said Bianca, "then they don't care about us becoming their equals. What do they want then?"

"For us to surpass them, of course," said Lilly. For a second time Bianca and Jesca turned to looked at her. Lilly shrugged apologetically. "It's like Moss, out in the waste," she nodded at Bianca. "Seeking for a pattern to create life, that then creates more life. In such a way to fill the whole waste with the life of his creation." She paused to dust out the pastry crumbs from the box to the water. "If we, as their creation, can grow and expand, survive our cataclysms, and so forth, then we will spread their life all over." A school of fish had gathered and fought for the sinking crumbs, with increasing violence.

"Maybe the book is relevant then," said Bianca, slowly. "If we can not only increase, but also propagate more creations, it would be as if Moss's simple life was growing trees and forests."

"That is... just too big of a thought for me to take in right now," said Jesca, shaking her head.

"Especially on a morning as nice as this," agreed Lilly. She fished in her bag once more. "Anyone for skating?"

Bianca looked at the large bulky boots she had produced with confusion. "Are those ice skates?" Lilly nodded.

"They would probably get upset if we froze the harbor again," said Jesca, gently.

"Yes," said Lilly, strapping them to her feet. "I thought that might be the case. So I worked on a little spell." She climbed carefully down a ladder and stepped out onto the water. Ice appeared there, radiating from where the skates touched the surface. "See!" she called up. Carefully, she pushed off, and slid a few steps.

"Amazing," said Jesca quietly, and waved. They watched her move about, slowly gaining confidence after many falls. "She's come a long way."

"We've all traveled a long distance," said Bianca wearily.

"Yes," said Jesca, looking off into the distance again. "I'm not sure it is all forward."

Bianca stared into her lap again. "There is much blood on my hands."

"No," corrected Jesca. "I am the Queen. I give the orders. I bear ultimate responsibility."

Bianca shook her head. "Do you remember what Scioni said? A soldier should never follow an order because it is their duty. If they disagree with an order, they have the right to refuse. He wanted no followers who were not completely behind his objectives. Every one of us in this enterprise bears the burden of responsibility."

Jesca sighed deeply. "Then I really do hope that there is a goal to all of this."

Beneath them Lilly skated on, waving to a fishing boat full of gawkers she passed.

## Afterword

Thank you for reading "White Mage," the second book in the Six Books of Magic series.

The third book, Black Warrior focuses on Winter. She is the child of Devonshire, the god killer. His birth father was Othr, the last god of a destroyed people, killed by his mother shortly after his conception. After birth, his Mother also killed the daughter of the sea god Atlantica and was forced to give up Winter to fostership with him in recompense. Now on the cusp of adulthood, Winter finds his loyalties pulled between those of his mother's people, and his foster people. If that wasn't hard enough, he's also plagued by mysterious dreams he can only conclude come from the long dead people of his father. The opening chapter of Black Warrior is included here.

Books in this series:

  * Red Queen (https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/495166)

  * White Mage (https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/)

  * Black Warrior (forthcoming)

  * Green Princess (forthcoming)

  * Blue Pawn (forthcoming)

Do you have questions about this book, the series, want to know what went on off stage, or before the events chronicled? The characters in the book are available to answer anything you might ask. Please post your questions on the Facebook page below and they will reply, in persona.

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## Black Warrior, Chapter 1

### Coronation

The sea-god Atlantica lowered his pearl studded crown onto the head of Winter and proclaimed "With this I crown you Surge of the Northern Seas". Winter stood as tall as his young frame would allow, but even so he only came up to the broad chest of Atlantica. His black hair floated in a nimbus around his head, swaying with the motion of ocean currents around him. Complementing this he wore a simple black cape, affixed magically to his shoulders, and brief black shorts, with subtle silver highlights. The rest of his body was exposed, as clothing and ornamentation was uncommon under the seas.

"As bearer of this crown," responded Winter, "I promise to uphold the duty it represents: to protect, represent, and dignify those under its domain, until such a time as one whose birthright it is may bear it. So I swear to you, the new Lord of All Waters." He bowed his head and spread his arms, but did not go on his knees before Atlantica. When he finished his obsequience, their eyes met and locked.

There was no love lost between them. Winter's mother had killed Atlantica's eldest child. He, in turn, had demanded Winter be fostered in the court of the Northern Seas to replace his lost child, and also as guarantor that no similar incident be repeated. His life amongst him had been made miserable by Atlantica's surviving bully of a child, Balanoptera. The tensions between Winter's people, and Atlantica's rose to the point where Balanoptera was sent as a pawn in a distracting assassination attempt against Devonshire, Winter's mother, precipitating the war between the gods and Romitu.

Romitu was powerful, and with the aid of an ancient battle machine, was able to subdue the gods of the Romitu homeland. However, this was too much of an affront and the normally fractious gods of all peoples rallied to this indignity and prepared to put these people back in their place.

But an unexpected thing happened. The battle machine, when faced with obliteration, consumed the Soul of its controller and developed a life of its own. More than a giant simulacrum of a human being, it became one, but with immensely magnified power, strength and tenacity. With vicious brutality, it hunted down every single one of the originally spawned gods that took to the field that day and consumed them. It then fell silent again, and hadn't stirred since.

An armistice was declared and terms for peace were quickly agreed. Both sides were in shock over what had happened. The remaining lesser gods stepped into a more active role helping their living followers, working hand in hand with Romitu on projects that they saw in their common interest. Each side went through great pains to foster this cooperation and to ensure that their powers were used to everyone's benefit, and not for further animosity.

Winter was now caught up in one of the 'grand bargains' of those times. The Water Bearer had been one of the principles of the Romitu pantheon. The natural successor was Atlantica, but his son's complicity in starting the war made this awkward. So, in return for Romitu not objecting to his elevation, he agreed to fostering his son to Devonshire, for an education in tolerance of surface dwellers and to guarantor his good behavior. His only remaining progeny was his foster son, Winter, who would ascend the throne he was vacating.

It was an excellent diplomatic solution. Which meant that all involved felt uncomfortable.

The moment passed and cheers erupted from the assembled court. Winter raised his arms and surveyed his new subjects. Those who had looked disdainfully on him for his entire childhood clapped politely. Anyone who had any influence was being taken with Atlantica to his new court in Lake Larius beneath the Mountain of the Gods. Those who had just flowed with the current of the court were happy enough to flow in the new direction it was going. Many who feared reprisals from Romitu were actually pleased that someone so highly connected was to be their leader. It was a clear indication that they felt the Northern Seas were important.

The Tritons, however, were genuinely pleased. They cavorted and cheered and waved in honest delight. Winter had shown a genuine interest in their history. He had ushered in academics from the surface to explore and restore the extensive ruins built by their people. Since the fall of the gods, rumors were rife of him being romantically involved with one of their own. Certainly, with him at the helm, their lot could only improve.

And then there was the small delegation from the surface, to give their approval and blessing to the transfer for power. First and foremost was his mother, beaming at him proudly and clapping the strongest. She dressed in her Elven finest, with no thought to underwater custom. She had a path of space around her, as her reputation as a god-killer was well known in court and only bolstered by recent events. Penelope, the teacher at the prestigious Scioni Academy of Magic who had shown the most interest in local history, mingled with the rest. She dressed in local attire which looked quite odd on her Orcish frame. She had even convinced her mother, an Underground antiquarian, to attend. His Triton history teacher, Charonia, had hit it off with her quite well and the two were inseparable.

The clapping broke off into general celebration as the crowds began to mingle and the feast was revealed. To his surprise, Winter felt Atlantica's hand on his shoulder. He turned to look up into his eyes and, not being the center of attention anymore, both of their gazes has softened.

"I love these people," said Winter, haltingly. "I will do my best by them."

"I love them too," said Atlantica. "No matter how far away my court, you can count on my unquestioned aid for them when needed."

Winter returned his clasp and the two parted.

With a pointed glance, Winter offered his arm to Cindarina. She glided up, a bit hesitantly, but slipped her arm in his anyway. It wasn't an Underwater custom, as the people here rarely touched, but he was happy to break with tradition in this regard. He turned with her and began to circulate.

"I'm not sure the time is right for a statement like this," said Cindarina in hushed tones. "We don't have to be secret, but the crown is now yours and I have no official position in court."

"Get used to it," said Winter, from the side of his mouth. "I have no clue what I'm doing." He bowed formally to a pair of passing Tritons who tittered as they moved on. "You know the names and lineages of everyone here. I need your help to pull this off."

"Well," she said, pursing her lips, "you should be able to handle this one."

They had come up to his mother. She looked at him, proudly, but always a little sad. She had birthed him, but his father had been a battle god from a destroyed land. The General she served had uncovered references in old books of a great Kingdom to the North. Several of the 144 who arose to godhood after banishing the New Magic from the land came from there. He sent her with an expedition there only to find desolation, ruins, and Othr, wandering aimlessly alone. When they had banished the magic that had brought about the first cataclysm and ascended to godhood, they also banished their ability to remember things for more than a hundred years or so. She had bedded him and then, at his insistence, battled him the next day and gave him the peace of death in combat. Only later had she found she was pregnant, and magical examination reveal that Winter contained the reincarnated Soul of that god. It seemed he inherited his physiology as well. He had grown up as quick as a human. Entirely as a human. Not Elven, or one of the rare Half-Elves. As such his mother was never quite prepared for the age he was.

"Well done, my son. Well done," she said. Her normally gruff voice was even rougher than usual. He suspected she was choked up over the whole thing.

He bowed to her. "I probably have you to thank more than my own merits," he said, lightly.

"Not at all," she said, and poked him forcefully in the shoulder. "You stood by my shoulder and fought against the gods. You raised the alarm of the attack, and foiled the assassination on my own life." She turned and bowed deeply to his companion. "Don't worry, Lady Cindarina," she said in a stage whisper. "I am not forgetting your own pivotal role in all that. I'm just trying to bolster the lad's confidence!"

"Thank you," Cindarina replied in kind. "I've been trying all morning and could use the help."

"Hey!" said Winter, miming being upset at their collaboration.

"Don't mind me. You two go circulate," said Devonshire, waving them off. "I'll be at the bar with Greywind."

"Is Greywind here?" said Winter, eagerly looking around. "Where is that miscreant?"

"Probably in a corner somewhere testing out how well his loaded dice work underwater," Devonshire said, shaking her head. "I'll chase him up and send him to pay his respects." She moved off after a quick hug.

"I told you Mom likes you," said Winter. "She wouldn't gang up with you against me if she didn't."

"When it comes to your surface friends, I have no clue what I am doing," said Cindarina, laughing.

"Well, then, this should be good," said Winter, as Penelope approached with her mother and Charonia in tow. "Penny!" he greeted her fondly. "I'm so glad you could come."

Penelope executed an intricate gesture that sent a swirl of currents over him. Her mother followed suit, and after a pause and with a pleasantly surprised grin so did Charonia. She then addressed Winter in a series of resonant sounds and clicks.

Winter squinted his eyes in concentration. He knew enough to recognize the language as Triton. Normally he could passably understand it, but, knowing Penelope, he guessed that she was using either a formal or archaic mode that was quite beyond him. He racked his brains and replied with what he hoped was "You honor me" in the vernacular mode.

Penelope continued, without a pause, and appeared to be introducing her mother. The one word that was clearly not in Triton was 'Roxanne', which he took to be her name. Roxanne made a much longer statement without a hitch. He had heard many rumors of Penelope's mother. Most of them that she was infinitely more scary and skilled than her daughter. Right now, Winter believed every single one of them, given how completely he was outmaneuvered by them.

But Cindarina came to his aid, responding to them. He recognized much of what she said from common Triton, but she did seem to have some grasp of the honorific bound mode they were speaking. They continued back and forth for some time and Winter was beginning to feel left out when Charonia caught his eye and gave him a quick wink. Obviously they were all having fun. And, since it didn't appear to be at his expense, there was no reason not to let it continue.

He stopped trying to follow the conversation and looked more widely around the room. There was an immediate circle of Tritons watching the exchange with approval. In another corner was Atlantica, patiently receiving the tearful farewells of those who favored him, but he did not favor enough to take with him. Most of the rest mingled in their usual couplings exchanging the usual gossip. The unprecedented occasion did not perturb the usual interactions of the court.

Cindarina nudged him and he attention returned to their expectant faces. "You honor me" he repeated again, smiling widely and bowing deeply. "See," he said to Cindarina as they moved off, "I couldn't have done it without you."

