 
Red Queen

Book 1 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

### Throne Room

Queen Jesca sat on the ancient throne of Romitu, the eldest of cities and capital of the Second Empire, such as it was. Her eyes, too old for a face so young, looked out over her assembled generals and fumed. "Is there no one who will relieve me of this burden?" she asked again. They were all silent.

The Sword of State lay heavily across her arms. It had been first wielded in a pivotal battle against a rebellion that threatened the integrity of the First Empire. But it slowly fell out of fashion over the last few centuries as the event it commemorated became an unremembered historical footnote. It languished in a museum for a while, was sold or fenced into a series of private collections, and ultimately acquired by her predecessor. He had felt it a powerful and potent symbol. He used it to communicate the focus of the return of rule of law he promised as he ended the interregnum and reinstated the Empire.

"My adoptive father spoke strongly of the benefits of limited terms of rule. The necessity of smooth handover of government", she tried. "If he were alive today he would expect any one of you to be ready for this duty." Jesca looked long and hard at one general in particular, bearing the insignia of the ninth army. But she remained stiffly at parade attention, avoiding Jesca's eyes. Her expression belied her nervousness, as the trickle of sweat down her hairline. The leader of the 9th was well liked by her Amazonian troops and had been there from the very start of all of this. Although often deferred to by the other generals, she was quick to seek consensus instead of pushing her own agenda. She would be the perfect volunteer. But she wasn't volunteering. Jesca bored her gaze into her for a full minute before moving on.

The restored audience room she addressed them in was perched on the eastern side of the high city and caught the cooling breeze of the sea, barely visible on the horizon. A fine carpet covered most of the floor, hiding the damaged mosaic underneath. They hadn't quite got around to replacing the looted tiles of previous metals. There had been too many other priorities. A strand of red hair floated down across Jesca's face. With irritation she launched herself to her feet, balancing the ceremonial sword somewhat indecorously over one shoulder and pushed her hair back with her other hand. Her armor glittered magical light as she paced up and down, its freedom of motion betraying its extreme workmanship; its soundless operation betraying its magical enhancement.

"I appeal to your patriotism", she said, giving another long look at the general in the insignia of the 22nd army. "Would you let the empire fall into another interregnum after only two rulers?" The coarse features of his Orcish face didn't move as he, too, stared fixedly ahead. The deepening light glittered over the carpet of battle ribbons decorating his dress uniform. Since their conquest and adsorption into the Empire, Orcs had turned their endless rivalries and violence into ostentatious dress. The presentation of tokens commemorating acts of bravery and honor directed their competitive behavior into more positive ends. This General would not be a popular choice initially, but Jesca knew his aggressive support and loyalty was more than lip service. Except for now, when she needed him to be first into the breach.

"Fie on you all!" Jesca swore in exasperation. "Half the successions of the First Empire were from various generals fighting each other for the throne. And here, I can't even give it away!" The irony confounded her. She had not wanted the throne in the first place. The emotion of the moment had caught her up and she failed to resist everyone's endorsement. It was supposed to have been temporary.

"Surely, Majestus, you aren't urging your generals to civil war?" The voice was deep and smooth in a manner that many misinterpreted as fawning. The Dwarf stood apart from the generals but not quite against the wall with the servants and staff. His clothes were well tailored, but unadorned. Jesca snorted in annoyance, but paid him no other heed as he continued. "The first empire was littered with tyrants and despots ripe for overthrowing and opportunistic commanders looking to grab their own glory. You are a just and fair ruler. Your generals are loyal and your subjects love you."

"Five years", said Jesca unheeding, cutting off the Dwarf. "General Scioni recommended five year reigns. With succession to competent non-blood relations." She walked up and down glaring at them. Those words were straight from his will. The same will in which he posthumously recommended her to be his successor. "Strongly. He recommended it very strongly." She caught the eye of one of the few generals who wasn't staring ahead. She wore the insignia of the 31st army. One of the reinstated Amazon armies. When she saw Jesca watching, a wash of emotions passed over her face. Desire, fear, hunger and insecurity. Jesca looked away and the general dropped her eyes. The commander of the other Amazon army was nothing like the first. Her ambition was only superseded by her insecurity. She, probably alone, actually wanted the job. But she, also probably alone, didn't have the guts to step forward. The rest just had too much loyalty.

"It's not like it's hard", said the Queen shrugging and continued her pacing. The sword shifted to an even more casual angle. "The Empire nearly runs itself." She continued on in a lower voice "Now that the slaughter is over." She couldn't remember the last time she had spent a sleepless night over a critical decision. Almost everything now was reacting to other events. And the reactions had become so formulaic, that everyone knew what to do. The only sleepless nights she had were from the repercussions of critical decisions long past.

" Majestus", began the deep voice again.

"Is that a volunteer?" she asked, interrupting him, but not looking at him. "I'll do it", she said, defiantly addressing the generals. "I'll give the spymaster the throne." There was some uncomfortable shifting. No one liked the spymaster. She didn't particularly like him either. But he had his role and his share of glorious mistakes too. It was a threat that might work.

"I would not accept", said the dwarf resolutely. She looked at him in annoyance as the shifting settled. "I could not hope to do as good a job as you have done; given the circumstances." She paced up and down, not looking at anyone. Circumstances, indeed. The circumstances she had inherited were well beyond what anyone could handle. The best she could hope for was to share the burden with all those loyal to the cause of Romitu. But that didn't seem to be how everyone else saw it.

"As you say, Majestus", the Dwarf continued. "The Empire mostly runs itself. If we have no candidates and no discontent with your rule is it so bad to continue?" She sighed heavily but did not stop pacing. No one would speak. No one would volunteer. Just the spymaster, who spoke honeyed words to preserve the status quo. Could no one see the danger of that? To walk the same path over and over lead to complacency and death. Would it be a hundred years after their fall that historians would work out when the fatal moment was?

"Take some time. Walk amongst your subjects. All is not as dark as it may seem." the Dwarf concluded hopefully.

"Is there no one in this room fit to rule?" she shouted, stopping before the throne. Her words echoed from the walls, but were quickly damped by the rich carpet on the floor. She stood, glaring at them all. The light of the sinking crept across the floor until she was left a silhouette against the sky. The silence stretched on. "Then may the gods that are left have pity on us."

## Chapter 2

### Imperial Chambers

Queen Jesca strode at pace through the corridors of the palace in the high city. Although her stature was not tall, her pace was fast enough to keep her entourage struggling to stay abreast. Staff in the midst of drawing the shutters against the night and lighting the lamps drew back as she passed.

She had shed the Sword of State to its appropriate keeper but remained dressed in her highly ornate armor. It did not inhibit her progress in the least bit. "My horse, a few lances, provisions. The normal kit for reconnaissance."

"Yes, my Queen", said the man to her right. He was a head taller than her and similarly, although not as ornately, armored. His hand rested easily on his sword and his eyes continually moved around their area as they moved. Every turn he treated as a suspect, every dark corner a threat. Staff were scrutinized, sorted, and placed into updated tactical scenarios. But even so, he was fully intent on her words. "I presume you mean your field horse and not your winged horse."

"Yes, Clive" Jesca nodded. "I'd rather fly, but she can't carry as much and needs more specialized fodder." To fly would be great. Up, above the world. All her cares would seem much smaller. Nothing but natural challenges to overcome with skill.

"Not to mention being a big target", said the woman to her left. She was the same height as the man, but wore no armor and carried no visible weapon other than a large black bow slung over her back. "I don't trust the misdirection magic we've placed on the saddle. It's good enough for our scouts but not for a high quality target like you." Her eyes did not track as closely as her counterpart. But her stance and poise painted her no less wary.

"Thank you for your concern, Phyllis", said Jesca, "I take it there isn't much point in asking you to let me ride this out solo?" Her masters of personal and household security were good. The best. They had been honed by Scioni himself and knew their jobs well. Too well to let her do anything foolish, no matter how ordered.

"None at all", said Clive. Phyllis pursed her lips at even the suggestion as she nodded her agreement. "We would be derelict in our duty if we did. Even more so than..."

"Don't start", said Jesca harshly. Scioni's assassination had hit them hard. Even now the lengths they went through to overprotect her were a shadow of that. But what killed him had surprised everyone. She was tired of them beating themselves up over it. "You couldn't have stopped it, only perished along with The General."

"We'll never know", said Phyllis philosophically. "But it's not an excuse to slack now."

"We'll be discreet", said Clive in answer to Jesca's glare.

Jesca snorted derisively and figured it was the best she could hope for. She swept into her apartments. Clearly the room was not originally intended as a residence. Water was supplied in jars, not the usual pipes. There was no under floor heating, or the hot and cold baths so favored by previous potentates. They had all been decommissioned and sold for scrap as autocratic luxuries went out of fashion during the interregnum. Not that fashion didn't stop some of the more portable ornaments ending up with highly placed members of the Republic's leadership.

The room was one large space partitioned into smaller ones with free standing wooden partitions covered and linked by curtains. Maps, documents and food were spread out amongst benches and large chests stored what wasn't needed immediately. It bore more of a resemblance to an army tent than a royal residence. But that suited Jesca just fine. At least half of her reign had been spent in tents leading the army. First in securing her throne, and more lately against those who just wouldn't accept that she had secured it.

She grabbed an apple from a table near the door and bit into it, holding it with her mouth as she unlimbered her personal sword. Phyllis and Clive moved in to help her with the armor. Amongst the ornate embellishments were the straps and buckles that did the mundane work of keeping it in place. As it was a showpiece, no expense was spared and with the smallest effort of will, Jesca could command them to unstrap. To avoid an ungainly cascade of very expensive equipment it was better that each layer was helped free. When all the pieces were removed and propped up on its stand Phyllis and Clive bent to work on her boots.

"Thank you", she said, more calmly once her feet were free. The cold floor felt refreshing on her soles as did the night breeze on the simple under tunic she had left. She bowed formally to them while sitting. "I have no more need of the masters of my personal and household security."

The retinue took this as their signal to leave. One by one they gathered any dirty linen, food scraps, and miscellaneous regalia; each according to their function. They filled out of the room in good order, Phyllis and Clive flanking the door and saluting at the last. They closed the door but remained on the inside. They relaxed and no longer stood at attention.

"Not one!" said Jesca again, shaking her head and finishing her apple in large, angry bites. Small pieces of apple stuck to her tunic and juice made her face shine. She threw the core violently into a newly emptied bin.

"Are you really surprised?" said Phyllis gently.

"Oh Mother!" said Jesca. "I had hoped." She sagged in her chair and wiped her face with the end of her sleeve.

Clive shrugged, hefted himself onto the table and picked up a bunch of grapes. "Your mother and I tried to retire once. Didn't work out so well." He studiously picked individual grapes, chewed each one, and delicately spit the seeds into his palm and placed them on the corner of the plate on the table.

"Yes", said Jesca shortly, "I've heard the story. How I was abducted from the womb as leverage for your continued service to a tyrant and how we owe everything to The General for his patronage in getting you out of that spiral and into this one."

"He was a great man. Service to him was never coerced. He gave with both hands freely, and we gave in return willingly", said Clive. And after a pause, "And now he's gone." He continued to laboriously eat the grapes. "He taught you what we could not. Gave you more opportunities to learn than we ever could. You are a great woman because of it. People see him in you."

"But I'm not him", she protested. "Not even close." Scioni was brilliant. As a General, as a Statesman, and even as a mentor. No matter the problem, no matter how intractable the argument, he had a way of finding a solution that, once stated, seemed so obvious and in everyone's interest that all parties followed willingly.

Such solutions did not come so easily to Jesca. She tried to emulate him, but found herself resorting to the force of her sword, her armies and her position. She had done many things she was not proud of. Things Scioni would never have done because he wouldn't have needed to. But in her blindness they had been the only paths she could see. She took them and laid the burdens of them on her soul.

"People see what they want to see" Clive concluded, carefully placing the stems from the grapes back on the plate. "They want to see him in you, so they do. And there isn't a thing you can do about it."

Jesca slumped in her chair, her hands over her face.

"I know you are going to say it's not fair", said Phyllis, putting her arm around her. "This isn't chivalry, this is government. There's too much at stake. Too many people. Every nation we touch. Even our entire species. Even, allegedly, the end of the world." Phyllis looked over at Clive. "All your father and I wanted to do was retire and raise you in peace. We dispersed our mercenaries, cashed out, and found a nice farm out of the way. We almost went back even after Scioni rescued you. But by that point we knew what he was setting out to do. And that the world needed it. You are too good a person to let it all drop because of personal inconvenience. No more than your father and myself in our turn."

Jesca sighed and rubbed her forehead. "No one is going to step up as long as they know I won't step down." Jesca gently punched one hand with her fist. "They're right too. I won't step down without a worthy successor. I'll keep doing it till it kills me." She hauled herself up out of her chair and gently hugged her mother. Clive came over and put one hand on her shoulder. "You'll have to show me that farm someday", she said. "But I don't think it will be anytime soon. You raised me too well."

## Chapter 3

### A fight on a road

The morning was bright. The sun shone clear over the deserted countryside. A few run down dwellings could be seen on either side of the road but a lack of smoke indicated their emptiness. Grain grew wild in the rich, fallow lands. Eight figures moved slowly along the verge, grabbing ripe stalks, rubbing the chaff from them for a coarse, uncooked breakfast. They wore chain hauberks in good condition, straight swords scabbarded and shields slung for the march. One figure, on horseback, approached them unawares.

The horse was fine boned and light footed, as it cantered its way towards the soldiers. Only the lightest of armor could be seen beneath its flowing mantle. The rider wore a surcoat in matching imperial colors, with plumes and ribbons sprouting from all surfaces. The horse's footfalls were light and the rider approached quietly, closely, before the soldiers, intent on their breakfast, started to notice. He then rose up in his stirrups, spurred the horse to the gallop, brandished his sabre, and gave a high voiced battle cry.

The soldiers hardly had time to assess before the knight collided into their unit. The horse shouldered them aside as they struggled to free their swords from their scabbards, bring their shields to bear and take direction from their leader. The rider sidestepped his horse to the right and swept his sword up against one as the soldier tried to stagger backwards. The blade skittered up the hauberk, seeking purchase over the gorget on his neck. None was found by the time the stroke ended, so the rider leaned further from the saddle, gaining reach, keeping the tip of the sword in that precarious place. Like a coiled snake, when he had gained enough leverage, he let it loose, thrusting up betwixt gorget and helm. Something less than steel gave, and the knight drew back, regaining a steady mounting. No matter how great or small the wound, that soldier would not return to this battle.

Another soldier had freed their sword to the rider's left, and used the space that had opened there to raise a cry and charge. But his footing was unsure, and the sun was against him, and with his shield halfway between slung for travel and bound tight for defense, he had but his sword and his courage to defend him. The rider feinted a thrust from above, but crouched in the stirrups, bringing the blade easily around the soldier's, and connected with a solid thrust through his face grill, likewise removing him from consideration.

The downed soldier's bravado had bought the others some breathing space and they were collecting themselves. The horse swung back as they formed up. Dropping the reigns, the rider brought his shield to the fore, slowly circling. When his path intersected that of the road, he bore down suddenly upon them. No longer surprised, the soldier's training kicked in and they did not bolt. So the rider turned aside at the last.

With his legs he guided the horse around and swiftly returned, passing again on the same side of them, though this time with his sword foremost. The greater reach, height and momentum of the rider exposed the soldiers far more than the knight and another solder was nearly brought down with the blow delivered in passing.

Taking a much longer run at them, the knight positioned himself in classic cavalier pose. Leaned out over the neck of the steed, arm extended the curve of the sabre bringing it perfectly down to eye level and pointed straight forward. He grinned as he closed and the soldiers mustered their mettle to stay put. There is no harder thing to stand one's ground in the face of a cavalry charge. The rider's sword pointed to a target but in the last instant of the charge it switched. Their flinch as the hooves thundered close was enough to hide the action and the blow struck true. As the rider wheeled back around, there were only five left.

As the horse trotted around again, the soldiers moved off the road, to rockier ground. The knight noted this and dipped his sword in salute to them. It was a smart move; not an easy traverse for a horse. He walked the horse off the road as well, just out of the soldier's sight. He slid from the saddle and tethered the horse in a thicket. The cover was good so he found a convenient rock to perch upon, letting it support the weight of the armor and resting shield against the ground.

Combat is all about marshaling your stamina. Healthy or weak, you only have so much energy. You can expend it quickly and flamboyantly in an attempt to decisively win. Or you can take it slow and steady, and hope your opponent wears faster. Each is right in the right circumstance. The knight rested in partial shade while they stood alert in the sun.

After enough time for the knight's heart to slow down, he heard their hesitant movement. By the noise, they had made the smart decision not to send a single person to check it out, but to move as one. They were well trained indeed.

In one motion the knight burst from the thicket hard upon them. His shield overbore the nearest on his left, confusing their close formation. The opponent to his right was caught between holding formation and bringing sword to bear against him. In direct contact with the knight managed to get his elbow past the inside of the shield of the hesitant one on the right. That was it for him. The leverage was all the knight's and it was a simple matter to prize his shield back to give room to bring the sword around in a close circle, pivoting on the elbow first up from under, and then down from above, seeking concussive force where his mail was strong and cutting force where it was not. A good slice to his inner arm drove care of the battle from the soldier's mind, and, as he fell, the knight took the opportunity to quickly do a step and thrust at the, yet unprepared, comrade behind the soldier. A lucky shot to his groin also brought him down.

The knight's position was no longer viable. The shield charge had disrupted the soldiers, but they were well back to their footing now and clearly had the advantage over their single opponent. So he withdrew slightly faster than they advanced. One soldier led, though, less hesitant than the other two and not aware of the increasing gap. Before he could be called back in line by the others the knight stayed his retreat and engaged him hard. From low to high he tested the extremes of the soldier's defense; aggressive enough that his own offense was token. Breaking pattern the knight repeated a second high attack, winning over his shield and glancing against his helm. This was enough of a distraction to bring the momentum back in a backhand shot on his sword side, which bypassed all defenses. The solder's breath rushed out with the crack of a rib. The knight withdrew.

The wounded man sat heavily and the others came up about him. The knight backed to a nearby tree and leaned his weight upon it. Any opportunity to let something else bear the weight of the armor was an advantage, for it preserved stamina. The wounded man made a brave attempt to regain his feet, but the pain was too much and he subsided, wheezing. The other two gave up and directed their attention to the knight once more.

The soldier's commander was left handed, and the two formed up with a shield to either side. There were no words to be had. The soldier's numbers were much fewer than the start, but the odds were mostly unchanged.

They came on at last, though in a carefully measured pace, no headlong assault. The two sides exchanged tentative blows at range, testing defenses but accomplishing little. The knight pressed them once in close. Using their own shields as a defense in addition to his own. But everyone's defense was too high to get a direct blow in. It was largely a stalemate. The knight feinted high to bring their shields up, and while they had blinded themselves, tried to roll around their flank. But they quickly turned, reversing the facing of their small unit. The knight withdrew once more.

They stood for a while. The knight had found his tree again, and they stood, resolute. The man with the cracked rib had managed to get out of his armor, and lay wheezing; occasionally hurling abuse at the knight and encouragement to his comrades.

Once the knight caught his breath, waiting was to no advantage. He pushed off from the tree and strode determinedly at them. They braced and the three engaged again. High and low they fought, over the mutual barriers of their shields. Strength ebbed on both sides, and the battle became almost a caricature. Shields drooped lower from effort, though swords struck lighter, failing to gain advantage from it. Breath came heavy and neither side had time for shouts or even brief instructions. Sweat flowed from all pores as the morning threatened noon. The left handed one parried wide, and the knight struggled to bring his blade around to take the opening. The sword managed to get in, but lacked the pressure to press upon his shoulder to any effect. The right handed one brought his shield down, pinning the sword. Stupefied by his exhaustion, he failed to realize the knight's position and merely flailed at his shield with his sword. The knight sucked what breath he could and shield punched him in the face. That sent him staggering back and sitting heavily, freeing the knight's sword. The other soldier backed away, alarmed at the split. The knight staggered towards him and nearly on top of him as he backed over something unexpected and went down.

The knight's coup de grace was barely token, and unworthily did the job to a skilled opponent. His comrade just shook his head as he approached, all but spent. The knight swept his shield with his foot and finished the job with the same lack of grace. It was over.

## Chapter 4

### Oaths

"Huzzah, Sir Valkyr", cried a fresh voice as the Knight pulled off his helm and, panting, pushed sweat from his eyes trying to see. The image of a horse and rider shimmered through his blurry eyesight. It was a white horse of quality and well commanded, based on how still it stood. The rider's armor glinted in the sunlight with red plumes dancing on the crest. He couldn't make out the face through the pushed up visor, but the coat of arms on the shield slung from the saddle was unmistakable.

"Majestus?" he said, questioningly and then quickly bent his knee. He had no idea why his monarch would be out on this dusty road in no-man's land but it wouldn't be the strangest coincidence in his life. Not by far.

"Enough of that", Jesca laughed, dismounting easily and raising him up again. He felt this was somewhat inappropriate, but lacked the energy and wits to protest. "By the bodies piled up, you've been quite about your duty enough to be afforded a little less etiquette." She pulled a water skin from her horse and doused him liberally with it.

"Unh", he said, trying to protest. "My liege!" A helping hand was one thing, being hosed down by your Queen was quite another. Besides, that water was magically chill.

"Fie", Jesca admonished. "Campaign rules. No formality. Just Jesca and Coral. Like it used to be. Sit against the tree here." She steered him into the shade, although he was still clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He slid down the trunk until he hit bottom. Often it had been the other was around. He was the minder and she was the tag-along kid. Too eager and unaware of risk. Burning through her energy too quickly. But she kept her side of the bargain and made sure she wasn't a drag on the unit's efficiency, and he kept his side and didn't send her back to the camp followers. Ironic now that she was administering his own lessons. "I'll assess the battlefield", said Jesca and left him to the shade.

Fatigue and deja vu made him fuzzy and he popped all the straps of his armor and let it hang loose. He found the water skin and drank liberally from it. Blearily he watched as Jesca grunted, dragging the nearest bodies to him, stopping to bind the one with the chest wound first. After a few whistles and cries she found Coral's horse and used the two horses to drag the rest.

"Eight felled", said Jesca when the last was accounted for. She sat heavily next to Coral and pushed some stray sweaty strands of hair back in place. He passed her the water skin and she pulled heavily from it. "Quite impressive", she said, gesturing to the lined up figures. "I only saw the end as I approached otherwise I would have helped."

"Then I apologize!" said Coral. "That was the worst of the fighting. I am ashamed. It was not worthy of a knight of the empire!"

"Fie", she admonished again. "I read the rest of the battle from the positions of the bodies." She gave a quick review of the combat as she had interpreted it. Coral corrected a few points, but for the most part Jesca read it right. "I maintain it was quite impressive. Well worthy of a knight." There was a string of expletives from the wounded soldier that distracted them. "Hmm. We should deal with the wounded."

Coral placed her hand on the hilt of her pommel and concentrated briefly. "I only have five souls accounted for. I can take them for processing when I report in again."

"Let's triage the rest", said Jesca standing and then helping Coral stiffly to his feet. She nudged a body with her foot. "This one died of his wounds. His soul has gone beyond. We'll have to tag the body to send it back for processing", she moved to another one lying prone. "He's still alive, but is pretty far gone. I'd say it would be kindest to send him on his way. But if we're ordering pickup for the other, they might as well take him as well. Which leaves..." the sitting captive spat at her. She side stepped the spittle. "Well, at least I'm here personally and can administer the oath."

Jesca directed herself to the captive. He had been stripped down to his gambeson which was stained with dirt and blood. He glared at her sullenly through his sweat plastered hair. "Sir", she said. "Do you know who I am?"

He glowered at her. "Some imperial dog", he grunted. "Doesn't matter." The cast of his face and his accent marked him as a local to Coral. His haircut, callused hands, and tattoos marked him as a professional. Probably a mercenary. Maybe even an actual soldier from the defeated Republic. Their enemy's troops ran the gauntlet from summoned magical creatures to impressed citizens.

"I am Queen Jesca, Emperor of Romitu, ruler of the civilized world." The solder looked surprised, but quickly masked it with defiance. "Our policy is mercy to even those who stand against us. You must, however, swear an oath of magic upon my sword, never to take up arms against the Empire, give succor to enemies of the state, nor work against our interests, under threat of the pangs. Do you understand?"

"I have seen the pangs", he said gruffly, eyes narrowed. "A good man I fought with could not even pick up his sword no more without it burning him. He had to beg for a living after that. I'll not swear your oath." Coral sympathized with the man. The Oath was, they hoped, something to turn the tide of the war. They had been lenient on people forced to take up arms against them. But too many times they had returned to fight them again. This was a humane method of taking them off the battlefield permanently. Except for the professional soldiers. Then you were taking the livelihood away from them. As a man of the sword Coral did, indeed, sympathize. But not enough to think twice about doing something that might end a war that should have been over long ago.

Jesca looked down at him sadly. "Be aware the alternative is to die by my sword. Your Soul will be taken and revived later, and bound by the same magical oath." He looked at her dubiously.

Coral, free of his armor, came over. He had unlimbered the wineskin from his horse and offered the wounded man some. He did not refuse. "You fought brave and valiantly today", Coral said graciously, and meant it. Many would have lost their head at the beginning, where they appeared to have overwhelming odds, or at the end when they appeared to be overwhelmed. "It was but luck that you are my prisoner and I am not yours. Clearly you have spent much of your life learning this profession to be so skilled. We have need of soldiers like you. The oath does not prevent you practicing your art on our behalf."

The soldier looked at Coral long and hard. "You aren't human", he said suspiciously.

Self-consciously Coral brushed his sweaty hair from his ears. They were slightly upswept. He hadn't been entirely expecting that. It was hardly noticeable among the Empire's Armies, where Amazons brushed shoulders with Orcs. If this fellow was from the countryside he had probably never seen an Elf before, nor a half-Elf. "Nor am I entirely Elfin", Coral answered, and slipped into proselytizing mode. "But my loyalty is entirely to the Empire. They accept all, forgive all, and work for the betterment of all. Please join us! I would be glad to fight alongside of you rather than against you."

The soldier shook his head. "I've got family. The Romitu Republic isn't forgiving of turncoats. Either way your oath will kill them."

"Damn the bastards", swore Jesca, stamping her foot. "Coercing service by threatening civilians is despicable. There is no honor in this war anymore."

Coral was disgusted. There were many low points in this war. This wasn't the lowest, but it was down there with the rest. It was the sort of thing that should be stood against. Fortunately, that was his job. He went down on one knee to bring his eyes level with the soldier's and put his hand on his shoulder. "I will swear you this. If you will take our oath and fight loyally for our Queen I will, personally, seek out your family and bring them under our protection, with eight acres of good land as pension."

The soldier's eyes widened. The intent was clear in Coral's face. No one would boast idly in front of their Queen.

Jesca drew her sword. "I swear this too", she said, taking them both aback. "The sword you swear upon will be that which liberates your family."

"Majestus!" protested Coral. "You have an empire to run! Leave such things to your knight errant!" In his eyes she had become that child again, pledging her sword to capture the hill he had just vowed to win.

Jesca shrugged. "I'm on furlough. The Empire is covered. If this is a task worthy of The Queen's Champion's time then it is a task worth of The Queen's time." She placed the blade to the earth and her right hand on the pommel. Wisps of magelight eddied from the sword, barely visible in the high Sun. Her stature seemed to increase, her eyes to glow, and her armor shine. Coral had seen this many times. But being a loyal solder of Romitu, it still always moved her when the Majestus descended upon her. "Sirrah", Jesca said. "Will you so swear?" Coral put his hand on the Queen's.

The soldier stared at her, awed. Hesitantly he lifted his hand to the sword as well, and stumbling, was lead through The Oath.

## Chapter 5

### Journey

Jesca and Coral trotted down the road together. The heat of the day had passed and the breeze of their passage kept them cool. Coral reported the details of the campaign and Jesca reported the details of court. Occasionally Jesca looked over her shoulder back to where they had left the solder and his fallen comrades.

"If you are so concerned for him we should have stayed for pickup!" laughed Coral. This was, technically, no-man's land, but so much was. The enemy had no specific stronghold. No finite territory. Just sympathizers that seemed to erupt from nowhere to continue to fight, and plenty of malcontents who agitated for the sake of it. But there was no force in the area that might hazard those they had left. Nor was the prisoner, no convert, in any condition to flee.

Jesca smiled. "He'll be fine judging by the stars in his eyes." She'd seen it more than a thousand times before. First from Scioni, now from her. She patted the pommel of her sword. "Sometimes I wish I could be as inspirational without magical help." The stone that decorated the pommel had once dwelt in an heirloom called the Ring of Kings. It was claimed to have been crafted for the first Emperor, and there were paintings to prove it. However, given the first Emperor founded the first Academy of Magic, it seems unlikely that they could craft such a wonder that long ago. More likely the provenance of those paintings was questionable.

Although its origin was murky, it became much more widely known in the later Empire. Its rumored disappearance from the last Emperor hastened his downfall, although he himself claimed not to bear it in deference to his detractor's claims that he was magically compelling obedience. After he eventually succumbed, either to the infighting, endless assassination attempts, or poison, no one was really clear; its failure to turn up in a successor's hand was one peal of the death knell of the Empire. Street sellers hawked replicas in the forum to tourists for years afterwards, claiming each was genuine.

Coral clicked his tongue. "I remind you once again that the magic in that gem is an _amplifier_. It would have no effect if you weren't an inspired leader." He looked over at her, judging her mood. "Remember", he said softly. "There was a point at which it didn't work."

"I'd rather not be reminded", said Jesca, not meeting his eyes.

"The point is", continued Coral, "you found your heart again. You won the people's faith again. And that's when it started working again."

Jesca smiled grimly. "Nevertheless. It seems a bit dishonest."

"It's just faster", said Coral. "You can't amplify what doesn't exist. There is nothing you can do with it that you can't do without it. Just with more time."

"Fine", laughed Jesca. "I'll use a stick next time." She looked over her shoulder again. Turns obscured the road for much behind them and the dust of their passage dwindled quickly. "Sorry. It's not our new comrade. It is just I know I'm being watched. I'd like to maintain the illusion of freedom, and would rather not know how closely I'm followed, but neither can I seem to resist trying to work it out."

"Hah!" laughed Coral. "Look no further. Your minder is here! I was given that duty this morning." He beamed over at her apologetically.

Jesca looked sidelong at him. "It can't be that simple. There will be more. They don't like taking chances." She sighed. No one was going to let her die. Too many people were very happy for her to be exactly where she was. "But at least with you this close, it means that anyone else will probably be more subtle than I'm going to see." She looked back ahead. They rode quietly for a while. After a time she said, "I wish I knew where we were going."

Coral snapped his fingers and pointed down the road. "We'll catch up with the 12th army in an hour or so. They'll have a strategic gate we can use to jump to your new subject's home village. A quick rescue, a quick resettlement, and, ka-ching, it's another quest accomplished."

Laughing, Jesca shook her head. "Yeah, the tactical road is clear. I mean strategically."

"Ah", said Coral. "The campaign." He stroked his chin. "We continue to fight. Each combatant we issue The Oath to is one less that can ever fight us again. They'll run out at some point if they don't run out of what they are coercing them with first. The summoned armies continue to be an issue but the strategic mana reserve has been reinforced and we should be able to more than counter any magical attack."

Jesca laughed again, a little more hollowly. "Yes, all of that is well in hand." It was wonderful inheriting a well-trained army. They all knew their job, and could be trusted to do it once delegated to. That took care of the easy decisions. The difficult ones were still left up to her. "But what of our war with the gods? The end of the world, the fate of Souls, and all those other things the Grey Elves have obscurely hinted at. That is what troubles me."

Coral shrugged and bowed in his saddle modestly. "That is beyond a simple soldier like me."

"Not so fast." She had expected this. And she would have let anyone else away with it. But not Coral. "You serve two masters. The other one was instrumental in the first cataclysm, the one that almost but didn't quite end the world. She was a comrade to those we now call gods, and has made pacts in the past with the Grey Elves." She crossed her arms and smiled challengingly at him. "That puts you well ahead of the category of 'simple soldier'."

Coral looked uncomfortable. "She directs me to fight for the Empire. And so I do." Being in fealty to two separate masters was occasionally difficult. There had been no conflict so far. But with any two entities as powerful as those he served, the future was never certain. He trod carefully.

"She also directs you to think for yourself", Jesca prodded. "Not to blindly follow. These problems are not mine alone. They bind her too. It behooves you to think about them. For both our sakes."

They rode on in silence for a bit. Coral bit his lip, pondering. "Nuance", he said finally. "The Elves of this word are all about nuance. As much as you might accuse me, a mixed blood child of mixed blood parents for several generations, of being indirect, that does not compare to Elves of true blood. And that's just Elves of Romitu. Those still in their homeland are completely enmeshed in a culture of subtle innuendo and inference. I've met none of them, but I can extrapolate. The Lady I serve came from a mixed culture, but she's had a few thousand years of introspection to beat out her comrades by at least an order of magnitude." He shook his head.

"What's she like?" asked Jesca. "I've only met her formally. Does she even meet people informally? Does she even give you orders? Or does she just raise her eyebrow a certain way?"

"Don't even joke", said Coral. He shook his head. "It's hard to explain. But, yes, I confess, there are times where she does nothing but look at me as I stumble and blurt through any update I have for her. My woeful inadequacies become abundantly clear to me in so doing and I slink away afterward knowing what I need to do next."

Jesca laughed. "I'll have to try that at the next meeting of the high command."

"Humiliation aside, that's the point I was driving towards", said Coral. "The Grey Elves are as much beyond her as she is beyond me."

Jesca snorted. "Yes, well, that Grey Elf does seem to think it just takes a wink and a nudge to communicate how we should avoid a second cataclysm and bring the world to good order." She shook her head. "We both know that doesn't help with either tactical or strategic planning. So what does this insight teach us?" she asked.

Coral watched the clouds. Although they seemed to be stately ships moving across the sky, if you watched them intently enough it was clear that they changed shape as much as they moved. The vista was continuously changing, even if you could keep pace with them. "Perhaps whatever it is they are up to, they have plainly told us, but only from their perspective. Somewhere in the depths of meaning of their communication lies their plan. It is just obscure, to us, because of the nuance."

## Chapter 6

### Midnight Rendezvous

Thin moonlight bathed the hill in a watery light. On the crest stood the tactical gate, the tri-form arch of its structure a shadow against the stars. An encampment and perimeter surrounded it, divided into lanes and holding areas, to organize forces traveling through it should a maneuver be required. A pair of soldiers patrolled the edge, their eyes glinting cat-like from night vision magic. A colorful tent was pitched on the edge, just within the perimeter, with a shield prominently displaying the coat of arms of the Champion of Romitu. Two figures stood in the shadows nearby.

"That's what we know", said the shorter of the two figures. His hood was thrown back leaving his head visible, and the rest of his body cloaked in thick, shimmering shadows. The Dwarf spymaster stroked his beard and considered the Half-Elf. He did not like Valkyr. But, then, he didn't like much of anyone. Valkyr had his good points, but these were offset in the tally book the Spymaster kept by his untrusted allegiance to his second master.

Sir Valkyr looked down formally upon the dwarf. "Thank you most kindly." He omitted the 'sir'. The Dwarf was not officially in the armed forces, so it was not strictly necessary. Sometimes it was worth making the distinction. He knew the spymaster was too calculating to take the omission personally. He might even take it as a sign that Coral knew the rules of protocol to such a fine grain to not pad his language with unnecessary pleasantries. There was no way of telling. "I will endeavor to use the opportunity to glean the information you desire. Within, of course, the limitations of protecting Majestus."

"Of course, of course", said the Dwarf. "That, of course, is preeminent." He was neutral on the personage of the Queen. But she was the physical projection of the Empire. And he had sworn an oath to serve that to her predecessor. His death did not erase that. If anything it magnified it from being just to Scioni in person to the Empire at large, and all its interests. His loyalties were not divided. To that point he continued, "At least as long as your patron so directs you."

A wry smile passed Sir Valkyr's lips. He nodded. "I assure you, if that were to change, you would have full notice and I would return Majestus to safe keeping before taking up any new duties." The Dwarf nodded in his turn. Chivalry was a nebulous thing, subject to widely different interpretations. The spy master did not trust it. But, like people, there was little he trusted. It was a two sided blade, and it just became important which side of the blade you cut with. There was silence a while. Coral continued more quietly, "I know it makes you uncomfortable not to know the entire motives of all of the players in the field. It gives me pause, as well, to not see the full plan of my patron. From her character, though, I am assured of her good intentions."

The Dwarf pulled his beard. He did not doubt the intent of Sir Valkyr, just his ability to see past the surface. "It is not difficult to project the facade you want someone to see", the Spymaster said. "It's a skill like any other. She's had plenty of time to learn."

"And I respect that, as a professional, you know the heights to which that skill can raise." Coral squatted down lower, bringing his eyes down to the level of the Dwarf. He knew, as Spymaster, he was completely immune to intimidation, and approaching him on the level would not ease his suspicions. But he hoped it made a statement of what Coral's intent was. "You've moved amongst the high and low society of Romitu. You've run interference for those seeking the royal presence for both beneficial and self-serving purposes." Coral thought for a moment, composing himself. "With the recent upheavals, there's no shortage of people, newly come into wealth, striving for attention. They strut and parade like peacocks waving their plumage so all can see they are wealthy and thus, they presume, important." The Dwarf followed the conversation intently, but did not nod or give acknowledgment. "And then there are those from old families. Whether current events have left them further enriched or destitute, they carry themselves the same. Their accoutrements are well made, well fitted, and of high quality. They present themselves with confidence, not arrogance. They do not seek to impress, because they've lived their lives assuming they will impress. I've seen you observe. You are a professional at telling the difference." At this the Dwarf nodded. "I cannot claim your mastery, but I am aware of the language. My patron carries herself with the bearing of someone of such immense power, that they no longer are even aware of that power or the gulf it puts between them and others. She just assumes it as her mantle, with no effort expended to project it. She impresses because she does not try to impress." Coral shook his head. "As you have studied, you know the Elfin language is not just verbal. With all that time on their hands, body language and gesture form an integral part of their grammar. Shades of that linger amongst the half-bloods, and I am sensitive to it, although most of it passes over my head. Every glance, every nod... just the way she stands... My patron shouts her stature without even trying."

The Dwarf nodded again. This was not new. It was just a question of degree. It didn't change anything. He said, "But, as you have acknowledged, I have made a study of gesture and portrayal. I have circulated, as you say, and blended in with high and low. What she projects is a skill that can be learned."

"I have seen you in action", said Coral levelly, acknowledging his point. "You present a most impressive facade. Everything you say is possible. She may, indeed, not have our best interests foremost. But if that is the case, and she is willing to go through this much effort to deceive us to her ends, then I fear all the forces we could bring to bear could not deflect her."

"That is my fear too", he replied. This was the core of the problem. With someone who can do almost anything, there is no basis for trust. There is nothing they need from you. There is nothing you can do to affect their plans. And, when their plans are secret, there is no point of leverage at all.

Coral stood up and laughed quietly. "That relieves me." The Dwarf looked skeptically at him. "No, really. I do not say these things to try to convince you of her honorable intentions. Your job, in protecting the Queen we both serve, is to look for the hidden daggers, to trust no one, and to advise her accordingly." He touched the Dwarf's shoulder gently. "My job is out in the open. And, as such, my duties are not just physical protection, but the projection of protection. I am a flamboyant, visible example not just of her protection, but of those who protect her. Because the light is on me, it is part of my duty to be more honorable than pragmatic, more noble than practical, to set a standard that others will be held to, and thus raise the quality of all those protecting her. I cannot guard her back because I must stand in front of her, and not behind her. That's what you do. You are my counterpart. You operate from the shadows. You look for hidden meaning behind kind words, the feints behind the noble gestures, and the poison in the cup. And, for that, you bear the brunt of suspicion yourself, the lack of trust, the disapproval of court." He removed his hand and smiled wryly down at the Dwarf. "I am luckier in that my job is one that seems to impress people. But know this: I value what you do and consider it as important as what I do. I want you to distrust those I trust. I say these things to explain my own actions, not to guide you in yours." Coral gave him a saluting gesture.

The Dwarf bowed slightly. "Thank you for your words. I will bear them in mind." These too did not change anything. It was an Elven trait to be well spoken. These words were well rehearsed, and the effort was worth acknowledging. Their meaning was most likely true, as he felt Valkry was most likely on the level. But those who manipulated him were not, and so, although well intended, they could not be taken entirely at face value.

"From you I'll take faint praise", said Coral, smiling. He knew the Dwarf didn't believe him. Not with his calculating mind. But that's how his mind had been constructed. His heart, however, was not part of anyone's design. Coral hoped that at some point how his heart felt about it would make the difference. "However, now I must take your leave, and bid you good night."

They both moved off in their separate directions.

## Chapter 7

### Office Politics

The general of the 31st army strode down the corridors of the under palace with determination. She wore her simple battle uniform and not the ornate dress one from the court assembly. Her quick pace was measured by the percussive beat from her military nailed boots. The sound echoed up and down the empty corridors.

Her black eyes glowered at no one in particular, but those that knew her saw it as her normal expression. Her black hair was cut in bangs over her forehead and the rest was held out of the way by a white headband. Her copper skin was adorned with a solid red band from her eyebrows to the bridge of her nose. Traditionally this was painted on for ceremony or war. But for modern convenience it was now generated by the magics of her standard issue uniform. So that any Amazon would be ready for war at any time.

On her way she passed a servitor, taking laundry from one area of the complex to another. He paused, seeing her speed and determination, but did not bow, grovel, or perform obsequence as had been required in the later days of the first empire. He just wheeled his linens into an alcove to permit her passage. She stormed past him with an equal lack of reaction, but he did not leave her mind.

When Scioni overthrew the self-serving republic that had formed in the void after the fall of the first empire, one of his first acts was against the incipient movement to reinstate slavery in place of the common practice of indenture as "more humane". They claimed that a slave was property, and had to be well cared for. While an indentured servant was not, and suffered neglect. Instead he, under the mantle of the state, took on the welfare and wellbeing of all members. He set his army of mages to devise mass producible artifacts to dole out near limitless supplies of basic staples and distributed them in all major cities. It was a popular move, at least amongst the lower classes, and gave him a wide spread support base that the oligarchs found hard to counter. The fact that this nameless palace servant could merely stand aside for her, a General of an Army of the Empire, and not lose his head, was the ultimate result of that movement.

Although that base of power swept The General to government easily, unfortunately the oligarchs proved harder to eliminate. Wealth they had, and with it they could buy an army. But mercenaries do not fight with the same vigor as well motivated troops. And The General was an amazing tactician from an earlier age. A never clearly explained accidental gift of a magical vortex. The battles were largely token and it was clear which way victory was going.

But then something changed. She ground her teeth thinking about it. These rebellious mercenaries fought on despite casualty rates that would have caused all but the most elite armies to rout. Desperate tactics were used at every turn. Repeatedly. Despite no emergent charismatic leader, or obvious motivating factor, their conscripts fought like zealots. The oligarchs were known to be reaching the bottom of their purses. Although they could not avail of the magical advances Scioni's new magical college had wrought, they could afford the best of their classical schools. She was sure that they had worked some devilry. The war was becoming long, drawn out, and threatened to destroy through fatigue everything they had fought for. She knew it would only take one push to finish it for once and for all. But no one knew what that push was.

She arrived at an unmarked nondescript door. She drew a deep breath, and then let it out. Then drew it in again, threw the door open, and marched in.

"General Ainia", said the Dwarven spymaster from his desk, without looking up. "I heard you coming. Traps are disarmed, you can approach."

She stomped forward, temper rising, despite herself. She hated the Spymaster. Most did. His provenience was dubious, his methods were repellant, and his advice was always double edged. She's almost gutted him on at least a dozen occasions. "You have a lot of nerve speaking up at the assembly like that" she threw out at him.

"Yes", he said simply.

"It was the _Queen_ 's assembly, and it was _her_ agenda. _You_ have no place trying to steer it in your own weaselly grab for power." She continued to glower at him. He continued reading the papers on his desk. "She was not speaking to you. She was not addressing you. You should keep silent. You should not be saying anything in court."

"You are right", he said, stacking his papers. " _You_ should be." He finally looked up straight at her. "But _you_ didn't." Her eyes narrowed. "So _I_ did."

"I'm a general of the Queen's army. My first duty is to the Queen..."

"Except", said the Dwarf, cutting her off, "when she asks, nay begs, for someone to succeed her." He gave her a nasty look. "Don't complain to me when you don't have the balls..."

"I'm an Amazon warrior", she said, bristling, and putting her hand on the pommel of her sword. "I'll caution you to remember that."

"You were born in Amazonia. You were a town guard who killed her wife, fled, took refuge in Romitu amongst the ex-pat and Amazon wannabe community." Ainia clenched her jaw and gripped her sword; white knuckled, but didn't say anything. "A mediocre mercenary you just happened to be in the right place in the right time to end up in Scioni's inner circle and now you find yourself a general." His eyes challenged her to deny anything he had said. "Don't get all high and mighty with me."

There was a long pause as Ainia fumed. Of course the little bastard knew all her secrets. That was the sort of scum he was. He probably told Scioni and Jesca in her turn. Probably begged them to cut her loose, and let her end up a nameless corpse in a corner. But she caught on that. Of course he had. So Scioni knew but she was still a general. So none of that mattered to them. And so it shouldn't matter to her. Other than the dirty feeling of him knowing it.

"Not much different from you, patchwork man", she said finally. "At least my mind is my own. My history is my own. I haven't been stitched together by some criminal artifact." She sneered. "I wear my loyalty on my sleeve. You don't have to second guess my motives and whether they are my own, or some god's plaything's whim, _Mackheath_."

He stood up and leaned on the table, glaring back at her levelly. "Mackheath was the sword" he said in a low tone. "I name myself Jack. Yes, I'm as artificial a construct as you will ever find. It found me, twisted me, and bent me into the Will it wanted. I don't know who I was before. Some street urchin, as far as my investigations reveal. My memories are not my own, my skills are not my own, but, thanks to magical intervention, my Will is my own. Never, ever, in my mismatched memories of my life or the other lives of that sword have I ever served another. Not me. Not the sword. Never before. Never till Scioni. He was the first, and he'll be the last. To my dying day I will follow the agenda he set, even though he is not here to lead it. I wish he was. I miss him."

There was an even longer pause. She knew his dark secrets too. Many knew them. But, by the same logic she used for herself, Scioni and Jesca knew them too, but still accepted his service. Ainia unclenched her jaw but did not relax. Her glare softened, but she continued to watch him suspiciously. "Nice performance", she said.

Jack sat again, his face a mask. "Take it as you wish."

"I hold you responsible for his death", said Ainia calmly.

"So do I", said Jack, as calmly. "He died because of a failure in intelligence. That's my responsibility."

"But was it you, or was it Mackheath?" she asked, watching him closely.

"I do not know", said Jack. "As long as that cursed blade is at large we can never know exactly what it did to me, or if it still has hooks in me."

The general tossed a black leather courier bag onto his desk.

"What is this?" he asked, looking at it suspiciously.

"A gourd", she said simply. He would know what it meant. Mackheath had struck again. Whoever it controlled hired out for service and gave the contractor a gourd full of water. This held all of its memories of the incident. When the job was concluded, the contractor could empty it, and be assured that all knowledge of the crime (specifically who contracted it) was gone.

"One of his?" Jack's suspicion changed to excitement. He picked up some tools and gingerly worked the drawstring? "Intact? Unhandled?"

She shrugged. "Once I knew what it was, I ordered it bagged. I do not know if it was handled previously."

He peered into the dark interior. "If whatever body he's using now touched this, we'll be able to trace it. It's been years since we had a good lead." He looked up at her. "Thank you." She nodded. "I should get this to the Academy right away." He pulled the draw string closed and stood up.

She let him cross the room and stood behind him at the door. "If the results ever go against you, count on my sword in your back", she said.

He turned and looked up into her eyes. "Yes. I am relying on you for that."

## Chapter 8

### Academy of Magic

A soft chime sounded as Jack arrived in the high tower via the household teleport system. He paused briefly to recover from the vertigo and assess his surroundings. The wide, circular room had many windows. Those on the sunward side were shaded, but still let in a filtered breeze. Those on the other side let in indirect light and a high view of the ironwood forest surrounding the fortress the tower stood in.

The room itself had a wide variety of tables and equipment in it. All were neatly arranged, with easels and wax tablets charting work in progress. Tables lay along one side full of glowing crystals and contraptions. The further down the more sparse or shrouded they became. All the way at the end were empty tables awaiting their own projects. Magelight sent up firefly embers from several places, and burning fumes rose from others. All whisked up into air vortices which channeled it from the room to outside the windows.

In the midst of it all a young woman sat on a high stool. She wore a clean white work robe over a closely tailored dress of deep blue. Slowly she dropped small, steaming white rocks from a crucible into a retort with tongs held in hands so pale they had no color to them at all. Glowing symbols above the retort slowly changed color as the pebbles raised the temperature and she watched intently with red eyes, as devoid of pigment as her skin.

"Hello Lilly", said Jack quietly after walking, noiselessly over to her side.

"Hello Jack", she said, continuing to watch the reaction with that focused intensity. Her movements and features were very precise, like porcelain animated with clockwork. Her expression did not change. "Do you need my immediate assistance?" She dropped another rock in.

"I have something important, but not urgent", he replied. She nodded and continued her work. He examined the diagrams on the easel briefly before moving to another table. He examined it intently, his fingers stroking his beard as he was lost in thought. This table contained a large map etched into the bulk of its surface. Glowing embers and spider web traceries covered parts of it. The pulsed slightly, but were otherwise unmoving.

After several minutes Lilly appeared at his side. "What is it?" she asked.

"Have you been sleeping?"

She paused for a moment in thought. "I have made sure to get at least two hours of condensed sleep a night, as per your suggestion", she said. "Is this the important matter?"

He shook his head. "It's just... I bring you important things all the time. I don't want you to neglect yourself or feel pressured to do so because of... affairs of state."

"We are at war", she said simply. "There are few who are as schooled in the New Magic as I am. There are things only I can do. Therefore I must find time to do them."

He nodded again. Simple and logical. It brooked no argument. "Yes. But as this war drags on into years, we must think about how we marshal our personal reserves strategically, not just tactically."

She thought for a moment. "I understand the logic of what you are saying. Do you have a specific suggestion?"

He thought for a moment. "You could take some time off. Sleep certainly. Get out. Do something."

"What would I do?"

Jack paused again. "Jesca used to take you and Bianca out. Riding, to a Mummery, or that sort of thing."

Lilly thought back on this. "Jesca is Queen now. She has not had much time. She was always the one with the ideas." After another pause. "What do you do with your time off?"

Jack looked slightly awkward. "It's hard for me to rest while that sword is on the loose." He was, perhaps, the worst person to make suggestions for how to use idle time.

"Your mind is not designed for that", said Lilly. "Since the primary alteration of the sword was to dislocate your Will to its specific end, you will continue to experience monomania for some time. Shall I take a reading?"

"Yes", said Jack. "Please."

She opened a drawer at the end of the bench and took out some headgear. She pressed her thumb to another compartment, and Jack pressed his next to hers. A number of crystals rose on a plinth. She picked a dark one, placed it in the apparatus that Jack had attached to his head and moved her hands over the surface in small traceries as she murmured under her breath. After a short time of intense focus, the crystal glowed like the others. She removed it, placed it in the next slot in the plinth, and worked some additional magic over it. Glowing symbols appeared over it and moved gradually between forms.

"Your Will continues to deviate from its dislocated position. So it is still free, although not showing the same range as a normal one." She pointed at certain indicators. "The reattachment of your Soul to your Will continues to be strong. Your Animus, as always, is fine." He nodded, removing the headgear. He knew the basic theory of the New Magic, but little of the practice. The Soul was the essence of his being, but needed the Will to guide his Animus to actually do things. When the Mackheath sword had taken him over, many years ago, it had severed his Soul from his Will, and then bent his Will to its own designs. Once it got what it wanted, it had abandoned him, a limp, unresponsive body, with no way for his Soul to direct his Animus. That would have been it, but for the New Magic, which was able to repair the connections. What it could not repair was the damage to his Will. With no original pattern to base things on, it remained, largely, in the shape it had been bent to. While the sword was in control, it relayed selective memories to him in order to do the tasks it needed him to do. Since it controlled his Will, the fact these were disconnected recollections from different lives was never questioned. Now, the discontinuities were obvious. But it was all he had.

Jack handed her another opalescent gem from inside of his collar. She examined it briefly and handed it back. "Your monitor shows no sudden alterations of Will back to the canonical Mackheath pattern. No blackouts I presume?" He shook his head. "Then I do not think there have been any attempts to control you."

"Good." He slipped the opal back into his collar. He pointed to the black bag he had placed at the end of the table. "He pulled a job in Gartica. We got the gourd."

Lilly rubbed her hands and a soft glow covered them. She opened the bag and pulled out a simple drinking bowl shaped from a gourd. She placed it over the table and it held there, hovering. With another look of concentration she pulled a complicated silver tracery from it and centered it on the table. She pulled another one up from a stone set into the table and compared the two.

Jack watched intently as she identified and marked common strands, removed clear outliers, and blurred deviations. After an initial pass she burned the result into another stone. "The Mackheath Will is definitely involved", she pronounced. "But, once again, it is working indirectly. The pattern is nowhere as clear as in your Will." With a gesture a large subsection of the diagram pulled from Jack glowed yellow and blurred slightly into a shape from the reference gem. "I do not think this subject's will has been magically altered. It was probably just socially engineered."

"You don't think it's mastered any of the New Magic then to produce a temporary full alteration?" asked Jack.

She shook her head. "Any strong manifestation of the canonical pattern would be immediately spotted." She indicated the web traceries. "So even if it's absorbed the Biblica Hexapla it stole, it could not use it in this way undetected."

"Unless it has mastered them to the degree that it can thwart our detectors", said Jack.

She nodded. "That is a possibility. If it could focus it's monomania on that, much like I have."

"I don't think it could exceed your skill", said Jack.

She shrugged. "Its monomania is magically induced. Its boundaries are unknown. Mine is just a factor of my upbringing." She dismissed the new tracery of Jack and stowed the plinth of stones. "I will refine the pattern here and adjust our detectors. Clearly they missed this. We can increase the fidelity of what they are looking for to match this without, hopefully, generating many false positives."

"Thank you, Lilly", said Jack.

"What priority should I assign to this?"

"Well, the job is over. He usually doesn't do more than one every few weeks. So we probably have at least that long. Maybe a few months again."

She nodded. "I will fit it in."

He turned to go, and then stopped. "If you take some time off, let me know." There was an awkward pause. "Maybe I'll take some time too." She nodded, and the household transporter whisked him away with another chime.

## Chapter 9

### Mage Talk

With a faint whisper and shimmer a figure appeared next to Lilly right after Jack had left. She had long hair, straight and straw blonde. High cheekbones offset ice blue eyes in a face as young as Lilly's. The deep black of her garments offset her pale skin, but standing next to Lilly made it evident it was just very pale, not colorless. She wore a sour expression and held a glittering knife in her hands.

"You do know that he would be very cross if he knew you had been standing there the whole time", said Lilly. She knew Bianca wouldn't care how Jack felt. But it was wise to be aware of how he felt since it would affect his reactions should he have worked out she was watching him invisibly.

"I nearly thought you were going to tell him I was here, when he mentioned you, me and Jesca", Bianca said.

"It didn't seem pertinent", said Lilly.

Bianca sheathed her knife. "I could have killed him", she said.

"Yes", said Lilly. "Most likely. You had the element of surprise and were ready. And he appears to be most off his guard when he is with me. I can't see what it would accomplish. He would just be brought back."

"He is a distraction. We have more important things to worry about than his loyalty or an animated sword."

Lilly turned and looked at all the projects set up across the chamber. "We have a great many things to worry about. It is not clear to me what their relative importance is." Nearly everything Lilly was tasked with was 'urgent'. All for good reason. Many of them were interrelated in complex ways. She assumed that many more were interrelated in as yet unknown ways. It was like the New Magic had given them the alphabet, and they were just learning to spell words. But what they needed was to participate in an eloquent nuanced debate that determined the fate of the world.

Bianca strode over to a group of tables. "If the Ævatar project was complete, it would be trivial to challenge and defeat the remaining gods."

"The remaining gods do not appear to be causing many problems for us right now", said Lilly. She had been told that they were employing a technique called 'crisis management'. Which basically meant solving whatever calamity was on top of them right now. Not very efficient. But in absence of more time and a better understanding it was the best they could do.

"But if we have the power to defeat them, then these republicans could just as easily be swept aside", said Bianca.

"The problem with those fighting for the old Republic of Romitu is not one of military might. When they strike it has not been hard to field our conventional army in response. We do not know their base of operations, their command structure, or their mode of operation. We would have nothing to sortie an Ævatar out to fight against even if we could activate one and control it."

"Are you afraid?" asked Bianca.

"I am wary", said Lilly. She pulled up a diagram from the table. "According to what we can decipher in the Book of Creation, an Ævatar is a construct with an extremely powerful Animus, but very susceptible to an outside Will. The book implies, but does not explain, that this creates a large vacuum in the Soul dimension." Lilly pulled another diagram from the table, and then another one resembling it from her heart. "I was birthed without a Soul in order to operate an Ævatar. But since Mistress Angelika died and granted me her Soul, I can no longer operate one. The only other soulless person we have tracked down is not psychologically suitable." She pulled up a last diagram that resembled, in structure, the soulless version of her.

"But", said Bianca, adding traceries to the last diagram, "we can constrain his Will, and shape it to our direction, then his lack of backbone will not matter. We will force his Will, which will guide the Ævatar's Animus. It's an extra level of indirection, but it gets us what we need."

Lilly looked over at the table she had been at earlier. "Then the research into the Mackheath artifact and Jack is pertinent to your approach. It deepens our understanding of Will manipulation to a set goal. If we were able to recover the original it would advance us considerably in that regard. Perforce, it must precede your plan."

Bianca tapped the table. "It could have some bearing. But with what we know we can proceed experimentally."

"It is not ethical", said Lilly, flatly.

"Is that a problem?" asked Bianca, raising a pale eyebrow.

"I have been advised by both Mistress Angelika and Jack, that acting ethically is usually the best option, strategically", said Lilly. Bianca snorted. It was an old argument. The concept of ethics confused Lilly. It just wasn't part of her upbringing and it all seemed rather arbitrary. The council she received was that such things are important to others, and it is worth understanding, so that you do not offend them and are better positioned to elicit cooperation. Bianca's upbringing taught her to disdain them, and instead get people's cooperation by using actions deemed unethical as an advantageous lever.

"Tactically, I think there is more reliable progress to be made further mastering the implications in the Biblica Hexapla than in the Book of Creation" Lilly continued.

"How so?" asked Bianca, inclining her head.

"The Six Books were devised by people, and written by people for use by people. From an earlier age, granted, but otherwise like unto us. With the same abilities and limitations. We are not entirely sure of the provenance of the Book of Creation. The prevalent theory is that it was written by the Grey Elves as notes on their creation of the world. It is written in an unknown arcane script using a Hydragyranium based ink. It is only because the majority of it is in diagrams, and because the hallucinations induced by the fixated Mercury ink that we have any understanding of it at all." If the Six Books gave them an alphabet, the Book of Creation was a dizzying constellation of gyrating cobwebs.

Bianca looked unconvinced. "The Six Books were written by our equals, the Book of Creation by our betters. _Strategically_ we will advance further if we focus our efforts on understanding the greater work."

"Each registered Mage has a copy of the Biblica Hexapla on their shelf. No one has gone insane from reading it. There is a single copy of the Book of Creation locked in a vault. We have both seen it and know the dangers in even being near it. It took months for the nightmares to stop. Our needs are not yet great enough to risk mastering that. Not while there is plenty we have yet to realize contained in the Six Books."

"And what of when we do need what's in the greater book? Do we start then?" Bianca said sarcastically. "Then it will be too late."

Lilly shrugged. "We have more work to do than we have people to do it. I am not offering an opinion on what work we should do first. I am just making observations." Lilly was just happy to do what she was told. Where there was a strict dependency or clear gains she could make a simple analysis and that lead to clear priorities. But she did not understand why people made the decisions they made and was ill equipped to argue her interpretations.

Bianca nodded and paced up and down. "I think I need to talk to my Mother" she said.

"Isn't she... busy", said Lilly, hesitantly. Bianca's mother was one of the senior mages in the Academy. But there was a crisis that only she could manage, and that occupied her full time.

Bianca waved her hand. "She can be interrupted."

Lilly looked to a far table. "I wish we could solve the problem she is containing."

Bianca fingered her knife. "I wish she would let me solve it."

"I think she would prefer a solution that returned both her and your... her husband to productive duty." Lilly moved to the far table, and brought up a few more diagrams. They twisted and contorted in an active, distorting way. The transitions were not smooth, like many of the others she had reviewed. Disruption erupted in complex fits and starts. In single spots, or in multiple cascades across the view. The disruption was dampened, from a single point that moved around, quelling the eruptions as it passed. You could see the conflict between the two forces drawn out in the glowing spider webs.

Bianca jerked her head back at the first table. "Another application of the Mackheath research?"

Lilly shook her head. "Moss's will is not a simple, static thing. Like any non-constructed person, it interacts in a complicated way with the Soul and Animus. The force manipulating it could be countered by fixing the Will to a prerecorded value, but it would not be the normal Moss. Just a version of him monomaniacally fixed on what his goal was at the time."

"Seems to work for you and the Spymaster", said Bianca.

Lilly shrugged. "We've known nothing else. Moss, like your Mother, has been one of our chief strategists. It is his broad focus that is invaluable. We would lose that with such a solution."

"And yet all he does is garden", sighed Bianca. She patted her knife again.

## Chapter 10

### The Gardener

The sun beat down on the arid landscape of the Outer Waste. It's cracked and barren terrain contained rocks, sand, gravel, and grit without a single trace of life of any sort. No birds flew overhead, no stubs of grass peeked between rocks, no insects crawled under the stones, and no lichen crept over the rocks. Nothing moved except the heat shimmer over the stones and the slow spinning of a magical vortex just over the horizon.

In the midst of all of this desolation, in the shadow of a rock overhang, squatted a figure. He had brown hair, greying at the temples, a dark tunic and leggings, well-worn boots, and, incongruous with the weather, a simple grey cloak. He stared fixedly at the sand held in the palm of his hand. Gingerly he picked up a pinch between his fingers and slowly rubbed it, letting it cascade back into his palm. It did not fall as fast as one would expect and was not blown by the wind.

Suddenly there was a quick scuffle and blurred motion. From a shadowed crevice in the overhang a pale figure leaped out, brandishing a short blade. But her target was not there when she landed. He had ducked and rolled one way. She ducked and rolled in another way. In moments they stood, facing each other; she was wary and ready, he was relaxed, with a wry smile.

"Better" he said. She tossed her blade to her other hand, and quietly sheathed it. He dusted off his cloak.

"I didn't use magic this time" Bianca said, shaking her head. "I moved, as the sun moved, keeping to shadows and hard rocks." It had been a perfect set up. Perfectly surveyed, perfectly stalked, perfectly executed. Even if he reacted the instant she struck, he could not have evaded her. And somehow he had.

"But", Moss said, holding up his hand and leaning against the rock, "you didn't walk here. You used magic to come in, right?"

Her expression soured, "Yes." Magical teleportation caused a ripple in the surrounding world. Very sensitive people could feel it if it was close. But a simple spell, easily maintained, could pinpoint it. Almost everyone had one ensorcelled onto a common item. Standard gear. She had expected that. "I came in far away and hours ago."

He cocked his head and smiled. "I've been waiting for hours."

She tapped her fingers on her belt. She thought back to the final moments. She focused, got ready, and just as she committed herself... "You moved before I did. How did you know?"

"What do you hear?" he asked, looking around. She followed his gaze.

"Wind. Occasionally sun cracking stones. Even more occasionally scree slipping." These were the sounds as she had stalked the terrain towards where he was. Each one noted, as she made sure her own progress was silent. She looked back at him.

He nodded. "The sounds out here are either regular, or infrequent."

"And I was quieter than all of them", she said. She knew that. And not from her own ears. She had a feedback spell keyed to the pattern of her footfall to give her an objective measure. "Your hearing is good, but I've trained for that."

He laughed. "My hearing is not that good. _Unenhanced_." She inclined her head. So magic. Not some innate sense or skill. She felt a little better that it wasn't just that he was more skilled than her, but had just found some way to outsmart her.

Moss continued, "If all I did was enhance my hearing, the slightest breeze would probably deafen me. But, it is not hard to create a pattern that encompasses the sounds of the waste with high accuracy." He traced something out on his palm and held it up. "If you then subtract this from what you do hear, you can amplify to quite some extent and only hear the slightest of noises that are different from the ambient quite clearly." Bianca scowled. But not at him this time, but herself. It was not different in essence from the spell she had crafted to monitor just her own footfalls. Just in reverse. She should have thought of it. Moss shrugged. "I've been listening to your heartbeat."

"Next time I will stop my heart", Bianca said.

He laughed. "I guess it would not be hard to form a pattern based on your blood, then impart an impetus to it to keep it flowing without assistance from your heart." He pondered for a bit. "It would take guts to stop your own heart. But you've got that in spades." He smiled proudly at her. "Good luck with that. Let me know how it works out if you survive and I'm not the target."

She looked at the distant vortex and dusted her hands. She pondered what he had said. The patterns linked up in her mind and she saw how it could be done. Not that hard, really. Very little was in the New Magic. You just had to think of it first.

He held out a wineskin to her. She took it, drank sparingly, and handed it back.

"Want to see something?" he asked with animation. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. He took a few steps away from the rocky overhang. With a gesture he summoned up a small pinprick of energetic light. It floated over the palm of one hand for a while as he made vague gestures with his other hand, and sub-vocalized abbreviated incantations. He stopped and looked at the pinprick, which now held a slightly different color of light. "You should probably not be touching the ground for this. I'm still refining." He took a step in place with each foot, like he was climbing invisible stairs, and stood a few inches above the ground. After she had followed suit, he tipped his hand and let the mote float to the ground.

Where it touched the ground there was an eruption of green. Like a wave, a ripple of something lush and spongy raced outwards from the epicenter. It covered the sand and rocks, the gravel and scree. They each took a few steps higher as it thickened a few inches, and flowed outwards rapidly. But its expansion diminished after a few hundred feet, and then slowed to the point of being imperceptible.

Moss ceased hovering and fell lightly to the springy surface. Bianca followed, bending her knees as the uneven rocks slipped under the green cover. She bent and examined it closely. "What is it?"

He shrugged. "Kind of lichen, kind of a moss. With a bit of clover thrown in. I've been studying the patterns of these small things. And even smaller. There are animals so tiny you can't see them without enhancement. It's a complicated matrix of all of these things that have to come together to form something verdant and self-sustaining."

"So you've made the deserts bloom. That's not hard."

He shook his head. "That's not the hard part. The hard part is making it cost effective. Did you note that I used hardly any mana?" He smiled. "It's about taking all of these patterns of flora and fauna and not just weaving them into a matrix that makes the deserts bloom, as you say. But also to, itself, form a pattern that self-replicates and advances." He gestured around him. "The energy of the initial spell creates the matrix, which replicates the spell, recovers the energy, and perpetuates it."

"How far?" she asked, looking to the edge. "I see it has slowed. But has it stopped?"

"Not yet. But soon. I don't think it is, technically, possible to keep it going forever. I'm just trying to get the most out of the least." He shrugged. "The strategic mana reserve is never going to be large enough to green the entire Outer Waste. Not using classical methods. But if I can optimize this another factor of ten, or maybe a hundred... we should get there."

They talked for a bit about recursive patterns, and magic that invoked magic and perpetuated itself. Once she understood the essentials and had a few examples, the talk wound down. "I will present this to the Academy. It may have potential elsewhere."

"Still working on the Ævatars?" asked Moss.

She looked at him sidelong. He did not entirely approve of the Ævatar project. He had been one of those that discovered the cyst containing the Book of Creation. He knew the dangers contained within those pages. But he also did not entirely disagree with devoting some resources to it. As Lilly had said, he most often took the wide view. Wide enough to include this nonsense about greening the waste. "Amongst other things", Bianca answered. "I do not think it has application to that project."

Moss nodded. "Indeed. It's kind of the opposite. Maximum expenditure for a specific pointed aim."

Bianca nodded. She understood he was right. She also understood that he did not mean it as a criticism. Both were useful tools to have in your arsenal. Some situations called for one, some for another. The silence lengthened. "I need to speak to my Mother", she said finally.

"Of course you do", said Moss. "You certainly didn't come all the way out here to check up on how I'm doing." She stared stoically at the vortex on the horizon. He cast about a bit. "It's relatively flat over here."

Between the two of them they quickly leveled the ground to an even surface. Four loopholes were magically extruded from the rocks and Moss pulled a few ropes from his sleeve and tossed them to Bianca. He then lay down and she bound his wrists and ankles to the stone loops. As she bent to tie a gag around him he said "Give Goatha my love, will you?" She nodded distractedly and finished the job.

She then stood over him and started into her sorcery. As she did he began to thrash in his bonds. His screams grew louder and louder.

## Chapter 11

### Mother and Daughter

Bianca finished her incantation and there suddenly appeared, on top of Moss's spread-eagled body, a figure. It was dressed in the same dark tunic and grey cloak that Moss wore, but had the pale features of Bianca. She immediately rolled to one side, every muscle taut, eyes somewhere between crazed and wary. After a brief look she ducked again behind Bianca, hands near her throat. Once more a quick survey, and then she leaped, back against the overhang, crouched in a defensive posture. Moss continued to writhe and scream.

Bianca stood stock still during this, only moving her eyes. After a few jumps and twitches, the woman grew calmer. She stepped from the rock, and a surge of magical energy flew from her fingers, engulfing Moss. When it faded he was locked completely inside faceted blue crystal. She stepped over to him and examined him, visually and magically, from head to toe. When she finished she turned to Bianca and crossed her arms.

"Mother", said Bianca. Goatha nodded. Her face was as pale as Bianca's but with additional lines and wrinkles. High cheekbones framed eyes of the same ice blue, but with more depth of years to them. Her hair was not so much pale, as colorless, tied back in a simple, utilitarian knot. The stoic, wary expression she held her daughter with was the same.

"The war proceeds apace. The Oath has been successful removing fighters permanently from their ranks. But not stopping them committing magical atrocities. We repair as far as the strategic mana reserve allows." There was no reaction.

"We've approved thirty mages in the Academy for Biblica Hexapla study. Lilly discovered an ideal form that can amplify and focus mana. Jacques' multiplexer has been deployed in artifact creation and two more armies have full equipment." Again, Goatha gave no evidence she heard.

"My own studies of the Ævatar project have had difficulties. My attempts to operate it were aborted due to excessive stress on my Soul. Curiously wild fluctuations in Will were observed in the construct before they fully drew my Soul back from it. The cause is unknown but will almost certainly complicate things."

"Have there been any further Grey Elf encounters?" asked Goatha brusquely.

"No", said Bianca.

She snorted and gazed at the surroundings. "Moss's progress?"

Bianca looked around as well. "He did this in a minute with one or two ergs of mana. He says the growth is self-sustaining, but not the expansion without additional mana." Bianca followed the older woman's gaze to the horizon. The magical vortex spun there, lazily at this scale. On the ground it would be a massive maelstrom of chaotic magical energy.

"We can use the vortices for power, but they will perturb the results. That's the next problem to solve. Tell him I think he has made enough progress with this to try that power source and see if we can make it a viable approach", she said.

"We could use your help", said Bianca.

"His work is more important", said Goatha. Bianca raised an eyebrow. "I believe that the emancipation of all Souls from the gods is in Swan's interest."

"He has not been clear", said Bianca. That was an understatement. You could read almost anything into what he said. "He is also not the only Grey Elf."

"The rest consider us a 'failed experiment'."

"And bringing every dead person who has ever lived back to life will make us successful?" asked Bianca, critically. "Swan has been vague in the extreme."

Goatha fixed her with a stare. "The First Cataclysm was an expected result of The Experiment. As a direct reaction to that, the Hundred and Forty Four set themselves up as the gods. Reincarnation ceased to be the norm. Souls 'passed on' to the domain the 'gods' had set apart for themselves to be accumulated like gaming chips. There are two significant results of this. Firstly, the number of Souls in existence is no longer zero-sum. Children continue to be born, and they all have new souls, instead of reincarnated ones. Secondly, mana is generated by Will from a Soul. So the total mana that humanity has at its disposal has been increasing."

"Elves still reincarnate", said Bianca.

Goatha shrugged. "When I asked, Swan said something that might translate as 'diversity is good for the system'. It is a mystery to be solved later." She sighed and watched the vortex. "If all the Souls the gods have been accumulating for the last two thousand years were released, and their mana used for the strategic mana reserve, rather than brewing ambrosia, the estimated potential dwarfs even the largest vortex we've measured. Everything I've known in life is about power and leverage. That's a lot of power that we have the potential to harness. If we can't leverage it, then I would certainly consider us to have failed as a species."

"They have not approved enhancing the soldier's kit to contribute to the reserve", said Bianca. You had to be a mage to consciously use the mana generated by your Soul. However, everyone generated mana. In the devout, it went to the gods. But it was a fairly simple spell with the New Magic to divert it elsewhere. But although technically feasible to turn every soldier into a mana generator, it proved to be highly controversial. Goatha scowled at her. "And there are those who advocate returning the entire system to one where reincarnation is the norm" continued Bianca.

Goatha snorted. "Devonshire?" Bianca nodded. "She needs to be persuaded", said Goatha and looked at Bianca meaningfully.

"We cannot win against the gods without the Ævatars", said Bianca.

Goatha shook her head. "That is not true. The people of our tribe killed their gods centuries ago. They did not even have New Magic."

"And look where they are today" sneered Bianca. "Primitive barbarians living in the cold wastes." Goatha inclined her head. "The Book of Creation was written by the Grey Elves. It is the clearest statement we have of their intents."

"Such as it is", said Goatha dryly. "It is not clear they wrote it for us. Or even lead us to it. It was found in a vault of some long dead mage. We inherited the Ævatars we have from the same source. We do not even understand the book well enough to re-create what that person did. Not even with New Magic."

"Given the complex interactions it generates between Soul, Will and Animus, we stand to learn much by investigating it", said Bianca, trying a different angle.

"I agree that the results may have potential elsewhere, but I do not think it is profitable as a primary course."

They stared at each other for a long while. No one else saw what was so obvious to Bianca. She grew frustrated with the continual hedging in everyone else. But her Mother that the most clarity of thought of anyone she knew. It was even more frustrating that she did not agree with her.

"You will not return with me?" asked Bianca, trying one last time. Goatha shook her head. "Then I will go now." With a wave of her hands Bianca disappeared.

Goatha looked down for a while at Moss, static in his blue crystal shell. She gazed around at the new growth and sighed. Lifting a boot she scraped a bit of the green loam off with her finger. Her eyes focused on it and her irises dilated to wide pools as her vision zoomed in. She surface rushed at her, resolving into hills and valleys of an intricate surface. Zooming further the surface resolved into strangely shaped lichen life growths, branching and supporting each other. Deeper again and odd and unusual creatures wandered over the newly created realms seeking their place in their new life.

She shook her head and her vision returned to normal. The clod of green fell from her hands to join the rest. She paced up and down for a while, doing deep stretches and limbering up. Bringing her hands together in a sudden clap there was a surge of energy and the blue crystal shattered. Moss was released and Goatha had disappeared.

## Chapter 12

### Playing Tag

The young boy was thrown roughly against the sagging Triton ruin. Disturbed mud billowed around him further dimming the water, blued by depth. His body was adolescent and wiry, a shock of black hair floating in a nimbus around his head. Blue eyes darted about warily under thick brows.

"Nice try, Winter", called the voice of his adversary, taunting. "But you haven't the guts to stand up to me."

"More like the stomach, Balanoptera", said Winter, suddenly pushing off towards him. He held fistfuls of muck from the ruin, which trailed enveloping clouds, spiraling outward as he spun in to tackle Balanoptera. There was a grunt, a brief scuffle, and Winter was propelled backwards out of the cloud.

"Ugh, you barnacle", swore Balanoptera, spinning himself to slough the mud off and clear the water. "I've had it with your dirty tricks!" He spat mud out of his mouth. It was typical of this surface brat. He couldn't stand up to the true rulers of the ocean and had to cheat.

No sooner had he dispersed the cloud than Winter was on top of him again, having circled above. He wrapped his legs around him and started to wrestle. Balanoptera twisted first one way, then another. He tried to bash him against the sea floor, but it did not shake him. Finally he slammed him hard up against some shapeless outer part of the ruin. He felt Winter loosen and flung him roughly into the collapsed gateway. Winter lay there, unmoving.

Balanoptera shook himself, recovering. He glared at Winter's unmoving form. "Serves you right, you uppity krill." There would be hell to pay if his foster brother was dead. Even if it was his own fault. Winter's hand moved slightly. Balanoptera swam closer, warily. "What's wrong sea cucumber? Did I hit you too hard? You have to expect that if you play with the big boys." The gloating in his voice was spoiled by a trace of worry. It wouldn't be great either if he was seriously maimed.

Winter raised his head a little, and then it sagged back. "Not dead I see", sneered Balanoptera, worry gone. Eventually his usefulness would be over and no one would care if Winter had an accident. "Pity. I'd finally have my vengeance for my sister." Balanoptera minced around. "It was an accident Daddy! I was going easy on him in the race and he got caught in a collapsing ruin. So sad!" A cruel smile crossed his face. "Maybe I should anyway." Even an accident wouldn't be good for him. But Winter didn't have to know that.

Winter curled up into a fetal position, his hands covering his head. Balanoptera swam closer, threateningly. "Afraid, are you? You should be." Balanoptera gloated. "You don't mess with the son of Atlantica. A true son, that is. You're just a foster son, and you shouldn't forget it. Your surface politics won't protect you here." The little clam always had his mother's skirts to run to.

A weak sound came from Winter. Balanoptera drew closer again. "Crying? You're crying!" he said, unbelieving. "Can't run with the big boys in the race? No pearl to bring home to show your foster father you're as good as his true sons?" Balanoptera held out a small shining object. "The prize is mine! You have some arrogance running the race at all." He aimed a gleeful kick at Winter, who sobbed harder.

"You just lie here, surface crybaby", taunted Balanoptera. "Even better, don't bother finishing the race. I won't say you slunk off. Go back to your dry barren land. Break your treaty. See if we care. Atlantica and his sons will..."

In a sudden movement Winter sprung out of his crouch and snatched the pearl from Balanoptera. He spun in mid-water and pushed off of Balanoptera himself and shot into the depths of the ruin. With a cry Balanoptera shot after him, but was brought up short by the gate. Mud cascaded down as he slammed up against it. "Ill spawned red tide!" screamed Balanoptera, trying to batter pieces of the posts and lintel loose so he could get in. "You can't get out except by me! I'll crush you! Give that back! You cheat!"

Winter ignored the cries as he swam deeper into the ruin. It had been carved into the compressed mud of the sea ridge, and reinforced and faced with stone. The deeper in he went, the more intact it became. There was only occasional subsidence where the facade had cracked and mud had flowed into the passages. These had been cleared just enough to allow Winter passage as he traversed them with familiarity.

He reached and rubbed a stud on his belt. A faint light illuminated the area around and ahead of him. The textured stone facing was covered with dirt. Although the occasional glint reflected from stone mosaics under the grime. The walls moved past quickly as Winter swam in strong strokes, pushing off frequently as surfaces allowed.

Near the center was what had been the vault of the edifice. A final length of corridor ran straight up, with two twists for a last ditch defense to be fought over. It then opened into a small room. The walls of this room were covered in a shimmery glaze, making it resistant to magical investment. It also made it air proof, which Winter had clearly used to his advantage. He surfaced in the room and pulled himself up on a ledge until he was entirely free of the water. He paused, listening, and then smiled.

He held up the faintly shimmering pearl and turned to some shell bowls. Sorting through the contents he first touched a rock, which added its own light to the gloom. He pulled an hour glass from another one and set it up, cascading. Carefully, from under a small pile of rocks, he extracted a finely crafted wooden chest. He touched the surface in several places and it popped open.

He pulled out, and held for a while, a small portrait. It was an Elfin woman with fiery red hair, wearing a Romitu officer's uniform. He placed it gently back and brought out a small, nondescript metal box. Into one compartment he placed the pearl, and into the other he placed a small clear crystal from the box. He clicked the two compartments shut, and there was a discreet vibration. He took the crystal out and sequestered it in his short trousers. The pearl he kept in his hand. With care he replaced all of the contents, and sequestered the box back under the carefully arranged rubble.

He checked the timer and the sand was three quarters run through. He pulled something from another shell, and chewed on it a while, resting. When the last of the sand had run out, he placed the shell bowls back from the edge, turned the glow stone off, and slipped back into the water.

Winter swam directly to another part of the ruin, and then peered cautiously into the greater ocean. All seemed quiet. He darted out, and made his way along the ridge, keeping to dark spots and seaweed banks. Eventually the ridge ran out, and all that was left was open sea floor in the direction of Atlantica's palace.

He paused for a while, looking to see there was any surface weather that might change the lighting. Seeing nothing he sighed, and brazenly swam into the open water, using his fastest long distance stroke.

He passed only startled fish for a while. But as he drew closer to the palace, he was shadowed by a hammer head shark. First on one side, then a second appeared on the other. Their dull eyes tracked him unblinking. He did not even try to evade, only going for speed. As the third came up, they started to hem him in. Swimming close enough to nudge him, or perturb his strokes. As his speed slowed, a dark shadow loomed above him.

"That's quite enough", said Balanoptera. Winter stopped and the two faced off. Balanoptera glared at him malevolently. This little minnow had caused him a lot of trouble. Giving him the slip like a hermit crab was really low. It was disgusting that his father tolerated his presence at all, even worse as a foster son. It was only his massive intellect that made him think of making a break for the palace. We had to break from the ridge at some point. And Balanoptera had many friends in the ocean to keep lookout.

"Don't even think of trying another trick. I've had enough of you playing the sea otter today" growled Balanoptera. Winter remained expressionless. "Now. Are you going to give me the pearl, or are my friends going to tear it from you?" Winter looked sidelong at the hovering sharks, considering. "It doesn't matter how smart you think you are", said Balanoptera. "If you walk into that palace with that pearl, I will make life, very, very, very hard for you." The menace dripped from his voice. "You know I can." Balanoptera had lots of friends. And Winter had none. He might not be able to arrange a big accident, like Winter deserved. But plenty of friends meant plenty of people who could make plenty of _little_ accidents. Not one on its own would create a political incident. But collectively Winter would be quite unhappy.

"It was fun while it lasted", said Winter, smiling wryly. He held out the pearl, but pulled back just as Balanoptera reached for it. "Just remember: you didn't win by your own merit. I did. If it ever comes down to just you and me..."

Balanoptera snatched the pearl from him, and swam off without looking back.

## Chapter 13

### Throne of the Sea

Shafts of sunlight speared downwards from the distant surface, illuminating the Throne of the Sea in a bluish light. Sunfish swam in a halo around the periphery as courtiers of all shapes and sizes sat or swam before the throne. Merfolk blared a salutation on their conch horns as Atlantica sat and surveyed the court.

An officious Cecaelia rapped the floor of the platform sternly and called the court to order. After a few more raps and some stern looks, there was silence. She bowed deeply to Atlantica who bid her to continue with a wave. "Order! Order all! Pay heed to the surge of the Ocean: Atlantica. His court is now in session." She paused, giving everyone a final warning glare. "The first order of business is the Crown Pearl Sprint!" She graciously allowed some modest acclimation before bringing her staff up for silence. "In the first high tide after the vernal equinox it is our Lord's pleasure to take a pearl from his crown, and toss it into the depths. Those who have the mettle are invited to swim after it, and return it to the throne. Is there one who has done this?"

"I have", intoned Balanoptera from the back. He strutted forward, grinning broadly, holding the pearl before him. The crowd cheered, and several of the youth slapped him on the back and congratulated him as he moved through them.

He was brought up short by the staff of the Cecaelia who stared at him, nonplussed. She looked over to Atlantica who beckoned him forward. "You have leave to approach the throne", she said, formally, raising her staff.

Balanoptera swaggered forward, and bowed deeply before his father. "You have done well, my son", he said, placing his hand on Balanoptera's head. "It brings me joy that you have excelled above your peers in this feat." He lifted his hand.

Balanoptera stood, and proffered the pearl. Atlantica took it, and fixed it back into his crown. "Sit now", he said, "at my right hand side. And share this court with me." Balanoptera bowed deeply again, and took the proffered chair. He gave a knowing grin to his compatriots and the audience cheered again.

When everyone had settled Atlantica leaned forward to the Cecaelia, "Please summon Winter."

The Herald returned to the center of the platform. "Lord Atlantica summons before his court..." she paused, concentrating, took a deep breath, and said "Wintersbreath Longshadow Vé Devon Willowsong Lyndrixlyn Elfinborn."

The crowd showed a mixed reaction. Some giggled at the Herald's difficulties. Others looked disapproving. Most were indifferent. Winter stepped onto the platform, having added a purple velvet cloak over his loincloth. Magic tingled from its surface, keeping it plush and buoyant in the water. It swept behind him as he strode steadily across, nodding politely to the Cecaelia who did not deign to notice. He stopped and fell to one knee before Atlantica in one smooth motion, the cloak cascading around him.

"Foster child", said Atlantica. "I am told you were second to cross the finish line today." Winter nodded. "It was ambitious for you to race against the water children. However I think it is clear to all that your ambition was well founded given how well you did." There was polite applause. "Let there be no question as to your participation in the future." He glanced warningly at the audience. "It may not be your fate to be a leader, but every leader needs good followers. Please join our court at the right hand, of my right hand!" He smiled at his own joke.

A chair was brought and put to the right hand side of Balanoptera. Winter bowed deeply once more to Atlantica, nodded to Balanoptera as he passed, and stoically took his seat. "In any event, the next matter before us concerns you." Atlantica nodded to the Herald once more.

The Cecaelia concentrated once more. "The court of Lord Atlantica summons before it", she drew breath, "Devonshire Beth Zephyr Lyndrixlyn Nightwhisper Trillium Intermundia." There was a murmur throughout the crowd, not all pleasant. "Mage of the Ninth Army of Romitu", continued the Herald. "Magister General of the Scioni Academy of Magic, Bearer of the Rose of Courage, Holder of the Order of the Valiant, and Member of House Scioni."

A figure strode in from the edge. As she moved the light seemed to follow her. She had red hair with highlights of flame, worn in ringlets that swayed around her, unimpeded by the water. Her crimson silk garments similarly behaved as if in air. She wore a silver cuirass etched in highlights of gold displaying a complicated coat of arms entwined with magical symbols. A short skirt of embossed leather tassets, similarly gilt, was held up by a belt from which hung a short sword on one side, and a wand on the other. Dark red leggings covered her from her thighs to the top of boots made of thick hide. She continued to the center of the platform where she stopped, nodding her head politely to Atlantica, but not going down on a knee.

"Welcome to my court", said Atlantica, in all seriousness.

"I am honored at your pleasure" she replied, in a lilting voice.

"Gag me on chum", muttered Balanoptera to Winter. Atlantica and Devonshire continued exchanging pleasantries. "Is there anyone in creation who can talk so much and say so little than an Elf?"

"Better than putting your fin in your mouth", said Winter.

Balanoptera glared at him sidelong. "God. Is she putting the moves on Dad? After killing his daughter? She's got some nerve."

"It's called being polite. You may not be familiar with it", said Winter, looking past him, intent on the discussion.

"I don't know", said Balanoptera. "They say she'll spread her legs for any creature with a trace of the divine in him." He looked over at Winter to see if he was taking the bait. "What do you fancy my chances are with her? Hmm? How could a slut like that resist a catch like me? I'd say she spends most of her time between these visitations fantasizing about me."

"Go for it", said Winter distractedly, to Balanoptera's surprise. "She likes them big and stupid. Better yet, lets double date. While you're tapping her I'll squeeze Actiniaria. She's been giving me come hither looks over your shoulder for months now. I'll give her the release you aren't up to."

Balanoptera drew breath to hiss something particularly nasty when the quiet of the court and Winter's innocent stare past him made him realize he had just missed a question directed at him from his father.

Winter, his face neutrally attentive, met his mother's eyes. He was way behind his Elfish language studies, and even further behind in his Elfish Body Language. But by the cant of her eyebrow he rather suspected she was sending him a stern warning that she knew exactly what he was up to and there would be a long discussion later.

Balanoptera floundered his way through recovering his poise. Winter broke eye contact with his mother in a way he hoped conveyed contriteness. He looked out over the court. Most despised him. Either because he was the blood price for his mother's killing of Sel de Mar, or because they sought the favor of Balanoptera. The remainder were decidedly neutral towards him. Not wishing to offend someone technically close to the throne, but also not wanting to be seen close to someone almost certain to be out of favor at any time. He intentionally did not look at Cindaria, the only person who was actually nice to him. He was pretty sure she had a crush on the exotic boy from the surface, having listened to too many fantasies. He didn't deny his own feelings for her, but he suspected them as a desperate cry in his lonely state. Even so, the kindest thing he could do was to ignore her. Anyone showing any favor for him became the butt of Balanoptera crude ambitions and he would not wish that on anyone.

The court continued on, as expected. It was his twelfth birthday, shortly, and he was allowed to spend two weeks with his mother under pain of oath that she would return him here for the rest of his fostering. It was an awful compromise, but he understood what it represented.

In Scioni's attack on Gartica he had laid siege to their capital, Panam. However, it bordered the Great Lake, and resupply was not hard. Other than a few fishing vessels, Scioni had nothing to close its water gate. The last military fleet to set sail was several hundred years ago in a disastrous attempt to invade the Elfish homelands. Since then Romitu had kept to their existing provinces, which were all connected by land routes.

The New Magic was pretty new at the time, and they didn't have the mages to deploy it in wholesale combat. However they had simple restorative spells, and someone came up with the idea of locating that sunken fleet, bringing it back to sea worthiness, and transporting it through a tactical gate to the Great Lake.

When they found it they also discovered it was infested with the ghosts of the sailors who died when it sank. It was also presided over by Sel de Mar, eldest child of Atlantica, who claimed it a holy site. A memorial to the great triumph of Ocean over the folly of Man. Never mind that it was bad planning and Elfin weather magic that doomed the fleet.

A fight ensued and, having already honed the New Magic for personal combat, Scioni's expedition was victorious and Sel de Mar was dead, slain by the magic of Devonshire, the chief Mage of the force. They had their fleet, and a hasty exit was prepared. They did not give much thought to the defenders and their threats.

That is until Atlantica, discovering the death of his oldest child, cried out in grief and rage which manifested itself as a huge wave, thundering outward in an ever increasing circle from the battle site. Although at the outskirts of what had once been the Romitu Empire, there were still many populous cities along the coast. Not only was it hoped these would be future subjects of Scioni's ambitions, the pure humanitarian calamity would be disastrous.

More mages were called in and a hasty attempt was made to persuade people onto higher ground, or to erect emergency sea walls. But even if they saved the major cities, there were dozens upon dozens of small villages at risk. A hasty party was sent forth to parlay with Atlantica and Devonshire herself took full responsibility, offering her own life in repentance for her actions. Atlantica accepted her penance, but instead demanded her son in foster ship. Both to punish her for the death of his daughter, but also as a guarantee against future aggression.

And that, reflected Winter, is how he ended up here. His mother was a patriot. She served her cause as best she could. His misery purchased the life of thousands of others. It didn't make it any better. But it did make it bearable.

The formalities of the contract were winding down, and Winter rose, when bidden, and moved to his mother's side. They made their exit together and, shortly thereafter, her magic carried them both far away.

## Chapter 14

### Mother and Son

A large wooden table lay before Winter, spread with a tremendous variety of food and drink. There were fruits of all shapes and colors, some whole, some diced, others pureed into drinks. Several haunches of different meats were spread throughout; smoked, sliced, steaming or chilled. Bread in almost every shape and form, from the palest white through nearly black were in baskets, with butter, oils, jellies, pastes and other spreads arranged around them. Threading through the bounty were vegetables; produce of the earth, the vine, the bush, and tree. Nuts, cheese, salads, stews – virtually every type of comestible was represented. Except for one. There was no seafood.

"Thanks Mom!" said Winter, appreciatively.

"Well", said Devonshire, her voice much more rough than it had been in court, "you said the food was getting a bit monotonous underwater."

"True", he said, spreading a leaf with some intricately shaped dough in oil. "Cooking isn't exactly a skill prized in their culture. But... wow." Winter ate at the royal table as befitted his position. But Atlantica favored quantity over quality. He liked what he liked and didn't have much interest in anything else. There were probably more different types of food on this one table then he had seen his whole life in Atlantica's court.

Devonshire smiled sadly at him, and helped herself to one of the many pitchers of beer. "Take your time. There are heat stones and chill stones and preserve spells over the lot. It should last the whole time you're here." She sat on a nearby table, watching him closely. "Watch the red and black pastries there. They look sweet, but they're quite spicy. Imported from the Underground."

He nodded, and walked around the table slowly, sampling gingerly. The room encompassed the entire upper floor of the building. Occasional tapestries formed temporary partitions. But mostly it was open from the dining area to the office to the beds. Through the open windows floated the sounds of revelry from the tavern downstairs.

It was quite like his mother. Making up for her lack of presence with overindulgence in their rare visits. There was no way he could even make a dent in this spread. Even given two weeks. What he would really want is to find some way to take it with him. Squirrel it away somewhere and work through it over the next year. But he didn't want to appear ungrateful. Or, worse, have her actually do it. It would be too much of an extravagance.

He knew she was watching him. Drinking him in, she would say. She was an Elf and he, well, wasn't. He had to assume he was a total open book to her and nothing was hidden. So he might as well get it over with.

"I'm sorry about messing with Balanoptera", he said preemptively.

"Mmmm, Hmmmm", said Devonshire, doubtless with many subtle undertones that Winter missed.

He shrugged and ate a small olive pickled in something blue. "I wanted to take him down a few pegs after giving him back the pearl." His hand hovered over some grilled fowl, but passed on. He knew he should be more open, but he still was a bit squeamish about cooked food.

"So you did get the pearl", said Devonshire. Winter nodded. He dug into his loincloth and handed her the crystal from his vault. She waved her hands over it a few times. A pattern of light appeared. She added some embellishments with a few gestures, and it tugged in a certain direction. Devonshire, nodded, satisfied, and dropped it into her cleavage. "Now we can track what the bastard is up to."

"I know killing gods is kind of a hobby of yours", started Winter, licking something black and sticky from his fingers. "But what if he's not up to anything?" He didn't think much of Atlantica, but he wasn't entirely unreasonable.

"Then he lives", said Devonshire. "For now." He looked up at her with what he hoped was a challenging intonation. He didn't like how black and white she saw things. "Look, kid. All the gods are parasites. No matter what they give back to us, how beneficent they seem, they are only returning a fraction of what was ours anyway. It's just an elaborate trap to enslave our Souls for all eternity." Winter turned back to his food, unconvinced. Same old, same old. "I know you've probably made friends at court..." Winter snorted. He didn't even try to moderate his body language. Devonshire paused. "No one? Not even one?"

"Maybe one. Maybe two", said Winter, reluctantly.

"Who?"

He sighed, and poured a small sample from one pitcher. "An old Triton called Charonia. He never liked Sel de Mar. She had been cruel to his people. He's one of my teachers." The guy was a crusty old fellow, with little respect in court. But he very strictly treated Winter the same as his other pupils and, since Winter actually paid attention and seemed interested in the subject, he, equally strictly praised him for his work.

"History, yes?" Devonshire asked. Winter nodded. "And the other?"

"Some girl." This time he did try to dampen his body language. It was so difficult being around his mother. Normally he could rely on being purely taken at his spoken word, since his gestures and intonation were alien to those he circulated with. Going from that to an Elf made him feel naked.

"A girl!" laughed Devonshire. "Are you chatting up the ladies already?" she slapped her thigh.

"Hardly", he said, picking a pitcher and pouring a long draft. "If I so much as smile at her she'll be persecuted for the rest of her youth. Hardly a thanks for being the only person to actually be nice to me."

Devonshire looked irritated, but not at Winter. "I'll rig up something. Some sort of device for passing messages. You can share it as a secret."

He shook his head. It was not a large court. Nothing stayed secret forever. "It would be found out. Eventually. Life wouldn't be worth living after that." Balanoptera was held back by Winter's position from making his life a complete misery. Cindarina had no such protection. And Balanoptera would do it if he knew that it would get to Winter.

"We've got to get you out of there", said Devonshire grimly.

"Come on, Mom. I know why I'm there." He looked up at her, no longer eating. "My foster ship is the price for 10,000 lives. That's probably more than I would save in a lifetime if I was free to fight next to you."

"Don't sell yourself short, son", said Devonshire.

"Besides", continued Winter, "If you break the agreement the oceans will rise up against you. That's another front in your war."

Devonshire hopped down, and paced the floor. "It would just be a distraction. You're losing too much. No friends, no decent food, no first love." She stopped and held his chin. "You're growing up so quickly." Sadness filled her eyes.

He pulled his chin away. She always did this. Every time. She's never adjusted to the fact that, for all intents and purposes, he was human. "It's alright Mom. I'll deal." She went back to pacing. "So how is the war?" he asked conversationally after a while.

She grunted. "It's a mess." She stopped in front of a map. "It's hard to fight an enemy who won't show his face. We have to wait, and react. But we have enough enemies who show their face enough times, to keep us reacting and reacting. We can never push our own agenda. Not that we can actually agree on an agenda. But woe to us if our enemies decide to actually work together and make us react into a corner." She shook her head.

Winter padded over to the map and looked it up and down. It showed, more or less, the known world. The territory of Romitu was in the middle, with a periphery of nations around it that were once vassals of Romitu, some of which were now under Scioni's control. There were a few more outlying states, some oceans, and the outer waste. "The map's wrong" he said.

She looked at him, annoyed. "No, it's accurate. We've got magical surveying. Jacques was able to create a contagious spell to spread from seabird to seabird to send us back new information. This is updated as new information comes in."

He wandered over and looked out the window. "It's wrong." Just outside the large wooden sign for the pub swung. An improbable looking red creature sat on cushion, sleeping. He turned back. "Do you know why they don't have maps underwater?"

"I didn't know they didn't have maps", she said. "It hadn't occurred to me."

"They don't convey enough information." He turned back to her and hopped up onto the window ledge. "There's the surface and what's going on there. There are at least six layers between the sub-surface and the depths. And then the sea floor, wherever that intersects." He shrugged. "Each is important and had its own territorial boundaries. Different creatures have different depths they care about. Then you've got currents, which are different in different levels, and even cross each other. You can't capture it in a flat map."

"Must make writing treaties a pain", said Devonshire wryly.

He gestured towards her map. "You've got your surface topography. But the gods all have their own extra-dimensional enclaves with their own geographies, and their own relation to the surface. Plus the Underground. Plus the oceans as I've described." He shrugged. "How can you plot strategy on that?"

"OK wise guy", said Devonshire testily. "What's your answer?"

"Dunno. I'm only fourteen. I can only point out the obvious", he flashed her a smile which erased her irritation. "You're the head of the academy now." He gestured at the table. "If you can make a self-heating/cooling smörgåsbord, surely you can make a better map."

She laughed. "You may be on to something. I can always give it as a project to one of the students."

## Chapter 15

### At the Russet Monster's Rest

Devonshire fell into a chair at her reserved table in the pub and sighed deeply. A tall, lanky elf with long hair and dark clothes slid a tankard over to her. She drank deeply from it.

The pub was well appointed, and crowded. The patrons were a mixed bunch. Many soldiers in uniforms, students and mages from the academy, wary Underground merchants, and a scattering of the troglodyte locals. The languages that combined to form the buzz in the room were almost as varied as the races filling the seats. Their table was along an elevated platform at the back of the pub, giving a wide view of the patrons, but shadowy enough for privacy.

"Let me guess", said her companion, "'He's so big!'" He waved his long, thin hands expressively and his eyes widened in mock surprise.

"You have no idea Greywind", she growled, and idly wiped the forth from her mouth. "It's like he's nearly fifty." She shook her head. "It's like there's no Elfish blood in him at all." Growing up in the Elfin enclave in Romitu, Devonshire was quite aware of how the different races aged. In the kid gangs that roamed the streets the human children came and went almost like seasons. They were always junior most. The half-elf kids had more staying power, and usually took charge of the humans. To some degree picking ones and mentoring them while they were there. The Elf kids were topmost. They knew all the good hiding places, the best games, and the best places to filch treats. Not uncommonly from shops owned by children they had remembered playing with.

Greywind shrugged. "Well, they say a god's blood runs true."

"That's one thing", said Devonshire, "I'd expect him to have black hair, or flat ears. But it's like there's none of me in there at all." He didn't seem to have any of her personal traits, but also none of her racial traits. She was no expert on half-elves. Almost all the half-elves she knew growing up were the children of other half-elves, not of elves and humans. But then it was hard to say how human his father was.

Old maps had led to what was supposed to be one of the kingdoms of the pre-Cataclysmic empire. But there was nothing but broken islands and windswept ruins. Eventually they found one man, scared, wandering around distractedly. Once a battle god, now he had no worshipers and no memory. He wandered his former lands with his spear and falcon, wondering what had happened.

But, despite his antiquity, he was robust and virile. Just the sort of man Devonshire liked and she had happily shared the hospitality of his bed for the night. The whole expedition had been shocked when he challenged them the next morning in a fight to the death. Out of respect, Devonshire took up the challenge, and, with effort, gave him the death in battle he deserved. Only later did she find out she was pregnant.

"You'll be in here", said Greywind, tapping his head, breaking her reverie. "You get to raise him and place all the idiosyncrasies and neuroses he'll carry with him for the rest of his life." He drank and smiled.

"Not even that!" she said sourly, "Mr. Halibut is doing that for me." She glumly took another long draft.

"Going a bit 'fishy' has he?" asked Greywind.

Devonshire blew through her lips. His body language was certainly skewed. Some of that was a conscious effort to put the lessons she had him take into action. Some of it was just lack of exposure to others of his own anatomy. But he wasn't beyond reading. "No. Not really", she concluded. "Other than thinking in three dimensions, that is."

"Sounds useful", said Greywind.

Devonshire shrugged. "Could be. Who knows? It's just a vicious life back there."

"Ah yes", sighed Greywind nostalgically. "I remember the vicious life! Growing up in the gutters of Romitu, begging for crusts of bread. Cutting the purses of those who bent to take pity on me. Getting my face kicked in by the guild for not giving them a share. Good times." He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

Devonshire snorted. "I had hoped for better for him."

"Every mother does", said Greywind. "Or, at least I think my mother did. Not that I knew her." They drank in silence for a while. "Well, this might distract you", said Greywind taking a deep breath. "At least, give you something gloomier to consider."

"What now?" said Devonshire, holding the cold tankard to her head.

"You might expect some heat on the old reincarnation/eternal life argument", said Greywind, conspiratorially.

Devonshire rubbed her head. "On top of everything else. Great. What makes you think that?" Greywind had a knack for information. For someone who gave pretense to not really caring about the larger issues or directions, he certainly seemed to have his finger on the pulse of those who did.

"Bianca nipped off to see her mother out in the Waste. Since she came back she's been sounding people out about it."

"That pasty slug", swore Devonshire. She had some respect for Goatha, having worked for her and Moss for years before Scioni. But her daughter had all of her bluntness with none of her insight. "Have you put a trace on her? Her defenses are usually good. She's almost as paranoid as her mother."

"I just asked Lilly", said Greywind, smiling. "She told me everything. For all the time Jack spends with her, you think he would at least have taught her to lie. Or at least be evasive."

"Don't tell me he's in on this too", sighed Devonshire. Bianca was just thuggish. Jack was outright dangerous. His incompetence resulted is the biggest leak of the most sensitive information. It may yet bring their whole enterprise down.

"No, no", said Greywind. "It isn't that gloomy. As far as I can tell, he's still chasing his tail over that knife."

"As long as it keeps him busy and away from anything sensitive. He's responsible for the biggest security breach we've ever had. I don't know why he still has his job." She finished her tankard, and a server brought another one almost immediately.

"Bianca can be quite persuasive, when she wants to be", said Greywind. "In sort of blunt, brutal way." His eyes had gone misty-eyed in admiration.

"Don't tell me you're starting to fancy her like you did her mother!" said Devonshire. The only thing more pathetic than Greywind's infatuation with Goatha was his repeated denial of it.

"What!" sputtered Greywind. "No, never. Not at all! You totally misunderstand. I admire Goatha's... methods. I don't think it would work out personally. She married Moss after all."

Devonshire gave him a world weary expression. "Yeah, right. Two confused adolescents I have to look after." She rubbed her eyes. "I don't know what the problem is. Reincarnation was fine for five thousand years. Layers of history and experience bedding down in each Soul like layers of sedimentary rock. It was just these upstarts rocking the boat three thousand years ago that changed things. We should put it back to rights."

"Remember, we're talking with humans here", said Greywind. "Three thousand years is a long time to them."

"Yet Moss is talking about granting 'Eternal Life' to everyone. Don't tell me they don't understand scope", she glared angrily over the crowd. Everyone who tried to deny her point of view had these convenient arguments. But their logic didn't apply when turned on their own viewpoint. They wanted to do what was easy, never mind what was right.

"I'm just saying you need to think through your arguments", said Greywind. "An appeal to nostalgia that no one remembers probably isn't going to cut it." He gestured out over the crowd. "This isn't the way things always were. Sure, maybe in Romitu, the city. But, thanks to the gates, you are getting more of this cultural hodgepodge all over Romitu, the empire. And that is quickly becoming the known world. You need something that makes sense to these people in this context."

"I don't know", said Devonshire. "I can't think." Too much to do. No time to plan. No time to honestly discuss things.

"Clearly we need more to drink", said Greywind. "That is, if you aren't on duty."

Devonshire patted a pocket. "I've got my sobriety salve here." Greywind shuddered.

When his replacement drink arrived, something dense and dark from the Underground, he blew the foam off the top and continued. "Problem two: we don't really know the meaning or import of all of those 'sedimentary layers', as you put it. Sure, we've worked out how to break through them, and tap into our past lives. We had to do that to interrogate Angelika, after she passed her soul to Lilly. But they normally don't really seem to be aware of each other, so we don't really know the point."

"I wish I could get a straight answer out of a Grey Elf. They made us that way. You would think they would have an interest in keeping us that way." She had no idea what the Grey Elves were really up to. But, the bottom line was they would prefer if the world didn't end in two thousand years. But they didn't think poor humanity could manage not to destroy themselves and had given up. Just one believed in them. But she could count the number of conversations that anyone had ever had with him on one hand, and he never said anything that, on the surface, appeared useful. And when you dived beneath the surface it appeared to say almost whatever you wanted it to.

Greywind shrugged. "Problem three: even if we could agree on reinstating reincarnation, we don't know how to. At least that's what you've told me. I couldn't tell a lay line from a rune stone personally."

"The Hundred and Forty Four did it somehow with the New Magic before they erased it. The answer is there."

"But a hundred and forty three of them are now gods, a smattering of which are dead, and all of which suffer from self-inflicted amnesia instituted with the erasure of the New Magic. The hundred and forty forth... you would have to ask Coral about her. But from what I understand she walked out before The Change happened."

Devonshire shook her head. "If we can't interrogate the culprits, we can derive it ourselves. They were just men when they worked it out. We have an entire academy of people to do research."

"If", said Greywind pointedly, "if you can get everyone to agree to that line of research. Without using circular logic."

They drank in silence for a while. "We need more people who just believe, no argument, that this is the right thing", said Devonshire.

"Where are you going to find those?" asked Greywind.

"I'm not", said Devonshire. "I've got way too many irons in the fire. You are."

"Me?" said Greywind, protesting. "I've got... many irons. Yes, many irons too!"

"Demara", said Devonshire. "She would understand the importance of this. Go talk to her. And don't even try to say no. You know I'll shoot down all your excuses in the end."

Greywind sputtered, waved his hands in protest, and then sighed, his shoulders sinking. "I don't think she'll be too happy to see me."

## Chapter 16

### At the Bakery

"Get out of my kitchen!" Demara shouted at Greywind. "I thought I told you never to come back here!" Greywind cringed.

The kitchen was hot. Not just from its southerly location, but because the ovens were all fired and nearly ready for baking. Demara wore a flour dusted tunic and apron, her brown hair pulled into a tight bun with pins shaped like sheaves of wheat, the symbol of her goddess, Grania. A kerchief further kept stray hairs from distracting her from her work. She pounded dough on a work surface and glared meaningfully at Greywind.

"It's good to see you too", said Greywind when she had finished. He perched on the corner of a table and watched her sling and weave dough into a complicated loaf. He hated to interrupt her while she was working. But he also knew she was probably less likely to beat him senseless when up to her elbows in dough. "You know, there are easier ways if you just want a muffin." He fished out a small loaf from his shirt and began nibbling on it."

She squinted her eyes at him. "Filched from the market? I'll tell Amaranth you owe her for that." Greywind looked put out. Demara slapped the loafs onto a wide flat board, flung open the door to a roaring oven, shoved the board in, letting the loaves slide onto the heated stone, yanked the board out, then slammed the door closed again. "It's a devotion", she growled at him. "The work is an offering to my goddess. Assuming, of course, you haven't gone and offed her. Is that what you've come here to tell me? She's next on your hit list?"

Greywind shook his head quickly. "Oh, no. Not at all. I'd never even think of it."

"Never think of telling me? Because I know your agenda is to get rid of them all." She slung some of her tools into various washbasins.

"Well, you see, that's the complicated thing about agendas", said Greywind, having another nibble from his muffin. "It's hard to get everyone to agree on one."

"Which is why I'm here, and not there, and why I said I never wanted to see any of you lot again", said Demara, pointedly.

Greywind shrugged. Her hands were free now. He had to hook her before she threw him out. " _I_ really don't have much of an agenda at all." He gestured theatrically, " _I_ just want everyone to get along. It makes life so much easier."

"So you can just keep filching what you fancy and taking responsibility for nothing."

"Precisely!" said Greywind triumphantly. "But everyone's so serious these days. What with this condensed sleep, sobriety pills, and what-not there's hardly any vices left to enjoy at all." He took another bite.

"That doesn't explain why you're here bothering me", she said looking, with intent, at the shelves he was sitting in front of.

"I'm getting to that, I'm getting to that", he said, standing up so she could reach past. It was a good sign if she was diving into her next 'devotion' rather than applying her foot to his backside. "It seems we're set to enter another brouhaha over reincarnation, divine servitude, or eternal life."

"Working yourselves up to killing a few more gods?" she asked, shaking her head and pulling out some more ingredients.

"I think _everyone_ 's gone a bit far", said Greywind. "Dev wanting to go back to the 'old ways', Moss wanting to make heaven on earth and just about everyone wanting to kill all the gods."

"Sounds like nothing has changed", quipped Demara. "So Devonshire sent you here to convince me, a conservative, to back her pushing some sort of metaphysical reset button."

"Well... She didn't... Not exactly... I would never presume..." sputtered Greywind. "OK, Yes. Yes she did."

Demara put her hands on her hips. "You know the answer is 'no', which is why you're blathering on about other stuff."

Greywind looked put-out. When did Demara get as good as Elves at reading people? "Dev's heart is in the right place. But she hasn't got a killer argument, so she's not going to win that way."

"So you're trying to convince me to go the other way to make her give up quickly?" asked Demara.

"No, no. I'm just, you know, wondering if we need to actually kill all those gods at all." Demara raised her eyebrow. "Let's say we do things Moss's way, cure old age through magic, make heaven on earth, let people use the mana they can generate rather than letting some deity use it for them. It's not like we need the gods out of the way to do that." Demara raised her other eyebrow. "Even better, we could do it all _in collaboration_ with the gods. Get them to come forward. Embrace the agenda. Join us instead of fighting us. They can be seen as the primary agents for ringing in heaven on earth, et cetera." He smiled winningly.

"I'm still not seeing where I come into this demented scheme", said Demara.

"Well, such an agreement would have to be brokered. And, well, the gods aren't exactly in a talkative mood with most of us right now", Greywind shrugged. "So it struck me that you are in the position of the perfect negotiator."

Demara rolled her eyes. "Don't get me wrong", she said, holding up her hands. "I'm a big fan of hubris. Where would all our great tragedies be without it? But don't you think this is going a bit far?"

"Well, as you keep repeating, we've already killed a few. The rest have disengaged." He paused. "Given time, and if we ever come to an agreement, we can probably continue to pick them off as they get in the way. Now, we probably couldn't stand up to a unified onslaught of all the remaining gods working together against us." He smiled at her. "But what do you think the chances of that are?"

Demara looked at him sourly. "Given they represent the best and worst of humanity, I wouldn't even give odds on whose dysfunctionality would triumph. Why me though? Surely you perceive yourself to be in a position of strength. Why not just strong arm them into it?"

"You know the gods better than any of us", said Greywind. "You're on a first name basis with a number of them. Facilitated a few... engagements... in the past. You could get your foot in the door. Feed them a few of your famous crescent rolls. Get them in a listening mood." She continued to look highly skeptical. "Besides, this is really just my own little agenda. I couldn't strong arm a fairy myself."

"So let me get this right", said Demara, emphasizing her points with a wooden spoon. "Dev sent you here to try to talk me into her agenda, so I could talk the others out of their agenda. But you're ignoring all of that because you've got a completely different agenda that you want me to spearhead all by myself."

"Yes", said Greywind, popping the last of the muffin in his mouth. "In a nutshell."

Demara shook her head. "It's insane. It's all insane."

"Well, at least you would get to pick your own form of insanity", countered Greywind.

"All I ever wanted to be was a simple priestess", she said wistfully.

"I just wanted to be a simple miscreant", said Greywind. "Look at me now! Trying to save the world. My mother would weep."

"Damn Scioni for starting all of this", swore Demara.

"He's beyond either damnation or salvation now", said Greywind somberly. "No magic in the multiverse can get him back."

"More's the pity", said Demara. "I'd be first in line to slap him for this."

"Now that's the attitude I'd expect from the only person to talk back to a Grey Elf!" said Greywind.

Demara smiled wryly. "Not like there wasn't payback."

"But it didn't stop you talking back to all and sundry, eh?"

"No it didn't" agreed Demara. "No, it didn't."

"So you'll do it?" Greywind asked tentatively.

"Leave it with me", said Demara, staring out over the kitchen.

Greywind leaned against the counter for a bit. "Sorry, one gets used to Elfish with eighteen different conjugations. Was that 'leave it with me' as in 'shut up and get out of my kitchen' or 'I'm on it' or...?"

Demara looked up at him sardonically, "That was 'leave it with me' as in 'leave it with me'. Go about your business. I'll think about it. I may do something. I may do nothing. Or I may pass it on to someone else who I think can do something. After all, if I'm the only one who can implement your agenda then it's all up to me anyway."

"Touché", said Greywind. He bent low, kissed her hand, palmed a crescent roll, and swept from the room.

## Chapter 17

### A Messenger

Demara finished climbing the rocky headland. Surf crashed onto the sand on the narrow beach below her and terns circled overhead. Stunted and twisted gorse ringed the rise but did not ascend to the summit. The sea breeze blew her hair about and she looked off into the setting sun. The clouds were all tinted pink and red except for one grey storm cloud.

As Demara watched, the one grey cloud blew in her direction. As it got closer to the mount it got darker. Then, through the bottom, burst an equine figure, all in black smoke. Occasional bursts of flame could be seen from its hooves, nostrils, mane or tail. As it got lower, a figure could be seen on its back. It wore bright plate armor covered in a blue and white surcoat. A large, smoky black great sword was strapped to the horse, next to it. The smell of wood smoke engulfed the ridge as the rider reigned in and alighted on the ridge, a shower of sparks kicked up from its hooves.

Up close the horse was clearly made of dense, black smoke. Flame like cinders glowed for eyes and licks of flame flickered from its mouth and hooves. The rider dismounted, throwing the reigns to Demara. She drew the horse's head down and patted its quasi-insubstantial cheek. "There, there, Cookie, how is my little flour pastie?" The horse pulled back on its reigns, gave a whinny like fingernails on a chalkboard as flame and smoke jetted from its nostrils. "Now, now", cooed Demara. "What have I told you about biting the hand that feeds you?" The horse shuffled its feet and calmed down dramatically. Its flaming eyes looked at her expectantly. With her other hand she reached into one of her baskets, pulled out a ceramic jug, and popped the cork off with her thumb. The horse pranced a bit in anticipation as she swirled the jug and held it up to its lips. She let go of the reigns as it grabbed the jug's top in its mouth, and threw its head back, guzzling the contents. "Nothing like a pint of whiskey after a long ride" Demara said, patting its flank.

The rider had dismounted, and sunk to one knee. Her dark hair was cropped short, and her olive skin and high cheekbones were similar to Demara's. Her surcoat bore an emblem of a sheaf of wheat, the same as Demara wore in her hair.

Demara turned to her, raised her hands, and prayed. "May rich-haired Grania, blessed goddess, who glories in the harvest, give peace and health, propitious times and necessary wealth, and, ever present, by thy votaries aid Desdemona, Knight of Grania, your servant." The benediction over, Desdemona rose, and Demara passed her a flagon and loaf of bread.

"Thank you, blessed mother", she said, drinking and eating. As she did, it became clear the racial resemblance to Demara was only superficial. Several of her teeth were pointed, and her eyes were red and glowing, not unlike her mount.

"Baked fresh this morning", said Demara. She let her eat in peace for a while. There was no point in superlative backing if you didn't let someone enjoy it. She watched the waves come slowly rolling towards the shore in the lengthening shadows. After a time, she continued in a lower voice. "So how's it going on the continent?"

Desdemona swallowed and breathed deeply. "Not so good. Everywhere I saw full fields, but no one left to reap them. Farm animals going feral. People are on the move. Driven this way and that by the armies."

"Did you have any trouble yourself?" asked Demara with concern.

She shook her head. Amongst the tousled hair were two small horns. She glanced at the sword on her horse. "Between Cookie and Seeker no one really wanted to mess with me. Not for long." She looked along the blade. Gaps could be seen where the smoke stuff was thinner, an inverse shape of archaic runes. "Its power is spent, but it still looks pretty intimidating."

"Not to mention yourself", said Demara, smiling. "Were there problems distributing the food?"

Desdemona laughed. "No. My appearance notwithstanding, hungry people didn't seem to have a problem accepting handouts. And, after I made a few examples, army patrols became very careful not to shake down any refugees carrying loafs with Grania's symbol on them."

Demara nodded. "Romitu?"

"They kept their distance, for the most part", said Desdemona. "I walked into a few ambushes by accident. But they disengaged when the mistake became clear. They were pretty polite about it. Considering."

Demara shrugged. "At least one side still has a trace of nobility."

"Pity it's the god killing side", said Desdemona, sternly.

Demara pursed her lips. "About that..." Desdemona looked up warily. "I had a visit from someone that I didn't want to see. He said some things I didn't want to hear."

Desdemona's hand moved slightly towards her sword. "Are they trying to compel you to pick a side?"

"Ha!" said Demara, dryly. "My choices are my own. But this was more about the larger picture, not just who is beating up whom on the continent." They both jumped slightly as Cookie finished the whiskey and started crunching its way through the bottle. "There are some things to do that I might ask of you. But they won't be easy."

"Blessed mother", said Desdemona. "You interceded with Grania herself and won my soul back from damnation to self-determination. There is nothing you can ask that I won't do."

Demara smiled and looked down. "We were lucky Grania heard my call and saw fit to act. So you should not just blindly do as I say." She looked back into the coal like eyes. "What I won for you was self-determination. Not obedience. Your soul will now be judged according to your actions. Therefore it is up to you to decide what you do, or do not do." Desdemona nodded.

The sun was nearly set. Demara looked out over the purpling sea and fussed with her apron. "I accept that gods are born, and that, in theory, gods may die. I do not agree with this policy of killing gods. But neither do I agree with the forced incarceration of souls. Not with yours. Not with those in The Black Hole. Not, as practiced, with certain of the gods."

"Would you then judge the gods?" asked Desdemona.

Demara looked straight back at her. "There is no point in having strong morals if you do not use them for judgment. There are things that are just plain wrong and need to be stood up to. To abandon that is to descend into moral relativism." She made a distasteful face, though half comical.

"This is what they would have you do?" asked Desdemona.

"No. Not exactly." Demara fished for words. "Let's just say that sometimes even utter fools can speak wisdom. Even if only by accident." She gestured at her basket. "I've written up some messages. Proposals, in a manner of speaking. Benevolent leaders should have no fear of their subjects leaving them, if given a choice. If they adopt this position, I think Romitu would be satisfied. If they would hold a Soul against its will, then in my judgment what they do is wrong."

They stood silently for a while, listening to Cookie grind the last of the ceramic shards with its molars as the darkness descended. "So you need these messages taken to the gods?" asked Desdemona. Demara nodded.

"Who then will take bread to the refugees on the continent?" asked Desdemona.

"No one", said Demara, flatly. She was not going to mince words with the Knight. Demara was the last person in the world to consider asking Desdemona to make a value judgment without full knowledge.

"What will become of them?"

"Some will starve. Some will die." Demara sighed. "Our missions of mercy have not become the leavening in the bread I had hoped they would be. I think it is time to pound the dough harder." Sometimes showing people the right way to behave was enough to embarrass them into behaving right. Sometimes you just needed to knock some heads together.

"I do not like giving up on them." Desdemona looked down at her feet. "But I see the wisdom in what you say." She patted the horse's flank. "Cookie and I can trod the high paths to the gods. I'm not sure we will be all that welcome."

"Ah", said Demara. "I had a thought about that." She smiled mischievously. "A good deal is in the interests of both sides. I think we can find someone on the Romitu side to accompany you. The gods have avoided engaging Romitu so far and will probably think twice about smiting someone with an... escort... from Romitu."

Desdemona cocked her head. "Who? Who of the Romitu would join me on such a crazy errand?"

"Go back to the continent. Find where the fighting is heaviest. Look for Sir Coral Valkyr."

## Chapter 18

### Paladins

A light rain fell on a rough mesa overlooking a village. The edges of the hill were covered in vineyards but the top was windswept grasses. Dominating the space was the tri-form arch of a tactical gate. Whistles shrilled and officers gave loud directions to squads of soldiers who tumbled from the arches of the gate in squads as an army deployed through it. They snaked away, forming into platoons and were sent, double speed, in ordered directions.

Through the low clouds Desdemona descended, her horse barely distinguishable from the dark swirls but the rider standing out sharply in her blue and white surcoat. Horns sounded from below and several archer units were directed towards her. She held both hands out to her sides, palms outwards. After a few tense encounters with Romitu soldiers, she had learned the signals they had been trained to accept as indicating a non-hostile. A harassed looking mage sailed up through the air, towards her. As the mage drew close, she recognized the rider and waved, giving a thumbs-up to the troops below and approaching less cautiously.

"Desdemona, yes?" said the mage, holding her robes closely about her as they were tousled by the wind.

"Yes", said Desdemona. She looked at her quizzically. The Mage looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place her. Everyone who met her once always remembered her. Desdemona had gotten used to the disparity between who recognized her and who she recognized.

"It's Miasma. We've met a few times, but I usually just kind of blend in. Oh, this might help!" She drew back her cloak and a very fat toad peered out from the backpack she was carrying.

"Ah", said Desdemona. There had been a short expedition, back when Demara was working for Scioni. She had been Demara's bodyguard and, this, Miasma, had been the squad's mage. "I remember you now. Ralph?" she asked, indicating the toad.

"Yep. Bigger than ever." She patted its head and he withdrew back to the pack.

"I'm looking for Coral", said Desdemona.

"Oh!" said Miasma. "His tent is over there", she said, pointing to one corner of the now cluttered compound. "The one with all the banners and the like. I'm not sure where he is, though. I just came in myself. The 9th army got an emergency deploy."

"Thank you", said Desdemona. "I'll leave you to your duties." Miasma waved, and sailed back down. Desdemona regretted the politics of Romitu. They were, for the most part, genuine and good people. Many accepted her without batting an eyelash. That was a rarity in her life. If things were otherwise, they would be pleasurable comrades in arms. Even friends. But things were not otherwise, and there was no point dwelling on it.

She rode Cookie down after her Miasma, alighting near Coral's tent. The camp bustled with ordered chaos. The gate continued to disgorge soldiers who were being marched out as quickly as possible to make room in the relatively small camp.

At a bit of a loss as to what to do, Desdemona tethered her horse and watched the commotion. She was mesmerized by the speed and quantity of people that moved through such a small opening so quickly. There had been large trade gates between the major cities. Part of the monumental work of the first Romitu empire. But the last one of those was build centuries ago. It was Scioni's arrival and first rise in politics that lead to the funding and research needed to work out how to build them again, to extend favored trade relations to newer cities. It was his own people to whom the work was contracted out to, and, using the knowledge gained, these tactical portable gates were created.

She started as there was a sudden hue and cry in her direction, but quickly worked out that it was not directed at her, but beyond her. Low on the horizon a great winged horse flew heavily burdened. Some units paused in confusion, interest or cheering before being goaded back into order to avoid congestion. With great, labored wing beats the white horse drove directly down upon Desdemona. She dove to one side and came up, back against Cookie as the horse landed heavily, making the ground shake. A figure rolled off the back of the horse on to the ground next to her, blade out, pointed at her. "Who are you?" his voice said, hoarsely.

"Desdemona, Knight of Grania", she said, hands out to her side. "I seek Sir Coral Valkyr, Queen's Champion."

He rocked back, leaning against his horse. "But of course." He sheathed his sword, and then clawed at his helmet straps. After a moment he had it off, and looked at her clearly, through sweat drenched hair. Desdemona had picked up a bucket of water and held it out to him. He laughed, lowly, and reached for it, still leaning against the horse. In one gesture he upended it over his head and handed it back to her. "Many thanks. If you could refill it for my horse?"

She nodded and looked around for somewhere to fill it. Coral was bent over, resting arms on his legs, letting the water soak in and drawing great breaths. He looked up briefly and indicated a magical spigot to her. She cranked it and clear, cool water flowed. She filled it up and held it out to the horse, which drank greedily.

Coral Valkyr was probably a rare exception. Someone that Desdemona knew more about by reputation than knew about her own reputation. He was a relative newcomer, having only served Scioni for a few months before he was killed. But his deeds distinguished him, especially in service to the new Queen. She didn't know if half of what she had heard of him was true. But it seemed enough to give the benefit of a doubt for.

"I've come to ask a favor", said Desdemona.

Coral laughed, and hauled himself upright. "Right now is an extraordinarily bad time", he said, working on some straps on the horse. "My Queen is besieged by enemy combatants. Alone. As her champion, I really need to attend to her."

"So why are you here?" asked Desdemona.

With a great heave, Coral pulled down what was strapped to the horse's back, and lowered it, gently, to the ground. He pulled back the horse blanked that covered it and inside was a woman, eyes wide with fear, and two small whimpering children. "Because when the Queen gives you a direct order, you have to follow it." He reached out to help the woman up but she scurried backward in terror. He took the bucket from Desdemona and tried again, holding it out to her.

"Bread lady", said one of the children, quietly, peeking from around her mother's cloak. She pointed past Coral to Desdemona, and her tabard. The woman let out a cry and flung herself past Coral and to Desdemona's feet. She and her children clutched Desdemona's legs, heaving great sobs.

Coral raised her eyebrows and looked at Desdemona, surprised. "I guess I'm glad you happened along."

Desdemona crouched down to the woman. She didn't know her, but it was an easy guess that they had been a benefactor of her largess. Her fearsome looks hadn't deterred hungry people. "This man means you no harm", she said, looking each of them in the eyes intently. She then looked over at Coral for confirmation.

Coral bent down in his turn. "I have to go now. Stay next to this tent. Take what food, drink, or rest you need. You will be safe. No one will bother you. Do not leave until either I, or your husband return."

"My husband?" said the woman, unbelieving. "He's alive?"

"Yes", said Coral. "He works for us now. Getting you to safety was a condition of that employment. The Queen swore an oath to it." He straightened up. "Now, that duty discharged, I must see to her safety." Desdemona gave the woman's shoulders a reassuring squeeze. Then she stood up as well. Coral was putting his helmet back on and tightening his straps. "The situation is dire. My Queen is alone. And the enemies are thick about her. I could use all the help I can get." He put one foot in the stirrup and turned to Desdemona and nodded towards Cookie. "Can that fly?" She nodded. "If you aid me now, I will do whatever favor you ask of me once the Queen is safe."

"My quest is important, but not urgent", said Desdemona. "I will help you." She was beginning to believe more than half the things said of this knight were true. To abandon the monarch he had sworn to protect in order to rescue peasants? Then, to agree to her request in return for service without even asking what it was? This was clearly someone who took being an example seriously.

Coral finished mounting, and Desdemona was not far behind him. They launched into the air and set out. Advancing troops looked to the pair of horses in the sky, one black, one white. Some cried out in salute, but most saved their energy for their march. As they advanced small knots of light enemy units could be seen. Not enough for a forced confrontation. Just enough to harry and delay their advance and try to winnow down the numbers.

On the two knights flew, heedless of the arrows from the scouts. The day was darkening although it was still midafternoon. Coral pulled up short at one point, and stood high in his stirrups, looking for a point of reference. "I like this not", he said. "I left the Queen surrounded by enemies. But they seem to have brought some foul magic to bear since."

"I smell demon on the air", said Desdemona, equally disquieted.

Coral looked sharply at her. "Demon? Are you sure?"

"Very", said Desdemona, flashing her smoldering eyes at him. "Trust me on this." She started loosening up the straps on Seeker.

"That's a notch lower than their usual elementals. But I should not be surprised. The Queen is bound to be in the thick of it. Can you lead us there?"

Desdemona grinned with full pointed teeth. "That's what I do."

## Chapter 19

### The Barrier

The sky grew black, not through an abundance of clouds or a vanishing sun, but through an absence of light itself. The weak rain continued to lend its own efforts to the dismal setting. Desdemona rode in the lead now, occasionally stopping to let Cookie pick up fresh scent. Coral took the opportunity to drop a magical flare to guide in any relief that was being sent. As he looked around, this appeared to be unnecessary. A platoon of troops struggled ahead against some dark enemy, with the standard of the 9th army in their center. Looking at it tactically, they seemed to have the situation in hand. As the front troops engaged, the flanks spread out on either side. Coral returned his attention above and spurred his horse on to catch up with Desdemona.

However, in almost no time the horse reared up and came to an abrupt stop, wings beating heavily and losing altitude. "Hey! Hey!" called out Coral, as his mount tried to regain stability without crashing into whatever invisible barrier they were up against. Desdemona turned back, confused. "I can't get through!" shouted Coral, miming a wall. Desdemona surveyed the situation, nodded, and made motions indicating that Coral should land and join the troops. Frustrated, but lacking any other choice, he descended.

He alighted near the standard, with its cluster of commanders and magical support. It was now clear that what he had taken to be a flanking action was their line spreading out along a curved barrier. The situation was not as well in hand as he had assumed.

"Hey ho! Coral!" cried out one of the mages. "Did Desdemona find you?"

"Miasma?" he asked. She nodded. "Desdemona? Black horse, fangs, glowing eyes?"

"Sounds like she did", laughed Miasma. "We're in a bit of a pickle here. Somehow, somewhere, they've managed to recruit a company of dragons!"

Coral looked to their front and the shapes he had seen dimly before were definitely clawed and fanged, snapping at the front ranks then retreating, unimpeded, behind the barrier. But he shook his head. "Those aren't dragons." He had visited their enclave in the mountains. They may resemble them visually, but they didn't move right. Miasma looked confused. "They may look like dragons. But according to Desdemona they're demons. And she looks like the sort of person who should know."

"Drat", said Miasma. "Make that a big, sour, dill, pickle." She turned to relay this information to the commanders.

Just then there was a commotion in the front ranks. A large figure had broken through the barrier and the soldiers were crying an alert and trying to close ranks to block its advance. Coral caught sight of the tabard and rose up in his stirrups to call out. "Give way! Give way! That's one of ours! She's on our side!"

The soldiers hesitated, forming up, but looking to their commanders for confirmation. "Give way!" shouted the general, looking over at Coral questioningly. "Heed the Champion!"

The cordon parted and Cookie struggled backwards through the barrier. Desdemona rode high up her neck, striking forward with her great sword. As she slowly cleared the darkness a shape came with her. Cookie had one of the dragon creatures firmly clamped in its fanged jaws. It squirmed and struggled, coils with shadowy edges blurred and double. As it cleared the barrier the soldiers fell upon it. Being the vanguard of the 9th, their blades were fully magical and demon proof. It did not take much time for them to rend the beast apart.

Coral and Miasma moved forward as the soldiers gave a cheer and reformed their barrier. The creature writhed in its death throws, the blurry edges giving the appearance of slow motion to its moves. "I should have used _clear seeing_ " said Miasma.

"Not if you value your sight", said Coral. "I'm told that's a bad idea against such creatures. Or is that an old wife's tale, Desdemona?" He had come up alongside of her to render what aid he could.

Desdemona had dismounted, and was frantically dismembering the body with her sword. "I need its heart", she panted. "Before the souls leave."

"Why?" said Coral, cautiously. So far this Desdemona had seemed a fair sort, appearances aside. But devouring the hearts of your enemies was just a little close to the line of cultural tolerance Coral was comfortable going.

"Oh, right! There's great magic in a demon's heart", said Miasma. "Can you breach the gate with it?" Desdemona nodded.

"Sorry for doubting you", said Coral, abashed. He leaped from his horse and helped her cut through the tough, though indistinct hide. Score one for Desdemona, he decided.

Once through the skin, the ribs, or cartilage, or chitin, it was hard to tell, it was quick work. She butchered it up, then dragged the heavy organ out, and headed to the front. Coral threw his reigns to a trooper and leaped off, shouting "Coming through!"

The soldiers were wary, but parted readily with Coral's backing. Desdemona stood there, steaming heart in one hand, Seeker held out in the other. The dragon shaped demons eyed her uneasily, and then gave back, hesitantly. She impaled the heart on the sword, and as it ran down the blade, the sockets where its runes used to be glowed a bright orange. The whole sword gave off a black shimmer, and darkness seemed to be collecting on where it wasn't glowing. With a cry she jammed the blade through the ground, under where the barrier was, and slowly lifted it. Wavering darkness could be seen as she pulled upwards, struggling.

"Get through! Get through now if you are going", she grunted to Coral. "I'll need more hearts to rend it enough to let the troops through.

Coral started forward, then stopped and grabbed Miasma. "I think I'm going to need you for this." It never hurt to have a mage.

"Yikes!" said Miasma, but didn't resist.

She and Coral dropped to the ground and crawled through the dirt under the glowing Seeker blade. Once through, the draconic demons hissed and advanced. Desdemona, however, had dropped the barrier, and stepped through, as unimpeded as they were. This gave the demons pause and they gave ground slightly.

Miasma grabbed Coral this time and said, "Hang on!" With a rush of air she flew high above the demons and forward into the darkness. When they had gotten out of sight again she dropped quickly to the ground. "Whew. You're a bit heavier than Ralph!" she said, laughing.

## Chapter 20

### Demons

Miasma and Coral moved forward through the inky darkness, shoulder to shoulder. Behind them hisses and shouts came from the dragon shaped demons, Desdemona, and the troops. The darkness made it difficult to judge distance. So each clash sounded like it was right behind them and they had to resist the urge to look over their shoulders. Ahead they heard indistinct noises; scrapes, shuffles, and voices. Seeming both far away and nearby at the same time.

"So what magic have you got against demons?" asked Coral.

"That's a good question", said Miasma. They had had some discussions about demons in the Academy. But they hadn't even planned any expeditions to the demonic planes. Coral looked worried. "I don't think I've ever fought demons before. Except maybe that camel thing. We never did find out its true form. Greywind was convinced it was a demon."

"Greywind thinks all camels are demonic", said Coral.

Miasma laughed. "Well let's start with general buffs for you. I can do _Celerity_ , _Fortitude_ , and _Exactitude_." She muttered and hummed a few riffs and Coral felt energy course through him. "The demons come from the beyond, like the gods. So what we use against the heavenly forces might also work against them." That was the theory anyway. If they crafted patterns inimical to those from other realms, then it shouldn't matter which realm as long as it wasn't this one.

"But they aren't gods", asked Coral.

"No", said Miasma. "They're a mixed bunch, which makes it worse. Many of the bigger ones started as escaped souls who carved out their own regions in the beyond. Not being in thrall to the gods, they set up their own hierarchies and did business with the gods. Mostly keeping and punishing souls that weren't in favor on behalf of the gods. After The Great Betrayal the gods swore off inter-pantheon warfare. At least directly. But they contract out to the demons to do odd retributive jobs against other gods."

"So they are just your standard angelic being with a dark side", said Coral.

"Many of the movers and shakers are", said Miasma. "But we talked about it in metaphysics theory. The more physically powerful ones are some sort of amalgamated Soul. Your standard angelic being, as you put it, packs a certain punch based on the strength of their Soul. Demons don't like fair fights. So pack a bunch of Souls together in some sort of contorted symbiotic relationship, and you've got more punch than you would otherwise."

"Great", said Coral. The noises they had heard were louder now, though no more distinct. In the mix, however, was an intonation that Coral was sure she recognized: the Queen. "We're close", he said. "Give me what you've got. I'm going to have to take my best guess in this darkness."

"Well", said Miasma. "Then let's see if we can do something about that. I've got a pattern of sunlight here. Folklore says it's supposed to be detrimental to some of these things. That's just about all we have to go on here. Let me just apply it to a simple summoning..." With a few muttered phrases light shot upwards from Miasma's hands, exploding all over, pushing back the essence of darkness. They gasped at the sight.

Before them, in the circle of light, hulked an immense creature. Taken at a distance, it had the same shadowy nature as Desdemona's mount, and the faux-dragons they had passed. Spines, tentacles, cleavers, mandibles, and all sorts of appendages, mauls and limbs writhed in chaos. But at this scale, and with this illumination, it was clear that the blurred edges and smoky nature were not purely due to a lack of substance. This massive demon was composed of multiple creatures, co-located. Looking at it with a wide focus allowed one to dimly make out each of the natures. Some were openly attacking, others defending, and some seemed to be conversing.

In the light, its opponent could be seen as well. The Queen stood alone, in her ornate armor, sword drawn and ready. She kept in motion before the behemoth, faster and slower, blocking the occasional swipe or bludgeon from part of the creature. She kept up a running banter with it. The cadence was recognizable, although the words were lost.

Coral came to himself again, readied his shield and sword. He paused and looked over his shoulder at Miasma. "Let's do this right." He handed her back a horn. Miasma grinned. Jolly old Coral, she though. She brought the horn to her lips as Coral sprinted forward. She wrought a small glamour, a simple air summoning spell, pressed her hand to her chest, and blew a loud long peal from it, cutting through the gibbering whispers as her light had cut through the darkness. On and on the sound reverberated, as the spell relieved her from having to draw breath. In a sort of waterfall cascade, many aspects of the demon drew back, and rose to a height to take in the scene. The Queen ceased talking, and launched herself into a few offensive swipes and dashes. Coral raised his shield and voiced his own battle cry. Miasma cut the spell in dropped the horn. She'd done her heralding. As the sound died off, the echoes didn't seem to fade. They continued. It became clear that they were not echoes, but other horns. They blew the call of the 9th army. They were through the barrier and approaching!

Miasma rose up. It was time to keep the demon occupied while her army caught up to the fight. She sent a few searing bolts at the demon. Parts of it turned to notice, so she cloaked herself in darkness and created an apparition of herself. She had practiced this maneuver plenty in the field. Her doppelganger continued to hurl illusionary magics while she retreated from the scene, towards the horns of the 9th. In short order she came across them, formed up at the barrier. Desdemona stood, sword aloft, holding the barrier open. The last of the vanguard was through and added to the close packed shield wall. The few remaining demons worried the edges of the formation, but the soldiers were too disciplined to step out of line.

"This way!" she shouted, banishing the darkness around them. "For Coral and the Queen!" She sent another wave of light towards where the fight was.

"Advance!" cried the General. "For the Queen! For the 9th! We'll march to hell and back. Move out!" Miasma boosted herself up and over the shield wall, alighting near the General and the command unit. "Report!" ordered the general once everyone was moving.

"Certainly Alessa", said Miasma, catching her breath. She was not military by nature. She found it hard to take the strict protocol seriously. But she was always respectful and most paid no mind to her minor breaches. "One major demon ahead. I didn't get a close look, but the Queen is up and able. Coral is engaging."

General Alessa nodded, wearing a perpetually worried expression. "Good work", she said. "How far?"

"Minutes at this pace", said Miasma. "It's big though." She tried to convey specifics with vague hand gestures.

"Close formation then. We're big too when we put our minds to it." Miasma grinned and nodded in agreement. "We've lost several" continued Alessa, indicating a number of swords that floated along in sync with other soldiers. The standard issue sword was ensorcelled so that if its owner died, the soul was contained in it, instead of going to the beyond. It also animated, found the nearest other standard issue sword, and slaved itself to that one. So, as a unit lost members, its offensive capabilities were not as dramatically affected. Just the granularity with which it could apply them.

The swords also contained the basic patterns for weaving a new body patterned on the contained soul, and doing a short distance summon of most recent equipment. All Miasma had to do was tap into the strategic mana reserve and direct the power at each animated sword she saw. Within seconds the fallen soldier and equipment reappeared, took stock of the situation, and fell into step with their compatriots. Before its march was complete they were at full strength again.

As they drew within sight of the demon, General Alessa ordered another trumpeting from the standard bearer. Coral and the Queen stood, shoulder to shoulder, dodging and weaving as the demon desperately attacked. Their defense, both in prowess and in magic, was undaunted. The shield formation of the 9th closed in on it and their many swords swung and stabbed at the form as one, ignoring its shifting multitude. Alessa cried their advance, step by step, giving no ground.

Miasma took up station toward the rear of the unit. She kept the light up so that the troops could see to do their work. When aspects of the demon loomed overhead, she flung out barriers to shield the troops from above. Another aspect of the standard issue sword was that it had a fixed pattern that was easy to target with spells. She tried a range of enhancement from _vitriol_ to _searing_. If demons were going to be on the future agenda, it was worth getting as much field information as she could.

Despite the demon's mass, size and horrific visage, the tables were clearly and quickly turning. With a multi-throated howl of rage and frustration, it began to give ground. Not letting an advantage slip past, the attack was pressed and the demon was quickly forced to nearly all defensive moves.

"It seems to have no stomach for a fair fight", said Alessa to Miasma. She had returned to the command unit after running through her offensive repertoire. She now had something else in mind.

"That's what I'm afraid of", Miasma said back. She had starting working an energy reservoir and sending quest spells to take patterns from the creature. Some motes floating near her started to blink brightly and rapidly. "I think it's about to abscond", she said.

"Is that a problem?" asked Alessa, who looked hopeful.

"Do you really want to fight it again?" The air around it shifted and melted and the shadowy forms became more insubstantial. At this Miasma flung a binding spell with all the energy she had. A howling cacophony sounded as pieces of the creature disappeared, others parts became more solid, and chaos erupted. Shields were crushed under collapsing bodies and gouts of black ichor gushed over the battle field as the creature tore itself apart in a maelstrom of conflicting magical directives.

"Ewww. What a mess", muttered Miasma, cringing.

## Chapter 21

### General Strategy

General Alessa lay on the floor of her tent, curled up in a ball, shuddering and crying silently. The Queen had been secured, the vanguard reunited with the main body of the 9th, and the troops stood down. Alessa then had the luxury of retiring to her tent and breaking down.

The furnishings were soldier-simple. Weapon rack, armor rack, bunk, trunk and desk. Although, as a general, she rated an enhanced tent which could be fully fitted in detail and still be collapsible, she only took advantage of the sound proofing. It allowed her to give in to her insecurities privately.

The burden of responsibility weighed heavily on her. The several thousand soldiers of the 9th, the officers, her fellow generals, the Queen herself; all looked up to her and respected her. They seemed to have no idea just how little grasp she had on what she was supposed to be doing. The General, who had elevated her against her desires to this position, had said that being a leader just means delegating appropriately. He was making a joke, but she had no option but to do so.

A bastard child of an Amazon, she was the lowest of the low. When an Amazon woman desired a child, she went to the temple, prayed and sacrificed to the goddesses. Those the goddesses smiled upon became pregnant. Her mother did not. Not wanting to put up with the social ridicule, she left Amazonia for the slums of Romitu. There she engaged in what her culture considered bestiality, and got her child by means other than the goddesses.

Her mother never said as much, but Alessa knew. Otherwise why not go back to Amazonia, which she claimed to love so much? And, no matter what she did, it was never good enough for her mother. She had to constantly prove herself. To be more of an Amazon than the Amazons themselves. Or, rather, more than Romitu's idea of Amazons. She knew better now. She had marched her army through Amazonia, an early ally of Scioni. They were a nation of farmers, craftswomen, and politicians, much like any other. Yes, they had their own standing army. And, yes, perforce, they were all women. They weren't exceptional. But that didn't make a good story. Amazing women warriors with supernatural skills made a good story. And that's what she had to live up to.

So she became a hack job mercenary. A sword for hire. She painted on her scarlet war paint and made more of her appearance than knowing one end of a sword from another. Fate and luck thrust her in front of The General when he needed bodies and this is where she ended up. In charge of an army. Not just any army, the 9th army. The most prestigious one.

Scioni had put her here. And now he was gone. Swept into the void before her very eyes in that random ambush. If only the deadly gate had materialized a few feet to one side it would be her that was gone and not him. The General would have still been here. She'd have been mourned, but not missed. The world would have been much better for it.

Instead she has Jesca as the Queen. Alessa loved her almost as dearly as The General, and wished she was as competent a general as the Queen deserved. They floundered in their strategy; caught in an awful quagmire with no end in sight. The Queen all but abdicating and, horror of horrors, trying to elevate her to the throne! As if she hadn't done badly enough as a general. Almost in revenge she goes off on some mad, noble gesture. Alessa had lost The General on her watch. She nearly had apoplexy at the thought of losing Jesca as well. Gods know they probably wouldn't punish her for it as she deserved but instead raise her to Queen in tribute to Jesca's obvious wish.

She was shaken from her misery by a knock on the tents door. She clenched herself tighter, willing them to go away. "General", came a voice. "The Queen is requesting your presence."

Defeated, she rolled on to her back. She drew a ragged breath and calmed herself. She canceled the sound proofing and said "Tell her I am on my way." After a moment's pause she hauled herself to her feet. She avoided looking in the mirror and wiped her face with water from a bowl. Grasping another ornament she exerted some determination and activated it. Cold rushed up and down her body, quickly removing outward signs of dirt, sweat, and debris. She donned her light battle dress with well-practiced hands, the regulation sword, and strode from the tent with a façade of purposefulness.

On duty troops saluted as she passed. She returned it. Off duty troops cheered her. She gave them a victory sign. The Queen's attaché lead her on. She had expected to be lead through the tri-form arch to the High City in Romitu, but instead the Queen appeared to be holding court in the mess tent.

"Majestus", said Alessa, saluting her. The Queen sat, somewhat disheveled on the long edge of one of the tables. Food and the remains of food lay scattered about, as well as bits of her personal gear, notes, and odd weapons. Her masters of personal and household security stood a discreet distance away keeping a nonchalant, but wary, eye about the place. Other soldiers came and went from the tent. Some craned their necks to get a look at the Queen, but most gave her the respect her willingness to come to their level deserved.

"Sit. Eat if you need it", said Jesca, rubbing her eyes. "Oh, thank you for puling me out of that, by the way."

Alessa sat, but did not touch the food. "It's my duty, ma'am. Besides I think your own skill and Sir Valkyr's did most of the work."

Jesca shook her head. "No. No skill on my part. Just enough magic defenses to make my teeth hurt. Sir Valkry was spirited, but that wasn't enough to turn the demon. I'm told they don't like fair fights. It was the change in tactical situation brought about by your arrival that made it re-think its position. So don't short yourself."

"Majestus is kind", said Alessa, dropping the argument. Like intimidating people merely by wearing Amazon war paint. Now just moving her troops saved the day. She hadn't come far at all. She feared the day she was actually put to the test and found lacking.

"It would have been kinder of me not to get into such a mess", she grinned sheepishly. "For that I apologize."

"It's your prerogative", said Alessa. It was such recklessness that won her the position she was in. When Scioni was assassinated there had been a surge from the Republic loyalists. Jesca, not even a force commander, had rode out herself to meet them and embarrassed the garrison into following her. She hadn't even known Scioni was dead yet.

"Yes, but still not very convenient for you. Disturbing your strategic plans and all that." Jesca reached for a loaf of bread, and then changed her mind. "Which is why I dragged you out of your tent to talk." She pushed herself up straight, and moved some of the litter from the table. She looked Alessa straight in the eyes for the first time. "We have confirmation: those were demons."

Alessa nodded. "A shape shifted ruse holding the outer perimeter while a major one manifested the barrier and dealt with you", said Alessa.

Jesca nodded. "We have not faced demons before. This is a change in tactics."

"We do not know that we have faced demons before", said Alessa. "If they were similarly shape shifted..."

"True", said Jesca, considering. "The complete abandon with which some of their troops have fought..." she shook her head. "Nevertheless. We know that these were demons. And they know that we know that these were demons. The cat is out of the bag."

"Do you expect that they will use demons now more openly?" asked Alessa. She dreaded the thought. But for the luck of Demara's knight turning up, they would have lost the Queen.

"What would you do if you were them?" asked Jesca. It was a game she played a lot with her generals.

Alessa looked uncomfortable. "I'm really not sure of their capabilities." She paused. "Certainly the element of surprise is now gone. I would move quickly and deploy them to the best advantage before we had time to develop a counter strategy."

"Makes sense. And, we don't know what that best advantage is yet." She pulled a goblet of watered down wine to her and took a sip.

"We have not fought demons before", said Alessa. "I've heard stories. But that's not really something to base a strategy on."

"I agree. But we know this: the war is going to change. The stakes in this war have been upped. Yet again. First them with their destructive tactics. Then us with The Oath barring returning fighters. Then them with their berserker hypnosis, or whatever. Now this." She traced the rim of the glass. "Since we don't know exactly what to expect, a conservative strategy is best. I'm thinking of withdrawing all the armies to the cities with trade gates." She looked up at her closely for her reaction.

"And give up all that we've gained?" She waved her hands. "We've got camps at tactical gates in strategic positions all over the continent."

"What's strategic anymore? We can send a vanguard in, form a perimeter, erect a tactical gate, and have an army through in forty minutes. We've trained the maneuver over and over." Jesca sighed. "The gates destroy any notion of territory. You've told me that. We know that. We just haven't reacted to it."

"We haven't because we don't know how to react", said Alessa. "This is all new. Old school training doesn't help here. And now you say they're changing the field again."

"There was no one more old school than Scioni", said Jesca. "He managed. We must."

"I'm no Scioni", said Alessa, forcefully. She nearly laughed at the understatement.

Jesca smiled sadly. "Neither am I. None of us are."

The silence lengthened. "They know we can rapid deploy", said Alessa, eventually. "So there is no element of surprise to hide. Boosting from the trade gates in the cities to a tactical gate uses less mana than from one tactical gate to another. This means we can do it more. Say that as soon as we redeploy the forces to the cities, we make it a policy of doing a rapid deploy to any city we hear about with a cluster of soldiers, or even the rumor of one. Plus some others at complete random. We build our training. We keep them guessing." The words just tumbled out. It was the first thing she thought of. No thought behind it. Just random nonsense.

"Sounds like a plan", said Jesca. "Let's start in the morning." She stood up, and Alessa left, inwardly terrified.

## Chapter 22

### Serendipity

Jesca left the mess tent shortly thereafter, flanked by her masters of personal and household security. She exercised her privilege and skipped the line at the tactical gate to teleport back to the High City in Romitu. The palace was, thankfully, almost deserted at this forsaken hour and in short order she was in her chambers.

Once there, in a reversal of the usual roles, she helped Phyllis and Clive armor down. Hers had been removed back at camp leaving her in just her armoring jacket. When they were free from the bulk of their encumberment they turned to her. "Let's have you out of that and get a close look at what that demon did to you", said Clive.

Jesca shrugged, but didn't protest the removal of the padded tunic. "It was mostly toying with me. It hadn't taunted me enough to start into really fighting."

Clive prodded her, none too gently, while Phyllis stacked the gear. "That's the problem with magical armor. No obvious blows or armor pinches. It's all deep bruising, strains and sprains." Jesca winced as he torqued her legs against the joints. "I'll get some ice."

"What I want to know", said Phyllis sternly, returning, "is if you planned all of that?"

Jesca closed her eyes, waiting while Clive rummaged in the magical larder. "If this was a diplomatic function, the correct answer would be to smile enigmatically and say something vague."

"But it's not", said Clive, slapping a towel wrapped around crushed ice on her ankle. She gasped. "Answer your mother."

"No", said Jesca. "I did not plan that. A sphinx would not have guessed they would have worked out I was there, and mobilized such a force so quickly."

"First you ditched us, and then you ditched Coral", started Phyllis.

"I did _not_ ditch you", interrupted Jesca. "How could I when I didn't even know where you were?"

Phyllis's eyes narrowed. "We lost tracking as soon as you entered the hamlet. What did you think you were doing, anyway?"

Jesca sighed. "I was just trying to do 'the right thing'. Nobility, chivalry, and all the crap I'm supposed to be as Queen. I'm not an example if I let Coral do it all. I made some promise to some peon that I was trying to fulfill. Because my empire is made up of peons like him, and if I can't keep my word to one, how can I keep it to any? I didn't expect the hordes from hell to turn up."

"And when they did you sent Coral away so you could confront it on your own?" said Clive.

"There were non-combatants", said Jesca, stubbornly. "They wouldn't have lasted five minutes. I've got enough of everyone else's blood on my hands as it is. All I did was put my own blood at risk for a change instead of someone else's. It's what Scioni would have done."

They all glared at the walls in silence for a while. "Well, you are probably right about that", said Clive.

Phyllis poked her shoulder. "You had us worried. I thought we had lost you."

Jesca met her eyes and smiled wryly. "It would take more than that. That armor is so protective I could probably jump into a volcano." She sat up and adjusted the ice. "For truth, I know it seemed perilous, but it was far less so than you might think."

"So, you just had tea and a pleasant chat with a major demon?" asked Clive.

"Almost", said Jesca. "Part of it seemed to feel it needed to taunt me first. That it wasn't worth attacking with all its mettle unless I was terrified."

Phyllis snorted. "Well no one knows better than your mother that you don't terrify well."

"Which really put it out of sorts. I taunted it in return." Jesca couldn't help smirking.

"And to think Demara has been absent from court for so long", said Clive. She was famous for her taunts.

Jesca smiled. "Actually, I'm pretty hopeful about the whole thing."

"Hopeful? Hopeful!" said Phyllis, surprised. "That we now have demons to contend with on top of everything else?"

"Everything has been a problem", said Jesca. "Everything. Nothing goes right. Despite overwhelming numbers, armament and magic, we're nearly stalemated. The Spymaster brought that up."

"He's an irritating little weasel", said Clive.

"Even more irritating when he's right. He had several theories." Jesca counted on her fingers. "We might have a highly placed spy in our midst feeding them our every move. They might have divination magics significantly beyond our understanding. Or they just never make mistakes."

"Of course if _he's_ the spy..." started Phyllis.

"I've fed him misinformation. I've sent out random orders", said Jesca. "It didn't make a difference. But", she paused to push off the ice pack in relief. "today they made a mistake."

"Waylaying you with a band of demons was a mistake?" said Phyllis.

"Doing it and not succeeding was", said Jesca. "Indefatigable might of that armor aside; I have no doubt that the demon they sent could have finished me off. Given how much they know about our plans I assume they know as much about my defenses. They've been too circumspect so far to expend effort with no hope of gain. I don't think they expected us to breach their barrier."

"That was the half-demon, right?" asked Clive.

Phyllis nodded. "She's not one of ours. She just 'happened' to be there. Coral co-opted her along with him. That blindsided them."

"We achieved something today", said Jesca. "They did not. It seems kind of a turning point to me."

"All this from a chivalric jaunt of derring-do!" said Clive. "Who would have thought?"

"Like a hidden hand out there, guiding us", said Phyllis, sarcastically. "Like the gods were supposed to do."

"There's always the Grey Elves", said Clive, more seriously.

"No", said Jesca. "I think it would invalidate their great 'experiment' if they tinkered with us like that. For now, I'm just going to accept it as serendipity."

# ARC 3
## Chapter 23

### Course Material

"You look good in 12th dynasty", said the granddaughter to the grandmother. "You should wear it more often." The grandmother sat in a corner of the curiosity shop, in a dress elaborately braided from small strips of leather in a riot of earth tones. It clung to her frail figure, but was stiff enough to give it the support and bearing of some generation and species' concept of an ideal body type. From most of the intersections of the braids sparkled a crudely cut crystal, giving the entire outfit a shimmering appearance.

" _Late_ 12th dynasty, Penelope", corrected the grandmother, her coarse Orcish features looking stern at the mistake. "These varieties of dyes were not available until the conquest of the later satraps. Whereupon, of course, the new imports became all the rage." The shop was not small, but it gave the appearance of being so as it was so full of clutter. Shelves and tables and racks and chests lined every wall and surface. They appeared to be stacked at random with beads, baubles, ornaments, and highly decorated objects of unclear material and function. Like many such places in the Underground, the boundaries of its rooms were not architecturally fixed, but dictated by the stone. Side chambers and alcoves and diggings from different eras gave an ambiguity to the actual shape of the shop. Overall it gave the impression that if you wandered long enough through the maze of items you could find anything.

"My apologies", said Penelope. "I should not have missed that." She looked at it more closely. "From the quality of the accents I would say it is from one of the reigns of the final two satraps? As the empire was pressured they had to rely on lower quality local mines."

"An insightful supposition", said the grandmother, looking more approving. "In fact, this is a replica, and the quality of the gems has more to do with what the merchant whom I commissioned it from had available for a reasonable price."

There was a loud hiss, followed by three squawks from the doorway. The two looked up to the patron who had just walked in. A short, squat troglodyte stared wide eyed and startled at the feathered totem dangling in front of him that his entrance had disturbed. He recovered after a few moments, and moved into the shop. Only a few moments after that he started again when he discerned that the grandmother and granddaughter were actual people, and not shop fixtures. The grandmother nodded somberly towards him and looked around the shop indicating he was free to browse. Nervously, he did so.

"And what of your attire?" continued the grandmother, in a dialect that had not been in common usage for several centuries. "Is it representative of what they are wearing on the surface?"

Penelope looked to her dress, considering her answer, and refreshing her memory of the language. "As an instructor in an institute of learning aimed at the upper classes, I have chosen something in what they consider a conservative style and cut. However, to make them feel that I am providing a service of a quality they can respect, the material of this is of what they consider an expensive luxury. As in the hay day late 12th dynasty, that would be exotic imports from new trading partners. Namely, Underground goods."

"No doubt commissioned from the same tailor who made this", said her grandmother, nodding approvingly. "Good deduction. Economic execution. You look good in it. Do your suitors agree?"

Penelope snorted and rolled her eyes. "I do not desire suitors. The garment is specifically appropriate to my frame. I have not tried to alter it to emphasize or hide the differences in my body features from what is currently fashionable. Given the difference in species, those who would court my favors through romantic overtures are hardly likely to be swayed by the trappings I wear or the silhouette I present. It does give me passing amusement, though, to see what elements of my dress or body they choose to compliment, since most of them find it awkward to highlight any particular feature of my visage with praise."

"Well I'm glad", said the grandmother, "that this opportunity on the surface is furthering your education, as well as theirs."

"I'd rather be working the shop, with you", said Penelope. They both watched as the lone customer stared, fascinated, at an improbable piece of taxidermy.

"I'm quite capable", said the grandmother. "Despite my advanced years."

"I know our surface friends have given you magical aid. Some of them aim to live forever. I do not like that they experiment on you."

The grandmother smiled. "I have no doubt that I will die someday. Given the short life-span of our people, it would likely have been some time ago. I did not expect to survive my retirement tour, but here I am."

Roxanne, as she called herself in the predominant surface tongue, had made an early impression on an early expedition sent by Scioni into the Underground. They had been looking to establish a new trade route to bolster their faction and her eclectic wares were the sort of high-value, low bulk items perfect for starting it off. She also provided a fairly objective consultant to which other Underground traders were bilking them for how much. In return for her services she only asked that her only granddaughter be enrolled at their elite academy.

Having secured Penelope's future, she settled her affairs and prepared for one final grand tour. There were so many places in the Underground she knew only by reputation and history. There were shops like hers in many of the other cities, the patrons of which she had corresponded with all her life. It seemed fitting, as she felt herself growing frailer, to journey out into the history she knew so well. And if her time overcame her while on the road, then disappearing into a mysterious obscurity seemed all too fitting an end.

But she had endeared herself to Scioni and his people. They considered her histories and insights invaluable. The regenerative magics they had given her appeared effective and, somewhat anticlimactically, she had survived her last jaunt. But she did not regret it. She had learned a lot, and brought back many interesting reference works. Actually meeting many of the other shopkeepers face to face, for those who had faces, cemented her own shop in their memory and would do Penelope well in her turn.

The troglodyte had made a selection. He approached Roxanne tentatively showing a small, flat medallion, with crude marks in an archaic language. The grandmother nodded once, and he looked relieved. She held out her hand and he put a few coins into it. She raised her eyebrow questioningly and he began to look nervous. He put another coin in it, considered, and then added a further one. She lowered her eyebrow and he fled the shop.

"It is just as well", said Penelope, switching back to a more recent dialect. "I think it will take me some years to perfect the intimidation you master."

The grandmother shrugged. "Most buy trinkets to drop into the great well to supplicate or appease one of the Ancient Ones. The value of it is not what they purchase, but how much they pay. And, a small rumor to the effect that the petitioner who fell in a few years ago did so because he did not pay a fair price for his offering... tends to keep them honest." She smiled.

"I hope you live at least a decade more", said Penelope.

"Who knows", said the grandmother, "as long as they find me useful I may in fact live forever. Speaking of which..." she got gingerly to her feet and began to walk to the back of the shop slowly and carefully. The leather of her dress creaked with her movements. Penelope hovered close to her, a look of concern on her dark features. They reached a shelf in the back and Roxanne pulled the cloth covering from it. "You're covering the Ramp-Builder period at the moment?" she asked.

"A general overview", sighed Penelope. "I only have eight weeks to cover 200,000 years of Underground history."

"Seems hardly fair", said the Grandmother. She started handing her some books. "You might want to start from some original reference material. This is a book of collected sketches of Ramp-Builder inscriptions". Penelope briefly opened it to look at drawings that looked like chicken scratches. "Shaganapua grammar, of course."

"In Nibelungian, of course", said Penelope, smiling.

"Not my fault if the classical languages aren't on your curriculum", said the grandmother, distractedly. "Here is a translation of 'The Three Crocotta Princes' _into_ the Ramp-Builder script. That should confuse them terribly", she chuckled. "And, lastly, in case you need to frighten any of the more dismissive students, I have one original piece." She indicated the last, heavily bound book on the shelf. Penelope hefted it carefully. "There are Hydragyranium traces in the ink. So the covers have Plubonium in them to shield them." The ink was known as fixated mercury, and could give hallucinations by proximity. While the 'true lead' of the cover had excellent magical shielding powers, it was terribly heavy. "It will build up strength in your back and probably give them nightmares."

"Thank you grandmother", said Penelope with emotion. "I shall do my best to terrify them."

The grandmother smiled and hugged her fondly farewell.

## Chapter 24

### A Lesson

"And do we have a volunteer to copy this passage?" Penelope asked her class. The room was along the edge of one of the many parapets and towers that formed the Scioni Academy of Magic. The large windows belied that the building also served as a fortification. They had magical defenses, and size didn't matter. Indirect sunlight streamed through them across the disinterested students. There wasn't much of a view to distract them other than the rooftops and walls of the edifice, and the distant smudge of the ironwood forest beyond. In the silence after her question sounds from the outpost below floated in along with the distant roar of the forge built around the massive shell of a gutted iron tree that gave the town its name.

Finally one boy stood, breaking the drawn out silence, and gestured simply. An exact copy of the chicken scratch on the chalkboard appeared in glowing figures, floating in the air before him.

"Thank you for the illustration Baladakhr", said Penelope, "However I meant on the board. Something requiring you to use some actual interpretive skill, not just a simple pattern duplication spell." The students were always trying to use magic to take short cuts. All they saw was the power, and not the wisdom to use it.

He swallowed, made a sour look, and approached the board. Hesitantly he attempted to duplicate the scribble on the board. Penelope watched him with a steely gaze, drawing out his awkwardness until he finished and sat down. She surveyed his attempt. "Atrocious", she pronounced. She then proceeded to circle each mistake or gloss where he had missed some salient nuance that made the intent otherwise distinct. "What does this tell us about the Ramp-Builders?" she asked.

Silence, once more, stretched over the class. They varied in age from pre-pubescent to late adolescent. Most were human, with a smattering of other races and a number of troglodytes in the back row. All but one wore a precisely tailored uniform and terminally bored faces. "That they probably didn't have hands like us", said the odd student out.

"Precisely", said Penelope, approvingly. "The subtlety in differences between certain forms of glyphs of unrelated meaning implies that whatever they manipulated their writing utensils with had a finer control of certain motions than our hands."

"Maybe they had flippers", said one voice, to general amusement. Penelope gave him, and anyone she caught laughing, a stern look.

The boy at the back fidgeted. "Did you have some further insight to add, Winter?" asked Penelope.

He swallowed. "Maybe they didn't have hands at all?" She looked at him challengingly. "As Baladakhr demonstrated, producing an exact copy of something is trivial with magic. You said earlier we only know their writing from fragmentary inscriptions on stone. They wouldn't have written that with a stylus. If they used some form of magic, or power of the mind, the forms of the glyphs could be stylized far beyond what they may have used for casual communication."

Penelope folded her arms and looked at him for a long moment. The boy had insight. Or perhaps it was just that he was paying attention. It had been a while since a student had made a suggestion she couldn't shoot down without thinking. She was getting lazy. "An interesting supposition", she said eventually. "I can find no immediate flaw in it. I shall have to discuss it with my grandmother." After she turned back to the board another classmate gave him a dirty look. "Now, what can we deduce of their grammar?" The lesson continued.

When the class was over all but one of the students filed out. Penelope looked up from collecting her books. "Thank you for joining us, today, Winter. You are a good example to the class. I wish you were here more of the year." If he was a regular rival, not just an oddity he might inspire the hopeless suitors to try to impress her with something she really cared about: intelligent analysis of ancient artifacts.

He shrugged. "It's interesting to hear about something other than ocean currents and fish migration."

"I shall recommend a few books to your mother for you to take back with you then." Some of the more fanciful histories would make entertaining reading. And more interesting conversation to see if he could discern the difference between folklore and facts. He nodded, but did not leave. "Was there something else?"

"There are no gods in the Underground, are there?" he asked.

"No", she said. "There are elemental powers that the ignorant seek to appease, ancestral forces the superstitious supplicate, and Ancient Ones of immense uncaring power that the wise know to avoid."

"So what happens when you die?" he asked.

"You die", she said simply.

"But what about your Soul? Does it reincarnate as on the surface for Elves, or do they go to serve a greater power as with the gods?"

Penelope shook her head. "By your metaphysics, most of the races of the Underground do not have Souls. They have spirits, like the animals of the surface. I believe it is much the same under the ocean, where you live. It is only the recent immigrants, Orcs, in my case, and divinely wrought beings in your case, that have Souls."

"There goes my theory about Ramp-Builder writing", said Winter with mock resignation. Penelope looked blankly at him. "Um, you know how magic is powered by mana energy and that derives from the interaction between a Soul and a Will."

"Ah", she said, understanding. "I had forgotten that little nuance." She had been one of the founding students of the academy, but had opted out of the magical classes in favor of more time to study history. She shook her head. "Just because your magic would not work does not mean that no other form would. I am sure your theory is wrong. In 140,000 years of study no one has used that explanation. But why your theory is wrong could prove to be quite interesting. I will let you know when I have an answer."

"I guess it will be a change to be interestingly wrong instead of just plain wrong", he said cynically.

Penelope looked at him levelly. "I wasn't fostered, but I did spend many years here as a student amongst those who thought themselves my cultural and ethnic betters. I teach here now. You're the son of one of the principles of this Academy. I suspect, as was my experience, that you are less often wrong than inconveniently right." The child had a good brain inside his head. But he had to learn to stand up to his environment. He should learn from history the difference between fashion and foundation.

"I do have a knack for inconvenience", he said, looking out the window.

"If that was so", she retorted, "your mother would be here asking her questions instead of sending you." He looked back into her eyes, surprised. She maintained her blank face. "Her interests are well known." And her panache for working through others. The Elfin cultural norms prized indirect actions far more convoluted than necessary. The more awkwardly you achieved something the more your peers respected you. It ceased to be bizarre the more you read about other, even weirder, idioms.

He slumped against the wall. "Is she just crazy then?"

"Elaborate", said Penelope. "Crazy in her plans or crazy in the belief she can actualize her plans?"

"Either, both", said Winter. "I just want to know if she's being set up to be a fool."

"Your New Magic is not an interest of mine", she said. "But for historical antecedents, I would note that the S'Markandian culture migrated from dimension to dimension by taking over suitable species and transferring their essences to them. So there is technical precedence of similar ventures.

"As for her chances, I can only say that I observe that she has her allies, she is very passionate about it, and more has been done with less in the histories I have studied." It bordered on being a meaningless platitude. But it was true and she felt that it might prove a centering thought to give him better clarity of mind.

Winter thought on this a while. "Thank you", he said. Penelope made to leave and he held up his hand. "There's a Triton called Charonia, in the court of Atlantica. He teaches me history. Undersea history, that is." He smiled at her. "I would have brought you a book about it, but they don't have any. If you should find occasion to visit, I can introduce you."

She looked at him intrigued. The Undersea was not as vast or ancient as the Underground. It was only with Winter's fostership there that she had really even become aware of it. Its history and culture was completely unknown to her. "It is not a particular interest of mine, but it is also not a field I have seen much material on. Grandmother is so hard to buy for." She smiled at him. "I shall certainly keep that in mind."

## Chapter 25

### Past Lives

A soft chime sounded in Devonshire's study as Winter arrived via the household teleport. "I'll be with you in a minute", she growled. The place was a maze made up of books, equipment, crates, boxes, and wax tablets stacked on every available horizontal surface. Murky liquid smoldered over burners in some corners, leftover food moldered on cheap crockery in other corners. Half empty cups of a variety of fluids were tucked into easily forgotten places.

Winter threaded his way aimlessly through the mess. He stopped to feed some caged rats the crusts from a pie plate. No self-heating self-cooling dinner plates for these guys. He read the labels on the spines of a few books, pulled down one or two, but quickly put them back. They were way too technical for him. Following the sound of muttering he came to where his mother was working.

She sat in an overstuffed chair, a book propped open for reference on the edge of a table nearby. A few crystals floated around her head. From one emanated a complex changing pattern of magical forces. From another, a visual glamor of a smoky shifting shape. He could never make head or tail from the magical patterns that were ubiquitous to the new magic. But one was emanating a clear visual picture. Something large and imposing glowered over another small but defiant figure. As he leaned closer he disturbed a small stack of boxes that slid to the side with a crash. Devonshire looked up suddenly, "Oh! It's you!" she said, surprised. With quick moves she darkened all the crystals and sent them into a pocket. She pulled herself out of the chair to hug him. The book she had been reading fell off the edge of the table behind her into the cushions. "How did it go?"

"OK, I guess", he said, awkwardly returning the hug. Physical touching was just not done under the water, and even less so for him. Also, they were about the same height and he didn't know quite where to put his hand. "Linguistics was... hard. Natural Sciences..." he shook his head. "I don't even know the basics of magic." Patterns, patterns, and more patterns. "Rhetoric was kind of fun." Then he brightened. "History was good! Penelope might even come visit me!"

Devonshire raised her eyebrow. "You have the hots for her too? Seems half the school does."

"What? No!" protested Winter. She always thought this way. "She's... way too old for me."

"Give it a hundred years", said Devonshire, laughing. "It won't seem like much then."

"I'll be dead in a hundred years", said Winter, flatly. "So will she. Orcs have even shorter lifespans than humans." She just didn't get it.

"It's just an expression", said Devonshire, sadly. "And you aren't 100% human. We just don't know."

"Mother. I'm not going to turn thirteen, split my skin, and emerge an elfin child", he said stubbornly. "This is who I am." Or maybe it wasn't that she didn't get it, she just preferred to live in denial.

Devonshire looked deeply into his eyes. "I carried you and gave birth to you. I still think there's some of me in there." Winter snorted. After a while she continued, "Did you get to ask the questions I wanted?"

"She said you should ask her yourself", said Winter, sharply. Devonshire looked sour. Winter relented. He knew this was important. It was just one of the things that kept her so busy. His life as a hostage saved tens of thousands. Her life slaved to her work was for more. "She also said that the Underground folk are mostly what you would call 'spirits'. They don't have souls so the question is moot."

"What happens when they die?" asked Devonshire.

"They die", said Winter, echoing Penelope.

"I don't think it's as simple as that", said Devonshire. "It just doesn't make sense for all of these spirits and Souls to come, poof, out of nowhere, and to go, poof, back into nowhere. The obvious conclusion is that spirits must reincarnate and that's part of the natural order."

Winter looked at the cage of rats. "If that's the case, couldn't you prove it by doing past life analysis?"

Devonshire sighed. "It's not easy. Especially if your subject is a rat or a cat."

"But you've told me when Angelika did it to you, most of your past lives were elves, but some weren't. Surely you could tell the difference between a rat and a cat?" He edged forward. "How about me? You actually knew me in my past life." He'd been a god in his past life. There would be plenty to learn from that.

Devonshire looked at Winter very hard. "The barriers between the memories of different lives are laid down pretty strongly in a Soul. It takes a lot to break through them. You have to be subtle in order not to leave the door open so they can leak back in." She shook her head. "That's the very last thing I'd like to see happen to you. Your father was extremely strong willed. You don't know the price I've paid in order to ensure he has had as little influence on you as possible."

"You mean you killed him", said Winter, coldly.

"That was before I knew you existed", said Devonshire, levelly. "And we've been through this before. He had no memory and no followers. Wandering confused around the ruins of what had been his civilization. Not a healthy situation for a battle god. I gave him the chance to end his existence fighting."

He had heard the story plenty of times before. But always from Devonshire's side. No one else really wanted to talk about it. Not to him. Her interpretation was... convenient. But there was only one way to hear the other side, and she held the keys to that.

Winter and Devonshire both stared at the walls for a while. "Sometimes I think I hear him in my dreams", said Winter, quietly. "Isn't that how Angelika talked to Lilly?"

Devonshire looked up, alarmed. "Yes. She left her soul to Lilly when she died and just enough information on how to break through her past life barrier. It was a while before we caught the leak." She shook her head. "It is an example I don't want to see a repeat of. We have our lives to live, our decisions to make, and our price to pay. That's the foundation of our morality. All this talk of living forever and mingling of past lives undermines that."

"Maybe I should talk with Lilly", said Winter. "It sounds like we have common experiences. She could help."

Devonshire gave him a warning look. "Don't even think of asking her to break through your barrier." Winter looked annoyed. Was he that transparent? "And I think you've flirted enough with the ladies this vacation. You should leave courting Lilly until you are older. She's a bit of an odd fish."

"Mother", said Winter, disapprovingly. "I spend my life dealing with odd fish."

Devonshire laughed. Winter smiled. "Look. I know we only have a short amount of time together. And I hate to say this, but something's come up." Winter let out a long sigh. "We've just been hit in the face with another atrocity."

"Is that what you were looking at?" he asked, nodding toward the book. "What is it?"

"Demons", said Devonshire. "It's bad enough the gods keep mana-slaves. They barter them to Demons to do their dirty work. They then warp them and distort them and torture them into abominations." She pulled up one of the crystals and brought from it the shadowy shifting shape he had briefly seen. "Imagine all of your past lives pulled out of their shells as one being. One creature, vastly powerful."

Winter looked at the shifting image with morbid fascination. It struggled and shifted as the scene change in time and perspective. "It is fighting someone! I thought so. Who is it? Did they live?"

"This is a memory taken from Sir Valkyr", said Devonshire. "That's the Queen. She held it off single handed for nearly an hour."

Winters eyes grew very wide and he pressed closer to the glamour. "The Queen? An hour!" He had only met the Queen briefly, and thought she was nice enough. But he stared at the image more intently. To have the courage to stand up to something that overwhelming, by yourself, for an hour! Now he had an inkling why people followed her so devoutly.

Devonshire dismissed the image, and laughed. "Now you can play court to her as much as you would like. I couldn't arrange a better marriage! I suspect she'd eat you for lunch. But it would be a good challenge."

He rolled his eyes. Her with the needling again. But, still, he had to admit she was pretty awesome. "Can I have a copy of that?"

"What? To creep out your Undersea friends?"

"To study. Battle techniques and stuff like that." She didn't seem to be buying it. "How about I help you? I could find books for you. Or," he said, indicating the rest of the room, "clean some of this up."

"I can't believe my child is offering to clean up _my_ toys!" She laughed. "No. I need to read a lot quickly, study this some more, and talk to a few people. I've already talked to Greywind. He's agreed to look after you."

"Greywind?" said Winter, brightening. "Great! He promised to show me his secret lairs in the sewers."

"I swear you two are the same mental age", said Devonshire.

Winter bridled. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Yes", said Devonshire. "But not to you."

## Chapter 26

### Time

"Huzzah Devonshire!" cried a tall woman, as she led her horse into the outpost stable. Her dark blond hair was stuck to her head with sweat, and marks of a helmet were still bright on her face. Lanky hunting dogs frolicked around her, jumping up her sides and getting their muddy paws all over her arming tunic. "What brings thou down to stable?" She hauled off her horse's saddle and slung it over the fence.

Devonshire hopped down from the fence and held a flagon up to the woman. "Good meet to you, Eadwyn. How was the patrol?" She was the oddest of the mages in the Academy. She had been a career mage in the Army at the peak of the Empire, several hundred years ago. In the original 9th army, before it was lost. They had been stationed beyond the great forest in the outer waste, on a fool's errand trying to cut off an enemy that didn't exist. They had to contend with overstretched supply lines, regular irate barbarians, and the occasional magical vortex storms.

It was these storms that caught Eadwyn's heart. She had bent Devonshire's ear, and anyone else who would listen, about them all the time. Their power, their raw energy, her theories on their origin, creation and control. Weird things happened in and around them. Magic occurred spontaneously and didn't work quite right. Units who had been overrun by one had nightmares for weeks. She, however, was quite happy to volunteer to study them and explore ways to either deflect them, or bring them into the arsenal of what the army could control.

Apparently she did not always see eye to eye with her command about priorities. But, since they hadn't much to do but march up and down anyway, discipline was lax. Until one day a storm took an unusual course change and overcame her. And when she walked out of it, several hundred years had passed.

Eadwyn took the flagon, drank liberally from it, and poured and equal amount over her head and down the neck of her tunic. She blew out her cheeks, looked at it puzzled, and shook her head. "I'm forgetting the magic of it!" She upended it, pouring out far more than the volume the vessel reflected, over her dogs and into their water dishes. "It was more the hunt than the patrol. And more the exercise than the hunt. Nothing stalks this weald." As the dogs leaped onto the dishes with ravenous abandon and she sat heavily on a hay bale.

"I've got some ideas I want to run past you", said Devonshire after Eadwyn had caught her breath.

"Oh, aye?" said Eadwyn. "Hast thou become keen on vortices?"

"Oh, I am", said Devonshire. They were quite an interesting phenomenon. Although they weren't her passion, she did sympathize with Eadwyn for having her own passion. "I think they are the ultimate expression of the raw forces of nature. But I haven't had the leisure to explore that."

"Leisure is something that has been sorely wanting", said Eadwyn sadly. "This would be about the hellions aggrieving our army then?"

"Yes", said Devonshire simply. The two of them often saw eye-to-eye. So there wasn't much point beating around the bush. She came around and sat on the hay bale by Eadwyn. The dogs had finished their water and were lying on the ground, panting. "I've been studying the images and patterns from the encounter. Also had a long talk with Miasma yesterday, who was on the ground in the fight against it." She shook her head. "It's quite the horror."

"A thousand heddes and a thousand hands to wreak its wroth", quoted Eadwyn from something.

"Not quite a thousand", said Devonshire. "Miasma captured at least fourteen distinct patterns. We don't have good numbers, but our best guess makes it a medium sized demon."

"May the gods have mercy on our souls", said Eadwyn somberly.

"Souls is what I'm getting at", said Devonshire. "What grimoires we've been able to lay hold of theorize that most major demons are aggregate creatures possessing many Souls. That their power comes from this." Eadwyn made a distasteful face. "But maybe it's not that. We've never seen any sort of creature that had more than a single Soul. So it seems a bit of a stretch to assume they are easy to aggregate. What if, instead, it was just one Soul, but one that had the barriers between its past lives ripped apart."

Eadwyn pondered. "Such a Soul might manifest many conflicting Wills. But seems natural that would nay have an additive effect on the Animus, but a detraction."

Devonshire shrugged. "We think the New Magic has given us so much, until we're hit with something like this. Then it's back to the old superstition ridden manuals we've disdained."

"Seems more a simpleton Soul, with no past lives, would be easier to wrest into such a noisome creature. Didst ye interrogate the sundered souls? Were there elves among them?"

"Not as far as we can tell", Devonshire said. "That could just be probability. There aren't that many Elves to begin with. But we are pretty sure it is only the non-Elfin gods that traffic with the Demons."

She pointed her finger at Devonshire. "Which should be reason enou to go back to reincarnation!"

Devonshire nodded enthusiastically. "Yet another reason." Eadwyn got up and started combing down her horse. "Demons, gods, they all traffic in Souls. We're only in this mess because the people who originally discovered the New Magic did this to the world. I wish the Academy would focus more on using it to put things back to right."

"Thou knows I'm with you on this", said Eadwyn.

"Thank you", said Devonshire. "It's just one distraction after another though."

"I never have a mote of time for my vortices", lamented Eadwyn. "Now there is power to rival Soul hoarding!"

Devonshire nodded. "If we could harness that we could fill the strategic mana reserve. A better alternative to upgrading the standard Army kit to include contributions from each soldier. That's the first step down a slippery slope to where the gods went."

"Time!" exclaimed Eadwyn. "I barely clear my mind riding and it's back to work."

Devonshire pursed her lips. "Unfortunately that's why I'm here."

"Oh, aye. I know", said Eadwyn, despondently. She motioned to a stable hand to take over. She gave a final pat to her dogs and walked out of the stable with Devonshire.

They crossed the town on the main road. Carts converged on the road. Most carried heaps of bark chips collected from the ironwood trees, rich in raw iron drawn up from the ground. Troglodytes pulled them towards the roaring forge with its natural smoke stack. Conversation was impossible until they passed.

"And your son, is he still here? Will I make his meet?" asked Eadwyn.

"He went back yesterday", said Devonshire without emotion. "I won't see him for another six months."

"'Tis hard", said Eadwyn.

"Yes", said Devonshire, with a hard face. "And I'm not doing a good job of it." Eadwyn looked at her quizzically. "He's just... growing up faster than I can keep pace with." She waved her hands in exasperation. "I've lived my whole life amongst humans. You would think I could cope. He's off in exile most of the time. I'm hellishly busy. I just never get a chance to catch up." She shook her head. "Did you have kids? Before?"

"Nay", said Eadwyn. "Soldier my whole life for the Empire."

"Then you ended up here", said Devonshire, with sympathy. Completely randomly they had found Eadwyn roaming the outer waste. She was half starved and babbling in an accent they could barely understand. That expedition had brought her back to Scioni since they didn't know what else to do with her. He, himself, had been displaced from an earlier time, though through a different means. This had been while he was pursuing the political front in Romitu and he had ready access to the old archives of the Empire. They recorded everything. Including several reprimands for absence from duty, and a final dismissal for desertion to a trooper named Eadwyn in the 9th army's mage squad. Devonshire had seen the ancient record herself. It was kind of spooky, but it corroborated her story.

Eadwyn shrugged. "Leastwise I can continue to study them vortices. Leastwise occasionally."

Devonshire smiled grimly. "We've got to get through this. So we all have time."

## Chapter 27

### Common Ground

Late that evening Eadwyn walked back across the town. The stars were shining brightly but for a black swath obscured by the smoke of the forge. Its roar formed an ever present bass line to the symphony of insects. Very few people were out at this hour. The heavy military presence in the outpost obviated the need for a night watch.

Her boots echoed as she walked the hard stone of the streets, opulent by the standards of anywhere else. A single carved stone formed the sidewalk, gutter and street. Most of the place had been constructed, virtually overnight, by magic. It was Scioni's first stronghold from when he left Romitu, until he returned. Although remote geographically, the presence of a permanent gate kept it important, politically.

Eadwyn stopped at the ruins, as she often did. There was the one place here that was not magically developed. It was empty and desolate. The tumbled stone's weathered surface showed veins and swirls that looked organic, as if grown in place as their city was. Elfish. Grey Elfish. When looked at from above, it bore the unmistakable layout of a tri-form arch, as did their own gates. Seldom mentioned, this was the feature of Iron Tree that warranted the interest in the location. And the Elfish ruins, ancient by their standards, were but the latest of a wide variety of others going back millennia. This place was rich with magical energy. And each succeeding generation made use of it in their own way. Some even thought that the ironwood tree that grew so large as to form the natural chimney of the forge had tapped into that power itself. So even the native Troglodytes made use of it unknowingly.

She caught herself drifting as she leaned on the perimeter fence. It had been a long day, and a longer night. She pulled her fatigue duty clothes about her more tightly and headed to her quarters. Being a combat mage, she was automatically an officer and rated personal quarters. Even so, she missed barracks life and elected to have her quarters in the most crowded part of the city. Although it was late, the smell of Troglodyte cooking and the sound of music drifted out of different dwellings. They may have lived in this forest for generations, but they originated underground and had no trace of circadian rhythm. It was no more, or less, alien to her than the human district, resurrected as she was from a bygone age.

What she did not expect was to find a cloaked figure lurking on her doorstop. She slowed her approach and paused, collecting her consciousness. "Friend or foe?" she asked, when she had assumed a relaxed, ready stance.

The figure looked up, pulled back his grey hood, and laughed. "It's OK. I'm with the government."

"Moss", she said, with a trace of annoyance. "Why lurkest thou on my doorstep at this time of night?"

He stepped aside, bowed, and motioned her to the door. "Well, I lurked here earlier, but you were not to be found."

She opened the door and moved into the apartment. He followed in behind and closed the door. The place was small and utilitarian. A shelf on one wall held the only personal ornaments in the place; several abstract figures of dogs. She looked at Moss with an unwelcome stare.

"I bring mead, victuals, and conversation" he announced, in something closer to her dialect. He reached into his cloak and brought out a bottle of amber liquid, a wooden board with some smoked fish on it, a lump of cheese, a bowl of fruit, and a lit candle. He smiled and bowed again.

"Why should I wish converse with you?" Eadwyn asked, unmoved.

"Because", he said, lifting a finger, "I wish to talk about a subject you are most expert in."

"This is nay about demons then?"

He looked oddly at her. "Hmm. That seems an odd question. I guess I should check in with my... my wife's daughter to see what has been playing out of late. I miss so much, out in the waste." He smiled and sat. "But, no. Not demons. Let us talk of vortices."

Since he seemed to not be leaving any time soon, Eadwyn sat opposite him, her hands folded across her chest. "The hour is late."

"And I certainly would not be disturbing you at such an inconvenient time unless I thought that you would really want to hear what I had to say." She snorted. "So, as you know, and disagree with, I'm all fired up about greening the waste; making the deserts bloom; and all that." He gestured expansively. "It's not that it's hard. Each plant contains within it the pattern of its older self. A growth spell is pretty trivial. What's hard is doing it efficiently. There's a lot of waste. And not nearly enough mana given our differences in how we feel it should be applied."

"You would not be thinking of using vortices for energy!" she said, alarmed.

He held up his hand. "I understand your concern. Raw, untapped, random magical energy." He shook his head. "As you know there were experiments. The results were... disturbing."

"They gave the army a right merry chase for a few weeks", she growled.

"A useful live training exercise", he said with amusement. "But, agreed, not one worth repeating." She looked sternly at him. He beamed a smile at her and stood. In front of one wall he traced out a diamond pattern, with a line emerging from each point. The upper and lower lines he colored blue, the left and right ones red. The sides of the diamond he colored green, with arrows on each side pointing to the rightmost side. He made a revealing gesture with his hands, and sat once more.

"What is this?" she asked.

"It's a pattern", he said. "So, those green bits, Chapter 3 of the first book of the Biblica Hexapla. They are simple mana polarizers. They restrict the ebb of mana to a single orientation. The little arrows indicate which way. The red lines represent a line of lay pulled from a vortex, randomly orientated and oscillating, broken by this pattern of four polarizers. The blue line, then, is a cross lay line, of constructed magical energy."

Eadwyn froze, staring intently at the diagram. Her eyes traced out the hypothetical mana flow. No matter how contorted the flow along the red line, as long as the polarizers were strong enough to stop a surge of backflow, the flow along the blue line would be constant and regular. She looked at him wide eyed. "Who told thou this?"

Moss laughed. "It came out of my own little head." He looked up in slight embarrassment. "All right, I know there's quite a lot of company in my little head. But I think it was dealing on such a small scale... Did you know", he said suddenly, "that there are plants and animals so small that you can't even see them without enhanced sight?" He picked up a grape. "Right here, there are jungles, and herds and an amazing variety of life, breathing, fighting, reproducing..." he shook his head. "It quite puts you off your food. I'm not digressing", he said to her annoyed look. "This is what I've been dealing with. Capturing the patterns of these small menageries. Trying to replicate this as a more efficient means of promoting life. And it does work", he said, holding up his finger. "But it has had me thinking on this fundamental scale. Then... it just came to me."

"Hast thou tried it?" she asked, eager despite herself.

Moss shook his head no. "I think I'd want the army on standby, just in case", he said smiling. "And, I would be most comfortable if you were there. You have the most knowledge of anyone on vortices. You could bring one near enough to do a small test, and banish it when complete. It would just make it more of a controlled test."

She nodded, and reached for the cheese. "They have just piled more duty upon me. When did thou think?"

"The waste isn't going anywhere. I can wait. But, I wouldn't persuade you on that alone. I know you disagree and I respect that. But I think you can see this has other applications." He continued candidly, "In all honesty, if successful, there _is_ going to be disagreement on the applications of this. Having a critic of mine participate in the validation of it will hopefully focus the discussion on the merits of the technique, not the larger political argument."

She met his eyes for a moment, and then nodded once. Turning back, she stared intently at the diagram. "A vortex characteristic is powerful random spikes. Would it no take as much strength to contain as to produce?"

"Well", said Moss, reaching up to the diagram again. "I was thinking that if the polarizers were powered directly by the cleansed flow", he drew some connectivity from the blue back to the green lines, "they could respond directly to the total power flow. When flow was high, they would be strong, when flow was low, they would need external input."

The conversation continued for some hours.

## Chapter 28

### Pacts

Moss walked down a pleasant avenue in one of the southern cities. The wind blew in from the sea and brought a cooling breeze and a pleasant salt smell. The well to do of the town promenaded about, giving his out of date government issue grey cloak the occasional sidelong look. But, mostly, they saved their glances for each other in a subtle ballet of fashion, patronage, and grooming. Amongst them Moss strode, nearly the only one genuinely enjoying the play of late afternoon sunlight and architecture.

Nearly.

On his third perambulation he noticed someone else enjoying the scene, rather than trying to be part of it. He was quite sure she had been there all along, and the he had just not been able to see her. She was quite as striking as he had remembered her. She was tall, even seated, with radiant golden hair. But that was only the easiest to measure. The way she sat, the angle of her hands holding the tea cup, the neutral yet polite cant to her eyebrow... all of these drew the attention and made an impression. He smiled broadly and leaned on the railing of the cafe she sat in. "My lady Gwendolyn", he beamed. "May I join you?"

"I don't believe I could stop you", she said easily. The tone of her voice was in that no man's land between coolly dismissive and coyly toying.

Moss rounded the low railing, bowed deeply, and sat in the accompanying chair. "Tush, tush", he said dismissively. "You are exceedingly good at not being found when you don't want to be found. And, since I found you, then you must want to be found! I didn't even use any magic."

"But you would have", she said. "From your determined air it was clear. So I thought I would save you the trouble." She took a sip of her tea. A waiter breezed by and brought Moss a cup. "My, though, you are in a good mood for one with so much weight upon you!"

Moss held the cup gingerly, pausing a moment to inhale the steam from it. "Yes", he said quietly. "An uncommonly good mood, considering." He took a sip, and focused on his first swallow. "Things are changing."

She raised her eyebrow, conveying the appearance of curiosity for politeness sake, but not actual curiosity. In response Moss took out a wax note tablet with a diagram of his four polarizers and placed it on the table. "Ah", she said, glancing at it, "A rectifier." Her tone was, once again, somewhere implacably between congratulatory and patronizing.

Moss pursed his lips. "I might have figured you thought of it before the first cataclysm. Were your floating castles all powered by arrays of these, drawing energy from the vortices?"

"It was a flying city. And there was only one", she said, possibly distractedly. "And, no, it wasn't. A rectifier was the primary component in a defensive spell to deflect incoming hostile energy. It absorbs it, then the polarizers remove all unique characteristics of it, and it is channeled into your own mana reservoir for your counter spell. We never thought of using them to convert the random energy from a vortex. Very clever." Moss's sour looked turned to one of surprise. She took another sip of tea. "You are right. This will change things considerably."

Moss put down his tea cup. "You're a hard person to impress."

Gwendolyn's lips formed a very small smile. "You are right about that too. People have been trying to impress me for three thousand years. It's not easy."

Moss sighed deeply and looked out over the avenue. "Once we master this, it'll be time to kick things up a notch. We're going to need all hands on deck."

"You know that I'm extremely reluctant to get involved in your politics", she said, warningly.

"I do know that. And I do not ask you to. At least not overtly." She waited. He continued. "Obviously, as someone with the power to turn down godhood, even not doing something involves you in politics. But I'll keep it simple. My wife has been fully occupied combating my... disability. You are the only one alive with any experience with these Ancients. Is there a way to rid myself of this affliction, rather than just keep it in check?"

"Your wife is most valiant", said Gwendolyn, looking both at and into him. "I watched her battles and the Ancient's laughter on your face as you walked past twice. I amuse myself sitting here observing humanity passing, reading their thoughts, histories and future in their gestures. Yours was far more interesting than most."

"I'm glad if I have provided you diversion", said Moss.

She smiled the smallest of smiles again. "I did not mean to trivialize either your wife's efforts or your burden." Her face grew firm. "Before the new magic all we had was one sided pacts struck with beings of the ancient orders. My generation was spared that, but all my mentors, all my elders... they were not. We broke the world fighting to right that wrong." Her eyes focused all of their attention on him. "Trust me. Centuries of existence may have left me melancholy, but I hate the Ancients with a passion that still burns hot. If I could do anything to thwart them, I would."

"I take it that means you can't", said Moss.

She looked down to her tea. "Your mind has been brushed by a trace of consciousness of one of the Ancients. You were lucky to have survived at all. There is no ancient there to fight. Just the reflection of one of its stray thoughts echoing through your mind. Your wife disturbs the ripples, preventing them from twisting your mind to its way. But she cannot stop them."

"There must be a way to grasp the pattern. Form a counter spell", said Moss.

"Not with our magic", said Gwendolyn. "The best I can understand is that it is a pattern that, itself, is a pattern of a pattern, which is a pattern of a pattern of a pattern, and so on to infinity. We cannot grasp it with the tools we have. You would need another Ancient to counter it."

"Or one of an Ancient Order", said Moss. "A Dragon or a Grey Elf."

She considered. "Dragon pacts were hard to establish. They are traders, and have very odd ideas about relative values of things. If you could get it to comprehend what you wished, odds are it would cost you something nearly as dear. I only ever knew of a single mage with a Grey Elf pact. They were the rarest of all. But are you not already working for a Grey Elf?"

"We all are. In one way or another." He made a vague gesture. "This 'Grand Experiment' of theirs. If I knew how to impress him I would."

"Well, you've made a start", said Gwendolyn with a hint of laughter. "Although I am no Grey Elf."

Moss sighed and looked up to the sky. "Maybe", he said eventually. "If it's all about power. The discovery of New Magic, and inability to control its use, lead to the first cataclysm. But that was part of the pattern. Maybe it was necessary to serve as an example to us so that we don't blow it again."

"If you can conduct the power of a few vortices to your strategic mana reserve that will certainly increase the potential for things to go devastatingly wrong."

He looked at her. "What went wrong? The last time. You were there for it."

She sighed. "The most noble of intentions can go awry. We sought to rescue those less fortunate from their pacts with the Ancients. There were a few victories. And there were some disasters. Somewhere along the way tempers became inflamed and arguments lead to magical warfare." She shook her head. "I joined a movement seeking to eradicate the New Magic from everywhere."

"The Hundred and Forty Four", said Moss.

Gwendolyn nodded. "We succeeded. We overthrew the Wizards and prepared a great spell to search for the pattern of the Six Books and to destroy everything matching that pattern. Simultaneously we were to erase the specific knowledge of it from our own minds, so we would not repeat the mistake. We were to retain the power of it, to help and lead the survivors, but also limit our memory to a few centuries. So that whatever our disagreements might be, they would be petty."

"And a hundred and forty three did so", prompted Moss.

"Yes", she said. "But I did not. It seemed vanity to me. Immoral. All the power and none of the responsibility."

"How did you convince them to let you abstain?"

"I don't know", she said. "I just walked away. I had expected them to obliterate me as a traitor. They did not. I've studied human nature ever since then, wondering." She indicated the avenue. "I watch them parade up and down. Their thoughts, feelings, ambitions, hopes, fears... all written in their face. It is surprising what you can learn if you learn how to look."

Moss surveyed the scene as well. "I wonder if the Grey Elves bet on you." He drank his cold tea. "Swan said the Grey Elves trusted to the collective nature of humanity. That our species, through the random actions of its members, will follow the trend lines of their Experiment. Swan also said that he had the dissenting view that individuals had a part to play. I wonder if he meant you."

"Or you", she countered. "You may yet impress him as an individual."

Moss laughed. "I'm not an individual. I'm a team. Me, my wife, and the echoes of a really pissed off Ancient."

They sat watching as the streets emptied. The light faded and candles were lit on the tables. "Moss", said Gwendolyn suddenly. He looked at her quizzically. "I cannot help you with what you have asked. But I think I may help you with what you have not asked."

"You will dip your oar into our politics?" he said hopefully.

"I will throw a pebble in the pond", she said, getting up. "And we shall see where the ripples lead."

## Chapter 29

### The Mighty

Several days later, in another cafe on the high street of a town in a different part of the continent, Gwendolyn sat sipping tea. This time she sat cross legged at a low table on a mat of woven rice straw. She wore an ankle length robe with wide sleeves, secured with a wide belt, ornately knotted. The fabric was so fine the weave could not be seen with a subtle design that was almost iridescent.

She watched the affluent, and those who wished to be so, as they came and went, and interacted with each other. Outside the establishment were two very unusual horses. This caused a range of dramatic tension in those she observed. Curiosity in the novel pulled them one way, and deigning not to notice the unconventional pulled them another.

One horse was black as night, and struck sparks on the cobbled street as it stamped, eagerly watching its nose bag being prepared. The preparer drew almost as much attention. Her skin and hair were of a tone not normally seen in this area, and her eyes were a color never seen anywhere. One by one she poured several bottles of rice wine into the bag as the horse snorted black smoke.

The second horse was snow white. It stood placidly, but turned its head to stare at passers by directly and intelligently. That, and the large white wings folded over the colorful caparison on its sides was unusual and slightly unnerving. The rider wore a similarly patterned tabard over highly ornate ceremonial armor. The cast of his face was also slightly inhuman, though not of unusual coloration. He bowed formally to the proprietor of the shop. The worthy gentleman wrestled with the difficult decision between refusing service to someone so polite and perfectly mannered, or welcoming in someone who could easily bring complete ruin upon him. After a few paralyzed moments of indecision it became clear that this party was meeting with Gwendolyn. There was no question whatsoever about that being refused.

"Greetings, Coral", said Gwendolyn, bidding him to sit.

"My lady, it is always my pleasure." He sat, nervously, copying her posture. He glanced to the other tables and to his horse and companion in the street. "I think it's probably best if Desdemona looks after the horses."

"And how do _you_ find your companion?" asked Gwendolyn, giving a studied glance at the half demon. She was no harder to read than anyone else. It was clear she was raised human. Gwendolyn was more interested in how the interaction played out with her protégé.

Coral paused and composed his thoughts before speaking. "She comes highly recommended, and bears herself nobly. She rendered me assistance when I was in sore need without question. I am currently questing in return of that favor."

"Calling in on a few old acquaintances of mine, I understand", said Gwendolyn. After she walked away, she had never seen any of her comrades in arms again face to face. She had merely watched the results of their actions.

Coral laughed nervously, and twisted his placemat. "Yes", he said, then stopped. "It's..." he tried again. After a deep breath he said in a rush, "I kind of feel out of my league."

"How so?" asked Gwendolyn. "You are Champion to the Queen of Romitu, whose ambition is to rule earth, heaven and beyond. You are retainer to me, who refused godhead. If it's not in your league, whose league is it in?"

He cocked his head to one side and looked out at Desdemona. "Yes. I know I shouldn't complain. I'm doing my best to rise to the occasion. And I don't even have the difficult part. Lady Desdemona's job is to do the talking. I just have to be the straight man, stoically representing the politely unspoken threat of Romitu."

"And how have my old friends treated you?" she asked. This stirred her genuine interest. What remained of their original selves? What had the curse she refused to participate in left of them?

A server whisked past depositing a cup of fragrant tea in front of Coral. He leaped on it to calm his hands. "We were just at the court of the Sky Father", said Coral. Gwendolyn nodded, familiarly. Coral shook his head. "Most of his pantheon was in attendance. It was fairly intimidating." He looked up once again to Desdemona.

"She was intimidated most of her life", said Gwendolyn, quietly. "When she made the right choice at a crucial juncture, and was shown respect for it, she was given the tools to never be intimidated again. You can see it in the way she stands."

"Where I have been given respect most of my life", said Coral. "And am finding it a bit hard when faced with the truly awesome and mighty."

"Just remember they were once no more than me", said Gwendolyn.

"With all due respect, my lady, you are pretty intimidating yourself", said Coral.

"And yet you have the mettle to be in service to me", she said.

"Yes", nodded Coral. "I do. That is also hard. I shall remember that as we continue."

"How have the negotiations gone?"

"We're not dead", said Coral, grimly. "So I guess I'm more intimidating than I feel." He sipped some tea. "It's mostly just posturing. Desdemona presents herself as a messenger, or a mediator. She makes the case for common ground. My presence is an indication that we're willing to listen, if they are willing to talk. But mostly they just shout."

"Iowerth was always a blow-hard", said Gwendolyn. "Sky Father", she amended to his confused look. They had forgotten the names they were born with and let their supplicants name them. "I'm not surprised he's consort to Creiddylad. Hearth Mother, that is. She had a knack for 'interpreting' what he said in a more palatable way for people. And that's what you have to listen for. He doesn't think things through. She does. He can't go back on what he has said. But he can always claim that what she said is what he meant. He was one of the faction's leaders. Did he have an unexpected surprise for you?"

"Yes", said Coral, a bit in awe. "First he made us listen to Harper sing a dirge for Romita, betrayed and slain by the Empire of the city she founded and was patron of. Much was made of her wandering confused and saddened in the Underworld. Then he intimated that he was about to order Grave Keeper to open his doors and release her, as she was unfairly and untimely sent there. The implication was that since he had judgment over life and death, even of the gods, killing them was not a threat. He could just bring her back as readily as we bring our slain back."

Gwendolyn nodded. "An interesting counter. I take it Aeron, Grave Keeper, was not there?"

"No", said Coral with relief.

"Aeron was always in the inner circle, but never got the prestigious jobs. He'll put up with abuse, but he's not a yes-man. I suspect he has a different opinion as to who holds the keys to death." It was interesting to see their reflection in Coral's face. But she waved her hands dismissively. "I am indulging myself. It is good to give warning to the gods like this. But they will not be persuaded by this. The death of one or two of them will not bring them around."

"How many have to die?" asked Coral, not wanting to hear the answer.

Gwendolyn ignored him and changed direction. "I have decided to take an action."

Coral looked alarmed. "You? You will take up arms against the gods? But they won't remember you. Or do you intend to make an example of some of them?"

Gwendolyn shook her head. "I may yet. But not now. I have no direct fight with the gods. It was only the final act of the faction that I disagreed with. Our ambitions were noble up to that point. I took my way, and they took theirs." She glanced at the various patrons in the room again, each still watching or not watching the horses outside. "My last enemy is unfathomably more powerful than me. And the only ally I might have is almost unfathomable."

"You speak of the Ancients and the Grey Elves", said Coral.

"I study the world and try to seek the patterns they speak of. But I am not illuminated. But I know that at least one of them has an interest in the affairs of Romitu. And, so, if I aid Romitu, that may aid him. And, maybe, I will be one step closer."

"I know the Queen would accept any aid you saw fit to offer", said Coral.

"I hear the trepidation in your tone", said Gwendolyn. "Fear not. My action, for now, is a subtle one." She handed a piece of parchment, folded in half, to Coral. "I ask you to take temporary leave of your quest. Just long enough to deliver this to the Queen's spymaster."

Coral looked down at the paper in his hands like it was alive. "Just a piece of paper? What dread can this contain?"

"It is not sealed", said Gwendolyn. "It will only have meaning to him. More than to me. I have merely observed something. I do not know its import. But I suspect it is, given the import that those observed seemed to hold it in. The spymaster will determine it on his own and be able to act on it." Coral swallowed heavily. "You trust him, do you not?"

"Yes", said Coral. "Against advice and better judgment. I think that he holds Romitu foremost in his motives. I only fear that his methods have put him so far beyond the rest that he lacks trust in all, and all in him and that will be our downfall."

"Then let this be a test", she said simply.

## Chapter 30

### Faith

There was a nervous knock on the under palace door. "Come in", the Spymaster said, without looking up. He knew who was there. He always did. There was no way to approach this, his sanctum sanctorum, without him knowing. The corridors turned such that any physical approach was well observed ahead of time. The High City itself was guarded from magical approach, the palace further guarded, and he, himself had specifically proofed this individual room.

Why, was another matter. He had very few expected visitors. So the unexpected was not unusual. It was just another puzzle to solve. He continued to read from one paper, and make notes on another paper. Most often such puzzles resolved themselves. If someone was here, they wanted him for a reason, they, as often as not, answered that question without any prompting.

The silence dragged on longer than with most visitors. Jack continued to go through the motions of reading and writing, but his glance drifted slightly, so that he might observe his visitor through a strategically placed reflective surface. Coral stood, somberly, dressed in a simple under tunic, waiting patiently. He considered continuing to ignore him, to draw him out. Whoever moved first was at a disadvantage. But this was Coral. He was the Queen's champion of honor and chivalry. Polite to a fault. It could be a long wait to little advantage.

"Nice of you to drop by", said Jack, eventually. Then he went on the offensive. "Taking a break from your self-appointed ambassadorial tour? Perhaps to, maybe, check in what our policies are with regard to the courts you are visiting? Or are you now establishing policy for us with the enemy?"

Coral looked to the ground. "I am just escorting a third party. I do not set her policy, or the Queen's policy."

"Your presence makes a statement. Loud and clear. Do not pretend otherwise." He glowered at the half-elf. "These are delicate matters."

"I accept that such delicacy is beyond me. I am just a soldier, not a diplomat", said Coral simply. "The Queen has neither recalled me nor reprimanded me for fulfilling my oath to Desdemona."

"No, the Queen has not. She trusts too much to one who is now serving three masters."

Coral shrugged. "It is her prerogative. I have no comment on her choices."

Jack looked up in irritation. "Then just why are you here?"

"I bear a message from my mistress", answered Coral.

"Is the half-demon giving you orders now?"

"No", said Coral. "I am just her escort."

"What is it the Queen wants?" asked Jack, sighing. Coral shook her head. Jack studied him a long moment. "Your... mistress. The hundred and forty fourth?" Coral nodded. Jack studied him for several more long moments, looking for a hint in his expression. "For me?" Coral nodded again. "What is this... message?" He held out his hand with a single piece of folded parchment on it. "It's unsealed", said Jack. "Do you normally read your mistress's mail?"

"She did not give it to me sealed", said Coral, still holding it out, unmoving. "She said it would only have meaning to you."

Jack looked at it intently. "And so you have read it?"

"Yes", said Coral. "She was right. It has no meaning for me."

"Put it on my desk", said Jack, watching him closely. He was intrigued, despite himself. Coral's mistress represented a considerable force. She did not have the mana of tens of thousands of worshipers at her command, but she did not forget as the gods did. And Jack was quite aware of the power of knowledge. The fact she kept her agenda very close to her stymied him, but also spoke volumes about her understanding of that power. "What did it say?"

"It's a list of names and of cities", said Coral, placing it within Jack's reach.

Jack held several devices near it, before using a stylus to unfold it. "So it is", he said, finally.

"I take it the meaning isn't clear to you either", said Coral.

"Not yet", said Jack. He looked back up at Coral. "What did she say it was?"

"She has decided to aid us", said Coral. "I know not entirely how she intends that, or how this is to accomplish that."

"And what does _she_ think of your oath?" asked Jack.

"She considers it of no consequence", said Coral. "She does not think the gods will deal unless they have a more powerful... incentive."

Jack raised his eyebrows. That this massive power might aid them was a tremendous opportunity. But also an enormous risk, given how little they knew of her true motives. And for her to say the gods need to be dealt with harshly at the same time she was aiding them! "And this might give them that incentive? What do _you_ think of _that_?"

"It frightens me to the core of my being", said Coral, looking straight at him.

Jack sighed and steepled his hands. "You are not an easy man to frighten." Those were not words he would expect to hear from the Queen's champion. But, then, Coral considered it a point of courtesy to be brutally honest with Jack. And he was quite sure Coral was. At least that Coral would be until the one time he decided to betray him.

Coral shook his head. "Maybe once. I have discovered a great many things recently that frighten me very easily."

"That's some confession", said Jack.

Coral shrugged. "I've decided to trust you. And, so, I have nothing to hide from you."

"Does your mistress share your trust?" he asked. Coral's honesty was not beyond manipulation. He had considered it several times. But he knew the first time would be the last time. It was far better to keep it in waiting.

"My mistress takes my trust as sufficient. That is why she sent you the message." Coral indicated the paper that Jack still held at stylus-length.

"It could be a trap", mused Jack.

"Yes, it could be", said Coral. Jack focused on him once more. "My mistress is subtle. And it may have escaped me. But I think it unlikely. It would be far easier for her to do nothing than to go through extra effort for some sort of elaborate subterfuge."

Jack grunted. "It's not that clear an assessment. Her motives are unknown."

"I believe her motives are to strike at the Ancient Ones, to avenge a grievance three millennia old", said Coral.

"That may be what she says", said Jack, "but that does not make it so. She is subtle, as you say. And it's not exactly a straight line between that and this."

"I've found fewer and fewer things are connected by straight lines, of late", said Coral. "I cannot second guess everything. There comes a time to just take things on faith."

"It's my job to second guess everything", said Jack. "You said so yourself. To look for the hidden daggers."

"We are all overtaxed", said Coral quietly. "I encourage you to take this one thing, on faith, for efficiency. We really need a breakthrough."

"Majestus believes we already have a breakthrough. We now know of demonic involvement", said Jack.

"Have you found that intelligence actionable?" asked Coral. "I certainly haven't. Maybe the mages are off studying new ways to combat them. But I don't see that knowledge turning the tide."

"And you think this will?" Jack gestured towards the paper.

"That depends on what you do with it", said Coral. "She said it would only be of meaning to you. So only you can convert it into the breakthrough we need."

Jack folded his hands across his chest. "You have great faith in this person."

"I do", said Coral. "And faith in Majestus. And in Romitu. And you. Once you start, it becomes easy."

"Well, I'll do what I can with it", said Jack, dismissively.

Coral bowed. "Thank you. I'll get back to... annoying the gods." He left and shut the door quietly behind him.

Jack unfolded his arms and picked up the message. He examined it closely and put it back down again. He reached for one of his books, and copied the list into it. Then he reached for another one and began to look things up.

## Chapter 31

### Paragon

"Are you very sure?" asked Queen Jesca of her Spymaster. They sat in her smallest receiving room. The appointments were comfortable, but minimal. The magical security was intense, however. Jesca could feel it in her bones, resonating with the many magical contingencies she was required to carry by her position. She had no public engagements that morning and just wore a close fitting tunic in the red that favored her hair.

He paused, considered, and nodded. "Their stories are consistent in the right details for them to be accurate." He sat opposite her at the small table. A piece of parchment with summarized information rolled out. He wore his usual muted earth tones and looked at her directly, from tired eyes. "Normally I'd consider that suspect. A setup. But their confessions are corroborated independently by other information I've managed to find."

Jesca started intently at the parchment. "This is why they never made mistakes." Her world had spun ninety degrees after reading this parchment. Like a dirty mirror that was freshly wiped. She felt she was now seeing things for what they truly were.

"Yes", said Jack. "They brought a wizard into their faction who was willing to summon a paragon for the price they offered."

"A paragon", said Jesca, re-reading a section. "A demon specialist. Obsessively focused on a specific skill. A perfect artisan." Perfection. They really did just do everything right. No super weapon. No hidden spell. Just perfect use of the meager resources they had to maximum result.

"My conjecture", said Jack "is that a paragon is an aggregate entity made up of the souls of experts."

"So they summoned a War Paragon to counter Scioni." She placed both hands on the table taking it in. "I'd not be surprised if all the best generals of history are in hell." That's how they outsmarted The General, and ran rings around her. The best minds in warfare. Solely focused on their demise.

"A general without morals. Whose only real objective is to prolong the game as long as possible." He shook his head. "It seemed to be running the show more than their council was in the end."

"You sound almost sorry for them," said Jesca. "That's quite unlike you." She had never detected a trace of sentiment in Jack before. No matter the atrocity he was analyzing. If his guard was this far down he must be really tired.

"Yes", admitted Jack. "They're broken. They confessed fully and readily. I think they were somewhat relieved that it was over."

"Many atrocities have been committed for their vanity", Jesca said firmly. "It has to end. Now." The mirror was clear. She saw everything she was ever going to see in it. Now that the past was understood and the present perfectly explained, it was time to forge the future.

Jack sighed deeply. "It will be hard. We now know what we're up against. The collective knowledge it has and ability it has shown... Even Scioni..."

She thrust a finger at the parchment. "You say we do not know which paragon was summoned. We can't isolate the individual demon. But we do know what satrap it is from, yes?" They had been at war with the wrong enemy. It was time to correct that.

"Yes", said Jack. "The demonologist they recruited specialized in summoning from the Halphas satrapy. its domain is indicated..."

"How accurate is this map?" asked Jesca.

"I think it is fanciful at best. I included it only to represent a general political standing of the demons. The sources I examined are consistent, but most likely because they all have a common origin."

"Good enough", said Jesca. "As long as we can get to the right satrapy."

Jack looked at her with growing alarm. "What are you thinking?"

"We have a policy. We have plans to support that policy. It's time to use them."

"You're speaking of our war with the gods?" asked Jack.

"I'm talking about our plans to take the war to the gods", she said, running her finger over the map of hell. It didn't matter how fanciful it was. If it really did reflect the political relationships, that's what was important. Friends close, enemies closer. "Have you got a larger version of this?"

"We're not ready yet to take the war to the gods", said Jack.

"Absolutely correct", said Jesca. She looked up at him. "But I think we're ready to take the war to the demons. They're smaller, fractious, no collective pantheons, and their particular practice of soul enslavement is even more despicable than the gods." She smiled at him. "We should have thought of this years ago." After all the worry, the tension, the stress, she finally had a clear path. It felt good. She wanted to laugh, to cheer, but that might push Jack over the edge.

Jack looked from the parchment to her and back. "We've never engaged our forces in a different dimension."

"No, but everything we've done leads up to that", said Jesca, starting to pace. "All the equipment we've researched tactics we've developed, the gates, the swords; our whole army is designed with that in mind. This is just a stepping stone in our war with the gods. And: bonus, it solves the war we've been bogged down in here."

"Will our magic work to reach the demon's dimension?" asked Jack.

"It should, from what I understand", said Jesca. "I'll confirm that with the mages. That's the next step. Then the generals. Then we strike." She stopped and looked at him with her full attention. "Jack. Thank you." She meant it from the bottom of her heart.

"It is my duty, Majestus", he said, after a pause, and bowed.

"I have received a lot of criticism for retaining you after you let a copy of the Biblica Hexapla slip out of our hands", she started.

"Not an hour passes where I do not seek to amend that", interrupted Jack.

"I know" Jesca said, cutting across him. "This is why I do not accede to my critics. It was your mistake. But you are also our best chance of getting it back before it gets disseminated. I know you understand it may be what's between us and a second cataclysm." He looked at her grimly. "But you have done your duty, and you have given Romitu the information it needs to progress its agenda. Right now that is much more important to me."

"I am Romitu's servant", he said, quietly. "I will get the map you need, and my other sources on the demons."

"No", said Jesca, holding up her hand. "You have done your duty. It is time for me to do mine. If our enemy has the wisdom of every damned general of history, then we have to assume he can second guess our every move. It will always surpass us at strategic planning. The longer we take to assimilate this information the more we play into its hands. We have to act. We have to act **now**." She slammed her fist into her hand. Then she dropped her hands and smiled back at him. "Get some sleep, Jack. You look like you need it. On your way out send in my herald. I need the mages and generals assembled as fast as possible." Jack bowed once deeply and left.

## Chapter 32

### Mages

"They're here", said Clive, sticking his head in the door of the small room. Jesca pushed back from the plate of bread and cheese she had been hurriedly eating, wiped her face, and followed him. She had been sending out instructions rapid fire. No one knew what was up, but word was spreading that something was up. Clive escorted her up a long service corridor that ran the length of the function rooms in the upper palace. Phyllis was at the far end in a doorway, watching them. "Care to tell us what this is about?" asked Clive.

Jesca handed him the parchment Jack had given her. "Have a read. Have a listen. We're going to war." It was simpler than explaining.

"We're already at war!" said Clive, trying to scan the parchment and keep an eye out.

"People won't call what we've been doing a war when this is over." That was an understatement. What she wanted to do was audacious. But so was what they were up against. It was what was needed to be done. She just had the job of spelling it out for everyone. Before he could say anything they reached the door and she swept into the room. Clive took over from Phyllis guarding the door they just entered and Phyllis moved to the other, after exchanging a glance with him.

The room was pleasantly appointed, with a number settees and divans along the walls, but the center was open. There were no windows, but indirect magical light radiated from the ceiling. A collection of mages from the academy were there, their speculative conversation ceasing as Jesca entered. She moved into their midst, a space widening for her. She turned one full circle and looked over them silently before addressing them.

"The face of our enemy has been laid bare to us", she said without preamble. There was a collection of positive comments. "The Republic partisans summoned a Paragon Demon from the satrapy of Halphas. This has been leading their resistance efforts." There was a larger outcry this time, many of them profane.

"Perfidious ingrates", swore Devonshire. "We should send them after their hired help back to hell."

"I've been looking at dimensional barriers. We might be able to cut it off", said Miasma.

"No", said Jesca, cutting through the conversation. "We are not going to fight it. We've been fighting it for years. And not winning. This information is not going to give us a breakthrough in fighting it. This is what it's good at." She paused, waiting for them to adsorb and accept that. "Demons have their hierarchies. We're going to take the fight to its master. Invade the satrapy, and inflict enough damage to make it expedient for Halphas to rein his paragon in."

There was a snort from Bianca.

"You want to _invade_ the demon's dimension?" said Miasma, unbelievingly. Most of the rest shared her apprehension.

"Yes", said Jesca, shortly. "It can't be that much different from invading the god's dimensions. You've been planning for that for years. Tell me how we use those plans to get to Halphas."

There was a pause. "Assuming the other demons came from the same satrapy we can use their remains as a focus", said Lilly, her quiet voice carrying easily in the silence.

"That will give us a pattern to form a direction", said Devonshire warningly, "but creating a gate is the problem. Our gates are tactical. They weren't made for inter dimensional travel. Not even the intercity gates could reach."

"We're supposed to be preparing for war with the gods. Are you telling me our gates can't even reach there?" said Jesca, with rising annoyance.

"Fidelity", said Bianca. "The tri-form arch is an abstract pattern of infinite complexity. The approximation we use is sufficient for use within this dimension. We can build to a higher fidelity. We just haven't done so yet."

"We need to build it NOW", said Jesca. "If we do not act immediately then we lose surprise which is all we have. If it's just a higher refinement of a known pattern, is it just a question of power? We just need one. One single gate."

There was a general hubbub of protests under Jesca's glare. One pair of eyes looked steadily back at her. She pointed to them and waited for the rest to fall silent.

"There be one gate, could reach", said Eadwyn. The others turned to her.

"You're talking about the Grey Elf gate in Irontree?" said Devonshire, incredulously.

"It works", said Bianca. "Things have come through it before."

"And they took half the army to stop", said Devonshire.

"It's the highest fidelity tri-form pattern we have seen", said Lilly. "We've used its pattern as a template for our own gates. It should be able to reach the demon dimensions. As far as we can tell it was built to reach way beyond that."

"Great", said Jesca. "We'll assemble the troops at Irontree."

"Majestus", said Devonshire. "Even if we _can_ do this, _should_ we do it? I know we're all dragged down by this endless war. But is taking it in this direction the morally right thing to do."

"I can't believe you are asking if it is morally right to liberate souls from demon oppression!" said Jesca. "Irrespective of the debate over whether the god's enslavement of souls is benign or not, I would think we can all agree that no soul in the domain of the demons wishes to be there." She made a cutting gesture with her hands. "I am not saying what we do with them once liberated. I do not want to get dragged into a debate between resurrection and reincarnation. That is a decision for another day."

Devonshire looked at her intently. "I will hold you to that. I withdraw any objection."

"Fine. So we can get there. Can we fight there? Will our equipment be proof against the hazards of the dimension? Will we have access to the strategic mana reserve?"

"The equipment should work fine", said Miasma. "Its mana is intrinsic, or else it is a focus for supplied mana."

"The reserve is in a constructed dimensional space already", said Bianca. "Access should not be a problem."

"The swords act as a soul jar for the user" said Lilly. "If they die we will not lose them. They can be resurrected on the spot with battle magic."

Jesca nodded. "Am I missing anything?"

The mages shifted and looked to one another. "How much time do we have to prepare?" asked Devonshire.

"As long as it takes for the generals to marshal the armies", said Jesca. "If they perform as well as in our exercises, about an hour after I finish with them." They all looked surprised and alarmed. She looked up at Phyllis, who nodded. "Very well. The generals are waiting. Prepare. Gird yourself. With luck, today we end it all."

Jesca strode through them to the far door. They parted, still somewhat stunned, and started planning behind her. Phyllis fell in step next with her, slightly ahead, directing her to the room where the generals waited. Clive had already gone ahead.

"Please don't waste my time trying to talk me out of this", said Jesca to her. She could argue tooth and nail with her principles. It was hard to do with her parents without getting personal. That's why they were in charge of her person. No conflict there. But when it came to policy...

"On the contrary", said Phyllis, lightly, "I think it's about time we did something with this fancy army we have."

Jesca looked over at her, surprised. "Really?"

Phyllis shrugged. "Demons are beneath contempt. I have no problem wiping them out along with the gods."

Jesca chuckled, "I'm not sure the generals will be as easily convinced." Phyllis stopped before a door into another function room.

"Oh, I think you can be plenty convincing", said Phyllis.

Jesca smiled at her. "Thanks, Mother."

## Chapter 33

### Generals

The generals came briskly to attention as Jesca entered the room. She acknowledged their salute and inspected them up and down. Most wore a slightly worried expression, others were neutral. Hastily assembled, they were dressed in a variety of uniforms across the military spectrum. From fatigues on those who were woken up to the general of the 22rd army, who was never seen in anything less than full parade dress; an Orcish proclivity. After her cursory inspection she mounted a small dais. The Mages respected equals. The military respected authority.

"We have a target" she announced. They responded favorably, not surprisingly. Everyone was chafing at the shadow warfare they had been conducting. "Our enemy command contracted a specialist demon as their military leader. This demon has the expertise of all the damned generals of history to call upon. That is the source of our tactical difficulty." There was unsettled grumbling. "Obviously this leader is too good to present itself as a target. Obviously we cannot continue to battle it in the manner in which it has the clear advantage."

She paced up and down. "We have all studied the classic masters. I call your memory now to when Flavius fought Kawabe. He had the poorer army, poorer equipment, and, frankly, poorer tactical skills. Instead of continuing to defend his border badly he sortied across where it was thinly guarded due to the lack of tactical targets. He burned one of Kawabe's Emperor's favorite pleasure palaces to the ground and retreated. In short order the Emperor ordered his Shogun to cease the war."

She looked at them to see who had worked out where this was going. "Likewise we will take the fight to this demon general's master. We will inflict as much damage as we can to make his only viable course to recall this demonic general. The partisans have already surrendered and are in our custody." She stopped and stared them down.

"My troops are ready to follow you to the pits of hell for Romitu!" shouted the Orcish general, without hesitation, his face grinning. There was a pause and several of the others made echoing sounds of support, although more qualified.

"Thank you, General Porterhouse", said Jesca. "But I sense not everyone is as convinced. I welcome advice. Please speak freely."

There was an awkward pause. "Majestus", said General Alessa, slowly. "Can we even do this? Stories tell of fire, Sulphur..."

Jesca nodded to her. "I've just come from the Mages of the Academy. They are preparing the Irontree gate for transfer to the satrap's home lands. They assure me that our equipment is sufficient against the perils of the terrain, and most importantly, that the soul jars in our swords will work for our troops should any be slain."

"You said you want us to inflict damage, for political leverage", said General Ainia. "But these are the demon realms. What do they have to damage?"

"Good point", said Jesca, encouragingly. "Just as our swords will safeguard our souls, they will also continue to work to contain the souls of those we slay. I do not know the nature of demonic fortifications or infrastructure. I suggest we stay away from it. Our goal is simple: to rescue as many souls as possible." She paced up and down. "This is the perfect battlefield. Free from any morals. Any soul there is there against its will. No matter if its guise is man, woman, child or beast -- killing it will free it from tyranny. There are no complications. Everything is our target."

"Which armies are we sending in?" asked a general from the back.

"All of them", said Jesca. There were murmurs of surprise. "There is no point holding a reserve. If we do not act fast and decisively, we give our enemy time to make this a strategic play rather than a political one. We're outmatched on that."

"We've... we've never done this before", said Alessa. "What if there's... a mistake. With all the armies there, they could get stranded. It would be the end of everything."

"It's a risk we'll have to take", said Jesca. "If we keep going as we are, it will be the end of everything eventually anyway. We're neither losing nor winning."

"How many troops do they have?" asked Porterhouse, eagerly. "Will it be an even fight for once?"

"We have no tactical information at all", said Jesca. "I suggest we go in and form a defensive perimeter around the gate point. As General Alessa brought up, we absolutely cannot afford to get cut off from the gate. In the worst case, if there are overwhelming odds, we hold that formation as long as we can. If we present no flanks, then it does not matter if they outnumber us two to one, or a hundred to one." Porterhouse's grin grew wider.

"What about reinforcements? Allies?" asked Ainia.

"We have no political information either", admitted Jesca. "If the legendary accounts of demons are true, however, I do not think it will be a problem. I'm sure they have alliances, but not of a nature to be called upon quickly in need. I would think a demon would have to think as carefully as any country in this world about inviting in a 3rd party's army when its own army is hard pressed. A sortie to aid could quickly become a land grab."

"How much is 'enough damage'?" asked Alessa.

"Another good question. And another I do not have an exact answer for. I think we fight as long and as hard as we are able to and have targets." Jesca resumed her pacing. "I think the more fundamental question is 'when do we leave'. Let's discuss exit criteria. Firstly, obviously, if command orders a withdrawal. I would add to that the condition if all the generals unanimously consider a withdrawal expedient." She shrugged. "To temper me from being caught up in things. More?"

"If any army becomes separated", said Alessa.

"Good one", said Jesca. "I would add to that if we discover that our swords do not work and we are taking casualties. I'll not lose any of our souls to the demons."

"If we lose access to the strategic mana reserve", said Ainia. Jesca nodded.

"If we get full", said Porterhouse. Jesca stopped and looked at him. "The swords will only hold a hundred or so souls each", he explained.

Jesca laughed. "Yes, should we fare that well, it will be time to come home and celebrate." She put her hands on her hips and looked from one set of eyes to another. "We have everything to win. If we achieve our objective, we end the ground war. We free up our resources to prepare against the gods. If we conduct ourselves well, we will learn a lot. This is training for action against the gods. We will send them a signal that we can do more than banish their forms from this dimension. That we can project our force into their own realm to pursue the liberation of all souls. Do not think that this is a desperate move brought about by frustration. This is the next step on the course we have already laid out. We've been distracted long enough. It's time to start moving forward again."

She looked to each again, and saw heads nodding more genuinely. "Good", she pronounced. "Go to your armies. Bring them to Irontree. Let them know this is not a drill. Let's see if we can beat some of our training times." There was a cheer and stomping of boots.

## Chapter 34

### Tools of the Trade

The Queen, once more, threaded the non-public corridors of the palace. This time it was down stairs to her secure personal chambers. Phyllis preceded her and Clive followed. Clive had passed her an apple as they started their brisk journey and she devoured it, earnestly. She didn't know when she would eat again. Best to take what should could now.

"I'll get the cloth wears, you see to the armor", Phyllis said to Clive as they entered her personal armory. She moved to the chests in the back of the room. Jesca quickly disrobed down to the bare minimum as Clive started unbuckling the straps from a stand of armor. It was the royal battle armor, designed for war. It was not pretty, other than in the way a well-crafted tool could be said to be pretty.

It was fluted in folds and creases, but they were purely there to add strength. They were not teased into fanciful patterns mimicking contemporary fashion, like the ceremonial dress armor to its left. That one was for formal occasions, and had that, along with intricate engraving and enamel inlays. Although of exquisite workmanship and no shortage of magical protection, it held the design compromise of being a show piece.

The pieces that Clive laid out on the floor were weighty. Made from magically forged alloys of noble metals, it was supernaturally sturdy and could have been imbued with being much lighter, as the travelling armor on the right. However that armor also had the design criteria of being practical, transportable, and comfortable. That armor could be donned and doffed by the wearer. This was not. And the pieces retained some of their material weight since its protection was not in hardness alone, but the ability to slow the momentum of incoming blows.

As Clive finished readying the armored pieces, Phyllis returned with her hands full of cloth. First she strapped a wide leather girdle onto Jesca. It was curved to fit her body and lined with a thin layer of felt. Phyllis threaded the many eyelets with strong cord and stitched her into it, forcing her to inhale deeply for the tightest fit that would not constrict her breathing. It was virtually the only piece in the full set that was unique to Jesca. Most of the rest had been made for Scioni, or acquired from old royal hoards. The cost of such equipment was so fantastic that the magic they were imbued with ensured they would alter their size and shape as necessary for the bearer. The lowly girdle was not so ensorcelled, and so was of common work.

Thus girded, Jesca stepped into the legs of the gambeson and Phyllis tied the tops to the girdle. Made of many layers of fine silk, magically compressed, it formed a spongy material that was both a final defense, and also a guard against the armor that would go over it. They were long tubes and covered her from the point of her hip, where they tied, down to her ankle. Narrowing or flaring as necessary. Only the backs of the knees were left open, allowing for maximum flexibility. Phyllis lifted a short tunic of similar material over Jesca's head. Small leather straps tightened this at her sides until it was tightly bound to her. The two arms were tied at points to her shoulders, similar to the legs, with the same cut outs in the pits of her elbow. When the final knot was tied Jesca did some deep bends and stretches, testing the fit was secure, but not impeding. Small adjustments were made, and she nodded her satisfaction. Lastly, heavy reinforced boots were laced to her feet.

Clive stepped forward, holding the disembodied metal shell of a leg. The entire articulated piece moved soundlessly in his grasp as he checked the joints and maneuvered it into place. In the same fashion as the gambeson, he attached this to the girdle at the point of her hip. This time, however, a leather strap was used instead of a lace. Jesca propped her foot up on a block and he wrapped the well-oiled and hinged plates around her. The calf and thigh were locked into place with tight fitting pins. The poleyn was strapped into place, with a wide wing providing cover for the back of the knee. Tassets completed the lower half of her armor. These were flared plates, belted to the girdle and hanging down to the front and sides. Neither the under or over layer of the legs covered about the topmost curve of her leg. No rigid protection could and still let her bend her legs. So the tassets filled the gap. The plates were rigid, but there were enough of them to allow for flexibility.

Jesca swallowed, and held her head up high as Clive clipped a gorget in place around her neck. Hanging from this was a wide plate that covered her sternum in the front and the top of her spine in the back. There were intricate argentum traceries on this, but the patterns were functional, not artistic. It was the primary component in the magical defenses of the suit. Over this a solid breast plate and back plate were lowered, hinged by a wide strap over the shoulders. The armor had adapted to her form at the first fitting. It was more pigeon chested than when worn by Scioni, but not enough to restrict the motion of her arms. More straps held the two plates as one from the armpit to the waist.

Arms, in the same manner of the legs, were tied to the shoulder points of the gambeson, pinned and strapped into place. Pauldrons settled into place on her shoulders, with overlapping lames running up to the gorget, and down to her rerebrace. Gauntlets were added over the hands. Jesca stepped back and did a number of other moves, testing her flexibility. A few straps were adjusted, and a few laces tightened.

Phyllis picked up the next item from her pile. A long surcoat fitted snugly over the armor, and flared at the hips, with slits in front and back allowing for movement. The royal coat of arms of Romitu shone brightly from this in magical inks. She then belted over this the heavy harness of the battle sword that was Jesca token of office, pulling it very tight. Jesca drew and replaced this several times, sliding the best slightly around her waist until the motion was effortless. Then she jumped up and down a few times to make sure all the pieces had settled. Phyllis stood back, holding her helmet, next to Clive who held her shield.

"Are you proud of yourself?" asked Clive.

Jesca looked levelly at him, at his height now with her boots. "Are you trying to talk me out of this?"

He shook his head. "This does not seem the right course of action to me, but I do not have all the information you have so I cannot be sure of that. And, since I do not bear the responsibility for that decision, it would not be my place to second guess you on it." She looked relieved. "But my question still stands: are you proud of yourself."

Jesca took in a deep breath, and let it go, taking the question at face value. "I have convinced my principles in this action without use of deceit. I feel it is the best for Romitu. And I stand ready to put my life on the line for this decision." He waited. "I'm not sure I am proud of myself yet, but I intend to pursue this course in a way that will lead to accomplishments I can be proud in."

"That is important to remember", said Clive, soberly. "Scioni always said the sword you now bear is more than just being a symbol of your office. The gem in its pommel magnifies your leadership. It is probably the most important item of magic you bear. The confidence you have will be felt by your troops, and they will fight the better for it. But, if you lose confidence in yourself, they will feel that to. Bear this in mind at all times."

Jesca took another deep breath, and nodded. "I am ready", she said.

## Chapter 35

### Parade Ground

Clive and Phyllis escorted Jesca to her personal guard, waiting just below the high city at the local gate, Coral as their nominal leader. They formally handed over her protection, her helmet and shield, to them, saluted, and withdrew. Jesca returned their salute, let her eyes linger on theirs for a moment, then took on the mantle of her title and turned back to the guards.

Coral saluted her, formal in front of the rest. The personal guard was formed up, ready for the quick transition, and watching her, eager for some indication of what was up. "There is a slot coming up in three minutes", said Coral.

"Signal that we'll take it", she said. She walked briefly around the compound. The merest smattering of guards manned the outward facing positions. She looked out over the city. There had been riots for several years just prior, and following Scioni's takeover. Not as bad as some historical accounts. But bad enough. The city was pretty complacent these days. But the right firebrand in the right place might stir them up. But, in all things, you had to measure your risks. No course of action was completely risk free.

Coral signaled, and she joined their formation. Magical wisp lights brightened, and they started marching towards the empty gate. The gap wavered and cleared, and showed a different scene on the far side. Coral cried an advance and they changed their pace to double time and cleared the gate without pause.

The other side was barely controlled chaos. The first thing they faced was a gatekeeper shouting directions at them. Units exiting the gate were funneled immediately away from the vicinity to clear the gate for the next transition. Other keepers turned them through corrals like wild horses until they got into a large enough holding area that they could be processed based on their content, not just their size. The harried looking woman who approached them in their turn nearly fell over when she realized this was the Queen's own guard unit. She directed them to the perimeter and struck them from her list.

The Queen took the lead now, her tabard glowing, and her shield prominently held. Troops rushed back to make way for her, but lingered, watching afterward to see where she went. For the most part she saluted those doing their duty, called encouragement, and acknowledged the many shouts of support. At one junction she intervened where a passing transport had caught the edge of a merchant cart. She ordered the troops to move on, gave assurances to the suddenly fawning owner, and Coral directed the rest to clear the way and re-stack the merchant's wares.

"I think we've gotten in people's way enough", she said, after the incident. "To the parade ground, via the old gate", she said. Coral formed up the guard around her and they marched. Away from the entry gate the bustle was more organized. Squads came together into units in designated streets and squares. As they completed they moved out to form up on the official parade grounds. The congestion grew less.

As soon as they turned towards the old gate the change was readily apparent. Slender glistening stone arches reached upwards from where there were once ruined stubs. Above them further rose blue traceries in magelight completing the three main arches. Unlike their normal gates, from each of the main arches branched an additional three, and three more from each of them. And so on until it blurred in the sun and sunk behind the perimeter wall. Reflexively the unit stopped and stared. Coral's expression grew more worried.

One of the mages noted the Queen's tabard and flew down. "Majestus", said Lilly.

Queen Jesca nodded. "I think I see what you mean by fidelity", she said. "Arches within arches."

Lilly looked up. "The stones remember the pattern they were formed in. We're just reinforcing that and regrowing them." She pointed to another mound of stone. "There will be a ramp from there up to the center, for the troops to march up. Progress is good. We will be ready in time."

"We had better get to the parade ground", said Coral, politely.

Jesca was still looking from end to end. "Good work," she said absently to Lilly. Lilly bowed and flew back amongst the growing spires. Jesca swallowed and let Coral lead her onwards.

The general flow of everything at this point was towards the parade ground. Much larger than needed for the town, the space had been planned with this in mind as a military marshaling point. It stretched the whole length of the outpost on the opposite side to the forge. Units streamed out from the lanes of the town, forming up in large squares of maniples. War flags and standards rose above the units identifying each and the army it belonged to.

Coral steered the unit into the gap between two armies and headed for the reviewing stand overlooking everything. Soldiers turned as they passed. The sight of the Queen in full battle regalia brought stares and cheers and raised the level of excitement beyond that of just a grand assembly of the army.

The Queen mounted the platform and greeted each of her generals. Coral directed the guards to the edge of the platform and took a place at the rear. "The last units have arrived", General Alessa informed her. "The gate is clear. They will be on the grounds within minutes."

"Good work", said Jesca. "Training clearly pays off." She turned and looked out over the field. Seven armies. Not as many as in the glory days of Romitu. Not filled out to quite the same number of units as then either. But, in this day and age, enough to be seen by most as overkill. And with no significant force in the field, it was. At least for formation fighting. For general counter insurgency, it was way too few. For the sort of extradimensional battle they were about to engage in, Jesca had no idea. But there was no changing it now. She had what she had and she was going to make the best use of it that she could.

The last few units doubled timed it into place. Jesca stepped forward and formally saluted her generals. "Thank you. I will address the troops, and then", she looked up at the rapidly forming gate structure, "we shall move out."

She turned to the crowd and willed the magical communication system all of their gorgets carried to her command. "Soldiers of Romitu", she started. She had the rapt attention of tens of thousands of eyes. "You stand before me as the greatest army in the world today. Romitu is once more unified by your might. There is no country that can stand before us from the outer waste to the sea." There was a positive murmur of patriotic fervor. "This, unfortunately, means that no country stands before us. Our enemies lurk in shadows and play a game of insurgency, ambush and dirty tricks. It is as vexing to me as it has been to you that we have not been able to put this war to rest and enjoy the peace and prosperity our work warrants."

Jesca breathed deeply and looked from army to army. The anticipation was sharp in the air. Hope, hopelessness, anger, resignation, and eagerness all lay, taught on the leash, waiting to be loosed. She suspected the royal magic her father had reminded her of, which projected her confidence to the troops, also worked in reverse. It was as if the feelings of all the armies washed over her. She plunged ahead.

"This morning the face of the enemy has been laid bare. The dark deeds of our enemies have been illuminated. The Republican partisans were corrupted years ago by a force they sought to use but now uses them. It is this force that has pulled the strings to exploit our every weakness, to bolster their troops to fight beyond all logic and reason that has stooped to use every foul move they could muster including that which annihilated the Soul of our beloved General." The tension crested and screams of rage erupted from the armies as if from a single throat. Jesca grimly let it crescendo and held up her arms for silence.

"Today there will be a reckoning. Today we go beyond being the best army in the world. Today our enemy is Satrap Halphas, the demon responsible for this. Today we show that no force, god, demon or man, can meddle in the affairs of Romitu without consequence. Today I lead you into hell itself to exact revenge, liberate the oppressed, and exact justice. We are Romitu! This is what we stand for!"

She held her sword high above her head. The soldiers nearly exploded with screams, cheers and cries echoing her own. She beckoned Coral forward, and the sound echoed from the forest and drowned out the roar of the forge. With Coral's help she donned her helmet and slung her shield. She pointed her sword at the generals, and pointed at the troops. They moved out instantly. The sound from the troops did not dim so much as take on a different tenor. Swords clashed against shields in a beat that became more and more regularized, becoming synchronized into a single monotonic beat that throbbed throughout the whole collection of armies like a deadly heartbeat.

The Queen sheathed her sword as the formed units began to receive their orders. Lilly and Bianca landed on the stage near her, assigned to her command unit. "The gate is ready", said Bianca.

"Then let's go", answered Jesca.

## Chapter 36

### Lake of Fire

The 9th army preceded the 22nd through the gate, General Porterhouse having lost a coin flip to General Alessa. Once the word came through that there was no immediate calamity, Queen Jesca's command unit moved out followed by the remaining armies.

The enormous alien gate loomed large over them. The troop's steps clattered on the stone of the newly constructed bridge as they marched into the coruscating heart of the central three arches. But training overcame the horror and as the signals were called the troops double timed it and quick marched through the nauseating distortion to stumble into the turmoil of the other side.

Waves of heat staggered them as they struggled to keep formation and clear the gate. The heat passed quickly as their armor adjusted to the ambient conditions. But the overwhelming stench caused no few to retch. On they marched, undaunted, to their directed position. The ground was both unusually resilient, but also sticky and clingy in an unnatural way. The sky was the color of fetid flesh and blood red clouds hung low over the fields.

Once she had her bearings, the Queen scanned the horizon for a more tactical sense. Reports from the present and arriving generals whispered in her ear through the magic of her helmet. Her first impression was that they were on a burning hillside of tumbled boulders with a rise behind them and a further conflagration down slope.

The chatter on the line came in from units that were dispatched early in each direction to scout out the land. Resistance had already been met as the flaming patches were resolved into pools of fire with demons lounging in them. This appeared to be a pattern with the flames down slope obscuring a lake of lava with more demons.

"What I wouldn't give for Desdemona's horse!" shouted Coral in feigned good spirits.

"Maybe we should add some to the stable", answered Jesca. She pointed up the slope, past the gossamer window of the gate. "The hilltop would be the most strategic point."

"It is defended", said Bianca in her helmet. She had risen slightly above the rest and was gazing in that direction, her eyes shrouded in rippling blackness.

"A map, Majestus" proffered Lilly. She had summoned a miniature scene before her with points of light all over it. Their armies were clear by their numbers and formation. Coincident with the lava lake were large numbers of points.

Jesca peered intently at it, and pointed at the lake. "The light? Is that heat?"

"No", said Lilly. "Souls." After a pause, "they are the one reliable pattern we can detect here. Everything else is, to some degree or another, in flux."

"Well, much as I'd rather secure a defensive position and sortie out from there, that would waste the one thing we have: surprise." She willed her helmet to broadcast to her generals. "Clichéd as it may sound; the demons seem to be tormenting souls in the lake of fire. That is our first objective. I want the 9th army to take the left flank, the 22nd the right flank. The remainder form up in solid ranks in the middle, with the 31st securing the rear and our retreat. General Ainia, keep an eye on the fortification on the mount. I don't like leaving it at our back."

Acknowledgments came in and the armies set out on the move. A thick bank of clouds passed low overhead and spattered the army with a red rain that smelled of blood. Jesca advanced her unit to the front of the main center as it formed up. The two flanks arched forward on either side and she had an unobstructed view of the whole line. Demons ran about in front of them, surprised at the unexpected invasion.

The 22nd had let a few of their Myrmidons rush in advance of the line, as was the Orcish fashion. Jesca watched the engagement closely, trying to judge the strength of the opponent from these tests. The smoke and flame clad demon forms did not last long to the huge weapons of the Orcish champions. Hoots and hollers rang out from the advancing line.

"Do you want to join them?" Jesca asked Coral.

"It would not be fitting", said Coral. Jesca arched her eyebrow. "I am the Queen's champion. I appreciate the tactical knowledge gained at little risk from such outmatched contests. But unless there is a clearly superior foe, such a one sided fight does not project the right image."

"Souls accounted for", said Lilly, examining her soul chart. "Our weapons work fine here."

"Good", said Jesca. "We have the clear numerical advantage right now. I'm more worried about the environment. Can we fight on lava?"

Lilly considered. "Probably." Jesca didn't look reassured.

Coral looked from the champions, to the line, to the lake. "I can find out."

"That would be fitting?" asked Jesca, amused despite everything.

Coral shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. "More necessary than fitting. But, well, as you said the environment is the main foe in this battle." With that he launched himself from the line.

They continued their slow advance as he raced forward. The demons were mostly retreating, none of them individually willing to challenge an army. Coral dodged some, made feints towards others but kept to the clear and covered the distance to the lake. When he reached the edge he gingerly stepped into the fire. The flames partially obscured him but he could be seen flailing around unsteadily.

Jesca willed her helmet to connect to Coral's. "Coral?" The line continued its slow advance, and Jesca steeled herself not to break ranks. "Coral!"

"Things... in the lake" came the cut off reply between heavy breaths. "Unsteady... But manageable."

"I can send the Myrmidons", said Jesca.

"No", said Coral quickly. "I'm holding my own. I just got overwhelmed for a while. They grabbed me and tried to pull me under." The was a pause and some more heavy grunts. "Sword can't cut through lava, and my feet have sunk in to the calves. Warn the troops but don't halt the advance."

Jesca passed the information on. The line started taking smaller steps, but kept to the same cadence as they adjusted to the new information. The lake came upon them and they met with the first line of demons that had been shepherded to the edge. The troops, eager for action, engaged enthusiastically. The footing was worse than thick mud, though, thankfully, not as slippery.

The demons had no stomach for aggressive fighting, and quickly gave ground. Their advance trudged forward and caught up with Coral. They adsorbed him back into their ranks. "Good job", said Jesca as he took his place. Hands, claws, tentacles, and less recognizable things clutched at them from the broken scabs of rock that composed the surface of the lake.

"If there are too many, you can hit them as they strike", said Coral, stabbing at an appendage. "Or..." he slung his shield over his shoulder, waited, then lunged and grabbed a many toed foot with his gauntlet and hauled it upward. The short stubby leg rose out of the lava up to a many jointed pelvis. Jesca struck deep at the revealed vitals. "That's it", said Coral. "Only way to get a fatal wound." The nearby troops observed, and lacking any threatening force, broke into teams to emulate him.

"I've sent the vanguard of the 9th and 22nd to circle the lake", said Jesca. "That should cut off any escaping demons. Then we just ring it, and reel the noose in."

"Do you think it will stop the news of our arrival spreading?" asked Coral.

"No", said Jesca. "Not with that observation post up there." She motioned to the ridge. "Since this seems in hand, I've ordered the 31st to advance to it and hold it for us to regroup at."

It didn't take long for meaningful resistance to be eliminated at the lake of fire. Once surrounded, the demons threw themselves at whatever part of the wall seemed weakest. They had no command structure. The souls in the lake were even less organized, and thinned out quickly.

"Queen Jesca", came Ainia's voice in her helmet. "The hill top is secured. I suggest you rally the troops here as quickly as possible."

Jesca's brow wrinkled at the tone of her voice. "Is there a concern?"

"There is quite a view from here", said Ainia, a bit breathless. "And in every direction there are demons. And they are all moving in this direction."

Jesca flagged Lilly down. "Show me your Soul map again", she said. Lilly obliged and their troops stood out clearly, with few others in their area. "Can you expand the scale?"

Lilly concentrated and their viewpoint shrunk. The wider region contained countless pinpricks in all directions. "Direction. Can you show me direction of movement?" Lilly's hands made a few abbreviated gestures and the little lights turned into small throbbing arrows. Each one of them was pointed at them and moving towards them.

"I concur", said Jesca to Ainia, with a dry mouth. "We've attracted their attention. All Generals, move your troops out in double time to the 31st's position!"

## Chapter 37

### Overwhelming Odds

"There is another charge brewing" warned Coral. They stood, locked in formation, on the hilltop in the middle of the demon lands. Surrounding them was a chaotic sea of malformed souls relentlessly beating on their shield wall. Foul and fetid odors rose up the hill extruded by the creatures, and their entrails, which littered the ground where they had been fighting for two hours.

"I see it", said Jesca. Amongst the masses that had swarmed to their hillside a current could be detected. Centered on some large sinuous battle ram eeling its way up the hillside, the less mindless demons charged their line. "To me! To me!" she cried. "Form up on me!"

Shining in her tabard, and highlighted by the standard Coral bore, the Queen rallied the least spelled of those nearest to her and trotted directly opposite to where the charge was leading. "You and you", she said, slapping two enormous Orcs, "take point. They have a large creature leading. You, you and you", she said, pointing to an Amazon and two other troopers, "lock shields behind them. We need to be a physical barrier and meet them force for force to preserve the line. For Romitu!" They all echoed her shout.

Her command position was just below the high point of the land, where she could get the best view of the easy approaches. Other spotters were on the more precipitous side. It was also where their medical station was set up. Those who succumbed to their wounds on the battle field were revived where they lay. The Souls of those with severe enough wounds departed their broken bodies and fled to their standard issue swords. There they gave the magical weapons Animus to continue fighting alongside their nearest surviving comrades. When a battle mage was near enough to send the sword a jolt of mana, the body was resurrected, the equipment summoned, and the trooper took up fighting again. It was those whose wounds were not mortal, or were felled by poison or exhaustion, which were dragged back to the medical station. Mages worked to revive them with specialist magic and send them back fighting. Separated from their formations, the Queen had been collecting them into units to repel resistances such as this charge.

Coral blew his horn and they started down the hill with a shout, gathering momentum. Their line, forewarned, parted, letting them through. The ripple of the advancing column could now be seen from the line level and they drove straight for them. "Brace! Brace!" shouted the Queen, her helmet amplifying her command to the squad. There was a tremendous shudder as the serpentine head of the charge collided with their Orcish point, wrenching the arm of one as its velocity hurtled it past. The locked shields behind them prevented the Orcs from giving way and deflected the beast's gibbering snout up and over, drastically slowing it's forward process. Coral lunged forward with the standard as a spear, stabbing it into a great eye. The gibbering continued, unchanged, but its body started thrashing, throwing its own line into complete disarray.

"Disengage!" called the Queen. The charge had been blunted. The troops the creature brought in its wake swarmed past them to collide with their line to left and right. But divided, and without a shield break from the impetus of the demon snake, they had little chance to break their line. Their second rank broke shields briefly, to let one lead Orc drag its companion behind them, then formed up again as the unit went defensive, and started edging slowly backward up the hill.

Jesca, Coral and the other fighters in the core leaped between the shields where there were gaps, or fought over them where space could be afforded, to keep the mass from pressing too deeply upon them. In good order they met up with their line, melded into it, and passed behind it. They left the healthy to reinforce it, and took the wounded back to the command post.

Bianca sought the Queen out when she returned. "We may be holding things militarily, but this is all burning through mana."

"Noted", she said, distractedly. Dark clouds were approaching quickly from the horizon.

"Our operations are directly drawing from the strategic mana reserve", said Bianca, forcibly.

"Noted", said Jesca, and turned to her. "This is what it's for. Now please do a sweep and tell me what those clouds are hiding."

Bianca glared at her, then crossed her hands and closed her eyes. Her clothes and wisps of pale hair floated around her, as if freed from the force of gravity. Patterns of light appeared around her and she returned to the ground. She drew the pattern closer and condensed it down to tactical size. She gestured towards some oscillating figures on one edge, where the cloud was. But both their eyes were drawn to a thicker cluster of figures somewhat nearer.

"What is that?" said Jesca, looking from the pattern to the skies and back again.

Bianca furrowed her brow and waved her hands a bit more. "It's not above us. It's beneath us", she said. Another gesture and the pattern updated. "And it's moving fast."

"Sound an advance" said Jesca aside to Coral. "We're moving out. We've been stationary too long." She nodded a dismissal to Bianca and willed her generals to hear her orders.

The troops had barely begun to form up in marching order when the first tremors started. "Curse our complacency!" swore Jesca. "Move, soldiers, move!"

Coral watched large masses on the fading image. "Perhaps now would be the time for me to do the champion bit."

"No", said Jesca. "What comes will come. We will fight what finds us. Note the clouds." Coral looked up. They still swept in, thick and dark. "They may not hide a great foe, but they are far from a feint. We'll lose all tactical information once those descend on is. It's vital that we get this army moving immediately. Then we know: fighting will be thickest on our leading edge, and thinnest on our trailing one. Fie on the darkness!"

"The 31st is nearest" said Coral, pointing to their standard. "Let us rally their command unit and take it to the vanguard and punch a hole through any resistance." Jesca nodded, and called out the orders, marching rapidly for their standard.

Darkness engulfed them. They marched through it. The ground opened up around them and multi-armed demons with heads like shovels leaped screaming upon them. They cut down those who stood in their path and marched on. Fire turned to ice and a blizzard of black, stinging flies the size of small birds crawled over them, leaving frostbite with their pricks. They swatted them and marched on. Snow turned to rain and torrents of vomit smelling liquid washed overwhelming masses of screaming and crazed damned souls over them in waves, seeking to drown them in flesh. They cut through the blubbering sobbing wretches and marched.

Foundering over a sea of disembodied limbs and innards Bianca found the Queen fighting shoulder to shoulder in the shield wall of the 22nd. Even the Orcs leaned on her or each other for support as their tired limbs hacked their unreasoning foe. Unit blazons and tabards were indecipherable amongst the gore. They all wore the heraldry of carnage. "Majestus", said Bianca sternly. "Enough is enough. We have proven our point. The reserve is half empty. Have a thought to tomorrow!"

"No", cried Jesca, sinking her sword into another torso and struggling to pull it free while another creature ineffectually clawed at her faceplate. "We're not through yet." She freed her sword and bashed her shield in the face of another, knocking it back so the Orc to her left could cleave it with his axe. "Especially while they are throwing such fodder at us as this."

"These foes are not worthy of us", tried Bianca again.

Jesca laughed, almost a crazed cry. "Our enemy has blundered sending these against us", she panted out. "Each one we kill is one less they have." She shook her sword, showing the glowing pommel. "They bleed their strength straight into our hearts. Have we not already had to empty the swords twice?"

"At great magical cost", said Bianca, not relenting.

Jesca turned angrily, heedless of the clawing mob at her back. "We will not get this chance again! If we finish this, we have conquered the demon lands. A century of diplomacy will not get the demons to work together. The gods shall take note and give pause to their considerations."

Bianca stood, expressionless, but silent. Jesca caught her breath, as the Orcs closed ranks and held back the swelling tide of damned. "When we're down to one tenth of the reserve, we'll retreat in good order", she said, more calmly. "Right now I want to swallow everything they are willing to push down my gullet. This all buys time to build up the reserve again."

Bianca nodded, and left.

## Chapter 38

### Halphas

At some point, the tenor of the battle changed. The masses still piled up, but the pressure somehow seemed less. Exhaustion gave a surreal edge to what was already a fantastical spectacle. Magic restored life and limbs, banished hunger and fatigue. It was easy for the mind to drift and feel that they were just more of the damned themselves.

Then light was around them. Waves of magic tore through the heavens from their battle mages, dispelling the darkness and hostile weather. The dull red of the sky filtered through, illuminating the ghastly scene. Scree slopes of still corpses littered the landscape they struggled through. But, as they blinked in the light it was clear that the wave had ended. Knots of witless antagonists still hurled themselves at them, but no more stood behind them. In the near distance the gate they had entered by shimmered gossamer like, being held open by a few remaining mages in Irontree. With renewed energy the stragglers were engaged by the troops as the end appeared to be in sight.

Queen Jesca locked her armor rigid and sagged in its harness. Coral leaned heavily on the battle standard next to her. She listened to the communications between the armies whispering in her ear. The troops had moved to mopping up, finishing off anything with a Soul. The mages were sweeping, but finding no force moving against them.

"Is it over?" asked Coral. "Can it be over? Have we exhausted them?"

"No", said Jesca, tiredly. "It may be that Halphas has recalled his Paragon and is finally listening to good military advice." She laughed mirthlessly. "He had to figure out that this wasn't going to work at some point. I fear the real battle will start soon."

"That's a happy thought", said Coral, morosely.

The final foes fell and a weak cheering broke out amongst the troops. But at that moment there was an indefinable force that stilled all tongues in their throats. Like the air pressure dropping suddenly, or the crack of weak ice underfoot, or the attention of a malevolent god. They all felt it, but could not name what they felt.

Then the massed cadavers moved. A small jerk at first in a pile here. Then another mound sliding a few feet on another side. Piles of corpses were swept up into larger masses, and then, suddenly, all were in motion, clumping together and being dragged from the scene. All the conglomerations of bodies were yanked in one direction, and, as their eyes followed them, they began to mound up into a colossal shape.

"I hate it when you're right", said Coral.

Even from this distance they could see the bodies contort and become pulverized. They dissolved into their constituent forms and migrated over the surface of the hideous rising shape. Arms oozed up and legs oozed down, collectively forming immense mockeries of the appendages they were.

The soldiers staggered about, trying to find their original units and form up. All eyes were drawn to the forming behemoth. One by one the detached mages landed by Jesca as her command unit coalesced around her.

"its fidelity is increasing", said Lilly, looking at it with magical sight. "There. The arms have broken into forearms, hands, fingers, all moving into position. The heads are..." she left it unsaid.

"Form up army by army three hundred paces behind my position. Away from whatever that is, and towards the gate", said Jesca. "Send the vanguard of the 9th to me, and all senior mages." Acknowledgments came in, and troops marched with purpose.

The massive mountain of flesh resolved into a grotesque humanoid form. Then was still.

"Ugly son of a bitch", said Devonshire, arriving with the others.

A feeling like a thunderclap sent them all reeling. Only it was not a sound, but a force felt in their very soul. The presence of unbridled evil. The effigy had become engulfed in black flame, searing any eyes looking at it directly with its darkness, as painful as the sun. The flesh had changed into something else. In this cloak the figure moved, and then howled with a thousand voices which struck their ears, rankled their nose, made their mouth feel caked with filth, and seemed to scratch the flesh from their bones.

Scattered soldiers panicked and broke ranks before being hauled back into place by their brothers in arms. The black flames had subsided and the figure took on the smoky, shifting appearance they had seen in other demons, only immensely larger.

"I can't pin down its pattern", said Lilly, her magic stretching invisibly outwards.

"It's like that other demon", said Miasma, also concentrating. "Pattern upon pattern upon pattern. It's hard to grab on to. Only this one... it's got a lot more edges to it."

"Abomination!" spat Devonshire. "Foul corruption of Souls!"

"I want it", said Jesca, coldly. The rest looked at her, stunned. "I want to take it down. Drain its souls. Finish it."

"Majestus!" said Devonshire, recovering first. "This offends the very essence of my being. But the power of it! We've never faced..."

"It's less than a god is it not?" growled Jesca.

"If there was a way to bind it", said Lilly.

"But there are so many patterns, they keep changing", said Miasma.

"Even if we drained the reserve, we couldn't brute force it. There's no telling how much it has in its reserve", said Bianca.

"Work it out amongst yourselves", said Jesca, and stepped forward next to Coral.

Coral stood, ahead of all of the army, holding the standard and looking somberly at the demon whose myriad forms were stretching and testing the sinews of their manifestation. "Well, this is clearly a superior foe" he said, with false light-heartedness. "I guess I best be about doing the champion thing."

"No", said Jesca. "As my champion you represent the Queen. You set an example on her behalf. You fight the good fight when the Queen is not there to do so. That is not what I need you for now. I'm right here. I do not need to be represented."

He looked at her, eyes widening. "You can't be serious. You can't fight this yourself!"

"You were just about to", she reminded him. "This is not a battle for the army. As of now their work here is done. We will play through the role that is ours to play, wherever it leads. Even if only to cover the retreat of the rest." Jesca clapped him on his shoulder. "Right now what I need is a herald." She pointed to the monster before them. "Get an amplification spell from a mage and go and tell it I offer it single combat."

He blanched further. "No! That's..."

"That's what Scioni would have done", she said.

"And look where he is now!" stammered Coral.

Jesca stared at him sternly. "He is there because of what this demon has done. We are who we are because of what we do. If I fall as Scioni did, I would expect whoever has the benighted glory of being monarch thrust upon them next to do the same. And so on until there are none left to carry our dignity. Now get out there and issue challenge!" she said firmly. Then, more gently, "And stretch it out as long as you possibly can."

## Chapter 39

### Challenge and Response

The lone figure of Coral strode out from the ranks of the army. He bore the standard of the Queen of Romitu high in the air, held aloft only by the movement of his passage; the air was completely still. At about a hundred paces he stopped, planted the standard, and addressed the Demon.

"Hear me! Hear me! Hear me! I speak on behalf of Jesca, Queen of Romitu, Bastion of Liberty, Fount of Justice, Unifier, Peace bringer, and Salvation to all those in Oppression. She bears grievance against thou, Halphas, Satrap of Hell, and your minions, for waging war, most foul, against her country, her troops, and her personage. For this affront she has brought her armies hither, wrought great damage against your lands, and stands before you, victor of this battle field. She asks you now if you repent of your actions, if you will cease all action of any sort against the interests of Romitu, and foreswear to ever again trouble us directly, or indirectly, through force or connivance, personally or with any agent allied to you. How do you answer her?"

The echoes of his amplified voice rung out over the landscape and died into silence. The monstrous demon's form hulked before him, the myriad shadow shapes making it up standing or slouching, in a collective approximation of attentiveness. Slowly a voice built up from it. Coming from hundreds of separate throats, each uttering in its own way. The noise was at first indistinct, but as it rose in volume it became clearer. The demon was laughing. From high pitched giggles, to mocking basso profondo jeers it ran the gamut of cruel laughter. Coral stood, unmoved until the sound subsided.

"Only the loser calls a victory before the battle is complete", boomed the demon, in a multitude of voices. "A cost cannot be deemed of consequence or not unless your enemy's full assets are known. No one ever bargains when in a position of strength, only when they are the weaker party." The voices dissolved into a cacophony of jeers and cat calls. The collective limbs of its being moved a step forward. "Your army is exhausted. Your magic is depleted. And you are far, far, far from home." Another cascade of limbs beat the ground with another step. "No, little Queen. I do not repent of anything. My business is mine to pursue by whatever means I choose. The souls of my estate are mine to tyrannize as I wish. I accept no moralizing from you. I answer you 'no'." Its fist smashed the rocky ground in a synchronized wave, rattling the surroundings.

Its strides had moved it some of the distance towards Coral, but he gave no ground. "The Queen regrets your decision", he replied. "If you are determined to end this through violence, we have no choice but to reply in kind. Though your tactics and methods have been despicable, we are Romitu, and fight with honesty. The Queen, by her grace, offers to you the honor of a combat of champions. To settle this matter in a more civilized fashion than it has been conducted heretofore. What force you put in the field, we will match, and both agree to abide by the results."

The demon stopped its forward motion. "Single combat?" it sneered in a thousand tones. "Against me? Champion: you go beyond yourself. I am informed of your jaunts amongst the gods. Do not speak to me with one side of your mouth about honor while the other side makes veiled threats to the masters you turned traitor to! And the arrogance to throw stones in my own domain, and then hide behind a swaggering Champion who does not know his own limits."

"If I spoke to you as Champion of the Queen, I would answer you most sternly for the insults you have rendered me", said Coral coolly. "But I do not. My words are not my own just now. I speak to you as Herald of the Queen. My words are her words. It is the Queen who offers to face your Champion, not I, though I gladly would, as would any who fight for her."

There was a longer pause. The form grew blurry and various voices of the demon's shapes could be heard rambling in their own monologues. "I have killed one monarch of Romitu already", it said eventually, pulling its elements back together. "Yet you still persist in being a thorn in my side. I will happily kill this one too. Send your presumptive Queen forward. Perhaps the sight of her dying will teach you your place in the world."

Coral dipped the standard in acknowledgment, turned on his heel and marched back. The demon began to slowly lumber forward. A wave of murmurs ebbed over the armies assembled just short of the gate. The vanguard of the 9th stood foremost, a little straighter and more alert, anxiously watching, weapons to the ready. There was silence amongst the Queen's guard and assembled mages immediately surrounding her. The Queen herself stood motionless watching Coral as he closed the last of the distance to her.

"You can't do this", he said, breathless.

"I can't _not_ do this", she said, now looking past him, to the demon.

"We still haven't got an effective offense strategy", said Devonshire. "But we'll give you what defensive magic we can. Unless that violates the spirit of single combat."

Jesca shrugged. "I offered a battle of champions. To meet what force it presents with our own equivalent. It's got hundreds of souls, it can't fight single combat. As far as I'm concerned, it's me, my guard, you mages, and the entire 9th vanguard. If I fall, that's the argument to use to draw it out and cover the withdrawal of the rest."

"Let me do this", said Coral, as the mages each traced patterns in Jesca's armor and lay on her their spells. "You are not expendable."

"Neither was General Scioni", said Jesca. "Yet we've managed without him." Her teeth rattled as the magic took hold. "If I fall, someone will have to quickly move to lead them." She looked directly at him. "Someone who isn't afraid of stepping forward when asked." Coral looked at her, eyes wide, shaking his head. She turned her eyes back to the demon. "I know you will rise to the occasion, when required. As I must."

With a nod of her head she snapped her faceplate into place. She shifted her shield forward to an easy grip. She flexed her hand and drew her sword clear of the scabbard and rested it on her shield. Without another word she strode forward in a smooth gait before the army. Tens of thousands of eyes watched her, tired, apprehensive, elated, anxious, and all other emotions in the spectrum. After a moment of silence, Coral's hoarse voice shouted out "Romitu!" The tension that had been wound tight was suddenly released and tens of thousands of throats screamed "Romitu!" in reply. Weapons beat on shields, boots stamped the ground, armor rattled and hands clapped. The noise rivaled the incessant rumble from the Demon.

## Chapter 40

### The End of It

Towering many times the height of a man, the Demon stood in the wasteland. The flickering shapes of its multitude forms flexed muscles, stretched limbs, fidgeted or just stood. Jesca stood before it, just out of what appeared to be its reach.

"You know you cannot hope to defeat me", said the Demon in rumbling harmonics.

"Only the loser calls a victory before the battle is complete", said Jesca.

Rocks splintered as many of the demons elements clawed or stamped the ground. "Don't throw my words back at me little Red Queen!" cried the Demon. "I will have your crimson head on a pike in my castle before the day is done."

"That may be", said Jesca. "But it will be cold comfort for the damage I have done already."

"It is but a pittance. A trifle," he sneered. "Such as you have fought have been destroyed a thousand thousand times. You have but aided me in my task of tormenting the damned."

"We have not just broken the bodies, we have taken the souls", said Jesca. "Those we have killed will not return. They are free from your dominion. We have raided your larder and left you bereft."

There was disintegration into cries, howls, sobs and screams. "Souls are cheap. The gods have plenty they need tormented. I can recruit my own. I will start with your army. When I have finished with you I will take them as well. There are plenty of inventive scourges that they can suffer."

"I think you should, instead, look to your borders", said Jesca. "Your neighbors, almost certainly, have noted our actions. Though you claim they are the merest prick in your side, if you are not weakened, you are at least distracted. Are they already invading in a quick grab for territory as we debate? How well guarded is the rest of your pantry?"

The ground rumbled as the Demon stamped about in muddled agitation. Jesca circled to keep her footing as the Demon strove to control its elements. "Do not think you can bait me!" it screamed once it had attained some level of cohesion. "Your words are that of a stumbling child. I was whispering doubt into the ears of your great grandmother before you were born. I continue now that she and all your antecedents are with me. Oh, you can trust to that. When I have killed you, I will have the souls of your parents, your family, your friends, your army and anyone you care about. The gods hate you. All of them. They will fall over themselves to give me these little treasures and clamor like peasants at a cock fight for ringside seats for the agonies I have prepared for you and yours."

"That does not deter me", said Jesca, moving to one side again as the beast lumbered about. "I am Queen of the Romitu. I am Romitu. I will do what is right. Stand for what is right. No matter the promise of doing otherwise. No matter the cost of doing it. Neither the promise of heaven nor the threat of hell compels me. I will do what I do because it is the right thing to do."

The Demon stopped before her, and collected itself. "So be it", he said. The fluttering forms that made up the demon began to settle. Slowly it drew itself up tall. The different shapes coalesced into a single form that drew back a mighty fist. The combinations synchronized almost completely. A single face could be made out for the first time. Its severe brow held a scowling look above a regal nose and set chin. "I will make an end of it" he said, with perfect clarity.

Suddenly a bright bolt arced across the field and grounded on the Demon's shoulder, and then a second on the hip and a third fixed on his raised arm. His face lost composure and started to dissolve into mixed expressions. His body unraveled and he started to shrug off the clinging rays. Then, with a guttural cry he rallied himself. As he forced his composure, his body synchronized back to a single coordinated form. Almost immediately the magical lances leaped out again, their forces spread across his body. More shafts of magic joined the first and engulfed him in radiant energy. Blue crystal grew beneath the light, further encasing him.

Shouts and cries came from the 9th army as it charged across the space between them. The Demon had toppled rigidly on its side, encased now in glowing blue crystal. The magical beams now ripped out individual shadow forms of its being through the crystal and flung them prone amongst the rampaging guard.

Amongst all the tumult Coral reached Jesca's side and dragged her from the thick of the fray. "Did you know that was going to happen?" he screamed at her. "Did you know that was going to happen?"

"What?" she said, confused.

He sat her on the ground and lifted her visor. "Is that what you were trying to do? Did you know that was going to happen?"

"Are the troops withdrawing?" she said, looking at the running troops, still not tracking. "I don't know what happened. I was too close. I only could see the Demon."

Coral sighed and pounded the ground with his fist. "You just threw yourself at the demon? You had no plan? You were just going to let it toy with you to cover for the army?"

"Of course", she said, looking annoyed. "Where is it?" she moved to get up.

Coral put his hand on her arm. "It's being dealt with" he said flatly. "The mages couldn't do anything because they couldn't get a pattern off of it to work with. Once it was focused solely on you, the pattern of all the different souls merged closely enough that they were able to map it, and bind it. Now they're... eviscerating it."

"Fancy that", said Jesca, breathlessly. "Looks like we win then."

"I can't believe..." started Coral. "You could have been annihilated!"

"Maybe I just don't care", said Jesca, with a trace of anger. "I told you I've been Queen for too long. How else can I make someone succeed me?" The jubilant troops had begun to take notice of her. Coral helped haul her to her feet and they jumped up and down and cheered her name. "I'll never be able to step down now", she was able to mutter to him as they lofted her up upon their shields and paraded her around.

## Chapter 41

### Dismissal

The dismemberment of Halphas did not take long. His many souls were magically separated and freed from their conjoined form. Each was trapped in the soul jars of the troops with all the rest of his former subjects. The vanguard of the 9th rejoined the rest of its army, and was the last to leave the demonic realm through the flickering gate.

The exuberant troops, once back in Irontree, broke ranks and ran about cheering and celebrating. The joy of victory had washed away the exhaustion of the battle. Those citizens who had been able to sleep were now awoken, and joined in the cheering as the soldiers marched up and down the streets of the town.

Eventually trumpets blew and horns beckoned. Officers shouted orders and all were commanded to present themselves at the parade ground. They streamed from the city, singing, chanting, and beating their feet in elation. Their standards stood ready and each found their unit and formed up in the maniples they started in. The Queen looked out over them from the stage.

"Soldiers of Romitu!" she shouted, her voice rough with use. They cheered in return. "We have wrought a great victory today. I asked much of you, and you delivered." Another cheers swelled up. "But before we stand down, let there be an accounting. Generals: count your Captains. Captains, count your Lieutenants. Lieutenants, count your Sergeants. Sergeants, count your troops."

She fell silent while there was a stirring and a buzz. Soldiers moved about, shifted position into their formal units. A few ran hither and to, not to be miscounted. There was some commotion and a few magical flashes as soldiers not missed earlier were resurrected from their soul jars. Cries shouted out as each unit reported up to its larger parent its composition, with magical amplification as the groups grew larger.

All the way up to "All present and accounted for in the 9th army" from General Alessa.

"All present and accounted for in the 22nd army!" from General Porterhouse.

And so on, for each of the seven armies.

"We are Romitu!" shouted Jesca. "We accept no casualties!" The units erupted in cheering. Her voice boomed out again, from forest to town, "We have not only gone where no army has gone before and survived unscathed", she said. "We have liberated thousands..." she looked to her mages and corrected herself. "Tens of thousands! We have marched into hell, and come marching back with a multitude. Victims freed from their torment. Tormenters, freed from coerced duty. And their leader, a foul monstrosity of warped souls dissolved into its constituent parts, each able to now seek solace and forgiveness."

She paced up and down the stage. "This is our accomplishment today. The Republican partisans lie in our prisons. The demon they summoned to marshal their war against us has had his patronage ended. Our war cries have echoed in the depths of the infernal abyss."

She held up her hands. "Enjoy the moment. When dismissed, retire to your bunks for some well-deserved rest. But put away your arms and armor in good order. When you wake tomorrow you will have need of them again." She continued more somberly. "Today will not be declared a national holiday. Our actions of today will not usher in peace for all time. We have gained some respite, but we have not finished things, we have just increased the stakes."

The crowd followed her mood and measured her words seriously. "Where our cries have echoed, they have cowered. But when the echoes cease, they shall consider. What we have done once, we can do again. One demon has learned the fatal lesson of underestimating us. Many more have observed, and will resolve themselves not to make the same mistake. It is naïve and hopeful to think that they would all sue for peace with us. From where we stand, our accomplishments of today appear hard won. That we have stretched ourselves to our limits to achieve our dearly won victory. I caution you, though, that we have just earned ourselves harder tasks for tomorrow. We will look back on this and think it easy, compared with what we will next face."

"But we are Romitu", she said, not shouting. "We are no stranger to difficult tasks. We do what is worth doing without flinching, without worry. We do what is right because it is right. If we balked at something because it was hard, we would never achieve anything."

"Go to your rest tonight", she said, raising one hand again. "Sleep from your labor deservedly. Celebrate tomorrow. But report for duty after that. Our work is not done." She saluted them all.

A more modest chant of "Romitu!" started amongst the troops. It built up in regularity, but not in volume. Sober and determined faces looked up to her and her standard. Slowly, the chant changed in tone. First from one edge, and then spreading over all seven armies. The same, slow, steady, resolute chorus became "Jesca! Jesca!"

## Chapter 42
### Epilogue

Many hours later the sun shone against the thick curtains shielding the window of the Queen's personal chambers in the high city palace. The royal armor stood, battered, but not broken, in one corner, on and around its stand. A large tub of bath water was cooling in the center of the room, and damp towels lay on the floor between it and the large bed piled high with quilts.

Jesca lay amongst the feathered comforters and down pillows. Her eyes had just closed, and her breathing had begun to slow when she became aware of some indefinable change in the quality of the environment. Her brow furrowed and she pushed the quilts back and sat up in her bed. Standing at the foot of her bed was the Grey Elf.

"Swan", she said, with certainty. He looked much like the Elves she knew, although of a slightly different caste. However something unspecific in the way he stood, or in his eyes, or the angle of his head made her think without doubt of an elegant waterfowl.

He smiled, dipping his head, speaking volumes with his gestures, yet nothing clearly. "I apologize for disturbing your rest."

She snorted. "I guess I got your attention."

He raised his finger to his cheek, considering. "Your actions have precipitated events that definitely call for notice. A nostalgic affection for disturbing the bones of our arrival point. The hopeful signs of a stirring in the heart of the one that first acted when you were in extremis. And wondering how much such use of cataclysmic energies heralds for the future." He shrugged apologetically. "A lot is certainly happening. But our models break down when it comes to individual motives and results. I think it may be hard to sort the wheat from the chaff for some time."

"But they tell me you are all about individual actions", she said, a trace annoyed.

He smiled modestly. "It is a theory of mine. That they matter more than we have reckoned. An explanation why our experiments have not been successful so far. The others have humored me, since they consider this run a write off anyway. They let me tinker."

"Written off? Our whole existence? Everything we've done? Everything we're to do? You've just... whoops! Let's try again. This isn't important."

"Oh no", said Swan, holding up a finger, and looking more serious for the first time. "This is very important. There is much at stake. Our whole existence."

"Ours or yours?" she shot back.

"We don't distinguish", he said. He moved his arms in a wide gesture. "There's a much bigger... experiment, if you will call it that, unfolding out there. It hasn't gone well. We upset a few people. That's why we're cooling our heels here. Our hope had been that we would gain some insight through your creation to redirect things out there more to our liking."

"To upset less people?" Jesca said, voice heavy with irony.

Swan turned back to her, completely serious. "Not at all. We hope to upset a great deal of people. A great deal."

Jesca rubbed her head. "I'm not sure I've understood a word you've said. Do you always have to be so vague and mysterious?"

"I don't know", said Swan sadly. "Rose is coming around to my way of thinking and would rather speak more directly. But I think you would understand that even less. This is all very complicated and very far removed from what you do." He straightened the corner of her quilt. "Ironic, though, that it is what you do that may have such a bearing on everything."

She sighed heavily. "Great. More responsibility." She stared at Swan for a while, who seemed to be entranced by the patterns on her blankets. "What do I do with them?" she asked him.

A smile played about his lips. "A very good question. What do you do with them?"

Jesca swallowed hard. "Right now they're stuffed into our soul jars fit to burst while we debate the morality of resurrection versus reincarnation." His expression did not change. "What do you want us to do?"

"Remember", he said, looking up. "I don't know how to solve the experiment. There is no point in asking me the answer to any of your dilemmas. Any path I might guide you on is just going to be something we've already thought of. And everything we've thought of hasn't worked. I'm rather hoping that you think of something we haven't thought of."

"That's kind of a tall order", she said. "Especially when I don't even know what end result you are looking for."

"Very true", he said. But he didn't say anything further.

"So why are you here then?" she asked after a time.

"A lot is happening", he repeated. "I just wanted to see you. To understand how you felt. Here, in the middle of it all. If individuals are critical, this is an important data point."

"But you have no intention of guiding me. To tinker", she said, challengingly.

He grimaced. "Any contact, inevitably, changes things. So, yes, being here must be to some end, in spite of all I have said. Touché."

"So out with it. Tell me something. Anything."

Swan looked at her for a long time. "I already have" he said quietly. And before she opened her mouth to berate him, "but I will repeat. We wish to see you surpass us. When you become more than we are, then you will take our place, and things will really start to get interesting."

Jesca gave him a long suffering look, and then rubbed her eyes. "That's not exactly the clarity I was hoping for." But when she looked up, he was gone.

After a long sigh, she hit her pillow several times in frustration. Her shoulders sagged and her exhaustion returned. She fell back into the cushions and drew the blanket over her face.

After a moment or two she pushed it back again with resignation. She pulled a bell cord and dragged her robe on. When the staff she had summoned entered she said "Call a council of the Mages. Tell them I've had a visit from a Grey Elf."

## Afterword

Thank you for reading "Red Queen", the first book in the Six Books of Magic series.

The second book, White Mage focuses on Bianca. She is the child of Goatha and Moss, and was raised studying the Six Books of Magic. She has adopted the harsh culture of her Mother and is stern and obsessively focused. Her time is consumed with what she feels is the only way the gods can be combated on equal terms: the Ævatar. This is a massive constructed being that, if working, would let someone wield great power. The problem is that it lacks a Soul, and seeks to devour the Soul of anyone controlling it. The opening chapter of White Mage 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.

For news, character interviews, tie-in games, and many other updates about The Six Books of Magic please follow the Facebook page:

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If you aren't on Facebook, you can keep up to date with the web site:

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You can find other books by the same author on Smashwords:

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## White Mage, 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 it's 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. This 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 a 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.

