GLASS 4.3: SOMETHING REAL
“More champions doesn’t always entail fewer darkmages, Lady Osordei! It just drives them underground. For certain there is peace to be found in such times, the measure of which we must enjoy for as long as we may. For whether we will measure or no, it shall be measured when it ends. When they emerge, it’s accompanied by a frenzy of violence the likes of which won’t have been seen in years. I have seen it. I know the pattern and you ought to know it too. These heretics may be keeping quiet right now, but it won’t last long.”
– the First Lady Sentelemeth, in session before the High Council, Illost 997 NE
Timesnatcher used his glyphstone to contact the local magistry, then they left to transport their captive up to the surface: Mountainslide floated the netted enchanter along on a cushion of air, Wilderweird and Lovebright in tow to keep their former colleague in a relaxed state – Timesnatcher and Dimdweller led the way. It looked to me like a concerted effort to be clear that this was a non-partisan action – I saw lots of people, including the two gnome-champions and Glimmermere the elf, heading to speak to the last remaining dwarf in the chamber, Brokenskull. It quickly became apparent they were attempting to reassure the druidess that this was no example of ill-will against dwarves in general. From the frame of the conversations I overheard in passing it seemed Brokenskull was another newish champion. The young-sounding dwarf-maiden was keeping her cool, the voice emanating from behind her mask (a broken skull, obviously) slow and solemn. All the same, there was tension in her careful cadence; she would understandably be shocked by the turn of events that had taken one of her kinsfolk and branded him a darkmage, all in the space of a minute. The sheer suddenness of it all had shaken me, its chief instigator, so I could only imagine what she’d be feeling.
It took ten minutes for them to return, which I spent with Em and Killstop, speculating as to the exact nature of the power contained by the crystal tree. None of us had ever heard of a Ceryad before – a big part of me was relishing the mystery, and perhaps that was true of Em too, but Killstop soon spoiled us, her low entranced voice emanating from behind the disapproving mask. The Ceryad was, according to her vision, ‘the First Wonder of Mund’ – and a legacy of the Five Founders and long supposed lost. For all her insights, however, the seeress said that she couldn’t directly read the tree’s past or future… which was apparently strange for her as objects or simple living things were usually the easiest to read.
What was more – Em said she couldn’t touch any part of it with her wizardry, although the water swirling about its sprawling glass roots was far warmer than it ought to have been.
“Well, then,” Timesnatcher said from the doorway as he led the quintet of champions back into the cavern. “Shall we begin?”
The doors closed, and the murmuring about Neverwish ceased almost immediately. Everyone started to spread out, forming a circle around the tree.
Me, Em and Killstop slipped into the circle on the edge nearest the cliff, Em quickly clearing aside the water we’d have been stepping in; and within seconds all the active champions of Mund were in a single ring, looking out upon each other. Winterprince stood out, encased in ice as ever, and no one crowded him.
“First order of business – the Incursion. Come forward with your reports.”
The diviner moved his head, left to right, looking out across the circle. He’d gone perhaps a quarter of the way around when the champion he was glancing at took one step into the ring.
Timesnatcher halted, and the first spoke.
This went on until the whole circle had had chance to speak up, and then the arch-diviner led the next order of business, Facechanger – and then the third, the Srol Heretics…
Various mages and archmages stepped forward, relating how they’d fared in their encounters. Even though I was now the only champion present who’d been at the confrontation at Upper Tivertain, I had little to add to the narrative except that I’d successfully slain the primary summoners. It turned out that Brokenskull had been there too, only later, as part of the clean-up crew who had been tasked with finishing off the remnants once the battle at Roseoak Way had been won.
As the stories went on, I got a better picture of how the Incursion had flowed from site to site, where our forces had been distributed and why – some deployments were deliberate, others happenstance. Getting the enchanters spread out across the city was the first priority, establishing the quick-response network that they’d seemingly been using for years, perhaps decades… maybe even down the centuries…
According to the stories, champions were a feature of life in Mund even from the time of the Five and their children. Who knew how far back the traditions of our Gathering might stretch?
Whilst they spoke I looked about myself in renewed wonder.
Whether he’d been selected for it or simply stepped forward of his own accord, it was Shadowcloud who brought us to the conclusion. He explained the cause of Dustbringer’s absence in detail for the benefit of those champions who’d had to go off the rumours on the streets until now. He related the descent into the buried warehouse, the meeting with the eolastyr. He described the final fight, the last moments of Dustbringer’s life.
There was a near-silence, and those who wept did so quietly but openly – the champions did not bury their grief, nor did they let Dustbringer’s death and the deaths of the other champions overshadow their glory. There were even smiles of pride on some of those faces where the mouths could be seen.
I understood it. This was the fate we here all faced.
“Their deeds live on in the lives they saved,” Shadowcloud said at last, stepping back into place, “from now unto the ends of time.”
“Unto the ends of time,” everyone echoed him in unison.
The overly-formal wording had seemed strange in Shadowcloud’s uncultured voice, but instantly made sense once I realised they were ritual.
When it came to Facechanger, it was Lightblind at Timesnatcher’s side who stepped forward, and I was quickly brought up to speed.
My initial guesses had been right – some highly-skilled darkmage was selling anonymity, or even specific faces. ‘Facechanger’ was being mentioned in the shady corners of certain establishments, but how they operated was still a mystery. There was a chance it was a single mage, but the mastery of druidry, enchantment and divination required made this a non-starter. More likely, Lightblind suggested, ‘Facechanger’ was the codename for a cabal of three dark archmages.
Magic could reveal the truth of the disguise after extensive work but, without good cause to investigate a given subject, they would easily slip through the cracks. In the latest case of interest the bridge-guards at the Maginox, the ‘waywatchers’, had caught one Lady Arimeth Araldo trying to get in wearing the face of a missing magister, whom it now transpired had been killed purely in order to more easily sell her identity. Even the patterns of the magister’s thoughts had been copied over, allowing Arimeth to completely impersonate her. Only arch-divination pierced the transformation – and only then when it had become obvious that another powerful diviner had interfered in her past, to the point of completely obfuscating her previous life-history. It was down to the quick thinking of a lone archmage that the Maginox wasn’t infiltrated.
The most alarming element to it was that there was nothing to give it away; there was nothing to see through. No illusions were employed in the ‘face-change’, the only enchantments being used to wipe or alter memories. (In order to remove, at minimum, the identities of the supposed-cabal’s members.) Anyone could be suspect, at any time – you couldn’t even verify that, say, Neverwish hadn’t been replaced at some point in the past with a fake dark-enchanter of similar potency.
At this point Timesnatcher interrupted to reassure everyone that he had actually checked this, and Lightblind patted him familiarly on the arm to hush him. I found my eyebrows raising momentarily.
She continued speaking, and I devoted energy to actually concentrating, sifting the meaning of her words. It was difficult to follow. She spoke with an oracle’s economy, and I struggled to make the presumptions my newness here forced upon me.
For the last few weeks it seemed the arch-diviner had been working alongside Special Investigations, but little came of it – the criminals they allowed to escape, like Soulbiter and Screamsong, they’d been forced to recapture. If any of them had sought Facechanger’s services, they’d been unlucky.
This, Lightblind pointed out, raised a few questions. Were the darkmages comprising Facechanger out-scrying the magisters and champions, aware that Termiax and Rissala and their ilk were bait? It was possible. It was also possible that Facechanger approached their clients, not the other way around as had first been surmised.
“We have no way to be sure of one another, this is true,” she said, drawing up the hem of her robe as though she were preparing to step back into place. “It’s for this reason that we diviners recently instituted a policy of regularly checking our members, and each other. We are reasonably certain none of us have been replaced, and we are absolutely certain none of you have been. We are only telling you this now that it’s been settled. We’ll continue to randomly check the champions until the Facechanger cabal is caught.”
Reasonably certain, I brooded. That doesn’t sound great.
“Was Neverwish really not one, then?” someone asked hopefully. “You’re sure?”
Timesnatcher shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Are there no details in the memories of these ‘clients’ at all?” I asked. “Sorry, if I’m not supposed to ask –“
“No, it’s quite alright, Feychilde,” Lightblind replied. “You weren’t here last month. We had an… incident. We followed one of the leads generated by the memories you mention – and walked straight into a trap.”
“An arch-diviner could’ve set it for us,” Timesnatcher said, as if to pre-empt my next question.
“I see. Thanks.” I lowered my head, making it clear I was done interrupting.
“It’s what I mentioned when I, hm, met you,” Nighteye called, a dozen or so places to my right. “The people, with no noses? It was –“
“Quite,” Leafcloak said with a note of finality.
Lightblind looked around the circle, or at least turned her eyeless mask as though that were what she was doing, then stepped back into place, gesturing across the ring to Winterprince.
The ice elemental stepped forward, looming above everyone, and gave his report on the Srol in his grinding, snapping voice.
He hadn’t been speaking for more than a minute when I’d learned more about the heretics than I had in a lifetime as an ordinary citizen of Mund – and the pace at which information was revealed only increased as time went on, until I was frozen in place, as though I were encased in ice along with him, drinking in the rumbled words.
The Thirteen Candles… was the home of the Srol.
It had been the home of the Chaosmakers and the Five-Fold Rebellion too, back in the day. That should’ve been obvious to me, in retrospect, but the obviousness of the target merely compounded my confusion. If their home was known, why wasn’t it under attack?
It was, apparently, impregnable. The distortion surrounding its grounds, that I’d only seen for the first time a couple of weeks back when I flew past it on the way to the Maginox – that distortion was, I came to understand, a shield of cunning deviousness. All the machinations of mortal sorcery had been combined with the spells of arch-demons, liches and powerful fey to concoct a barrier. A barrier none had yet penetrated with weapons of even the highest calibre, magical or mundane. There were some hints in what Winterprince said that, years back, a group of champions had tried to mount an assault – but it sounded like no form of attack did more harm to the Candles than it did to those launching the attack in the first place.
But the Candles had stood for centuries… which could only mean…
I gleaned that Heresy, Chaos, Rebellion, whatever name it went by – the problem went further back in history that was popularly conceived. People tended to remember distinct groups where only behaviour-patterns and labels were changing, and that seemed to be the way the Arrealbord liked it – keeping the public clueless, untroubled at the thought of a singular, monolithic enemy that was beyond defeat. The titles of the Candles’ inhabitants were shifted every now and again, branding the ‘Chaos-Lord’ archmages of a decade ago with the name ‘Hierarch’ even if they’d kept the same robe and mask. It sounded as though at least five of the Hierarchs were known to have been Chaos-Lords, and of them one might have even been an original Dark Rebel.
But five hundred years? How this had been kept secret for so long Winterprince didn’t mention, though I supposed I hadn’t really questioned the official narrative myself at any point… Perhaps we had enough on our plates, what with Incursions every three or four months, to worry overlong about the Srol Heretics – where they were, who they were, what they really wanted…
On that last point Winterprince said nothing. He covered the spider slaughter on Firenight Square, then passed it over to Timesnatcher to relate the defence of the Sunset Keep area against Hierarchs Three and Four. The identically-attired arch-sorcerers, backed by a group of heretic-mages, had come very close to killing a school-trip of Mund’s finest, richest young people. It was obvious that the established champions had received messages I hadn’t, organising them in greater numbers in Treetown.
Then Mountainslide, the dwarf whose status as a veteran belied his apparent youth, reported on Openway, where he and several others had fought an arch-wizard and arch-enchanter – possibly Hierarchs Thirteen and Seventeen.
“Doomspeaker, would you like to give our assessment on the threat?” Timesnatcher said when the dwarf wizard stepped back.
A gnome diviner half a dozen places to my left stepped forward. Her miniature mask was steel worked to resemble a ram’s skull, and her watery eyes shone through the almond-shaped slits in the metal. She had the stature of a four year old, but the hands protruding from the sleeves of her tiny cyan-blue robe were loose-skinned, and her status as a gnome of elder years was declared as much by the gristly, throbbing tone of her voice as by the leatheriness of her flesh.
“As you know, we spend much of our energies watching the Thirteen Candles,” she said. “Even if their diviners afford their movements a great deal of concealment, there are always the avenues along which we can perceive them. We have found one such avenue. Spiritwhisper, if you’d be so kind? Thank you. Look here –“
Everyone else aside from the three of us must’ve been used to this, because we were the only ones stiffening in shock as a vast, ghostly illusion sprang up in the circle, the Ceryad-tree piercing it, showing the scene for the glamour it was.
The illusion was Mund.
The entire thing, flattened down to remove the slope. Rendered in fascinating detail, floating about as high as my knee, the Stone of Amplification penetrating through it at Firenight Square.
I lost some of what the gnome had to say, marvelling at the work that had gone into this recreation. The white walls were barely an inch high; the Maginox, far off on my right, reached up as high as my waistline. I was on the side nearest the Treetown walls, looking down upon a miniature forest which ended at the Whiteflood, beyond which the bazaars of Oldtown appeared… And far off on the other side of the crystal tree I could make out Sticktown… I could trace the line of the cliff that rose from Sticktown to meet Hilltown.
I turned my head to the right again, gazing at the towers of Hightown – I could see the very Tower of Mourning beneath which we were now gathered, pulsing its cerulean light, replicated in tiny perfection…
I looked back across at Em and saw her glancing to our left, towards her home beyond the Greywater.
As I followed her gaze I noticed Rivertown was approaching us – it was coming closer – the whole thing was slowly spinning in an anticlockwise direction, delicately contracting and extending as needed to fit the space between us…
Spiritwhisper’s bit of glamour alone was worth the price of admission.
I blinked, coming back to myself as I realised red lights were flashing over part of Treetown, wheeling away from me.
“Before the end of Illost,” Doomspeaker was saying, “part of southern Treetown between Ryntol Wood and the Cadersglen will be set alight. Yes,” she addressed the muttering, “Treetown again. We suspect this will be nothing more than a distraction, but we cannot directly foresee which other locations will be hit – we will require wizards on site, and I’ve discussed setting up an alert with Leafcloak, who has agreed to lay spells over the area.” The old seeress nodded across the circle to the old druidess, who nodded back. “The main thing to take away is that we shouldn’t all rush off to Treetown this time. Unless you’re a wizard and we’re specifically calling on you, stay where you are when the fires start, and stay vigilant.
“The real target is less clear. We’re anticipating a bank robbery, as it’s been awhile since they last took a significant sum, and…”
A bank robbery? I’d had no idea the heretics would lower themselves to such banal criminal activities – sure, your average darkmage, but heretics? Not that robbing a bank was actually ‘lower’ than killing lots of people – but I was surprised the heretics didn’t see it that way. I supposed even mass-murderers had to eat.
Though, as Doomspeaker was just now making plain, robbing a bank wasn’t something you could just send a demon to do – not here in Mund, anyway. There were a number of wards in place all around our financial institutions, which would inform us as to which bank they’d chosen to strike, allow us to respond in force. The temples of Brondor like the Home of Commerce in Hilltown had the best guards plat could hire carrying the best weapons plat could buy. And it wasn’t money they were looking for – it would be an artifact cache, housing magical items of considerable might, books laden with unspeakable lore.
“Fourthly, and finally,” Timesnatcher said as the gnome stepped back. “The vampires of Oldtown.”
So they did originate across the bridge…
He’d already piqued my interest, and I sensed rather than saw as, at my side, Em straightened up suddenly.
“At the tail end of the Incursion, a vampire-elder or vampire-lord used the distraction of the arch-sorcerers safeguarding the Winter Door to enter the city. We have scried a minimum of seventeen descendants, the most in living memory.”
A murmur of discontent rippled across the circle.
“I know.” Timesnatcher held up a hand. “This is an unprecedented number. We can only surmise that the elder or lord has had little opportunity to beget until now, and hope that he has exsanguinated himself to the point where, for a time at least, he can do so no longer…”
“Ecksaguinated?” Em asked in a whisper.
“When they’re out of their own blood,” I whispered back.
What happened to you at Roseoak, I thought grimly.
I caught her confused look so I quickly explained – it was the accepted truth that once a vampire shared their own blood with a victim, the victim would rise again as a vampire; but, just as Timesnatcher was saying, a vampire’s blood was a scarce commodity, being only slowly replenished in their weird, undead veins, even if they drank gallons from their victims.
Vampires weren’t a common problem in Mund, so I could understand her Magisterium training overlooking this particular knowledge. I wondered how folk-wisdom back in Onsolor differed – did they not have vampires there?
I didn’t get chance to find out.
“The majority,” Timesnatcher was continuing, “are currently housed in a single location in Oldtown.” The red light over Treetown had vanished, replaced now with lights over the new points of interest; I drank in the sight greedily. “A place it transpires was formerly an assassin’s guild-house. What’s worse, a number of these young vampires have attempted to make more of their kind, but without the requisite blood in their bodies to allow their new recruits to properly transition. Thus, a wave of ghoul-related crimes have been reported, across Oldtown, Sticktown and North Lowtown. Over two dozen murders have taken place just since last night.” More lights started to appear. “We are asking our sorcerers to attend to the problem.”
I caught Netherhame looking my way, gave her a nod in response.
“Other than that… We have only to induct our new members.”
The illusion vanished just as Sticktown was about to circle around to me, instantly replaced with the bare wet rock, the puddles reflecting the yellowy light.
As Timesnatcher started walking over towards us I felt a sudden flush of nervousness – but when it became apparent we were just going to touch glyphstones with the other champions I quickly calmed down. Me and Em already had ours, and he provided one for Killstop.
One after another the three of us walked around the circle, tapping glyphstone to glyphstone, linking all of us in case of emergency. Many of the champions had interesting gloves and gauntlets, but the massive frozen fist of Winterprince had to be the weirdest, the glyphstone looking tiny in his palm. Some of the champions seemed to look dismissively upon me – upon all three of us, even – but most nodded as we went by. Some of the maskless even smiled.
“Very well.” Leafcloak spoke for just the second time once we resumed our places, her voice soft. “Thus concludes the Gathering of Illost.”
Immediately, many of the champions fell back to muttering to their fellows.
“So unlike him to not defend himself,” I heard one of the Rainbow’s Edge say to one of his fellows.
“Vampires and ghouls – a piece of cake,” another mage, a sorceress from the Constellation, opined.
“Never believe Neverwish was dark…” the gnome druid, Sunspring, whispered to Doomspeaker.
“… meeting again on the second of Mortifost,” Leafcloak was saying. “But before you leave, please allow me to remind you…”
She paused, and those who had started chatting quickly shut up again.
“Many of you will be labouring under the impression Neverwish was a good friend.” Her voice hardened. “He was not a good friend. He was not a friend. He was, and is, dark. He would’ve used you, each of you, to his own ends. I know it is hard to accept, but it must be accepted. No one is to seek audience with him. We will relate the Magisterium’s findings to you at our next meeting, never fear.”
Leafcloak broke off, turning to murmur something to Timesnatcher on her left – everyone immediately fell straight back into conversation.
“Well, that was quite… awesome,” Killstop said, smoothing down her nauseating robe and turning her frowny mask towards us.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I have no idea how Timesnatcher organises all that stuff.”
“He is an arch-diviner, no?” Em said.
“I’m an arch-diviner, and I wouldn’t know where to start,” Killstop mused. “It’s not like I can foresee much about the Gathering. He’s just…”
We hushed up as Timesnatcher came over.
“How did you do that, with the net?” he asked.
Killstop shrugged. “Wasn’t that my job? To back you up?”
“No, I mean -“
“I had a vision, I followed it – what more do you want from me?”
He cocked his head at her curiously, his lips pressed together in thought. Then he brought his hand out of his pocket, bearing another pendant on a chain.
Killstop took it, studied the four-pointed design, and before she could protest me and Em pushed our sleeves up to show the chains around our wrists.
The diviner shrugged – there was a blur that lasted only for one instant – then she was lowering her arms, the amulet plain to see hanging around her neck on the front of her robe, beneath the hood.
“I bet that makes it easier, getting ready in the morning,” Em said enviously, still keeping up the fake accent.
“I could even slow down time when I’m trying to choose what to wear, so it takes no time at all.” She curtsied, drawing attention to her horrid-looking garment. “But why would I want to go and do a thing like that?”
Timesnatcher chuckled.
Meanwhile Em had let her jaw drop in a deliberate display of unfiltered jealousy. She was definitely trying to make friends here. “Only yesterday me and Feychilde almost came to blows over that.”
“In my defence, you were over thirty minutes!” I said.
“We had been svimming!” Either she couldn’t quite manage that word or she was getting too passionate to care – she dropped her voice slightly: “Next time I’ll take an hour.”
“Ooh, is that a threat, m’lady Stormsword?”
She stuck her tongue out at me.
“Anyway, how does what we were doing before affect what you choose to wear after…”
She just poked me in response, and I laughed and stepped away, raising a hand in warning.
Killstop sighed theatrically. “However do you put up with these children, my dear Timesnatcher?”
“I don’t,” he replied, and, smiling to himself, wandered away towards Lightblind and Shadowcloud.
Killstop gasped as though affronted.
I clasped Em’s hand briefly. “Do you mind if I go have a word with Netherhame? It’s just -“
“Of course – go!” Em smiled as she shooed me away. She and Killstop were soon chatting with one of the mages from the Constellation about the Incursion, while I made my way through the champions towards the sorceress.
“Excuse me – Netherhame?”
She turned to face me and, waving an apology to Shallowlie and Glancefall, stepped aside from her current conversation.
“Feychilde.”
“About the vamp-“
“Feychilde, it’s been a long day, and you don’t want to be hunting vampires in the dark. We’ll get together tomorrow morning to discuss our plans, okay? I’ll contact you.”
“O-okay…”
She turned back to her friends, and I turned away.
Fair enough. I guess not all champions keep the night-time hours.
I was feeling full of energy, and I knew Em had only had a few hours of classes today, meaning she’d be up for doing something…
“My good man,” Nighteye said, stopping me by clapping me on the upper arm, “Feychilde –“
“My good man, Nighteye.” I gripped his arm in return.
“I, that is we, were going to go to the Mare,” he said. “Olveria Sornoro is playing and, you know, hm, we can give some of the wealth we’ve earned back to the people, if you follow me –“
“Give it back, by purchasing copious amounts of booze?” I raised an eyebrow behind my mask.
I saw his eyes scrunch up above the savage beak-mask covering his nose and jaw; he was grinning.
I looked back at Em and Tanra. Stormsword and Killstop.
I’d have rather taken them vampire-hunting, despite Netherhame’s warning, but I was painfully aware that we were the newcomers here. Making bonds with those we’d be fighting beside – that was important too.
“Something like that, Feychilde. If –“
“I’ll ask the ladies if they’re up for it.”
“The more the merrier,” he said.
* * *
Alone or in groups, the champions left the globe-lit cavern of glass and water and rock. Half were already gone by the time we approached the doors; they opened for us, letting us step back into the blackness.
Spiritwhisper, the young arch-enchanter leading the six of us, brought up a shimmering apparition of white mist to cast a radiance about us. It wasn’t until the doors closed and we were left in the near-total darkness that I realised the apparition was Neverwish-shaped.
“Is that, hm, in the best of taste?” Nighteye asked, walking just behind him and just in front of me and Em.
“He betrayed me, man.” Spiritwhisper sounded a bit dejected. “Sure, I didn’t like him – no one liked him, except maybe Starsight – and the other dwarves, I guess… but this –” the misty Neverwish spun as it skipped forwards in front of us “– this is all I ever knew. A droppin’ illusion. A fake. Man… I just can’t believe it.”
“Hm…”
I shuddered as I saw Nighteye patting the tall, muscular enchanter on the arm. I hadn’t even thought about the way this would affect those who’d actually fought at his side for more than a battle or two. Those who’d depended on him.
Behind us, at the back of the group, walked Killstop and Fangmoon, one of Nighteye’s friends, and the druidess was telling the diviner about how Leafcloak had come out of retirement to lead the druid-champions when Splinterwing fell to Hierarch Eight last year. The topic interested me but the enchanter was talking again, talking to Em, and I couldn’t focus on what they were saying behind me.
“Hey, wizard,” Spiritwhisper called over his shoulder, “any chance of a lift? The druids can go bird -“
“It’s Stormsword. And yes,” Em waved a hand, “we can fly.”
I felt the weightlessness prodding at the soles of my feet, urging me into the air.
So it was that we made our way up the immense staircase without shedding a single bead of sweat.
“It’s not like I can just go get drunk,” Killstop was saying as we drifted up the flights of stairs.
“Hah!” Spiritwhisper shook his head ahead of us, and called back: “Don’t worry, I can make you look fifteen.”
“I don’t think messing with the minds of bar-staff is strictly legal,” Fangmoon piped up, tossing her bedraggled mane of silvery hair as she flew. Her snarling mask and tacky-looking robe were also silver in hue, and she gleamed like a ghost under the pale light of the enchanter’s illusion floating before us.
“I don’t have to mess directly with their minds just to make them see something that isn’t there!” Spiritwhisper sounded amused. “I can make the diviner -“
“Killstop,” Em grated.
“Yeah, Killstop, whatever. I don’t have to make her look fifteen – she could look fifty – or I can make her look like Leafcloak’s great-grandma if she wants.”
“Now that I’ve got to see,” Killstop replied; then, right away: “Aaand I’ve seen it. Benefits of being a seer. Nice illusion, but let’s try something else.”
“Aw, I was looking forward to that,” Fangmoon moaned. “We could pretend we’re taking our granny out for a night on the town…”
So we’re going to be taking our masks off…
“Great, Kas. Next you can give your full name and address to the group of mind-stealers and fate-twisters. In fact, why don’t you take off that pendant, and throw me out while you’re at it -“
Okay, I think someone’s had too much excitement for one night. If you’re gonna be all gr-
“I am not being grumpy!”
It might be time for a nap, Zel.
She muttered something caustic under her telepathic breath and then she was gone.
Let’s try that again…
“So, we’re going to be taking our masks off?” I asked aloud.
“I’d find it rather hard to drink wearing mine,” Fangmoon said, gesturing at her full-faced bestial visage.
“What’s the matter, Feychilde?” Spiritwhisper asked in a brittle tone. “Don’t you trust an enchanter?”
“And what about me?” Killstop whinged. “Don’t you trust me? I foresee no catastrophes.”
I tried a half-laugh. I didn’t trust enchanters, or diviners, really; but I at least had protection now, and enough people knew my identity by this point that a gesture of trust towards some champions wasn’t going to change anything.
“I’m… up for it,” I said.
I cast Em a questioning look, but she just shrugged, smiling faintly.
We exited the Tower of Mourning and flew out into the rain-filled air of the courtyard, pulsing with azure light – it had to have been approaching eleven o’clock, going off the moon. Together we flew across the grey expanse of moss and weeds, and into the shadows of the nearest buildings.
Many of the establishments around here would’ve been accounted palatial by lowborn folk, but they’d been allowed to fall into ruin by Hightown standards. The shop-fronts were melted faces of peeling paint, the broken bricks like decaying teeth. From what I could tell some of the buildings were still in use but this area, next to a tourist attraction that no tourist could approach without having magisters manhandle them, clearly wasn’t much of an investment opportunity.
We got out our bags and satchels, stowing our masks and robes, our items of interest.
Killstop sighed as she screwed her work of art up in a ball and shoved it in her pouch. “I love flying,” she said. The features of her attractive oval face were mirroring her mask’s disconsolate expression, her dark-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.
At least she isn’t still grinning.
“I prefer flying with wings,” Fangmoon sniffed. She was almost as skinny as Ciraya, pale-olive in complexion, and black-haired beneath the silvery wig; she wore a dress the same drab brown colour as Tanra’s smock.
I smiled, but I disagreed with the druid so I didn’t say anything, undressing down to my tunic and trousers in silence. I vastly preferred Em’s magic to flying with wings, and the eerie stillness of the courtyard didn’t make for the best environment anyway.
“It’s so much easier for you guys,” the diviner complained. “Druids… wizards… sorcerers… you can all just – pop! – up in the air…”
“Save a tear for the enchanter of the group,” Spiritwhisper said, putting an arm around her shoulders. He was built like a soldier and had the dashing, cleft-chinned face of a prince; he was a good half a foot taller than her, and it looked like he could’ve squashed her by accident just with the one arm. “I got stuck with the worst archmagery of the lot, didn’t I?”
“How enchanting,” she said in a disinterested voice, shrugging free of his arm and starting off, leading the way up the street.
“No, really,” he protested. He was smiling as he caught back up to her. “Me and you, we got the short-end of the stick, you know? Can’t fly. That’s just number one. But what about the mistrust, man? The suspicion… Just ‘cause we see things differently, you know?”
“Ah… sorcerer standing right here,” I piped up as we followed a couple of yards behind.
Spiritwhisper was ignoring me, still focussing his attentions on Killstop.
“I think zat someone’s got it bad,” Em whispered to me, her teeth gleaming.
I laughed, and she linked her arm through mine as we walked.
Clad in our civilian gear, we made our way towards Hill Road. The Diamond Mare wasn’t far off, and we soon arrived at the big transparent building with its castle turret-like wings. It was lit by huge, floor-to-ceiling glass bowls filled with smokeless orange flames. There were hundreds of patrons inside and more were coming and going every minute.
“They’re so well-dressed,” Tanra pointed out.
Spiritwhisper hardly even gestured as he gave her the outward appearance of a young noblewoman, corseted, hair in curls.
“Not bad,” the seeress said, “but I didn’t quite need all the… augmentation, thank you.”
The enchanter grinned, shrinking away at least fifty percent of her overly-exaggerated buxomness. I shook my head, and we made our way through the doors; the spellbound entryway half-dried us just in the few seconds it took to cross the threshold. It was warm in here, and crowded. We managed to find space at a bar for two of us to lean, the others huddling around in a near-circle. Everything in here was unusual to me. The pint-glasses were thick glass styled with elaborate handles. The elven minstrel Olveria Sornoro was a guitarist with a voice as soothing as her melodies. The staff were polite and smartly-attired, and despite our uncouth accents they didn’t look at us like we were some crud they’d walked in on the bottom of their boots.
Perhaps it was just the presence of Nighteye – who was, it transpired, about as elven as you could look without having pointy ears. In fact, his ears were a bit pointy, now that I was thinking about it. In contrast to his tatty robe, he wore an expensive silken vest and hose of rich blue satin. Certainly his eyes were angular, his nose aquiline – his hair was pale blond, tied in tresses. Zero mud on him, today at least. He seemed to be the highest-born person in the whole place, if appearances were anything to go off, and he was the only one of us who sounded at all posh.
The clientele, however, weren’t quite as accommodating as the staff. Many of the patrons were clearly studying to be mages, some still clad in their Maginox robes. While there were plenty of out-of-towners, amongst both the mages and the others, it was of course the stuck-up folk of Hightown who dominated the room. I caught more than one distinguished-looking gentleman staring down his nose at us. Reluctantly, I lowered my circle-shield, knowing ‘ill-will’ was only an approximation, fraught with risk. Exposure could be catastrophic in this situation, because it wasn’t only my identity on the line.
I ordered wine and beer – and no one even looked twice at Tanra as I passed her the mug of foaming ale she’d requested. It didn’t seem an ageing illusion was warranted, at least with her smock erased from sight.
“To our dwarven friend,” Spiritwhisper said in a sarcastic voice, raising his mug – he already had froth on his upper lip. “And a lifetime of incarceration.”
“A lifetime of incarceration,” we echoed, more or less dubiously.
I took a gulp of my ‘Witterwood Gold’, and wondered where it’d been all my life.
“How’s your red?” I asked Em, who took a deep breath after her sip.
“It’s just about the nicest vi… wine I’ve ever tasted. Yours?”
I smiled. She looked incredibly cute, the way she moved her lips. “I love your posh-voice,” I whispered.
She grinned and went to poke me but I pulled her into an impromptu kiss instead.
After she’d finished the glass she could no longer maintain her fake accent. As I ordered the second round she and Fangmoon started chatting about their homelands – Fangmoon was originally from Hezreni far to the east of Ouldern, on the edges of the Realm. She and her family had travelled through the Spring Door in Habburat to Mund and, like Em, she had an outsider’s view of the city. But it seemed she’d long-since acclimatised, having been here years – she could barely remember her home now, she said.
“That’s not the vi… vi… vine talking?”
Fangmoon smiled at her. “Nope. I can drink without getting drunk, you know.”
“Vot is zat supposed to mean?”
I grinned too, and turned away to hide my face – then saw my rich druid friend had finished his second drink.
“So the way you spoke the first time we met,” I said to Nighteye after I brought him his third glass of white wine, “I got the impression you’re famous, or something?”
He shrugged lightly. “Not famous, just, hm, you know…” He looked about then whispered, leaning in close: “As far as my family know, I spend every night in the library, keeping up on my studies; I’ve got to work hard to be, hm, the best good little mage I can be –”
“Nice way to avoid the question.”
“Sorry, it’s just, hm,” he grinned back, “challenging for me to keep my two lives separate, don’t you know? I’m a member of the Shining Circle, my p-parents are members of the Shining Circle – I’m, hm, an only-child, if I don’t look like I’m playing by their rules I’ll be in deep trouble, and if you thought an Incursion was bad news you haven’t seen, hm, Mother when I’m acting out, she’s –“
“Hey, I get it,” I said, and took another swig of my beer. ‘Ripplemead’s Ruby’ this time. Damn tasty. “I have two lives too. There’s worse ways to live, though, right? I mean, better two lives than one life that sucks.”
He didn’t seem to catch the near-sarcasm in my voice.
“I’ll drink to that!” the arch-druid muttered, and we raised our glasses to each other before drinking again.
Here I was, implying a highborn like him had any idea what a life that sucked was really like. He thought his first life sucked because it was less interesting than being a champion, because Mother and Father were overbearing, suffocating him with their concern, attention.
What’d I’d have given to have lived a childhood of wealthy luxury, where I hadn’t had to spend thankless hours sorting gods-damned vegetables for a few copper pieces, go traipsing home through the drop and mud…
What I’d have given to still have a mother and father, overbearing, suffocating – however they came.
But to him, his troubles were still troubles. Even if he were sworn to uphold the sacred oaths of the druids, being a champion was still an escape. A way out of the boredom of a standard, off-the-shelf existence. I could appreciate that much.
“Whenever I drink wine I find myself fascinated by the idea of, hm, crushing the glass, don’t you know?” he said. “Increasing the severity of my grip until I hear the, soft chink sound, feel the tell-tale fissure in the material?”
“I sort of know what you mean. Like, daring it to smash in your hand?”
“Right! My man. I’ve never done it – it’s just something I think about, a flight of fancy swiftly passing through my mind, only to be remembered and contemplated upon its eventual return.”
“That’s – erm…“
I floundered for words.
“Ow!” Em said – I spun around to see her rubbing at her upper arm –
“Foreign scum,” said the perpetrator, a thirty-year-old man in a sleek black doublet. He was pushing past her, a glass of wine in his upheld hand, and his elbow was stuck out – he clearly hadn’t even cared enough about the girl speaking in a foreign accent to lower his arm as he moved by.
I found myself yelling ‘oi!’, stepping forward – I could see Em’s eyes narrowing, her fists clenching – I felt Tanra’s hand on my arm –
“Oh, and not just foreign scum.” The man turned back to appraise me – his gaze passed over Nighteye, and when he focussed on me he sneered. “At least the gal’s a looker. Whatever something like you is doing here, I’ve no idea – unless you’re here to shine my shoes?”
I could see one of his fellows behind him, a heavily-moustached man, who smirked appreciatively at the joke.
A quick glance down told me you could get a hundred pairs of shoes like mine for the money he’d paid for his.
“Oh ho!” he chortled, seeing my eyes move. “You are, aren’t you? Well – get on your knees, boy.”
I could feel the pressure as the six of us stared at him. He had no notion of the amount of sheer, overwhelming power that could be angrily channelled in his direction.
The way Tanra was holding onto my arm told me that the future in which I taught this insufferable buffoon a lesson would not pan out well for us.
The way Em’s fist was clenched – the way she’d cried out – told me that the future in which I taught this insufferable buffoon a lesson would be incredibly satisfying.
“Get on your knees.” He tapped his foot impatiently. A few more of his posh-looking fellows had gathered behind him now. “Or do I have to make you?”
“Please, sir,” I wailed, overly-meek, falling to my knees with a subservient expression on my face. “Please don’t make me! I don’t get paid enough for that!”
My friends laughed, and the highborn looked up from me to them, glaring at them – I approached across the floorboards on my knees, and, while he was distracted, quickly got to work.
I was used to making intricate patterns with my hands, and his laces virtually fell apart in my fingers – it took only a moment for me to tie his shoes together.
“What are you d-”
I stood up, right there, in his face.
He clearly wasn’t expecting to have me standing there upright with only an inch between our noses – I was no longer slouching, and I was the taller of the two of us –
He instinctively tried to step back, stumbled, and would’ve fallen if two of his cronies hadn’t grabbed him by the arms.
“What is the meaning of this?” the moustached man cried. “Untie his laces at once!”
“You do it,” I smiled, “or is that beneath you? One of you’s gonna have to do it, right? Tell you what, how about this – while you’re down there, you shine my shoes.” I produced a platinum coin from my belt and danced it across my knuckles.
The moustached man stuck out his chest, strode forwards.
Lithe Nighteye stepped in his way, literally stopping in his path sidelong so that the man walked right into the druid’s shoulder and rebounded, off-balance.
He might’ve looked small and wiry, but there was more to the arch-druid’s flesh than met the eye.
“My apologies, my good man,” Nighteye said at once, adopting a fawning expression and reaching out to pat-down the man’s dishevelled doublet. “Perhaps we have all taken a little too much, hm? Maybe we’d best part ways. You’ll go yours, hm?”
I wasn’t sure whether it was the repeated humiliations or the fact Nighteye was clearly highborn like them, but they seemed to listen now. Grudgingly they turned aside, the one with his laces tied together too proud to undo them here like this, taking tiny steps with his arm around a friend’s shoulders.
The blond-haired little lordling turned his back on them, reaching out to turn me around too as we both collapsed into laughter.
* * *
After half-past twelve the common-room crowd started to thin out – it was only a Waneday night, after all, and unlike most of the taverns I’d frequented, the people here seemed to have, well, actual jobs to go to in the morning. The crowds at the Fountains of Merizet wouldn’t head this way – if they had the money for this kind of pub they’d have been able to pay for healing. We’d made our way across to a table by the windows, and we could only listen to the druids talking about acorns or the enchanter coming onto the diviner for so long. Eventually Em and I ended up alone a couple of tables away from the others; we were on a couch, her back against my chest, looking out at the moon. The rain had stopped, or at least decreased in intensity – its patter against the floor-to-ceiling glass panes was no longer perceptible even to me, and we listened to the soft song of the tireless bard, her delicate words drifting through the air.
… When you see my face you turn aside
Open your eyes
There’s something real for you tonight
In the dark of your mind you see it arise
A candle flickering, a thousand fires
You can’t quench the heat any longer
Can’t fight the thirst you’re under
Why even try to resist my kiss?
Why lie when you could lay?
Take now your share of this bliss
Take it all now I pray
When you know my heart you turn aside
Forget your lies
It’s fire and thirst for you tonight…
“Zey’re out zere, aren’t zey? Right now, killing people.” Her voice had a musing quality.
“Do you want to talk about it now?” I asked, my hands on hers.
I couldn’t just come out and say it: You died…
She didn’t reply, but I could sense her tense-up.
“You don’t have to say anything. But if you want to tell me – what happened, what you saw, felt – anything?”
The tension in her muscles increased as she drew a shuddering breath.
“No, Kas. I’m okay, really. Zis isn’t anything special. I can continue.”
“So it’s not… why you declared yourself a champion? Why you left the Magisterium?”
She sat forwards then turned to face me, meeting my eyes through her slightly messed-up platinum hair.
“I haven’t left zem… I’m still going to be a magister.”
“Oh.” Somehow in my head I hadn’t pictured it working this way; I suddenly wondered how many other champions might be magisters. “So, Henthae –“
“I told her my decision. She vozn’t pleased, but she voz glad I agreed to continue in my role.” She chuckled a little grimly. “She said she liked ze name I chose.”
“What difference does it make, then, whether you wear the mask or not?”
She shrugged, smiling tightly, before settling her head down against me again so that I couldn’t see her face. “Zere is ze matter of ze money, I suppose.”
“And that’s all?”
I felt her sigh. “You know being a champion is different…” Her voice was husky. “You felt it, ze same as me. Vot voz it you said Lightblind told you? Illodin and Glaif… zey recognised me too, Kas. It’s…”
She’s like me.
“It’s all you need,” I murmured.
“Almost,” she said, then lifted her head to kiss me –
It was only when I tasted her tears that I realised she’d been crying.
“Em…”
She gripped my head, kissing me fiercely, hard, then suddenly broke off, standing up.
“I need anozzer drink.” She strode for the bar without a backwards glance, wiping her face on her sleeve as she went.
I wasn’t going to let her leave it just like that.
I caught up to her just as she reached the bar and got the attention of the nearest barman with a wave of her hand – far more easily than I got his attention when I last visited the bar, I noted.
“Em – why don’t we do something about it?”
She cast a glance at me. “Vot do you mean, do something?” She turned back to the barman. “A Myrielle vhite and a… a Ripplemead’s Ruby, please.” She leaned her head close to mine. “You said zat you had no luck – you couldn’t find zem, even viz Zel-”
She silenced herself as she realised.
“I had a go at memorising the map, and our map-making friend,” I couldn’t name Spiritwhisper in the barman’s earshot, “is right over there. Plus – you know that our deficiently-named friend is particularly good at… finding things.”
“I understand,” Em breathed, gazing back at the others.
Killstop was currently making it look like she was engrossed in conversation with Nighteye, but I barely needed my augmented senses to make out the way she was simply teasing Spiritwhisper, forcing him to work harder for her attention. He had to know it – but she had to know he knew… It looked like a complex courting-game indeed.
She was in love with someone else a week ago.
The girl was certainly pragmatic, if nothing else. She could be brought on board, surely – but how? Diviners were eels in more than just physical combat.
As we carried our drinks back towards them, I called out, “Are you ready?”
Tanra’s eyes met mine, and I was instantly aware that she knew this part of our future too.
“Ready for what?” Spiritwhisper replied, eyeing me with some scepticism. “What’s on your mind, newbie?”
What’s blocking him? I wondered. Zel’s presence, or Lovebright’s pendant? Both?
Or maybe I’m just paranoid, and he simply isn’t looking…
“Nothing controversial.” I opened my free hand, palm outward, as if to calm him down. “I just…” I looked across at Em, then back at him. “I wanted to get my homework out of the way before class starts tomorrow morning.”
The enchanter smirked. “You’re after extra credit? You should stick to doin’ what you’re told. Did Neth- did your new teacher tell you to stay up doing it tonight?”
“You really should listen,” Killstop urged me. “You’re going to get some of us hurt.”
“Really?” I looked at her, surprised. “We are here, drinking,” I lowered my beer and looked down at it contemptuously, “while they are out there, drinking.” I thrust my chin at the windows, the moonlit night and all its various tragedies that were screened off from us as though we were behind a barrier of force stronger than any I could conjure. A barrier that kept our minds safe from the truth.
“You mean the… hm… the…” A rather drunk-seeming Nighteye put his fingers up to his mouth to signify fangs, and I nodded solemnly before returning my gaze to our diviner.
She met my eyes. “It’s a good job I poured all my drinks down the drain, isn’t it?”
“What?” Spiritwhisper exploded. “I paid for – but – I didn’t see… what?“
“You could’ve ended up paying for it with your life.” Killstop smiled. “Vampires seem tough. Besides, you won’t be drunk long.”
“You – mean…” The enchanter looked across at the druids. “Then – why –“
The seeress grinned, the self-assured grin she’d had slapped on her face through her whole first day as a champion, the grinding ordeal of the Incursion. “Just to see that look on your face for real. Now we get to have a properly fun night.” She reached out, caressed the shocked-looking enchanter’s cheek. “Do try to keep up, chuck.”
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