Contents

1. Title Page

2. Copyright

3. Dedication

4. Map

5. Chapter One - The Sphinx's Den

6. Chapter Two - Davragam's Census

7. Chapter Three - Seven Ziggurats

8. Chapter Four - The Plains of Bloody Glass

9. Chapter Five - Stolen Legacy

10. Chapter Six - Circling Vultures

11. Chapter Seven - Down in the Stacks

12. Chapter Eight - Recurring Conversation

13. Chapter Nine - Lingering Scents

14. Chapter Ten - The Sea Roads

15. Chapter Eleven - Overdue Conversations

16. Chapter Twelve - Dramatic Gestures

17. Chapter Thirteen - Debts Owed and Paid

18. Chapter Fourteen - The Long Goodbye

19. Chapter Fifteen - Ambush at Halfday Towers

20. Chapter Sixteen - Hasty Descent

21. Chapter Seventeen - The Final Exam

22. Chapter Eighteen - Deeper and Darker

23. Chapter Nineteen - Dead Languages

24. Chapter Twenty - It Could Always Be Worse

25. Chapter Twenty-One - A Land Bleached Clean

26. Chapter Twenty-Two - Languages of Lightning

27. Chapter Twenty-Three - Ritual Magic

28. Chapter Twenty-Four - Mad Plans

29. Chapter Twenty-Five - A Foolish Risk

30. Chapter Twenty-Six - Shaky Ground

31. Chapter Twenty-Seven - Game Changer

32. Chapter Twenty-Eight - Uninvited Guests

33. Chapter Twenty-Nine - Bureaucracy at Work

34. Chapter Thirty - Lost in the Crowd

35. Chapter Thirty-One - Brightest Night

36. Chapter Thirty-Two - Tourists in Hebrast

37. Chapter Thirty-Three - The Shore of the Sea of Grass

38. Chapter Thirty-Four - Sailing the Green Depths

39. Chapter Thirty-Five - Battle Aboard the Ship-Chain

40. Chapter Thirty-Six - Armor Superiority

41. Chapter Thirty-Seven - Twin Dawns

42. Chapter Thirty-Eight - A Mutual Interrogation

43. Chapter Thirty-Nine - Mount Mulberry

44. Chapter Forty - Descending Mist

45. Chapter Forty-One - Unsolved Mysteries and Unwanted Messages

46. Chapter Forty-Two - The Layered Sky

47. Chapter Forty-Three - Bromeliad Life

48. Chapter Forty-Four - Provincial Fools

49. Chapter Forty-Five - Last Words

50. Chapter Forty-Six - Bad Air

51. Chapter Forty-Seven - Decaying Towers

52. Chapter Forty-Eight - Visiting Titans

53. Chapter Forty-Nine - Tsarnassan Negotiations

54. Chapter Fifty - The Art of Hosting a Party

55. Chapter Fifty-One - A Polite Chat

56. Chapter Fifty-Two - The Gathering Storm

57. Chapter Fifty-Three - The Terraced Kingdom

58. Chapter Fifty-Four - The Blossom Festival

59. Gram of Clan Castis

60. Afterword

61. Aetheriad

62. Further Reading

Guide

1. Contents

2. Start of Content

Tongue Eater

Mage Errant Book 6

John Bierce

Copyright © 2022 John Bierce

All rights reserved.

This one’s for my dad, whose puns are the groan-worthiest.

CHAPTER ONE

The Sphinx's Den

HUGH STORMWARD WASN’T paying attention to where he was going.

The halls of Skyhold were still mostly empty, save for Havathi corpses and scattered Skyhold patrols. It would be hours yet, if not longer, before the bulk of Skyhold’s population would be let out of the battle shelters while Skyhold’s seers and patrols hunted for Havathi survivors in the mountains.

Hugh wouldn’t have noticed if there had been entire parades marching through the bloodstained, battle-damaged halls, though. All his attention was focused on a spot in the back of his mind, a connection that wasn’t gone, just… muted. Dull. Unresponsive.

He ignored everything but that bond, just letting Sabae pull him along by the hand.

They didn’t run if anyone was nearby, didn’t want to call any more attention to themselves than they already might have, racing to and from the Council chamber atop Skyhold. When the halls were empty, though, they ran until Hugh’s lungs ached.

Mackerel sent him a note of concern, but Hugh didn’t have the energy to reassure his spellbook. He didn’t have the energy for anything right now.

He just kept poking at the frayed magical connection in his mind like a tongue prodding a sore tooth.

Just kept hoping to feel something from it. Reassurance. Comfort. Even pain or fear.

Any sign that his… Any sign that Kanderon was still alive, still aware.

Anything at all was better than this empty ache.

“Is Mackerel still blocking scrying?” Sabae asked.

Hugh nodded, suspecting that it wasn’t the first time she’d asked.

Then he went back to poking at the connection at the back of his mind.

He didn’t even realize they’d reached the Grand Library, Kanderon’s home, until Sabae gasped.

When Hugh managed to focus, he saw why immediately.

The library was angry.

No. Not angry. Enraged, maybe, or wrathful. Angry wasn’t nearly enough to cover it.

The endless leagues of shelves along the walls rattled and shook, more books moving at once than Hugh had ever seen before. Lights dimmed and flared seemingly at random, and he could feel the very walls trembling.

Out in the empty central shaft of the library, big enough to fit an entire mountain inside, grimoires and tomes swarmed by the tens of thousands, in great flocks and whirlwinds bigger than Hugh had ever seen in the library before. Ship-sized hovering shelves darted past one another at high speeds, barely avoiding impact with other shelves moving just as fast.

And everything in the library was lit with an actinic blue glow from the depths.

“It knows,” Sabae said. “The library knows about Kanderon's death somehow.”

“She’s not dead,” Hugh said automatically.

Sabae gave him a conflicted look but didn’t say anything.

Hugh let go of Sabae’s hand and trudged to the railing, hoping that the blue glow was coming from immense crystal wings, even though he knew it wasn’t.

In the depths of the library, thousands of feet below them, an immense blue cloud boiled and seethed. Colossal crystal gears, axles, and flywheels burned with light, spinning so fast Hugh could hear the screeching and clattering from all the way up here.

Mackerel shuddered nervously and drew closer to Hugh’s side.

“Hugh, do you think you can get us past the Index to Kanderon’s lair?” Sabae asked.

Hugh shrugged and trudged over to the nearest Index Node. The book was biting and flailing at the air above its podium, even tearing a few of its own pages in distress.

It snapped at him when he reached for it, but before Hugh could react, Mackerel darted out and flared its cover menacingly at the larger book.

The Index Node froze, then slowly settled back down onto its podium.

Hugh dipped the quill on the node’s stand into the inkwell, then wrote in the enchanted book.

We need to get into Kanderon’s lair.

Nothing happened for a moment, then the ink of his letters exploded across the page in angry, jagged tangles. The ink warped and shifted in a visual scream, then simply vanished into the page.

Hugh closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then another, and a third, doing his best to keep them even and steady.

Then he dipped the quill in the inkwell again.

We need to get into Kanderon’s lair. Please.

The letters bowed and flexed as if they wanted to shatter as well, but they slowly settled back down.

After a long pause, a single word formed by itself on the page.

hurts

Before Hugh could reply to that, the page ripped itself out of the Index Node— not cleanly, as it normally would, but slowly and jaggedly. The page levitated into the air, then folded itself sloppily into an origami golem.

Hugh thought it might be a bird of some sort, but it was too jumbled and messy to tell.

The origami golem careened wildly from side to side as it flew, but eventually it steadied itself enough to lead Hugh and Sabae to a gap in the railing.

Nothing happened for a few heartbeats. Finally, a single flagstone flew up from below, corkscrewing drunkenly through the air. Others soon followed, bouncing off one another and flying tomes.

Instead of the usual seamless flagstone platform, the cobbles came together unevenly, many of them tilted at one angle or another. There were empty spaces where flagstones were simply missing, making the whole construction even less reassuring.

Hugh stared at it uncertainly, but Sabae didn’t even hesitate before stepping out onto the platform— though she was at least careful to step on the level parts.

Hugh took a deep breath and followed her.

The platform jerked, almost unbalancing them, then slowly descended.

Neither of them spoke for the first few hundred feet, but Sabae eventually broke the silence.

“This is probably a stupid question, but how are you doing, Hugh?” she asked.

Hugh smiled bitterly at that. “I don’t think there is such a thing as a good question to ask right now. I’ve, uh… I’ve been better.”

Sabae started to respond, then seemed to think better of what she was about to say. She frowned, shook her head, then wrapped him in a hug.

Hugh hugged her back, and neither of them spoke for at least a dozen floors.

Finally, Sabae extricated herself and looked around. “Why do you think the library is?…” She gestured at the rampaging books flying about. Thankfully, none of them had decided to take umbrage at Hugh and Sabae’s presence.

Hugh surreptitiously wiped at the corners of his eyes before speaking. “It’s the Index. It’s… linked to Kanderon, somehow. I don’t understand how, exactly, but it’s how I pacted with Kanderon through the Index, when we were down in the labyrinth. Kanderon never really explained it to me, but I think it might be based on lich demesne enchantments and theory. I don’t think it was a proper attempt to become a lich, though. It’s almost like… a mental prosthesis for Kanderon— one that extends her mind beyond what was possible before?”

Hugh realized he was rambling and snapped his mouth shut.

Sabae nodded absently but kept staring nervously at the seething blue mist as they sank towards it.

At first, Hugh worried that the fog wouldn’t part for them, but finally, as they drew close to it, a narrow whirlpool opened. The countless dust-sized grains of Kanderon’s aether crystal that composed the cloud were moving much more quickly and erratically than usual. Several times, the cloud started to constrict towards them before stopping.

Finally, they broke out of the bottom of the cloud.

Hugh didn’t know what he’d been expecting— for the platforms of Kanderon’s lair to have fallen or to be cracked and listing at terrible angles— but the lair looked identical to the last time he’d seen it, save for Kanderon’s absence. Nothing was out of place, nothing broken.

He felt irrationally angry at the floating daises for that, but the rage only lasted a few heartbeats before fading away.

Sabae breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped off the cobblestone platform onto the central crystal dais, then looked around. “Do you remember which of the smaller daises Kanderon took me to the last time I was here?”

Hugh nodded, then reached out to the dais with his crystal affinity senses to push magic into the controls that Kanderon had once shown him.

Or he tried to, at least.

His magic seemed to… slip loose of his grip, somehow. His mana poured out of his reservoir, but rather than flowing into the enchantment, it just dissolved into the aether.

Hugh tried again, then a third time. On the fourth attempt, he managed to make it flow into the enchantment, and a smaller dais drifted over towards their own.

When the two smoothly came to a stop, just inches away from one another, Hugh and Sabae stepped across, and he started the process of opening the embedded bookshelves for Sabae. There thankfully weren’t many defenses to worry about— Kanderon was paranoid, certainly, but no one else short of a great power should be able to get down here, other than Hugh and Kanderon.

His magic took even longer to work this time, but Hugh didn’t say anything to Sabae, and finally, the bookshelves rose out of the crystal platform. He just idly stared at one of the shelves as Sabae browsed for what she was looking for. It was filled with the journals of long-destroyed liches, volumes of Kanderon’s personal notes, and treatises on crystal magic.

One shelf contained only several copies of a single massive tome, each of which looked to weigh more than a small child. You could probably fit two or three copies of Galvachren’s Bestiary inside of one of them.

Galvachren’s Guide to Worlds.

Hugh couldn’t work up the energy to care.

Mackerel, for once, actually behaved himself around other books— Hugh’s spellbook was worriedly focused on Hugh instead.

Finally, after what felt like hours— but was probably only a few minutes— Sabae found the book she was looking for, and they departed Kanderon’s lair.

As they rose into the mist around the Index, Hugh couldn’t help but glance back at the lair once more, hoping unreasonably that Kanderon would be there.

The platforms remained just as empty as before.

CHAPTER TWO

Davragam's Census

BY THE TIME they reached the student residence halls, Sabae could tell that the news about Kanderon and the council had finally started to spread. Mages were running about in a panic everywhere, and she knew it would only be a matter of time before someone thought to come after her and her friends— especially Hugh, thanks to his pact with Kanderon, which had to be fairly common knowledge at this point.

Sabae doubted they were in any physical danger, but she had absolutely no intention of allowing herself or her friends to be used as pawns in the upcoming chaos. There were few worse places to be than in the middle of a political struggle following the fall of a great power.

Between Mackerel’s anti-scrying ability and Sabae’s alertness, they managed to make it back to their rooms just fine. Hugh had already retreated into himself again, and didn’t put up any resistance as she dragged him along.

Talia arrived at their rooms almost exactly at the same time as they did.

“Sabae, what’s going on? Everyone was yelling that there was an attack on the Council. Did Heliothrax return? What’s?…”

“Kanderon and the council were betrayed,” Sabae interrupted. “They’re all dead. We need to go into hiding now. I’ll explain everything once we’re safe. Pack everything that you don’t want to lose into your storage tattoo.”

Talia started to speak, but Sabae shook her head at her. “Pack now, explanations later. Hugh, go wake up Godrick.”

Hugh gave her a confused look, and Sabae groaned. “Mackerel, go wake up Godrick. Hugh, I need you to pull yourself together for just a few minutes longer, alright?”

Before he could respond, Mackerel darted off to Godrick’s room, dragging Hugh behind him.

“Pack, Talia!” Sabae yelled, then darted into her own room frantically shoveled clothes and books into her storage tattoo.

At this point, she was practiced enough with her tattoo that she could push objects into the extradimensional space with ease— she was starting to be able to even see somewhat into the artificial directional axis her storage space lay along, though only intermittently.

It only took her a couple minutes to get everything in her room shoved into her tattoo. Packing went remarkably quickly when you didn’t care about weight or efficiency.

It only took a few more minutes after that to help the others finish packing as well, and then she shepherded them out of student housing and toward the library. Godrick was especially confused by the situation, his own grief making him barely more functional than Hugh. His confusion wasn’t helped by the fact that Sabae wasn’t willing to share information out in the open.

As they moved, she could hear yelling and arguing coming from the direction of their rooms, and she pushed the others even more quickly.

SABAE DIDN’T LET herself relax until her friends were all safely inside Hugh’s hidden lair, with the door locked, the wards all activated, and Mackerel blocking scrying.

“What’s goin’ on?” Godrick demanded. “Why’d yeh drag us all the way ta’ Hugh’s room for?”

“Alustin betrayed Kanderon, used Hugh’s warlock pact with her to take her down, stole the Tongue Eater from Skyhold’s vault, and is planning to detonate it in Havath City and release all the languages it’s eaten over the centuries to destroy the Dominion.”

Godrick and Talia just stared at her. Finally, Talia broke the silence.

“You want to run that by us one more time?”

As Sabae recounted the events of the last hour in detail, Hugh plodded over to his bed and flopped onto it face-first, not even removing his shoes first.

“Are you saying Kanderon is…” Talia trailed off, looking worriedly at Hugh.

Godrick walked over to the bed and rested his hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “Hugh, ah’m so sorry. Ah…”

“No,” Hugh said.

“Ah… what?” Godrick replied, visibly confused.

“Kanderon’s not dead,” Hugh said. “She’s… I don’t know, hidden herself away inside that big crystal sphere, put herself in some sort of stasis or something. I can still feel that she’s there, but I think our bond was damaged by whatever Alustin did to attack her.”

Hugh rolled over, sat up, and then, oddly enough, glared at Godrick.

“Also, you’re not allowed to worry about me right now, you’re in mourning, we’re supposed to worry about you.”

“Ah can be selfish and take time ta’ mope later,” Godrick said. “Right now…”

“You’re not moping, you’re mourning, and I don’t want to be the selfish one to drag you away from that. Kanderon’s not dead; I don’t need to be in mourning,” Hugh shot back.

Sabae sighed. “I’m going to put a stop to this right now before this gets any more ridiculous. You both should be mourning, not getting in some bizarre self-effacement competition. First, though, we need to focus, figure out our plan.”

Both shot her looks halfway between being confused and offended.

Talia shot her a look that was definitely offended.

“Alright, that came out badly,” Sabae said. “We really do need to think of a plan, though. I give even odds that either we get blamed for Alustin’s actions or that some faction or other in Skyhold tries to seize us as pawns in the upcoming power struggle.”

Sabae carefully didn’t address Hugh’s denial about Kanderon.

“Power struggle?” Godrick asked, sitting down next to Hugh.

“With the Skyhold Council dead and Kanderon… out of the picture,” Sabae said, changing what she’d been about to say about the sphinx, “the remaining archmages and political factions of the mountain are going to be jockeying for control and lobbying various outsider great powers to take over, starting with Indris and my grandmother. We do NOT want to get caught in the middle of that, so we need to hunker down, then leave the mountain with either my grandmother or Clan Castis as soon as possible. We need to go after Alustin anyhow, so…”

“Why should we?” Godrick asked. “Why wouldn’t we want him to destroy Havath?”

“Apart from the fact that there’s no guarantee that the released languages from the Tongue Eater wouldn’t spread across the continent and drive everyone from Emblin to Tsarnassus permanently insane?” Sabae asked.

“This is Alustin,” Godrick protested. “He always knows what he’s doin’. Ah can’t imagine he’d do somethin’ that dangerous if it were a real risk.”

“And I couldn’t imagine him hurting Hugh before this,” Sabae replied. “But he just did. He almost killed Hugh, just to get Kanderon out of the path of his revenge.”

Godrick looked stricken at that. “Hugh, ah’m sorry, ah didn’t think…”

Hugh just shrugged, already looking lost inside his head again.

Talia, oddly, hadn’t rushed to the boys to check on them yet, and was just staring inscrutably at Sabae.

“Alright, so we need to figure out a plan, and we need to be especially careful not to mention the Tongue Eater to anyone,” Sabae said. “Kanderon specifically warned us about that. We can’t even tell my grandmother.”

“Sabae,” Talia said, thoughtfully, “what book, exactly, did you take from Kanderon’s lair?”

“I’ll tell you about it later. It’s not important right now,” Sabae said.

Talia shook her head. “I usually trust you when you’re keeping secrets, but I’m pretty sure this is important. Figuring out our plans can wait, because the first part of any plan we’re going to make is literally just waiting until my family or your grandmother come to get us. I want to know what was more important than me and Godrick.”

Sabae took a deep breath, then pulled a thin book, small enough to fit in a pocket, from her storage tattoo.

“Not more important, just… more time-sensitive,” Sabae said. “If I thought you’d been in immediate danger, I wouldn’t have ever risked going for this instead.”

“Davragam’s Census,” Talia read out loud as she accepted the book from Sabae. “What, exactly, is this supposed to be?”

“It’s a weapon that should have been put in Skyhold’s Vault along with the Exile Splinter,” Sabae said. “That little book holds a way to bring down the entire system of great powers. Maybe.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“How?” Talia demanded, flipping through it. “There’s no spellforms or anything in here, just… numbers, dates, and charts.”

“It’s a survey and statistical analysis of the deaths of great powers over a period of nearly three centuries,” Sabae said.

The others just stared blankly at her. “So?” Talia finally asked.

“It should never have been written,” Sabae said. “Until fairly recently, every major center of learning on the continent was under the patronage or domination of one or more of the great powers, and no great power is ever going to be comfortable with scholars studying the ways great powers fall.”

“Sure, but it’s not like it’s a difficult question,” Talia said. “Great powers almost always die at the hand of other great powers.”

Godrick made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, and Talia abruptly shot over to the bed and wrapped her arms around the boys— or tried to, in Godrick’s case.

“This can wait too,” Talia said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

Godrick shook his head. “No, please, keep goin’. Ah don’t want ta… Ah could use the distraction right now.”

Hugh didn’t say anything, just sat there.

Sabae sighed but kept going. “You’re wrong about the great powers there, Talia. That’s a piece of wisdom that has been bandied about for centuries, something that everyone accepts, but it’s not true— at least, not for ruling great powers.”

“So what’s the most common way, then?” Talia asked, turning to face Sabae and sitting down between the boys.

“Betrayal by underlings or subjects,” Sabae said. “Poison, deadfall traps, alchemical explosions, fires, coups by archmage underlings, or just a plain old knife in the back. Fully two-thirds of all great powers that reign over territories die to betrayal by their subjects, not in battle against other great powers.”

“That… can’t be right,” Godrick said. “Surely, someone woulda pointed that out by now, if it were that common. That’s an absurdly simple conclusion.”

“Someone has pointed it out,” Sabae said, pointing to the book Talia still held. “A mathematician and amateur historian named Solit Davragam. He died for it, along with everyone he ever knew and loved, and every copy in existence was supposedly destroyed. Somehow, though, Kanderon got a copy— several copies, in fact— and kept going with Davragam’s data collection over the years. I doubt he was the only one to notice it— the others died even sooner than Davragam, though, or were wise enough to keep their mouths shut about it. Look at your own city. Before Ampioc took over Lothal, you had control of the city passing from the control of one great power to another an average of four times a year for decades. Most of the Lothalan great powers that died— well over the usual two-thirds, in fact— died to their own subjects.”

Talia started to say something, but Sabae just kept going. “And look at the great powers that have lasted a truly long time. My family has carefully separated ourselves from the day-to-day rule of Ras Andis and periodically appoint the most talented and diligent bureaucrat we can find as the Prince of Ras Andis, just to insulate ourselves from direct rule. Kanderon worked almost solely through the Skyhold Council and ate only prey she killed herself— and that she keeps buried deep below the sand where no one could poison it. Indris almost fell to poison while we were in Theras Tel. Dorsas Ine only ever holds still long enough to loot a city’s gold, maybe selling off some of their assets for even more gold.”

Sabae briefly considered bringing up the way that Heliothrax kept away from those risks by avoiding ruling anyone entirely, but she thought better of mentioning the Sunwyrm around Godrick just now. She also noticed that Hugh winced when she referred to Kanderon in the past tense.

“There is, simply speaking, no such thing as a perfect defense,” Sabae continued. “No preparations to keep you safe from every possible contingency. Destruction is always going to be easier than protection, and the more time you spend around others, the more opportunities you have to be betrayed. To rule is to be vulnerable, and the great powers that last any amount of time all know it. That’s why they go out of their way to make sure stories of battles between great powers are everywhere, why they carefully suppress knowledge like this. This is why the great powers have almost entirely co-opted the disciplines of history and philosophy since the fall of Ithos for their own purposes. The great powers might be unstoppable forces of mass destruction in battle, but the ability to destroy a city single-handedly doesn’t make you invincible to betrayal.”

“So… how is that knowledge a weapon, then?” Talia asked.

“Because it’s a chink in their armor,” Godrick said. “Their myth a’ invulnerability is their strongest piece a’ armor, and that book is a gap in it. It’s a weakness, and when yeh’re on top, yeh can’t afford weakness, cause everyone else who wants up is circlin’. If someone were ta’ release that book inta the wild, assassination attempts would increase immediately— and probably plunge half the continent inta chaos.”

Talia blinked, then a smile crept across her face. “So that’s how you’re going to bring down the great power system, then. Just release copies of this into the wild? I like it.”

Sabae groaned. “No. No, I’m not… I don’t know what I’m going to do with it, Talia. I could, and maybe it would work, but the cure might be worse than the disease. The violence would be horrific, it would produce countless refugees across the continent, and it might just end up empowering expansionist states like Havath. I just don’t know what it will do. Kanderon never chose to use it, and I’m not egotistical enough to think I know better than she did.”

“You want the option, though,” Talia said. “You want to make sure you always have power if you need it.”

Sabae rubbed her forehead. “You make my motivations sound just like one of the great powers when you put it like that.”

Talia shrugged at that.

“Chink in the armor,” Godrick muttered.

“What?” Talia asked, turning to the stone mage.

“Ah was the crack in me da’s armor,” Godrick said. “If ah weren’t here in Skyhold, he never woulda sacrificed himself ta’ stop Heliothrax. If ah were strong like he was, ah coulda helped him. He finally stepped up inta the ranks a’ the great powers, and ah was the crack in his armor that brought him down. If…”

“I’m really regretting promising to stop hitting you all right now,” Talia said. “Even if you hadn’t been in the mountain, even if you had been able to fight alongside him, do you think he would have just abandoned the mountain? Abandoned all his friends here, abandoned the noncombatants in the shelter, abandoned us three?”

Mackerel gave her an offended look from Hugh’s lap.

“Four,” Talia corrected herself. “You only get to blame yourself for your dad’s sacrifice if you’re going to blame all of us, too. If you’re going to blame everyone else in Skyhold.”

“Ah don’t… It’s not the same,” Godrick insisted.

“It really doesn’t matter. It was his sacrifice, not yours,” Talia said. “Don’t cheapen it by trying to pretend it was a failing on your part or trying to blame yourself.”

“Sorry,” Godrick muttered.

Talia glared at him for a moment, then hugged him again. Then she turned and hugged Hugh, who grunted vaguely and leaned against her.

“Can we get back to planning?” Sabae asked, feeling exhausted all of a sudden.

Godrick abruptly stood up. “Ah know what the next thing ah’m going ta’ do is,” he said. “Ah’m goin’ ta’ me da’s chambers.”

“Godrick…” Sabae started. “People are going to be looking for us, and your father’s chambers are going to be one of the first places they look.”

“Ah don’t care. Me da always left a letter for me in his chambers, just in case… just in case he didn’t come back from a mission. Ah didn’t want ta’ read it, because reading it would make it feel real, but…”

Sabae hesitated, then nodded. “Hugh, are your wards good enough to keep you and Talia hidden if I take Mackerel with me and Godrick?”

Hugh just nodded absently and unslung Mackerel from his shoulders.

As Sabae and Godrick left, she couldn’t help but reflect on the one topic they’d barely touched on.

Alustin.

THE TRIP TO Artur Wallbreaker’s chambers was a quiet one, and took twice as long as it should have— they were doing their best to avoid running into anyone. It was relatively easy, given that Skyhold’s shelters hadn’t been opened back up, but still nerve-wracking.

Sabae spent most of it worrying about Godrick. Hugh retreating into himself was… well, definitely not good, but certainly expected. That’s just what Hugh did when he was in a bad place. She’d never seen Godrick acting like this before. Despondent one moment, angry the next, and filled with manic energy a moment later. His father’s death seemed to have completely unmoored Godrick from his foundations.

Reaching Artur’s chambers didn’t help at all— if anything, it made things worse.

They’d been ransacked.

The stone furniture had been broken into bits, the cushions cut to shreds. Great pits had been ripped into the walls, and Artur’s treasured kitchenware lay scattered about.

It was obvious what had happened. Ambitious mages here in Skyhold had torn Artur’s space apart, searching for any clues to his fabled armor magic now that he was dead. They hadn’t even given the spined iron mountain that marked his grave time to cool.

Godrick wandered around the rooms in a daze, which slowly turned into a frantic search.

Artur’s letter to him was nowhere to be found.

Finally, Godrick came to a halt, breathing heavily.

Sabae started to reach out to him, but before she could, Godrick screamed in rage and punched the wall, letting loose an uncontrolled burst of magic. The stone ruptured in a great spider-web around his fist, sending stone chips scything through the room.

Mackerel slid around on Sabae’s shoulder and hid behind her.

Godrick, his face and arms bleeding from the shrapnel, started to weep.

CHAPTER THREE

Seven Ziggurats

ALUSTIN AND THE traitor Librarians Errant reached Sydapsyn at twilight.

The city was built of seven colossal circular ziggurats, each carved from an entire mountain. For all that it dwarfed Theras Tel in size, its population was only around a quarter of a million— gorgons sometimes reached ten feet in height or more, and they tended to prefer having more personal space than humans did, so the population density of the city was fairly low.

Whereas humans would likely put palaces or the like atop the mountains, each of the seven flattened peaks was home to a massive lake— a reservoir to supply the city with its water. Each was bordered with massive wards and enchantments, to minimize evaporation and protect the water from enemy action.

Those defenses had held, but many of the others in the city hadn’t.

Great battle scars tore through many neighborhoods, mostly on the southernmost pair of ziggurats, and even days after Havath’s attack on the city, much of the rubble still smoldered, rescue crews still picking through it.

Alustin had no idea which great powers Havath had sent against Sydapsyn, but the fact that they’d done this much damage to the city against Karna Scythe and her servants was nothing if not impressive.

Four of Sydapsyn’s skybarges rose to meet forty-odd Librarians Errant flying towards the city. The rest of their order had either died in battle over the last year or had been judged too likely to stay loyal to Kanderon, and they had either been abandoned in Skyhold or… taken care of before the betrayal.

The members of the order they’d killed might be better off than those left to the scant mercies of Skyhold’s politics.

Alustin gestured for the other Librarians to halt and flew alone towards the skybarges. The enchanted stone platforms only worked above and immediately around Sydapsyn— there was an enchanted grid below the surface of the city that was responsible for levitating them— but each was heavily warded, and they carried enough mages to threaten any dragon or archmage.

The paper mage used his farsight affinity to watch the gorgon crews relax as they identified him from a distance. One of the skybarge captains, a fairly short, seven-foot-tall gorgon with grass-snakes for hair, hailed him as soon as he drew near.

“What news from Skyhold, Helicotan?” she called as Alustin came to a halt, hovering with his four paper wings.

Alustin felt one side of his mouth quirk, though he was too exhausted and angry to actually smile. Helicote might be dead, but there were still many who remembered his home.

“Havath’s forces have been annihilated and the siege lifted!” Alustin called. “I doubt more than a few hundred have escaped!”

“Do you come bearing a message or to help us recover from our own attack?”

Alustin shook his head. “I come to speak with the queen— not as an envoy from Skyhold, but as a friend to Sydapsyn.”

The captain’s scaled brow rose in surprise at that, but she nodded shortly. “Lodgings can be found for your brethren, though it will doubtless be cramped— refugees from the devastated neighborhoods fill most of our inns.”

Alustin nodded his thanks, though he wasn’t particularly worried.

Cramped for a gorgon was still spacious for a human.

ALUSTIN FLEW JUST behind the captain’s skybarge, towards the central and largest ziggurat. The sunset cast the gargantuan city in shades of crimson and gold, and Alustin found himself starting to relax for the first time in…

In, well, he didn’t know how long.

It wasn’t the sort of relaxation that came from feeling safe or content, though. It was the sort of relaxation that came from knowing that, for better or worse, things had been set into motion that couldn’t be stopped. There would be no second-guessing himself any longer.

Alustin couldn’t undo the choices he’d made, and he had no choice now but to finish what he started.

The other Librarians Errant had followed one of the other skybarges to find lodgings, leaving Alustin alone to face what was next.

Karna Scythe, Queen of Sydapsyn, and a great power easily comparable to Chelys Mot. Not quite so dangerous as one of the members of the Coven, but still monstrously powerful.

She claimed to owe Alustin a debt for retrieving something precious that had been stolen from the gorgons a few years back, but being owed a debt by a great power was often far more dangerous than owing a debt to a great power. The latter, at least, gave them an incentive to keep you alive— a pitfall Alustin hoped Hugh wouldn’t fall prey to, with the favor Indris Stormbreaker owed him.

A flash of guilt shot through him at the thought of Hugh, and Alustin swiftly quashed it.

He followed the skybarge as it descended, down into the mouth of one of the four great tunnels into the central ziggurat, one in each primary direction. A mid-sized dragon could have flown down the tunnel, though there were so many magical and mundane defenses hidden in the walls and ceiling that it would have been a death sentence.

The tunnel ended in a great pyramidal central chamber in the mountain, with hundreds of clerks, guards, merchants, and visitors bustling around, attending to business. Immense inlaid murals stretched across the polished stone floor, and great carvings from gorgon history stretched up the four angled walls towards the upper point of the chamber. There were quite a few food carts scattered about the chamber— something that always struck Alustin as oddly out of place. Staircases descended in dozens of places into the queen’s palace.

Alustin collapsed his paper armor, then funneled the paper in a cloud into the satchel at his side. His arm was tucked into the satchel to hold it open, at an angle that no one could see the paper vanishing into his tattoo.

The skybarge captain spoke with a few guards to arrange for Alustin’s meeting. While she did so, Alustin found himself checking to make sure his labyrinth stone pendant was still there— so long as he was, he should be just as immune to scrying as Mackerel was. There were nations that would go to war for the knowledge of how to use a labyrinth stone like this, or that it was even possible to do so— Hugh had no idea how valuable his spellbook really was.

Then he ran his attention over the contents of his storage tattoo. He checked on the chitin wand, resting in a padded crate on one of the shelves in his warehouse-sized extraplanar space. For such an ancient, powerful magical artifact, it was incredibly delicate. It was frankly shocking that the Labyrinth Builder artifact had survived who knew how many eons to the present day— the Labyrinth Builders had vanished far before humanity had even been born.

Alustin tried not to shift his attention to the back of his storage tattoo’s warehouse, to where the Tongue Eater waited.

He failed.

The book twitched and rustled as though dreaming, and Alustin could faintly hear it murmuring words. He felt the sudden urge to listen closer, to open the book so he could hear better.

With a shudder, Alustin forced his attention away from the book. Trustworthy histories of the Tongue Eater were rare, but even the false histories that had been seeded by Kanderon, Heliothrax, and the other victorious enemies of the Ithonian Empire all agreed that opening the book was both addictive and harmful to one’s sanity over time. Alustin would have to open it to break it, but he needed his wits around him for now.

After, well… there wasn’t going to be an after. Even if there were some way to shield himself from the Tongue Eater rupturing, which there wasn’t, there wasn’t much chance of surviving the enemies he’d make with his actions.

Not for the first time, Alustin considered not using the Tongue Eater and just relying on the wand. It would more than do the job of gutting Havath City as it ruptured Havath’s massive labyrinth and forced it into Anastis proper. That, in combination with the Coven’s scheming, would absolutely be enough to end the Dominion.

Even if that weren’t far too easy of a death for the Havathi Dominion, however, it wouldn’t be nearly enough to end the ambitions of their patrons for good. Nor would it achieve Alustin’s ancillary objectives.

And Alustin would settle for nothing less, no matter what it cost him.

After just a few more minutes of waiting, Alustin found himself being led farther underground, into the gorgon queen’s palace.

Karna Scythe’s palace was a maze of tunnels and chambers, deep within the ziggurat. Alustin had visited there many times, but he always quickly lost track of the twists and turns as they descended deeper and deeper into the mountain. Karna’s throne room sat underneath ground level, far below the rest of the city.

The gorgon’s labyrinth was even deeper, nestled far down into the root of the mountain, but he had no need to visit there today.

Alustin found himself escorted past the line of supplicants, though even he wasn’t quite important enough to actually interrupt an ongoing meeting. The wait wasn’t long, though, and soon enough, Alustin was ushered into the throne room.

The throne room was, like the chamber far above it, a hollow pyramid, albeit with three sides rather than four. It was smaller than the entrance chamber but still dwarfed the majority of throne rooms Alustin had encountered— Kanderon or even Indris could have reigned comfortably within it. The room was lit by smokeless fires that ran in a trench all along the outer edge of the room, lighting the pale rhyolite walls a bloody, flickering red.

Alustin entered from one corner, crossing a bridge over the trench of magical flame, and the intricate carvings and inlays all along the walls and floor immediately caught his eyes. His gaze traced along them as they bent and twisted, and once they reached the far wall, they descended, ending in a great spiral emanating from the Vendetta Throne, centered in the wall across from him.

The Vendetta Throne was, despite the rumors, not built of the bones of enemies. It was, instead, a blocky monolith covered in carved scenes of violence, made of a single block of some polished dull red stone Alustin didn’t recognize— which said a lot, because Alustin had spent a great many hours learning types of stone from Artur for the purposes of fighting stone mages.

Grief shot through Alustin at the thought of Artur, dead just a few hours now. Alustin hadn’t even had time to mourn his friend yet— though another part of him was glad Artur hadn’t been around to see Alustin’s betrayal.

The paper mage ruthlessly shoved both emotions down. He didn’t have time for anything but his mission.

Karna Scythe’s throne looked tiny, dwarfed by the wall around it, but as he drew closer, the immense size of the throne became apparent.

It was meant to seat Karna Scythe, after all.

The gorgon queen, on her feet, stood more than twice as tall as Artur or Godrick and would have topped Bakori in height by half a head or more. She was fifteen feet tall if she were an inch, and more heavily muscled than any human, even proportional to her ridiculous height.

Karna was what was known as a gorgon juggernaut— a relic from the ancient draconic flesh-molding programs. The dragon empire had transplanted their own flesh into humans to grow the gorgons, a species of soldiers to enforce their will on the ground. The juggernauts had been an attempt to take things even farther, to create unstoppable shock troops. They were rare, but a handful were born every generation, though most died of diseases in childhood. Those that survived to adulthood were impossibly strong and fast, able to throw a boulder as far as a catapult, run faster than a horse, and rip through sandships with their bare hands. Nothing short of a ballista bolt could even penetrate their scales.

Then, of course, there were her snakes, which were longer than most gorgons were tall.

Well, not exactly snakes.

No, Karna Scythe had two dozen hydras on her scalp, each of which divided into more and more heads as they cascaded down her back.

Almost two centuries ago, as far as the stories went, a young Karna Scythe had stolen eggs from a hydra’s nest, then implanted the infant hydras into her scalp. Gorgons gained traits from their implanted snakes, much as warlocks often gained physical boons from their pacts.

Karna had gained the regeneration, durability, strength, and bizarre biological adaptability of the hydras, on top of her juggernaut strength, speed, and resilience. So far as sheer physical ability went, the gorgon queen was in a category of her own. Alustin wouldn’t bet on anything short of an elder wyrm like Indris or a full-grown hydra against her. Alustin had witnessed her shrug off lightning bolts and dragonfire, run straight through a sandship’s hull and out the other side without slowing, and kill a dragon with her bare hands at the battle of Polchan’s Yardang, a few years back.

Rumor had it she had done even more beyond that to modify herself, but Alustin had no idea if that was true— or if it would even be necessary.

A few decades ago, a gorgon with a gorgon affinity had tried to mimic Heliothrax’s path to physical power, modifying himself until he could survive a direct hit from siege magic, and tried to seize the throne.

The queen had beaten him to a pulp with his own arm.

If that wasn’t enough, Karna Scythe was also a terrifyingly powerful archmage. She was not only one of the mightiest stone mages alive, on a level with the strongest stone liches, but she also had one of those rare affinities that were impressive enough on their own to make someone a great power.

Karna Scythe was an earthquake mage.

So to say Alustin was intimidated, even as a friend of the gorgons, was an understatement. The fact that Karna was counted in the upper middle of the ranks of great powers, and not at the top, spoke to the sheer gap of power separating creatures like Heliothrax and Dorsas Ine from lesser great powers.

If she decided Alustin’s betrayal of Kanderon displeased her, Alustin would be dead in heartbeats. There were no guards in the throne room, only a clerk and a messenger.

Karna Scythe needed no guards.

“Alustin Haber,” Karna said, in her surprisingly pleasant voice, as Alustin approached the throne. “What news do you bring from Skyhold? My seers tell me the battle has ended but can offer me little more concrete information.”

“Havath’s forces have been annihilated. No more than a few hundred scattered troops survived, and none of their great powers present at the battle, save for Heliothrax, retreated alive.”

At the mention of Heliothrax, Karna sat bolt upright on her throne. “Heliothrax has joined Havath?”

Alustin nodded. “The Coven only managed to drive her away when Artur Wallbreaker sacrificed himself to wound her. I doubt we’ve seen the last of her, though.”

Karna narrowed her eyes. “And Kanderon has sent you to invite me into her Coven again?”

Alustin shook his head. “Kanderon is dead.”

Karna’s eyes opened in shock, and the hydra heads hanging from her scalp focused on Alustin.

“Heliothrax did her in?” Karna demanded.

Alustin smiled joylessly. “No. I did.”

At that, every single hydra head began hissing.

"Explain,” Karna demanded, every trace of pleasantness gone from her voice.

Alustin smiled grimly and set to recruiting the first great power to his cause.

He had the weapons to destroy Havath, now he just needed an army to deliver them.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Plains of Bloody Glass

IT WAS NIGHT, and Talia the only one still awake, when Ilinia Kaen Das arrived.

Hugh and Godrick had fallen asleep hours ago. Hugh first, hardly having spoken a word; Godrick only after several hours of angry pacing, simmering over the theft of his father’s letter. Sabae fell asleep hours later as sunset drew close, after reading and rereading Davragam’s Census, again and again.

Talia was still skeptical about the little book, but she trusted Godrick and Sabae.

As each of her friends fell asleep, Talia carefully monitored them with her dream magic. One by one, she pruned away their nightmares with dreamfire, cutting away the trauma from the day’s violence.

She didn’t cut away all their nightmares, though. Dreams of being crushed by a wave of shadow, dreams of falling from a cliffside, she excised away. Nightmares born of grief, though, dreams of Artur and Kanderon falling, she left alone.

Talia would never interfere with someone’s grieving process, even if it wasn’t already warned against by most dream mages as a bad idea.

Dreams born of rage, dreams of Alustin turning on them… she almost burned those to ash as well, but her own anger and confusion stayed her hand.

When Mackerel started twitching in his sleep, Talia hesitated, then plunged into his dreams as well.

The spellbook’s dreams were… bizarre, hard to interpret. There was no color, no light in his dreams— Mackerel lived in a world of surfaces, twists, and bends, where the number of holes or angles in an object mattered more than its size and shape. It was as if Mackerel perceived the universe via pure topology. Trying to make sense of the scenes in the spellbook's dreams was exhausting and headache-inducing.

But pain and fear were still easily recognizable, as was anger at being imprisoned and worry for the others. Talia incinerated the nightmare of Mackerel being held captive by the string mage, and the spellbook’s rest immediately eased.

Talia didn’t even consider trying to get to sleep after that. She just went to the window and watched the sun slowly set over the ruined desert.

Below her, a jagged plain of glass stretched almost to the horizon. Great mounds and spikes of glass cooled atop the sand dunes, where Heliothrax had melted the Coven’s sandstorm. The melted bulk of the Havathi warsphere, the bizarre glass construct powered and controlled by dozens of mages inside it, protruded up like some fever-dream fountain, a bubble dripping and splitting. The ruins of the Havathi sand-fleet were coated in glass, which dripped off their splintered masts and railing like icicles. The boulders Headmaster Tarik had smashed the enemy fleet with were capped with layers of melted glass, and Talia couldn’t help but be reminded of pastry icing.

There were bloodstains scattered across endless acres of the glass, relics of the battle between the great powers.

Talia could feel the heat of the slowly cooling glass even from here, thousands of feet above the sand.

The wind blew sand onto the glass and glass dust out onto the sand. Skyhold’s ventilation system, always pulling air from the labyrinth and pushing it out the mountain, kept the lung-shredding dust from entering, but it would be a long time before it was safe to breathe outside Skyhold.

In the distance, the magic-fortified sandcastles Havath had constructed to hold the siege were crumbling piles, wrecked by the Coven and their allies, dripping with rivers of glass.

Directly below her, circled by a defensive ward, lay the wounded dragon queen Indris Stormbreaker, covered in healers like swarms of ants. The healers of Skyhold were no doubt overworked and stretched thin right now, but no one would dare suggest skimping on healing for one of the great powers that had saved the mountain.

The fact that dozens of Indris’s dragon children were standing guard over her didn’t hurt Skyhold’s willingness to contribute healers, Talia was sure.

In the middle distance, the empty shell of Chelys Mot jutted from the sand at an angle. Even as she watched, the ship-sized shell listed and settled, sending broken glass spraying into the air.

Other than the sand around Indris, and a short path to her from the ruins of the docks, the only glass-free part of the desert in sight was a colossal road, where the Havathi hydra had fled after being wounded by Artur and infected by some sort of giant magical chains.

Against her own will, Talia’s gaze followed the trail back towards Skyhold.

Back towards where the final confrontation against Heliothrax and the hydra had ended.

Back towards the mountain of iron, covered in gargantuan thorns.

Back towards Artur’s grave.

Sunset finally came, and the desert came alight. The heliotrope rays of sunset reflected and glimmered across the desert, and glass dust floating on the wind ignited into a drifting sea of sparks. Poorly-melted quartz cast rainbows across the broken, glass-covered Havathi fleet. The drying blood on the glass twisted the light into bizarre shades. It was a sight unlike anything Talia had ever seen or even imagined.

It should have been beautiful.

When the sun sank beneath the horizon entirely, and the moon took its place, the landscape lit up once more, hardly dimmer than before, blue and silver coruscating across the broken dunes.

That should have been beautiful, too.

And over that glimmering landscape flew Ilinia Kaen Das, trailing a dancing cloud of glass dust in her wake.

SABAE’S GRANDMOTHER DIDN’T head straight for the window, of course— she stopped for a few minutes to speak with Indris, though Talia suspected that had just been a formality. Both storm queens could hear and convey messages at impossibly far distances over the wind, and Talia had no doubt Ilinia was up-to-date on the situation in the mountain as anyone else— more so, most likely.

By the time Ilinia was hovering outside the window, Talia had the others all awake and made sure that Sabae had put away Davragam’s Census in her tattoo.

Even if Talia was skeptical about the book, better safe than sorry around great powers, even nominally friendly ones. And, unlike Kanderon or Havath, she rather doubted the Protector of Ras Andis had any particular interest in ending the system of great powers.

The old woman flew inside the room and frowned at the yawning teenagers. “I thought I’d find you all here. That pesky book makes you a real hassle to find, you know that? And you four have made a proper mess of things, haven’t you?”

“Us?” Talia gave Ilinia an offended look. “What did we do? Alustin and Havath made a mess, not us.”

Ilinia rolled her eyes. “I mean by going into hiding, lass. Half the mountain outside the shelters is convinced you absconded with Alustin and the Librarians Errant and are calling for your heads, too. Clan Castis is causing an even bigger uproar, threatening to burn down the mountain if you aren’t found soon. Don’t worry about it too much, though— I’ll spread the word that I was the one to spirit you away, to protect you and find out what you knew.”

Part of Talia relaxed, while another part wondered how her family was intending to burn down a whole mountain of granite.

Maybe she could convince them to show her on another, uninhabited mountain?

“What do you mean, convinced we absconded with Alustin?” Sabae demanded. “How did news about Alustin’s betrayal get out?”

Ilinia rolled her eyes. “Even ignoring the fact that Alustin was known to be present at the opening of the Vault, that the council was murdered by a paper mage, and that one of the council archmages survived their injuries, I’ve been telling people left and right.”

Even Hugh paid attention to that news.

“Someone survived?” Sabae demanded. “Who?”

“And why have yeh been tellin’ people?” Godrick asked.

“The ceramic mage, with the swarm of tiles,” Ilinia said. “Eric? Elric?”

“Eddin Slane?” Sabae asked.

“That’s the one,” Ilinia said.

Sabae shook her head. “How could he possibly have survived? He was cut to shreds, just like the rest of the council.”

Ilinia shrugged. “According to the healers, he had armored his internal organs with thousands of fingernail-sized hexagonal tiles years ago. Kept him alive, just barely, but it’s going to take the healers weeks to get him back on his feet again. He’s talking, though, and as the last remaining member of the Council, he’s the closest thing to being in charge of the mountain you’ve got right now.”

“That’s good, right?” Talia asked. “Slane’s an ally of Kanderon’s?”

Sabae, Godrick, and Ilinia all shook their heads, but it was Sabae who answered.

“Skyhold’s not getting ruled by one archmage confined to bed rest. We’re in for a whole mess of infighting.”

“I’ve already had multiple inquiries about me taking over for Kanderon, and I’m sure Indris has as well,” Ilinia said.

“Yeh never answered mah question,” Godrick said.

Ilinia rolled her eyes and pulled out her flask. “I’m telling folks about Alustin’s betrayal because he’s a vengeance-crazed madman who’s threatening to unleash a bunch of plagues on the continent. Nobody sane should want to aid with that, and I’m hoping to cut off aid to him wherever I can.”

“Have you had any luck looking for him?” Talia asked.

Ilinia took a sip from her flask, then scowled and gestured at Mackerel. “I don’t know how, but he’s managed to mimic the book here’s anti-scrying field. I don’t know anything else that can block my scrying so effectively— I couldn’t even find a dead zone where my winds can’t penetrate.”

“Talia, didn’t you track Hugh using the tracking pin when Bakori attacked the council?” Sabae asked.

Talia shook her head. “I already knew you were up in the council chamber. Sending mana through to the tracking pin didn’t do anything but heat it up and let Hugh know I was coming— the magical signal could reach Hugh, but not back to me.”

Ilinia made an impatient noise, and Talia stopped talking to let the storm mage continue. “I doubt anyone on the continent could track Hugh or Alustin via scrying. But—”

“Yeh found him anyhow,” Godrick said. “If yeh’d caught him, though, ah imagine that woulda been the first thing yeh’d have told us.”

Ilinia pointed at Godrick. “Sharp one, aren’t you? I can’t track Alustin, but he seems to have split off from his traitor Librarians Errant, and I managed to find them. And… I’m sorry about your father. He was a good man, and that’s not common among the powerful.”

“Thanks,” Godrick said, softly.

Ilinia gave him an unreadable look, then offered him her flask. Godrick shook his head, and Ilinia shrugged and continued. “Anyhow, they’re in Sydapsyn, and I’m sure Alustin’s not far. Meeting with the gorgon queen, I imagine.”

Sabae scowled. “Why would Alustin be meeting with Karna Scythe? Shouldn’t he be rushing the… shouldn’t he be heading straight for Havath with the plague vials?”

Ilinia nodded. “That would be the most sensible course of action. I can think of two reasons why he might be in Sydapsyn. First, he might be trading in the favor Scythe owes him for the incident he resolved a few years back for her. No idea what he’d be asking for, though.”

“And the other possibility?” Talia asked as Ilinia took another drink from her flask.

“Sydapsyn was a reliable ally of Helicote’s before its destruction,” Ilinia said. “Scythe was always a forward-thinking type— not much chance Sydapsyn would risk conquest by Havath so long as Highvale and Skyhold remained independent, but she sent troops and even fought herself against Havath during their wars of expansion. Only reason she didn’t come to Helicote’s aid in their last war was that she thought it a foolish lost cause.”

“So the other reason Alustin might be in Sydapsyn…” Talia started.

“Would be to call on Helicote’s old allies,” Sabae continued. “To raise an army.”

Ilinia nodded. “Which doesn’t make much sense to me— you don’t need an army to spread a plague, though it helps. Of course, he could also just be selling his services and the plague vials to Scythe, but I don’t think that’s particularly likely. Or maybe he’s up to something else entirely. I’m keeping my eye on Sydapsyn, though.”

“You’re more powerful than Scythe, aren’t you?” Talia asked. “Couldn’t you just…”

Ilinia scowled. “I might be more powerful, but the stones of Sydapsyn are strong enough to shrug off any natural storm— and most unnatural ones too. It would take me weeks or months to dig Scythe out of her hole, even if my mana reservoirs had recovered from the battle— which they haven’t and won’t fully for weeks. Besides, I have absolutely no desire to make new enemies at the moment. Not least because Sydapsyn is a useful trade partner— they’re close enough to Highvale to have plenty of links to the black markets there, dodging some of Highvale’s more onerous tariffs and tolls.”

“How did the Librarians Errant even get to Sydapsyn so quickly? Isn’t it a week’s travel by ship?” Talia asked.

“There’s a high-altitude wind current running straight north past Sydapsyn,” Ilinia said. “Mix that with a few powerful fliers, which the Librarians Errant most certainly have, and Alustin’s skysail trick, and…”

“Skysail trick?” Godrick asked.

“He never showed that one to you lot?” Ilinia said. “It’s a good one. He builds a huge sail out of paper, with pockets folded into it for mages to rest in, and then has wind, gravity, and force mages propel it. It can significantly speed up a group of flying mages. That, mixed with the wind current, is more than enough to get him to Sydapsyn in a day. Tells you a lot about how powerful his anti-scrying trick is, that he could evade my winds while I was specifically looking for him and one of his skysails. Probably helped that I had a whole mountain range to search, though— I honestly expected him to cross the Skyreach Range and head straight to Havath.”

For the first time since Ilinia’s arrival, Hugh spoke up, his voice toneless and flat. “So that’s it then? Alustin’s out of your reach, so you’re just going to stand around and praise his spellcraft?”

Talia froze at that. With Kanderon either dead or otherwise out of the picture, Ilinia’s fondness for her granddaughter was the only thing that stood in the way of the storm mage squishing Hugh like a bug if he irritated her.

Her fears, thankfully, were unfounded, and Ilinia just rolled her eyes. “Do you really think that’s all I’m doing, Hugh?”

Hugh didn’t look up at Ilinia or speak for a long moment, then just shook his head.

“Is there anything you can do to help Kanderon? To heal her?” he asked.

Ilinia sighed. “I can make sure the four of you survive, I can do my best to help keep Skyhold stable, and I can avenge her against both Havath and Alustin. But I can’t heal her, Hugh, for one simple reason— she’s dead.”

Hugh started to shake his head, but Ilinia just kept going. “Kanderon was no healer, Hugh. More, great powers all eventually reach a point where we can feel each other’s presence in the aether, and I can’t feel Kanderon anymore. You’re just going to have to accept that and move on.”

“I can still feel her,” Hugh said quietly.

“Your pact with Kanderon was the weapon Alustin used to attack her,” Sabae said, quietly. “It might not even be working right anymore.”

Hugh shook his head again, less forcefully. “If she were dying, why did she seal herself away in a crystal sphere?”

Ilinia rolled her eyes. “The same shipwrecked reason she hides away all those weapons in Skyhold’s Vault. Because her wings are a weapon too dangerous to trust to anyone. Tides, they’re far more dangerous than most of the objects in the vault. The oversized old cat spent centuries atoning for Imperial Ithos by destroying or locking away magical superweapons. She wasn’t about to throw that all away by leaving her wings lying around.”

“But…” Hugh started.

“But nothing,” interjected Ilinia. “You haven’t been pacted for nearly long enough to ensure the stability of your mana reservoirs. Have they collapsed entirely? Is your magic even still working?”

“I still have them,” Hugh whispered.

“But is your magic still working?” Ilinia demanded.

Hugh didn’t answer, and Talia’s heart sank.

“You need to accept that Kanderon is dead and move on,” Ilinia snapped. “You can indulge your grief later. For now, you need to move on and start thinking of the future, about finding a new partner to pact with. Indris owes you a favor. Maybe think about trading that in to pact with her on terms more favorable to you than her usual contracts.”

Hugh just stared at his lap.

Ilinia sighed, looking regretful to Talia’s eyes, but she didn’t apologize. Instead, she levitated herself to the window.

“I’ll let you all know when it’s safe to come out of here,” Ilinia said, and then she was gone.

They all just stared out the window after her for a while.

“I don’t know how much I want to be like your grandmother when I get old anymore,” Talia eventually said.

Beside her, Hugh shook with silent sobs.

CHAPTER FIVE

Stolen Legacy

GODRICK SPENT THE next few days hunting for whoever had stolen his father’s letter.

They’d only needed to stay secluded in Hugh’s room until the afternoon after Ilinia’s visit, but each hour had felt like days to Godrick.

Once they were out, he’d immediately set himself to accosting every stone mage he knew of in Skyhold that might have the motivation to ransack his father’s apartments in an effort to find the secret to his armor.

There were plenty of non-stone mages who would happily sell the secret if they could get their hands on it, but the list of potential suspects would be unmanageably large if Godrick didn’t narrow it down somehow.

Godrick found it almost surreal, the way fully-trained battlemages were acting nervous around him, some even looking afraid of him when he accosted them about his father’s apartments. A big part of him still just thought of himself as a kid, no one to be worried about.

It was getting harder and harder to lie to himself about that, though. It would be easier, safer if he were just another apprentice. It would absolve him of so much responsibility.

He couldn’t, though. Godrick had fought too many battles now, survived too many near-death experiences to believe that. He was a battlemage in truth, whatever the official Skyhold guidelines might say, and Godrick didn’t doubt that he’d eventually be able to honestly consider himself an archmage someday.

But he was, for all that, still just a weak reflection of his father.

Godrick’s search kept proving fruitless, and the bad news just kept coming.

Hugh, already a complete mess, had taken the news of Loarna’s death and Emmenson Drees’ betrayal hard, on top of everything else. Even Talia struggled to get more than a few words out of him at a time, other than the occasional weak protest that Kanderon was still alive.

None of the healers or other mages who had investigated the great crystal sphere atop the mountain had found the slightest trace of Kanderon inside, though, and you could dimly see all the way through the blue crystal to the other side, with nothing blocking the view.

So far as anyone could tell, the few Librarian Errants who hadn’t died or joined up with Alustin had been killed in the confusion following Kanderon’s death, out of fear that they might be traitors as well. Grennan, the healer, seemed to be the only living Librarian Errant left in the mountain, and despite his well-known loyalty to Kanderon, he was being held prisoner merely for being a Librarian Errant. If there were any others, they were laying incredibly low.

The Librarians Errant who had fled with Alustin, however, were a very different story. Most of them were still in Sydapsyn, helping it mobilize for war. Alustin was nowhere to be found, still invisible to all scrying, but the other known Librarians Errant who couldn’t be found were largely powerful fliers, so Ilinia and Sabae suspected that Alustin was off recruiting someone else to his army.

Godrick only paid cursory attention to their worries and scheming and just kept searching for the thief who had ransacked his father’s apartment. He sought out every stone mage he could think of in the mountain, getting in more than a few yelling matches, some of which almost came to blows. He sought out paper mages to see if they could track down the letter. He even combed back over his father’s apartment a half-dozen times in case he’d missed some clue.

Nothing. Not even a hint.

He resented everything that took time away from the search— sleeping, necessary tasks like burying Amalda Veil and cleaning out her armor, and even eating.

Not that he had much of an appetite these days.

Godrick searched by himself. Well, with his new armor elemental, but the creature seemed content to sit quietly in his storage tattoo. Talia and Mackerel barely left Hugh’s side, and Sabae was constantly conferring with her grandmother, trying to puzzle out Alustin’s plans or poring over increasingly obscure books in her quest to end the great powers. Godrick wanted to be angry with them, wanted them to drop what they were doing and help him, but the reasonable, compassionate part of him pointed out that Hugh was in as much pain as he was and definitely needed Talia and Mackerel at his side.

Godrick had never hated being reasonable and compassionate as much as he did now.

As for Sabae, Godrick actually felt guilty that he wasn’t helping her. Her work trying to figure out what Alustin was up to was clearly more important than trying to find his father’s letter, if he was being honest with himself, and he’d promised to help her with her long-term goal.

It would have been easier for Godrick to be angry and resentful towards her if she hadn’t approached him on multiple occasions, offering to help him in his own search instead of her own. Each time, though, Godrick refused her help.

Talia also offered to help Godrick, when Hugh’s little mentee quartet of first-year warlocks would come to spend time with him and give her a bit of a break. Godrick refused her help too, telling her to spend time with her family and rest.

The only other person who offered to help was Talia’s brother, Tristan, but Godrick had sent him away. He neither wanted nor deserved someone flirting with him right now. Godrick knew he was reveling in his own anger and misery, and that it would be best for him to spend his time around others right now, but he just couldn’t make himself care or slow down.

As long as he kept busy, he could stop himself from dwelling, over and over again, on the last moments of the battle. He could keep himself from finding the nearest balcony and staring at the spined iron mountain that was his father’s gravestone.

GODRICK’S SEARCH GREW immeasurably more difficult when the bulk of Skyhold’s population was let out of the shelters, five days after the battle ended.

They probably should have been let out days before, but the new Skyhold Council was a complete mess. Most of the members were busy jockeying for power and position, challenging one another over their legitimacy, and even trying to get rid of Kanderon’s crystal sphere. Eddin Slane was unfortunately still bedridden, or he might have been able to impose a little order on things— Ilinia and Indris certainly didn’t seem to care much despite multiple delegations from different factions, many of whom were inviting one or both of them to take over the mountain in Kanderon’s place.

Once the shelters emptied out, Godrick struggled to sort through the chaos. He didn’t have any sort of master list of who had stayed out to defend Skyhold and who had been locked away in the shelters, so his search ground almost to a halt.

The worst part, though, was when he found out he had a deadline.

“WHAT D’YEH MEAN, they’re leavin’?” Godrick demanded.

Sabae sighed. “They’re not leaving right away, but once Indris is healed, she’s leaving with her children and my grandmother.”

Godrick threw his arms up in frustration, barely missing hitting Venta in the face. The gorgon warlock gave him a dirty look, but he was too frustrated to apologize.

Godrick would have been much happier to pace right now, but Hugh’s room was absolutely packed. Along with the four of them, Hugh’s first-year warlock friends and three of Talia’s brothers had all packed into the room, all at Sabae’s invitation.

Mackerel, meanwhile, was zooming around the ceiling at high speeds for no discernible reason.

He scratched at the stubble on his chin, which he hadn’t bothered to shave in days. “Where are they even goin’? Back home like everythin’s just fine and dandy?”

Sabae shook her head. “Both of them are taking a risk by staying away from their territories for so long, but they’d be taking an even bigger risk by sitting out oncoming events.”

Thaddeus raised his hand. “What events, exactly, are we talking about?”

“War, kid,” Talia’s brother Luthe said.

Thaddeus looked genuinely confused. “Didn’t we defeat Havath, though?”

It was Rafe, the most scholarly of Talia’s brothers, who answered him. “We took down one of their duarchs, more of their non-lich great powers than they were supposed to have total, and something like a third of their standing army. They still have who knows how many more great powers, the smarter and more dangerous of their two duarchs, and an army that remains by far the largest on the continent. Not to mention we have no idea what’s going on with Heliothrax.”

Sabae nodded. “The Dominion is already mobilizing to defend themselves from invasion. Half the nations and city-states east of the Skyreach range are mobilizing, and the other half can’t be far behind. Not just to go after Havath, either— a lot of them are going to use the instability to seize new territory or settle old grudges. Sica’s the most obvious threat right now— they’ve been eying Havath’s territories jealously for decades, and their current ruling faction definitely has expansionist ambitions.”

“I thought Sica was strictly opposed to ruling territory outside their city?” Peltia, another of Hugh’s warlock mentees, asked.

Rafe snorted at that. “Sican propaganda. They don’t rule over their territories directly, but they absolutely maintain economic hegemony over huge swathes of territory, and they regularly depose any governments or great powers that irritate them or are insufficiently corrupt to manipulate.”

Sabae nodded and took over. “So we’ve got no idea who’s going to declare war on whom, save that Havath’s definitely going to suffer a lot of attacks in the near future, at a minimum by Sica and assorted wandering great powers. If Dorsas Ine doesn’t plunder at least a couple Havathi provincial capitals, I’ll eat a whole fishing net. And that’s not even accounting for Alustin.”

“What’s the news there?” Talia asked, looking up from the bone shards she’d been whittling into odd shapes.

The first-year warlocks and Talia’s brothers all perked up at that. It was common knowledge that Alustin had betrayed and killed Kanderon and absconded with plagues stolen from the Vault to destroy Havath, but more up-to-date intelligence and speculation was hard to come by if your friend’s grandmother wasn’t a great power.

Well, two of Talia’s three brothers that were there perked up at that. The third was staring sadly at Godrick like he’d been doing most of the time he’d been there.

Godrick did his best to ignore Tristan.

Sabae scowled and started braiding her hair— out of frustration, Godrick suspected. “Iris Mooneye’s students are mustering.”

That got everyone’s attention. Even Tristan stopped staring at Godrick.

Iris Mooneye, the Blind Astronomer, was one of the mightiest great powers on the continent. The blue-scaled dragon had lost her home, her family, and her eyesight when she was just a hatchling, during one of the endless battles in the chaotic years after the fall of Ithos. She blamed and hated Kanderon for creating that chaos but had no interest in seeking revenge; instead, she’d founded a community of scholars and mages, deep in the heart of the Skyreach range. Members of every common sentient species could be found among them, though dragons dominated the community. Mooneye didn’t have any children of her own— while she flew mating flights often enough, she only did so with female dragons.

She was known as the Blind Astronomer due to one of her affinities. She had an affinity for some sort of… invisible, low-energy form of light, which she could bounce off solid objects to “see” them. It could penetrate through any illusion and detect foes from leagues away, no matter how well-protected from scrying they were. She could even use her so-called blindlight affinity to listen to the stars, with the aid of a massive construction of her own design. She had commissioned stone mages to carve away the top of two dozen mountains. Atop each were planted gargantuan reflecting panels of some unknown, lightweight metal, perforated with huge numbers of tiny holes, all aimed at a central point. At that central point lay Mooneye’s lair, suspended over a massive reflecting dish constructed of the same mysterious metal as the panels.

Iris Mooneye’s blindlight telescope stretched over leagues, and every ray of blindlight that reached it from the stars reflected directly to her. There were even enchantments to shift the panels, dish, and the lair itself to gaze at different parts of the sky.

The Blind Astronomer wasn’t considered so dangerous simply for her blindlight affinity, however.

No, she was dangerous because she possessed multiple blindlight affinities. No one knew how many— at least four or five— but their abilities were wildly varied. No-one really understood which were which, but some could peer through solid objects, others could poison her enemies, some could see or transfer heat, and others still could simply cook her foes from the inside out from leagues away.

There were even rumors that she had developed an affinity for normal colored light and for colors no human had ever seen, but no one really knew for sure.

The only non-light affinity she was known to possess was a simple healing affinity. Iris Mooneye, by dint alone of her long lifetime to study, would have been one of the most famed healers alive, but one or more of her other affinities let her peer inside of bodies in a way no other healer could replicate, making her even more effective.

Mooneye also claimed that only her healing affinity let her survive the use of some of her deadlier forms of blindlight, though many thought that a lie to discourage others from following in her footsteps.

While the Blind Astronomer had little interest in politics or the world below the stars, her students, nesting and dwelling in the valleys below her colossal telescope, made for a small but powerful nation, the city-state of Starholt.

“Mooneye’s students were allies a’ Helicote just like the gorgons, weren’t they?” Godrick asked.

Sabae nodded.

“She’s not moving, is she?” Luthe asked.

Everyone relaxed a bit when Sabae shook her head, though her next words weren’t a comfort. “She has a disproportionately huge number of archmages studying under her tutelage or working for her, though, a handful of which could easily enter the lower ranks of the great powers, if they wanted. With Sydapsyn and Starholt alone, Alustin has a terrifyingly effective strike force, and there’s no chance he’s done summoning up old allies.”

Kanna, the quietest of the four first-year warlocks, finally spoke up. “So why are you telling us all this? The plans of great powers, alliances between old foes— what does this have to do with us? Clan Castis, I get, but why a bunch of first-years?”

Sabae grinned at that. “I like the way you think, Kanna. Reminds me of me, a bit. The reason I’m telling you is simple: my grandmother, when she leaves, is taking me and anyone I’m fond of. Skyhold’s going to get nasty in the coming months— it wouldn’t surprise me if assassinations start happening in the power struggle. Even if Eddin Slane were on his feet, he isn’t strong enough to prevent things from getting worse. Even Kanderon never attempted to rule the mountain by herself. I’m offering to take you four with us. The middle of a power struggle is a bad place to be for anyone, let alone unpacted warlocks that could potentially make excellent bargaining chips with a great power.”

Kanna raised an eyebrow at that, then panned her gaze between Sabae and Venta. “Fond of us, are you?”

Sabae blushed and fumbled her braiding, and Venta’s black-and-white striped sea-snake hair tried to tie itself in knots.

Godrick should have found it funny, but he could only work up a vague sense of irritation. Likewise, when Mackerel lost control of his flight and bounced off a wall at high speed, diverting everyone’s attention away from Sabae and Venta.

Sabae cleared her throat. “Grandmother also asked me to extend Clan Castis an invitation to join us. She… believes you might relish the chance to actively influence how the conflict will play out.”

“Is that how she put it?” Luthe asked.

Sabae rolled her eyes at that. “She actually called you a bunch of belligerent, battle-mad idiots who probably don’t give a damn if we ended up fighting Alustin, Havath, or both.”

“I never took the Kraken’s Bane for a sweet-talker,” Tristan joked. The members of Clan Castis all chuckled at that, though Godrick thought that Talia’s laugh seemed a little forced.

“We’ll talk to the others, but no promises,” Luthe said.

Sabae nodded at that, and the meeting broke up soon after.

Godrick wanted to set out hunting his father’s letter again immediately after, but he knew there was more Sabae would want to talk about with just the four of them, so he endured the goodbyes.

Tristan made to approach him, but Godrick shook his head. He wasn’t ready to talk to him about anything just yet.

Tristan gave Godrick a sad look, but nodded and left.

Venta was the last one to go. She and Sabae had spent a few minutes awkwardly flirting until one of them worked up the nerve to kiss the other— Sabae first, this time, propelling herself up into the air to kiss the gorgon using a tiny, precisely controlled windjump since Venta was a head taller than Godrick.

Eventually, it was just the four of them and Mackerel. Godrick waited a moment, then cleared his throat.

Sabae blinked in surprise, the absent-minded look on her face vanishing. “Right, sorry.”

“So what do you want to share with us that you didn’t want to share with the others?” Talia asked, setting aside the bone shards she’d been whittling.

Sabae took a deep breath and continued, “I… Hugh, Mackerel’s blocking scrying still?”

Hugh looked up at the ceiling, where Mackerel was flying in increasingly tight circles all over again, then nodded dully.

Sabae eyed the book doubtfully, then continued, “First off, Hugh, do you have any ideas as to what new affinity Alustin developed?”

“Ink,” Hugh said. “I saw the spellforms on the paper armband he gave me shifting.”

Sabae scowled. “If I’d heard any other enemy had developed an ink affinity, I’d laugh, but who knows what Alustin’s going to do with this one?”

“At the least, it will let him manufacture glyphs at absurd rates,” Talia said. “Right now, though, I’m still interested in whether you have something to share with us.”

Godrick nodded at that, though he mostly wanted to get back to looking for his da’s letter.

Sabae frowned for a moment before speaking. “This is all contingent on who Alustin approaches next, but I think he’s specifically gathering Helicote’s old allies.”

Godrick rolled his eyes. “Ah seem ta’ recall us already knowin’ that? Do yeh have anythin’ that isn’t a waste a time?”

Sabae gave him a hurt look, and Godrick sighed apologetically. “Sorry, ah know ah’ve been difficult lately, ah just—”

Sabae’s frown vanished, and she wrapped him in a hug.

“We all understand,” she said. “We’ve all lost parents, too.”

Talia made an odd noise, and turned to look at her.

“Fine, Talia’s parents are still alive, but even if she doesn’t share the experience, she definitely cares,” Sabae said.

Godrick smiled weakly at that.

Talia set her bone-carving tools down, stood up, then hauled Hugh to his feet. A moment later, they’d joined in the group hug, though Hugh seemed slightly confused as to how he’d gotten there.

After a minute or two, Godrick stepped back and wiped at his eyes. “Alright, hypothesis time.”

Sabae took a moment to collect herself before continuing. “So, if my guess is right, Alustin will be building his army exclusively, or at least close to exclusively, out of old allies of Helicote.”

“I mean, it makes sense, though, as there’s probably a bit of collective guilt for not coming to Helicote’s aid before it was destroyed,” Talia said. “Add that in with the fact that they all have plenty of other good reasons to want Havath destroyed, and they’re going to be easiest for him to recruit.”

Sabae gestured at the ceiling like an over-excited lecturer. “But there are plenty of other forces he could try to recruit as well, so why would he just focus on old allies?”

To Godrick’s surprise, it was Hugh that answered. “Revenge. Alustin’s planning to take his revenge not just on Havath but also on the allies that failed Helicote in its hour of need. He wants to take out their armies at the same time he destroys Havath City, to leave them vulnerable.”

Sabae nodded. “Exactly. I could be wrong, but we won’t know for sure until he tries to recruit more forces. And it’s going to be difficult to know who’s mobilizing to aid him and who is mobilizing for other reasons since we can’t track him and because half the continent is readying for war— or to protect their borders, at the very least.”

“So we use that against him,” Talia said. “We have your grandmother tell everyone he’s planning to use the plague vials against them. Smother his alliance in the cradle.”

Sabae scowled. “I thought of that, but it just doesn’t make sense. If he were going to use plagues against the allies that failed Helicote— he wouldn’t approach them directly— he’d just plant the plagues directly in their cities covertly, along with releasing them in Havath City. If I’d known he would gather an army, maybe I would have come up with a better lie. My grandmother’s going to figure it out sooner than I would have liked. Not that she wouldn’t have eventually, but I thought I would have more time.”

“What’s she going ta’ do when she finds out?” Godrick asked.

Sabae shrugged. “Even odds on her sending me back to Ras Andis, incinerating me with a lightning bolt, and being proud of me and offering congratulations for fooling her.”

Godrick waited for any sign that Sabae was joking, but she just moved on. “More importantly… Godrick, are you alright with us going after Alustin?”

“Me?” Godrick asked.

Sabae looked uncomfortable as she continued. “Havath is ultimately responsible for your… for your father’s death. I’ve just been assuming that you wanted in with the rest of us, but… if you don’t want to work against an enemy of Havath, I understand.”

Godrick rolled his eyes. “Ah want revenge, no question, but like yeh said, if Alustin destroys the Tongue Eater, who knows how far the escaped languages would travel, how many people they could drive mad? Revenge can wait.”

“Kanderon seemed to think the whole continent was potentially at risk,” Sabae said. “And the five of us in this room are the only ones who know.”

In the long, uncomfortable pause that followed, Mackerel abruptly stopped flying in tight circles above their heads.

Then he started vomiting paper scraps all over the room.

Talia rolled her eyes. “Continent’s doomed.”

Sabae pushed paper scraps away from her with a brief swirl of wind. “Come to think of it, it wasn’t right of me to just assume you all were with me, too. Are you all comfortable going up against Alustin?”

“I don’t know about comfortable with it— Alustin trained us, helped us where no one else could,” Talia said, “but that doesn’t matter in the face of the Tongue Eater. He needs to be stopped. Even if he wasn’t a potential danger to the entire continent, we’d still help you, but… Alustin hurt Hugh, killed Kanderon, and we will have our revenge.”

“No,” Hugh said. “Kanderon’s not dead.”

Everyone paused for a moment, and then Sabae uncomfortably said what Godrick was thinking. “Hugh, you heard what my grandmother said. I know it hurts, but you need to face the fact that Kanderon is—”

“No,” Hugh repeated. “No, to your grandmother, no, to Kanderon being dead, and no, I don’t want revenge.”

“You don’t… what?” Talia asked.

“I don’t want revenge,” Hugh said. “I’ve never wanted revenge. I never wanted revenge against Rhodes, I just wanted him to leave me alone. I never wanted revenge against my family, I was just happy to be free from them— and don’t think I never noticed you all fantasizing about revenge against them on my behalf. And I don’t have the time or the interest in hunting down Alustin for revenge. Besides, my magic’s not even working properly anymore, so it’s not like I’m going to be any help stopping him from destroying the continent or whatever. Kanderon’s still alive, and I don’t care if anyone believes me, I’m going to find a way to help her.”

At that, Hugh hopped off the bed and stormed out of his room, everyone else too shocked to respond. Mackerel looked confused for a moment, then sped out the door after Hugh, still trailing paper scraps.

Everyone just stared after him. Talia looked particularly shocked.

“At least he’s not borderline catatonic anymore?” Sabae offered.

Neither Godrick nor Talia bothered to respond.

CHAPTER SIX

Circling Vultures

HUGH HAD NO idea where he was going until he got there. He was so busy fuming over his friends not listening to him that he didn’t pay the slightest attention to the halls around him.

They had started listening to him until Ilinia had shown up and insisted that Kanderon was dead. Despite all their talk of standing against the great powers, they still fell over themselves to believe everything one of them had to say, as though having power made your words more truthful.

Hugh didn’t care what Ilinia had to say. Kanderon was still alive, and Hugh was going to not only prove it, but he was also going to figure out how to help her and free her from the crystal sphere she’d locked herself in.

Hugh just walked until his lungs started hurting— they were still recuperating from pushing them too hard on Midwinter. It was only when Mackerel started tugging on his shirtsleeve, though, that Hugh realized where he’d walked.

The Grand Library of Skyhold, for the first time since Midwinter Day.

The books weren’t rampaging anymore. Instead, the library was filled with an oppressive, watchful, smothering quiet, so thick you felt you were swimming in it.

Hugh almost let Mackerel drag him out of the library, right then and there. Even in the best of times, it was dangerous to be in the library. People died every year from carelessness, hungry spellbooks, or just falling to their deaths. With the library acting so strange, and his magic malfunctioning, Hugh shouldn’t be anywhere near here.

He didn’t leave, though. Uncertainly at first, and then more decisively, he strode over to the nearest Index Node, on a plinth next to the railing.

He didn’t write in it, though, because his attention was immediately pulled over to the railing.

There were mages floating above the Index. Dozens of them. Even more stood on the library balconies just above the shifting cloud of blue crystal dust.

Hugh took a few moments to understand what he was seeing. Some of the mages seemed to be lowering some sort of wrought-iron ward into the blue cloud. Others poked at it with glowing enchanted rods, while others yet seemed to be measuring it with grids of light.

Then clarity came all at once, and Hugh snarled.

They were trying to break into Kanderon’s lair.

Without even thinking about it, Hugh assembled a starfire spellform in his mind’s eye. As he tried to pump mana into it, however, his mana just seemed to drain away again, and the spellform collapsed.

As it did so, Hugh realized that he recognized some of the mages. The sphinx-like alterations to his eyes his pact had granted him still worked, and he could make out details at absurdly farther ranges than would be possible for a normal human.

They were mages from Skyhold. He’d definitely seen quite a few of them around before, though he couldn’t put names to faces.

Hugh had, he realized, expected them to be Havathi survivors, infiltrators trying to steal from Kanderon’s lair. The revelation that the vultures were from Skyhold didn’t ease his anger in the slightest.

It just made it worse.

Hugh considered trying to wake up the library, to set the books on the vultures, every one as bad as the thief that had stolen Artur’s letter to Godrick.

Then Hugh took a deep breath, and another, and was horrified at himself.

Every time he’d killed someone before, it had been to protect himself or his friends. He didn’t… He wasn’t Alustin. He wasn’t going to kill someone out of anger, to punish them, or for revenge.

He wasn’t.

Amalda Veil’s face flashed in his mind, and he scowled.

Hugh had been forced to deal with Amalda. He couldn’t have trusted her surrender, and taking an archmage truly prisoner hadn’t been possible for the four of them, let alone a greater shadow archmage, capable of teleporting. Nor could he have trusted her not to keep trying to kill his friends. He hadn’t just killed Amalda to get revenge for her attacking his friends— like he’d told them, he wasn’t the kind of person who wanted revenge. He hadn’t killed her for revenge.

He hadn’t.

Hugh shoved Amalda back into the depths of his memory and focused on the mages trying to break through the Index’s defensive cloud.

Now that he was taking a closer look, he could tell they must have been at this for a while, now. Broken constructs of unknown function rested in heaps on the lower balconies, and wrought-iron wards lay broken and twisted next to them. The mages were clearly exhausted— they must have been working for hours or days already.

Hugh smiled grimly, then reached into his storage tattoo for a stick of chalk.

He made a few errors at first— it had been a long time since he’d done much ward work with chalk, rather than via pattern-linking crystal structures. They were easy to correct, though, and his drawing skills came back to him quickly. As he worked, he could feel Mackerel start to relax next to him, and Hugh felt bad for worrying his spellbook.

A few minutes of work later, he had an attention ward blocking off a room-sized circle on the balcony, with one end anchored around the Index Node. Hugh took a deep breath, then started channeling mana into the ward.

It didn’t want to flow at first, but to Hugh’s great relief, once it started, the ward quickly and smoothly filled with mana, then activated. Whatever was interfering with his spellcasting wasn’t causing problems with activating wards, at least.

Hugh nodded at himself, then started pulling supplies out of his storage tattoo.

It was time to get to work.

THE NEXT FEW hours were a blur of crafting and preparation.

His storage tattoo had a couple crates full of odds and ends— if you had a magical storage tattoo, you didn’t have any reason not to fill it with anything you might possibly need that fit.

He tried to forget that Alustin had been the one to tell him that.

Hugh didn’t have any leather of the type he preferred in his storage tattoo, but he did have some cloth and cord, and he quickly assembled a sling to use for his explosive wardstones. He still had a decent number of them, even with all the ones he’d used in the battle, so Hugh didn’t bother making any more.

Not that he probably could right now, with his magic malfunctioning. His new wardstones were grown out of quartz, rather than the hand-assembled ones he’d once used.

Next came the wards. Hugh drew modular ones on sheets of paper to be assembled into a variety of different wards, depending on the situation.

He glued sheets of paper together in great rings, then drew defensive wards on them to be thrown down on the ground as pre-made defensive positions.

While Hugh worked, he took the time to experiment with his failing magic, trying to figure out what worked and what didn’t.

So far as he could tell, his bond with Mackerel and his sphinx eyes were about the only entirely stable aspects of his magic. His spellforms fell apart more often than not, his affinity senses kept flickering and had greatly reduced range, and his mana reservoirs filled themselves far slower than usual.

Powering his pre-made wards was a struggle every time, and he couldn’t guarantee his supply of power would keep going, so he leaned heavily on wards powered by environmental mana in the aether, which was the inferior choice for the type of wards he was crafting— but they worked, and inefficiency was better than failure.

Several times as he worked, mages walked or flew past him, entirely unable to see him behind the attention ward, not even noticing as they walked out of their way to go around him.

Hugh created nonlethal traps by drawing multiple wards onto single sheets of paper— attention wards on the edges, then alarm wards, light-emitting wards, and force wards. Someone steps on them, and they get knocked over and stunned by a burst of light and sound. Not enough to seriously hurt anyone, unless it tripped them over one of the Library’s railings, but enough to serve as a distraction if need be.

Every so often, as he worked, he went up to the railing, to peer down at the vultures trying to break into Kanderon’s lair. They didn’t seem to be making any real progress, much to his relief.

He sewed an attention ward onto a cloth strip to be worn as a headband— a relatively simple one that convinced people who saw him that he was someone familiar that was supposed to be there. It relied heavily on his will-imbuing and wouldn’t work if someone expected themselves to be alone, was actively trying to search for him, or even when they were simply close to him, but it was better than nothing. Hopefully, his clumsy, out-of-practice stitches didn’t ruin the ward.

As Hugh worked, he snacked on rations and water he’d filled another couple of crates in his storage tattoo with.

The last ward he did was on the bottom of his force boots. He cut a sound ward into their soles to keep his footsteps from making any noise. His force boots had self-repair enchantments, so the sound ward would only last a few hours at most before it healed up, but it was safe enough cutting into the sole— putting the actual spellforms of an enchantment into the soles of enchanted shoes was a horrendous idea, given how much damage soles tended to take.

When Hugh was sure he had crafted enough, he took the time to do one last inventory of his supplies. As he did so, he noticed a glass marble sitting in his tattoo, its insides clouded and dirty.

Hugh sniffed his armpit and recoiled. He had definitely not been worrying too much about his hygiene the last few days.

He couldn’t help but think about Godrick, and by extension Talia and Sabae, as he used the marble Godrick had helped make for him as a birthday gift. Hugh briefly considered going back to his friends, asking for their help.

Then he shook his head, put away the glass marble, and strode up to the Index Node.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Down in the Stacks

THE INDEX NODE flared its pages menacingly at Hugh as he approached, but after he let it inspect his hand, it relaxed again.

Are you alright? Hugh wrote.

hurts still

Are the mages trying to break into Kanderon’s lair hurting you?

mages just annoyance alone hurts think by self hurts HURTS

Hugh frowned at the page. It sounded like the Index was saying it was in pain from having to function without a working connection to Kanderon— Alustin’s attack against her must have damaged her link to the Index as well.

The Index was only supposed to be semi-sentient, relying on its connection to Kanderon to give it will and awareness, but he’d definitely noticed bits of personality from it over the years, ranging from its handwriting seeming to carry a little emotion all the way to allowing him into Kanderon’s lair without her permission. When you added in the way it was acting now, Hugh suspected that it was much more than semi-sentient.

Maybe whatever means Kanderon had used to link with it had let it grow in intelligence over time like the sentient weapons of the Sacred Swordsmen? Or maybe Hugh and Kanderon using it as the channel for their warlock pact had been responsible for it, just like Mackerel had grown in intelligence over time?

Hugh shook his head, then wrote again.

Can I help somehow?

The Index fluttered its pages, as though thinking, before responding:

Don’t know? distract from alone-pain think-pain help

You want me to distract you?

Find book busy better

Hugh wished there was more that he could do to help the Index, and he felt a little bad requesting books from the Index, even though it wanted him to— it almost felt like he was benefiting from its pain. Maybe not very logical, but…

Hugh sighed, and wrote again.

I’ll need a route that avoids the other mages as much as possible.

More difficult good

I need books on:

- The underlying theory of warlock pacts

- Ways warlock pacts break

- Attacking and defending warlock pacts

- What happens when you have too many clauses in a warlock pact

- Repairing warlock pacts.

The instant he pulled his hands away from the book, the Index flipped its pages back and forth at high speed, passing from one cover to another. Finally, a page tore itself out of the book, flew up into the air, and began folding itself.

Hugh’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized the shape the origami golem was taking.

A tiny paper sphinx.

It just hovered for a moment, looking around, and then shot off into the stacks.

Hugh slowly exhaled, then forced himself to follow it.

THE FIRST FEW books were relatively easy to collect— the majority of the mages were all either far below, trying to break through to Kanderon’s lairs, or taking a few paths up or down and were easy enough to avoid.

The “relatively” part of “relatively easy” was the important bit, though. This was still a deadly maze of aggressive books, mysterious magic, and poisonous molds, among other, stranger things.

Hugh moved slowly, a pre-made defensive ward in one hand, his sling in the other, just in case.

The flying grimoires weren’t moving like they usually did— instead of soaring through the air in great flocks, coasting between thermals in the massive internal space, they were making short, darting flights between adjacent shelves as though hiding from some aerial bibliovorous predator. Several times, they almost slammed into Hugh— he managed to dodge most of the time, and Mackerel knocked the rest out of the air and away from him.

He didn’t think any of them had flown at him deliberately— several of them had even tried to swerve away from him— it was just a product of the strange, feral mood of the library.

It was when Hugh needed to gather books from the floating stacks in the middle of the library that things really started to get dicey. He had to worry about the darting grimoires and the risk of one of the mages below seeing through his attention ward headband, but worse than either were the pathways.

The floating cobblestones leading him on his way were farther apart than usual and were often tilted at dangerous angles. He couldn’t count on casting a levitation cantrip to save himself— since Kanderon’s fall, it usually took him at least seven or eight tries to cast a spell, if not a dozen or more, and the spellforms tended to collapse if he tried to sustain them for longer than a few seconds. Falling had suddenly gone from a minimal concern to a severe risk, especially with the precariousness of the paths. He still had his force boots, but those were only good for abrupt bursts of force, not stopping falls or levitating.

At least he didn’t have to actually carry the books, thanks to his storage tattoo.

Fliers passed him several times, but never close enough to get a good look, and his attention ward headband seemed to do the trick— disinterested glances were the most attention he ever got.

Other than that, however, he found himself needing almost none of the pre-made wards he’d assembled— he’d definitely over-prepared for this part of his mission.

Soon, though, he’d snagged every suggested book from the upper levels, and he had to descend towards the opportunists trying to break into Kanderon’s lair.

HUGH’S DESCENT TOOK nearly three hours.

It would only have taken a few minutes if he’d been able to take one of the Library’s levitating cobblestone platforms down. It would have taken at most an hour if he’d been able to take the major staircases down. Both of those were far too exposed, however, and Hugh wasn’t about to let the vultures use him to try and break into Kanderon’s lair.

So Hugh took the long way around, using side stairs buried deep within the library stacks. The few glow crystals this far out flickered dimly, and shapes he hoped were restless grimoires moved in the shadows. Often, there were no conveniently placed stairs, and Hugh found himself climbing down bookshelves as tall as towers, hoping no dozing books would take offense at his passing.

Once, as Hugh was navigating a series of aisles lit only by dimly glowing book titles, he turned a corner to spot the uniform of a Havathi Sacred Swordsman lying folded on the floor, perfectly clean and unwrinkled. The aisle it lay in the center of was pitch dark, save for the glowing patch of light around the uniform.

Hugh didn’t need Mackerel’s bristling or the origami golem’s hesitance to know not to go down that aisle.

Another time, Hugh was forced to use one of his pre-made defensive wards to protect himself from being cut to ribbons by a cloud of flying paper scraps— bits of origami golems irrationally trying to follow their fragmentary instructions and spellform logic.

Several times, Hugh found himself clambering down the sides of bizarre, malformed, twisted bookshelves that looked like nothing so much as cancerous growths growing out of the library itself. The farther away from the immense central shaft he traveled, the more often he found the growths.

One of the bookshelf tumors, so far back within the stacks that no hint of the central shaft’s light reached it, was half again the size of Indris. Hundreds of books flew around it, and there was something about the way they moved that seemed… off, to Hugh. None of the jerking, corkscrewing flight of normal grimoires; instead, these moved in oddly precise, spiraling flights, like twisting constellations in flight. Books darted in and out of the tumor’s twisted shelves in endless streams, departing and rejoining the constellation flights.

Hugh only had a few seconds to observe it, because the instant they spotted the immense bookshelf tumor, both Mackerel and the origami sphinx recoiled and fled, Mackerel dragging Hugh by his strap for several minutes until they were far away again.

Neither would respond to Hugh’s questions about what had terrified them.

Hugh breathed a long, quiet sigh of relief when he reached the bottom of his delve, just one floor above the uppermost teams of vultures trying to break through the Index to Kanderon’s lair. So far as he could tell, their activities were limited to the bottom three levels above the Index.

It was far different now than the last time he’d visited, just a few days ago. Then, the lowermost shelves had been largely empty, all the books clustering above. Now, countless thousands of books had descended to just above the Index, cramming the shelves without sensible order.

“The rest of the books I’m looking for are on these bottom floors?” Hugh asked the paper sphinx softly.

The origami golem shook its head, then pointed straight downwards towards the Index.

Towards Kanderon’s lair.

Hugh took a deep breath, nervous at the thought of returning there. “Can you get me past the crystal cloud?” he asked the paper golem.

It nodded again.

Before Hugh made any moves, he wanted to check on the vultures and see if they were planning anything especially dangerous.

In order to get closer and eavesdrop, Hugh clambered down between two back-to-back bookshelves, close enough to descend by wedging himself down between them.

“This would be so much easier if the librarians weren’t being superstitious about the books,” one voice said.

“So you’ve mentioned about a hundred times,” a deep, tired-sounding voice replied.

“They’re just books, even if they’re acting weird and flying around,” a nasally third voice interjected.

“People die in here every year,” the deep voice said. “More than any other part of Skyhold, save delvers in the labyrinth.”

“Yeah, librarians who couldn’t make it as proper mages,” the first voice said.

Hugh rolled his eyes, then climbed back up to the floor above.

The tired-sounding mage might have a chance to survive the Library if things went badly for them, but the rest didn’t have a chance.

Hugh found a hidden vantage point, then spent the next few minutes just watching, counting mages, and trying to find an unwatched part of the Index cloud. There were even more mages down here than he’d thought, though.

Hugh was considering possible distractions when he bumped a nearby tome with his elbow. The book erupted off the shelf in surprise, diving down to the floor below. Below him, he heard cursing and shouts of surprise.

Hugh smiled at that, then retreated deep into the stacks again and set to work.

NOT EVEN AN hour later, an explosion rang out just above the teams of mages trying to break through the Index.

There’d long been rumors about Kanderon’s lair, ranging from the macabre to the fantastic, but each and every one of them agreed on one thing: treasure. Kanderon’s lair was, after all, one of the most secure places on the planet, and what better place to keep powerful magical artifacts? Even the few mages that knew the full truth about Skyhold’s Vault were convinced that powerful magical treasures lurked inside the Crystal Sphinx’s lair— after all, the Vault was for dangerous or even uncontrollable artifacts that weren’t to be used.

Powerful enchanted items meant to be used, ones that weren’t too unstable to control, though? Who knew what might be found in the lair? It was even possible that weapons capable of making an ordinary battlemage into an archmage, or an archmage into a great power, might be found inside.

The number of living people who had seen it was likely in the single digits, though, and none of them were talking.

With Kanderon dead, the Council broken, and seemingly no one in charge of the mountain at the moment, a team of ambitious mages had assembled their allies to try and break into the lair. It was hardly the only looting or power-grab going on in Skyhold right now, but it was certainly the most ambitious.

For all their bravado, most of the thieves in the Library had been in the shelters during the battle, and few of the others had witnessed Kanderon in action, having been stationed deeper in the mountain. Those who had witnessed her fight almost universally refused to join them, which had left quite a few of the vultures uneasy. The weird behavior of the Library had unsettled them even more over the past few days.

That unease erupted into panic when a series of explosions went off on the levels on one side of the library.

The explosions were harmless— just wards that produced mostly light and sound with a dash of force, all rigged to trigger in sequence by Hugh, but none of the opportunists knew that.

And neither did the books.

Thousands of grimoires leapt off the shelves in alarm, flying in every direction at once.

Then, a few seconds later, a second set of explosions rang out several levels up, and the flocks of books shot downwards.

In the resulting chaos, no one noticed a paper golem dive down into the Index’s protective cloud, opening a hole behind it. Nor did they notice Hugh of Emblin dive into that hole after it, his fall guided by a green spellbook slung over his shoulder. And they certainly didn’t see the hole close up again.

They were too busy dodging books and shouting in confusion.

If the thieves had stayed calm and hunkered down, they would have been fine. During the chaos, however, one of them panicked and blasted a tome on enchanted sewer systems into scrap paper.

The rest of them might have survived if they had just let the library take the offender who had destroyed the book, but several of the thieves tried to defend their compatriot from being hauled away into the stacks. Things escalated quickly from there.

A few minutes later, the library was quiet again. Only a few piles of magical equipment and a few suspicious stains remained to speak of the attempt to break into Kanderon’s lair.

The Index, despite its pain and confusion, decided that it would be for the best if Hugh never learned about their fate.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Recurring Conversation

“I FEEL LIKE such a jerk,” Talia said, throwing her arms up in the air.

“So you’ve mentioned, half a hundred times already,” Leon said.

“Be nice,” Roland said, throwing a biscuit at the back of Leon’s head.

Leon snagged the biscuit out of midair without looking and shoved it in his mouth.

“How does he always do that?” Haela demanded.

Gram laid his head on his wife’s lap. “Leon tracks the temperature differentials around him with his fire and ice affinity senses. Lets him dodge just about every attack unless it’s the exact same temperature as the air around him or just moving ridiculously fast. So annoying.”

“Or you can throw something huge at him, like when the sphinx threw a house at him,” Tristan said.

“A sphinx threw a house at Leon?” Talia asked.

“Yeah, just a couple weeks before we left for Skyhold,” Tristan replied, then snagged a biscuit off Roland’s plate.

Sabae finally looked up from her notes and paid attention, at that. Talia had dragged her along in an effort to get her to do anything other than endlessly working. Sabae had been ceaselessly juggling her efforts to puzzle out Alustin’s plans, her decision about what to do with Davragam’s Census, and her seemingly fruitless search for some other weakness in the system of great powers.

Sabae, of course, had brought her notes along with her— at least, the ones safe to read outside Hugh’s warded room. The room which Hugh hadn’t returned to in several days, and to which Godrick barely ever entered, as busy as he was hunting for his father’s letter.

Not for the first time in the last few days, Talia fought down the fear that her friends were drifting apart.

“How did he dodge the house?” Sabae asked.

“He didn’t,” Roland said. “He blew it up.”

Sabae digested that for a moment before speaking again. “Why did a sphinx throw a house at Leon?”

Talia and her brothers all exchanged a look before Gram finally answered. “Because he’s Leon.”

Leon just scowled at that, and took another bite of his biscuit.

Roland shook his head. “Anyhow, back on topic, I’m still a little surprised about you being so easygoing about this whole thing with Hugh, Talia.”

Talia gave him a flat look. “Were you expecting me to be a crying mess?”

She had, in fact, been a crying mess at first, but she wasn’t going to tell her brothers that.

Roland gave her a wry look. “No, I think we were expecting you to be going on a rampage and causing rather a lot of explosions.”

Talia rolled her eyes at that. Her brothers were still getting used to how much she’d changed since leaving Hold Castis— she didn’t automatically go on rampages whenever she was upset anymore or hit people at the slightest provocation.

She had caused a few explosions to work off some of her stress, but those had all been in properly secured testing rooms, where she’d been legitimately experimenting with new bonefire tricks.

Talia chose to change the subject, rather than argue with Roland. “How long will Luthe and Rafe be gone?”

Roland shrugged. “However long their little palaver with the storm queens takes.”

Talia scowled. She was sure she’d hear the results of the negotiations between Indris, Ilinia, and Clan Castis before too long, from either Ilinia or her brothers, but she didn’t like being out of the loop even so.

She doubted that the outcome would be anything but an alliance, however. As more news of Alustin’s growing faction reached Skyhold, the remaining two members of the Coven had decided to start putting together their own alliance— one opposed to both Alustin and Havath.

To Talia’s surprise, everyone seemed surprisingly optimistic about the new alliance’s chances. She would have thought the deaths of Kanderon, Artur, and most of the rest of the great powers that fought for Skyhold would have been a death blow for a new alliance.

According to Sabae, though, the simple fact of Skyhold’s victory outweighed every other consideration. Great powers died all the time. Victories against Havath or Heliothrax? Far less common.

“I’m not sure you should be blaming yourself for Hugh’s blowup,” Tristan said. “He’s in denial about Kanderon’s death, still, and you playing along with that denial probably would have been even worse for him in the long run.”

“Why is he in denial?” Leon asked.

Gram, Roland, and Tristan all groaned together. Gram actually sat up from Haela’s lap to address Leon. “Why are you like this, Leon? He’s in denial because he doesn’t want Kanderon to be dead, obviously. That’s just… basic human nature.”

“So annoying,” Tristan muttered.

“Just the worst,” Roland added.

Leon scowled at his brothers. “No, I mean, what specific reasons does he have? What evidence has he presented to you?”

“It’s just going to be grasping at straws,” Roland said.

“Yes, but what straws?” Leon insisted.

Talia exchanged a long glance with Sabae at that. “I’m, uh… not actually sure.”

Sabae shrugged. “He never actually told us?”

Haela made a thoughtful noise. “I think Leon’s got a point. Maybe you should actually hear Hugh out before coming to conclusions?”

Everyone in the room went silent, staring at Haela. Then, almost as one, they all turned towards Leon, who had an appropriately serious look on his face.

All his siblings knew Leon was smiling smugly on the inside, though.

Talia sank her face into her hands. “Yep. I’m a total jerk who didn’t even listen to Hugh’s reasons.”

“Well, technically Sabae and Godrick are jerks too, for the same reason,” Leon said.

This time it was Tristan who threw a biscuit at him.

TO TALIA’S DISPLEASURE, she had to explain the entire situation all over again just a few minutes later, when Luthe and Rafe returned, with Ilinia Kaen Das in tow.

When she’d finished, Ilinia rubbed the bridge of her nose in irritation, then took a long, deep drink from her flask.

“Typhoons deliver me from teenage drama,” she muttered after closing her flask. “Sabae, Talia, the two of you are going to do whatever you need to do to fix Hugh’s hurt feelings and convince him to abandon his ridiculous quest of bringing back the dead. He is far too valuable of a game piece to let wander off on his own right now.”

Talia glared at her. “He’s not a game piece, he’s my boyfriend.”

Ilinia arched an eyebrow at her. “I’m going to ignore the obvious and stupid joke I could make there. Girl, everyone is a game piece for the great powers. Storms, us great powers are just pieces in the game, too.”

Tristan raised his hand. “Not to be callous, but… what value does he have as a game piece, exactly, with Kanderon dead?”

Ilinia tossed Tristan her flask, which he caught with his upraised hand.

“First, he’s owed a favor by Indris. That sort of debt isn’t worth shrugging at. Second, a lot of people are going to think he can be used to get into Kanderon’s lair— tides, if I thought he could be used to break in there, I’d have snatched him up already myself. Kanderon was too paranoid and mistrustful to even allow her beloved pet warlock that level of access, though.”

Talia was immensely relieved that no one was looking at her or Sabae’s faces just then. Everyone was focused either on Ilinia or on Tristan, who was hacking and coughing after trying a sip of the vile rotgut the storm mage kept in her flask.

“And third,” Ilinia continued, “warlocks are always going to be valuable to the great powers. Pacting with them is one of the best ways to grow mana reservoirs large enough to reach great power status in the first place, and Hugh’s mana reservoirs are ideally suited to accelerate that process. More, he could also be used to manufacture sentient weaponry faster than other warlocks, by dint of being able to pact more enchanted items at once than other warlocks.”

“What about the three-item resonance cascade limit?” Talia asked.

Ilinia shrugged. “I’m not an expert in warlocks, our family has never relied on them much. There are definitely workarounds for that, though— like a warlock simply not carrying all their pacted magical items at once. There’s one warlock I know of, a century and a bit back, with even larger mana reservoirs than Hugh, who produced literally dozens of sentient weapons through the course of his career on Gelid. Ended up with nearly two dozen different affinities towards the end of his career, became one of the more dangerous great powers on the continent— which is saying something, because Gelid is several times the size of Ithos.”

Ilinia paused, then snagged her flask back with a tightly controlled gust of wind from Tristan. “Unfortunately, said warlock was a murderous madman, and all the sentient weapons he produced are just as vicious. The weakest of them surfacing causes massacres, while the most powerful reappearing are liable to provoke wars. One of the worst is in Skyhold’s Vault right now, I believe. Took a grand hunt of Gelid’s great powers to bring the warlock down.”

“So Hugh could become a great power?” Rafe asked.

Ilinia shrugged. “Hypothetically, anyone who isn’t mind-blind can become a great power. But yes, Hugh might be able to follow the path of that particular warlock to power. No guarantee, but it’s another reason he’s valuable to any number of parties.”

The great power took another swig from her flask before continuing. “So, in short, you lot need to get over your silly teenage drama and get Hugh back. I doubt we’re staying in Skyhold longer than another week, at most.”

She didn’t bother to wait for Talia and Sabae to respond before turning and pointing at Rafe. “And you promised to show me some tattoo designs, so let’s get looking before I die of old age.”

Talia and Sabae exchanged glances, then slipped out of the room together as Rafe got out one of his thick journals, filled with spellform tattoo design notes.

They waited until they were some distance from Clan Castis’ suites before speaking, not that distance would be enough to prevent Sabae’s grandmother from listening in if she wanted.

“What do you think she wants spellform tattoos for?” Talia asked.

Sabae shrugged. “Our family’s always looking for more tricks to increase our power. Do you think your clan has tattoos that can do that?”

Talia nodded. “Definitely. A few generations back, a member of Clan Castis studied under some nomadic wind mages on another continent that tattooed themselves with spellforms that enhanced their magic, and we’ve got records of those tattoos. Wouldn’t surprise me if we have a bunch more of interest to your grandmother, as well.”

There was a long, awkward silence before Sabae spoke again. “So we need to find Hugh and convince him to come with us, I guess.”

Talia shook her head. “As much as I hate to admit Leon is right about anything, we should actually hear out Hugh’s arguments for Kanderon being alive before we try to convince him of anything. We’ve been bad friends lately.”

“We just need to find Hugh first,” Sabae said. “And I have no idea how we’re supposed to do that, given that not a single seer on the planet can get through Mackerel’s defenses if Hugh wants to stay hidden.”

Talia just shrugged miserably at that.

CHAPTER NINE

Lingering Scents

GODRICK WAS HUNTING for his father’s letter again when Ranna of Clan Derem, his scent magic teacher, found him.

“You’ve missed three lessons now,” his teacher said, striding up from behind him in one of the cafeterias.

Godrick gave her a flat look. “One a’ those lessons was on Midwinter, when the mountain was gettin’ attacked, if yeh didn’t notice.”

Ranna shrugged at that. “A passable excuse.”

“You were still locked up in Skyhold’s shelters for the second,” Godrick said.

“Technically true, though not quite as good of an excuse as the first one,” Ranna said. “What’s your excuse for skipping this morning’s lesson, though?”

“I’ve got more important things to take care of,” Godrick said.

Ranna sniffed once, twice, then a third time, deeper than the other two. It was purely performative— Godrick knew Ranna smelled using her scent affinity sense, not her actual nose.

“Well, you’re not here to eat, you’ve already done that,” Ranna commented. “Nor, obviously, are you here to bathe, though you badly need to. Given how much grief, anger, and confusion I smell on you… I’m guessing it’s something to do with your father? My condolences, by the way.”

Ranna’s faintly mocking tone vanished when she spoke about his father, and Godrick sighed. “Me da wrote me a letter, in case, well… in case this happened. Someone stole it, probably thinking it had some a’ me da’s secrets ta’ his armor in it. I’ve been trying ta’ track it down.”

Ranna raised an eyebrow at that. “And how have you been going about that, exactly?”

Godrick shrugged. “Tracking down stone mages who were in Skyhold at the time a’ the battle, interrogating them.”

Ranna raised her other eyebrow at that. “You’re just… wandering around and accosting random mages?”

“What am ah supposed ta’ do?” Godrick demanded. “Ah don’t have any clues, and just about every stone mage in the mountain has a motive— and half the others, too.”

Ranna just stared at him in exasperation for a few seconds. Then she rolled her eyes, mumbled something in irritation, and reached up to flick him in the nose. “You oversized lump of muscle. You. Are. A. Scent. Mage. Start thinking like one.”

Godrick rubbed his nose irritably. “What do you mean, think like a scent mage? What’s my scent magic supposed ta’ do ta’ help me…”

Ranna smiled as he trailed off and gestured for him to continue.

He rubbed his temples in frustration. “I’m an idiot. Ah coulda used my scent magic ta’ track down the thief.”

Ranna patted him on the shoulder. “You’re not an idiot. Your father just died, and you survived a massive battle. It would be unreasonable for you to turn to a tool you had only recently started learning to use properly— in times of crisis, we always turn to familiar tools first.”

Godrick took a deep breath. “Would you be willing to help me track down the thief?”

Ranna nodded. “Of course. Teaching you more about scent tracking will be a fantastic lesson for the day.”

He was about to ask if she’d be willing to do the tracking for him, but then he recognized the look in her eye.

It was the same look he’d seen in teachers’ eyes so often before when they recognized an opportunity for a practical lesson with real-life impacts.

His father and Alustin had worn that look often.

GODRICK WOULD HAVE preferred his lesson to take place somewhere other than his da’s old rooms, as irrational as that was. He knew he needed to start there, where the letter had been stolen, but it didn’t make things any easier.

He’d sealed off the door last time he’d been here, covering it entirely with stone, then adding a rudimentary attention ward he’d learned from Hugh.

He was half expecting his da’s rooms to have been ransacked again anyways, but they were just as he’d left them.

“Sit there,” Ranna said, pointing to an empty patch of floor.

Godrick gave her a weird look but obeyed, molding the stone floor to a more comfortable shape as he sat.

“Close your eyes, then make sure your mind’s eye is empty, without any spellforms in it,” Ranna instructed.

Godrick shrugged and did so.

She paced in a circle around him. “Focus on your affinity senses. First, I want you to try and rein in your other two, starting with your strongest one. Stone, correct?”

He nodded, then dampened his affinity senses as he did when he was trying to sleep. It wasn’t possible to turn them off entirely, but he could pull them close to his body, and weaken them until it felt like peering into a mostly unlit room.

Strangely, despite being the far more powerful affinity and affinity sense, his stone mana affinity sense was easier to dampen than his steel affinity sense.

When he asked about that, Ranna sounded oddly satisfied. “Good. Affinity senses for better-developed or practiced affinities should be easier to control. It speaks well for you that you can already perceive differences between the two— many mages never learn to manipulate their affinity senses with any versatility. They learn to push them to their limits and to dampen them when they sleep, and that’s it. A scent mage, however, requires far more versatility— our spells are by far the least important part of our affinity. Now, focus on your affinity sense.”

Godrick nodded again, his eyes still shut, and focused on expanding his sense of smell outwards. He had to struggle to tell the difference between his nose and his affinity sense anymore, the two had merged so thoroughly at this point.

Godrick’s affinity sense expanded outwards, and a moment later, he was struggling not to vomit as he was hit with more scents than he could process.

“You expanded your affinity sense, didn’t you?” Ranna asked. “Did I tell you to do that? Keep your eyes shut and retract your affinity sense. We’ll have to wait a couple minutes and then start over.”

A moment later, Godrick smelled an overpowering wave of mint. It only lasted a few seconds, then vanished entirely— and with it, so did his nausea.

“The scent of mint doesn’t do more than a little for regular nausea, but does wonders for affinity sense-induced nausea,” Ranna commented. “You ever get a scent mage claiming they can use scent magic for healing, they’re a scam artist and a grifter. There are a few tricks that we can do, though, like that one.”

Ranna paused as if considering. “Well, if they’re just claiming they can use their scent affinity to diagnose illness, they might not be a grifter. We can absolutely train our noses to detect tumors, gout, certain infections, and other diseases— including telling if babies are born with the wasting thirst, not that it does much good.”

That last one caught Godrick’s attention. His mother had had a younger brother who died when he was just a toddler of the wasting thirst. It was a nasty disease without a cure, which most of its victims were born with or developed as children. It was characterized by not only the frequent insatiable thirst, but also voracious appetites, mood swings, fainting, sweet-smelling urine, and other odd symptoms, and it was almost invariably fatal.

“Using scent magic for healing diagnoses is a specialist discipline as complex as any other part of being a healer, though,” Ranna continued. “And it’s nowhere near my specialization, so I can’t teach you any of it.”

“What is yer specialization?” Godrick asked.

“Wind mapping,” Ranna said.

Godrick opened his eyes and gave her a puzzled look.

“Close your eyes,” Ranna ordered. “Wind mapping is… well, basically, I stand on hills and mountains and smell the wind all day. A powerful enough scent mage can tell what crops are being planted in the lowlands east of Emblin by the wind-borne pollen, how much steel is being forged in Sydapsyn by traces of carried forge-smoke, and what weapons are being brewed by alchemists in Skyhold by their toxic fumes. There’s quite a few of us in the clan. We can gather a lot of intel about what’s going on in other regions as well as detect when weather mages like Indris Stormbreaker are warping the wind currents. And unlike scrying it’s completely undetectable, and can’t be warded or otherwise defended against in any practical manner. We then sell that intel to Highvale, to other clans, and to anyone who’s interested and can pay. Involves a lot of traveling, and sometimes we get hired to permanent posts across the continent. We’re not a big or powerful clan, but we have members scattered from Tsarnassus to Sica to Ras Andis. It’s the second-biggest source of income for Clan Derem, after perfume-making.”

Godrick opened his mouth to reply, but Ranna cut him off. “Alright, your nose should be ready again now. Retract your stone and steel senses again if you need to.”

Even though he’d been trying to hold the two affinity senses retracted, they’d slipped outwards quite a bit. He dampened them again and nodded.

“Alright, now I want you to reel in your scent affinity sense, too,” Ranna ordered. “But I don’t want you to dampen it— I want you to concentrate it. Focus more of its power on a smaller area. Go slow, though, and don’t let it build up to the point where it causes nausea.”

He found the process straightforward and intuitive, but far from easy. His affinity sense didn’t want to get stronger as it got smaller, it wanted to do the opposite. After a few false starts, though, Godrick finally figured out the trick to it.

It was a bizarre feeling, and Godrick couldn’t think of the words to describe it— at least, not ones that came from his other senses. The closest approximation he could think of was feeling like he had shrunk down to a hundredth of his real size and was floating among scents that were now far larger than he was.

“Alright, now— I want you to try and remember what your father smelled like,” Ranna ordered.

“Shouldn’t ah be tryin’ ta’ smell the thief?” Godrick asked.

“Do you want the thief or your father’s letter?” Ranna asked. “We’ll probably find them together, but just in case, the letter seems much more important to my mind.”

Godrick just grunted.

He hesitated for a long moment before starting.

His father’s scent wasn’t a single smell but a hundred smaller ones. Everyone’s scents were like that, but Godrick didn’t bother picking apart most people’s odors.

His father’s scent wasn’t just the particular smell of his sweat but also his favorite blend of spices that he put on almost everything he cooked. It wasn’t just the smell of rock dust that always hung around him but also the particular soaps and oils he had used for his hair. It wasn’t just the lingering tang of iron but also the persistent undertones of worry that Artur had always carried with him but so seldom shown. It was the smell of the old battered drums and pipes his father had kept since his days at sea, it was the smell of old scars and the hated ship’s tattoo that the healers had never been able to fully remove, and it was the smell of the locket of his mother’s hair that his father had carried with him everywhere.

And, with every thread of his father’s scent that Godrick picked up, waves of memory crashed against him.

The smell of spices brought forth his da, cooking the two of them dinner for the last time, the night before midwinter.

The smell of hair oils awoke a memory of his da teaching Godrick how to take care of his hair, teaching him when to use untangling cantrips, when to use oils, and when to use combs.

Burnt wool gave Godrick his da yelling, half in amusement and half in alarm, as he brushed sparks and embers off his sleeves from one of the experimental bone mixture explosions he’d been helping Talia and the alchemists develop.

The scent of his mother’s hair gave him a blurry memory of sledding down a dune on a curved stone disc with his parents when he was young.

On and on the memories rushed through him, and then his magic slipped from his grasp, and he found himself crying in Ranna’s lap, though he didn’t know how he’d gotten there.

“YEH KNEW THAT would happen,” Godrick accused, once he’d collected himself, most of an hour later.

The older woman nodded, then dried the tear stains on her clothes with a cantrip. “Scent is more closely related to memory than any other sense. You can remember smells more clearly than anything else, and scents can awaken memories related to them with ease. Scent magic might not be useful for curing maladies of the flesh, beyond diagnosis, but it is a valuable tool for helping cope with loss and trauma. You looked like a league of bad road when I found you in that cafeteria, Godrick. You’ve been running yourself ragged, trying to keep yourself distracted from your loss, but sometimes it’s important to let yourself feel what you need to, especially when it comes to grief.”

Ranna’s expression turned sharp. “We’re still going to get you your father’s letter back, though, and we’re going to find the piece of trash that stole it from you. Are you feeling up for doing the tracking, or do you want me to handle it?”

“Ah want ta’ do it,” Godrick said immediately. He felt wrung out, exhausted, and drained from crying, but he also felt focused in a way he hadn’t been since Midwinter.

The memories came to him just as powerfully this time, but Godrick just let them flow through him, acknowledging each one as it passed rather than fighting them.

It took him only minutes to lock onto the scent of his father’s letter, which still lingered faintly in the room.

The tracking process was anticlimactic. It only took twenty minutes to follow the trail from his father’s rooms, through a few side hallways, and into a dusty, largely empty section of the mountain, one few people seemed to have used for decades.

The thief had hidden himself away there, sealing up the doorway to one of the old rooms with stone, much as Godrick had sealed up his da’s rooms— but the thief had left holes for ventilation.

When Godrick, fully armored, gravity hammer in hand, ripped through the wall, the thief didn’t even put up a fight, just immediately surrendered.

The culprit was just… some skinny, scared journeyman stone mage. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in days, and had barely eaten or slept.

Godrick didn’t even have to ask the thief anything to figure out his story.

Ambitious, driven, and desperate for anything that would help him stand out from other mages. Desperate to not be just another battlemage or construction mage, desperate to make a name for himself, and desperate to be someone worth knowing and talking about. Desperate to earn a name for himself.

He didn’t have anything to say that was worth Godrick hearing.

Artur Wallbreaker’s recipe books, shopping lists, personal schedules, half-written lesson plans, and annotated maps were scattered across the room, each surrounded by dozens more sheets of the thief’s notes. Godrick immediately recognized attempts at code-breaking from his own cryptography classes.

Godrick couldn’t help but laugh, bitterly. “Yeh thought mah da kept the secrets ta’ his armor hidden in his cookbooks?”

The thief tried to babble an excuse, but Godrick talked right over him. “Me da’s armor lived exactly two places. His head and mine. Yeh’ve wasted both a’ our time.”

Godrick snatched up his father’s cookbooks, some of the lesson plans he’d written for Godrick, and then looked around.

And there, surrounded by the biggest collection of mad attempts at code-breaking, lay his father’s last letter to him.

Godrick carefully picked it up with his armored fingers, tucked it inside one of the cookbooks, and then slipped all of them into his storage tattoo. He didn’t even have to remove his armor to do it as he would have when he first got the tattoo— the storage space wasn’t some pocket with an opening, it was a new direction, like up or down, that only Godrick could move objects in, though he couldn’t move his body in that direction.

Godrick gave the thief one last glare, through his armored quartz faceplate. Part of him thought about hurting the thief, getting back at him for the theft, but he quashed the thought.

“Enjoy bein’ no one,” Godrick told the thief, then rejoined Ranna in the hallway.

Ranna gave him a thoughtful look as they walked away but didn’t speak.

After they were well away from the thief, Godrick deactivated his armor, moving the stone back into his storage tattoo. His armor elemental felt curiously reluctant to go back, though it didn’t fight him at all. Godrick felt a brief moment of guilt, and he resolved to use his armor more often, to give the elemental a little more exercise.

He wasn’t actually sure if elementals needed exercise. It definitely seemed to enjoy being armor, though.

From there, his thoughts drifted to Hugh and whether he should use his new tracking abilities to find him or just respect his privacy for now.

“Are you going to read it?” Ranna asked, after walking silently alongside him for a time.

Godrick hesitated, thinking about his father’s letter. “Ah… don’t know if ah’m ready yet.”

His scent magic teacher just nodded. “Well, take your time. And don’t miss any more lessons.”

Godrick gave her a weak grin.

CHAPTER TEN

The Sea Roads

HUGH DIDN’T LEAVE Kanderon’s lair for four days, and then only because he was running out of food and water.

He’d spent the whole time he was down there reading, researching, and occasionally chasing Mackerel away from Kanderon’s books. He didn’t have to try very hard to keep his spellbook from eating the other volumes, though— Mackerel seemed to know better than to misbehave too badly in the Library or in Kanderon’s lair. Hugh suspected the book was just lonely and bored and wanted his attention.

Hugh read the first few books cover to cover but before long he was skimming volumes, sometimes even skipping whole chapters. Reliable information about warlock pacts was surprisingly difficult to find, and the deeper Hugh delved, the more he found the same information shared in book after book.

When Hugh turned away from the books he’d gathered above and to the books on warlocks Kanderon had gathered in her lair, however, he immediately started making progress again.

Kanderon had been reading the journals of dead great powers.

Hugh read the writings of liches, dragons, and gorgon outlaws. He read the musings of a kraken, engraved onto thin plates of some strange gold alloy he’d never encountered before. He read essays on how best to position one’s warlocks in one’s cult, in order to ensure the cult’s stability. Hugh even read the transcripts of interviews with some ancient, sapient sword from the Cloudspine Continent, which had pacted with dozens of warlocks over centuries.

That last Hugh paid particularly close attention to. The sword, on its own, could turn its wielder into a great power. It was by far the most powerful enchanted weapon he’d ever heard of. Its blade could slip through the distance to cut foes down from leagues away. It also allowed its wielder to teleport, drain the air from enemy lungs, and a dozen other bizarre powers.

Hugh would bet quite a bit on the guess that it had a spatial or planar affinity. It didn’t do him much good, though— the sword served as the defender of a single city-state and wouldn’t allow itself to be removed from the city.

He was fairly confident he’d diagnosed the problem with his bond with Kanderon by the second day in her lair, and the solution to repairing their bond on the third, but he kept looking.

There had to be a better solution than the one he’d found. One that was less dangerous, less potentially suicidal, and that wasn’t seemingly impossible to actually pull off.

One that didn’t border on dishonoring Kanderon.

No matter how many additional books he dove into, however, no better options came to mind. He did find two other solutions, but one of them would leave either him or Kanderon dead, wastefully granting a small portion of their mana reservoirs to the survivor, and the other would have turned one of them into a brain-dead mana battery for the other.

Both were horrific and wildly unacceptable.

In one of the few moments of happiness he’d felt since midwinter, he found that Kanderon had written in the margins of the books he’d found those solutions in, swearing to kill and eat any great powers she discovered exploiting their warlocks like that.

Kanderon hadn’t thought much about the way warlocks were often exploited for power in the past, but since she’d pacted with him, it seemed that had changed entirely.

Hugh kept looking for a better solution than the first, not even resting until his eyes shut on their own. Eventually, though, he was forced to leave Kanderon’s lair to acquire water and food.

Sneaking out of the library was absolutely nerve-wracking. The Index had, in one of its rare communicative moments, let him know that the opportunists were no longer trying to break into the lair, but Hugh was terrified that they might have left someone to watch the Index.

When he rose out of the Index on a rickety floating platform, however, he found the bottom of the library empty, save for a few discarded cast-iron wards.

The books were still watchful and nervous, but they seemed a little calmer than they had when Hugh had exited.

The rest of the mountain, however, seemed even worse.

No one paid much attention to Hugh— he’d upgraded his attention ward headband significantly and covered Mackerel in a false leather cover. His spellbook was absolutely delighted by his new cover, apparently deciding it was clothing just for him.

Even if he hadn’t taken those precautions, he might have been able to move through the mountain unnoticed. The mages of Skyhold were dividing up into obvious cliques, moving through the halls in groups, eying one another suspiciously. The few lone mages kept their heads down, aiming— and generally succeeding— at being ignored.

Stealing supplies turned out to be much trickier. His attention ward headband could only nudge attention away from him— it was hardly enough to deflect an angry cook’s gaze from someone raiding a larder or pantry.

Hugh contemplated a few strategies for pulling off his food heist— most ambitiously, he considered drawing a chalk attention ward corridor along a wall all the way into the supply rooms of one of Skyhold’s cafeterias.

Eventually, Hugh realized that he was vastly over-complicating things. He’d grown so reliant on his magic over the last couple years that he’d forgotten that there were non-magical ways to solve problems.

Hugh just walked into the storage area carrying a ledger and quill and proceeded to start inventorying supplies. None of the harried cooks gave him a second glance, save for one who put in an order for twenty gallons of vinegar and two casks of olives from Skyhold’s central storage.

Hugh felt a little bad about not delivering that order, but it would work itself out, he hoped.

It was trivially easy for him to move supplies into his storage tattoo as he conducted his fake inventory, and the only close call came when Mackerel tried to break free, intending to steal one cook’s shoes, though thankfully no one noticed.

When Hugh had a chance later to ask Mackerel why he’d tried to steal the man’s shoes, Mackerel sent him a series of images that seemed to imply that the spellbook was pleased with Hugh’s gift of clothing, but he needed shoes to go with it.

Definitely no hat, though. Hats were terrible and should all be destroyed.

Hugh rubbed his forehead in exasperation as Mackerel bombarded him with images of people trying to fill upside-down cups with water, then the cups turning into hats which had pitchers of water trying to pour people into them.

“So you’re saying indents should always face up, not down?” Hugh asked his spellbook tiredly.

Mackerel seemed to consider, then waggled his cover as if to say that was close enough.

Hugh sighed and went back to filching olives.

The rest of the food heist went smoothly, and Hugh started back towards the library.

He decided to take a different route this time, one that took him out onto a long balcony running across a large section of the mountain. He’d been inside for days and was craving the sky.

Part of him regretted it the instant he set foot outside. While the air was safe to breathe inside the mountain since it all vented outwards, the wind outside the mountain was filled with great clouds of glass dust.

Hugh could deal with the glass dust just fine— he simply wrapped a bandanna he’d sewn an air-filtering spellform into around his face. Worse than the dust, though, was the view.

Skyhold’s harbor and slopes were a ruin, still. Rivulets and icicles of glass hung off balconies and towers. Craters and cracks had been torn into the side of the mountain, and one large section of classrooms and hallways above him was entirely exposed to the elements.

The Endless Erg at the foot of the mountain was even worse. Hugh could see hundreds of corpses preserved below the cloudy glass, and he was sure there were countless more obscured by it. He had to force himself to not stare at the spined iron mountain squatting out in the mountain and couldn’t help but miss Artur.

There had been one major change to the scenery since the last time he’d seen this view, however.

Roads had been carved into the glass.

Great segments of the Erg had been cleared of the glass entirely, wide enough for the largest sandships to pass one another easily. There was a small network of roads, all branching out from the harbor, leading towards the edge of the glasslands. One of those roads led to a wide, glassless field around Indris Stormbreaker, where she was recuperating from her wounds, surrounded by an entire village of tents, pavilions, and structures magically fashioned out of sand by the dragon queen.

Each of the roads, as well as Indris’ field, were bordered with immense wards Hugh could see from here, clearly designed to keep the glass dust away from ships. Ironically, the wards themselves had been carved out of the glass coating the sand.

The roads split and branched, again and again, as the paths lead farther out from the mostly-wrecked docks, only bunching together again to curve around the iron-spined mountain.

Hugh’s walk across the balcony was slow and pensive— in no small part due to how many holes in the stone and mounds of glass he had to step around.

His thoughts kept drifting back to his friends as he walked. Last time he’d been outside the mountain had been on Midwinter, when they watched Artur sacrifice himself to stop Heliothrax and the hydra.

Hugh definitely felt justified in being angry at his friends for not listening to him, but he wasn’t so sure he’d been right to tell them off the way he had or to storm off and avoid them. It had just been so frustrating that no one would believe him when he told them Kanderon was still alive.

Hugh was a little amazed he hadn’t just hidden away and gone catatonic after yelling at his friends like he had after he and Talia had their first fight, when she followed him to his hidden room. He still felt awful about yelling at his friends and storming off, but at least he was doing something useful.

It somehow made him feel even worse that he absolutely understood their perspective. Kanderon wasn’t a healer, and the idea that she’d sealed herself away inside a crystal ball to recover was nothing if not far-fetched. Hugh had seen the wounds Alustin’s attack on their warlock pact had left on Kanderon, and they’d, well…

They hadn’t been the kinds of wounds that you survived. Hugh had been able to see glimpses of Kanderon’s bones in some of them— or, at least, the blue aether crystal she had apparently coated or even replaced her skeleton with.

Not for the first time since Midwinter, Hugh wondered whether those body modifications were part of why she’d grown so much larger than a normal sphinx.

And, even barring that, it boggled the mind that she’d entrust a mission as dangerous and important as recovering the Tongue Eater to Hugh and his friends if there was any chance she would recover. Nor had she given any hint that she might survive in her final words to Hugh and Sabae.

Despite the overwhelming evidence against her surviving, though, Hugh remained absolutely convinced she was still alive, and he was determined to prove it to his friends and to the world.

Well, maybe not the world. That would probably just provoke attempts on her life and the crystal ball before she recovered, if other great powers suspected she was still alive.

But he was going to prove it to his friends, and he was going to help save Kanderon, with or without their help.

Somehow.

Hugh’s thoughts were interrupted as he caught a glimpse of one of the ships docked at a half-melted pier. A ship that he recognized immediately, and one that he used to watch for eagerly.

The Moonless Owl had returned to Skyhold.

IT WASN’T ANY more difficult for Hugh to get down to the docks and the Owl than it had been for him to break into the pantries.

Getting onto the Moonless Owl threatened to be considerably more difficult, since there was activity going up and down the gangplank at all times as cargo was loaded and unloaded.

Hugh’s gaze stopped at the bottom of the ramp and stuck because there, right at the bottom, stood Avah.

His ex-girlfriend was wearing a practical, no-nonsense work outfit, had a tight braid pinned to her head, and was marking down notes on a ledger as cargo moved past her. Bizarrely, she had a chain made entirely of wood wrapped around her several times like a bandoleer. Hugh felt his stomach and heart clench at the sight of her, but the hurt lacked the edge that it would have half a year ago.

Hugh spent several minutes imagining and discarding potential plans to get Avah alone to talk with her, each wilder than the last. It would have been easy if his magic was functioning properly, or even the Stormward’s Crown, but with just his collection of paper and cloth wards to lean on, it was a frustrating mental exercise.

Hugh took a deep breath, followed by another, and then a third, and abruptly realized that he was once again over-thinking things. That he was once again leaning on his magic, because no matter how difficult the problem was, magic was a concrete, straightforward answer. There was nothing uncertain or mysterious about magic to Hugh. There were things he didn’t know or understand, but he knew it was at least possible to learn about or understand them. There were parts of magic that terrified him, but they terrified him for concrete, physical reasons.

People, though… Hugh didn’t have any hope of that sort of certainty with people. They’d always be mysterious to him.

Mackerel, sensing Hugh’s nervousness, gently leaned his weight against Hugh’s hip.

Hugh took one more long, deep breath.

Then he pulled off his attention ward headband.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Overdue Conversations

HUGH WASN’T SURE what he’d expected when he pulled off the headband, but it hadn’t been for Avah to immediately notice him. He’d… expected her to take a while, to keep working before spotting him.

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise that she noticed him immediately— she’d always been attentive to her surroundings.

The moment his ex-girlfriend spotted him, she tossed her ledger to one of her nearby shipmates, strode over, and wrapped him in a hug.

“I heard about Artur and Kanderon,” Avah said. “I’m so sorry, Hugh.”

Hugh tried to think of a reply but instead found himself crying on Avah’s shoulder.

Things were a bit of a blur after that, and somehow, without knowing exactly how it happened, Hugh found himself dragged into the captain’s cabin, sat down in a chair, and a cup of tea and a plate of pastries shoved into his hands. His tears hadn’t even finished drying yet.

“Is it true about Alustin?” Deila demanded. “Did he really betray Skyhold?”

Hugh just nodded at Avah’s grandmother.

“We should not have come here,” Captain Solon muttered, fidgeting with the hilt of his enchanted cutlass. “People are going to think we’re working with Alustin, and it’s going to get messy, and we’re going to end up eaten by dragons or buried by a sand tsunami.”

“Hush, you,” Deila told her son.

Solon glowered and opened his mouth to argue, but Avah cut off both of them.

“If there was going to be an issue, there already would have been,” Avah said. “Besides, we’re still in Indris’ favor, and no one’s going to cause problems when we’re just a couple dozen ship lengths away from her. We still have a lot of work to do, and you two being ridiculous isn’t going to change anything. Go get back to work, I need to talk to Hugh. And speaking of Indris, Father, you should probably go visit her to pay your regards.”

She pointed at the door. Solon glowered, but Deila had an oddly proud look on her face. After a moment, Avah’s father and grandmother left the cabin, arguing with one another.

Avah shook her head, then activated a ward running around the baseboards of the ship’s cabin. There was probably some specific name for that part of a ship, but Hugh was in no mood for memorizing the unnecessarily specific terminology of shipboard life at the moment.

The ward was a simple but effective sound-blocking design— in combination with Mackerel, Hugh felt reasonably secure from spying, mundane or magical.

Avah flopped down in a chair across from Hugh, started unpinning her braid, then gave him a firm look. “Tell me everything.”

So he did. Or, mostly everything, at least— Hugh didn’t mention the Tongue Eater, Davragam’s Census, or a few other sensitive secrets, but he told her about Midwinter, Artur’s death, and Alustin’s betrayal.

Avah expressed quite a lot of shock at the idea that the glassy waste surrounding Skyhold was merely the product of great powers battling and not some magical superweapon.

Hugh shrugged. “It’s pretty normal for battles between great powers at the level of the Coven and Heliothrax. Intet Slew’s battle with Iris Mooneye a few decades ago turned every living thing for leagues into masses of tumors. Solintus reshapes the land around him just by moving around. Last time the Sican Elders fought Rhize Greenheart, it created a literal mountain of wood and vines that just sticks out of the jungle— one that will probably take centuries to rot away completely.”

Hugh stopped himself from rambling on and listing examples and tried to think of a better way to phrase what he meant. “It’s just that… well, the great powers are operating at such a larger scale than we are, that when their magics interact, it tends to have bizarre, emergent consequences. It happens on a smaller scale in normal mage battles all the time, but that tends to be simply less noteworthy. Like, when a crystal mage fights a fiber mage, it tends to do some really weird stuff to the environment around them. Or just look at what Talia does with her magic. Battles between great powers just massively amplify that.”

Avah frowned but nodded and gestured at Hugh to continue his story.

He told her about the way his friends wouldn’t believe him about Kanderon, his yelling at them, and about hiding away while he researched.

He even told her about his magic not working.

When he was done, Avah stared at him for a long time before speaking. “So… you and Talia are dating now, right?”

Hugh blushed but nodded. Then his face soured. “Well, if she doesn’t want to dump me for yelling at her then running off, at least.”

Avah rolled her eyes. “And let me guess, you were planning some ridiculous, dramatic gesture once you’d figured out how to save Kanderon to convince your friends to help you?”

Hugh gave her an awkward look.

Avah growled, then tugged her now-loose braid. “Hugh, did you ever actually present your arguments for Kanderon being alive to your friends?”

Hugh rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, not really, you know, in detail, but…”

Avah glared at him and tugged her braid even harder. “You are an idiot, and we’re going to go talk to your friends now.”

Hugh blinked. “I—”

“Nope,” Avah interrupted. “No excuses. Let’s go.”

He considered arguing, but one look at Avah’s face as she dragged him off the Moonless Owl convinced him that silence was the wiser course of action.

“SO HOW HAVE you been?” Hugh asked Avah as they walked through Skyhold’s battle-damaged halls. He was nervous about walking openly through them, but Avah had at least agreed to take a route where they were less likely to meet people.

Hugh knew rather a lot of paths that avoided people. It was rare that he took busy routes in Skyhold, even in better times.

Mackerel projected curiosity at Hugh as he spoke, and an image of Avah’s wooden chain. “And what’s with the chain?” he added.

Avah gave him a sharp look. “You’d better not be trying to delay talking to your friends.”

Hugh shook his head. “I’m really not, I’ve just been talking about myself since I saw you, and I feel bad.”

Avah’s gaze softened at that. “Hugh, you’ve just been through a horribly traumatic event, even by your deeply unhealthy and terrifying standards. I don’t expect you to make small talk, that would be totally unreasonable.”

Hugh shook his head again. “It’s not small talk, I actually want to know. Just because we broke up, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about how your life is going.”

“That’s a kind way to put me dumping you with truly horrible timing,” Avah said. “You’d literally just survived a life-or-death battle, that was a really cruel time for me to end our relationship.”

Mackerel projected impatience and boredom at Hugh and an insistent image of the chain. “I won’t lie, it definitely hurt, but… your reasons were good ones. My life has been gratuitously dangerous since then, and you would have hated it.”

Avah grimaced. “Yeah, except for the fact I’ve been a complete hypocrite. I’ve been training in combat magic since then in case I ever needed to defend myself. That’s what my wooden chain is for— I can use it to fight and to pull myself around the battlefield.”

Mackerel eyed the chain suspiciously.

Hugh raised an eyebrow at that. “Are you planning on actively seeking out battles?”

“Of course not, I just want to be prepared in case I get caught in another one.”

“That’s just sensible,” Hugh said. “You’re not a hypocrite at all— you had a traumatic experience last midsummer too, when Bakori’s imps went after you, so it makes total sense that you would want to be prepared in case something like that happened to you again. Also, now that I think about it, that’s a reason not to feel bad about dumping me— you weren’t exactly in a good place emotionally either.”

Avah stared at him. “You are so weird.”

Hugh gave her a startled look and almost tripped over a blast crater in the floor. “What?”

“You’re trying to convince your ex-girlfriend not to feel bad for dumping you,” she said. “That is ridiculously reasonable. Freakishly reasonable. I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be that reasonable and unspiteful.”

Hugh gave her a mildly offended look.

“Thank you, though,” Avah added, looking away awkwardly. “That… really means a lot to hear.”

Hugh rubbed the back of his head, trying to think of what to say next, but all thoughts of that rushed out of his head a moment later.

Without even realizing it, they’d made it back into the library, almost all the way to Hugh’s hidden room.

Both Hugh and Avah stopped in their tracks.

After a long, nervous pause, Avah spoke up. “You sure they’re going to be there?”

Hugh shook his head. “No, but I can’t think of a better place to start.”

Avah nodded but didn’t move. “You sure you’re ready to face them?”

Hugh gave her an odd look. A minute ago, she’d been ready to drag Hugh to see his friends if she had to use her bare hands to do it, and now she was hesitating?

Admittedly, he wasn’t sure if he actually was ready to face his friends or not— the back of his mind had been bombarding him with fantasies of his friends being angry at him, laughing at him, even ending their friendship. Hugh knew it was ridiculous, but he just couldn’t stop his mind from doing it.

Then a sudden thought occurred to him. “Are you ready to go back there, Avah?”

Avah took a deep breath. “I’ve had a lot of nightmares about being trapped in your room by Bakori’s imps. I… didn’t expect to be going back anytime soon.”

“Do you want to wait here while I check for my friends?” Hugh asked. “They might not even be here.”

Avah took a deep breath. “No, I’ll be fine. Let’s get this over with.”

They gave each other a long, nervous look, then set out on the short distance through the library stacks.

They didn’t speak when they reached the room Hugh’s lair was hidden in, though Avah had to stop and take a deep breath. Her nervousness only lasted a moment, then she nodded at Hugh.

As he led her behind the bookshelf towards the hidden door of his room, Hugh found himself hoping that his friends wouldn’t be there, that he’d have more time to prepare himself emotionally to talk to them.

The first thing he saw when he opened the door, however, was Godrick, Sabae, and Talia sitting on the floor, all staring at a sheet of paper.

Hugh stood there awkwardly for a moment as the three of them looked up in surprise. There was a long, painful pause.

Finally, he opened his mouth to break the silence, but before he could say anything, Talia seemed to teleport off the ground to wrap her arms around him.

Sabae and Godrick were only a moment behind her.

Hugh hugged his friends back, trying not to cry and doing a terrible job of it.

Avah sighed behind him. “You are all just sickeningly wholesome and caring, do you know that? It really wouldn’t kill you to guilt-trip each other or fight more, would it?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dramatic Gestures

HUGH WASN’T SURE how long it was before he stepped out of the group hug, but he felt much lighter afterward.

“I’m sorry about running off,” he said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “It wasn’t fair of me to just go back to hiding from my problems like I used to, and leaving the weight of things on you.”

Talia wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. “No, we’re sorry for not listening to you and actually hearing out your arguments about Kanderon.”

“No, I should have—” Hugh started, but Avah interrupted him as she finally stepped past him into his room.

“Rather than deal with you all apologizing to each other for eternity, maybe we could skip forward to the actual substantive conversation?” Avah said.

“Not that it’s not good to see you, Avah,” Sabae said, “but what are you doing here?”

“Well, she was bound to show up eventually,” Talia said. “The old flame always shows back up in a story at some point for some sort of cathartic resolution!”

Everyone just stared at Talia, except for Mackerel, who was eying Avah’s wooden chain suspiciously again.

Avah shook her head, then turned to Godrick and embraced him. “I’m really sorry to hear about your father, he was a good man.”

Godrick hugged her back and didn’t say anything.

Avah turned back to Hugh after a moment. “See, isn’t this much easier than some ridiculous, dramatic gesture to reconcile with your friends?”

“Wait, Hugh was going to do a dramatic gesture?” Talia demanded, a huge grin spreading across her face. “Really?”

She grabbed Hugh’s wrists. “What was it going to be?”

Hugh really wanted to rub the back of his head again, but Talia had his arms firmly pinned. “I, uh… I was hoping to have a finalized plan to save Kanderon ready to go, and then I was going to come to you all, and… well, you remember that Clan Castis dagger you gave me once, that came with a promise that if I ever needed help, to show it to a member of Clan Castis? I was going to use that to convince you to help me, and then I was going to… I dunno, I was still working on a way to get Sabae and Godrick to help.”

Talia wrapped him in another hug. “That’s ridiculously dramatic, I love it! Of course, Avah’s right; this way is still better. Big dramatic gestures are a terrible idea in real life. Always messes up somehow. But still!”

Avah gave Hugh a smug grin at that, and Hugh rolled his eyes.

He still smiled back, though.

Sabae gave Hugh a thoughtful look. “Hold on a second. You said you wanted to come to us with a finalized plan— so that means you actually have some sort of partially worked out plan?”

Before Hugh could respond, Sabae shook her head. “Wait, no. Arguments first. I might have been a bad friend for not listening to them before, but you still have to actually present them.”

Hugh scowled. “I’m at fault, too. I shouldn’t have just expected you all to just believe me without evidence. I…”

Avah fake-coughed and rolled her eyes.

Hugh sighed. “Right, sorry. Arguments.”

HUGH SPENT A couple minutes gathering his thoughts while the others all greeted Avah. Talia was especially happy to see Avah, much to Hugh’s bemusement. Eventually, though, they all found places to sit on and around his bed. Even Mackerel joined the others, cuddling up in Talia’s lap.

“Alright, so… I’ve got four main reasons I think Kanderon’s still alive,” Hugh said. “First is my magic malfunctioning. Normally, when a warlock’s partner dies, one of two things happens. Either they lose their affinities entirely, and their mana reservoirs revert to their old form, or, if they’ve had their pact long enough, their affinity is stable and simply stays intact. I’d never even heard of a case of some weird halfway malfunction like mine before Alustin attacked us.”

“Yeah, but your pact was the avenue of the attack itself. Couldn’t that have messed with things?” Sabae asked.

Part of Hugh wanted to snap at Sabae, but he forced it down. It was an entirely reasonable question. “Maybe, sure, but that’s where we come to the second part. The odds of me keeping my affinities if Kanderon died are incredibly low in the first place. It does happen, but the odds are poor before a pact is about four to five years old. Which I realize isn’t the strongest piece of evidence, but it does shift things a bit in the direction of Kanderon being alive.”

“Does the size a’ yer mana reservoir have an impact there?” Godrick asked.

Hugh shrugged. “I genuinely have no idea, nor even in which way that would swing the odds of me keeping my affinities.”

No one looked very satisfied with that answer, but Hugh pressed forward.

“Third, and the strongest of the three reasons I had before I did my research in Kanderon’s lair is that our bond is still there. I can’t feel anything through it, but it’s definitely still there. And that never happens. All my research in the lair confirmed that the bond always vanishes when one partner dies. Always. Nor does it ever leave a vestigial bond, any scarring, or anything of the sort. It just vanishes entirely.”

Godrick nodded. “Well, ah’m convinced, then.”

Everyone else looked at him in surprise, but Hugh felt a warm feeling well up inside of him.

Godrick looked at everyone’s expressions, then shrugged. “Yeh probably shouldn’t think ta’ much a’ me agreein’, though. Ah’ve got the most reason ta’ want Kanderon ta’ be alive— she’s the best chance ah’ve got fer revenge against Heliothrax.”

Sabae reached out and squeezed Godrick’s shoulder.

“I’m actually convinced too, for what it’s worth,” Avah said. “Which isn’t much since I don’t know anything about warlock pacts.”

“What’s the fourth reason?” Sabae asked.

Hugh took a deep breath. “Valleys of energetic metastability.”

Everyone just looked at him blankly.

“This is a reason I only discovered after I started researching— Kanderon had some secret files on how to attack a warlock bond. What Alustin essentially did, when he attacked Kanderon, is push energy into the bond between me and her, using me as an access point. That, in turn, caused Kanderon’s mana to begin to evaporate, to try and jump from a liquid analogue state to a gas analogue one, while still in her mana reservoirs. Basically, Alustin tried to… well, boil her mana inside of her.”

The others all winced at that, even Mackerel.

“Pushing energy into our bond also caused it to… vibrate, for lack of a better word, like strumming a taut string or rope. The bond naturally wants to be in a low-energy state— if you were to graph it out on paper, the stable energy configuration would look like a valley in the mountains formed by the chart of potentially viable energy configurations, hence the name. If it’s at a higher point, it will naturally slide down the line of the graph towards a lower energy configuration. But when the bond vibrated, it started moving up the metaphorical walls of the valley. And, well… basically, I think it moved up high enough that it got to another small valley, high up on the wall, and lodged there. This valley isn’t a truly stable state for the bond to be in, and I think that if our bond got trapped in one of these, it could be still hurting Kanderon, trapping her inside some sort of nightmarish feedback loop.”

Hugh took a moment before continuing to marshal his thoughts. “Alustin normally wouldn’t have been able to pull that off— only the strongest of great powers would have enough mana to energize a warlock pact enough to attack them. The sheer number of clauses in our pact allowed the bond to start vibrating and resonating sooner, with far less energy required than usual.”

“And these valleys of metastability really exist?” Sabae asked.

Hugh nodded. “They do, and they’ve been observed in practice quite a few times. And they’re not real in the sense a spell or a rock is real, they’re more… metaphors for the math involved than anything. Anyhow, we only know about the valleys of metastability from failed pacts, not assaults on pacts— it takes a LOT of energy to get a bond moving that high up the slope, which is normally only possible during the signing of the pact. Again, though, the number of clauses in our contract increased the tension and lowered the energetic inertia of our pact, making it much easier to move.”

Sabae scowled. “I… hmm.”

Hugh almost kept going, but Avah surreptitiously gestured at him to wait.

Sabae’s scowl grew deeper, and she hopped off the bed. Everyone else just watched her as she paced back and forth through the bedding lying on Hugh’s floor, muttering to herself.

Finally, Sabae whirled to face Hugh again. “Say I believe you, that Kanderon is alive, and that your bond has been trapped in this… what did you call it?”

“Valley of energetic metastability,” Hugh said.

“Alright, say your bond with Kanderon is stuck in a metastable valley. How would you get it out, how long would it take, what are the odds it will work, and what are the risks?”

Hugh grimaced. “I’ve… got a few potential avenues, but they all have the same theoretical underpinnings. First, I need to stretch out the bond, create a huge amount of tension in it.”

“Tension?” Sabae interjected. “Wouldn’t slack be better for getting it out of the valley?”

Hugh shook his head. “The slack would dissipate the vibrations too quickly. The clauses each put more tension in the bond, which was why it vibrated so much. The bond doesn’t… exactly work like a string, but it’s a close enough model?”

“Alright, what then?” Sabae asked.

Hugh shrugged. “Then I push more energy into the bond again to shake it free of the metastable valley. The more tension I add first, the less mana I need, and the better odds the bond falls back into an actual stable energy configuration, instead of the current metastable one.”

Sabae leveled a flat look at him. “You want to do the same thing that hurt you and Kanderon all over again.”

“Not exactly? The spell Alustin used was specifically designed to cause vibrations that would injure Kanderon. But… there is a chance that trying to fix it could go horribly wrong, creating a new attack that kills me, Kanderon, or both. Or it could move the bond into an even higher metastable valley, doing something even worse to us than what’s happened already.”

Sabae’s expression grew darker at that. “What are the odds of that?”

Hugh briefly contemplated lying to her, but he forced himself to answer truthfully. “The more tension I can put in the bond, the better, but… the odds aren’t good it will work.”

“And the odds it will fail catastrophically and hurt or even kill you both?” Sabae demanded.

“High,” Hugh said quietly.

He couldn’t help but notice, however, that Sabae hadn’t just referred to him, but to ‘you both’.

She was starting to believe him about Kanderon.

“Exactly how high?” Sabae demanded.

Hugh just shrugged. “I have no idea. What I’m proposing has never been done before.”

Sabae threw her arms up in the air in frustration. “So, what you’re telling me is that, for all you know, it could be million-to-one odds that it will work.”

“Well, that’s good, then!” Talia said with forced cheer.

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“In stories, million-to-one odds play out successfully, oh, I’d say nine times in ten? So we should be totally fine, then.”

Everyone just stared at her for a moment longer, then turned back to Sabae, who had started pacing again.

Everyone, that is, except for Hugh, who lingered on Talia a moment longer. Despite her joking tone, there was plenty of tension and worry on Talia’s face.

Hugh swallowed and turned back to Sabae, just as she whirled to face him again.

“This is crazy,” Sabae almost yelled. “This is absurdly reckless!”

Hugh rubbed the back of his head. “It, uh… it gets worse.”

“How can it possibly get worse?” Sabae demanded.

Avah shook her head at that. “There’s an old Radhan saying about that— it can always be worse.”

“Cheery,” Godrick muttered.

“It’s to do with the method of putting more tension in the bond,” Hugh said.

Sabae groaned. “Let me guess. You want to add even more clauses to your warlock contract.”

Hugh shook his head. “No, that would just make things worse, and I can’t do that without Kanderon’s active consent, anyhow. No, the solution is, uh… a lot simpler. I need to put distance between me and Kanderon.”

“How much distance?” Sabae asked suspiciously.

“Well… if we’re measuring in a straight line, uh… Gelid might be far enough? Maybe? I might need to go to one of the even farther continents, though. Even if we found a shortcut, we’re still looking at weeks or months to get there. So, uh… yeah, it would mean I would have to choose between hunting Alustin and helping Kanderon.”

To Hugh’s surprise, Sabae actually laughed at that. “Of everything, time turns out to not be one of our most pressing problems.”

She stalked over and snatched up the abandoned sheet of paper they’d been looking at when Hugh and Avah arrived, then shoved it at Hugh.

Hugh couldn’t believe what he was reading at first and had to read the sheet a second time, then a third.

“What? What is it?” Avah demanded.

“It’s ah bleedin’ proclamation,” Godrick said. “From Alustin. A bunch a’ copies just appeared out a’ nowhere this mornin’ all over Skyhold. He’s also sent it ta’ every great power, nation, city-state, lich, random minin’ town, and ah wouldn’t be surprised if he’d sent it ta’ every village in Emblin as well.”

“What does it say, though?” Avah asked.

“He’s set a date for the destruction of Havath City,” Hugh whispered.

Avah gave him an incredulous look.

“That madman didn’t just set a date, he set a time, too!” Sabae growled. “He’s even crazier than you are, Hugh!”

“When is he going to?…” Avah started, then trailed off.

“Nineteen days after the spring equinox, two hours after noon,” Hugh read. “The anniversary of the date and hour Havath melted Helicote.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“It’s got to be a bluff,” Avah said. “No one would just tell their enemies when to expect an attack, right? I don’t know anything about war, and even I know that. There’s no way he’s being honest about this, is there?”

No one answered her. Hugh didn’t have the slightest clue what to think.

Sabae eventually sighed. “So the timing, at least, isn’t a problem if Alustin’s insane proclamation is to be believed. And my grandmother and Indris seem to— they’ve set the date for a congress of their own allies a few weeks before Alustin’s deadline. You have enough time for your plan if we find a way to move fast. It’s just the rest of it that’s insane. And I’m sure there’s even more you haven’t told us yet that makes things worse.”

Hugh started to respond, but another voice cut in first.

Talia’s.

This time, all the levity was gone from her voice, and her worry hung heavy in her tone. “I don’t care about the details right now or the evidence. Hugh, all I need is for you to look me in the eyes and to tell me honestly that you believe that Kanderon is still alive somehow, that you’re not just in denial and desperately grasping at straws.”

Hugh started to respond immediately, then paused. He walked over to Talia, still seated on his bed, crouched down until their eyes were level and grabbed her hands. “I honestly believe that Kanderon is still alive.”

Talia searched his eyes for a long moment, and Hugh had to struggle not to hold his breath.

Then she nodded, ever so slightly. “And you think you might actually be able to save her?”

Hugh hesitated even longer this time. “I… Yes. I think I can save her, but the odds aren’t great, and it’s going to be really dangerous.”

Talia looked away, chewing on his words. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision and looked back at him again. “And do you think the risk is worth it?”

Hugh didn’t hesitate for a second. “Yes.”

Talia nodded just once, firmly, and a resolute grin spread across her face. “Alright then, good enough for me. I’m in.”

Sabae spluttered. “Hold on, there’s so much more that we need to discuss before—”

Godrick stood and clapped Hugh on the shoulder, probably hard enough to leave a bruise. “Ah’m in.”

Mackerel clapped his covers together resolutely from Talia’s lap.

Sabae sank her face into her hands. “This is insane; you’re all insane. I can’t believe any of this.”

“Are you in?” Talia asked.

“Of course I’m in!” Sabae replied. “Do you think I’d let you lot get killed without me? I’m just going to be complaining about how insane this all is the whole time.”

Hugh finally found his voice. “I… Now that I’m actually here with you, it doesn’t seem fair for you to all risk your lives on this. I don’t—”

Sabae snorted, interrupting him. “You don’t have to ask, and you never will. We’re always going to have your back and trust you to have ours.”

Godrick clapped Hugh on both shoulders, this time definitely hard enough to leave bruises, and gripped him tight. “Hugh, fer all savin’ Kanderon gives me a proper chance fer revenge against Heliothrax, yeh know what matters even more? Makin’ sure yeh don’t have ta’ lose Kanderon like ah did mah da. Alright?”

Godrick wrapped Hugh in a hug, hard enough to make Hugh’s ribs ache, and when he let go, both of them had to wipe their eyes.

Nervously, Hugh turned towards Talia, only to come face-to-cover with Mackerel, floating directly in front of him.

Mackerel just floated there for a few heartbeats, then slipped his strap over Hugh’s shoulder and came to rest by his hip.

Hugh smiled and patted his spellbook affectionately.

Finally, Hugh turned to look at Talia.

She didn’t say a word, just grabbed him and kissed him.

Thoroughly.

When Hugh finally came up for air, Avah was standing behind Talia, grinning and winking.

Hugh opened his mouth to say something to her, but she just patted the top of his head and stepped past him. “Do you think I can borrow that proclamation to show my family?” she asked Sabae.

“You can have that copy,” the taller girl said. “I’ve got several more.”

Avah nodded, folded the sheet up, and tucked it into her pocket.

Then, with a final cheery wave, she was gone and out the door.

The moment it was shut, Sabae whirled on Hugh. “You have a more specific plan, don’t you? One you didn’t want Avah to hear.”

Hugh shuffled awkwardly. “I, uh… I have a few thoughts. I don’t know if I’d call them a plan, though.”

Sabae just glared at him, and Hugh awkwardly rubbed the back of his head.

Then he sighed and began to tell the others the rest of what he’d figured out.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Debts Owed and Paid

THE NEXT WEEK was an absolute blur of research, packing, and other preparations, as they readied Hugh’s terrible plan to put into action. There was research to do, plans to refine, and huge amounts of supplies to steal— everything from rations to literal hundreds of library books on relevant topics. Sabae and her friends barely found any time to sleep, keeping themselves moving with gratuitous quantities of tea.

Not that Sabae thought she’d be able to get much sleep even if they had time. She still didn’t quite believe that they were actually going through with the whole insane plan.

Sabae blamed Talia.

Really, blaming Talia was always a decent strategy. You couldn’t have a more loyal friend than Talia, but if there were such a thing as a chaos affinity, Talia would have it.

It was especially nice having someone to blame, considering that Sabae, on top of getting prepared, was also having to keep her grandmother’s suspicions allayed.

“Does anyone have any idea why Alustin is telling everyone on the continent the precise day he’s planning to attack?” Ilinia demanded.

“It’s got to be a bluff,” Luthe offered. His daughter, Yolanda, took that as an opportunity to struggle out of his arms and fall to the sand below his chair.

Indris Stormbreaker snorted, sending a wave of sand spraying into the middle of their circle. “My spies in Starholt tell me that he spoke of The Last Echo of the Lord of Bells.”

The dragon queen was looking much better than she had immediately after Midwinter. Her wounds were all closed, and the fresh scales covering them had almost darkened completely to their usual brown. She was probably well enough they could have held the meeting in Skyhold’s council chamber instead of her warded clearing of sand in the glassfields, but they’d already grown used to meeting out here.

Not to mention, no one felt comfortable meeting in front of the great crystal sphere that Kanderon had enveloped herself in. There had been a few attempts to move it, none of which had any success whatsoever. It was solidly planted in the great bowl Kanderon had worn over centuries into the stone of the mountaintop.

Indris or Ilinia might have been able to move it, but neither of them seemed to have any inclination to meddle.

Eddin Slane coughed from his chair. He wasn’t well enough to walk yet, so he’d levitated his immense cozy armchair down to the meeting spot atop a platform of his ceramic tiles.

“The Last Echo of the Lord of Bells is a myth,” Slane offered in a weak voice. The only reason Sabae could even hear his voice was due to several glyph-inscribed spellform tiles echoing his voice across the sand.

Luthe’s toddler had begun working her way across the sand, and a cluster of ceramic tiles flew over and gathered above her head, shading her from the sun.

Sabae’s opinion of the pottery mage, already high, rose a little more at that.

Yolanda, of course, promptly started trying to grab the tiles out of the air.

Ilinia spat on the sand. “Even if it weren’t a myth, it’d be beyond belief that it would activate at such a convenient time.”

“Perhaps Alustin planned everything around his knowledge of the Last Echo?” Indris offered.

Ilinia shook her head. “I doubt it. The Lord of Bells was powerful, even for a lich, but not powerful enough to cast a spell that lasts decades before activating. Even if he were, the coincidence of the Last Echo ringing this close to the return of Imperial Ithos beggars the mind. No, I think either Luthe’s right about it being a bluff, or there’s something else going on entirely.”

“Sorry, what’s this Last Echo thing?” Luthe asked as he kept one eye on his daughter.

“The Last Echo of the Lord of Bells was supposedly the final revenge of the ruler of Helicote against Havath. Some sort of insanely powerful echo magic spell that would activate when Havath least expects it,” Ilinia said. “It’s just a folk tale, though. The Lord of Bells’ last stand was impressive enough— he held off not only a whole army but five Havathi great powers at once. The only reason he fell was to betrayal from the inside, and he still managed to take down three of the Havathi great powers before they glassed his demesne. Casting some sort of ultimate spell at the same time beggars belief. No, Alustin is either bluffing, or…”

Ilinia stopped, then whirled on Sabae. “Or he stole more than just a bunch of plagues from the Vault. Sabae, did Kanderon mention anything about him stealing anything else? Anything at all?”

Sabae shook her head and hoped her lie didn’t show on her face. “No, just the plagues. She didn’t rule out him stealing anything else, so far as I can recall, though.”

Ilinia scowled. “I doubt she’d be overly concerned about most of the items in there being stolen, compared to plague vials. Most of the items in the vault I know of are city-killers, and only a few actually surpass the destructive capability of a great power. Alustin could have snagged one or two of those easily.”

Eudaxus Scalesworn, high priest of Indris’ cult and owner of a singularly large nose, coughed loudly from beside the dragon’s talon, where he sat in a straight-backed, uncomfortable-looking wooden chair. “My queen, do you recall those rumors we all dismissed as unlikely? The ones about Alustin leaving some weapon behind with the gorgons? Perhaps that’s the weapon in question, and they intend to use it to break through Havath’s defenses.”

Indris made a rumbling noise deep in her gargantuan throat. “That… makes a distressing amount of sense. It would also explain why Alustin’s allies have been so dismissive of our messages and warnings. If he came to them with one or more other weapons from the Vault, ones that served for a direct assault, why would they believe our claims that he was planning to use plague?”

Ilinia spluttered at that. “Why would they doubt us? What could we possibly get out of lying about the plagues or opposing Alustin if he wasn’t using them? We’ve been plotting to destroy Havath for years ourselves!”

Luthe tossed one of Yolanda’s toys up in the air and caught it. “Maybe they think you want revenge for Kanderon’s death. Maybe they think your opposition to Alustin is just a pose, an act to keep Havath off-balance. Or, just maybe, they think that it’s awfully convenient that you two survived when Kanderon didn’t, and your commitment to Havath’s destruction isn’t as strong as you claim. And, after all, who benefits more from Kanderon’s death than the two other greatest powers of the Endless Erg?”

Ilinia scowled at him but didn’t argue. “Something stinks about this whole situation. Everything is off, and too many people are behaving strangely. Alustin’s behavior, especially, makes no storming sense. There’s something we don’t know, and I don’t like it.”

To Sabae’s relief, something distracted her grandmother before she could go any further down that line of thought.

Something Sabae had been waiting for. Or someone, really.

Hugh.

He strode right past the meeting’s anti-scrying wards. There weren’t any guards— anyone interrupting a meeting between great powers either had better have something important to say or was probably going to be hurled leagues out into the desert.

Her friend looked more determined than Sabae had seen him since Midwinter. Even Mackerel, hanging at his side, seemed to sense it and was behaving himself for once.

Behind Hugh trailed the four first-year warlocks he’d been tutoring for a few months now, all various degrees of nervous.

Thad was eying Indris with a mix of nervousness and awe— as an inhabitant of Theras Tel, he’d definitely seen his queen during sandstorms before, but it was doubtful he’d ever been this close to the two-hundred-foot dragon.

Kanna was wearing her usual dour, pessimistic expression— the girl wanted nothing to do with the great powers if she could help it and vocally preferred the idea of pacting with a magical weapon or the like. Sabae imagined she’d protested vigorously at the idea of being dragged before this meeting.

Peltia was clearly torn between nervousness and excitement and trying to look at everyone at once. She wasn’t making eye contact with anyone, but then, she seldom did.

Venta, though, was just looking directly at Sabae. She couldn’t help but suspect that the black-and-white-striped gorgon suspected what was coming.

“Look who finally decided to come out of hiding and show their face,” Ilinia said.

Hugh just glanced at her and nodded, then removed his spellbook’s strap from his shoulder. “Just like we talked about, Mackerel.”

The spellbook darted up into the air above the center of the meeting, then glowed briefly. Sabae felt a curious buzzing in the aether around her, signifying that Mackerel had blocked scrying into the whole meeting.

Sabae was honestly impressed. She hadn’t thought the spellbook capable of shielding enough space to hold an elder wyrm like Indris.

Hugh took a deep breath, then bowed to the dragon queen. “Indris Stormbreaker— when we spoke last, you offered me a favor. Does that offer still stand?”

Sabae’s grandmother nodded approvingly at that. “Finally accepting the way things are, I see. You could do much worse than pacting with this scaly old mutt.”

Indris ignored Ilinia. “My offer still stands, Hugh Stormward. I always pay my debts. I take it you wish to pact with me?”

Hugh shook his head. “No— I have a different favor that I would ask.”

Indris tilted her immense head curiously at that.

Hugh made a half-turn and gestured to the four younger warlocks. “Indris Stormbreaker, I formally request that you aid these young warlocks in finding pacts of their own.”

Shock bloomed on the faces of all the warlocks in question. Hugh hadn’t told any of them about the actual plan, for fear they’d leak news about it, but their expressions were more than merely surprise. The favor of a normal monarch or wandering great power was valuable enough, but the favor of a ruling great power? For Hugh to spend his on them was frankly an absurd act of generosity. Sabae had been startled when he’d proposed this plan, even argued against it, but Hugh had refused to budge.

She was proud of him for that.

“Elaborate,” Indris said.

“When we all leave Skyhold at the end of this week, this mountain’s going to descend into factional infighting almost immediately,” Hugh said. He glanced awkwardly over at Eddin Slane. “No offense, sir.”

The ceramic mage shrugged. “None taken. I’m well aware of the situation and not inclined to lie to myself about it.”

Hugh turned back to Indris. “Unpacted warlocks like my friends here are just going to be game pieces in the coming weeks, far more than any other young mages, and I don’t want them to get put at risk by what’s coming. I’m hoping that you’ll protect and care for them until you can find them partners to pact with— and negotiate them favorable contracts, as well. And once you’ve found them contracts, you’ll set them free, with no further claims on them.”

Hugh paused. “Well, most of them. I’ve already found a partner for one of them.”

Hugh stretched out his arm, and his storage tattoo, shaded an identical green to his eyes and Mackerel, flared into existence on his arm.

Then a suit of armor popped into existence in mid-air and dropped to the sand in front of him in pieces.

The empty black aether crystal armor of Amalda Veil.

“Kanna here doesn’t want to pact with a great power,” Hugh said. “While it’s not strictly an enchanted item, it should be possible to pact with an attuned aether crystal like this armor, getting crystal and greater shadow affinities. Both are rare, but you have a greater shadow archmage standing right at your side, and I have no doubt you can find a crystal mage to teach her easily enough.”

Sabae noticed Eudaxus looking rather thoughtful at the proposal.

Kanna finally interrupted. “I can’t… I can’t accept this. Hugh, this is too much. You could…”

Hugh gave Kanna a flat look, then turned to Venta. “Do you mind?”

Venta chuckled, then used her huge, scaled hand to cover Kanna’s mouth. “More used to doing this for Thad.”

Thad glowered at her, but Hugh had already resumed talking.

“Venta here wants to be a ship’s mage, pact with some sort of ocean dweller of some sort. Peltia wants to pact with some sort of bug, I guess.”

“Arthropod,” Peltia said automatically.

“Maybe a member of the Tomb Guard, the Watchers over the Sleeper in the Sand?” Hugh continued.

“And the short one?” Indris asked.

Hugh walked over to Thaddeus and clapped him on the back. “Thaddeus, here… Thad is one of your citizens, actually. Born and raised in the Westcliff district. As for what he wants?”

Hugh shot the younger warlock a smile. “Thad wants an adventure. Find him someone amazing to pact with.”

Indris stared at the five warlocks thoughtfully for a time, then snorted, blowing a pair of deep ditches into the sand in front of her nostrils. Sabae couldn’t help but notice that none of the drifting sand went anywhere near any of the people in the meeting.

“Are you sure this is what you want for your boon?” Indris asked.

“It is,” Hugh said.

“Now, hold on a second,” Ilinia said. “Even if this oversized lizard forswears all claims to these four after she pacts with them, she still has ample opportunity to gain influence with other great powers in the process. You’re not only releasing her from the debt she owes you, you’re doing so in exchange for something she’d likely do for free. Storms, I’d do it for free, and I can do a much better job than her.”

“What, are you going to pact them to a pack of sickly sea serpents?” Indris demanded. “Or maybe that idiotic lobster ally of yours?”

Ilinia spluttered at that. “Galitar’s an isopod, not a lobster! And who would you pact them to, exactly? Some horrid flesh-eating centipede out in the deep desert?”

Sabae couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face as the two great powers bickered. She honestly hadn’t expected her grandmother to play right into their hands this easily.

Sabae might have opposed Hugh’s plan at first, but once she’d realized he was determined, Sabae had made a few modifications to the plan.

She noticed Talia’s brother Luthe looking her way with an odd expression and forced the smile down immediately.

Hugh cleared his throat, and the two storm witches both turned to face him. “I’m quite sure about using my favor for this.”

Indris shot her rival storm mage a smug look. “I will treat them like my own children, Hugh. You have my word as a queen and as a dragon. Now, come over here, young warlocks, let me get a closer look at you.”

Sabae suspected that Indris was even more pleased to have gotten one over on Ilinia than about freeing herself from her debt to Hugh or getting four new warlocks to bargain away for influence.

Ilinia glowered at her rival. “Fine, then. We have other matters to move on to. Like the matter of Hugh’s own contract. I say…”

Hugh cleared his throat again. “Actually, I had one other matter to bring before you all.”

Ilinia snorted. “Make it quick. We’ve already wasted enough time on your foolishness.”

Hugh ignored her and took a shaky breath. His confidence of just a moment before seemed to have vanished, but he managed to force himself to continue, and Sabae sighed in relief.

“I, Hugh Stormward, once known as Hugh of Emblin, formally declare myself the heir of Kanderon Crux, the Crystal Sphinx, the Doom of Ithos, the Bane of Empires, and the Mother of Liches.”

Everyone froze. The young warlocks stopped walking towards Indris. Indris and Ilinia went utterly still. The floating ceramic tiles of Eddin Slane froze in midair. Even Luthe seemed shocked at what he’d just heard.

Well, almost everyone froze. Yolanda chose that moment to make a break towards Indris.

It said something that no one tried to stop the toddler.

“Would you repeat that, Hugh?” Ilinia asked in an unreadable tone.

“I declare myself Kanderon’s heir,” Hugh said. “I do so fully comprehending that this makes me not only the inheritor of her worldly goods but also responsible for her debts, responsibilities, contracts, and feuds.”

Ilinia slowly unscrewed her flask, then took a long, deep drink. No one else moved, other than Luthe’s daughter, who had reached Indris’s foreleg.

“Kid, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Ilinia said after she lowered her flask. “You can’t handle those kind of responsibilities. You think you had it bad before when people thought they could get at Kanderon through you? Now it’s going to be infinitely worse. You’re talking about making yourself the target of entire nations as well as half the great powers on the continent.”

Hugh gulped nervously, but met Ilinia’s gaze directly, not backing down.

Sabae had needed to dive back into some very old books to find the exact wording for declaring yourself the heir to a great power without their presence.

It wasn’t, for a lot of good and obvious reasons, done very often. Even during the oath’s heyday, centuries ago, it had been rare and mostly lethal. Most notably, a live great power would probably kill you for the audacity of declaring yourself their heir, and you’d need to be a great power yourself to defend yourself from a dead power’s foes.

Custom alone is hardly a shield to the mightiest.

Hugh closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then spoke the traditional next words. “Is there anyone here willing to support my claim against challengers? Anyone who knows Kanderon and who is free of grudge against me or debt towards me?”

There was a long silence, and then a sound rose in Indris’s immense throat. It sounded like a fleet of ships being ground together like rocks, and Sabae couldn’t help but flinch back.

The dragon queen was laughing.

“I have no grudge against you,” she said. “Nor do I owe you a debt any longer. Furthermore, I knew Kanderon for centuries, and I believe that this would meet with her approval. I support the claim of Hugh Stormward.”

The silence was even thicker this time, aside from Indris’s continued chuckles.

Then Sabae noticed Luthe trying to catch her eye.

Sabae winked at him.

Luthe smiled at that, then turned to face Hugh. “Well, Clan Castis didn’t know Kanderon very long, but she clearly cared for the kid, so we support his claim. We owe him no debt, and we certainly bear him no grudge.”

Ilinia eyed him, then whirled on Sabae. “You! There’s no way Hugh would have known about a custom this old on his own, or had the audacity to try it. You planned all of this.”

Sabae smiled at the Protector of Ras Andis. “You taught me well, Grandmother.”

Ilinia glowered at her. “You could have approached me beforehand, instead of springing it on me.”

“Would you have respected me for that?” Sabae asked. “Or enjoyed it this much?”

Her grandmother just glared, then threw up her hands in frustration. “Fine! I recognize the kid’s stupid claim, even though it will absolutely get him killed.”

Sabae wrapped her grandmother in a hug.

As she did so, she spotted Eddin Slane staring at Hugh like a hawk.

Slane might have been one of Kanderon’s closest allies, but that didn’t make him unambitious. She doubted that he fully understood this turn of events just yet or that he was pleased at all. She expected he considered this a power play for control of Skyhold.

He didn’t say anything, or make a move, however. Wise, considering the company.

Sabae’s grandmother sighed and awkwardly returned Sabae’s hug.

Hugh looked at Sabae, and she nodded at him.

“As the heir of Kanderon Crux, it is my responsibility to tend to all her debts, both owed by and to her,” Hugh said. “I’d like to resolve the first of these now.”

“What now?” Ilinia muttered, and freed herself from Sabae’s embrace.

“I’d like to call in the favor Ramyl the Chained owes Kanderon,” Hugh said.

Indris erupted into laughter again.

“Would he even honor that?” Luthe asked.

Eudaxus nodded. “Ramyl always honors his debts. It’s in his nature; he can’t do otherwise. I doubt he can even conceive of it.”

“So, what, you’re planning to call in your favor to pact with a set of sentient magical chains from another world that were built to imprison a demon as powerful as Indris or I?” Ilinia asked. “Do you even know how his magic would interact with your own?”

Hugh shook his head. “I’m not planning to pact with Ramyl. I’m not planning to pact with any great power. Kanderon is still alive, and I’m just keeping her affairs in order while she heals.”

Ilinia looked like she was about to argue, but Hugh kept talking.

“No, I’d like to use the boon Ramyl owes to have him join the fight against Alustin and Havath both. And I’d like his first responsibility to be keeping order in Skyhold until Eddin Slane is fully healed and can lead a new Skyhold Council until Kanderon’s return.”

Sabae watched Slane’s face shift from suspicion to shock, to thoughtfulness, and finally to satisfaction.

Then she watched her grandmother’s face go through the exact same cycle, even slower.

“Havath dug that hydra up out of an old Ithonian vault that all record of was lost until Imperial Ithos returned, did you know that?” Ilinia asked Hugh. “And now we’re going to shove it right back down their throats. I would be absolutely delighted to relay your message to Ramyl. Why didn’t you just tell me this was the plan from the start?”

Sabae was about to answer for Hugh, but he held his hand out towards her, then addressed her grandmother directly. “Because you didn’t take me seriously. Because you didn’t listen to me before and wouldn’t have listened to me now. Because I intended all that to change. Kanderon is still alive, and I intend to not only prove it to you but to help her.”

Ilinia gave him a long, slow look, then nodded. “I still think you’re as mad as a drunken eel, and there’s not a chance Kanderon’s really still alive, but… you have my attention now, kid. Oh, and just so you know, you are coming with us when we leave Skyhold in a few days. You were far too important to leave behind before this, and now, well… You’d best not be considering staying behind to try and revive the sphinx.”

“I have absolutely no intention of staying behind,” Hugh said. “Once you’re gone from the mountain, I will be too.”

Ilinia eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not planning to run off on some secret mission somewhere else, are you? Because there’d best be none of that. Even with your book, trust me, I will find a way to track you down.”

Hugh gave her a wicked grin. “Trust me, I don’t want to miss your face when I spring the next few surprises on you. The next time I set foot out one of Skyhold’s doors, it will be to join you in gathering allies.”

“That better include leaving by windows.”

“Yes, it includes windows.”

“And flying.”

Hugh rolled his eyes. “The next time I travel from inside the mountain of Skyhold and into the outside world, it will be to come with you on your mission to raise allies to stop Alustin and Havath both.”

Ilinia glowered, then stomped off to speak to Luthe, apparently unable to spot any more loopholes in Hugh’s promise.

It was too bad there was a particularly huge loophole Ilinia had missed. Not that Sabae imagined any sane person would have noticed it.

Sabae strode over to Hugh and hugged him. “You did great. It’s hard to believe you’re the same mage who was terrified of his own shadow when I first met him. I’m proud of you— one of these days, I wouldn’t be surprised if we got you doing public speaking.”

Hugh hugged her back. “You will never, ever get me to speak in public. Ever.”

Sabae laughed. “You literally just faced down two of the mightiest great powers on the continent, not to mention several archmages. Public speaking is nothing in comparison.”

“If the world was about to be destroyed, and public speaking were the only way to save it, I would let it die,” Hugh said.

Sabae laughed again, then stepped back as Eddin Slane approached in his hovering armchair, clearly wanting to speak with Hugh.

It was then that she spotted Venta watching her again.

Sabae took a nervous breath. “Hugh, could you have Mackerel keep his anti-scrying field up for a while longer?”

Hugh nodded, and Sabae started slowly walking towards Venta. The gorgon hesitated for a moment, then walked out to meet her.

They stopped a few feet apart and stared awkwardly at each other. Sabae noticed that Venta’s snakes hung loosely down her scalp, and none of them were looking at her.

“This is the part where you break up with me, isn’t it?” Venta said.

Sabae tried to respond, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth work.

Venta started counting down on her fingers. “You’ve been basically missing the past few days, working on whatever your secret project is. You’ve barely been around since Midwinter anyhow, and you won’t tell me what you’ve been obsessing over. And every time I have seen you the past few days, you’ve had a nervous, scared look.”

Sabae looked down at the ground. “It’s not because I don’t like you, you’re amazing.”

Venta reached out with a scaled hand and lifted Sabae’s chin to look up at her again. “Well, obviously. You’re breaking up with me because you’re not only getting involved in this whole mad three-way war, but because you’re up to some other mad plan entirely of your own you’re not telling anyone about. You’re not planning on going with your grandmother at all, are you?”

Sabae was suddenly extremely thankful she’d asked Hugh to maintain the anti-scrying field. She’d only meant to keep her break-up private, she hadn’t expected Venta to guess that they were planning something.

She started to respond, but Venta put a finger against her lips. “No, don’t tell me. I’m guessing it involves deadly secrets that great powers would kill for, horrifying amounts of peril, and the like?”

Sabae nodded weakly.

Venta closed her eyes and sighed. “I wish I was strong enough to come with you, but I’m not. I’m just an untrained warlock without magic of her own. And what with you and Hugh’s little plan to find patrons for the four of us, it will probably be years until we see each other again, won’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Sabae said.

Venta just nodded, and the two of them stood silently for a time.

Then Venta leaned down, wrapped her hand behind Sabae’s head, and kissed her.

When they finally came up for air, Venta smiled sadly at Sabae. “It’s too bad. We would have been great together.”

Then she was gone, already walking back towards Indris and the other warlocks.

Sabae stared after the gorgon blankly for a few moments, still recovering from the kiss. She couldn’t help but notice several of the sea snakes jutting from Venta’s scalp were still looking back towards her.

“Wait, who just broke up with who?” Sabae muttered to herself.

Yolanda, of course, chose that moment to try and use Indris’s snout as a slide, which panicked everyone except the dragon queen, who seemed to find the situation hilarious.

Well, and Mackerel, who also tried to slide down the dragon queen’s face.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Long Goodbye

TALIA SHOULDN’T HAVE been surprised that her family figured out that she and her friends were up to something.

Well, she halfway suspected that Ranna of Clan Derem had been the one to figure it out. Even if Ranna hadn’t been able to smell your every emotion, the woman was terrifyingly observant.

“And you’re bringing enough weapons, right?” Roland asked.

Talia rolled her eyes. The longer Roland was away from Hold Castis and his children, the more annoyingly parental he was getting towards the rest of them.

Rather than answer, Talia responded by activating her storage tattoo around her mouth, then pulling a battle hatchet out of it.

“And you’re sure you can’t tell us where you’re going or what you’re planning?” Luthe asked.

Talia rolled her eyes even harder as she put away the hatchet. Her oldest brother was almost as annoying as Roland at times. “Yes, I’m sure. The fewer people who know the details, the better.”

“Do you even know the details?” Leon asked.

Tristan threw a pillow at him. “Of course she knows the details, idiot.”

“No, you’re an idiot,” Leon rebutted.

“That was a terrible comeback,” Gram said.

“Utterly unworthy of a member of our family,” Rafe offered.

“Sorry, but they’re right, that was terrible,” Talia said.

Ranna, over in the corner, just snorted.

“You really are just the worst,” Tristan ended.

Leon sighed dramatically. “Well, if I have to be condemned, I suppose I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be condemned by than you lot.”

“Much better,” Luthe said. “Just enough ambiguity to work as both a compliment and an insult at the same time.”

“You’re forgiven the previous comeback,” Roland continued.

Tristan started to say something, probably snarky, but Haela threw a pillow at him, then turned to Talia. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Don’t talk about it; keep it a secret,” Talia said.

Gram rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously. Anything else, though?”

Talia hesitated, then turned to Rafe. “You’re confident about how good your wards are?”

Rafe gave her an over-dramatic hurt look. “I’m wounded, Talia. How could you question your poor, long-suffering brother’s skill as—”

“Rafe,” Talia interrupted, “I’m being serious. Do you think your wards can hold up to great power level scrying?”

Her brother hesitated, then gave her a serious look. “No, but they don’t need to. I built the wards around our quarters to be deliberately fragile— if someone punches through them, they’ll shatter, and we’ll know it. I’m not as good of a wardcrafter as your boyfriend, but I’m no slouch.”

Talia nodded, then steeled herself. “If any of you get a chance to strike at Alustin, take it. Don’t hold back, don’t try to talk to him, don’t even give him a chance to surrender. End him immediately. And don’t take him lightly, either— he’s well aware of his vulnerability to fire mages, and I can assure you he’s got plenty of tools useful against you. But also, be precise with your attack. Do not incinerate his right forearm, that’s where his storage tattoo is, which is where he’d be keeping the plagues.”

Luthe leaned forwards at that. “Odd advice to give about a man who’s carrying around weaponized plagues. Fire is a notably effective way to take care of that sort of thing.”

Talia frantically started trying to think of an excuse, but Luthe kept talking.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. I figured it out right around the time Alustin spread his proclamation. If he’d been really been using plagues, he would have just quietly infiltrated Havath City rather than gathering allies. I wouldn’t be surprised if Indris has already figured it out too, though I’m not sure why she’s staying quiet if she has. There’s a good reason so few great powers and nations have believed our propaganda about the plagues. Ilinia’s only still buying it because she has a blind spot where both plagues and Sabae are concerned. She doesn’t want to believe her favorite grandchild would lie to her, and she’s still traumatized by how many members of her family died to the Blue Death.”

Her eldest brother walked up to her as he talked, then poked her shoulder. “You know what Alustin actually stole, and there’s some reason you’re not telling everyone.”

Talia took a deep breath. “Because Kanderon didn’t want word of it spread. It’s… I’m still not going to tell you what it is, but it’s worse. Much worse. Even news of it getting out would be dangerous.”

Luthe tensed up at that. “It’s not… That idiot didn’t release the Ravenous Child, did he?”

Talia gave him a blank look. “The what?”

Luthe sagged at that. “Thank the powers.”

At Talia’s continued blank look, Luthe shrugged. “Particularly nasty labyrinth escapee from a few decades back. One the Hidden Clan barely managed to contain, and only with the help of Heliothrax and Kanderon.”

Talia actually whistled at that. There wasn’t much the Hidden Clan couldn’t handle— there was a reason they were the only clan truly feared by Clan Castis. They might claim they were also afraid of Ranna’s clan, but the Hidden Clan… was something else entirely.

For that matter, they’d been among the main reasons the Ithonian Empire hadn’t been able to ever fully conquer the clans, even with the Tongue Eater.

For them to need aid with a situation was unheard of.

Then she shook her head and poked Luthe back. “It doesn’t matter what it is. It matters that Kanderon was legitimately terrified by the idea of it being released or even of word getting out about it. Alustin needs to be stopped before he uses it on Havath City. It poses a risk to all of us.”

Luthe nodded slowly. “Are you sure that you’re alright with this? The man did help you with your magic when no one else could.”

Talia glared at him. “He hurt Hugh. I don’t care what happens to him, he’s earned it.”

Luthe nodded, then hugged her.

Then she felt someone else wrap their arms around her, then another, and a moment later, her family all had their arms wrapped around her.

Off in one corner of the room, Ranna sighed. “This would be heartwarming from any other family, but the fact you’re hugging over murder plans rather detracts from that.”

Everyone ignored her.

RANNA STOPPED TALIA just before she left and shoved a stack of papers at her.

“What are these?”

“Lesson plans and notes for Godrick,” Ranna said. “I expect to see him again, and he’d best not slack off on his scent affinity training in the meantime.”

Talia nodded, then hugged the scent mage.

Ranna grumbled, then awkwardly hugged her back.

When she returned to Hugh’s room, everyone was there but Godrick.

Hugh’s room was depressingly empty. Everything Hugh wanted to keep was packed away in his storage tattoo, leaving nothing but his furniture and a bit of bedding.

The four of them had run countless errands over the last couple days, retrieving supplies covertly from all over the mountain— ranging from the depths of Kanderon’s lair in the Library to the cafeteria storerooms.

“There you are,” Sabae said, looking up from a pile of notes she was reviewing at the last minute. “Was just about to come looking for you.”

“Where’s Godrick?” Talia asked.

Sabae grew somber. “He’s… in his father’s rooms. We should probably go get him, too.”

“I can do it,” Talia offered.

Hugh looked up at her from where he was tinkering with one of his wards, then pulled a thick stack of paper from his storage tattoo. “Could you bring these to Godrick as well? Forgot to give them to him earlier.”

Talia took them out of his hands. They were covered in some kind of complex math she couldn’t make heads or tails of.

“What is it?”

Hugh grinned. “It’s the math governing the spellforms Eddin Slane uses to control his swarm of tiles. The spellforms apparently take a lot of room in your mind’s eye, and with Godrick’s new armor elemental, well, I figure he’s got room to spare, and maybe he could adapt these for stone.”

“He just… gave them to you?”

Hugh shrugged. “He apparently gives them out to anyone who’s interested, and he was the one who actually offered it to me first. I think he wanted me to try and adapt it, but it seems more Godrick’s style than mine. Slane’s got some odd philosophy about freedom of knowledge, and he wants to be remembered as a magical researcher more than just as a combat archmage— there are too many of the latter for the history books to remember.”

Talia shrugged, then put the stack of paper in her storage tattoo around her mouth.

She pretended to chew the pages, just to taunt Mackerel.

Though, considering that Mackerel’s stomach was actually just an extraplanar space of its own, maybe she actually was eating the paper as far as Mackerel was concerned?

Regardless, it made Mackerel adorably jealous.

“Did you remember to say goodbye to Avah?” Talia asked.

Hugh nodded, seeming a little amused by Talia asking. “Only got to talk to her for a minute; she was busy loading cargo onto the Moonless Owl.”

“Good, that’s not the sort of plot thread you want to leave hanging.”

“We’re not in a story, Talia.”

Talia smirked at him as she left the room. “Keep telling yourself that.”

GODRICK WAS SITTING on one of Artur’s stone chairs when Talia arrived, staring at a folded sheet of paper.

His father’s last letter.

“Still haven’t read it yet?”

Godrick shook his head. “Ah don’t… ah haven’t been able ta’ look at it yet. Ah know it’s stupid, but when ah finally read it, that will be it. Me da will have spoken his last words ta’ me he’ll ever have ta’ say.”

Talia walked over and hugged him. “It’s not stupid at all. Take your time.”

After she let go, Talia pretended not to see Godrick wiping away tears, and she pulled the two stacks of paper from her tattoo. “These are for you. One from Ranna, and one from Eddin Slane by way of Hugh.”

Godrick gave her a curious look, then started looking through the pages.

“And no,” Talia said, “before you ask, I didn’t tell Ranna we were leaving. She figured it out on her own, along with my family, but they’re not going to interfere or tell anyone.”

Godrick nodded, then tucked all the pages, his father’s letter included, into his own tattoo. “Ah can look through it later. It’s about time ta’ set out, isn’t it?”

Talia nodded and followed him out of Artur’s rooms.

Once she was out, Godrick took one last, long look into his father’s rooms.

Then the stone around the door crawled over it, and a moment later, there was only a blank stone wall.

More than that, though, Talia felt a light rumbling through the stone. It lasted a solid minute before it faded, but Godrick just kept staring at the wall for several minutes after that. Talia didn’t pester him— he was clearly engaged in a challenging piece of spellwork.

Finally, Godrick sagged, looking exhausted.

“What did you just do?” Talia asked.

He shot her a faint smile. “Ah moved his rooms somewhere else entirely, deeper into the mountain, and then wrapped them in attention wards. Not as good as Hugh’s, but… no one else is going to be looting me da’s rooms anytime soon.”

Talia met his smile with one of her own and clapped him on the shoulder.

Well, on his arm above the elbow, at least. His shoulder was unnecessarily high up.

Sabae and Hugh had finished their preparations when they returned to Hugh’s rooms and were both just staring out Hugh’s window.

Talia and Godrick joined them, and they all silently looked out over the glasslands, and beyond it, the Endless Erg.

The sun was setting, and it set the glass below them ablaze, save for the shadows cast by Chelys Mot’s empty shell, by the ruined Havathi fleet, and by the spined iron mountain that marked Artur’s grave.

Finally, without a word, the four of them turned and filed out of Hugh’s room, squeezing past the shelf hiding it from the rest of the library.

Hugh was the last one out, and he took longer than the rest of them. Talia spotted some kind of flare coming from Hugh’s wards, and she could tell something about them had changed, but she wasn’t sure what.

When Hugh finally stepped out from behind the bookshelf, they all gave him curious looks.

“Almost didn’t think that was going to work, with my magic malfunctioning,” he said. “Took about ten times as many tries as it should have to get the crystals in the rock relinked the way I wanted.”

“What did you do?” Sabae asked.

Hugh smiled oddly. “Someday, a sad, lonely apprentice mage is going to find themselves in the library. Maybe hiding from bullies, maybe out of stress, but they’re going to be trying to find someplace to be alone. And when they do, they’re going to find themselves oddly drawn to a quiet corner in the stacks. They won’t know they’re being drawn to it by my attention wards, of course, but they’ll be drawn anyway. And in that corner, behind an oddly-placed bookshelf, they’re going to find a door that only they can see, and behind that door, well… they’ll find a place where they’re safe, where no one can find them except for the people they trust.”

Hugh looked sadly back at his door one last time. “And then, someday, when they don’t need it anymore, the room will open for another scared, lonely kid.”

And then, even as Talia watched, Hugh’s door started to fade away. Within heartbeats, all she could see was blank stone where his room should have been.

“Hugh, yer door just…” Godrick started.

Hugh shook his head and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t need it anymore.”

Godrick clapped Hugh on the shoulder, as did Sabae a moment later. Even Mackerel rubbed gently against Hugh’s side.

Talia didn’t know what to say, so she just smiled at him and took his hand.

Then the five of them left Hugh’s lair behind for the last time.

NO ONE PAID more attention to them than normal as they moved through the halls— which was to say, still a lot of attention, considering how well known they were, but not enough to be a concern. Certainly, no one could tell that they were carrying several weeks’ worth of supplies in their storage tattoos, along with most of their worldly possessions.

Hugh had wanted the four of them to all wear attention wards to avoid any notice at all, but Sabae had insisted that they be seen in the halls acting normally. Even if Mackerel was preventing her grandmother from scrying them, she still most certainly had plenty of spies in the mountain, and behaving normally would give them just a little more time before the search for them began.

So they followed the route to the nearest cafeteria, one they’d taken literally hundreds of times over the last couple of years.

And then, just before they reached the cafeteria, Hugh took a sharp right and led them all straight into a solid stone wall.

They passed through the wall with no resistance and found themselves in the ventilation system.

It didn’t look any different than a regular hallway, save for the lack of doors branching off it, the fact that they could only walk through it in single file, and that Godrick had to crouch a little.

Behind them was an attention ward, one of the countless ones maintained by the wardcrafters of Skyhold, under the supervision of the now-deceased Loarna of the Vault.

Hugh took a deep breath, and Talia hugged him from behind.

Before she’d died in battle, Loarna had shown Hugh countless secrets of Skyhold’s wards. With everything that was going on, with Kanderon’s fall, with Alustin’s betrayal… Hugh had never really had a chance to say goodbye to her.

Finally, Hugh started walking, and they all silently followed him through the ventilation system. It was easy to navigate, not requiring a map at all.

They just followed the wind.

All of Skyhold’s air came from its labyrinth. Two of the labyrinth’s eight entrances had been hidden away from the public, secured behind incredibly powerful wards, and left open permanently to vent out air. This was why air only exited the mountain, not entered, and why it was safe from glass dust entering from outside.

Though Talia imagined this defense had been designed more to prevent attack by poison gas mages than to keep out glass dust.

As they descended deeper and deeper into the ventilation system, the wind grew stronger and stronger. Never enough so as to be difficult to move in, but enough so that Godrick and Sabae both had to struggle with their hair.

The only things that slowed them down were the frequent wards Hugh had to bypass. The attention wards were easy to get through, but for some of the more physical wards, Hugh had to create bypasses using chalk.

Just like he had the first time they’d broken into the Grand Library.

This time, however, Hugh made sure to eliminate his ward bypasses each time they passed over one— partially to cover their trail but also, Talia suspected, out of his sense of pride as a wardcrafter.

The ventilation shafts grew larger as they descended until even Godrick could move through them easily.

Finally, after breaching a particularly nasty ward, they found themselves in front of one of the doors to the labyrinth, propped open permanently to allow air to enter the mountain.

The ward in front of it was more complex and powerful than any Talia had ever seen— a combination of an attention ward, a physical ward, and a half-dozen other types of wards she couldn’t even identify.

Not even Bakori had been able to find or breach this ward, which really said something about how powerful it was.

It took Hugh almost an hour to bypass this one. None of them spoke, all waiting tensely as Hugh worked.

Finally, after Talia didn’t think she could stand waiting any longer, Hugh finished the bypass and gestured them through.

Sabae went first into the labyrinth, spear and shield in hand and tide armor fully spun up. Talia went next, her scrimshaw ward fully active, and her bones glowing through her flesh.

Hugh came next, his sling in one hand, an explosive wardstone in the other. Talia had expected him to be nervous, without the Stormward’s Crown to protect him, but he just looked determined.

Godrick lingered a while before following them through. Talia suspected it was the hardest for him— he’d lived in Skyhold most of his life.

Finally, though, he followed them through, fully armored in stone and hammer in hand.

Hugh closed the ward bypass, and just like that, the exit gate vanished behind them, turning into a wall like any other.

Without a word, the four of them began their descent into the labyrinth.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ambush at Halfday Towers

ALUSTIN WOULD NEVER normally visit Halfday Towers of his own accord, but these were hardly normal times.

Halfday was a mining city deep in the eastern Skyreach Range, a few days’ flight north of Highvale. It had maybe ten thousand residents during good times and was a nightmare to reach except by air. If you wanted to reach it by foot, you had to take a series of narrow, precarious mountain roads and boat up a series of rapid-filled mountain rivers to get there.

If it weren’t for the fact that the galena ore of Halfday contained unusually rich amounts of silver, along with its lead, no one would live there.

Not that anyone should have lived there. Halfday bore the dubious twin distinctions of being both one of the most beautiful places to live on the Ithonian continent and also one of the absolute worst.

Halfday’s name came from the fact that the city only received direct sunlight a few hours a day in the morning.

Halfday Towers was a galena mine entirely carved out of a vertical cliff-face overlooking a deep river gorge, forming a huge cavity in the side of the mountain. The city’s towers were actually immense support columns left behind in the rock as the cavity was dug deeper and deeper into the mountain over the decades, thicker than any tree. Spiraling ramps had been cut around the outside of the columns, and rooms had been hollowed into the outer layers of the columns. Stone bridges connected the columns that had been dug out of the mountain at the same time as they were.

The view was absolutely gorgeous. During the day, those in the outermost columns could peer down into the immense river gorge below them. At night, and deeper into the forest of towers, the columns all lit up with glow crystals, transforming the inside of the artificial cavern into a vision like nowhere else on Ithos.

The city’s beauty hardly made up for its miseries, however. Galena mining was nasty, brutal work, with frequent deaths in the mines deeper in the mountain.

Rock dust from work drifted everywhere— into food, ale, and the lungs of the city’s residents— no matter how hard the city’s mages worked to keep the air clean. Not, of course, that the trade concerns that ran Halfday were willing to hire more than the absolute bare minimum of mages to protect their miners— they did precisely enough to reduce the risk of miner rebellions, and then spent considerably more than that on security for the same reason.

The galena dust was mainly lead, making the whole city toxic to live in long-term. The lead got in the miners’ blood, causing a whole host of health problems, and it was a nightmare to clean out of them— it took entire teams of healers and lead mages working together to clean out a miner’s blood, and the owners sure weren’t going to pay for it. More than a few miners saved up their pay for years to get the lead cleaned out of their blood when they returned to civilization, only to have it all wiped out by the price. Even then, it still often left lingering effects on their health.

The owners of the mine went out of their way to recruit the mind-blind as miners and support workers— they struggled to find work in most places, due to their lack of magic, and they were even treated as an unwanted underclass in some places. Few nations, city-states, or great powers cared what happened to the mind-blind, so the mine owners could get mind-blind laborers cheap and spend their lives even cheaper.

Because there were so many mind-blind in Halfday, and because none of them could use contraceptive cantrips, unwanted and unplanned pregnancies weren’t uncommon. There were solutions of course— healers and alchemists who could end the pregnancy— but the healers and alchemists in Halfday were those who had been driven out of civilization for being drunks who killed their patients, alchemists who cut dangerous corners in their experimentation, or ones who brewed dangerous and addictive recreational compounds. Going to one of them was gambling with your life. For those unlucky new parents who couldn’t afford to travel back to civilization or didn’t want to risk going to one of the disreputable healers or alchemists, their children were being doomed to lifelong lead poisoning.

Halfday was often referred to as the city without children.

Sanitation was also a mismanaged mess— the night’s waste just got thrown down to the base of the cavern between the columns, filling the city with a horrific stench, especially in the lower levels.

Pretty much the only non-horrible part of the mining operation was the fact that the smelters were several leagues away— all the mined ore and tailings were shipped downstream, to keep the toxic smoke out and prevent the tailings from damming the river.

Any mining town was going to be a rough place, but Halfday was an absolute nightmare. Thefts, muggings, suicides, and murders were commonplace occurrences. Few miners spent a minute longer sober than they had to, often spending their entire pay on alcohol and recreational alchemy, and drunks tumbling over the edge of bridges and ramps was even more common than suicides or murder victims going over.

Alustin was no stranger to rough, awful places, but he wouldn’t be going to Halfday if he didn’t have to. Assembling an army was a logistical nightmare in the best of times, and putting one together while on the run from Havathi assassins and Kanderon’s allies was ten times worse. He had no time for touring nightmarish slums.

Alustin also had to deal with keeping the encampments for his scattered forces hidden— while he’d already received promises from several minor and mid-tier great powers to aid him when the time for battle came, only two minor ones had actually joined his forces so far— a dragon with a scale affinity from Starholt and a gorgon smoke mage from Sydapsyn. Neither of them was enough to keep an open encampment of troops hidden, so he’d scattered his forces in small encampments across the Skyreach range. There were countless thousands of abandoned dragon lairs, dead lich demesnes, and losthomes abandoned by traveling mages in the Skyreach range, and not even seers could search them all.

Alustin did have some advantages when it came to hiding his forces— unlike a normal army, his forces were entirely mages, and he simply didn’t have as many troops to hide. There were sound tactical reasons why most armies included regular, non-mage foot-soldiers— among other reasons, large battles often drained the mana from a region, turning it into a temporary mana desert. Plus, training mages was far more expensive and time-consuming than training regular troops.

Not, of course, that most regular soldiers didn’t know a few cantrips and minor spells of their own, but there was a big difference between a cantrip to purify water and a spell to blast enemies with jets of boiling water.

Even a small, highly mobile mage army needed huge amounts of food, though, which offered Alustin’s foes chances to track down his forces if he didn’t hide the shipments well enough.

So Alustin had turned to smugglers, who had plenty of experience moving goods surreptitiously. He’d sent out feelers to several of the larger criminal organizations on the continent and had arranged several meetings.

The first few had been uneventful enough. They hadn’t all worked out, but none of the meetings had come to violence.

This meeting in Halfday was especially promising. The Ruhn Syndicate was led by the descendants of the royal family of Ruhn, which had been conquered decades back by Havath. They had ample reason to resent Havath, even ignoring how hard Havath clamped down on smugglers and organized crime.

Not because the Dominion was particularly noble but because most of their noble families were basically organized crime syndicates who didn’t want the competition.

Most criminal organizations claimed they were led by a secret great power, operating from the shadows, but that was true for relatively few of them. More often, they were actually in the pocket of public great powers, like Indris or the Sican Elders, or were just bluffing. Alustin avoided the former entirely, of course, and the latter would be of little use as serious allies.

The Ruhn Syndicate was one of the few criminal groups that actually was led by a hidden great power. Multiple great powers, it was suspected— not even Kanderon had known all their identities and had spent years wasting Librarian Errant lives trying to find out.

Alustin’s hopes had been high for not only hiring the Syndicate to smuggle supplies, but also to join his actual army.

And those hopes for the Syndicate had played out perfectly. The Syndicate not only offered him favorable pricing for supplies, but they even eagerly volunteered to join him against Havath, before he even asked. All they’d asked in return was his promise that he’d recognize their claim to the old lands of the kingdom of Ruhn once Havath had fallen.

Ruhn had been long-conquered when Helicote fell, and the Syndicate that shared that kingdom’s name had never been an ally of Helicote, but Alustin had absolutely no qualms about sacrificing their forces to the Tongue Eater along with Helicote’s old allies. The latter deserved it, in punishment for failing to aid Helicote in time, but killing off large numbers of mobsters would be a boon to the whole continent.

And after what Alustin had seen in just a short time in Halfday, and given that the Ruhn Syndicate were major investors in the mining town, he’d take genuine pleasure in the deaths of their forces.

Well, as much pleasure as he could before he died or went mad. Alustin wasn’t about to try and delude himself into believing he could survive detonating the Tongue Eater or that he’d even have a future if he somehow managed to survive it. He was no Kanderon, to survive the consequences of murdering a city.

Still, morbid thoughts aside, the only way the meeting could have gone better was if it didn’t end with Havathi raiders attacking Halfday.

ALUSTIN HAD BEEN scrying the approaches to Halfday every few minutes during the meeting with Ruhn, and the instant he saw the small army of Havathi fliers approaching from the southeast, he ended the meeting.

“We’ve got just a few minutes before Havathi fliers get here,” he told Mattin Kos, the heir to the fallen throne of Ruhn. Then Alustin ripped a spellform-inscribed sheet of paper in half, alerting his mages when all the linked sheets of paper tore as well.

Mattin snapped his fingers, and his men immediately set to work putting away maps and ledgers.

“I have one further question before I go,” Mattin said.

Alustin raised an eyebrow at that, then nodded.

“Why warn Havath— warn everyone— when you’re attacking? It seems utter madness, tactically and strategically. Havath City is already the best-defended city on the continent— it would be a nightmare to break through the wards and the Intertwined even in a surprise attack. So why tell the world when you’re attacking? It’s a bluff, right?”

Alustin smiled. “Tell me, Mattin, have you ever heard the story of the Last Echo of the Lord of Bells?”

“That old legend?” Mattin scoffed.

“It’s not a legend,” Alustin said. “It’s going to ring on the anniversary of Helicote’s death, and it will tear Havath’s defenses apart and give us the opening we need.”

Mattin gave him a dubious look, but it was one that slowly faded as Alustin matched his gaze. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Entirely,” Alustin lied.

Well, partially lied. The Last Echo existed, and it would clear aside Havath’s defenses at the appointed time, but it wasn’t the final spell cast by the Lord of Bells.

It was something else entirely. Something no one was expecting.

Mattin leaned forward. “And there’s no chance that The Last Echo of the Lord of Bells is secretly a superweapon stolen from Skyhold’s Vault?”

Inside Alustin’s storage tattoo, the Tongue Eater began to shake and whisper as though it were jealous of the Last Echo.

Alustin smiled at the royal gangster. “You’re well past one question, now, but even if I really had stolen a weapon from the Skyhold Vault, you’d have to speak to Karna Scythe about that.”

He’d been nervous about the thought of leaving the chitin wand with the gorgon queen, but it had been part of the price of her assistance. Alustin was sure her mages and enchanters were examining every inch of the ancient artifact, hoping to puzzle out its secrets, but he wasn’t overly worried about that— no one in history had ever puzzled out any of the secrets of the eons-extinct Labyrinth Builders, and he doubted the mages of Sydapsyn would have any such luck before the invasion of Havath.

Nor did Alustin doubt that Karna Scythe would make sure the chitin wand was delivered to Havath at the appointed time— there were few more committed to Havath’s destruction than the gorgon queen.

It helped that Alustin was almost the only one who knew how to activate the wand, with Kanderon and Bakori out of the picture. At least, that his allies knew of.

It would have been easier to recruit some of Helicote’s old allies if he’d had the chitin wand actually with him, but the presence of Karna Scythe’s forces alongside him served almost as well. Besides, it reduced the temptation of some of his less reliable allies to steal the weapon from him.

Nonetheless, it was definitely convenient to let his allies assume the Last Echo was just a cover for something he’d stolen from the vault. Spreading true knowledge of the Last Echo’s nature would weaken or even defeat it entirely.

Mattin Kos winked, sighed dramatically, then hefted his flagon of ale. “Here’s to the death of Havath, to the restoration of Ruhn, and to the Last Echo of the Lord of Bells!”

With that, the Smuggler Prince teleported away with all his men, leaving behind only a swiftly fading glow and a rush of wind.

Alustin watched the fading light the spatial mage great power left behind thoughtfully. The Smuggler Prince was one of the most powerful teleporters on the continent, but he hadn’t even noticed or made any attempts on Alustin’s planar magic storage tattoo.

The meeting might have gone extremely differently if he had. Kanderon’s work, it seemed, held up well.

Alustin smiled bitterly at that for a moment. Then he spun and ran out of the empty stone tavern at a dead sprint, paper already flooding out of his storage tattoo and assembling into armor.

By the time he’d dashed across the width of the spiral road leading up the column, his armor was already assembled. A moment after he’d vaulted over the railing into open air, his four dragonfly wings assembled themselves from loose sheets of paper, and Alustin was flying between the towering columns of Halfday.

If someone familiar with his paper armor had examined it closely, they might have noticed something different about the various glyphs inked here and there. Their lines were impossibly sharp and precise, far beyond what any human could draw with their hands. For that matter, they were beyond even normal ink mages— Alustin’s combined ink and paper magic let him achieve feats impossible for any mage that just had one of the two affinities.

The combination of ink and paper magic made for what was commonly known as a book mage, allowing for some truly unusual works of magic. Alustin’s ultra-precise glyphs were more mana efficient, reliable, and responsive than normal glyphs. It was a marginal advantage, and among the least of the skills available to book mages, but one of the most important of the many lessons Kanderon had taught Alustin over the years was to never ignore marginal advantages— they added up over time, and you never knew how close victory and defeat lay next to one another.

Alustin tried to tell himself that the pang of guilt at the thought of Kanderon was smaller this time.

He didn’t have time to reflect, though, because the first Havathi attacks came at him as he flew in a great arc around one of Halfday’s towers.

Alustin did a roll in mid-air to dodge some sort of vine javelin, then immediately had to swerve again to dodge a wind-propelled arrow.

Before the Havathi wind mage could target Alustin with another arrow, another Librarian Errant flew in between them. Celia the Anchor was a gravity and force mage, but she was one who wasn’t trying for a wind affinity as well to try and become a Thunderbringer. Instead, she’d developed an unusual magic style that turned her into a floating bulwark, deflecting blows and knocking enemies who approached her out of the air.

She wasn’t the most versatile tactical tool, but in aerial battles in crowded environments, like cities and forests, she was terrifyingly effective.

Alustin whirled and shot towards the other foe as Celia closed on the wind mage.

To his mild surprise, he wasn’t facing a flier at all. Instead, some variety of plant mage hung suspended by dozens of vines in mid-air between the towers. She was covered in some sort of plant armor or harness, and even as he accelerated towards her, she was launching several more vine spears at him.

Alustin didn’t dodge until the last possible moment, then simply shot straight upwards— the design of his paper wings offered him even better mid-air agility than the average wind mage. Almost at the same moment, a razor-edged swarm of paper erupted from his storage tattoo, launching straight towards the Havathi vine mage.

Then he drew his sword and flew in straight after the paper.

The next few seconds were a blur of slicing apart flailing vines and dodging blows. A couple of whipping vines actually broke through his paper swarm and lashed against his armor. The outer layers of his armor promptly crumpled, dispersing the force, and then restored themselves back to normal a heartbeat later.

Vine mages were usually an excellent counter against fliers and other highly mobile mages, like Sabae— Alustin ignored another pang of guilt— but he wasn’t most fliers. His paper swarm and sword took apart the vines with ease, and he hardly had to slow his approach.

Just before he could cut down the vine mage, however, she vanished, yanked to one side at astonishing speed.

By the time Alustin turned to try and follow her, she’d vanished around one of the towers. Dozens of vines hung limply from the towers around him, and panicked miners were rushing about, trying to get away from the mage battle. In the distance, he could hear his mages engaging the Havathi raiders throughout the city.

Then one of the limp vines twitched, and Alustin cursed. He shot straight upwards as the hanging vines all shot straight towards him.

One actually managed to coil around one of his shins, but he detached his armor from around that leg and slipped out of it. By the time the vine had crushed the paper greave, he’d already assembled a new one around his leg.

Then the vine mage swung around the side of one of the towers at high speed, and Alustin was cutting and dodging vines again. They came close to overwhelming him before he cursed and accelerated away.

He only barely managed to keep ahead of her. She seemed to have an unlimited number of vines she could regrow at high speeds from her vine harness— there had to be some trick to it, that was far faster than any normal plant mage— but Alustin couldn’t think of anything off-hand.

The paper mage dodged and swerved through the towers, doing his best to ignore the yelling of the miners. Some were being smart and fleeing the battle, but most were actually drunkenly cheering on one side or the other, even placing bets. Behind him, the Havathi raider swung from tower to tower with her vines, dodging his own attacks or knocking them out of the air with ease. After a few of her vines were shredded by the deadly echoes his sword left floating in mid-air, the mage even started to grab onto their hilts with her vines to help pull her after him.

As much as he would be happy figuring out some clever way to overcome her tricks, Alustin just didn’t have time for that. He reached deep into his storage tattoo with his affinity sense, then pulled out a glass bottle by seizing its paper label with his magic.

Then he hurled the bottle at the vine mage. He steered it past several flailing vines towards the Havathi raider, then shattered the bottle by squeezing its label.

The alchemical compound ignited instantly on contact with the air, splattering the mage and her vines with droplets of artificial dragonfire.

No one expected a paper mage to use fire in a fight.

He accelerated away as the vine mage started screaming, her vines and plant armor igniting into a conflagration hanging between the towers. Alustin aimed towards the last few rays of morning sunlight coming through the cavern-mouth, dodging between the towers and quickly scrying for more foes.

Alustin erupted out into the sunlight right in the midst of a trio of Havathi fliers. Two were cut apart by his paper before they even had a chance to register his presence or cast any spells, and the third only managed to wildly launch a single metal dart before falling off his floating metal discs.

He eyed the pair of hovering metal discs for a moment in mild surprise— you tended to have much less diversity of magic types in the air than on the ground. Flying metal mages were certainly uncommon— perhaps the flier had also had a lightning affinity or something? Then he shrugged and turned away as the discs ran out of mana and plummeted to the river far below.

The great pulleys of Halfday churned below him as he waited for his mages to emerge from the mine-city. The lower end of the pulley was linked to a massive waterwheel driven by the river below. Great buckets lowered galena ore and waste rock to be loaded onto barges below, to be taken to the smelters and tailing-piles downstream. As they swung back around, they were filled with supplies, water, and laborers to be lifted up to the city. Even as he watched, the axle was temporarily disconnected from the waterwheel, and the lower bucket began to be emptied by rock mages as the upper one was loaded with more ore.

A battle was hardly enough to pause the relentless extractive greed of Halfday’s owners.

Soon after that, Alustin’s mages began trickling out, one by one. In less than a minute, all of them had gathered around him, save for a single gorgon force mage who had fallen to the Havathi attackers.

None of the Havathi had made it out.

“Bunch of incompetent galset,” Alustin muttered. “Havath couldn’t even be bothered to send anyone worth fighting.”

“What was that?” Celia asked.

Alustin felt cold all of a sudden, but he tried not to show it.

A galset was a herdsman so ugly and foolish you couldn’t tell him apart from his animals. It was a common insult in the Chert Hills.

Alustin had, until a few heartbeats ago, never heard the word galset before, nor had he ever heard of the Chert Hills.

He shook his head and tried to act calm as he turned to Celia. “The vine mage was the only one of them I saw who was worth more than a pinch of salt as a fighter. I don’t think they were actively tracking us, I think they were just opportunists in the region. Probably got tipped off by someone in Halfday who spotted us. My anti-scrying measures are still active, and no one as incompetent as this bunch is going to be able to break through them.”

Celia nodded at that, and Alustin mentally breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

“Emmenson’s not going to be happy about the fact that they found us at all,” Celia offered.

Alustin rolled his eyes. “Emmenson’s never happy.”

The sound mage had been arguing with Alustin about tactics for weeks, now. He’d wanted to perform a covert mission— smuggle the chitin wand into Havath City, destroy Havath’s labyrinth with it, and escape as the collapsing labyrinth ripped the city apart.

Alustin, along with most of the rest of the Librarians Errant, however, wanted to do more than just destroy Havath City. They wanted to send a message to the mysterious multiversal organization behind Havath— the same one Kanderon had belonged to an opposing faction of.

It wasn’t hard to puzzle out what the faction behind Havath wanted. They were out to build empires, to rule over worlds directly. Rather than doing so through conquest, though, they were out to do so via scheming and puppeteering in the background. They were using the Havath Dominion, like the Ithonian Empire before it, as a testing ground for their plans.

Or perhaps they were a whole new faction that just aped the old faction’s imperial ambitions, but that possibility didn’t change anything.

None of them were sure what Kanderon’s faction had wanted, but they were all well-familiar with the sphinx’s hatred of empire, so they could be confident that not everyone in the multiversal organization wanted to rule over Anastis.

The Librarians Errant, before their betrayal, had all agreed that it would take a far more impressive message than a simple terrorist strike to discourage the pro-empire faction of the mysterious organization. The multiversal meddlers needed to have their dreams crushed thoroughly, by a coalition of city-states and great powers, to discourage them from trying again.

None of the other Librarians Errant knew how far Alustin meant to go, though. Even the message they were planning to send with the chitin wand and the invasion wouldn’t be enough.

That was why he’d stolen the Tongue Eater.

The Tongue Eater was clearly and obviously not native to the world of Anastis. The magic that had made it was from some other universe entirely. The ritual spellform to activate the Tongue Eater was far different than any other magic Alustin had ever encountered— he suspected its absurd complexity was necessary to interface with and activate the alien magic of the Tongue Eater. Even the supposed language affinity that the Ithonian Empire claimed to have developed in their propaganda was nothing of the sort— it was a product of pacting warlocks to the Tongue Eater’s stomach. They had, of course, all gone horribly mad eventually, but that wouldn’t have discouraged the Ithonians.

The obvious conclusion was that the imperialist faction had provided the Ithonian Empire with the Tongue Eater and the knowledge to use it. That they had condoned, perhaps even planned, the atrocities that the empire had committed. That they’d been behind the horrific linguistic experiments on tens of thousands of people and the millions deprived of their languages and sanity by the Tongue Eater in the name of conquest and stability.

Alustin was going to shove the sins of Havath and their hidden backers right down their throat— and he had the perfect tools for the job.

The Last Echo of the Lord of Bells to open up Havath’s defenses.

The chitin wand and his army to devastate Havath City and prepare the grounds for the final blow.

And, once the chitin wand had shattered Havath’s labyrinth and flooded Havath City with mana, Alustin would use that flood of mana to destroy the Tongue Eater and release its devoured languages.

He was going to achieve Kanderon’s own aims, by means she had been too fearful and regretful to contemplate.

As he and his team of mages flew up the canyon, skimming just above the river rapids, the Tongue Eater shuddered inside his storage tattoo, and its whispering grew just a little louder.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Hasty Descent

GODRICK’S ARMOR ELEMENTAL seemed almost excited to be in the labyrinth. Or maybe it was just excited to be serving as his armor again.

It was still strange and disorienting to be able to maintain his armor without needing to use up much space in his mind’s eye. He could still see his da’s armor spellform, but it was held in his elemental’s mind's eye, not his own.

Godrick almost felt like he should be casting some other sort of spell, instead of leaving his mind’s eye so empty, but he suppressed the urge.

He’d need to conserve his mana. They were going deeper into the labyrinth than they’d ever gone before, deeper than most explorers ever went. Even his da had only gone as deep as they were planning a handful of times.

The labyrinth felt different this time than he’d ever felt it before. No one had been in here in weeks— the gates had all been locked up before the battle and hadn’t been reopened yet.

It was noisy— but not in a way that made the labyrinth feel angry like the Library of late. It just felt alive, almost like the jungles of the Ylosa River delta.

“How deep are we goin’ ta’ need ta’ delve?” Godrick asked.

“Not sure yet,” Hugh said. “It changes pretty frequently, according to Galvachren, but for a large labyrinth like ours, around… the tenth floor, maybe? Sixth or seventh floor, if we’re lucky. Mackerel’s still searching.”

Godrick gulped nervously, then turned to keep watch down one of the hallways near them as Hugh’s spellbook tried to find them a route down into the depths.

Mackerel’s unique ability to scry inside the labyrinth seemed to be the flip-side of his ability to block scrying outside the labyrinth, and both were products of his nature as a labyrinth stone.

Not that labyrinth stones were precisely stones. They started out as stone, but then the labyrinth… changed them into something else. Godrick didn’t know much about them, but they were one of the most prized treasures found regularly in a labyrinth— among other occasional properties, they helped mages find their way through a labyrinth. Back when his da had still delved into the labyrinth, he’d owned one that had helped him find his otherworldly magic hammer.

The hammer that had become an iron mountain jutting out of the sands of the Endless Erg.

Godrick was vaguely curious what Mackerel’s original nature as a labyrinth stone would mean for his future, but he banished the speculations— now was hardly the time for that.

“Alright, Mackerel’s found us a shortcut,” Hugh said. “Takes us from the second floor straight down to the fifth. Looks like our goal is down on the eighth floor.”

Godrick felt his shoulders tense at that. He had really been hoping they’d be able to skip the fifth floor entirely.

He didn’t complain, though, just settled in as rearguard behind the others as they started to move.

Sabae took point, with Hugh and Mackerel right behind her, scrying for routes with fewer monsters and traps.

To Godrick’s surprise, Talia fell in beside him as they walked, rather than walking alongside Hugh.

“Shouldn’t yeh be in formation?”

Talia rolled her eyes. “We’re on the first floor, and we have Mackerel covering us.”

Godrick frowned at her through his ward-reinforced quartz faceplate. The first floor might not be particularly dangerous to them, but nor could any part of the labyrinth be considered safe— especially given the fact that Hugh was unarmored.

Talia ignored his expression. “So did you ever talk to my brother?”

Godrick just blinked at her.

“Tristan. Did you ever talk to Tristan?” Talia asked.

Godrick sighed and switched his gravity-enchanted hammer to his other shoulder. “No. Ah know ah shoulda, but…”

Talia shrugged. “I mean, it probably hurt him quite a bit that you just started avoiding him, but I imagine he understands. Tristan’s a flirty idiot but not an irredeemable one.”

“Ah just… don’t have it in me ta’ date right now,” Godrick said. “Ah can barely keep meself together right now, let alone worry about someone else.”

“That’s entirely reasonable, and I don’t blame you,” Talia said, firing a dreamfire bolt at an unlucky multi-headed rat. “I was just curious.”

Godrick watched as the multi-headed rat was devoured by its own shadow, then sighed again. “Ah really should a’ talked ta’ him. It woulda been the mature thing ta’ do.”

Talia patted his armor. “No one’s expecting you to be perfect right now, Godrick. You’re holding yourself together a lot better than I would in your place.”

Godrick smiled weakly at her.

They fell quiet for a time, interrupted only by a handful of other monsters. Talia blasted most of them with dreamfire, with one exception.

There was a bizarre, hideous rodent, about the size of a cat, sitting right in the middle of the hallway. Hugh and Talia just walked past it unconcerned, but Godrick and Sabae stopped well away from it. The creature had a bald tail, a stout body, and a long, snaggle-toothed snout.

Sabae stared at it awkwardly. “What is this, and why did you ignore it?”

Hugh looked back at them. “It’s just a possum, we get them in Emblin sometimes. They’re harmless, just step around it.”

Godrick and Sabae stared at the creature, which hissed at them.

“It doesn’t look harmless,” Godrick said.

“It’s one of the most horrifying things I’ve ever seen,” Sabae added.

“My youngest cousin used to catch them in the woods, then bring them back home and dress them up to hold tea parties with them,” Hugh said.

“There are plenty of them up in the Skyreach Range,” Talia added.

The possum hissed at them again, and Godrick and Sabae gingerly stepped around it, giving it a wide berth.

“There’s somethin’ seriously wrong with Emblin,” Sabae said. “And the Skyreach Range.”

Godrick nodded vigorously at that.

“I think they’re cute,” Talia said.

The possum just hissed at them, then waddled awkwardly away from them.

Godrick eyed it suspiciously for a while, then caught back up with Talia.

Godrick and Talia walked silently for a while after that. Her company actually felt good, even if it did break formation.

Finally, Godrick felt compelled to ask something that had been bugging him for ages. “Why didn’t yer family ever try ta’ give yeh an artificial fire affinity? Or even tell yeh that was a possibility?”

Talia grimaced and ran her hand through her hair. Her scrimshaw ward flickered oddly where it overlapped. “They didn’t tell me because, apparently, my clan thinks it’s a little embarrassing to need an artificial affinity, even though quite a few of them do. And also because it wouldn’t have worked for me.”

“Why not?” Godrick asked.

Talia shrugged. “My tattoos would only have worked for a natural fire affinity. Well, an artificial fire affinity would have worked exactly once… and then I would have exploded.”

“That’s less than ideal, ah think.”

Talia grinned wryly at that, then blasted a fanged and horned rabbit with a dreambolt. Its fur promptly grew out of control, draining the flesh from the rabbit to add to its length.

Talia moved back into formation soon after that, and it wasn’t long until they reached the center of the first floor.

Sabae didn’t even hesitate before heading down the spiral stairs.

Godrick kept an eye on the tunnels leading into the central chamber until his friends had all descended, then followed them down.

THE CURVE-ROOFED TUNNELS of the second floor constantly ran with water. Narrow streams ran along the walls in the shapes of spellforms, constantly shifting, separating, and reconnecting.

Normally you had to fight not to get lulled into relaxation by the floor, but not this time.

Somehow, a kraken had made it onto the second floor.

Godrick threw himself flat on the ground as a flailing tentacle slammed into the wall behind where he’d been standing. He couldn’t help but notice that instead of suckers, the kraken’s scaled tentacle had fangs.

Rather than stand up, Godrick envisioned a spellform to allow stones to slide across one another almost frictionlessly.

He kicked off the wall with his force boots and went careening down the tunnel.

Sabae had already grabbed Hugh, so Godrick altered the stone’s friction beneath him to change his course a little, then hit Talia in the shins. If her scrimshaw ward hadn’t been active, it would have broken both her legs, but with it active, she just tumbled onto Godrick’s back.

“Hold on!” he yelled, then accelerated with another burst of force from his boots.

Behind him, the kraken’s scaled tentacles cracked and tore at the tunnel but couldn’t reach any farther out of the underground lake the kraken was lurking in.

After sliding around a few more curves, Godrick came to a stop in front of Sabae and Hugh.

“You both look ridiculous,” Sabae said.

“It worked,” Godrick said as Talia climbed off his armor.

“Tell me that thing wasn’t sitting on top of our exit,” Sabae demanded.

Hugh gave her an awkward look. “Well, technically, the vent is on the island in the middle of the lake, so it’s not actually on top of it.”

Sabae just glared at him.

“How many arms does that thing have?” Talia asked.

“Tentacles,” Godrick said. “They don’t have suckers, so they’re tentacles, not arms. And kraken have twelve a’ them, usually.”

“What is it doing this high in the labyrinth?” Talia demanded. “I thought monsters that powerful were supposed to be farther down in the labyrinth.”

Godrick shook his head as he climbed back to his feet. “It’s like that during tests in great part due ta’ Skyhold mages clearing the upper levels a’ anythin’ truly dangerous. More powerful monsters tend ta’ dwell lower down where the mana is denser, but not always.”

“Plus, kraken don’t need mana to be dangerous,” Sabae said. “Even a young one like that is a match for the vast majority of archmages, and a full-grown kraken, even before you count their spellcasting, pretty much always counts as a great power.”

“Wait, it’s intelligent?” Talia demanded. “Krakens can do magic?”

“Maybe?” Hugh said. “Kraken don’t become intelligent or learn to speak until they approach adulthood; their bodies prioritize physical over mental growth early on.”

Talia ran an incredulous gaze across the lot of them. “Did you all just take some class on krakens that I missed or something?”

Mackerel flipped his crystal pages open, and the letters on it shifted to a page from Galvachren’s Bestiary.

Then one specific sentence grew, both in the size and color of the letters.

The plural of kraken is kraken— one of the endless quirks of the Ithonian language.

Godrick reached out and shut Mackerel before Talia could notice. “Ah spent a bunch a mah childhood in Lothal, where yeh can’t help but learn more than yeh really need ta’ know about squid-kin a’ every sort, thanks ta’ Ampioc’s cults. Yeh’re goin’ ta’ learn about them in any port city, though, which is where Sabae probably learned it.”

“That, and my grandmother hates most kraken with a passion,” Sabae said.

“And Hugh…” Godrick started. “Actually, why do yeh know so much about kraken?”

Hugh patted Mackerel. “Spent way too much time reading about them in Galvachren’s Bestiary back when I was looking for a partner our first year.”

Talia crossed her arms and scowled at all of them.

“Hugh, are there any other routes we can use?” Sabae asked.

Hugh closed his eyes and rested his hand on Mackerel.

While they waited, Godrick turned his attention to his armor elemental.

It seemed more awake than usual, more interested in its surroundings. It usually had little interest in anything but being armor, but Godrick could feel it running its senses across the tunnels around them now. He wasn’t sure whether it was due to the close call with the kraken, the labyrinth, or just thanks to it being older, but the difference was palpable.

He also couldn’t help but notice that the elemental’s mana reservoirs were growing as well, taking on more and more of the burden of maintaining his armor. He still had to handle the bulk of it, but if the elemental’s reservoirs kept growing at the rate they were, it might be able to handle his armor all on its own in a few years.

“No other shortcuts,” Hugh said. “If I’m interpreting Mackerel correctly, most of them closed up since Midwinter— the battle drew so much mana from the labyrinth that it doesn’t need to vent extra right now. We’ll need to go the long way, I guess.”

Sabae scowled. “It took us longer than I’d hoped to break through the ventilation system; my grandmother’s probably realized that we’re missing by now. I doubt that she would expect us to delve into the labyrinth, but we need to get as deep as possible as fast as possible before she thinks to look for us down here.”

“Ah doubt she’s goin’ ta’ think a’ the labyrinth anytime soon,” Godrick offered.

“Can we really risk that?” Sabae asked. “Between dealing with an angry juvenile kraken and dealing with my angry grandmother, I’ll take the kraken every time. The shortcut could shorten our descent by hours, maybe half a day or more.”

Talia perked up at that. “We’re going to kill a kraken?”

Sabae shook her head. “We don’t need to kill it, just get past it. In fact, if we don’t kill it, that actually slows down anyone trying to follow us more.”

“Ah still doubt anyone’s comin’ after us,” Godrick said, frowning. “And even if she does, we’ve got not only Mackerel but the labyrinth itself blocking scryin’.”

They’d done a lot of insane things in the past, but going up against a kraken, even a juvenile one… he really didn’t think Sabae was balancing the risks correctly. Sure, her grandmother was far more dangerous, but…

“There are other ways to find people than scrying,” Sabae said. “Grandmother is more than happy to flood the upper levels with mages hunting for us, even if a few of them die in the process. Never, ever underestimate her.”

Godrick idly bounced his hammer against the ground as he thought. “Hugh, yeh’re sure yeh can’t get the Stormward’s Crown workin’? Configure it inta’ an attention ward, then make a tunnel out a’ it, and we could just dance right past the kraken.”

Hugh pulled one of the crystal nodes of the Stormward’s Crown out of his storage tattoo and scowled at it. “Not a chance. With my magic malfunctioning the way it is, the Crown is more likely to explode than actually work. It’s not just a simple ward I can pump mana into.”

“What about one of the pre-made wards you’ve been using?” Sabae asked.

Hugh put away the Crown node and pulled out some of his pre-made wards. “They’re mostly made of paper, and, uh, it’s pretty wet around here.”

“I could drop a bunch of bone shards into the water, set off a big explosion!” Talia said. “Explosions are far more lethal underwater— liquids carry the force of explosions more powerfully than gases. I could turn the kraken into mincemeat.”

Godrick shook his head. “Any explosion large enough ta’ kill a kraken risks rippin’ apart the island our shortcut is in. Ah think a ward tunnel is what we want— Hugh, yeh think yeh can still make one if yeh take enough time? Yer magic still works every now and then, right?”

“We don’t have the time to wait for that,” Sabae said. “We need to think of something else— maybe we can risk just rushing through, try and keep it off us.”

Hugh paused, then looked at Godrick with an expression that wouldn’t have been out of place on Talia’s face when she was proposing a particularly mad plan. “I can’t make the ward, but I can design it. If only we had, I don’t know, a stone mage that could build the actual ward in my place.”

Godrick stared at Hugh for a moment, then chuckled. “Well, ah feel like a right idiot now.”

GODRICK ENDED UP doing a surprising amount of work on the ward, instead of just accepting a design right from Hugh. For all that Hugh worked his wards in stone most of the time, his methods were far different than actual stone magic. Godrick could, with enough effort, recrystallize stone like Hugh did— but while there was enough overlap between stone and crystal affinities to do that, it would still be exhaustingly difficult. Far easier just to use stone magic techniques to carve the ward.

There were also differences in their mana types to consider— Godrick’s stone and steel mana would interact with the spellforms much differently than Hugh’s crystal, stellar, and planar mana. He wasn’t going to use his scent affinity at all— that was by far his smallest reservoir. Regardless, while Hugh was unquestionably the ward expert, Godrick knew far more about the behavior of his own mana, so he ended up making quite a few changes to the design.

The final design was a modular one— he’d be crafting triangular ward tunnel segments, each twenty feet or so in length. Like Hugh’s tunnel at Dragonclaw Yardang, the ward segments would be carved into the walls and floor of the lake cavern, and project the tunnel walls and floor at a distance, only coming into effect once they intersected each other, and deactivating past where they intersected again. Rather than keep them all active at once, Godrick would only activate the one they were in at any given time and the one ahead of them as they prepared to pass into it.

The most nerve-wracking part of the plan for Godrick was that he’d have to take off his armor for it. His mana reservoirs had grown immensely over the past few years, but his armor weighed more than all of them put together— trying to support it in a suspended ward tunnel would drain his reservoirs unnecessarily fast.

His armor elemental definitely felt disappointed when he put it away in his storage tattoo. Godrick resolved then and there to start using his armor a few times a week, even if he wasn’t going to be fighting.

It was slow going at first. He wasn’t used to stone sculpting so precisely at a distance, nor to sculpting complex spellforms in the real world, outside his mind’s eye.

He started to pick up speed quickly, though. The wards were complex— but only a fraction as much as his armor. More, Godrick was simply repeating the same spellforms over and over, so it was just a matter of simple practice.

Entering the lake chamber itself was absolutely nerve-wracking. Godrick expected the kraken to detect them immediately, but it didn’t even glance their way.

The kraken was half-in, half-out of the water on the far side of the underground lake. It was lit dimly by the faintly glowing spellforms of water running across the walls above and more brightly by the glowing freshwater corals in the lake beneath it.

Godrick frowned as he looked closer. Kraken didn’t habitually spend time above water more than necessary, and this one seemed to be resting much of its weight on the shore as well. Quite a few of the kraken’s scales were loose or had fallen out entirely, and the rubbery flesh beneath was inflamed, with visible sores.

He only paused to look for a moment, then continued onwards.

They only had three scares along the way. The first was when they stepped into the first ward segment that lifted off the ground. It held fine, but that didn’t stop Godrick from holding his breath.

The second was halfway through the trip over the lake when a sudden curve in the cave wall put its stone too far away for Godrick to carve more ward spellforms into it. He managed to work around it by carving the spellform into the lake bed, but that left them sliding across a steeply angled corridor.

The final scare came when they were almost to the island, on their closest approach to the kraken. It was almost as though it could tell there was something wrong because it started feeling around in the air with its tentacles as if searching for them.

They barely managed to run out of their ward tunnel segment and into the next, Godrick collapsing it behind them, before the kraken swiped a fanged tentacle through the air where they’d been.

Then they were directly over the barren island, and they could clearly make out the mana vent below them.

Unlike the one they’d fallen through in their first year, this one wasn’t covered at all— it was just a hole in the ground, wide across as you could toss a ball. Godrick couldn’t see all the way down and briefly had to struggle with the irrational fear of it being bottomless.

He forced himself to breathe slowly, then fashioned one final attention ward, this one hiding the approach down to the mana vent.

He slowly nodded to each of the others to make sure they were ready and assembled a levitation spellform in his mind’s eye.

Then he collapsed the ward tunnel beneath them, and they drifted slowly down into the depths of the labyrinth, down towards the fifth floor.

The floor where Godrick had almost died their first year.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Final Exam

HUGH HAD NEVER had much of an issue with heights before, but he was coming to realize that he absolutely hated having to be levitated by other people. He was so used to being the one to levitate himself and his friends, and now, more than ever, he resented his current magical difficulties.

He could, at least, make things easier on Godrick by releasing tiny bursts of force from his force-enchanted boots, but it didn’t help him feel better.

Godrick looked exhausted when they reached the bottom of the spellform coated shaft, so they waited there for a moment for his mana to regenerate. They didn’t speak, for fear of their voices reaching the kraken— which was too bad, because Hugh could have used the distraction.

He couldn’t help but think about the last time they’d been in one of these mana vent shafts when they’d first encountered Bakori. He understood the spellforms much better now than last time he’d seen them— they were fairly straightforward, ward-like enchantments meant to redirect mana flow through the aether.

The fact that he could understand them at all bothered Hugh immensely. The first labyrinths had been grown countless eons ago by the long-vanished Labyrinth Builders, who likely had never even come close to Anastis or had ever mastered Anastan affinity magic.

He’d read Galvachren’s claims in one of his books— that the labyrinths adapted to the magics of their host universes— but doing so and developing spellforms that were recognizably part of spellcasting traditions? That beggared belief.

One of the first things he’d learned in Emmenson Drees’ spellform construction classes was that there was nothing inevitable about the shape of spellforms, that they looked as they did simply because that was how spellform construction had evolved over the centuries. Other mages on other continents had developed entirely different traditions and spellforms that looked radically different from Ithonian ones.

There were, of course, some commonalities between the various traditions— the spellforms all served the same purpose, that of creating specific types of turbulence in mana as it flowed through the spellform. That turbulence interacting with the physical world was what created magical effects, and there were multiple hypothetical spellform shapes that could create any specific type or types of turbulence. Formless casting worked by creating the turbulence directly, skipping the spellforms entirely.

The spellforms covering the walls in this shaft weren’t simply derived from the basic, general principles all spellforms were based on.

These ones were recognizably and specifically Ithonian.

Hugh didn’t like any of the possible conclusions that line of thought led towards.

Finally, Godrick signaled that he was ready to move, and they started off into the fifth floor of the labyrinth.

It was just like Hugh remembered it— walls of crumbling sandstone, with spellforms painted on them in flaky white paint. Both were, he suspected, a lot more durable than they looked.

“Did anyone else notice how bad the kraken looked?” Sabae asked, once they’d moved far enough away from the towering mana vent. “All the sores and missing scales?”

“Ah think it was due ta’ it bein’ stuck in a freshwater lake,” Godrick said as he reassembled his armor out of the sandstone of the fifth level. “It’s a saltwater creature, after all.”

“Why’d it wander into a labyrinth, then?” Talia demanded.

“Maybe got dragged in against its will?” Hugh offered. “That does happen sometimes. Labyrinth overlays some part of another world, drags creatures and stuff back in with it.”

Talia gave him an incredulous look. “Does that happen often? Is that something we need to worry about now?”

Hugh shrugged. “Probably not? There have only been a handful of cases in recorded history of that happening, and it mostly happens in the middle of nowhere. I’ve only heard of one case of it happening in a crowded city, and that was a couple centuries back in Alikea. I’ve only read a little on the topic, though, so I really don’t know much.”

“Oh, delightful,” Talia muttered.

“In formation, everyone,” Sabae said. “Let’s get moving.”

As they started moving out, Hugh saw Godrick hesitate, an anxious look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothin’,” Godrick muttered.

Hugh raised an eyebrow at that and waited.

“Let’s get moving,” Sabae called back.

“Hold on a moment,” Hugh said, then folded his arms at Godrick.

The bigger mage shifted awkwardly in his armor. “It’s stupid.”

Hugh kept waiting.

Godrick finally gave in and sighed. “Ah’m just… When we were down here last when that giant crab attacked us? That was the first time ah was ever seriously injured. Ah’m… Ah don’t like bein’ back down here. And part a’ me is convinced that we’re goin’ ta' have ta’ go through the room where it happened again.”

“We’d need to if we were in a story,” Talia said, though she didn’t look their way— she was keeping watch down a narrow side tunnel with a ceiling too low for Sabae, let alone Godrick. “For, you know, narrative catharsis.”

Sabae walked back and joined them. “Godrick… that room was a turning point in all our lives. It was the place where Hugh formed his contract with Kanderon, where Talia first discovered bonefire… where I first used my healing affinity. I think we all get at least some of what you’re feeling right now, but it might do us all some good to confront that room again. And we’ve got a head start, but we can’t afford to squander it. If that’s the best route down, then that’s the way we need to go.”

“It’s not,” Hugh said.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“I just had Mackerel look for paths. No shortcuts to a deeper floor, but we don’t need to go anywhere near that room to get to the nearest path down. Besides, I think we’ve probably had enough symbolically heavy moments in places important to us for one day.”

Godrick grinned weakly at Hugh, and Sabae rolled her eyes at him.

“Talia’s rubbing off too much on you,” she accused him. “We’re not in a story.”

“Excuse me,” Talia interjected, looking back towards them and sounding offended. “I would never complain about having too many symbolically heavy moments in nostalgic or otherwise important locations, so long as they were earned and not just shoved into the plot.”

Sabae closed her eyes and made an aggravated noise in the back of her throat. “Enough silly story logic applied to real life. Let’s just get moving.”

As they got into formation, Godrick gently rested a stone-gauntleted hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “Thanks, Hugh.”

Hugh just nodded at him.

As they got moving, Godrick spoke up again, this time loud enough for everyone to hear. “Just thought a’ somethin’ that might make yeh feel better about skippin’ that room, Talia. Us venturing inta’ the labyrinth like this ta’ escape Skyhold? It’s basically a sort a’ final exam for us as students a’ Skyhold.”

Talia perked up at that. “You’re right, it totally is! Sort of a symbolic threshold into adulthood and personal agency for us!”

Sabae groaned in annoyance. “Well, if it was, you just ruined it with that line of reasoning. Now can we please focus on the incredibly dangerous maze full of monsters around us?”

Despite the fact that Sabae was absolutely correct, Hugh had to fight to stop himself from chuckling.

HUGH’S GOOD HUMOR only lasted until the fifth-floor monster attacks started.

On their first visit to this floor, they’d only faced a swarm of flying crabs, their giant parent, and some sort of horrid wolf creature with far too many mouths scattered across its body. All of them had almost killed them.

Hugh and the others were far more powerful than they’d been before— even with his magic barely working, Hugh was far better armed with pre-made wards and explosive wardstones than he’d been his first year. Thanks to all that, Hugh had almost been expecting things to be easy for them, even this deep.

They’d had it easy their first time on the fifth floor.

The first attack came in an intersection of more than a dozen tunnels, several of which were too small for even Talia to crawl through. Their only warning came from Godrick, who smelled the pack coming a few seconds before they hit.

Before Hugh could even finish laying the defensive ward on the ground, the creatures swarmed into the intersection from all directions.

They were nightmares made flesh. It was as if some mad mage had taken hyenas, sewn a trio of them back-to-back, then stretched out their bodies twenty feet into radially symmetric furred centipedes with dozens of furred legs in six even rows.

Hugh did his best to ignore them and just kept laying out the cloth ward on the floor of the intersection. Dreamfire flashed over his head, Sabae’s spear went whizzing past him, and Godrick’s enchanted opal in his helmet illuminated the room into a cascade of multicolored light.

One of the creatures almost got Hugh before Godrick knocked it away with his hammer, and a second came even closer before Mackerel blasted it away with a combined burst of force and frost from his enchanted strap, but finally, Hugh finished unrolling the cloth ward, buttoned the ends together, and activated it.

The cloth circle went absolutely rigid, floated several inches up above the ground, and then projected a dome of pale gold light over them. The glowing ward stretched straight down below the cloth ring to the ground as well.

Then the whole dome started spinning, and the ward began fading into invisibility. It was still there, but you could only catch faint flickers as it spun.

Hugh’s friends took a moment to catch their breath, and he took a chance to get a better look at the creatures.

His initial, hasty impressions had been surprisingly accurate about some things, but given a few seconds to observe them without being in a panicked rush, Hugh could see that they were much more cohesive than he’d imagined. The hyena worms weren’t each three creatures sewn back-to-back but were each a monstrous whole. Their three jaws opened into a single, central mouth, lined with hundreds of fangs stretching backward. Each fang flexed and twisted independently of all the others.

Their legs all had different numbers of joints bending in seemingly random directions, each of which ended in a bizarre clump of tendrils and claws that let them freely clamber along walls and ceilings.

They had at least a dozen eyes, largely clustered in between the jaws along the outer edge of the creature’s round face. It would have been less horrifying if the eyes were insectile, instead of being utterly normal mammalian eyes.

He couldn’t even count how many of the creatures there were— they climbed over and under one another, tangled together and apart, and freely clambered about the walls, floor, and ceiling of the intersection chamber.

The large numbers of dangling stalactites just made things worse, especially since stalactites weren’t something that should ever form in sandstone.

“I think they’re demons,” Hugh said. “Something this weird doesn’t make sense being from anywhere other than an aether critical universe.”

“They’re not messin’ with mah spellforms like Bakori did,” Godrick said, clutching his hammer a little tighter. “Yeh sure about that?”

Hugh shrugged. “Honestly, something about them just feels like Bakori. I don’t know if I can explain it better than that.”

One of the hyena worms lashed out at them, its jaws gaping wide, but when it hit the ward, it was sent sliding off to one side by the ward’s spin. Redirecting force was much more energy efficient than blocking it entirely but creating spinning wards like this was still a fairly new technique, and one with ample limitations— most notably, the fact that it only worked for circular wards, that it couldn’t move, and that the ward could only be used once.

Fixing some of those issues had been one of Loarna’s many projects she’d been working on before she died defending Skyhold.

Hugh let the pain at the thought of his wards teacher pass through him, took a deep breath, and focused on the problem at hand.

“I’m not sure we actually even injured any of them,” Talia said. “These things are light for their size but ridiculously durable.”

“That one has a broken leg, and another has a burn,” Sabae said. “But you’re right, we haven’t done much.”

Another creature snarled, a sound like a trumpet full of grinding gears, then lunged at the ward, sliding off like the last one.

“They’re too fast for anyone but Sabae to run from, and my ward’s not going to last forever,” Hugh said.

“I might have an idea,” Talia offered.

“I don’t think the ward can survive a bonefire explosion powerful enough to kill these things,” Hugh said.

Talia smiled. “This is… something of a new approach.”

Her storage tattoo darkened into visibility around her mouth, and Talia spat out… some sort of wooden tube and a bag that she pulled a long bone needle out of.

“I eventually want to master pulling the darts directly from my tattoo and into the blowgun,” Talia said, “But for now, I still need to manually reload. Hugh, will the ward’s spin mess with my aim at all?”

“No, but…”

Talia smiled at him, loaded the bone needle into the blowgun, then put it to her lips and blew it towards one of the hyena worms.

Almost instantly after the needle shot out of the end of the blowgun, it glowed with bonefire— especially the thicker rear end.

The needle grew in size, and the end erupted in flame, propelling the needle at astonishing speed.

It shot through the ward, corkscrewing slightly in the air, then slammed into the back third of a centipede worm, already the size of a dagger.

It ground to a halt less than a third of the way into its length— but only for a moment. The needle kept growing, and the end kept firing flames, digging the bone needle in farther with every passing heartbeat.

The hyena worm had just started screaming when the now spear-sized needle detonated, severing the back third of its long body. A few bone embers bounced off the spinning ward, but most went flying outwards from the sides of the bone needle.

The creatures might be absurdly tough, but they didn’t have Bakori’s regenerative powers, and the hyena worm went slack almost immediately.

“These needles are hard to aim, I was trying for its head,” Talia offered.

Several other hyena worms crawled over to the dead one, inspecting it carefully.

Then they all released painfully loud whistles, and the chamber emptied. If not for the ward and the hyena worm corpse, there would have been no sign of the attack.

Hugh reached out to Mackerel to have him track the creatures, and to his relief, his spellbook was able to scry them easily. “They’re retreating to some sort of nest,” Hugh relayed. “One that’s nowhere near our path.”

Talia put away her blowgun, looking almost disappointed.

Hugh deactivated his ward, and the cloth he’d sewn it into ignited.

He left it burning on the ground and followed his friends down the next tunnel.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Deeper and Darker

THE REST OF the fifth floor was… well, still nightmarish, but nothing quite as dangerous as the hyena worms came after them.

Hugh felt useless much of the time— like entering the labyrinth again had brought back his old feelings of worthlessness from his first year. Grotesque insect monsters chased them for several passages until Godrick smashed enough of them to discourage the rest. Talia annihilated monster after monster with dreamfire. Mackerel’s labyrinth scrying abilities likely made him the most useful member of the party. And Sabae? She handled the worst monster they encountered on the fifth floor after the hyena worms.

It was some sort of smoke-spewing fish that swam through the air like it were water, and it was fast enough to easily dodge even Talia’s dreamfire. The others’ armor was enough to protect them from the noxious smoke, but all Hugh had was a pre-made ward mask that was barely up for the job. By the time Sabae chased down the fish, grabbing it with her adhesive shield and bashing it repeatedly against the wall, Hugh was choking and hacking violently.

His lungs might have improved immensely over the past few months, but they’d never be entirely back to normal. His lungs would always be more sensitive to irritants than other peoples’, and it would take years of exercise, healing, and training before he’d be able to exert himself freely without risk of his airways seizing up.

Hugh’s breathing was only just starting to get back to normal by the time they descended to the sixth floor.

This floor was a bit of a let-down. To most deep-delving mages, it was one of the most terrifying floors in the labyrinth, filled with countless lethal traps.

Mackerel’s scrying, however, let the four of them pass by all the traps with ease. And, thanks to said traps, there were hardly any monsters on this floor.

Well, apart from Zzthkxz, an elephant-sized spider who liked to ask riddles of her prey before wrapping them in webbing and dragging them back to her larder, but Mackerel even let them avoid the territory of the eight-legged minor great power easily.

The sheer number of traps on this floor— the existence of traps at all— was one of the strangest features of labyrinths. The leading theory was that the Labyrinth Builders had put them in to minimize the flow of invasive species through labyrinths, but there was really no way to know anything about that long-vanished civilization— they’d gone extinct countless eons ago and had left few traces beyond the labyrinths.

“Which way next?” Sabae asked at a particularly large six-way intersection.

Hugh looked at Mackerel, but instead of sending him a vision of their path, the spellbook shook violently.

Then he shot up into the air directly in front of Hugh, flipped open, and began to fill his pages with text written in unfamiliar handwriting.

You can’t stay neutral forever, Keayda.

Hugh’s eyebrows shot up at that, and he immediately realized what was going on. Mackerel had tapped into the communications network that the Index ran for Kanderon, via the communications diary he’d devoured last summer. Kanderon had claimed Mackerel wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop like this anymore, but with Kanderon… incapacitated, it seemed her suppression of this ability had failed.

More writing appeared in the book, and Hugh immediately recognized it as Keayda’s despite only having ever seen it a handful of times before.

I can, and I will. My duties go beyond your petty factional infighting. More, so far as I’ve seen, your behavior has violated the treaty between Kanderon and your faction far worse than she ever did. The consequences lie on your own head, Icola.

Sabae hissed over his shoulder, and he realized that his friends had crowded around him to read as well. “Icola’s the surviving Havathi Duarch!” Sabae hissed.

“Maybe it’s a different Icola?” Talia offered, but Sabae hushed her as the writing started up again.

What does the treaty matter now that Kanderon is dead? Power is all that matters in the end, Keayda, and there are none left on the Council with both the will and the power to oppose our plans for Ithos.

If handwriting could exhibit amusement, Keayda’s response dripped with cruel laughter.

What an Ephemeral thing to say, Icola. No surprise, of course— you are Ephemeral, and your mayfly little life doesn’t give you any reason to worry over the value of your word. It is different for those of us who live lifespans worthy of the name. There is little currency more valuable than the oaths of those with proper lifespans. I will not devalue my word, and I will not break my oath as a witness to your little treaty. And for all your claims to power, you still come begging me for aid weathering the consequences of a fight that you picked. And even if Kanderon truly is dead, her plans aren’t. She created hundreds of liches across the continent, all with a vested interest in opposing you, and that’s hardly the sum of her plans that will outlive her. No, I’m well off staying out of all this.

Icola’s response looked as though her quill was about to tear through the page in anger.

You can’t just…

Hugh never found out what Keayda couldn’t do because the message shuddered, then vanished.

“Get it back,” Sabae demanded.

Mackerel just gave her a puzzled look, and Hugh sighed and gently closed the book. “Once Mackerel loses one of these messages, it’s gone. Why don’t we take a break, let him rest a bit? He seems tired.”

Sabae scowled and started pulling out food and water from her storage tattoo. “You made a pretty compelling case before, but… that’s probably the single best piece of evidence I’ve seen for Kanderon still being alive.”

Hugh gave her a surprised look. “What do you mean?”

Sabae rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t tell me you’re still thinking Mackerel’s ability to spy on those communications was purely accidental. It only makes sense if it’s Kanderon helping you— she might be locked away inside her crystal ball, but some part of her is still on your side.”

“What about the Index?” Godrick asked. “Yeh said it was linked to the journals and ta’ Kanderon and has some life a’ its own? Maybe it’s responsible.”

Hugh really wished he could have done more for the Index, which still seemed to be in pain every time he communicated with it. So far as he could tell, its pain was caused by having to maintain its function on its own, without the support of Kanderon’s own sentience. There wasn’t anything Hugh could do to help it other than helping Kanderon, but that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty as though leaving Skyhold was abandoning the Index.

Eventually, the argument about the conversation they’d somehow spied on died away— Kanderon was the only one who could answer any questions about it, and last time Hugh had communicated with her about it, she’d played her cards close to her chest, not giving Hugh any definitive answers. As for the actual contents of the overheard message, they didn’t have enough context to know what it actually meant.

They ate a quiet meal of cold rations while Mackerel rested. As they were packing up to move again, Sabae stopped and looked at the rest of the group again.

Sabae sighed. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what Amalda Veil said. About how Alustin turned us into weapons and put us into harm’s way, again and again. How he left Hugh at risk from Bakori for months, our first year. How he used us as a cover for retrieving the Ithonian grain shipment ledger from Indris. How he used us all as a tool in Kanderon’s coup our second year.”

“What’s this about a coup?” Godrick asked.

“Oh, right, Kanderon and Alustin engineered Jaskolskus’ awakening and Bakori’s attack in order to kill off Kanderon’s opponents on the Skyhold Council, as well as some of their followers,” Sabae said. “Loarna participated too, and it wouldn’t surprise me if other Librarians Errant were involved.”

“That seems like somethin’ yeh maybe should have told us before,” Godrick said.

Sabae shrugged. “I thought about it, but I decided against it— partially because your dad thought it wouldn’t help you to know.”

“Are yeh sayin’ me da was involved?” Godrick demanded, his irritation resurfacing.

Sabae shook her head. “No, he figured it out on his own. Not much got past Artur.”

Godrick smiled wryly at that. “It sure didn’t. Ah wished it did when ah was young, but he always seemed ta’ know when ah was up ta’ mischief.”

Sabae sent a brief smile back his way before growing serious again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all before, and if you don’t want me to keep big secrets from you like this again…”

Talia shrugged. “If we were in one of my books, I’d feel obligated to make a huge deal out of this, have a whole temporary schism in our friendship, that sort of thing. Maybe knowing about the coup would have made us a little more suspicious of Alustin, but I doubt it would have prepared us mentally for him betraying us.”

Hugh felt an irrational surge of anger, felt like yelling at Talia that, no, it might have made all the difference in the world. He felt like yelling at Godrick for letting it go so easily, felt like yelling at Sabae for keeping such an important secret for so long.

Then he took a deep breath and let his anger go. They’d always trusted Sabae with any secrets she felt like she needed to keep before— maybe they should have demanded to be more involved, but at least in Hugh’s case, he just hadn’t wanted to deal with any of that. Life had been easier for him not worrying about the political schemes and undercurrents sweeping past him unseen. He just hadn’t wanted to know, and he couldn’t blame Sabae for his own unwillingness to confront the truth.

More importantly, being angry and picking pointless fights with his friends wouldn’t help Kanderon.

Hugh took another deep breath, slowly let it out, then nodded. “Talia’s right. I don’t think I ever would have suspected that Alustin would betray us.”

Sabae nodded. “Honestly, I barely did, either. I suspected he might let his plans get in front of our best interests but not that he’d actively hurt Hugh. If nothing else, we’re useful tools for him, and throwing us all away like this wasn’t something I expected. Though… Godrick, your father knew that Alustin wasn’t putting our interests first. That’s the main reason he came on the search for Imperial Ithos with us. I doubt he would have expected active betrayal either, though.”

Godrick nodded, a little sadly. “Me da was a cynic about most people, but he always wanted ta’ see the best in people he cared about.”

Hugh noticed that Talia looked particularly upset about something, but she just shook her head when he reached out to her.

The group finished packing up, and they resumed their descent even more weighed down with their thoughts than before.

THE SEVENTH FLOOR was far different than any of the others so far, but it went just as easily with Mackerel’s help.

It was fashioned entirely of metal. Not in a constructed, forged way but made of organic-looking curves, flows, and veins of different metals woven into each other in a twisted, eye-catching pattern. There wasn’t a single sharp angle to be found outside the spellforms, which were inlaid into the walls in some unknown material that none of them could identify. It was smooth, lusterless, weaker than metal, and registered on none of their affinity senses.

The seventh floor was also utterly dark, save for the light they provided. From what Hugh had read about Skyhold’s labyrinth, the light on this floor corresponded to daylight above, so it was already night-time above.

The lack of light didn’t interfere with Mackerel’s scrying in the least, and they were able to avoid most of the monsters with ease, save for a nasty, tunnel-filling slug monster that took several minutes to kill. Its mucus armor was incredibly difficult for even dreamfire to burn through, its flesh was ridiculously rubbery and tough, and it healed its wounds with astonishing speed.

It turned into an endurance battle, and the slug eventually fell to them. Its long, spike-tipped cilia weren’t enough to pose a real threat to anyone’s armor, though Hugh hated the fact that he needed to stand so far back since the Stormward’s Crown wasn’t working.

He was, however, close enough to still use his wardstones with his new sling, and they did almost as much to injure the slug as any of the others.

They took a detour before leaving the seventh floor, though. Mackerel led them far towards one edge of the labyrinth, and there, in an especially dense maze of corridors, was a hidden door.

Hugh never even would have suspected the door was there without Mackerel. Even with his spellbook specifically pointing it out, it was almost invisible against the wall. It took several minutes to figure out how to safely open the door without breaking through it, something Hugh didn’t want to do if they could avoid it.

And there, behind the hidden door, was a room filled entirely with aether crystals.

They ranged from the size of his thumb to ones the size of Godrick’s torso, and between them, they contained enough wealth to buy a city. Aether crystals weren’t just the greatest tool of crystal mages, but they were also highly prized by alchemists and enchanters. They were probably the single material most sought after by adventurers plumbing the depths of a labyrinth, even over labyrinth stones. Hugh really hadn’t appreciated exactly how valuable of a gift his aether crystal had been from Kanderon, the summer of his first year.

They were probably the first ones ever to find this room, thanks to Mackerel— it took centuries or millennia for mana to naturally crystallize in the depths of a labyrinth, probably tens of millennia for the largest crystals. Anyone else would have cleaned out the room entirely before they even got there.

Hugh only took one.

It was, admittedly, the size of a human head, and valuable enough to buy a palace, but he wasn’t going to be selling it.

Hugh had a definite use for it in mind.

He could have harvested more, just in case he thought of future uses for it, but there were risks keeping too much unattuned aether crystal around. Once harvested, it started to grow far more rapidly— as his had done before he’d finally attuned them— and when multiple harvested aether crystals were competing over the aether near them, well… things got weird. And explosive.

It would be hard to even sell it— enchanters and alchemists only wanted the seed crystals, not the extra mass they grew after harvesting. If enough extra mass grew, it could ruin the aether crystal for crafting purposes, and it would be quite some time before they’d have a chance to sell any they harvested. Crystal mages were among the few who had much interest in that mass.

Best not to risk it.

Most importantly, though… Hugh didn’t want to ruin something as beautiful as this room, just out of unnecessary greed.

He carefully closed the crystal room behind them, then they descended to the eighth floor.

GRAVITY WAS OPTIONAL on the eighth floor.

It shifted wildly in strength and direction, following the countless weaving paths, intersecting staircases, and looping ramps, behaving even more strangely along honeycombed pillars, floating masses of doors and windows, and spiraling monoliths.

Unlike the other floors, the eighth floor was largely open, but anyone besides a gravity mage would be insane to try and fly there— the gravity shifts and currents had killed countless fliers who had attempted it. Even a gravity mage needed to be immensely skilled to safely fly through the vertigo-inducing maze of structures filling the massive dungeon level.

The standard method of traversal for most labyrinth delvers was, simply, to bring a weight on a rope and keep tossing it ahead of you to see what the gravity ahead was like, so you didn’t step on a staircase and immediately plummet off it to your right. It didn’t help, of course, that the shifting gravity created terrifyingly strong winds that buffeted about the floor, threatening to knock travelers and monsters alike off the walkways and ledges.

It was a harrowing trip for most mages, and many died every year in an effort to get down to the verdant, overgrown ninth floor and the constantly shifting cube-filled tenth floor. A single trip to either of those floors, or to even deeper ones, could provide enough valuable ingredients for alchemists and enchanters to let an adventurer retire early and in style— enough to keep a steady stream of bold mages descending to their deaths.

For Hugh and the others, the eighth floor was trivially easy to navigate. Mackerel easily found them paths that dodged the worst of the gravity shifts, winds, and monsters.

“It’s a bit depressing, honestly,” Talia said. “This was supposed to be this grand, epic adventure, and… well, other than the kraken and the hyena worms, it’s basically just been a long walk. This isn’t how the labyrinth is supposed to be traversed, and this is hardly a proper final exam for us.”

Hugh shrugged. “Sure, but this is why labyrinth stones are so prized anyhow— even ones that haven’t been rendered sentient by a warlock pact make navigating a labyrinth much easier.”

“It ruins the experience,” Talia said. “And I still don’t get why a labyrinth would generate tools for navigating themselves.”

The conversation was interrupted for a moment as they carefully walked around and around a spiraling path running up and down the side of a vertical column, then carefully stepped out onto a staircase whose gravity pulled right against its angle, such that it was more a bridge than stairs, and you had to balance atop the corners of the steps to cross.

“Galvachren claims they’re basically like fruit,” Hugh said, once they were safely walking upside-down below another staircase. “Fruit have flesh to attract animals, who then spread their seeds. Labyrinth stones have magical benefits that convince sentient beings to collect them and carry them around, then whenever they come near a mana well, they sprout a new labyrinth. It’s not the only way labyrinths spread, but it’s a common one.”

“Wait, does Mackerel try ta’ sprout new labyrinths?” Godrick asked.

Mackerel gave the tall youth an offended look like he’d asked something obscene, then swung around on his strap to Hugh’s other side.

Hugh just shrugged at that.

“What about Mackerel’s other functions?” Sabae asked. “Blocking scrying? I’d never heard of anything that could block scrying as thoroughly as Mackerel before this, nor had my grandmother— and now Alustin’s figured out how to replicate it as well.”

Hugh gave Mackerel a thoughtful look. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that— do you remember how Mackerel has a growing extraplanar storage space inside of him to store all the books and papers he eats? From what Kanderon told me about it, and what I can sense about it myself… I think that Mackerel might actually be some sort of tiny, highly specialized labyrinth.”

Everyone else stopped and stared at Hugh.

Then they stared at Mackerel, who preened at the attention.

“So Alustin…” Sabae started, then trailed off.

“I think he found some other way to sprout a labyrinth stone into a portable labyrinth,” Hugh said, then stepped off a ledge. Gravity promptly switched directions, and he found himself standing on what had previously been the wall below the ledge.

Sabae glowered but nodded. “That would do the trick.”

“Ah still don’t get Alustin’s plan,” Godrick said, confidently following Hugh over the edge. His stone magic kept him a bit safer than the rest of them. “What he’s up ta’ just… doesn’t make sense if his weapon is really the Tongue Eater. Ah get that he’s gatherin’ the old allies a’ Helicote ta’ punish ‘em fer failin’ the city, but… is he just plannin’ ta' use the Tongue Eater outside the city?”

Sabae waited to respond until she’d followed the others over the edge. “From everything my grandmother’s spies shared with her, he seems to be genuine about assaulting Havath City. He’s got to have some way to punch through its defenses— which is saying something, because it’s the single best-defended city on the continent. City-scale wards, an entire wind mage corps dedicated to generating a wind shield equal to anything my grandmother or Indris could call up, not to mention the city itself being built out of the overlapping demesnes of seven liches. The only possible answer I can think of is that he stole more than just the Tongue Eater from Skyhold’s vault. There’s certainly more than enough magical superweapons in there to do the job.”

“Most a’ them are far ta’ dangerous ta’ use,” Godrick pointed out. “Only a few a’ the ones we’ve been told about can be used without killin’ the user.”

“There’s a lot more we haven’t heard about,” Talia pointed out. “And I don’t think Alustin’s planning on surviving the Tongue Eater.”

No one had a response to that.

Before the conversation could continue, they arrived at their destination.

Not a stairwell or vent down to the next floor down, but an inconspicuous tunnel leading into the wall of the massive open chamber of the eighth floor. It was tucked away behind a particularly massive column, and if Mackerel hadn’t led Hugh straight to it, he never would have known it was there.

“Is this it?” Talia asked.

Hugh nodded, then stepped into the tunnel.

There were no weird gravitational effects in the tunnel, beyond the initial lurch as he stepped off the wall and into the tunnel itself.

As the group trudged down it, the first oddity they noticed was the spellforms. They started being interrupted by odd, unconnected markings arranged in rows and columns. They defied every principle of spellform design that he knew. They weren’t interconnected lines at all, but instead, they were constellation-like collections of dots, small enough and close enough to one another that you could mistake them for spellforms or letters if you didn’t know better.

The second oddity was in the aether. His mana still hadn’t recovered entirely from all the pre-made wards he’d been using in the labyrinth, and as he and his friends progressed down the tunnel, the mana his reservoirs drew from the aether felt wrong. It flowed just a little too quickly, splashed a little too much. Hugh could feel his mana reservoirs struggling to convert it into the appropriate types of mana.

His mana reservoirs’ struggles quickly translated into headache and nausea, all of which were clearly visible on his friends’ faces, as well as through his bond with Mackerel, but they’d expected that. Maybe not how quickly it appeared or how strong the pain was, but Galvachren had offered numerous warnings about it.

It was absolutely normal to suffer ill effects from experiencing an entirely alien aether for the first time, and the sickness would lessen with every future passage.

Hugh did his best to ignore the pain as they passed out of Anastis and began ascending into the labyrinth of another world.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Dead Languages

ALUSTIN WAS SPREADING propaganda when Emmenson Drees confronted him about the plan again.

Many of the interactions between Alustin’s new ink affinity and his other two affinities were ones he’d planned on, but he hadn’t been able to be sure about them until he’d actually developed his new magic. Mages with both paper and ink affinities were uncommon, but far from unknown, after all. They could easily and quickly remove or reshape ink already in paper, as well as replicate documents and books at astonishing speeds. A single book mage could outwork dozens of individual ink and paper mages.

In combination with Alustin’s farsight affinity, his magic was turning into something truly special.

Alustin found himself able to affect documents at absurd ranges— something he’d struggled for years to achieve as a paper mage, always in vain. Now, however, he was easily able to use his magic to alter documents dozens, even hundreds of leagues away. It wasn’t anything on the scale of distances that Ilinia Kaen Das could scry and operate on, nor could Alustin exert enough power at those distances to use paper offensively.

He most certainly did, however, have enough power to send messages to his allies, easily spy on enemy documents, and spread propaganda without having to risk Librarian Errant spies and contacts. Alustin, to his own knowledge, was the first mage to ever combine a farsight affinity with ink and paper affinities, and it had turned him into a one-man communication and espionage network.

Not to mention, pushing his new ink affinity so hard was excellent training. Alustin would normally prefer to take far longer developing his ink affinity, to prioritize stability over speed of growth, but that wasn’t an option for him now.

There were plenty of training techniques that prioritized speed of mana reservoir growth, but most of them had severe downsides— most commonly limiting the eventual maximum size of the reservoirs.

Alustin, however, was carefully avoiding those paths. Instead, he was leaning on two other types of training styles, along with pushing himself so hard— namely, imbalance training and high-risk training.

The first was a path available only to powerful archmages. When you had mana reservoirs of radically different sizes— on the scale of orders of magnitude— you could use that size differential in a variety of different ways to force growth. The mere presence of the differential was enough to speed mana reservoir growth— which, incidentally, was part of why mages with five or more affinities tended to become great powers at such a high rate. When you had that many different magics to practice, some inevitably fell by the wayside, and the differential effect would kick in.

It was more complex than that, of course— the effect seldom worked for mages below archmage level because it was a derivative of how much mana a mage could safely channel into a spell, but it was also contingent upon the relationships between various mana types.

Alustin was fairly sure the differential effect would kick in for Godrick sooner or later, given the size difference between his increasingly huge stone mana reservoirs and his tiny scent reservoir, and he was looking forward to…

He quickly ended that line of thought and focused back on writing propaganda a hundred leagues away in Alikea.

Not that Alikea’s parliament was liable to join him, regardless— Alikea and Helicote had never been friends. Alustin covering the desks of the Alikean parliament with propaganda would do little more than annoy them into publicly standing against him. Tsarnassus, though, had always been the mightiest of Helicote’s allies, and there were few better ways to motivate them than giving them an opportunity to spite or oppose their neighbor to the west.

He was almost finished with propaganda for the day when Emmenson stormed up to him. The noises of the Librarian Errant war camp cut off around them.

“We need to talk,” the sound mage said.

Alustin sighed, then abandoned his efforts. His ink mana reservoir was almost dry, and maybe leaving a few desks empty would cause some confusion and infighting between Parliamentarians— not that there was ever any lack of that.

“I don’t suppose you want to chat about Sica’s vertical farms or Highvale’s high-altitude food warehouses?” Alustin asked.

Emmenson didn’t even roll his eyes at Alustin’s diversion as he would have once. “We’re not a proper army, Alustin. We’re not soldiers, we’re special agents used to having full autonomy in the field. We’re an unruly mess of powerful battlemages, archmages, and lesser great powers, none of whom are used to functioning as an army. The gorgons are the only disciplined part of our force, and they hardly even talk to anyone but you. And your new gangster allies are the worst of the lot— they pretend to discipline and order, but they’re a bunch of unruly bastards who only respect strength. How can you possibly expect us to take down Havath City like this?”

Alustin stood up from the boulder he’d been sitting on and started walking through their underground camp.

Emmenson cursed quietly and followed him.

Their current central base was their first in the short weeks since Midwinter to be reasonably secure and held nearly half of their total forces. The gorgons had dug out a huge cavern beneath one of the countless rivers running through the eastern Skyreach Range, letting the waters carry the mud and stone dust downstream, so no one could discover the tailings. No one lived downstream of them for fifty leagues, so there wasn’t much chance of the tailings being noticed before they all settled to the river bottom.

The cave itself wasn’t accessible save through a great hole in the roof that the river ran straight over. It was kept from drowning the cave by a series of cunning wards and enchantments, which also prevented the light from the encampment from showing through the river. When they needed to enter or exit the cave, they had wards and water mages that would let them open a hole straight through the river and fly through it— even the dragons among their number.

“I don’t expect us to take down Havath City as a conventional army,” Alustin said. “Not even Sica can challenge the Dominion on that level; we have absolutely no chance in just a few months. No, our disorganization is one of our strengths. One of the keys to the Dominion’s past victories is the coordination of their military responses— they can react unusually quickly to enemy troop movements. There’s no secret to how they do it— just effective bureaucracy, seers, and messenger corps. It more than makes up for their corrupt officer ranks. Even with all that, however, they’re never going to be able to react in a coordinated fashion to the sheer diversity of tactics we’ll be unleashing on them.”

Emmenson glowered. “They don’t need to be able to react in a coordinated fashion if we’re entirely uncoordinated.”

Alustin actually smiled at that. “Oh, we won’t be.”

Emmenson raised his eyebrows at that. “You got your relay golem working?”

Alustin nodded. “Not the full version, just a smaller, more limited one, but scaling up is a far easier challenge than building the relay in the first place. I’ll need your help with it— spellform design is more your field than mine— but it’s just an engineering problem at this point.”

Emmenson almost let himself get distracted with technical details— there was little he was more passionate about than spellform design— but he visibly forced himself away from that tangent.

“Your golem will help, but it’s not a miracle.”

“We don’t need a miracle,” Alustin said. “We just need a big pile of tricks. We don’t need to hold the city, don’t need to seize territory— all we need to do is get the chitin wand to the heart of the city and activate it.”

“That, and plant dozens of bizarre, enchanted devices across the city to prime the ritual and defend or hide them long enough for the ritual to work,” Emmenson pointed out.

“Which is exactly the sort of mission that irregulars like our disorganized little army excel at,” Alustin pointed out.

He didn’t point out the fact that the resonators Sydapsyn’s enchanters were building to his specifications had nothing to do with the chitin wand but had everything to do with the Tongue Eater instead. That part Emmenson didn’t need to know.

Almost as if it heard him thinking about it, the Tongue Eater shuddered in his storage tattoo.

“And you’re really not going to tell anyone what your supposed Last Echo is?” Emmenson asked, for the hundredth time.

“The more people know about it, the higher the risk The Last Echo of the Lord of Bells fails,” Alustin said.

Emmenson rolled his eyes. “Drop the drakeshit, Alustin. We both know that the Last Echo isn’t anything of the sort— it’s just something else you stole from the Vault along with the chitin wand. What happens if you die before then? If no one knows what it is, or how to activate it, we lose. We’ve got no chance of getting past the Intertwined without it.”

Alustin frowned at the mention of the seven liches whose demesnes made up most of Havath City. “I’ve already activated the Last Echo, Emmenson. It doesn’t matter if I die tomorrow, it’s still going to open a gap in the Intertwined’s defenses on the appointed date. If we’re lucky, it will kill a few of them, but at the very minimum, it will incapacitate them for hours or days. And once the chitin wand is activated, they’re all dead anyhow.”

The sound mage rubbed at his metallic scalp tattoos but didn’t argue further about the Last Echo.

More thankfully, he didn’t realize that Alustin wasn’t telling the full truth.

The paper mage had activated the Last Echo of the Lord of Bells, but it wasn’t just like flipping a switch. The more time and resources Alustin dedicated to it, the more powerful it would grow. Even now, it should hopefully be enough, but Alustin had zero intention of leaving it up to chance.

“And the chitin wand?” Emmenson finally asked. “You’re still the only one to know how the ritual works.”

Alustin smiled at him. “Let’s just say I want to make sure I don’t become a liability.”

Emmenson rolled his eyes at that but didn’t argue.

Of course, this part of the conversation was entirely pantomime, for the sake of the allies spying on them from inside the camp right now, even through Emmenson’s sound blocking. Emmenson knew, at least, how to activate the ritual to use the chitin wand once it was all set up— though he didn’t know the why behind any of it.

They both knew plenty of the allies they were courting would gladly abandon the effort entirely if they could get their hands on the ritual and the wand. Others almost certainly considered Alustin a liability, and would gladly try to eliminate him if anyone else knew how to use the wand. Many of them likely didn’t believe in the Last Echo, so Alustin wasn’t comfortable using it as a bargaining chip like the wand.

Alustin was walking a dangerous line between being irreplaceable to his allies, and giving the invasion a chance to succeed even if he was killed beforehand.

The two of them walked silently along the spiral path towards the center of the cavern base, past the stone buildings the gorgons had magically constructed for themselves; past the Starholt dragon nests, the tents of Starholt’s human and naga mages tucked in between them; past the disorganized mess of the Ruhn Syndicate camp.

Emmenson finally spoke up again when they stood directly beneath the massive entrance, in the rippling sunlight that dimly filtered through the river raging directly overhead, though the water’s sound was blocked off entirely by the sound mage’s magic. “Do you regret it, at all?”

Alustin gave the other man a surprised look. The two of them worked fine together when they stuck to business, but it had been a long time since they could speak of personal matters without getting into an argument.

“Betraying Kanderon? Of course I do. She took me in, trained me, and sheltered me from Havathi assassins for years. I’m not made of stone. But she was going to let Havath and their masters go with just a slap on the wrist.”

Emmenson shook his head. “Not Kanderon. Your apprentices.”

Alustin closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “I had to do it, Emmenson. Betraying them was the only way I could keep my enemies from going after them for what I’m doing— this was the only way to keep them safe. And even as precociously deadly as they are, they’re not ready for that. I can deal with them hating me, so long as they’re still alive.”

“It’s hard to believe that Alustin Haber, the Last Loyal Son of Helicote himself, would throw away any weapon whatsoever in his quest for vengeance,” Emmenson said. “Not to mention the fact that you were willing to risk Hugh’s life quite readily to get at Kanderon.”

“Hugh was never in any danger,” Alustin snapped, his eyes still closed. “It must have been intensely painful for him, but it wouldn’t have injured him. And I wasn’t throwing them away. They’re children, not weapons, and Artur should have been there to care for them.”

Emmenson snorted. “He’s not, though, is he? Gave his life, and now your apprentices are going to be snapped up as weapons by someone else— most likely the two storm queens. Pretend otherwise if you want, but they’re weapons, ones you forged with your own hands. Ones you threw away once they’d stopped being of use to you.”

Alustin didn’t reply to that, and a moment later, Emmenson’s spell vanished, letting the sounds of the camp reach the paper mage’s ears again.

When he finally opened his eyes, the sound mage was gone, and Alustin spent a long time staring at the river above him, rehashing the argument in his head.

“Tazit to him,” he finally muttered.

The Tongue Eater twitched again, and Alustin realized that he’d never heard the word tazit before. He knew it was obscene, and he knew it came from the Forest of Swords, but…

He’d never heard of the Forest of Swords, and he had no idea how to translate tazit into Ithonian.

Alustin did his best to stay calm. It was only the third or fourth time— fifth at most— that the Tongue Eater had forced a new word into his mind, and they’d all been obscene so far. It shouldn’t be surprising that an artifact as powerful as the Tongue Eater leaked a bit, and it had been harmless so far.

He did his best to dismiss the thought. He had work to do.

Havath wasn’t going to destroy itself, after all.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It Could Always Be Worse

THE MOST DIFFICULT part of exiting the labyrinth to the world of Apoptis was dealing with aether-sickness.

The five of them, Mackerel included, had needed to hole up for most of a day in a secluded corner of the new labyrinth. Or… possibly the same labyrinth? There didn’t seem to be any good way to tell if it was one labyrinth connecting two worlds or two labyrinths on different worlds connecting, and not even Galvachren had any easy answers on the topic. Hugh had barely managed to set up some of his pre-made wards before the pain got too bad, and Godrick somehow managed to raise stone walls around them. Hugh had hardly been able to choke down food and water and mostly just curled up into a ball, trying to endure the blinding migraine tearing through him.

It had finally receded enough for Hugh to sleep, and when he woke, he felt perfectly fine, except for some odd looseness in his joints and his usual shortness of breath.

Hugh was the third to wake up. Sabae seemed to have suffered worst from the aether sickness— maybe out of bad luck, but the fact that Talia had the weakest and shortest case led them to speculate that the severity of aether sickness was somehow related to the number of mana reservoirs you had.

Hugh couldn’t stop himself from obsessing over the alien mana his reservoirs were converting— it felt so strange to him, after years of Anastan mana.

Galvachren had mentioned a number of theories for why different worlds had different types of mana, but the leading theory, Ya Kalabin’s Manifold Hypothesis, claimed that there were ten naturally occurring dimensions in every universe. Alongside the three space dimensions and one time dimension, the sphinx Ya Kalabin believed that there were six other dimensions, curled up into themselves small enough that they couldn’t be perceived. Ya Kalabin claimed that the exact degrees and angles the six hidden dimensions curled up on themselves varied significantly between universes, and that variance was what generated different types of mana when entropic processes washed over the curled-up dimensions.

Hugh had absolutely no idea whether there was any truth to the idea— he couldn’t even begin to follow the math involved, and even Godrick hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of it.

He was also puzzled as to why extraplanar dimensions like the ones Kanderon manufactured didn’t mess with the mana around them if Ya Kalabin was right— maybe because they weren’t curled up?

Hugh had no idea.

Once they’d eaten breakfast, they set out navigating up the labyrinth.

It was trivially easy. They’d emerged only four levels deep in the Apoptan labyrinth, which was much shallower than Skyhold’s labyrinth, and none of the levels had been particularly dangerous. The fourth floor had been comprised of octagonal halls with energy beams powerful enough to melt steel moving through them, but their pattern of movement was easy enough to figure out even without Mackerel’s help. The third and second floors were a particularly complex, shifting maze filled with pit traps that would send you back down a floor, not to mention dozens of hives of scaled flying creatures the size of Hugh’s head, but Mackerel had helped them navigate it with ease.

The only real oddity was the fact that the walls were covered in more of the odd dot-patterns instead of spellforms.

There had been a few nasty monsters Mackerel had detected, notably one that looked to be a herd of wolf-headed horses made of toxic mist, yet still a single creature somehow, but the spellbook easily and safely guided them around it.

Talia complained the entire time, upset at the relative lack of danger, compared to what she’d been preparing for.

The first floor was the weirdest of the bunch, the walls and floor covered in slippery tiles that vaguely resembled flattened turtle shells, but the monsters they found weren’t particularly dangerous— the worst of the lot was a slithering, carpet-like creature the length of a ship, resistant even to Talia’s dreamfire. It was slow enough, however, that they could escape from it at a slow walking pace, so they didn’t even bother fighting it.

All of which had led them here, to the entrance of the labyrinth.

There wasn’t a door like the ones closing off Skyhold’s labyrinth. The strange, slippery tiles just started fading into the stone of an oddly cylindrical cave.

“Basalt,” Godrick said, after a brief inspection of the cave floor. “We’re in an old lava tube, just like any yeh’d find on… on Anastis.”

The big mage paused, then gave the others a wry look. “Ah’ve got ta’ admit, ah really don’t feel like we’ve really traveled ta’ another world.”

“Even after the aether sickness?” Sabae asked.

“Even then.”

Hugh shook his head, then took Mackerel off his shoulder and handed him to Talia, who strapped him over her own shoulder.

Then Hugh pulled a book out of his storage tattoo, one so large he could barely hold it up with both arms. Its weight pulled him off balance, and he almost toppled before Godrick caught him.

Galvachren’s Guide to Worlds.

Mackerel, of course, promptly lunged at the book, but Talia dragged him back and promptly started lecturing him.

Kanderon had kept several copies of the Guide in her lair, all of which had been perfectly identical, so far as Hugh could tell.

And, just like Galvachren’s Bestiary, all of them changed and shifted. New entries appeared daily— sometimes on entire worlds, sometimes subsections about various worlds already present. Old entries moved around regularly, and it was even more of a nightmare finding things in the Guide than in the Bestiary.

To make it worse, huge sections of the books had been redacted, somehow, the text blurred out. Hugh could tell that the redactions had been done by someone other than Galvachren, but he had no idea who. All the copies Hugh could access in Kanderon’s lair had the same redactions.

There had been one copy he was pretty sure that was unredacted, but it had been locked up securely beyond his reach inside a crystal dais— and Hugh was hardly about to try and break into any storage spaces Kanderon felt compelled to secure inside her own lair.

Thankfully, Kanderon had left bookmarks for the Guide. They were made of thin strips of crystal— not Kanderon’s blue aether crystal, but a mix of several different types of natural crystal, delicately arranged into complex spellforms.

That was just on the outside, of course. The insides were contained in their own extraplanar pockets, and the complex enchantments inside weighed several hundred pounds.

Of course, Hugh could only look inside the bookmarks for a few heartbeats at a time— his affinity senses were as unreliable as his spellcasting right now and getting steadily worse.

It was rather a lot of effort just to have bookmarks that stayed in the right spot in a shifting book, but Kanderon had a low tolerance for annoyances like that, and the enchantments involved wouldn’t have been difficult at all for her. She was, after all, one of the greatest living enchanters— there was a reason she was the foremost expert on lich construction on the Ithonian continent.

Hugh opened the massive tome to one of the crystal bookmarks he’d placed in it and read over the entry for Apoptis one more time, even though he must have done so a dozen times or more already.

There wasn’t much detail in the short entry. Even Galvachren hadn’t spent much time here— the only real reason anyone was interested in Apoptis was as a shortcut between labyrinths.

When Hugh finished, he reread the entry a second time.

Then a third.

Hugh sighed, closed the book, and put it back into his storage tattoo.

“Well?” Sabae asked. “Are we ready?”

Hugh pulled a couple pre-made wards out of his tattoo. One was stitched into a cloth mask that he tied over his lower face, and the other was stitched into a broad-brim hat he put on his head. Then Hugh pulled out a pair of gloves, put them on, and then double-checked to make sure that none of his skin was exposed where the sun could hit it.

Then he took Mackerel back and slung him over his shoulder again.

“Remember the rules,” Hugh said. “Don’t rest under the trees, don’t expose your skin to the sun, try not to breathe the air unfiltered for long, and if the world starts turning white, we have just over a couple minutes until the sun kills us.”

“Lovely,” Godrick muttered.

Sabae converted the wind armor she was currently using to storm armor, blocking her skin from sight completely.

Then the group set off down the tunnel.

IT WAS ONLY a short walk down the lava tube to get to the surface, past a couple of gentle bends and a single small rockfall.

Then, as they passed a third bend, there was a blinding light coming from above.

Once Hugh’s eyes had adjusted, he led the others up the gentle rock slope, clearly unnatural, that led out of the lava tube and onto the surface of Apoptis.

The instant they left the tunnel, no one was in doubt about being on another world anymore.

The sun beat down brutally hard on Apoptis’ surface, enough to sunburn an unprotected human in seconds. It was hotter and brighter than Hugh had ever seen, save from the burning power of the Eye of Heliothrax. Hugh could feel it beating cruelly at him even through his clothes and warded hat. Talia’s scrimshaw ward had turned a deep, shimmering red where the sun hit it, protecting her from its glow.

Even from the corner of his eye, Hugh could tell that Apoptis’ sun was far bigger than Anastis’, with a faint blue tinge to it, though the light it cast didn’t seem particularly blue.

The landscape that sun illuminated was utterly alien.

They were on a wide, rolling plain, covered in low-lying plants and bushes, as well as the occasional thick-trunked tree. The plants weren’t anything like those on Anastis— their leaves had jagged, almost fractal edges, were far thicker than normal leaves, and ranged in color from midnight black to a dark blue barely distinguishable from black. All of them glistened almost like glass.

Scattered across the rolling plain were mountains, but not ones forged by any natural process Hugh was familiar with. They were squat, almost beehive-shaped white mounds that stood entirely separate from one another. There were more than a dozen visible from where they stood, and even where two of them stood next to each other, the ground between them was completely free of their dull white stone, never coming closer to the other than a dragon’s wingspan.

Hugh had expected the living mountains of Apoptis to look more like actual mountains than they did.

“Hugh, the mountains are white,” Talia said. “Is the sun about to kill us?”

“It’s fine if they’re white, it’s the plants we need to worry about.”

“Do you see our destination?” Sabae asked.

Hugh turned slowly as he looked for the mountain Galvachren had drawn a picture of in his guide. After a moment, he spotted it almost directly behind them.

It was slightly larger than the other mountains but not enough so that you’d notice without a close examination. That wasn’t what stood out about it— rather, it was the fact that there was a massive crack cleaved down the middle as though an impossibly huge giant had taken an axe to the mountain, all the way to the ground.

He exchanged glances with the others, then, without a word, set out across the rolling black plain.

THE GROUND BETWEEN the glittering black plants was hardpacked, dusty earth, baked almost as hard as pottery. In fact, when Hugh stopped to knock on one particular hard spot, he was pretty sure much of the soil actually had been baked into ceramic. What few insects Hugh saw ran swiftly along the ground with far too many legs or clung beneath the thickest leaves.

There weren’t any grasses to be seen, nor any other low-lying ground-cover below the knee-high black plants. Many of the broad-leafed plants looked almost like they’d shattered their way through the hard-packed soil of Apoptis.

The group carefully circled well away from all the trees. Only some of them were carnivorous, but there was no easy way to tell which of them would try to eat them— the carnivorous species carefully mimicked the sun-drinkers. Unfortunately, Galvachren either hadn’t known how to differentiate them— or he just hadn’t cared to write it down.

They could probably fight off one of the trees easily enough, but better not to take chances, especially given Hugh’s lack of magic. The trees couldn’t reach very far past their own trunks, thankfully, so the detours didn’t take them too long.

They kept their talking to a minimum— not so much out of fear of predators or other threats, but just out of sheer amazement.

With every step they took, they ran across some new, awe-inspiring sight.

Low-slung, mirror-shelled grazers moved in small herds, looking somewhere in between lobsters and armadillos. As they pulled broad black leaves down towards their heads to feed, small armies of darting, arrowhead-shaped insects waited below them for scraps. The mirror-shells of the grazers weren’t quite polished enough for Hugh to see himself in, but he couldn’t look directly at the ones lined up with the sun without hurting his eyes.

Black, balloon-like drifting animals floated just above the plants, each the size of a child’s torso. Dozens of slender, string-like tendrils dangled down into the plants, keeping the creatures anchored and pulling them slowly across the plain. When the group got close to one, he saw one of the tendrils retract rapidly, carrying an insect up towards one of the half-dozen mouths on the balloon’s underbelly.

Mackerel was having an absolute blast. It was safe enough for him to fly around, and he promptly started zooming around through the stems of the plants and bushes around them— though Hugh had to remove his strap after the fourth time the spellbook got tangled up. Eventually, Mackerel discovered a nest of arrow-headed salamander-like creatures, about the size of rats or squirrels, and started chasing them about. They were much too fast and agile for the spellbook to catch, but Hugh doubted Mackerel would actually know what to do if he did catch one.

The game ended when Mackerel chased one of the creatures too close to a tree, whose trunk exploded outwards in a horrific mass of grasping talons and maws.

Mackerel made it out, but the agile salamander thing he’d been chasing didn’t. Just a few heartbeats later, the tree had closed its trunk again, and Hugh couldn’t tell any difference from the other trees.

His spellbook stuck much closer to him after that.

At one point, Talia tried to cut a leaf with one of her knives and found it absurdly difficult to pierce— it was nearly as strong as leather. When she did manage to pierce it, it leaked out lurid blue sap onto the ground. The droplets were promptly swarmed by more of the almost-insects that followed the mirror-shelled grazers.

Thankfully, there wasn’t much glittering dust in the air. Galvachren had admitted that not even he knew where the stuff came from— he hadn’t explored past the living mountains. Hugh didn’t get the impression it was due to fear or inconvenience— Galvachren sounded as though he was just too busy to get to it. Regardless, you didn’t want the dust in your lungs. It wasn’t as dangerous to breathe in as glass dust or…

A memory of volcanic ash shoved itself into Hugh’s mind, but he forced it aside.

The glittering dust wasn’t the worst thing you could breathe in, but it was definitely much better to keep it out of your lungs if you could, hence Hugh wearing the ward-embroidered bandanna to filter his air, and his friends all wearing their armor.

Apoptis would have been far safer for all of them if the Stormward’s Crown was working. Of the worlds they’d mapped out paths through using Galvachren’s Guide, Apoptis definitely wouldn’t have been the one Hugh would have chosen to cross first if there had been other good options.

Thankfully, Hugh’s magic and the Crown should be working again soon enough— one of the other two worlds they’d be passing through was nearly as bad, and in some ways worse, than Apoptis.

His musing was interrupted by Talia, who sounded particularly alarmed. “Hugh, you said the leaves turning white was what we needed to worry about, right?”

Hugh glanced down in surprise.

Little white specks had appeared on the broad black leaves. Even as he watched, they started to grow rapidly in size.

The sun was about to flare, and they were almost a league away from the nearest shade that definitely wouldn’t try to eat them.

Not that simple shade would be enough to save them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A Land Bleached Clean

HUGH ONLY HESITATED for a moment, but the whole landscape had already started shifting rapidly. Huge patches of white had begun to spread across the plains.

“Godrick, Sabae, like we talked about,” Hugh said.

Neither responded as Godrick immediately began building a rock shelter for the group to huddle underneath. Sabae, meanwhile, drew what little moisture from the air and ground she could, building her armor thicker and thicker.

As they worked, the landscape’s changes accelerated. The floating, balloon-like insectivores turned white and deflated, hiding themselves underneath the thick plant life as they sank. The mirror-shelled grazers withdrew fully underneath their shells, and their attendant insect swarms either followed them or retreated under plants.

To Hugh’s surprise, a whole pack of predators erupted out of the undergrowth, sprinting towards a set of nearby trees. The predators resembled much larger versions of the arrowhead creatures Mackerel had chased, save for the obvious difference of a mouth full of teeth that nearly split their head in half vertically and a wicked-looking set of hooks near the end of their tails.

He couldn’t help but wonder whether they’d just been resting nearby, or whether they’d actually been stalking him and his friends.

The predators started systematically testing nearby trees one by one as he watched. One of them would dart in close to the trunk, then dodge back out at astonishing speed if the tree turned out to be carnivorous. Within a few moments, the pack had found a trio of safe trees to huddle under during the duration of the flare.

As Hugh watched the carnivorous trees fold up their dozens of mouths and talons, he shuddered and decided to stay even farther away from them the rest of the time on Apoptis.

Not, of course, that even the non-carnivorous trees would be sufficient shelter against a flare. The inhabitants of Apoptis had earned their resistance against their sun’s regular flares the hard way— even in the shade, Hugh and his friends would get cooked alive.

By the time Godrick finished the shelter, the landscape was almost completely bleached clean, only a few patches of black leaves remaining in the shade of the living mountains.

Hugh wasn’t feeling any extra heat, yet— whatever warning signs Apoptis’ sun gave weren’t apparent to non-natives. By the time you started feeling extra heat from the sun, you were already dead.

The five of them quickly climbed down into the shelter— Godrick had dug a small well in the ground, then lithified the dug-up earth into a thick dome of stone over the well with only a single entrance.

After they’d clambered down, Hugh took a glow crystal from his storage tattoo and lit it. The crystal, to his relief, was able to use the alien mana of Apoptis, though the resultant light was faintly greenish and flickering. Once Godrick had closed the entrance behind them, it gave the inside of the shelter a deeply eerie appearance. There were only two tiny holes in and out of the shelter for airflow, and both were warded to prevent excess heat from getting in through them and corkscrewed so that no light could get in.

It only got creepier when Sabae converted her armor into mist form and started filling the shelter with fog to help them keep cool.

The well was cramped, with barely enough room for all of them in their armor, but it was better than not having shelter.

“One of us could have used a light cantrip,” Sabae said. “Also, how’d you make a glow-crystal portable? I thought they weren’t stable enough for that, and your crystal magic isn’t working right now?”

Hugh shook his head. “Glow crystals are an alchemical product. I don’t know the first thing about alchemy. Skyhold manufactures portable ones— the downside is that they break down after a few weeks of use. Stole a few from Skyhold’s stores. I’d rather you all saved your mana, just in case.”

Sabae eyed him thoughtfully, then nodded.

Hugh spent the next few minutes checking himself for sunburn from their walk, thankfully finding only a small patch on the back of his neck that needed Sabae’s healing. He must have exposed it for a few seconds while bending down to look at an insect or something on the ground. After Sabae finished, though, it was just a matter of waiting out the flare.

Even being mostly underground and having the tiny shelter filled with cooling fog, the temperature rose steadily over the next half-hour. It helped a bit when Godrick replaced parts of the walls with cooler, less hard-packed earth from deeper down, and even more when Sabae spun up her wind armor to cool them off, but when the flare finally ended an hour later, it was miserably hot inside the tiny shelter.

They didn’t need to test whether the flare was really over or not— according to Galvachren’s Guide, they always had identical durations, even if their timing was unpredictable. They still carefully opened a tiny window, however, to check whether the plants outside had turned black again.

When they crawled out of the shelter, everything looked exactly like it had before the flare, as though nothing had happened.

THEY HAD TO shelter from two more flares by the time they reached the living mountain that had been split in half. By the third time, Godrick had gotten skilled enough at building the shelter that he was able to make it larger than the first, but it was still hot and cramped inside.

Sheltering from the flares was, at least, a great opportunity for them to deactivate their various armors and wards and let their mana reservoirs recover.

There was a reason Galvachren had suggested most travelers attempt a crossing of the plains at night, rather than during the day— but night on Apoptis had more than enough horrific dangers of its own, so they’d opted to deal with the flares, rather than the territorial nocturnal grazers or the predatory auroras.

Not to mention, the days and nights were, if Hugh was reading the conversion charts in Galvachren’s Guide correctly, almost four times as long on Apoptis as they were back on Anastis, and they really didn’t want to wait that long for a crossing.

Once they got up close to the living mountains, it quickly became obvious that they weren’t made of rock. The tiny, coral-like creatures that built up the mountains over many of the labyrinths of Apoptis formed countless millions of fingernail-sized plates, which stacked together in great layers atop the labyrinths to form the mountains.

Galvachren hadn’t said what had happened to this mountain, but its labyrinth, and the mana well it guarded, were both just… gone, as though they’d been torn free of Apoptis.

As the group entered the pass, Hugh sighed in relief at the sudden shade it provided. He still wasn’t going to remove his coverings— shade on Apoptis was almost as bright as a bright summer day in the Endless Erg— but he could feel the difference nonetheless.

“Look, caves!” Talia called.

Sure enough, when Hugh peered upwards, he saw dozens of cave entrances on both sides of the chasm. They seemed to have formed in four or five layers down the mountain, with the bottom layer having the most cave exits.

“Ah vote we don’t go in,” Godrick said, and shuddered enough that it was visible through his armor.

The others all gave him surprised looks.

“Who’s ever heard of a stone mage that’s afraid of caves?” Talia asked.

“Ah’m not afraid a’ normal caves, but these aren’t made a’ rock. Can’t feel the cave walls with mah affinity senses at all.”

“Can you feel them with your bone affinity sense?” Sabae asked Talia.

The redhead’s gaze went blank for a moment, then she shook her head. “Not in the least. Whatever the mountain-builders are using to build the mountains, it’s not bone.”

“Do yeh think a coral mage could affect them?” Godrick asked.

Sabae moved over next to Hugh as Talia and Godrick argued about what sort of material the living mountains were really made of. Her voice sounded oddly far away through her storm armor. “You know none of us are upset with you for your magic not working or think you’re a burden, or…”

Hugh rolled his eyes. “Given how many speeches to that extent you’ve given me over the last few years, I’m pretty sure I’ve figured that out by now.”

“So what’s been bothering you?” Sabae asked. “You seemed a little upset when I offered to use a light cantrip instead of your glow crystal in the shelters.”

Hugh ran his hand along the side of the crevice as he considered his response. The fingernail-sized plates the mountain was entirely built of felt faintly oily, and several slipped out of the wall and tumbled to the ground at his touch. “Most of it’s just impatience to get into the next labyrinth, but… I dunno, even though you all don’t blame me for being a burden, part of me still blames myself. I don’t… I don’t know if I’ll ever make those feelings go away entirely? It’s just so frustrating. I’ve been fighting those feelings for years, and I’ve had so many victories, and yet it still just keeps coming back.”

Sabae idly trailed her hand across the crevasse wall, and her armor swept up a bunch of the tiny plates. “It’s less frequent and less awful these days, though.”

“Is it?”

“OAbsolutely,” Sabae said, crossing her arms. Streamers of mist erupted from her armor as her arms merged through the front of the spinning cloud. “A couple of years ago, you would have been crippled by those feelings, and now you’re doing a pretty good job of shoving them to one side and getting on with what you need to do. This is the sort of thing that takes years, you don’t just… solve it with a moment of epiphany. It took me years to really process my father’s death, and I’m still struggling with my mother running off after the issues with my magic appeared. I know I don’t show or talk about it much, I’m not… I’m not great at talking about my feelings, but there’s nothing wrong with taking a long time to deal with things. It’s normal, in fact.”

They walked silently for a time as Hugh considered that.

WHEN THEY REACHED the other side of the pass through the split mountain, Hugh had expected to just see more plains and living mountains, one of which should contain the specific labyrinth they needed.

He certainly hadn’t expected to see a herd of a dozen creatures the height of buildings. The shortest of them had to be more than forty feet in height. Several of the larger creatures rivaled Indris in size, and the very largest wasn’t much smaller than Ampioc— though it was much spindlier.

“What in the name of all the clans are those?” Talia demanded.

Hugh stared at the massive beings ambling across the plains.

They vaguely resembled gargantuan spiders, if spiders had dozens of legs stretching in all directions, were made entirely of crystal, and barely had a body— mostly just a spot where their countless legs met. From that junction, the legs all rose high into the air, then descended at a wide range of steep angles.

Hugh couldn’t see any sensory organs, mouths, or any other noteworthy features, and they certainly hadn’t been in the entry on Apoptis, but…

He hastily pulled out Galvachren’s Guide to Worlds, rested it on the ground, and flipped through the pages, trying to find a section he’d briefly skimmed when he’d first found the book.

Or, at least, until Mackerel started trying to eat the Guide again.

Once Godrick and Talia had wrestled his spellbook away, while Sabae kept watch on the creatures, Hugh quickly managed to find the section he was looking for. He skimmed past the descriptions and drawings until he got to the meat of the entry.

…the Kyrene are among the most alien of all multiversally-active sophonts, and communicating with them is a task of extreme difficulty, given that they speak by shifting their internal colors and opacities as well as altering the pitch of their electromagnetic field— something that only a handful of other non-marine sophonts can even detect. Their language also seems to involve a certain degree of sign language, lifting specific numbers of legs into the air at specific angles and timing, but since this is only done in a small fraction of communications, it’s hard to guess how important this is.

The Kyrene live and settle in worlds immensely hotter than the norm in our regions of the multiverse— ones hot enough that liquid water is almost unknown. Our few successful conversations with them have revealed that they often come from worlds with seas of magma and atmospheres that would bake a dragon all the way through in minutes. They’ve also described worlds made almost entirely of iron, with oceans of molten metal and colossal rust storms; worlds where the sun vaporizes stone, and storms rain down magma at night; and worlds with endless volcanic eruptions that seem frankly boring by comparison to their other homes.

Given their love of heat, it seems improbable that they’d ever appear in our little chunk of the multiverse, but while they find our worlds painfully cold, they’re more than able to survive in them. Their primary interest in them, however, is as routes to transit between other worlds.

The fact that they can traverse through the labyrinths, despite their immense size, speaks volumes about both species.

Kyrene reproduction is a deeply strange process, involving the merging and deaths of between five and fifty adult Kyrene, which then separate out into a larger number of new Kyrene, each of which shares a mix of the memories of their various parents. They often do this to generate needed specialists in various subjects, and the Kyrene seem quite casual about the idea of dying in this way. (Though they resist death quite thoroughly in other regards.) At least, this is what the Kyrene tell us— most residents of our region of the multiverse cannot survive the heat of the worlds they mate upon. As a consequence of their supposed method of mating, size is no accurate metric for age or power among the Kyrene— though that last fact could be confirmed by historical interactions with them alone.

The Kyrene are largely dismissed in importance by most multiversal factions and powers due to their rarity in our worlds, but this is, to my mind, a foolish assumption. Even a cursory survey of the appearances of Kyrene in the known multiverse shows that they have settled a colossal number of worlds in all directions from us along two of the dimensional axes of the multiverse as described by the sphinx Ya Kalabin— so much as direction is a relevant unit of description when explaining the relative layout of intersecting universal membranes. When the stories of the Kyrene themselves are taken into account— which, admittedly, can only be trusted so far, as our communication with them is crude and unreliable— it seems apparent that their territory absolutely dwarfs not just any of the factions in the known multiverse, but likely all the thousands of universes of the known multiverse itself. From what I can tell, it extends far beyond the extent of the labyrinth ecosystem, into universes with physical laws deeply alien to our own.

To make matters worse, the Kyrene are terrifyingly powerful. Even the least of them are more difficult to kill than a dragon, can tear apart fortress walls with their bare limbs, and often wield magics from multiple alien worlds, usually unlike anything in the known multiverse.

To put it simply, if the Kyrene ever decided to, they could annihilate all known civilization with ease.

Thankfully, this seems deeply unlikely— they’re not only quite peaceable in all known interactions, but often, they just ignore assaults against themselves and wander away. Their primary reaction towards us seems a mix of friendliness and curiosity, and are frequently known to aid other sentients in trouble. There have even been a few recorded incidents of Kyrene wading into battles and forcing entire armies apart as though separating squabbling children.

Even if the probability of them taking offense against us is low, it isn’t absent. We have some evidence of massive, centuries-long, deeply violent wars between different Kyrene factions, ones that devastate entire worlds. Their peace process seems to involve opposing war leaders and generals engaging in one of their suicidal mating rituals, which, quite obviously, is not a viable option for any other inhabitants of the known multiverse to conduct peace negotiations with them by.

As such, I highly recommend that multiversal travelers politely greet all Kyrene they meet, and indulge any of their curiosities.

Hugh blinked, more than a little intimidated. “They’re called the Kyrene, and, uh… they’re friendly, I guess?”

“You guess?” Talia asked.

“You probably want to be sure, because I’m pretty sure they’ve seen us,” Sabae said, from where she kept watch.

Sure enough, the dozen or so crystal giants had stopped in the middle of the plain, and seemed to be orienting themselves towards the group. A mid-sized Kyrene— still well over a hundred feet in height, if Hugh was judging correctly— had raised several of its limbs in the air, and was waving them back and forth almost like a metronome.

“Yeah, they’re friendly,” Hugh said.

Still, he handed the Guide over to Sabae, then took Mackerel so the others could read the entry as well.

The Kyrene waited patiently out on the plain, looming over the black foliage.

Finally, the others finished reading the entry, and Hugh managed to store the Guide in his tattoo without Mackerel biting it.

Then, after an exchange of nervous glances, the five of them walked out onto the plain to meet the Kyrene.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Languages of Lightning

THE KYRENE WAITED quietly on the plain for them. Well, quietly to the others, at least. Sabae could hear them as clearly as if they were standing right next to her.

Not with her ears but with her lightning affinity.

Her lightning affinity sense had been the first to awaken, of all her magics. She hadn’t understood what was going on, at first— she’d been confused and terrified by the strange whistles, clicks, crackles, and pops that had started waking her at night.

The instant she’d told her family about it, though, they’d known it was a lightning affinity. A hearing-analogue lightning affinity sense was among the most common forms it took— though it was also one of the strangest.

Sabae had heard beings communicate via lightning before, but never above the waves. Anastis’ oceans were filled with lightning sounds— dozens of species of fish in the oceans could produce lightning in their bodies. A handful of them— stargazers, some eels and rays— used lightning as a weapon, but the overwhelming majority of galvanic fish simply used them to communicate. They generated tiny bursts of lightning within their bodies, which other lightning fish and lightning mages like Sabae, could hear.

Most of those were just animal communications— warnings about predators, coordinating the movements of schools of fish. Language, certainly, but like other animal languages, it was incapable of carrying a particularly wide or deep variety of information.

There were rumors that something in the ocean spoke true language in lightning, that hidden among the endless crackles and pops of the lightning fish was the language of sentients, that somewhere in the deep dwelled a civilization that spoke in lightning, but Sabae had never heard it, nor did she know anyone who had. All she’d known listening to the lightning were the crude, mindless crackles of fish talk.

The speech of the Kyrene was a grand ocean-crossing ship, compared to the leaky dory of fish language.

The whistles and pops jumped and slid down past each other like an intricate machine, like half a dozen songs played at once in the same key, or perhaps like…

Sabae didn’t really know what to compare it to. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever heard before, and every comparison she tried failed.

The Kyrene had a language of lightning, one unlike anything Sabae had ever heard or imagined.

And it was beautiful.

“Yeh alright?” Godrick asked her.

Sabae realized that she’d stopped walking and hurried to catch up with the others. “Sorry, I was just listening to the Kyrene talking.”

That, of course, precipitated immediate demands for an explanation, which took much of the remaining walk towards the Kyrene.

By the time they got close enough to cross into the Kyrene’s shadows, though, all conversation fell silent.

The shadows weren’t solid, dark things like their own— they were pale, cast across the ground like stained glass by the shifting colors of the Kyrene’s crystal limbs. Sabae noticed a few spots on the ground that were being burnt by light focused through Kyrene crystal, but none of the patches were anywhere near her or her friends, in what Sabae could only assume was a deliberate gesture of caution.

The Kyrene themselves were even more beautiful up close. Their limbs shifted colors smoothly and continuously, and as they grew closer, Sabae realized she could see some sort of liquid moving through the insides of the creatures. She still couldn’t see any sensory organs, but she did finally see their mouths— circular, crystal-lined maws on the very bottom of the towering creatures’ small bodies, hanging far above the ground. They weren’t quite insectile, but Sabae didn’t know what else to compare them to.

Behind her, Sabae caught Godrick whispering to Hugh, “Can yeh tell what kind a’ crystal they’re made a’?”

“I’ve been trying,” Hugh said. “My affinity sense is barely working today, and I…”

He stopped, and when he spoke again, it was with a sense of wonder.

“They’re made of aether crystals,” he said. “Their entire body is aether crystal.”

“Makes sense,” Godrick said. “Can’t think a’ what other kind a’ crystal would be solid at the high temperatures Galvachren mentioned.”

The rest of them all nodded, and Hugh gave them a shocked look.

“Don’t you get it?” Hugh asked. “Aether crystals are crystallized mana, right? That means the Kyrene are literally made of solid magic.”

Sabae glanced back at the boys. “Yeah, but so is Mackerel, so it’s hardly a commendation in their favor, is it?”

Instead of giving her the ornery look she’d been expecting, Hugh’s spellbook gave her a hurt, wounded look, then retreated sadly behind Hugh’s back.

“No, wait, I’m sorry, I was just teasing you, Mackerel,” Sabae said, feeling awful. “I didn’t mean to…”

Mackerel poked back out from behind Hugh’s back, an obvious look of amusement on his cover.

Sabae groaned in irritation at being pranked by the spellbook, then turned away to listen to the Kyrene speak.

The Kyrene shuffled around curiously to get a better look at them. Their crystal legs rang out like wind chimes when they moved, and practically sang when two of the giants brushed against one another.

Sabae noticed that one of the larger Kyrene kept trying to lurk behind the others, as though shy. Maybe it was young? She had no idea how to tell.

Even though the giants were extremely careful with their legs, Sabae couldn’t help but eye them nervously— whenever the edge of a leg brushed against Apoptis’ thick black foliage, it sliced through like the plants weren’t even there. She didn’t want to see what they’d do to human flesh.

“Uh… hello,” Talia said.

Several of the Kyrene twisted their bodies, as if to look more carefully at Talia, but they didn’t react in any other way.

“Well, that’s me out of ideas,” Talia offered.

Hugh, meanwhile, had his face scrunched up like his stomach hurt.

“You alright?” Sabae asked.

“I’m trying to make my affinity senses work properly so I can get a good look at them,” Hugh said.

“You mean peering inside them with your crystal sense? Isn’t that a little intrusive?” Talia asked. “Like using magic to see through someone’s clothes?”

“Ah mean… they’re already transparent?” Godrick pointed out. “Ah’m not sure they’re likely ta’ have any sort a’ nudity taboo fer affinity senses.”

Sabae did her best to ignore the argument that followed as she focused on the lightning speech of the Kyrene, trying to wrap her mind around the strange patterns of their language. She eventually increased the strength of her storm armor, hoping its noise would drown her friends’ voices out a bit more.

Finally, she interrupted the others. “Would you all please stop arguing for a second? I want to try something.”

Then, not letting herself hesitate, she reached out her hands and summoned a flicker of lightning between them.

The tiny, foot-long lightning bolt wasn’t much to look at, but the crackling sound it made to her aether sense drowned out the speech of the Kyrene for a moment.

An instant later, the entire herd of Kyrene went silent and motionless.

Godrick gave her a nervous look. “Sabae, ah think yeh might’ve…”

Sabae shook her head at him and listened.

One of the Kyrene— the hundred-footer that had originally waved at them— slowly shifted its dozens of legs, then let out a slow, sliding whistle audible only to Sabae’s lightning sense.

Sabae smiled and summoned another lightning bolt between her hands. This one was much smaller, but rather than just letting it flash, Sabae kept it going for several seconds as she tried to mimic the whistle.

Once she had a crude approximation— emphasis on crude— she began lowering the intensity of the lightning, trying to mimic the slide.

It barely worked, diving off-pitch and getting interrupted with crackles and hisses every few heartbeats, but when Sabae finished, the whole herd of Kyrene erupted into loud argument, discussion, and conversation. They barely moved their bodies, but it took most of a minute for the first Kyrene to quiet all the others.

Then the immense, spider-like giant let out another sliding whistle in lightning speech, followed by three evenly spaced crackles.

Sabae smiled and summoned lightning again.

SABAE SPENT SEVERAL hours trying to communicate with the Kyrene— and by the end of it, she wasn’t even quite sure whether she’d even learned any words in their strange galvanic language.

Well, she was fairly sure she’d learned the word for rock, at least, given that the series of interlocking crackles and hisses had been used repeatedly in reference to both actual rocks and Godrick’s armor.

Or maybe it was the word for hard or dense? Or… she wished there were more details on the Kyrene language in Galvachren’s Guide.

Sabae was deeply grateful that her friends let her take the time to talk to the crystal giants— she knew that Hugh was likely especially impatient to get to the next labyrinth.

Godrick had constructed a stone awning for the others to rest under, and together with Hugh, he had constructed an air-filtration and temperature ward to allow the others to take off their armor and relax a bit.

Except, of course, for Mackerel, who was almost as interested in the Kyrene as Sabae. He had struck up something of a friendship with the especially large and shy Kyrene, dodging and weaving around its massive limbs as it waved them through the air a little ways away from the group.

Godrick’s armor elemental had surprised the group by expressing interest in the Kyrene as well— Sabae barely even remembered the strange little creature was there, most of the time. Its interest didn’t amount to much, however— it didn’t want to interact with the crystal spiders, merely have the stone sphere of its core set somewhere it could watch them.

Sabae’s long attempt at communication only ended when the plant-life around them started turning white again.

Godrick had already started assembling a new shelter— the awning wouldn’t be nearly enough to protect them from a flare— when the Kyrene began to move.

Sabae stopped running towards the awning, then just watched, awestruck, as the dozen crystal spiders surrounded them in a great circle, and raised hundreds of limbs into the air.

And then those limbs started to fold, bend, and weave together. Within moments, the group was encased in a barn-sized crystal dome of limbs. Mackerel only just managed to dodge back inside one of the last gaps as his new friend finished closing off the dome.

Sabae couldn’t tell where one Kyrene started and another ended— their comparatively small bodies were almost impossible to spot with their mouths closed.

Then the crystals of the Kyrene bodies darkened.

“I don’t think you need to build a shelter this time, Godrick,” Sabae said.

SABAE AND THE others spent the duration of the flare seeing wonders.

The Kyrene hadn’t turned their bodies fully opaque— enough light made it through that Sabae and the others could still see the landscape around them— only directly overhead, where the sun was, did the crystal dome go opaque. The rest of the dome rippled with a thousands shades of color, like standing inside of an opal or a stained-glass window, casting rainbow shadows across all of them, and dyeing the world outside in brilliant splotches of color.

The dome didn’t even warm up from the flare— when Sabae pressed her fingers against it, the crystal was cool to the touch despite the fact that she knew she would die in seconds outside.

Sabae had expected that there would be nothing to see around them during the flare, that all of Apoptis’ life would go to ground, but instead…

The air around them was filled with ghosts.

Well, not ghosts, but strange, translucent, drifting creatures, that looked almost like the children of a manta ray and a jellyfish. They descended from the sky after the land had turned fully white and the flare had grown powerful enough to kill, and they roamed freely outside the dome. They were clearly material beings, unlike the predatory auroras that Galvachren claimed hunted at night here— Sabae saw them brushing aside white leaves as they drifted about.

Sabae couldn’t even begin to guess what they were made of, what they ate, or anything else about them, but they were beautiful.

Judging by the sounds of the Kyrene conversation, and the colors shifting through their limbs, she suspected the crystal giants thought likewise. She might just be projecting, the Kyrene might not even have a concept of beauty, for all she knew, but down in her gut, Sabae didn’t doubt that the whistles and static were in appreciation of the ghost-like creatures.

Every other flare Sabae had spent impatiently waiting for it to end, but this one she wished could have gone on for hours. Soon enough, the plants began to darken again, and the translucent creatures rose into the sky.

And, once the four humans had armored up again, the Kyrene left as well, without any ceremony.

Only two of them paused to say goodbye— the large shy one to Mackerel, and the first one to Sabae.

The first Kyrene lowered its body almost to the ground, then let out a long, almost pensive-sounding series of whistles and clicks in its lightning tongue.

Sabae did her best to copy it, and the crystal giant flushed pale yellow, emitting a popping noise that sounded approving to her ears.

Then it rose and followed the rest of the Kyrene off into the distance, their immense strides taking them to the horizon in just a few short minutes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ritual Magic

ONCE THE KYRENE were long out of sight, Hugh led the others towards their destination, though even he struggled to focus his attention on their route instead of on thoughts of the giant crystal beings.

The group’s exit labyrinth from Apoptis was underneath one of the living mountains, instead of a lava tube like the first— unsurprising, since there was a labyrinth under every one of the living mountains. The tiny, coral-like organisms fed largely off the mana vented by the labyrinths, somewhat like sunlings fed off the aether in the Endless Erg.

It said something about how ancient the labyrinths were that new forms of life had risen up over time to take advantage of them.

Despite the huge number of labyrinths scattered across the plain, Galvachren had noted that Apoptis was far from going aether critical and developing demons, which was for the best— that would turn it from merely a horrifying deathworld that was convenient for multiversal travelers to something utterly impassable.

Given that more than half of the potential routes Hugh had mapped out to get to Highvale via the labyrinths passed through Apoptis, it would have been more than a minor inconvenience to avoid it.

And they wouldn’t have gotten to meet the Kyrene. Over the hours they’d spent with them, Hugh had managed to make his crystal affinity sense work long enough to get a decent look at the insides of the Kyrene, and, well…

He doubted he could have understood what he sensed even if he’d been able to focus his crystal senses on the giants the whole time. Their internal structures were absolutely filled with incredibly complex channels, reservoirs, and valves for their internal fluids to flow through. The fluids themselves seemed to be some sort of liquid crystal, which Kanderon had only just begun teaching him about before… before Midwinter.

The aether crystals the Kyrene’s solid parts had been formed out of were stunning in their variety. They were… well, he supposed he’d call them attuned, but not in the way that Mackerel or Kanderon’s wings were, and each of the individual Kyrene’s aether crystals had felt wildly different from the next member of their species. Maybe it had to do with their magic, or… Hugh really had no idea.

His musings about the Kyrene were interrupted when they arrived at the foot of the living mountain.

Their destination was a cave mouth about fifty feet up the side of the mountain. Before they could climb up it, however, Sabae pointed out something with a shout.

There, chewing on one of the weird insects of Apoptis, was a possum.

“Ah knew ah didn’t trust those things,” Godrick muttered. “There’s no way somethin’ like that should be able ta’ survive here.”

“Maybe it just came out from this labyrinth since the last flare?” Sabae offered.

Another possum wandered out from under the plants nearby and started sniffing around the first possum, and Hugh couldn’t help but laugh.

The slope below the cave was shallow enough, but the tiny plates that constructed the entire mountain were slippery and difficult to walk on. Thankfully, unlike the split peak, this mountain was healthy, and very few of the plates slipped loose at a touch.

The actual cavern, once they’d finished their scramble up to it, was easy enough to traverse. There were no stalagmites or other obstacles in the ground to avoid, just a few dirty puddles and a truly vile and bizarre smell— one that he used his scent-absorbing marble to protect himself from. The cave systems were, according to Galvachren, something of a… waste disposal route for the coral-like creatures, and when it rained, the water would seep through the mountain down to the various cave systems to be flushed out onto the plains.

Hugh was careful to avoid the puddles.

The entrance to this labyrinth was easy enough to find. At the first fork, one of the three tunnels started showing actual stone and more of the odd, dot-pattern markings they’d seen exiting the last labyrinth.

Descending into the labyrinth was oddly comforting.

There weren’t any mana vents in this labyrinth— there was, it seemed, no need for it on Apoptis. The normal flow through the labyrinth was more than enough to vent excess mana.

The first level appeared to be fashioned out of the hard-baked clay of Apoptis’ surface, filled with the strange dot patterns.

Hugh spent a lot of time staring at them, wondering what the magic of Apoptis was like, but not even Galvachren had any clue. No one had ever stayed long enough on the world to find out. Galvachren claimed that Apoptis’ magic hadn’t been born yet, due to insufficient sophontic pressure onto Apoptis’ aether, whatever that meant.

Mackerel was getting even better at plotting routes through labyrinths, now that he’d been getting more practice. The only monsters they encountered were a pair of the swift predators they’d seen up on the surface, along with a lumbering insect-lizard with legs like tree trunks. The Apoptan predators fled from them, and Talia and Godrick managed to bring down the insect-lizard after a couple of minutes of battering away at its chitinous scales.

Sabae stayed back to guard Hugh, which was utterly embarrassing for him.

Then it was a quick jaunt down to the second floor, where the walls shifted, merged, and separated at a slow crawl despite being made of stone.

That one didn’t take much longer to traverse than the first.

Labyrinth stones were supposed to help guide you through labyrinths, but the ease at which Mackerel did so surpassed any record or description of the process Hugh had found. Even Galvachren seemed to think of them as merely useful, not essential for labyrinth navigation.

Though, like many parts of the Guide relating to the actual function of the labyrinths, there were huge redacted sections regarding labyrinth stones.

Mackerel led the group through the next few floors with ease— past the suspended forest of ceramic pipes of the third floor, the blade-lined narrow passages of the fourth, and the wild temperature fluctuations of the fifth, all the way down to the sixth floor, which was entirely filled with water. The tunnels were magical bubbles floored with ice of wildly varying thickness, and you could peer through the water into other, neighboring tunnels..

There, they did have to fight, again and again, as various monsters leapt out of the watery walls and tried to drag them underwater, or even ripped through the ice below them. Mackerel’s ability to guide them didn’t help avoid trouble when the monsters of this level could see them at great distances through the water of this level.

Their foes ranged from carnivorous fish to giant eels, but the worst of the lot was a massive, free-moving tumor that dragged Talia into its maw. It couldn’t chew through her scrimshaw ward, and she destroyed it from within using dreamfire easily, but Hugh suspected all of them would need her to use dreamfire on the nightmares they’d have about the disgusting entity.

With each encounter, Hugh’s self-loathing reared its head again, and he had to struggle to stay focused. His current near-helplessness was temporary. Just a few more hours, and…

Just a few more hours.

As if the monsters weren’t bad enough, they had to carefully pick their way across the icy floor, which was filled with countless thin spots they could plunge through. It got a bit easier when Godrick switched his armor from stone to ice, but the four of them were exhausted and miserable by the time they got down to the seventh floor, which had obsidian floors and walls of burning light instead of stone, reminding Hugh of the flares of Apoptis above them.

Their exit to the next world on their trip was only a short jaunt through the obsidian-and-light maze, and they easily passed through from the seventh floor of Apoptis’ labyrinth to the metal honeycomb sixth floor of Kemetrias’ labyrinth. The dot patterns of Apoptis faded into immense chained scripts of… they looked almost like spellforms, but there were only a few dozen different ones, and they were chained together in clusters almost, but not quite, like language. Galvachren called them runes, and while Hugh was curious about them, he didn’t have the patience to investigate.

Once they made it into the Kemetrian labyrinth, Godrick sealed off one of the metal honeycombs, just in time for them to be hit by aether sickness again.

If this case of aether sickness was any weaker or shorter than the last, Hugh couldn’t tell the difference. The symptoms, however, were wildly different— Hugh had to struggle with deep muscle aches, absurd shifts between feeling feverish and freezing, and weird rashes that only lasted a few minutes at a time.

The specific symptoms to each world were caused by your mind attempting to learn to process the different qualities of a whole new aether and its unique mana. The symptoms depended on your magic and on what types of aether you were already acclimated to.

His friends suffering through almost the exact same symptoms didn’t make Hugh feel any better.

Well, save for Mackerel. Hugh couldn’t make heads or tails of the sensations coming through his bond with his spellbook, save for the fact that he was definitely suffering, too.

After spending a few hours recovering, they decided to simply spend the night there— none of them were quite sure how long they’d been awake, and they were all exhausted from their trip so far.

When they woke, they didn’t ascend towards the surface of Kemetrias. Instead, the group descended again, out of the cramped metal honeycombs of the sixth floor and down to the seventh floor.

The seventh floor would have been deep enough, as far as mana density went, but with its immense copper gears, shifting platforms, and constantly resetting traps, it was too dangerous for Hugh’s plan. They still managed to make it through swiftly, at least.

The eighth floor of the Kemetrian labyrinth, after all the insanity of the previous floors, was perfect. Sure, it had dozens of bull-sized, acid-spitting, wingless quadrupedal birds nesting in its halls, and sure, there were hundreds of aggressive stone statues like they’d fought in their first labyrinth trip, but…

It would work.

THE WALLS OF the eighth floor were rhyolite, without any features of note aside from the thousands of runes carved in them. Godrick was easily able to construct them a sturdy shelter, cutting off both ends of a wide hallway, with walls more than a dozen feet thick. Only a few noodle-thin, heavily warded, corkscrewing tunnels for air connected them to the rest of the labyrinth. He then carved multiple layers of wards adapted from Hugh’s designs, most of which were designed to hide their presence.

Hugh made sure to double and triple check every single line of the ward spellforms. Even the slightest error could spell disaster— not only did the wards have to conceal and protect them, but they needed to be built with absolute precision, so they wouldn’t interfere with the other wards they were building.

The next set took hours to build. These ones were designed to smooth the flows of mana through the aether nearby, though not to limit it— they’d need all the mana they could get for what was coming next. If they’d still been on Anastis, it wouldn’t have taken so long, but since Kemetrias’ aether had a whole different set of properties, Hugh had to painstakingly test different designs— something that took far longer than it should have, given that his magic was failing more often than ever.

He eventually managed to perform all the tests and took all the readings he needed, and the wards were thankfully easy after that— the aether of Kemetrias was filled with mana that flowed more easily and predictably than Anastan mana, though its turbulence patterns were far different.

Once their mana reservoirs had processed and changed the mana into their own types, of course, it worked the same as always.

And, finally, Hugh used chalk to trace a horrendously complex spellform in the center of the little fortified room. It was a close relative of wards, but the differences had stretched Hugh’s understanding of spellform construction— he doubted anyone without his background in both fields could have created something like this.

When Hugh was done, Godrick carefully carved the spellform into the stone in place of the chalk lines.

Sabae, Talia, and Mackerel did their best to stay out of the way, which was a struggle in the cramped little safe room.

When Godrick finished carving, he retreated to the side.

Finally, Hugh convinced himself that there were no errors he was overlooking. No flaws or weaknesses in the design.

It was time to save Kanderon.

Hugh looked up at his friends.

Mackerel was quietly napping in one corner.

Sabae was reading Davragam’s Census for what must have been the hundredth time, her forehead furrowed in thought.

Godrick was staring at his father’s still-unread letter, folded up in his hands.

Talia was just staring at Hugh, watching him work.

“Is it time?” she asked.

Hugh nodded. “Who’s ready to save Kanderon?”

His friends all looked up at him.

“You’re sure it’s all good to go?” Sabae asked, tucking the Census into her storage tattoo.

Hugh nodded again, excitement and nervousness warring in his gut.

One by one, his friends put away their enchanted gear in their storage tattoos, to prevent any of it from interfering with the ritual.

As they all moved to sit around the ritual circle, Godrick gave Hugh a sharp look. “Yeh best not be about ta’ give us a whole speech about us still bein’ able ta’ back out if we want.”

Hugh gave him a sheepish look. “Well, I…”

Talia rolled her eyes. “We’ve gone over this a hundred times. We know the risks, we’re prepared to deal with them.”

Hugh nodded, then sat at one of the quadrants around the ritual spellform.

Each of his friends sat at the spot specifically designated for them. Mackerel did try to take Sabae’s spot at first until Godrick picked the spellbook up and handed him to Hugh.

Mackerel gave him a sullen look as he tucked it away inside his storage tattoo. They’d argued a lot about whether to include Mackerel and Godrick’s armor elemental into the ritual, but ultimately, they’d decided that the risks outweighed the benefits, as impressive as the latter might have been.

Finally, Hugh set the aether crystal he’d harvested back in Skyhold’s labyrinth in the exact center of the ritual spellform.

Then, heart racing, Hugh reached for his mana.

As nervous as he was, and as badly as his magic was malfunctioning, it took a dozen tries to finally get hold of all three types of his mana and push them into the spellform.

The instant the lines in his quadrant of the spellform began to light up, each of his friends followed suit and began pumping mana into the warlock pact.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Mad Plans

SKYHOLD, HUGH’S HIDDEN Lair, One Week Earlier

“It’s really not a plan,” Hugh said. He cast his gaze at his door, hoping Avah would come back so he didn’t have to talk about this immediately after reconciling with his friends.

Sabae just crossed her arms.

“Tell us anyhow,” Godrick said.

Hugh sighed heavily. “So, I don’t know if you noticed how I didn’t talk about how I planned to pump energy into the bond? I’ve found a few methods to do it, but most of them are horrifically unethical or even monstrous.”

Sabae crossed her arms. “Most of them. So you’ve found at least one that works, but you don’t want to use it, or even tell us.”

Godrick looked up sharply at that. “Hugh already told us.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

“No, I didn’t,” Hugh said.

Godrick pointed a finger at him. “Yeh said that normally, there was only one time when a warlock bond gets enough energy ta’ get stuck in a metastable valley— it’s when a warlock first pacts.”

Talia started nodding. “So that’s it, then? You just need to do a new warlock pact, then. So just pact with one of your magic items, then. Your boots or Mackerel’s strap? You get a new affinity or two, save Kanderon, and you’re good to go.”

Hugh shook his head. “It’s… it’s not that simple. The amount of mana needed to free my bond is far more than I’m going to get from just pacting a magical weapon. If I’m purely counting on mana from my partner, no one short of a major great power will work.”

Sabae rolled her eyes. “So pact with Indris, then. She owes you a favor, she’s more than powerful enough to provide the energy for your pact, and she can easily fly you far enough away to provide the tension first.”

Hugh shook his head even harder. “I don’t… It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Sabae demanded.

“Because I don’t want to dishonor Kanderon like that!” Hugh yelled.

Everyone just stared at him for a moment.

“Sorry,” Hugh muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to yell, I just…”

Sabae crossed the distance between them and grabbed Hugh gently by the shoulders. “I’m sorry I pushed so hard, Hugh. But… we just don’t have time. Alustin might be content to wait to make his move, but no one else is. The continent’s on the brink of war, and everyone is marshaling their armies and their spells, Hugh. We have less than a week until my grandmother and Indris leave Skyhold to put together their coalition and try to hunt down Alustin before his deadline, and there’s not a chance they’ll leave us to our own schemes. They’re going to be taking us with them, whether we like it or not. I know how much Kanderon means to you, and I get that you don’t want to dishonor her by taking on another patron, but… if you don’t come up with an alternative in the next few days, what are we supposed to do?”

Hugh wanted to gesture wildly, but he would have felt awkward shaking off Sabae’s hands to do so. “I have plenty of books to read, still— maybe one of them has a solution I haven’t found yet? I just need to keep looking.”

Talia gave Hugh a serious look. “You need to ask yourself whether honoring Kanderon or saving her life is more important.”

Hugh wanted to argue, but he forced himself to think about it seriously instead. “If… if I have to choose, I’d pick Kanderon’s life any day of the week. There has to be another option, though.”

“Hold on,” Godrick said. “You said that if you’re depending on your partner’s mana, it would have to be a great power you pacted with. So does that mean you can use some other kind of mana?”

“I mean, in theory, sure,” Hugh said. “You can draw on mana in the aether, but unattuned environmental mana is way less efficient for the sake of it than a partner’s mana. I don’t know of anywhere with enough mana to work.”

“And you can’t provide the mana yourself?” Talia asked.

Hugh shook his head. “Still not enough.”

“What about using the windlode?” Sabae asked.

Hugh considered for a moment, then shook his head. “It… might be enough, but the resultant mana would be far too turbulent to use safely.”

“Surely there’s got to be somewhere with enough mana,” Talia said.

“I’ve never even heard of anywhere like that,” Hugh said. “If I did, I’d…”

He stopped.

“You just thought of something,” Talia said.

“I just had a really, really bad idea,” Hugh said.

“What?” Sabae asked.

“No, I mean truly awful,” Hugh said.

“Are yeh goin’ ta’ tell us or not?” Godrick demanded.

“So, I do actually know of one place with high enough mana,” Hugh said. “You, uh, do too.”

Everyone else exchanged puzzled looks until Talia’s changed to one of realization. “The labyrinth!”

Hugh nodded. “The deeper you go, the higher the aether density. We’d need to go deeper than most mages ever go, but it could work.”

Talia clapped excitedly. “Let’s do it, then! We go down into the labyrinth, pact you to Mackerel’s strap, and save Kanderon!”

“That still doesn’t work,” Hugh said. “I need more distance, to create the tension in the bond. And I seriously doubt that Indris or your grandmother is going to be willing to fly us to another continent just to delve into a labyrinth there. And, on top of that, a simple weapon pact still won’t generate enough energy, not at any depth of the labyrinth we can reach or anywhere outside an aether-critical demon universe.”

Everyone fell silent at that, Hugh’s friends all trying to come up with a solution.

The next suggestion, though, came from an entirely unexpected source.

Mackerel.

“Absolutely not,” Hugh told his spellbook. “Out of the question.”

Mackerel sent the same image into Hugh’s mind again.

“Not a chance, Mackerel.”

“What?” Sabae asked. “What’d he say?”

Mackerel sent the image of a book a third time into Hugh’s head. He glowered at his spellbook, but it just stared right back at him.

Finally, rather than attempt a pointless staring contest with a book, Hugh groaned, and reached into his storage tattoo.

A moment later, a truly massive book appeared in mid-air, dropping into Hugh’s hands. It weighed around as much as a child, and Hugh almost overbalanced before Sabae caught him.

“I had to hide it in my storage tattoo,” Hugh said, eying the book unhappily. “I found it down in Kanderon’s lair, and Mackerel kept trying to eat it, and I, uh, worried that wouldn’t go so well, so.”

“What is it?” Godrick asked.

Hugh reluctantly flipped the book around to show them the cover.

Galvachren’s Guide to Worlds.

Everyone just stared at it while Hugh spoke. “The labyrinths are the paths between worlds, right? I skimmed a few chapters of this out of curiosity, and, uh, it includes some routes between labyrinths on various worlds and labyrinth connections.”

A truly terrifying smile started spreading across Talia’s face.

“No,” Sabae said. “Absolutely not.”

The smile on Talia’s face got even bigger.

“Yeh’d better not even suggest it,” Godrick said to her.

Talia’s smile spread wider yet, and she leaned forward. “Hugh, would traveling to a different world put enough tension in your bond with Kanderon?”

Hugh thought about lying, then nodded weakly. It should more than do the job— more so than traveling even to another continent, he suspected.

“And would there be enough mana in the depths of those labyrinths to power the necessary pact?” Talia said.

Hugh gave Sabae and Godrick a helpless look before nodding.

Talia clapped her hands, her smile about to split her face in half. “Well, that settles it, then. We’re traveling to another world.”

Sabae dropped her face into her hands. “This isn’t the kind of thing we can do without preparation, Talia. We can’t just travel to another world, then be back in time to leave with my grandmother. And trust me, we don’t want to be in Skyhold again after she leaves.”

Talia’s smile didn’t fade. “Oh, Hugh, didn’t you say something about lists of labyrinths on different worlds and their connections? Would it be possible, to, say, return to Anastis via an entirely different labyrinth? Say, one near Highvale?”

Hugh really, really thought about lying, but thought better of it. “I… well, probably, but why Highvale?”

“It’s where my grandmother and Indris are going to be mustering their coalition,” Sabae said. “Highvale’s king is a safe bet for joining their coalition— Highvale is a traditional enemy of both Havath and Helicote.”

“Ah feel like ah need ta’ point out that this is entirely mad,” Godrick said. “Even ignorin’ the fact that yeh’re proposin’ we actually travel ta’ another world entirely, the entrances ta’ Skyhold’s labyrinth are some a’ the most heavily defended parts a’ the mountain— they’re secured by giant enchanted doors that would take a great power ta’ batter down, if yeh don’t have the keys.”

“Multiple worlds, probably, not just one,” Hugh said. “And getting into the labyrinth won’t actually be a problem, we could just take the ventilation system. There are actually eight doors to the labyrinth, not just the six most people know about. The other two have been turned into giant ventilation shafts— that’s where all the air in the mountain comes from, and why it always blows out of the mountain, not in.”

“How do you even know that?” Sabae asked. “And I can’t imagine they don’t have heavy defenses, to keep monsters from wandering out.”

“Loarna showed me,” Hugh said. “Before she… well, before Midwinter.”

A pang of grief and guilt stabbed through Hugh— grief at Loarna’s death during the battle, and guilt that he’d thought of her so little since, as busy obsessing over Kanderon as he had been.

Hugh rubbed at the corners of his eyes before continuing. “The vents are filled with powerful wards, powered by the labyrinth itself, but I can get us past them, even with my magic malfunctioning.”

“There’s another problem,” Sabae said. “You’re proposing we enter a deadly trap- and monster-filled labyrinth while you’re helpless.”

Hugh gave Sabae a level look, then pulled a stick of chalk from his storage tattoo. “I’m far from helpless.”

“Are yeh seriously considerin’ this?” Godrick asked. “Even comin’ from Talia, this idea’s mad.”

Hugh opened his mouth to say yes, then shut it. The enthusiasm that had been building drained away. “Even if we did, we don’t have access to any enchanted items powerful enough, and I still don’t want to pact with another great power if I can help it.”

“So pact with one of us,” Talia said.

Hugh froze and stared at her.

“There’s no reason you can’t pact with another human, is there?” Talia asked.

“Well, no,” Hugh said. “It requires a different spellform than usual, but that’s not one of the problems. The problems are that first, I can’t ask that of one of you. It’s… too much. And second, even if I could, none of you have enough mana. Putting the kind of tension we’re talking about into the bond, combined with pacting in the depths of the labyrinth… it lowers the mana requirements to shake loose my bond with Kanderon, but it still requires the kind of mana you don’t see from anyone weaker than a powerful archmage.”

Talia rolled her eyes. “Well, the first reason is obviously stupid. As for the second… why not pact with all three of us?”

Hugh started to explain why that wouldn’t work, then paused.

Then he yanked some of his notes, some blank paper, and a quill out from his storage tattoo, sat down at his desk, and started doing calculations.

Then he called Mackerel over and had him display various sample warlock pact spellforms.

He actually let his hopes get up for a moment, let himself believe this might work.

The math didn’t add up, though. Even with the mana density deep in a labyrinth, even with all his friends contributing, it wouldn’t be enough.

He sighed, and patted Mackerel sadly. It had been worth a shot, but…

Hugh froze, and stared at Mackerel.

Then he rapped on the spellbook’s cover with his knuckles, ignoring Mackerel’s confusion.

The spellbook’s aether crystal cover.

He’d attuned the aether crystal that became Mackerel because he needed more power for the ward to protect Theras Tel during Ataerg’s attempted coup. And power it had provided in spades— more than he’d even used before or since. Power on par with one of the great powers.

Despite himself, despite his pessimism and doubt, Hugh felt a smile start to crack his face, and he went back to work.

Hugh wasn’t sure how long he spent making notes and theory-crafting spellforms, but when he finished, he felt like he were coming out of a trance.

“You’re talking about turning Hugh into a great power,” Sabae was saying. “It would give him… what, twelve affinities? Do you know how rare affinities in the double digits are?”

“Well, he’d have to learn to use them all,” Talia said, “not to mention grow his new mana reservoirs considerably, so it would probably take years before they’re all powerful enough.”

Hugh turned to face the others. “Not just me.”

“What?” Godrick asked.

“We wouldn’t be just giving me new affinities,” Hugh said. “If I pact with all of you at once, I can give all of you each others’ affinities too— and probably Kanderon’s as well, if we do manage to free the bond from the metastable valley.”

“Ah can’t believe it’d be that easy,” Godrick said. “Yeh’d think someone woulda’ tried it before.”

“I’m pretty confident they have,” Hugh said. “There are a lot of famous mages and warlocks whose magic makes far more sense if you assume that’s what’s happened. Married mages with extremely rare identical affinity sets, for instance. And no one actually knows how the Two-Legged Army in Gelid got all their affinities. Or, uh… their extra minds.”

“That’s reassuring,” Sabae muttered.

“Regardless,” Hugh continued, “there’s nothing that would say it’s impossible, it’s just prohibitively challenging for most warlocks. The overwhelming majority of warlocks don’t have mana reservoirs large enough to even try something like this. Nor do they have the knowledge— I’m piecing together chunks of information from Kanderon’s personal files, and I highly doubt anyone other than Keayda could possibly rival those. We’re also going to need a particularly large aether crystal to make this work. And there’s one issue with this sort of pact that would dissuade most warlocks above all others.”

Hugh grabbed a waterskin out of his storage tattoo and took a drink before continuing. “The clauses in the pacts. In a pact with more than two people, they’re going to have a grossly disproportionate impact on the bond. Even just a handful of clauses will leave it as vulnerable to outside attack as mine with Kanderon. And the fewer clauses you have, the more vulnerable the members of the pact are to one another, and few contract partners would trust their warlocks that much.”

“So don’t put any clauses in this one,” Talia said.

“Without those…” Hugh started.

“I trust you, I trust Sabae, and I trust Godrick,” Talia said.

“Yeh know, as crazy as this whole idea is,” Godrick said, “this part’s the least crazy. Ah trust all a’ yeh. No clauses.”

Sabae sighed. “Why couldn’t I have friends that just wanted to pressure me into recreational alchemical compounds? But, yes, after everything we’ve been through, and the number of times I’ve left my life in all your hands before, we don’t need clauses. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Hugh, but it was Kanderon’s lack of trust that left you two vulnerable to Alustin, and if we’re going up against him, we can’t have the same weakness in our pact. Or… will he be able to attack your bond with Kanderon still?”

Hugh shook his head. “Our pact should serve to vent attacks like that away from my pact with Kanderon, if I design it right. I think.”

Sabae took a deep breath. “We’re actually seriously considering this whole insane plan, aren’t we?”

Everyone around her nodded, with various degrees of hesitation first.

“You’re sure this could actually work?” she asked Hugh. “And that my magic range issues, Talia’s tattoo issues, or your mana flooding issues won’t get passed on to the others?”

“I need to double- and triple-check my calculations,” Hugh said, “but… yeah, I think this should be able to work. And no, none of our magic issues should get passed on— Talia’s are entirely dependent on her tattoos, while yours and mine are technically harmful mana techniques, and mana techniques aren’t passed along warlock pacts by default. Of course, the odds of us dying horribly are pretty high still.”

“What’s new about that?” Sabae muttered, then she ran her fingers through her hair. “If your numbers check out, then… I guess we’re doing this. We’re disobeying my grandmother’s orders, breaking into a deadly labyrinth, traveling to an alien world that I’m betting will be deadly too, and then breaking into another labyrinth there to perform a dangerous experimental warlock pact to try and revive Kanderon.”

“When yeh put it like that, yeh make it sound even madder than before,” Godrick muttered.

“You make it sound even more fun than it did already!” Talia said.

Hugh let out a long, deep breath. “I guess we’ve got a lot of work to do, then. Best get to it.”

Mackerel, of course, chose that moment to lunge at Galvachren’s Guide to Worlds.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A Foolish Risk

KEMETRIAN LABYRINTH, EIGHTH Floor, Present Day

It didn’t take long for the warlock pact spellform to ignite with color. The spellform lines in each of their quadrants glowed different colors, based on the mix of mana types going in.

Talia’s quadrant glowed the purple-green of her dreamfire, with an angry red undertone from her bonefire affinity.

Godrick’s quadrant looked like a bright light shining off metal, and somehow dyed the rhyolite around it to look just like granite. Hugh was certain he could smell something rising off it, but when he tried to focus, the scent vanished.

Sabae’s quadrant shifted and flickered like the heart of a thunderstorm, but something about it felt almost soothing from the corner of his eye. He was fairly sure that came from her healing affinity.

His own quadrant…

The lines in front of Hugh burned bright enough to hurt the eye, and felt far deeper than they could possibly be, but that wasn’t what make Hugh catch his breath.

They were the exact blue of Kanderon’s wings.

Hugh drew a shaky breath, and silently begged the spellform to work as the colors crept inwards along the spellform.

The central portion of the spellform around the aether crystal, however, didn’t ignite. For a heartbeat, Hugh thought that his plan had failed, that there was some flaw that would backlash onto them all.

Then the central portion ignited, and the warlock pact slammed into Hugh’s mind like a ballista bolt.

WHEN HUGH HAD first pacted with Kanderon, he’d been drawn into a hallucinatory, empty white void, where their warlock pact had painfully tattooed itself onto him.

When he’d first attuned the aether crystal that became Mackerel, his mind was pulled into the crystal structure of the crystal as it grew and reshaped itself.

He’d expected a mix of the two with this pact, and he’d expected to have to struggle to hold the pacting ritual together for his friends.

Hugh got the mix he’d been expecting, but that was far from all.

He hung suspended in the white void again, but far below his feet was the shifting and warping structure of the aether crystal they’d used to power the crafting ritual. It stretched for leagues and leagues across the void below them, and Hugh wasn’t actually sure whether it ended or just faded out of visibility in the distance. Its internal pattern was shifting wildly as it tried to cope with twelve different mana types.

Surrounding Hugh were several hideous, floating organisms. He stepped back in alarm, only to realize that he didn’t have legs to step with or even a body at all.

He looked down and realized he was one of the hideous floating organisms too. Which meant the others were…

“Godrick? Talia? Sabae?”

One of the organisms groaned, and he immediately recognized it as Talia. Even if he hadn’t recognized her voice, something about the random collection of wires, tangled geometric structures, and translucent bladders just immediately reminded him of her.

The weird phantom reflection of her tattoos that he could see from the corner of his eye surrounding her helped quite a bit.

“Well, this is weird and horrible,” she said.

“You can say that again,” Sabae said, next to her.

Godrick just made an unpleasant noise.

Hugh studied each of his friends carefully. Why would they look so bizarre? He’d taken on his own form in his past visions. Was the combination of the aether crystal and the pact making them hallucinate? Or…

No, there was an order to their weird new forms. The geometric structures were all floating where their heads should be, and the bladders drifted aimlessly through where their torsos should be, with the wires connecting them. He and Godrick both had three of them, Talia two, and Sabae four, all of wildly different sizes. Hugh’s were generally larger than the others, one of them being particularly massive.

Hugh suddenly understood what he was looking at. The bladders were their mana reservoirs, which had to make the wires their mana channels.

He hadn’t the slightest idea what the geometric shapes were, however.

“It’s not painful like yeh said it would be, but ah think ah still hate this,” Godrick offered.

“I think the pain last time might have been from the clauses in my pact with Kanderon,” Hugh said, only halfway paying attention. “Or maybe it’s because we were so far away from one another while pacting. Or because we did it through the Index, rather than directly, because of the labyrinth stone, or…”

“So you don’t know,” Talia said. “Why do we look like horrible jellyfish wind-chimes?”

“I think we’re seeing our aetherbodies,” Hugh said.

Aetherbodies were the parts of a mage that extended into the aether itself. They weren’t flesh and blood, but were instead pieces of the aether itself, warped by their perception and intelligence into solid-analogue mana, albeit that only existed inside the aether, unlike aether crystals or other forms of solid mana, which existed in the physical world.

“They’re only theoretical, though,” Sabae said. “And they’re supposed to be impossible to see, so why are we seeing them now?”

“Guess we just proved the theory,” Talia said. The tangle of geometry floating where her head should be bent down to start looking at Godrick’s mana reservoirs and channels. “Oooh, I can see the different types of your mana moving around.”

“Ah somehow feel like this is bein’ naked but worse,” Godrick said wryly.

“I don’t know why we’re seeing this,” Hugh told Sabae. “This… shouldn’t be possible, but no one’s ever done anything quite like what we’re doing before, at least to my knowledge. Something tells me that this isn’t just a hallucination, though.”

Talia turned to look at the others but paused on Sabae. “Wait, this is weird. Hugh and Godrick’s mana is clearly separated and defined, but yours is… mixed together in your mana channels.”

Sabae bent down to look at her own mana channels for a moment, then made a thoughtful noise. “That… that makes a lot of sense. Alustin warned me against mixing my mana for so long, but… I think he was wrong, there. Mana mixing destabilizes spellforms, but I think that the reason most spellformless casters have trouble with mana mixing might simply be because they learned spellforms first, whereas I’ve been using formless casting since basically the beginning.”

Hugh glanced down, checking on the progress of the aether crystal far below them. Its structure was still warping, but that caught his attention less than the fact that it was slowly drawing closer to them in the white void.

“Isn’t that basically what you do with your storm armor?” Hugh asked, carefully watching the speed at which the crystal lattice below them was approaching.

Sabae nodded— or at least the bizarre geometric tangle she had for a head bobbed up and down. “I think that mana mixing is actually starting in my mana channels now— if I were to guess, the mixing in my channels is what lets me mix mana types in my storm armor in the first place.”

“Seems like a productive avenue for research in the future,” Talia offered. “Especially now that you’re about to have eight new mana types to mix together.”

Godrick made a concerned noise. “Sabae’s, uh, not the only one with mana mixin’ goin’ on. Talia, look at yer mana reservoirs.”

Everyone redirected their attention to Talia. After only a few seconds, Hugh saw what Godrick had figured out.

One of Talia’s mana reservoirs was leaking into the other. Hugh would wager quite a bit that it was her dream reservoir leaking into the bone mana reservoir.

He… couldn’t quite understand how one was leaking into the other. The two reservoirs weren’t touching but at the same time they somehow still were, and it was painful to try and focus on for too long.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Sabae said. “Hugh, we need to stop this ritual before it does any more damage, we…”

“No, it’s fine,” Talia said. “I’ve been halfway convinced something like this was happening for a while now.”

Everyone just stared at her, as much as geometric tangles could stare.

“Haven’t any of you ever wondered where the extra mass came from when I use my bonefire?” Talia asked. “It’s been bugging me for years. You can’t just create more stuff out of nothing.”

“What are you saying?” Hugh asked.

“Remember all those books of philosophy Alustin was having me read? How they talked about a metaphorical description space, where all possible affinities were nodes describing some real-world phenomena, save for meta-affinities, which were axes connecting those nodes?”

Hugh and the others nodded or voiced affirmation, and Talia continued. “Dreamfire works by shifting phenomena along the dream axis and warping it into other nodes chaotically, right? I think that’s what’s going on with my dreamfire. My tattoos damaged my reservoirs, I think, or at least the bone one, which started drawing on my dream mana.”

“So bonefire isn’t creating new bone at all, is it?” Hugh asked. “It’s converting the air and such around it into new bone entirely.”

Talia nodded again. “I think so. Though most of it converts back again afterward— I’ve spent a lot of time picking up bone shards after bonefire explosions, and the amount of bone never comes close to the amount before it explodes.”

“Is it going to be a problem with your new affinities?” Sabae asked.

“My tattoo definitely will be a problem, but… who knows?” Talia asked. “This was always going to be more of a risk for me than the rest of you, but if any of my other new affinities turn out like bonefire, my potential rewards are a lot higher too.”

Hugh was about to respond, but then he found himself distracted by something.

Two long, intangible cords had appeared from the geometric tangles where his own head should be, and three more were slowly congealing out of the air to each of his friends. More were also forming between each of them as well, and Hugh immediately recognized all of them as warlock bonds.

He could tell immediately which of his two previously existing bonds belonged to Mackerel, and which to Kanderon— the latter looked wrong, somehow, in a way he couldn’t quite articulate.

It was also drawn incredibly taut and was starting to vibrate faster and faster.

“It’s working!” Hugh exclaimed. “Both the pact and the plan to help Kanderon!”

“That’s good, but is the aether crystal pattern supposed ta’ be actin’ like that?” Godrick asked nervously.

Hugh looked down to see the crystal pattern rushing up towards them rapidly. The patterns were twisted, warped, and branching off into new directions that shouldn’t even exist, and Hugh struggled to focus his gaze on it.

As the crystal lattice accelerated towards them, Hugh realized three things in quick succession.

First, their aether bodies had abruptly been replaced in the shared vision by their own, very naked bodies.

Second, he could actually feel his friends’ emotions right now. Talia’s nervousness and excitement, Sabae’s need to try and understand everything going on around them, Godrick’s surprising level of embarrassment at their abrupt nudity— and the shared fear they all had as the crystal lattice rushed towards them.

The third thing Hugh realized as the crystal lattice flew straight up towards them?

This was going to hurt.

HUGH LOST TRACK of time entirely after the crystal lattice hit them— or maybe after they finished falling down into it, there was no way to tell which it was.

It could have been minutes, hours, or even days as he was jostled through a raging river of mana rushing through the aether crystal lattice. He could feel his friends’ confusion and terror, even as he tried to focus on changing his perspective to make sense of the raging torrent around them, to seize control of the aether crystal attunement process.

The hardest part, though, was being forced to ignore the pain and panic coming from his friends through their newly formed bond.

Slowly, fighting his way through raging mana currents and waves of unconsciousness, Hugh began to gain equilibrium in the raging mana currents. He didn’t seek to control the chaos but to enhance it, to strengthen the turbulence and eddies.

Orderly patterns grew from chaos, not from order, and crystals were nothing but patterns.

Hugh could feel his friends flailing in the currents, but they didn’t need to do anything but stay afloat— Hugh was the one with all the experience with crystal magic and aether crystals, they’d only get in the way. Nor was their involvement necessary to attune to the crystal.

Attuning to an aether crystal required you to cast a powerful spell through it, and its resulting properties would be a result of the type of spell cast through it as well as the types of mana used.

Hugh hadn’t the slightest clue what sort of other spell might use a dozen affinities ranging from crystal to scent to dream, other than a warlock pact. Maybe the Exile Splinter had in its construction, but Hugh wasn’t particularly inclined to try and build an unstoppable magical superweapon.

Nor did Hugh have the slightest clue what form the aether crystal he was using to fuel their pact would take. He knew it would be attuned to all four of them, but other than that… its color, the abilities it would gain, and anything else about its future remained a mystery.

Hugh was excited to solve it.

Finally, Hugh felt the structure of the aether crystal stabilize, along with the warlock pact between them. The unfiltered emotions from the other three receded, until Hugh had to actively focus on the bond to tell what they were feeling, and with much less detail.

Which was for the best— his friends deserved a bit of privacy in their own heads.

At last, Hugh was able to let go and drift away into the mana flows. As he drifted away into unconsciousness, he felt his friends falling into sleep as well.

THE FRAGMENTS OF his own dreams that Hugh managed to catch were utter nonsense, as though his mind was too exhausted to construct anything coherent.

When he woke sprawled on the ground, though, he didn’t have much thought to spare for his bizarre dreams. Nor did he worry about what form the aether crystal had taken, or even check on his bond with Kanderon.

Someone was in the room with them.

She was a middle-aged woman smoking a pipe, but her features were hard to make out— words in some unknown alphabet rushed across her skin everywhere Hugh wasn’t looking at directly.

Hugh instinctively reached out for his magic, and to his relief, crystal mana rushed into his mind’s eye with ease, as though nothing had ever been wrong.

Hugh didn’t strike at the stranger immediately, though. If she’d meant them harm, she could have easily killed them or robbed them in their sleep.

The woman seemed to notice that Hugh had awoken and said something in an unknown language, one eyebrow raised.

“Who are you?” Hugh demanded.

The woman raised her other eyebrow at that. “Ithonian? It’s been a while since I’ve heard someone speak that. And with an accent, too. Didn’t think the language would start to free itself from its bonds for at least another century or two.”

Hugh tried to sit up from where he sprawled, but his muscles didn’t want to obey. Glancing around, he could see that all his friends were still asleep, and that there didn’t seem to be any gaps in their defenses.

“None of that now, child,” the mysterious woman said. “You need more rest. You’ve gone and done something incredibly foolish in the pursuit of power, and it’s a miracle you didn’t kill yourself and your friends. Your defenses are good, but you should never depend only on a single world’s magic like that.”

“I didn’t do it for power, it was the only way to help…” Hugh stopped himself. He didn’t need to share his secrets with her. “You never answered my question.”

The woman chuckled, the words on her skin seeming to writhe in response.

“Maybe you’re telling the truth, but power you’ve found, and you’re lucky no one hungry felt you grab it. Though it is a strange coincidence to find Ithonians off-world while on my way to Ithos. A good omen, I hope?”

Hugh scowled at her as she drew on her pipe, its embers glowing brighter.

“How did you get in here? What do you want from us? If you…”

The woman exhaled a great cloud of smoke, much larger than should have fit in her lungs. “I mean you and your friends no harm, child. Now, sleep. You need rest, and I will ensure no harm comes to you while you rest.”

With that, the smoke cloud rolled over Hugh like it had a will of its own, and he felt his magic drain away again. As his eyes drifted shut, Hugh felt like he could almost make out the meaning of the shifting words on the woman’s skin.

Hugh’s last conscious act was reaching out for his bond with Kanderon, but he was asleep before he could grasp at it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Shaky Ground

ALUSTIN WAS, IF he did say so himself, an excellent golem-crafter. Perhaps not a master yet, for the most part— up until now, he seldom pushed the boundaries of what was possible with the craft or grew the knowledge of the discipline.

But he’d still wager that his golems were more effective in battle than most masters of the craft.

It was, in Alustin’s opinion, better to focus on well-understood, reliable design techniques and use them in novel configurations, than to seek out the newest, most complex spellforms. His origami golems were, quite frankly, a bit boring— all they really did was fly towards targets, close enough that their razor-sharp wings and edges sliced into them. They didn’t even have specialized protocols for combat, just for flight, pathfinding, and flocking behavior.

By creating such simple golems, with so few rules, Alustin could manufacture far more golems than any other golemcrafter he knew of. And, since he was crafting them in paper, his golems were far less mana hungry than other forms of golems— it was the reason why origami golems were already far and away more common than any other type. Stone golems, like in stories, were so mana hungry that only a handful had ever been built— it just took too much mana to move their weight for long periods.

There were unexpected advantages to his simple golem protocols, too. The flocking behavior of his golems was far less predictable than that of other mages, despite using much less complex rulesets— bizarre, emergent flight patterns that surprised even Alustin occurred regularly when his golems flew together, all arising from a bare handful of rules about avoiding one another and non-target surfaces.

For all those advantages, however, Alustin still had an upper limit of golems he could produce each day. Building golems with temporary mana reservoirs— ones that collapsed after emptying— lowered that number more, which had to be balanced against their increased utility in battle.

There were few fields of magic that didn’t overlap closely with at least one or two others, and golem-crafting was no exception. It was a distant relative to lich demesne construction, and a close relative to elemental creation and will-imbuing spells. Golems were built with highly specific behavioral protocols worked into their spellforms, but there was no way to build the necessary interpretative abilities to follow those rule sets into the spellforms themselves.

So, when you were building a golem, you pushed a piece of your own will into it.

It was exhausting, and you could only safely embed so many fragments of will a day without hurting yourself. They were essentially chunks of your own sentience, after all— it was dangerous imbuing too many. So long as you were careful, they’d grow back easily, though. His simple protocols required less will embedded into them than the more complex golems of other golem crafters, and Alustin had spent years practicing mana techniques and will-training exercises to increase his limit, but it was still there.

Even with his new ink affinity, Alustin couldn’t break that limit. He could, however, improve his golems in plenty of other ways— making them faster, more precise, and more mana-efficient. Years ago it had taken him hours each day to manufacture his daily quota of origami golems, and now it took him only a few minutes— so the majority of his golem-crafting time for years now, since soon after he’d started developing his artificial ink affinity, had been dedicated to designing and then crafting his relay golem.

It was the first time he’d tried to truly push the boundaries of golem-making, reaching for techniques from advanced areas of study in scrying, lich demesne-adjacent enchantment, as well as paper and ink magic.

The relay golem likely couldn’t have been built at all without his specific combination of affinities, in addition to his particular fields of study.

Sadly, he couldn’t dedicate all his time to it— not with all his other responsibilities. Even considering only his own personal battle preparations, Alustin was spending hours every day inscribing huge quantities of spellform glyphs, recombinant wards, and other tools. On top of that, he had propaganda to spread across the eastern half of the continent, espionage to perform, supply chains to organize and conceal to supply his growing mage army, and, most of all, work to do on the Last Echo.

Part of Alustin wished that he had time to write down his experiences building the relay golem. To record his designs, the underlying theories, even his speculations about potentially fruitful avenues of future research.

The relay golem was the most technically advanced piece of magic Alustin had ever designed, and, if it worked as planned, it would be powerful enough to change the course of wars. Great powers would feud over mages capable of creating and operating one.

Though most advanced didn’t mean most ambitious, of course. Alustin’s more ambitious plans, however, largely wouldn’t ever come to fruition.

It was hypothetically possible to build a relay golem with other affinities, so long as one of them was a farsight affinity. A fabric mage of some sort could handle it, perhaps? If, that was, they knew how to build it.

The relay golem could have been a worthy legacy for Alustin, if he had been anyone else. If there were any possible legacy for him other than revenge.

Part of him fantasized about what his father would have thought of it, about rubbing his success in the bitter old man’s face. Nothing new; he’d fantasized about that a thousand times over the years. It likely wouldn’t have mattered, the bastard had been a miserable old gruilessayl, with seldom a kind word for anyone, and certainly never for his own son.

Likely, no one would ever know Alustin had built the relay golem. He imagined that all knowledge of it— likely even its very existence— would be lost when he ruptured the Tongue Eater.

Then Alustin winced, realizing that another curse word had slipped into his mind from the Tongue Eater. A gruilessayl was someone who hated the sight of happy children, and literally translated to ‘toy-breaker’. Whatever culture the word had belonged to seemed to have been both highly indulgent and protective of their children, and gruilessayl seemed to be a particularly vile insult to them.

With a sigh, Alustin tucked the pieces of the relay golem he’d been working on back into his storage tattoo, and went to find something else to do. He’d be in no good mental state for such careful precision work for a solid hour or two— leakage from the Tongue Eater always messed with his focus for a while.

It wasn’t a huge concern, however— there was, after all, hardly a shortage of other work to be found.

As it turned out, Alustin didn’t have to find more work— it found him. One of the Ruhn Syndicate thieves, a force and friction mage who specialized in lockpicking and pickpocketing, had robbed one of Starholt’s archmages, causing an uproar— one exacerbated by the fact that neither Mattin Kos nor Sagravaax Scalestorm, the Ruhn Syndicate and Starholt great powers, were here at the moment. Sagravaax was off negotiating with a flight of dragons that had been driven off their mesa by Havath a few years back in an effort to recruit them, while Kos was off doing… crime, probably.

It took hours to settle down the argument without their attendant great powers to put a firm hand on things, and Alustin resented every minute of it as a waste of his time. He didn’t let that show on his face, though— he was hardly a natural-born leader, but he certainly wasn’t incompetent at it.

His exasperation certainly made him much more comfortable with sacrificing his troops to the Tongue Eater, at least.

ILINIA GLOWERED AT Indris, then took another swig from her flask.

“At this point, I don’t see how you can deny it any longer,” Indris said. “Your granddaughter clearly lied to you. Whatever weapon Alustin stole from Kanderon’s Vault, it wasn’t plagues.”

Ilinia’s glower turned into an outright scowl as the dragon queen sipped from the massive barrel of wine clutched delicately between her talons.

She turned away, needing a moment to think.

The two of them rested alone atop the mountain their army had claimed for an overnight base. Their mages had hollowed dozens of massive caves into its sides for Indris’ dragons and Ilinia’s sky-barges— which were really just normal barges that she ferried through the sky with her winds.

It was, admittedly, a small army— neither of them could afford to withdraw more than a fraction of their forces from their territories while they were gone. Their families, mage corps, and armies would be strained enough defending their cities from pirates, rogue great powers, and storms without them.

It did help, though, that they’d been able to withdraw most of their forces from their shared border— the bulk of Ras Andis and Theras Tel’s military might had been trained on one another for longer than Ilinia had been alive. There hadn’t been open war between the two city-states for even longer, but the threats these past few years had forged the Coven into a true alliance.

Ilinia was still shocked that it had survived Kanderon’s death. The biggest factor in that had been, if Ilinia was honest to herself, Sabae’s claims about plagues.

The Guardian of Ras Andis dreaded what that would mean for her alliance with Indris, but…

“You’re right,” Ilinia finally said, turning back to Indris. “There are no plagues. She played me like a fiddle, and it worked. I just don’t understand why, though.”

She was honestly proud of the girl for successfully fooling her into committing to a war against Havath and Alustin. It’s not like Ilinia hadn’t lied to her elders for her own political ends when she was that age— though, admittedly, not on that scale.

Ilinia was also proud of her granddaughter for somehow managing to escape her watchful eye without a trace. Even with that pesky spellbook blocking scrying, some sign of them should have shown up already, but it was as if the apprentices had just vanished off the face of Anastis.

Ilinia had zero doubt the group would turn up again soon, though— probably at a deeply inconvenient time.

“Could she still be working with Alustin?” the dragon queen asked.

Ilinia’s first instinct was to reject that idea, but she forced herself to pause and consider it seriously.

“I… don’t think so,” she finally said. “She’s an ideologue, hates the system of great powers as much as Kanderon did, but with all the passion of youth. Alustin’s a cynical bastard who cares for little past his revenge, and if he gets his way, it’s only going to reinforce the system of great powers. And if they were working together, why would he want us fighting him? Besides, Sabae’s never going to forgive him for hurting Hugh— she and her friends are unhealthily codependent.”

Indris snorted, sending a wave of dust up from the ground. “You have dozens of spies monitoring each and every one of your own friends as potential threats. I hardly think you’re in a good place to judge the health of anyone else’s friendships. But I agree, it seems unlikely that they’re still working with Alustin.”

Ilinia nodded, ignoring the fact that the dragon knew so much about the activity of her spies. “Especially since, if they were, they’d be most advantageous at our side to spy on us, or, failing that, at his side as weapons. So then who are they really working for, why run away, and why lie to me?”

“The first question will probably answer the other two,” Indris pointed out. “It’s a small list. There’s no way they’d be working with Havath, no opportunity for most of the other major players to get to them, so as far as I can tell… they’ve either gotten drawn directly into the games of Kanderon’s multiversal backers, or they’re working for themselves.”

Ilinia opened her mouth to offer other candidates and froze.

Then she started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Indris demanded.

“They’re working for Kanderon,” Ilinia said, once she’d contained her laughter. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Before she died, Kanderon gave them some sort of mission, told them some sort of secret she didn’t trust us with.”

The dragon queen closed her eyes in thought, but after a few moments, she opened them and nodded slowly. “Do you think Hugh was correct about her being alive? That they’re off trying to find some way to revive her?”

Ilinia shook her head. “No, I think it’s obvious what the mission is. They’re hunting Alustin. That’s why Sabae lied to me— there’s nothing that would set me against someone so quickly as a threat of weaponized plague, and it worked. What I don’t know is why they’re hiding that, why Kanderon would want that hidden from us. Did the sphinx think we’d abandon the war without her or that we’d side with Alustin instead?”

The two of them exchanged glances, then laughed.

Kanderon had almost certainly believed them capable of either— getting involved further in this war was going to be immensely costly to them in the short term, and few great powers had the privilege of favoring the long term.

All the same… no, that didn’t make sense.

“Maybe Kanderon was just being soft, not wanting to destroy another city?” Ilinia asked.

“Depressingly likely,” Indris replied. “But… there’s another option, too.”

Ilinia took another swig from her flask before answering. “He stole something even worse from Kanderon’s Vault.”

“Alustin stole something even worse from the vault,” Indris agreed. “We were already fairly certain that he’d stolen multiple items from the vault, and this just makes it more likely. And at least one of them was dangerous enough that Kanderon didn’t trust us with it, and she’s tasked your granddaughter and her friends with recovering it.”

Ilinia Kaen Das slowly nodded, her mind racing. This was all speculation, but… they knew Alustin had stolen at least two weapons from the Vault. One to break through Havath City’s defenses, and one to destroy it. Their spies were fairly sure that he’d turned over the latter to Karna Scythe, but there really wasn’t any reason he couldn’t— or wouldn’t have— seized more than two weapons.

There were dozens of city-killers in Skyhold’s Vault, most of which were dangerously uncontrollable and unpredictable. There were also a few weapons that were far more dangerous, that could utterly alter the fate of the continent. And that was just among the small fraction of the Vault contents that Ilinia knew about.

With Kanderon dead, most of them would never be a problem again. It was the main reason why Ilinia and Indris hadn’t fought over Skyhold— Kanderon had made it clear to both of them that her death would seal the Vault forever, and neither of them doubted her abilities there. Whatever weapons Alustin had stolen were the last that would ever be removed from the Vault.

It seemed that Sabae’s lie wouldn’t be shattering the remains of the Coven, though. Neither Ilinia nor Indris could afford to let someone else possess one of the truly dangerous weapons from the vault.

And once they’d recovered it, well…

Neither of them could trust the other with said weapons, either.

Once Havath and Alustin were dealt with, the long rivalry between Theras Tel and Ras Andis would be coming to an end for good. One of them would have to die, and Ilinia didn’t intend it to be her.

There was, however, another possibility, one that she hadn’t brought up to Indris.

Maybe Alustin hadn’t stolen yet another weapon from the Vault.

Maybe it had been someone else.

Someone young, idealistic, and motivated. Someone knowledgeable enough to understand the problems of the system of great powers but naive enough to think there was a straightforward, simple solution.

The more Ilinia thought about it, the more real the possibility was that Sabae had stolen something from the Vault as well.

She’d certainly had the opportunity and the motive. Maybe, in the folly of youth, she’d thought she could break Ithos free of the system of great powers in a single massive act of cataclysmic violence. It was exactly the sort of seemingly clean solution that appealed to so many young idealists.

It wouldn’t work. The great powers thrived off chaos. The very nature of Anastis’ magic guaranteed that new great powers would rise to fill any political vacuum, especially those emptied by violence.

If Sabae really was planning something like that, well…

Even as much as Ilinia loved her granddaughter, sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

WHEN THE TREMOR hit Skyhold, most of its inhabitants barely paid attention to it. It was nearly imperceptible, weak enough that you could miss it merely by tapping your foot.

The alchemists and enchanters, of course, immediately raised an uproar. Even the mildest disturbances could wreck delicate experiments and constructions. No explosions or clouds of poison gas were set off by this particular tremor, but that didn’t stop them from immediately demanding that Eddin Slane do something about it.

He had more than enough on his plate, between the cleanup of the nearby desert, the repairs to the mountain, preparing Ramyl’s welcome, and restarting classes, but he immediately authorized inspection and repairs of Skyhold’s massive earthquake dampener enchantments. It would be expensive and time-consuming, but it would be foolish to ignore.

It would have been lovely if they could have used wards instead of far more expensive enchantments, but wards were almost as vulnerable to quakes as they were to sound magic.

Once the ceramic mage had authorized the inspections, he largely set the matter out of his mind, as did everyone else in the mountain who wasn’t directly involved with said inspections. Even the numerous spies in Skyhold largely ignored the matter, and none of them considered it worth their time to report on.

There were some that took notice of the tremor, though. Not the sorts that would want, or need, living spies.

A pair of eyes worlds away looked up from four sleeping youths, and their owner furrowed her script-covered brow over a lit pipe.

A pair of mismatched eyes, one crystal and one flesh, turned southwest, and their owner smiled mischievously before turning their attention back to their modest home village in the mountains.

A diffuse mass of sensory organs looked due north from its demesne by the sea, then dismissed the tremor as unimportant and returned to its watch against the ancient enemies it had been created to destroy.

Far below the sand to the west, an impossibly huge form shifted in its sleep, but thankfully didn’t wake.

In southern Tsarnassus, deep within the heart of the Aito forest, a single, half-mile strand of spider-web vibrated, and thousands of arachnid eyes contemplated it thoughtfully with a single mind.

Hundreds of leagues out to sea, several massive guardians surfaced as one, wary of potential threats to the even larger Singers they protected.

Half a dozen other beings noticed the tremor as well. Most dismissed it, assuming that it was the inevitable result of Kanderon’s fall, but a handful of them turned some of their attention back towards Skyhold, back to the Crystal Sphinx’s tomb. None of them knew what, precisely, the tremor meant, but…

Even if it had just been a quake, it would have been the first quake to touch Skyhold’s stones in centuries, and ignoring it would have been foolishness.

It wasn’t just a quake, though. It was something else entirely.

Deep within the depths of Skyhold’s Grand Library, the Index felt something change. Felt the pain recede for just a moment.

But when it reached along its bond, reached out for its creator, it felt nothing. No one responded, and the pain of operating by itself flooded back just as strongly as before.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Game Changer

TALIA WAS THE first one to wake from their shared hallucination— not that she remembered most of it after their mental selves plunged into the mana flows inside the aether crystal. Hugh had warned them it would be chaotic, but it had made your average fever dream seem calm and comprehensible in comparison.

Once Talia checked on the others and made sure their hideout was still secure, she turned her attention to her mana reservoirs.

Hugh hadn’t been entirely sure how the new ones would form— when he’d pacted with Kanderon, his unattuned mana reservoir had grown three new mana channels, then slowly split into three new reservoirs. Talia was hoping that wouldn’t be the case for them, because reducing the amount of dream and bone mana she had available while on an alien world wasn’t her idea of a good time.

To Talia’s relief, her mana reservoirs weren’t splitting— instead, ten new mana reservoirs had budded near them. None of them held enough mana on their own to even cast a cantrip yet, but if Hugh’s plans worked out, that would change in a hurry.

Godrick woke up while Talia was trying to figure out which mana reservoir belonged to which of her new mana types. The instant he opened his eyes, she was somehow aware of it. And the instant he sat up, Talia was hit by a wave of vertigo as though she’d moved with him.

Both of them promptly fell back to the ground.

“So weird,” Talia said.

“Yeh can say that again,” Godrick responded.

Talia slowly climbed back to a sitting position again, as did Godrick. The sensation was still there, but was already fading rapidly.

“Everythin’ seems ta’ be goin’ as Hugh predicted,” Godrick said.

“Did your new mana reservoirs bud or split?” Talia asked. “Mine budded.”

“Budded,” Godrick said. “Have yeh…”

He was interrupted by Sabae rolling over, whereupon all three of them were hit by a whole new wave of vertigo as each felt the others move again.

Once the vertigo subsided, and the bond between them dampened once more, all three of them gingerly sat up once more.

“Shouldn’t Hugh have woken up next?” Talia asked. “I thought it was like aether sickness, that it would go in order of number of mana reservoirs.”

Godrick shrugged, thankfully only sending a faint wave of vertigo their way. “Maybe it’s about total mana reservoir volume or somethin’?”

“Did everything work out alright for you two?” Sabae asked. “Did your mana reservoirs bud or split?”

Talia rolled her eyes but answered the questions. “Bet Hugh is going to ask the exact same thing when he wakes up.”

“Yeh need ta’ look at this,” Godrick said, pointing to the middle of the warlock pact spellform.

There, where the head-sized aether crystal had lain, were four crystalline rings.

They’d spent quite a while guessing what the final form and color of their aether crystal would be— even Hugh didn’t have any real idea, since so far as they knew, no one had ever used a warlock pact as the spell to attune an aether crystal.

Talia had personally been hoping for daggers that shifted between colors representing all twelve types of their mana.

Each of their rings, however, was different. Talia could immediately tell which was hers— even apart from being the smallest, it was the exact blue of her tattoos, a few shades off from the blue of Kanderon’s wings.

And… it somehow called to her.

Twelve smaller crystals lined the outside of the stone, each clearly representing one of their twelve mana types. The dreamfire crystal was filled with unmoving purple-green flames. The stellar crystal, though it didn’t glow on its own, seemed to ignite when the light hit it. The lightning crystal was filled with cracks looking like nothing so much as a lightning storm, and the water crystal was a deep aquamarine.

The other rings were identical, save for their size and color. Sabae’s ring was a rich purple, while Godrick’s was an orange bordering on gold.

Hugh’s ring was the same green as Mackerel.

Talia looked up at Sabae to crack a joke about that, then froze. “Uh, Sabae? Your eyes are purple now.”

Sabae’s eyes had turned the exact shade of her ring, still lying in the middle of the warlock pact spellform.

Sabae raised an eyebrow at Talia. “And? We knew they were probably going to change color, just like what happened to Hugh when he created Mackerel. Your eyes are the exact same shade as your tattoos now, by the way.”

Talia gave Sabae a weird look. Sure, maybe they’d expected it, but still, your eyes changing color was kinda a big deal.

“Ah was kinda hopin’ we’d get creepy matching eyes,” Godrick said. “All a’ us have glowing scarlet eyes or the like. How do orange eyes look on me? Not bad, ah hope?”

“Kinda terrifying, mostly awesome,” Sabae said.

Talia spent a moment studying Godrick’s eyes, then nodded. Of the four of them, his eyes were the most obviously unnatural color.

Just then, Hugh woke up, sitting up alarmingly fast. A second later, all four of them had collapsed to the floor with vertigo from having Hugh’s sense of motion transferred to them.

It took a few moments for the vertigo to settle and the bond to stabilize. As Talia sat back up, she found herself facing a panicked Hugh. She couldn’t help but notice that he’d kept his green eyes.

“Where’d she go?” Hugh demanded.

“Where’d who go?” Talia asked.

IT TOOK SEVERAL minutes to get the full story of Hugh’s earlier awakening and the mysterious intruder out from him in full since he kept getting distracted rechecking the room’s wards.

Once he’d finished, they all pitched in to check for cracks in their defenses, but they seemed as entirely solid as they had when they’d constructed them.

Part of Talia was hoping it had just been a dream on Hugh’s part, but… it didn’t have the feel of someone relating a dream, and her dream affinity sense hadn’t reacted to his story at all.

She really would have preferred it to be a dream.

When the four of them were sure their defenses were secure, Hugh let out an audible sigh, then turned to the rest of them.

“So, did your mana reservoirs bud or split?”

Talia rolled her eyes. “They budded. Right now, I’m less interested in that than whether the plan worked.”

Hugh stiffened, and Talia’s heart fell.

“The bond is… well, we shook it loose from the metastable valley,” he said. “My magic is working fine again.”

Talia reached out and clasped his shoulder. “And Kanderon?”

Hugh slumped. “I don’t know. I still don’t feel anything. The bond’s definitely there, and it’s working properly again, but I can’t feel any activity from her.”

Talia wrapped him in a hug and just held him for a few minutes. Sabae and Godrick waited patiently, though she could tell they wanted to bombard him with questions too.

Finally, he stepped back. “I should let Mackerel out of my storage tattoo. He’s probably going a bit stir crazy in there.”

Mackerel, of course, promptly started zooming around the tiny chamber at high speed when they released him, before finally settling down into Talia’s arms.

Sabae was giving the spellbook an odd look, for some reason.

“I’ve got some tests to run. I need to make absolutely sure the pacting ritual really was successful,” Hugh said.

Talia couldn’t help but suspect that Hugh wanted some quiet to think as much as he actually needed to run the tests.

“SO I’VE GOT some good news and some better news,” Hugh said, almost an hour later.

Talia looked up from Galvachren’s Guide to Worlds, halfway through the entry on a dying world that had been stripped of its atmosphere, save in the deepest canyons and crevasses. The other two also looked up from their own reading— Sabae from Davragam’s Census, which she was reading yet again, and Godrick from…

Well, Godrick wasn’t really reading. He was just staring at his father’s folded-up final letter, which he still hadn’t opened yet.

Talia thought about saying something to him, but waited for just a heartbeat too long, and her friend tucked away his father’s letter.

“What’s the good news?” Sabae asked.

“The pact is stable and getting stronger,” Hugh said. “The sensitivity of the bond is already weakening, so we shouldn’t receive any sensory input from each other unless we actively try.”

“I still think it would have been tactically sound if we’d been able to talk over the bond,” Talia said. “Would have been super useful in battle.”

“It also would have driven us insane in weeks, or months at the most,” Hugh said, not for the first time. “It’s a common danger from improperly constructed warlock pacts. Minds need privacy. We’ll still be able to use the pact to convey some information when we really make an effort— the direction and distance we are from one another, whether we’re injured, that sort of thing. Should be plenty useful in battle.”

“And the better news?” Godrick asked.

Hugh nodded, then picked up one of the aether crystal rings from the center of the warlock pact spellform. Specifically, Godrick’s orange one. “Not only are these things safe, but I also figured out what they do.”

“What?” Talia asked, but Hugh didn’t respond.

Instead, he tossed Godrick’s ring to him, then handed out the others. “Try them on.”

Talia gave her blue crystal ring a skeptical look, then slipped it onto the smallest finger of her left hand— the finger she’d be most comfortable losing. Rings were a hazard in battle or other risky situations. Warriors foolish enough to wear them frequently lost or mutilated fingers by having them torn off.

As she slipped it onto her finger, it resized itself, and a moment later, she felt something inside her… shift, somehow.

It only took a few seconds to realize what had changed.

“They’re mana batteries,” Talia whispered.

Hugh nodded. “They don’t hold much right now— maybe enough to cast a single cantrip for each of our affinities— but they’ll grow over time.”

“I know attuned aether crystals are supposed to be powerful, but this is ridiculous,” Sabae said. “I still don’t get how this works, or why it should have a coherent magical effect at all.”

Hugh shrugged. “No idea. Kanderon thinks it’s the subconscious of a crystal mage shaping the attuned crystal’s effects. I’ve seen other crystal mages suggest that it’s a sort of echo of the spells you’ve cast before; and some invisible cults include aether crystal attunement as part of their theology, claiming their deities are responsible.”

They spent the next few minutes experimenting with them. The mana felt slightly less responsive than from their natural mana reservoirs and definitely refilled slower. They also tried trading with each other, but could only draw from their own rings.

Then came the biggest test.

Hugh was the one to try first since he was the actual warlock among them. While they all watched with bated breath, he called up a spellform on Mackerel’s pages.

A stone magic spellform. Given how similar it was to his crystal magic, it seemed a safe enough risk. It was exceedingly simple, barely more than a cantrip, meant simply to weaken stone.

Hugh gave them all a nervous look, took a deep breath, then touched the floor with one finger.

There was a brief whining sound, then nothing, and Talia felt her heart sink. “Hugh, it’s…”

To her surprise, Hugh started to laugh. “I’m an idiot.”

“How so?” Sabae asked.

“I forgot to alter the spellform to handle my mana,” Hugh said. “My body’s still trying to flood every spell, even with the new mana reservoirs.”

Then he reached out to Mackerel and started to alter the spellform on the page. Once he was done, he flipped the book to show the altered spellform to Godrick. “Does that look safe to you?”

Godrick took a minute or two to look it over, then nodded. “Will yeh have enough ta’ try castin’ it again?”

Hugh nodded. “It’s refilling quickly this deep in this labyrinth, and I haven’t even tapped into my ring yet.”

Talia held her breath as Hugh reached out to touch the ground again.

There was a snapping noise, and there, radiating out from his finger-tip, a web of cracks spread several inches across the stone floor.

Talia was the first one to start cheering, and in a moment, they’d all joined in. Their plan had been insane, foolhardy, and… well, she should probably emphasize the insane part, but it had worked!

One by one, the others tried out spells from their new mana types. Godrick levitated a sphere of water out of his canteen, smiling wider than Talia had seen in weeks. Sabae filled the room with the scent of fresh bread using Godrick’s scent affinity. She still couldn’t use any of her magic far from her body, but it only took a little burst of wind to spread it around.

Finally, it was Talia’s turn. Of all their spellcasting-related problems, hers were the most severe and potentially risky to casting a new spell. They’d spent quite a while discussing which of their new affinities would be safest to use with her spellform tattoos.

Part of Talia was convinced her spell would fail, that she’d never be able to master her new magics, that her dreamfire and bonefire abilities were just flukes. That she’d fall behind her friends, become a burden on them. That…

Talia forced herself to stop, take a deep breath, and calm down. She checked the spellform Sabae had drawn out for her one last time.

Then, just to be sure, she checked it twice more.

Once she was sure that the version in her mind’s eye was correct, she carefully pumped the smallest amount of mana into it she could and still have it work.

The light gust of wind that blew across the tiny chamber was almost painfully hot.

Talia felt the old fears drain away, and a wicked smile spread across her face.

“Now this is going to be fun,” she said. “I can’t wait to see…”

Before she could finish, Mackerel lunged at Galvachren’s Guide yet again. Talia easily fended him off, irritated at the interruption. She hadn’t even gotten to laugh maniacally yet.

“I knew it!” Sabae said, abruptly.

Talia gave her a puzzled look.

“Mackerel’s just putting in the motions with his pranks these days,” Sabae said. “He hasn’t done anything really original or crazy in ages! He’s knocked stuff over, flown around at high speeds, but he really hasn’t caused that much actual trouble lately.”

Mackerel gave the tall girl an offended look.

“Yeh know, ah think yeh’re right,” Godrick said. “Yeh think he’s alright? Is he gettin’ depressed, maybe?”

Sabae smirked and shook her head. “Nope. I think he’s maturing. I think he’s growing out of all his pranks and is struggling to find joy in them anymore, like a little kid growing out of their toys.”

The look Mackerel gave her was one of pure horror and denial, and Talia couldn’t help but laugh.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Uninvited Guests

GODRICK CAREFULLY IGNORED his new affinities as they rose through the labyrinth towards Kemetrias. One of the many lessons Alustin and his father drilled into his head over the years was never to rely on a tool in dangerous situations until he’d mastered it, and he hadn’t even tried out most of his new affinities yet.

Even so, the difference between ascending through this labyrinth and the prior ones was noteworthy.

Part of that was due to being better rested and in less of a hurry than before, of course, as well as simply getting more used to the labyrinths, but the biggest difference was Hugh. Not having to take extra care and expend extra effort to protect their friend made things far easier for everyone.

In fact, with how eager Hugh was to use his magic again, Godrick barely had to do anything.

Their whole group was surrounded by interlocking layers of the Stormward’s Crown. The crystal nodes darted and wove around them, projecting barely visible wards between one another.

Not that it was proving very necessary; hardly any monsters even came close to it. Hugh and Talia were competing to see who could annihilate monsters before they even approached the Crown. Hugh’s starfire moved faster than Talia’s dreamfire, and he reacted quicker to monsters thanks to Mackerel’s scrying, but he could only fire off so many shots in a row before exhausting his stellar mana reservoir, while Talia’s spells were significantly cheaper to cast.

All of which left Godrick and Sabae little more to do than to follow and listen to Hugh and Talia argue over who had killed more monsters so far.

Hugh’s heart wasn’t entirely in the argument, though. Every few minutes, he would get the blank look that Godrick knew meant he was probing at his bond with Kanderon.

Godrick let him be. There was nothing he could say right now to help, mostly because Godrick didn’t understand the situation, and he didn’t understand how the ritual could have worked without Kanderon awakening.

A particularly cynical part of Godrick offered him an unpleasant answer, but he did his best to ignore it.

Hopefully, Kanderon just needed more time to recover.

Godrick dismissed those thoughts, and focused on their ascent.

The Kemetrian labyrinth was… odd. Not in its structure— it was remarkably similar to Skyhold’s labyrinth— but in the fact that none of the monsters felt settled, that it had none of the feeling of an actual ecosystem.

It was almost as though the labyrinth were being regularly cleared out, but that didn’t make sense, given what Galvachren had written about this region of Kemetrias. There were only supposed to be a few pastoral nomads wandering through the area, and they largely avoided the labyrinth entrance.

Once they ascended to the fifth floor, the structure of this labyrinth shifted significantly away from Skyhold’s labyrinth. The paths tended towards straight lines and sharp turns, rather than long curving paths. The levels were also far less discrete, interconnecting vertically, again and again. Over and over the group found themselves having to descend a level, then ascend again to move on or vice versa. Dead ends were more common here than in any other labyrinth they’d been in, and traps were less traps than just… environmental hazards like open pits and the like.

The upper floors were also far more homogeneous than other labyrinths. They were built of the same identical limestone on each floor.

And when Godrick said identical, he absolutely meant identical. Each and every massive stone block making up the walls had identical grains of stone, identical mineral inclusions, and a single identical shellfish fossil buried deep within the lower half of the block. The main differences between the blocks came from battle damage, and from spells and monsters attacking the stones.

That, and the runes diverged wildly from block to block. There were only so many different runes— a few dozen at most— but they were arranged in wildly different arrangements everywhere.

As they ascended, the monster-killing game started to go in Hugh’s favor, once he pulled out his sling and explosive wardstones. Talia tried to argue that didn’t count, only to have Hugh offer to fire the wardstones even harder using his crystal magic instead of the sling.

Talia’s rebuttal to that argument was just a rude noise.

The one exception to the homogeneous upper floor layout was the first floor. There were two major differences. First, the limestone blocks actually varied from one another. They were all still similar to one another, but they were different. If they’d been in a natural environment Godrick would have said they were from the same quarry.

The second and larger difference was that the blocks up here moved at a slow crawl. They drifted through the air, leaving one wall and joining another, entire passageways closing themselves off and others opening elsewhere.

When they finally found the exit, it was at the base of an immense well, over a hundred feet wide and ten times that in height. It was easy enough to ascend— there were hundreds of massive limestone blocks floating about in the chamber. Some circled around the edge, others raised and lowered themselves repeatedly, some moved back and forth in a straight line, and others still seemed to move randomly. All drifted at less than walking pace and could easily support their weight.

They made it into a race to see who could get to the top first, without using magic other than affinity senses. Instead, it came down to their ability to predict the movements of the hovering stone blocks— as well as their ability to dodge Mackerel, who was flying around the huge well at absurd speeds as if to prove to Sabae that he was still ridiculous and annoying.

Godrick won the race by almost a full minute. Between his stone affinity sense and his longer legs, he was able to make longer leaps than anyone else.

Sabae, amusingly, came dead last, because she seemed to have entirely forgotten what her normal jumping ability was without windjumping.

Godrick couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for having fun, as though he shouldn’t be doing anything but feeling bad with his father gone, but… it felt good to relax, even if it was just for a few minutes.

When they all finally reached the top, they only had a short walk through a narrow, winding tunnel to reach the exit. Godrick wasn’t even sure where the dividing line between the fake sandstone of the labyrinth and the natural sandstone of Kemetrias lay, the transition was so gradual.

It didn’t bother him for long, though, since something else grabbed his attention immediately on exiting the tunnel.

Namely, the dozens of weapons being pointed at their group.

THANKFULLY, NO ONE sprang to attack immediately, not even Talia. Both sides seem equally startled, but as the initial surprise passed, Godrick could feel the tension drain from the room.

They’d emerged into what was obviously a kill zone, meant to intercept any monsters emerging from the labyrinth. The room was massive, with the thick exit doors three hundred feet away from the labyrinth entrance. Murder holes riddled the walls and ceilings, with crossbowmen, ballistae, and other, stranger weapons visible behind them. A massive defensive wall, more than three times Godrick’s height even in his armor, stretched across the width of the room, with heavily guarded gates set in it. He could feel several more defensive walls behind it with his affinity sense.

As for the forces guarding the walls, well… the vast majority of them were human, all wielding swords, spears, crossbows, and other weapons heavily inscribed with dozens or even hundreds of glowing Kemetrian runes, similar to those on the labyrinth walls.

The non-human presence consisted of what looked like dog-sized, furred lizards, each collared and leashed, with alarmingly large teeth. They looked like the feral children of a badger and a crocodile, and Godrick didn’t want to get anywhere near their mouths.

What caught Godrick’s attention the most, however, was the armor.

A half-dozen suits of armor stood between them and the first wall, the smallest of which was over a foot taller than Godrick’s armor. The largest of them had to have been at least sixteen feet tall.

Each of the suits of armor was covered in thousands, if not tens of thousands, of glowing Kemetrian runes. They wielded massive steel halberds, each also inscribed with more runes, and with nasty-looking glows along the edges of their blades. So far as he could tell with his steel affinity sense, the two blades with reddish edges were just incredibly hot, but others, glowing green, bronze, and in one case, white, seemed to have some other, stranger magical effects. He couldn’t quite make sense of what, exactly, through his affinity sense, though.

All the halberds were pointed straight at them, though.

Oh, and most unusual of all? The suits of armor were all made of paper.

They weren’t elaborately folded origami armor like Alustin’s, but instead, they seemed to be made of thousands of thin, ribbon-like strips of paper laminated over one another. Each sheet of paper was covered in countless runes, whose light would increase and dim as wearers of the armor moved. When one of them shifted their leg to the side, the runes along the leg, especially near the joints, all lit up brightly, only to fade a moment later.

Godrick, like his friends, did his best to stay still.

The only thing moving in the huge room were the crystal nodes of the Stormward’s Crown, drifting gently around the group. Even Mackerel was behaving himself and hanging quietly at Hugh’s side— which, come to think of it, did seem to lend credence to Sabae’s accusations of Mackerel maturing. He rarely seemed to cause trouble these days, except when they could afford to be distracted.

It felt like ages before anyone moved, but it was probably only a minute or two. One of the suits of laminar paper armor, a ten-footer, slowly lowered its halberd, and the runes and glowing blade both dimmed. It slowly set the halberd on the ground, then even more slowly walked towards them with its empty hands facing them, stopping halfway to them.

Godrick glanced at the others, who looked as nervous as he felt. “Ah’ll go talk ta’ them.”

Even though he was trying to speak quietly, his voice was surprisingly loud in the quiet chamber. Aside from a few coughs and such from the soldiers on the other side, Sabae’s spinning wind armor was the only noise in the chamber.

“If it goes bad, I can get away more quickly,” Sabae said. “I think I should be the one to go.”

Godrick glanced back at the armored figure, then at Sabae. “Ah’d normally agree with yeh, but… yer armor is probably really weird ta’ them, and mine’s probably a lot more familiar, even if it’s made a’ stone instead a’ paper. And.. ah dunno, ah just have a gut feelin’ about this.”

Sabae gave him a long, searching look through her armor, then nodded.

Godrick nodded back, then carefully mirrored the other armor’s empty handed pose, and walked out into the middle of the room. He stopped just out of arm’s reach of the other suit of armor, then paused awkwardly.

The other suit of armor just stood there for a moment, and then, with an odd scraping noise as paper strips unfolded from one another, its thick, dome-like helmet split down the front. It peeled to each side to reveal a severe-looking man in early middle age, a nasty-looking scar running down one temple. His skin was almost as dark as Godrick’s, and his short-cropped hair was even curlier.

Dozens of glowing, tattooed runes covered his forehead, temple, and cheekbone on the other side. Their glow pulsed rhythmically, matching up with the glow of a patch of runes inside the paper helmet. Godrick only knew a tiny amount about Kemetrian magic, just what Galvachren had mentioned in the Guide, but he’d happily wager that the tattoo was some sort of control mechanism for the armor.

Despite the huge size of the laminar paper armor, Godrick was fairly sure the other man was quite a bit shorter than him.

Even though the man could see Godrick’s face just fine through his warded quartz faceplate, Godrick had his armor elemental shift the faceplate out of the way anyhow as a gesture of trust.

Godrick was just considering what to say when the older man spoke first.

Which, of course, was when Godrick realized an obvious problem that he should have considered already.

He hadn’t the slightest clue what language the other man was even using, let alone what he meant.

“Well, this is awkward,” Godrick said.

TO GODRICK’S RELIEF, the armored warrior didn’t get upset when they couldn’t understand one another. He tried several more times with a patient look on his face, listening attentively to all Godrick’s responses, even though he obviously couldn’t understand.

Eventually, the armored warrior shook his head and tried another language.

Or, at least Godrick was pretty sure it was another language. His words up until now had been rhythmic, full of breathy consonants and sibilants. The new words and phrases were slower, lacking the clear rhythms of the first language but with much longer and more complex-sounding words.

“Ah still don’t understand yeh,” Godrick said, apologetically.

The warrior gave him a puzzled look, then tried again, this time with something that was definitely a third language, one with even shorter words than either of the previous languages, and vowels that almost seemed to pop out of the words.

Godrick just shrugged.

The warrior sighed heavily, then tried one more time.

Godrick was fairly sure that the man barely spoke this fourth language, from the awkward and cautious way he shaped the words, but it was just as incomprehensible as the first three.

“Ah still don’t understand yeh,” Godrick said. “But…”

He glanced back at the others, who were all standing patiently looking at them.

“Guess it’s pantomime time,” Godrick muttered, slightly embarrassed.

Slowly, making sure not to startle the armored warrior, Godrick pointed at himself. “Godrick Hammerbreaker, son of Artur Wallbreaker.”

The warrior gave him a puzzled look, so Godrick simplified things. “Godrick.”

“Godrick?” the warrior repeated, perfectly.

Godrick nodded and smiled.

The warrior pointed at himself, then rattled off a long sequence of words.

Godrick gave him a confused look in turn., and the man smiled for the first time at that, then repeated a single word.

“Yer name is Apchek?” Godrick asked.

The man made an odd gesture with his head, swinging his chin sharply up and to the right, then repeated his name with more emphasis on the ending.

Godrick carefully copied him, and Apchek nodded this time.

So… the weird diagonal movement of the chin was a no, like shaking the head, he supposed? And nodding was still the same.

Godrick slowly turned and pointed at his friends, naming them one by one. He gave their full names first, then repeated their individual names to make things easier.

Without missing a beat, Apchek repeated all four of their names in full, even Godrick’s, including their titles and family names. His pronunciation was a little odd in places— especially when trying to say Stormward— but not actually wrong anywhere.

It seemed there were good reasons Apchek was the one to speak to them.

“Ah’m going ta’ take mah armor off now,” Godrick told Apchek, then repeated it a little louder so his friends could hear.

He could see from here that Hugh and Talia wanted to argue, but Sabae quieted both of them with a wave.

Apchek was giving him a puzzled look, so Godrick gestured at one of his gauntlets.

Then he willed his armor elemental back inside his storage tattoo. Slowly.

Apchek started at seeing stone flow like liquid, even more so at seeing it vanish into Godrick’s glowing blue tattoo, but as it continued, his concern changed to fascination.

When Godrick’s armor was almost completely off, though, Apchek’s expression changed to surprise and amusement. Godrick was confused for a moment until Apchek started laughing pretending to peer upwards at him, even though his paper armor made him a lot taller than the stone mage.

Godrick chuckled at that. “Yeh, me da fed me right.”

After a moment, Apchek grew serious again and said something incomprehensible in the first language he’d spoken. Godrick might be totally wrong, but it sounded like a question to him.

He pointed at himself, then the others, and gestured at the gate the Kemetrian soldiers were guarding.

Apchek gave him a long, thoughtful look, then slowly nodded and patted him on the shoulder.

Godrick could feel the massive paper gauntlet humming slightly where it touched him, and despite the delicacy of the touch, he suspected that the rune-covered armor was monstrously strong. He honestly wasn’t sure whether his own armor could match it, and he was glad he didn’t have to find out.

Apchek called something back out to the other Kemetrian soldiers, who, to Godrick’s relief, turned their weapons away from his friends.

Apchek smiled, then gestured for Godrick and the others to follow him through the gate.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Bureaucracy at Work

SABAE WASN’T ESPECIALLY happy about the idea of dropping her armor in a room of heavily armored strangers, but she trusted Godrick.

The fact that all those strangers had pointed their weapons away from them and back towards the labyrinth entrance didn’t hurt, of course.

Godrick introduced the group to Apchek, who smiled and led them through the gate in the wall spanning the room. Several of the soldiers atop it peered down at them curiously as they passed underneath, but Sabae only paid them a moment’s attention.

There were three things behind the wall: more soldiers, another wall, and between the two walls, a butcher shop.

At least a dozen monster corpses were scattered at various workstations, being cut up for parts. At the one nearest to them, several butchers were slicing apart a creature that looked to have been birthed from a wolf and a shrimp— if both were the size of an aurochs bull. Over at another, a spider was having its metal exoskeleton processed for smelting. At a third station, a dismembered land squid was having its ink bladders drained.

It wasn’t anything particularly unusual or interesting; Sabae had seen plenty of labyrinth monsters before. She was slightly more curious about what they were going to be used for— in Skyhold, monster corpses were often gladly claimed by enchanters, alchemists, and various types of mages. Were monsters used in Kemetrian magic somehow, or were they just being stripped for raw materials?

She’d heard of a few particularly daring gourmands who actually ate labyrinth monster meat, but since said creatures were the product of ecosystems on alien worlds with utterly unknown ecosystems, most of them ended up poisoning themselves eventually. Not usually fatally, but it took a special kind of fool to keep risking it after one poisoning. From the small amount Galvachren’s Guide had told them about Kemetrias’ magic, it didn’t sound like they would have much in the way of magical healing, so eating labyrinth meat sounded like even more of a foolish risk here.

That didn’t even get into the fact that more than a few epidemics had been kicked off by labyrinth gourmands— there was good reason so many nations and city-states back home banned the practice, Ras Andis included.

There was no easy way to tell what the Kemetrians intended to use the corpses for, so Sabae shrugged and went back to studying the people around her.

The overwhelming majority of the men and women guarding the labyrinth entrance resembled Apchek— short, dark-skinned, with prominent cheekbones. Most were dark-haired like Apchek, but a solid chunk had coppery red hair, and a few even had hair almost as pale as Sabae’s own.

Sabae spent rather a lot of time appreciatively eying the cheekbones she saw, not that she’d admit it to anyone.

All the men were clean-shaven, but there was a wild variety of hairstyles among men and women alike, most of them surprisingly elaborate, albeit short. Some had complex designs shaved into their hair, others had beads and wires woven along their scalp, and a handful had even dyed their hair wild colors.

The Kemetrian soldiers seemed just as curious about Sabae and her friends, but they restrained themselves to quick glances— they were obviously well trained and professional. Better than most troops on Ithos— but then, soldiers on Ithos were often just treated as disposable targets for enemy mages to waste spells on.

Interestingly, Godrick got the most attention from the soldiers. Talia’s tattoos got a few extra glances, as did Mackerel, while Sabae and Hugh hardly seemed to warrant a second glance from most of the soldiers. Godrick, though, stood head and shoulders above the tallest Kemetrian Sabae could see in the room.

Most of the soldiers had glowing rune tattoos on their arms or wrists, ones that glowed in the same colors and pulsed to the same rhythms as the runes on their weapons. Other than the runes, their spears and crossbows looked fairly normal, and she didn’t know enough about Kemetrian magic to guess what the magic did.

Sabae was, to be honest with herself, still a little in disbelief about all of this. Disbelief that they had disobeyed and fled her grandmother, disbelief that they were walking into yet another alien world, and, most of all, disbelief about the warlock pact they’d just signed.

Her friends were all excited about the pact, but Sabae really didn’t think they understood how big a deal this really was.

Having a large number of affinities was one of the most reliable paths to becoming a great power by far. When you had more affinities, not only did you have far more options in battle, but even your mana reservoirs grew faster.

That jerk Rhodes Charax had been considered a strong contender for becoming one with just five affinities, and the four of them now had twelve.

Admittedly, the mightiest great powers, like the Coven or Heliothrax, tended to have fewer affinities— it was often more effective to focus on your strengths. Mages with lots of affinities tended to peak somewhere in the middle ranks of the great powers, for a range of reasons. There were exceptions, like the Two-Legged Army in Gelid or the Last Emperor of Ithos most of five centuries ago, but Sabae doubted the four of them would reach those heights.

Though…

Maybe it would just be three of them reaching great power status.

Sabae had no doubt that Talia had the potential to reach the lower ranks of the great powers even before the pact. She was unquestionably the deadliest of the four of them and just kept getting more dangerous over time. Hugh was also a possible contender— his skills with wards were astonishing, and the Stormward’s Crown was a ridiculously versatile tool, one that Sabae was sure Hugh would just keep improving. Even Godrick had a potential path, modifying his father’s armor to suit himself better.

With all their new affinities, though? Her friends were easily going to be great powers within a few years, at most.

Sabae, though?

She’d long since come to terms with being the weakest of the four of them. She was unusually mobile for a non-flyer, sure, and certainly hard to kill, but…

There was no way she could have even ascended particularly high as an archmage before this pact.

Not to say she was immune to self-pity, but this had been her honest assessment.

Maybe she had a chance. She undoubtedly had the most challenging ascent— a great power without any true ranged magic was rare, to say the least. Not impossible, but… it was a steeper climb.

Many of her new affinities were likely to be fairly useless, though. Sabae had no idea how she was supposed to use her new stellar affinity safely, for instance.

Sabae spent much of the walk through the huge entrance chamber brooding on the topic, but she was finally shaken out of her own head when they passed through one final gate and out into a castle courtyard with blue sky overhead.

Blue sky cut in half by an immense ring.

Galvachren had written about Kemetrias’ ring, but Sabae had been expecting it to just be a thin line in the sky, to maybe look like a particularly weird cloud.

She’d been dead wrong.

Kemetrias’ ring loomed in the sky, incomprehensibly huge. Sabae could see dozens of layers within the ring, ranging in color from white to yellow to orange. To her shock, she realized that there were actually gaps between some of the layers, that they weren’t a solid mass. She could actually see one of Kemetrias’ half-dozen small moons through the gaps in the ring!

Sabae finally pulled her eyes away from the rings to look around her and noticed that all of her friends were still staring at the sky. Apchek gave her an amused look when she caught his eye, then gestured for them to stay there while he spoke to someone nearby. A clerk, Sabae suspected.

She shrugged and took the opportunity to examine the courtyard around them.

There were dozens of soldiers and workers running about everywhere in the courtyard. Now that she was out here, she could see that the heavily defended chamber she’d just exited was a stone box built around the labyrinth entrance. Its walls had to be twenty or thirty feet thick and were covered in an impossibly dense mesh of runes on the outside. Stairs and walkways surrounded the box, connecting dozens of recessed platforms for archers and ballistae to fire inward. Sabae was fairly sure that there were a lot of similar defenses on top of the stone box as well.

The Kemetrians were very serious about keeping labyrinth monsters inside the labyrinth, it seemed.

Behind the box stood a large stone butte, made entirely out of the same limestone as the upper floors of the labyrinth. The box, in fact, seemed to have been partially carved out of the butte, which also served as the rear wall of the fortress. If there were any other exits from the labyrinth nearby, Sabae suspected that they had their own forts guarding them as well.

The courtyard itself was a bit strange.

Oh, it definitely served all the normal purposes of a castle courtyard. There were blacksmiths, carpenters, armorers working with regular leather and metal armor, several open-air kitchens, and even a tattoo artist inking glowing runes onto a soldier.

No, the weird part was that there were no stairs up to the wall-top on this side and that the murder holes for archers faced inwards.

This whole structure was an inside-out castle, and Sabae was curious to find out what it was defending outside itself.

Off to one side, she noticed a huge stable, but instead of horses, suits of lacquered paper armor were kept inside perfectly clean stalls. Dozens of workers bustled around them— cleaning off the suits, carefully applying new runed paper ribbons to the suits and lacquering them into place, and the like.

The armors, while all built along the same plans, varied wildly in size and ornament. One had monster skulls for pauldrons, with other decorative bones jutting out of its paper surface all across the suit. Another had its helmet sculpted like some sort of big cat and had runes glowing a dark shade of gold. A particularly agile-looking suit of armor, one with metallic blue runes, had metal talons jutting out of its boots and gauntlets.

Most of the suits had a wild variety of rune colors, instead of one single color— Sabae wasn’t sure if that meant anything important.

The biggest suit loomed in a special shed of its own and was easily three-fourths the height of Artur’s armor. Its runes were a vibrant green, and the helmet was sculpted to look like a massive mantis head. Decorative elements across the massive armor worked to give it a chitinous appearance. Next to the armor was a rack of rune-enchanted spears even taller than the armor, each of which had a whole tree trunk as a shaft.

The most notable suit of armor, though, was only around fifteen feet tall. Unlike the rest of the armor, this one was made from countless strips of deep black paper, with purple runes that were almost the same shade as Sabae’s own new eye color. Its shape seemed well-balanced between bulk and grace, and even sitting empty, it seemed far more lethal than the other suits. A huge metal shield with runes covering the backside rested in a rack next to the armor, along with a particularly nasty-looking rune sword.

Sabae nudged Godrick and pointed out the black suit of armor. “What’s with that armor? It seems different than all the rest.”

Godrick took a moment to examine the black armor, comparing it to the rest, then whistled quietly. “Ah’m just guessin’, but… ah think the others are all specialized fer killin’ monsters. Ah think that one’s built ta’ kill other armor, though.”

“How can you tell?” Talia asked, butting in the conversation.

Godrick shrugged. “Ah don’t know much about Kemetrias’ magic, but ah know plenty about armor.”

Sabae tuned out their half-hearted bickering and glanced over at Hugh, who was looking around with a distracted look on his face.

She was pretty sure he was thinking more about Kanderon than about being in a new world, but he’d made it pretty clear back in their ritual chamber that he didn’t want to talk about it just yet.

She forced herself to leave Hugh alone and went back to looking around the courtyard.

To Sabae’s amusement, she spotted one worker who clearly had nothing to do, and was trying to look busy by sorting the contents of a pair of boxes, but he was obviously just moving things endlessly back and forth between them.

Some things never changed, it seemed, no matter what world you were on.

Apchek finally finished his conversation with the clerk and encouraged them to follow him over to the armor stable with a mix of incomprehensible words and easily comprehensible gestures.

There, they got to watch Apchek remove his armor, which was a fascinating process to Talia. The countless lacquered paper strips making up the breastplate of his armor had just… unfolded over the course of several minutes, allowing Apchek to carefully step out. There was a perfectly Apchek-shaped cavity inside the armor’s torso, with tunnels for his arms and legs inside. There wasn’t an inch of space to move around in— Apchek must be completely motionless inside the suit, which raised some interesting questions about controlling the suit.

Out of the armor, Apchek turned out to be shorter than Hugh, though he was still taller than Talia. He was a bit on the short side for a Kemetrian, but not by much— Sabae overtopped many of the soldiers she’d seen, while Godrick positively towered over them.

It had taken several obviously skilled workers to take off Apchek’s armor, using specialized, expensive-looking equipment. Sabae’s estimates of the armor’s costs went up considerably as she watched the process.

Underneath the armor, Apchek was only wearing a pair of linen shorts, but Sabae could still smell the sweat from here. He had rune tattoos at each of his joints, along the lengths of his limbs, and absolutely covering his hands and feet.

Sabae’s eyes shot up to the armor, and she noticed runes on the inside of the armor cavity that would meet up with Apchek’s tattoos. They weren’t identical but seemed… complimentary, somehow.

Godrick nudged her. “The tattoos are definitely how they’re controllin’ the armor.”

Sabae nodded. “Maybe the weapons, too? This magic is far more advanced than Galvachren described— I think his entry on Kemetrias might be a bit out of date.”

“Ah just hope his information on the exit ta’ Limnus is still right,” Godrick offered.

After Apchek had drenched himself with a bucket of water and toweled off, one of the attendants brought him a richly decorated robe, some sandals, and a sheathed shortsword on a belt. Once the warrior was fully dressed, he gestured at the four of them to follow him again and led them towards one of the doors into the wall around the courtyard.

Behind them, Sabae noticed a couple of attendants cleaning out the inside of Apchek’s armor.

She didn’t envy them that job.

Once they made it through the gate and inside the wall itself, it turned out there was something else that didn’t change from world to world.

Paperwork.

Lots and lots of paperwork.

THANKFULLY, SABAE AND her friends didn’t have to fill out the paperwork themselves since they obviously didn’t speak the local language— Apchek ended up doing it for them.

She did spend some time looking at the forms as the warrior filled them out with quill and ink. The script on them looked nothing like the omnipresent runes everywhere. Those were geometric characters that looked like distant cousins of Anastan spellforms. The characters of the script, however, resembled nothing so much as stylized animals.

There were stylized fish, turtles, and lizards, but the most common, by far, were various birds and bird tracks. When Apchek filled one line with stylized animals— using some of the most beautiful and graceful calligraphy she’d ever seen from anyone but ink mages— instead of moving back to the beginning of the next line, he started writing backward across the next line. It was almost hypnotic, watching him write from left to right, then from right to left, then left to right again.

Finally, after a solid half an hour of filling out paperwork, he slid several sheets of paper over to each of them to sign.

They had no idea what they were signing, but it’s not like they were planning to stay in Kemetrias— or even visit it again, most likely— so she wasn’t overly worried about it.

Sabae wouldn’t admit it, but she was definitely embarrassed at her handwriting in comparison to Apchek. The warrior, though, seemed just as fascinated by their Ithonian letters as she had been with the Kemetrian script.

Once they’d all signed, and the pages had a few minutes to dry, Apchek handed each of them a copy of the forms they’d signed. Sabae offered him a wry look, which Apchek answered with a chuckle of his own. He clearly knew as well as she did it was ridiculous, but… bureaucracy was bureaucracy.

Apchek turned in three identical copies of the paperwork to three other clerks then, had to fill out another set of forms for a fourth clerk, and then the group of them had to wait for another half hour in a corridor with chairs along the walls.

Godrick didn’t fit in any of the chairs and chose to lounge on the floor. He could have shaped himself a stone chair easily enough, but… it was probably best not to show off more of their magic. Who knew how the Kemetrians would feel about a stone chair growing out of a wall?

Sabae suspected that they’d make them fill out even more paperwork over it.

Next, Apchek took them to a room with a heavily armored and guarded counter. After quite a bit of pantomime and confused gesturing, they figured out it was the room where soldiers usually accepted their pay, and that they were offering to do a coin or valuables exchange.

Figuring out the comparative value of Ithonian coins of different sorts between one city and another was difficult enough. Doing so between Ithonian coins and coins from another world took ages and involved careful weighing, followed by volume measurements in glasses of water to determine the density of their coins, so they could calculate the actual gold and silver contents of their coins.

Sabae was familiar with the process, but it was only used back home when there weren’t gold or silver mages to check instead.

The Kemetrian coins came in a variety of geometric shapes, with the smallest being triangles. Their size increased along with the number of sides, up to an octagonal coin that was half again the size of even the largest Ithonian coin. All the Kemetrian coins had birds on one side, with various distinguished-looking people on the other side. The equivalent of great powers here, maybe?

Were there even great powers on Kemetrias? Maybe the figures on the Kemetrian coins were… kings, or powerful parliamentarians, or something like that?

Surprising no one, the coin exchange involved even more paperwork once it was done.

The whole process seemed highly unusual and was clearly a disruption of everyone’s routine.

Sabae was as irritated about the whole thing as Apchek or any of the clerks. No one involved with the process actually seemed to want to be a part of it. Her grandmother was always ranting about bureaucracy being a living being of its own that fed off the petty frustrations of everyone caught in it, even the bureaucrats.

Sabae was starting to believe her.

Finally, Apchek brought them to a particularly important, official-looking room, where an especially well-dressed functionary stared them down judgmentally before irritably handing them a stack of official-looking certificates and ushering them out the door.

Apchek breathed an audible sigh of relief, then escorted them out of the maze of file rooms and offices, down a busy corridor filled with soldiers, and out a heavily guarded portcullis.

And there, descending downhill from where they stood, sprawled out for leagues in every direction, was the biggest city Sabae had ever seen. Dozens of colossal stone ziggurats jutted up from mazes of narrow alleys between teetering multi-story tenements. Wagon-sized barges hovered a foot off the ground, hauling cargo through the city. Massive suits of paper armor loomed at street corners, keeping watch over the crowds. Messengers ran across rickety networks of walkways bridging the roofs of the city, carrying alarmingly huge bundles on their backs.

The city, even just at a glance, was obsessed with birds. Brilliantly colored parrots riding on the shoulders of merchants. Falcons carried by soldiers. Huge flocks of pigeons being fed by the elderly. Songbirds hanging in cages by the thousands in nearby storefronts. Bizarre stone and metal sculptures offered roosts for entire flocks of birds. Many of the hovering carts were being pulled by colorful flightless birds bigger than the ostriches often used to pull carts in Ras Andis. Unlike the terror birds they’d run into in the labyrinth their second year, Sabae was fairly sure these ones were vegetarians, based on their beak shape.

The city wasn’t just filled with living birds, either— there were stuffed birds, tapestries of birds, and banners with stylized herons and eagles on them all over.

More than the birds, more than the ziggurats, and more even than the crowds, though, the thing that struck Sabae the most were the runes. Doors and windows were coated with them. Passersby bore runic tattoos and runes embroidered in their clothing. Runes covered the hilts of weapons and the rim of the nearest water fountain, even glowed from its depths.

Sabae doubted the city would even need torches at night, there were so many runes lighting it. Probably for the best since most of the buildings were made of wood, so using fire for light sounded like a pretty terrible idea.

Apchek said something incomprehensible to draw the group’s attention, and then, with a smile, he gestured out across the city.

“Hebrast.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Lost in the Crowd

THE CITY OF Hebrast was impressive enough to shock Hugh out of his self-pity for a moment.

But, like the sight of Kemetrias’ rings earlier, it only worked for a short time.

While Sabae and Godrick tried to have another pantomime conversation with Apchek, Hugh just stared off into the crowds of Hebrast, poking at his bond with Kanderon.

The pacting ritual had definitely freed it from the metastable valley, but whenever Hugh tried to gather any information about Kanderon through it, it felt just as dull and unresponsive as it had before. There was no sign of life at the other end at all.

It… didn’t make any sense. All his arguments still held true, after all— if Kanderon was dead, the bond would have collapsed entirely.

Hugh absently fixed his eyes on a hovering cart being hauled by an odd-looking yellow bird taller than Godrick, but his attention was still fixed on the bond with Kanderon.

Hypothesis after hypothesis ran through Hugh’s mind at what had gone wrong. Maybe the ritual had worked, but they were just too far away for him to detect Kanderon’s awakening? Maybe it had hurt Kanderon even worse somehow? Maybe she was in a coma?

Hugh’s eyes lit up with a sudden idea.

Maybe it was his new bonds interfering with his old ones.

He quickly focused in on the three new bonds in his mind. There was a chance that the dampening effect he’d built in to minimize the flow of sensations and emotions through the bond with them had overlaid the bond with Kanderon, restricting it down even further than normal.

It only took a minute or two for him to test that idea and for his heart to sink again.

If those bonds had been dampening his bond with Kanderon, they almost certainly would have dampened his bond with Mackerel as well, which wasn’t the case at all.

He’d still double-checked, but his bond with Kanderon didn’t show the slightest hint of being dampened that way.

Mackerel seemed to sense Hugh’s mood and nuzzled gently against his side. A moment later, Talia slipped her hand into his.

“Any change?” Talia asked, worry clear in her eyes.

Hugh was still getting used to her eye color matching her tattoos, so it took him a moment to process what she’d said. He didn’t say anything, though, just shook his head.

“Maybe Kanderon just needs more time to heal?” Talia offered.

“Maybe,” Hugh said, not wanting to argue. It was certainly possible, but…

Something in him doubted it.

Talia rested her head on his shoulder, and the two of them watched the crowds go by quietly.

The crowds of Hebrast were a ridiculously diverse bunch. Most people looked like the average Kemetrian soldiers they’d met so far, but a big chunk of the passersby varied wildly not only in physical appearance but style of dress as well. They ranged from heavily armed warriors in furs to scribes and functionaries wearing elaborately embroidered robes, and many of them could have fit in seamlessly into crowds back home. There were a lot more feathers woven into hair and clothing than he was used to, though.

It said something that Hugh and his friends, with their armor put away, only received a few curious glances, most of those directed at Godrick’s height.

About the only commonality between the people of Hebrast that Hugh saw was the omnipresence of runes. Most everyone had at least a few embroidered in their clothes, had a ribbon embroidered with glowing runes in their hair, or something along those lines.

Eventually, Godrick and Sabae finished their pantomime conversation with Apchek. The man said something incomprehensible in his language, bowed at them, and then vanished back into the fortress around the labyrinth.

Hugh could have sworn that the last look Apchek gave them as he departed was a sad one, but that couldn’t be right.

Sabae and Godrick walked over to them, looking over a couple more sheets of paper that Apchek had given them.

“He’s just leaving us?” Talia asked.

Sabae shrugged. “I guess so. It sorta makes sense to me, though— his job is defending the city from monsters coming out of the labyrinth, not playing tour guide to visitors.”

“What was the point of all that paperwork, then?” Talia demanded.

“Paperwork is its own point,” Sabae grumbled.

“Ah think a lot of it was paperwork that was supposed ta’ be filled out whenever anythin’ comes out a’ the labyrinth?” Godrick said. “Ah’m pretty sure ah saw some a’ the same paperwork near where they were butcherin’ those monster corpses.”

“Do they regularly just let labyrinth monsters wander out into the city too, then? Because I’m pretty sure we’re more dangerous than most of them,” Talia said.

“I’ve got no idea, but I’m definitely not complaining,” Sabae said. “This city is just obsessed with paperwork. Anyhow, I’m pretty sure we’ve figured out how to find an inn to stay in tonight, and Apchek gave us this. I think he was trying to tell us that it was a letter of introduction and to just show it to people?”

Hugh glanced at the pages. One of them held a crude hand-drawn map of the neighborhood, while the other… In just the last couple of hours, he’d learned to easily recognize Apchek’s handwriting, and it certainly looked like a personal letter, but otherwise, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“Let’s hope it’s not just telling people to charge us more for being foreigners,” Talia groused.

Godrick rolled his eyes. “Apchek seems a decent sort; he wouldn’t do that. Yeh think he’d take all that time from ‘is day just ta' mess with us?”

Talia opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. “I guess not. I just really wish he hadn’t left us on our own in the middle of this. This city is ridiculously huge; how are we supposed to find our destination?”

“It shouldn’t be too hard,” Hugh said. “It’s a really distinctive three-peaked limestone mountain. We should be able to see it if we get up somewhere with a good vantage point. Galvachren said it’s just a few weeks’ travel straight across the plains, and it’s hard to get lost so long as you have a way to see above the grasses and stay oriented on the mountain.”

“Let’s just focus on finding that inn for now,” Sabae said. “I just want a hot meal and a night’s rest.”

“Ah kinda want ta’ see how those rings look at sunset,” Godrick said, pointing at the sky.

Despite himself, Hugh couldn’t help but agree. Even as worried about his… about Kanderon as he was, it was an exciting thought.

“Let’s go then,” Sabae said.

None of them moved.

After a moment, Godrick sighed. “Somehow, despite the sun here not wantin’ ta’ murder yeh, ah’m more intimidated by this place than Apoptis.”

Hugh nodded in fervent agreement. The crowds here made those in Theras Tel look small.

Talia let out a chuckle all of a sudden. “You know what I just thought of? How well behaved Mackerel has been this whole time. I think Sabae might be right about him growing up.”

Mackerel gave her a betrayed look, spat a paper wad at Talia, then slid to Hugh’s other side to hide.

Even Hugh couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

The nervous mood broken, Hugh followed the others out of the lee of the fortress and into the crowd.

PICKPOCKETS MADE NO less than three attempts on Hugh’s valuables within the first few minutes of entering the jostling crowds.

They wouldn’t have actually gotten anything— Hugh kept everything in his storage tattoo these days, his pockets were mostly decorative now— but Mackerel responded to the pickpocketing attempts aggressively, snapping at the offenders.

An attempt to steal Mackerel himself resulted in Mackerel actually biting the thief, breaking at least two of her fingers.

After that, the thieves in the neighborhood seemed to get the message and left them alone.

Hugh’s friends probably suffered similar pickpocketing attempts, but like him, they all kept all their valuables in their storage tattoos, so he doubted they’d lost anything.

The crowds parted easily enough for Godrick, so the rest of the group crowded behind him. Their passage was still barely above a crawl, though, so they all had plenty of time to gawk at their surroundings as they passed.

Before they’d even taken their first turn down a side street, Hugh had seen vendors carrying fruit like something out of a fever dream; tailors selling silk to ordinary workmen as though it was as cheap as wool, which Hugh hadn’t seen a single scrap of yet; immense clay amphora filled with oil, their outside painted with brightly colored scenes from what Hugh assumed were Kemetrian stories; and a pen of fat, fur-covered lizards the size of cats.

He even saw a shop selling nothing but various crystals, often worked into metal sculptures of birds and feathered lizards. They were among the few things Hugh saw that weren’t covered in runes.

The biggest draw on Hugh’s attention, though?

The rune workshops.

Hugh had been expecting regular storefronts, with different mages competing with each other for customers for their designs. The rune workshops he saw, though, were nothing like his imagination.

The first of them the group came across held several dozen workers, each of them carefully inscribing runes onto head-sized limestone blocks with a chisel. Hugh and his friends just stopped in the street to stare at the rune inscribers through the open shutters of the workshop, heedless of the snarls in traffic they were causing.

As the rune carvers worked, colored light drifted from their hands to the runes, growing steadily brighter as they worked. Carving the runes seemed to be a slow process, and activating them took even longer for most workers.

They weren’t actually powering the runes— Galvachren had actually gone into a little detail about the process in the Guide. Once the runes were complete, they drew freely from the aether around them, but they did have to be activated first by the workers. Even the fastest of the workers took about ten minutes per rune, and as soon as they finished, they passed the brick on to the next worker.

Hugh realized, after watching for a while, that each worker was just carving the same rune into the blocks over and over again, and that when they passed the block, the next worker would inscribe the next rune in a set sequence. Every single block had over a dozen runes on its top and bottom faces.

There was a line of workers resting in chairs along one wall, chatting idly, reading, or even knitting. Whenever one of the workers on the floor got tired, they would raise a hand, and one of the workers resting by the wall would rush over and take their place. The whole line of resting workers would move down a seat, then the worker who had just started a break would sit in the vacated seat by the wall unless they went towards the restrooms instead.

Hugh wasn’t actually sure how long he and his friends had been watching when one of the workers, apparently tired of them staring, came out and started yelling at them. Hugh and his friends apologized and retreated down the street.

After all, it wasn’t as though there was a shortage of rune workshops to gawk at.

There were rune workshops that hand-embroidered runes into fancy dresses and ribbons, workshops with fancy looms that wove the runes directly into bolts of cloth, carpentry workshops that carved runes into boards that were then assembled into furniture, blacksmiths that cut runes into their steel before it had cooled, potters that stamped the runes into their clay before firing it in their kilns, and more other kinds of rune workshops than Hugh could count.

By far the most common type of workshop, though, was dedicated to drawing runes on paper. There were literally more of them than every other kind of rune workshop combined. Workers would carefully ink runes onto sheets or ribbons of paper with brushes, producing beautiful but exact runes without any splatter. They all had wastebaskets next to their workstations in case of ruined drawings, but Hugh could tell that they were all well practiced with their brushes based on how few ruined sheets lay in the baskets.

The overwhelming majority of rune workshops seemed to operate on similar principles. They sorted out their work duties between large numbers of workers, with each of them attending to a single small task repeatedly. There were a few of them that used more familiar methods, where one craftsman guided the process from start to finish, but they were dwarfed in number and output by the larger workshops.

Not all the large workshops were as conscientious of their workers as the first one had been. In some of them, their workers were exhausted and miserable, with overseers yelling at them for the smallest infraction. These ones usually lacked the lines of resting workers as well.

But no matter what method they used to create the physical runes, or how well the workers were treated, activating the runes seemed to take roughly ten minutes for everyone. A few workers they saw went a little faster or slower, and one particularly notable old lady in one of the paper scripting workshops was activating a rune every five minutes or so, but the variation was overwhelmingly minimal.

Hugh noticed Godrick muttering to himself with concern, and he gave his friend a curious look. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, ah was just tryin’ ta' figure out how long it would take ta’ do all the runes fer one a’ those suits a’ paper armor. Best ah can estimate… it’s got ta’ be at least a decade or two worth a’ workhours even fer one a’ the smaller suits. Probably a lot more.”

Hugh and Talia both whistled at that. Hugh heard a breathy exhalation coming from Sabae, but when he looked at her, she was carefully pretending she hadn’t been trying to whistle again.

The fact that she was blushing definitely gave her away, though.

“That’s ridiculous,” Talia said to Godrick. “You could build a castle in that time without even using magic.”

“There’s no way you could build a castle without magic,” Sabae insisted.

“Emblin has castles,” Hugh said. “Not, you know, a lot of them, or particularly big ones, but they’re there.”

Godrick nodded. “Me da made me study books about Emblin’s castle-building techniques, actually, along with a’ bunch a’ other mundane construction techniques. Said that understanding how ta’ work with stone without magic would make me better at workin’ with stone with magic.”

Hugh felt a twinge at that— even with all his worry over Kanderon, all his anger and hurt directed at Alustin… Hugh still missed Godrick’s da.

Artur might have been a terrifying mercenary archmage who’d probably killed hundreds if not thousands of enemy soldiers and mages over the years, but he had always been kind to Hugh.

And in comparison to Kanderon, Artur’s kills were a drop in a bucket, so Hugh really wasn’t too worried about judging him for that.

Godrick took a deep breath and continued. “Anyhow, constructin’ a castle without magic takes at least two or three centuries’ worth a’ workhours. Yeh can still do it in a year or two if yeh’ve got a big enough workforce, and ah think they’re applyin’ the same principle here. So yeh couldn’t build a castle in the time it takes ta’ build one a the smaller suits, but one a’ the larger ones…”

Sabae nodded, looking pensive all of a sudden. “That makes sense. The magic here on Kemetrias isn’t as individual of a pursuit. I’m also starting to think that independent great powers are just about impossible here.”

Everyone shot her puzzled looks.

“It would take someone half their lifetime or more to build themselves their own suit of armor like Apchek’s,” Sabae said. “One of the larger ones is completely out of the question for an individual.”

“Godrick just said that it only took a decade or two of work, though,” Talia said. “There are a lot of great powers who took even longer than that.”

“A decade or two a’ workhours,” Godrick corrected. “That’s workin’ every single minute over ten or twenty years, no sleep or breaks.”

Sabae nodded. “Exactly. An individual has to deal with sleep, eating, laundry, and bathing, which all takes up a lot of time. Even more hours get taken up if they have friends or family they want to spend time with, and that’s assuming that they have money and don’t need a job to pay for anything. Honestly, I don’t think any single person could plausibly build a suit like that, and even if they did… look how many we’ve seen already. All the ones at the fort, plus the ones guarding street corners and patrolling within the city? Twenty or thirty at least, and we really haven’t gone that far. There have to be hundreds of suits in the city, at least, some of them far larger than any individual could assemble in a lifetime. Serious battle power here on Kemetrias has got to be restricted almost entirely to cities and nations. Maybe powerful noble families if they have those here.”

Hugh and Godrick both nodded at that.

“There could be other paths to becoming a great power here,” Talia argued. “Just because the city of Hebrast relies on those suits of armor, doesn’t mean the rest of Kemetrias uses them too. Maybe other parts of the world have more effective weapons.”

“I’d be surprised if different parts of Kemetrias hadn’t found entirely different ways to create rune-based weapons,” Sabae responded. “But each of these suits of armor is absurdly expensive to construct, based on work hours alone. If Hebrast’s suits of armor weren’t cost-effective, or if there was a radically cheaper way to construct them, I doubt they’d be building them. So I’m guessing other, comparable weapons would use a similar number of runes to work. Not to mention, we have no idea how well that armor compares to our great powers. Maybe any apprentice mage back on Ithos could handle a dozen of the largest suits with ease, we don’t know.”

“Ah very much doubt that,” Godrick interjected. “If they were that weak, they’d be useless fer defendin’ the entrance ta’ the labyrinth.”

The other three all nodded at that, but Talia still pressed forward on the argument a moment later.

“So, what, you’re saying that economics stops individual great powers from rising here?” Talia asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sabae said. “I could be wrong, of course. I’m making wild conjectures based on what we’ve seen in a few city blocks of a single city on a whole new world where we don’t speak any of the languages, as well as Godrick’s rough estimates.”

“Not that rough,” Godrick muttered. The stone mage was justifiably proud of his math skills— he was far and away the best of them at math, and none of them could even remotely be described as bad at it.

“And assuming that you’re right, you’re trying to figure out how you can try to do something similar back home,” Talia said. She didn’t sound argumentative anymore, just curious.

“I don’t know if it’s honestly possible,” Sabae admitted. “We’re talking about two wildly different kinds of magic, one of which we only have the barest understanding. But… it’s not like economics doesn’t play into our own magic, after all. There’s simply more demand for some affinities than others. Healers and dirt mages are never going to lack for opportunities, and getting a fecal affinity is always going to be a ticket to fabulous wealth.”

“Fecal mages are wealthy?” Hugh asked, confused.

Godrick chuckled. “Ah’m always forgettin’ how big a’ gaps a’ knowledge yeh have about the world from growin’ up in Emblin, Hugh.”

He paused, then corrected himself. “Ah’m always forgettin’ how big a’ gaps yeh have about our world. Yeh, cities bid absurd sums against each other ta’ recruit manure mages— they’re worth more than their weight in gold. Havin’ a couple in a city makes runnin’ a sewer system ten times easier and cheaper, not ta’ mention their use in helpin’ farm fields. Never heard of a crap mage who didn’t have one a’ the biggest mansions in their city before.”

Hugh chuckled weakly, thinking the others were messing with him, but they just gave him puzzled looks.

Sabae shook her head, then resumed talking. “I can think of a hundred other, less direct ways magic and economics interact back home— the obvious ways that Kanderon warps the economy by building liches or Dorsas Ine warps it by looting gold by the ton; but also more subtle ways, like the way economic demand shapes the availability of teachers and magical research for different affinities. There is absolutely a strong relationship between magic and economics, but I have no idea if it’s possible to use economics as a lever on magic to weaken the system of great powers.”

“It seems worth looking at,” Hugh offered.

“Why do yeh need ta’, though? Yeh’ve got Davragam’s Census,” Godrick asked. “It’s a much more direct lever than what yer talkin’ about.”

Sabae shrugged. “Maybe. I still don’t know what I want to do with it, though. I have no idea if releasing it into the world would help or hurt, and whether the cost in blood would be worth it. Storms, even if it did help, even if it reduced the concentration of personal magical power, maybe it will just result in the concentration of political power in equally harmful ways.”

Sabae scowled, then stalked off through the crowd. The others hurriedly followed, though Hugh had to pull Mackerel away from a scroll rack at the vendor’s booth next to them.

Oddly, he didn’t think the scrolls were made of paper, parchment, or vellum. He wasn’t quite sure what they were made of, really.

Sabae finally stopped at a fountain to consult the map, grumbling to herself the whole time. Hugh took the break to stare up at the twelve-foot-tall suit of armor guarding the nearby intersection. It carried a large net slung across its back— for crowd control, maybe?

“Sorry for just charging off like that,” Sabae said.

Hugh and the others glanced at her in surprise.

“You were just frustrated; we’ve all been there before,” Talia said.

“I know, but… I’m terrified that I’m more concerned with personally making a difference rather than genuinely wanting our world to get better,” Sabae said. “That I’ll make the wrong choice out of wanting to be the hero.”

“I don’t think anyone can escape dreaming about that a little,” Hugh said. “I definitely did often enough when I was younger. Still do, really. You’re allowed to have multiple motivations for your actions.”

“I don’t think it’s actually possible to act with only one motivation on anything,” Talia said. “Definitely not in politics. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Godrick clapped Sabae on the back. “Besides, we trust yeh. And if yeh do start doin’ somethin’ stupid, yeh’ve got us here ta’ warn yeh.”

Sabae still looked troubled but smiled weakly at them. “We should probably hurry up and find our inn. Plenty of time for me to stress about this stuff later.”

As he followed his friends through the crowd, Hugh resumed gawking at the city of Hebrast, though part of him kept thinking about what Sabae had said.

Another part kept poking at his bond with Kanderon.

Only to be met with the same lack of response every time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Brightest Night

SOMETIME IN THE middle of the afternoon, they finally managed to find the inn Apchek had given them a map to— or, at least, an inn near the general area they’d been looking for.

There was some initial confusion as they tried to rent a room using pantomime, but once they showed Apchek’s letter to the innkeeper, they pretty quickly managed to snag three rooms— one for Hugh and Talia, private rooms for the other two.

If Hugh didn’t know better, he could have sworn that the innkeeper gave them a sad look when he read the letter, and it almost seemed like the man wanted to reject their money entirely.

Hugh had no idea what Apchek’s letter said, nor whether they’d paid an appropriate price in triangular and pentagonal coins for their rooms, but he was just happy to have a hot meal and a bed to sleep in tonight.

The inn’s common room was crowded, and the four of them had to scoot together at a table that was much too small, while Mackerel played between their feet.

Despite the crowding, and despite the fact that several of their neighbors kept giving them curious looks, Hugh felt none of his usual anxiety in crowds. After days traveling the labyrinths, he was just happy to be relax.

Or, at least, he felt less of his usual anxiety than normal. Hugh was pretty sure that his calm, relaxed state would be an anxious, terrible one for a normal person.

While they waited on their food— which was going to be a complete surprise, the four of them had absolutely no idea what they’d ordered— musicians climbed up on the small stage. Hugh and the others paused their conversation to watch, as did many of the other patrons in the dining room.

The musical instruments were simultaneously familiar and bizarre to Hugh. A flute was a flute, but the one on stage had a far different musical tone than Hugh was used to. One woman was playing something that looked like a dulcimer, only it was several times larger than the dulcimers back home and played far more aggressively. There were several other stringed instruments on stage, but they were entirely foreign to Hugh.

The strangest instrument of all, though, was a bizarre contraption of hoops and spheres, all covered in an intricate array of runes. It didn’t actually make any noise itself— instead, it seemed to grab and twist the music of the other instruments, even echoing it at times, allowing its player to alter the entire flow of the music by twisting and swinging the various parts of the contraption in different directions.

The music was… confusing. The musicians were clearly skilled, but Hugh had no idea what to anticipate, and every few seconds, the notes would jump in a sharply different direction than Hugh would have expected music back home to.

He could probably learn to like it, once he’d heard enough to understand where the music was going, but for now, it took active work to listen.

The drums, at least, were still just ordinary drums. They were decorated a little oddly, but Hugh was relieved to see that Kemetrians still handled musical beats by having large sweaty men smack hollow objects.

The food, to Hugh’s relief, was delightfully familiar and boring— dense loaves of bread, bowls of thick stew, and tankards of dark ale almost as thick as the stew.

Sure, Hugh didn’t recognize the meat or the vegetables in the stew, and the bread was made from some totally unknown grain, but it was still bread and stew.

AFTER DINNER, IN Sabae’s room in the inn, the four of them started training their new affinities for the first time, while Mackerel napped in the corner.

It wasn’t particularly strenuous training— their warlock pact was less than a day old, after all. It mostly just consisted of trying to develop their new affinity senses while studying other topics.

Every few minutes, one of them would gently toss a pebble, a chunk of bone, or a steel marble in the direction of one of the others not paying attention.

None of them detected the flying objects, of course— it would be at least a week or two, if not longer, before their new affinity senses would develop. Practicing like this would help speed the process along, though.

Hugh could easily detect the rocks with his crystal affinity, so he could catch them out of the air without looking, but it should still help his new rock and bone affinity senses develop regardless. Likewise, the bone shards should help Talia develop her crystal affinity senses and the pebbles should still help Godrick develop his crystal sense.

Hugh had read some fascinating things about mages whose affinity senses overlapped one another— they gained far greater control and power over their materials. A mage with stone and granite affinities, for instance, would have their power over granite significantly enhanced beyond either of their other affinities. That very overlap effect was theorized to be part of why there were a disproportionate number of storm mages among the ranks of archmages and great powers. Those overlaps were especially common between structural and material affinities— like crystal and stone, or fiber and plants.

Hugh was eager to see how much the overlap would affect his own magic.

The steel marbles still tended to hit Hugh more often than not, though.

In between pelting the others with various objects, Hugh was continuing his work on a syllabus for the other three, for teaching them his own affinities. He’d started developing it almost as soon as the four of them had dreamed up this plan, but there had been precious little time to work on it while preparing for their escape from Skyhold.

It… wasn’t easy going. Hugh couldn’t just teach the others to do magic his way because his magic would always be warped by growing up in Emblin. Even more, Talia and Sabae’s unique magical situations required him to approach teaching them in a wholly new way.

He was considering dedicating most of his energy towards teaching the others to use their stellar affinity. Starbolts would give Godrick some much-needed ranged offense, there was a decent chance of Talia’s tattoos not interfering too badly with starfire, and Sabae…

Sabae would be difficult.

He was still going to teach them a few crystal affinity tricks as well— if nothing else, Hugh was pretty sure that his crystal affinity sense was one of the most useful any of them had, given the sheer number of materials that were crystalline.

Hugh was… probably going to largely ignore their planar affinity for now. He only knew the basics himself; he wasn’t ready to teach the others yet.

One thing he had realized recently, though?

Kanderon had been wrong to teach him planar magic the way she had.

Well, wrong was a bit much, but… for all of Kanderon’s power, she was hyperfixated on a small field within planar magic, that of growing stable extraplanar spaces. It was arguably the most powerful subfield of planar magic, to be sure, but it was also a field usually practiced by sphinxes, dragons, and other beings that could live for centuries for good reason— the process took years or even decades.

The basic planar magic Hugh had used developing the Stormward’s Crown had opened him up to a whole new world of planar magic subfields.

Teleportation was one strong possibility. It was an extremely dangerous practice, certainly, but also easily one of the most powerful abilities a mage could have. Kanderon neglected it entirely because teleporting would ruin any extraplanar spaces she was amidst the process of growing, but… Hugh didn’t think Kanderon’s focus in extraplanar spaces was for him or his friends.

There were so many other paths to pursue in planar magic, even past Kanderon’s path and teleportation. There was planar scrying, temporary distance warping, spatial inversions, and so, so much more.

Most of it would have to wait, one way or another, until they had…

Until things with Alustin were settled.

The challenge of developing the syllabus for his friends was, thankfully, lessened a bit by the demands of their current circumstances. They only had a couple of months to train, between Ilinia and Indris’ conclave in Highvale and Alustin’s deadline. Hugh didn’t need to worry too much about charting the long-term magical development of his friends- he just needed to teach them enough tricks and tools to help keep them alive.

Even with those mitigating factors, the task was giving him far more respect for Kanderon, Artur, and his other teachers over the years.

And, as much as it hurt Hugh to admit it, for Alustin most of all.

The others were busy with their own projects as well.

Godrick was slowly reading through Eddin Slane’s notes, muttering to himself as he went. Hugh couldn’t help but notice that his father’s letter, still unread, lay on the floor next to him.

Sabae had started out developing a syllabus for the others, but inevitably, she had gotten distracted reading some political text or other.

Talia was, like Hugh, focused on developing her own syllabus for the others. At the same time, she was activating her various enchanted items over and over again, to test for resonance cascade issues between their enchanted items and Kemetrian runes.

Given the sheer density of Kemetrian runes in the city, it was pretty clear that resonance cascades weren’t an issue here— for the best, because he’d be less than pleased if Talia managed to blow up the whole city by accident.

To Hugh’s mild surprise, it was Sabae who interrupted the silence first. “Have any of you ever read Lucann the Sour?”

“I love Lucann the Sour, he’s my favorite philosopher!” Talia said brightly.

Hugh gave her a surprised look. From all her grousing about the various philosophical works Alustin had given her over the last year, Hugh thought she would have been happy if every philosopher and their writings ever just vanished.

“He lived in the garbage and was a serial arsonist!” Talia said, brightly.

Sabae sighed heavily. “He was accused by his political opponents in the Ithonian Empire of arson decades after his death. He almost certainly had nothing to do with the fires.”

Talia scowled, then brightened. “He did still live in the trash, though!”

Sabae sighed. “He’s hardly the only famous philosopher to live in the trash or on the streets, Talia. It’s practically traditional for critics of the social order to live in the trash.”

“Yeh wanted ta’ tell us somethin’ about Lucann?” Godrick asked.

Sabae nodded. “There was a specific quote, actually. ‘The fundamental political divide, in all political and social systems, is between those who want to consolidate power in the hands of one group or another and those who want to distribute and dilute power widely. Rebellion is only revolution when the rebels stand on the opposite side of that divide from those who hold power, regardless of good or ill.’ It’s obvious and reductive, sure, but it’s not wrong, and I’ve never read it stated so… clearly.”

“Really wasn’t obvious to me,” Hugh said.

Sabae idly tossed a pebble in the air and caught it. “All this time, I’ve mainly been focused on how to weaken the great powers— which is still important, don’t get me wrong— but I also need to be focusing on how to keep their power spread out among as many people as possible, to keep it from concentrating again. Or at least to counterbalance it, somehow. Getting rid of the current crop of great powers, only to replace them with another, is the last thing I want to do.”

“Lot a’ people out there would say that most people don’t deserve power,” Godrick pointed out. “That power needs ta’ be restricted ta’ the trustworthy.”

“People with power to lose would say that,” Talia pointed out. “Can’t exactly trust their impartiality there. And I’m biased, but my clan has had a lot less trouble with corruption and such than other mountain clans with great powers, and our power is distributed much more than most.”

Sabae nodded. “Agreed. A fairly simple reading of history— storms, our own lives— also puts paid to the idea that anyone is incorruptible by power. It’s less a question of personal qualities than it is of how systems of power operate. It’s almost impossible to bear power in a corrupt system without being corrupted. But… the question of how to distribute power is a tricky one. Real life is seldom as clear-cut as Lucann’s distinction. For instance, is Kanderon’s lich-building project power concentration or power dispersion? Admittedly, her efforts are aimed more against imperialistic aims than the system of great powers, but…”

Hugh started to answer, then paused. His first instinct was that Kanderon’s lich projects were clearly power dispersal, but… he wasn’t sure if he could trust that instinct. His reflex was obviously to side with Kanderon first and foremost, and since power dispersal was being treated as the good option in the conversation, of course he’d take that avenue.

“I think there are good arguments for it being either, or maybe both,” Hugh said.

Sabae pointed at him. “Exactly. I’m not sure I’m wise or knowledgeable enough yet to know whether my actions will disperse or concentrate power. The fact that I think we can have an impact on those power structures at our age is hubristic enough on its own.”

“So… how does Lucann relate to Davragam’s Census?” Talia asked. “I’m still not convinced the Census is actually as dangerous as you think, but is he making you more or less likely to use it?”

Sabae deflated. “I… I don’t know yet. I’m still working on that.”

They were all quiet for a few minutes after that until Talia spoke up again. “That quote from Lucann actually gave me an idea.”

Everyone looked up at her.

“We should all learn siege magic!”

They all gave her confused looks, but before they could say anything, Talia continued.

“The main argument against learning siege magic is that it ruins the mana reservoir in question for use for anything but siege magic, right? We each have twelve mana reservoirs now, though— we each have more than we know what to do with. And, on top of that, it’ll give us a way to fight back against some of the great powers out there.”

“Yeh… actually have a good point there,” Godrick said. “Ah just have one question, though.”

“You want to know what affinities I think we should use for that?” Talia asked.

Godrick shook his head. “Nope. Ah want ta’ know how yeh possibly coulda’ gotten that idea from the Lucann quote.”

Talia threw a bone shard at him.

THE FOUR OF them got so caught up their training that they almost missed sunset. They just barely managed to find their way to the roof of the four-story inn in time. There wasn’t much in the way of seating for them, and the narrow walkway atop the roof was cramped, with messengers and traveling workers stepping around them every couple minutes as they traveled across the network of roofpaths. Despite all that, the view was every bit as magnificent as they’d hoped.

The rings of Kemetrias, looming in the northern half of the sky, seemed to explode with light as the sun fell towards the horizon. With his sphinx eyes, Hugh could see patterns in the rings that the others couldn’t, ones that resembled great spokes radiating out from the planet and towards the stars.

Hugh could only see parts of the huge river cutting through Hebrast— they weren’t that much higher up than most of the city, and there were quite a few buildings blocking the view— but in those river bends he could see, the ring reflections seemed to fill the water from shore to shore.

Before the light faded too much, Hugh took the time to look for the triple mountain hiding their labyrinth exit to the next world. It wasn’t particularly hard to find— its peaks jutted just above the horizon to the southeast of them, far across the plains outside the city. If it had been just a little bit to one side, Hugh would have missed it— one of Hebrast’s dozens of giant ziggurats blocked out a big chunk of the horizon to its right.

Getting to the triple peak— which Galvachren claimed was called Mount Mulberry in the local tongue— would be a challenge, though. They were still near the heart of Hebrast, and Hugh would be shocked if it wasn’t at least two to three times the size of Theras Tel. Hebrast was unquestionably the largest city Hugh had ever seen, even bigger than Havath City was described as being.

After the group got past Hebrast’s city walls, they’d have a trip of several weeks across the plains to the base of Mount Mulberry. Even though the top of the triple peak loomed over the horizon, it was much farther away than an Anastan would assume— despite the seemingly identical gravity, Kemetrias’ horizon was much farther away than it was on their own world, and the triple peaks of Mount Mulberry were the tallest landmark on the plains, making them visible well over the already-distant horizon.

Galvachren had recommended traveling with one of the traveling bands of nomadic pastoralists, who built their villages on the backs of the mammoth furred lizards they herded, safe from the predators of the deep grass.

Given that the city of Hebrast apparently hadn’t existed last time Galvachren had visited Kemetrias, Hugh was worried that the nomadic lizard-back villages were gone, too.

As the sun set completely, the city below them drowned in color. There weren’t any torches or lanterns needed at all— the numberless glowing runes across the city cast every part of it into a mad rainbow of colors. Passersby below them, walking through the narrow and deep canyons made by Hebrast’s towering wooden tenements, would be cast in shades of green at one point, only to turn purple or red after walking ten feet. Other spots were cast in such a profusion of shades by the various runes nearby that Hugh couldn’t even begin to think of how to label them.

As the reflected light of the planet’s ring began to dim— though it was still bright enough to read by— the runes seemed to grow even brighter, as though the five of them were sitting above an ocean of pure color. Mackerel darted out of Hugh’s arms and dived down into the streets, dancing in the colors.

Boats in the river lit up as well, though they were tricky to see as they drifted among the countless rune reflections in the water.

Even parts of the stone ziggurats lit up. The outside of the structures didn’t bear glowing runes, but their numerous windows and balconies lit up especially brightly, filled with a far greater density of runes than the rest of the city. Hugh wondered what was in them— were the ziggurats palaces for noble families, government offices, or maybe schools like Skyhold?

Talia leaned against Hugh’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her, content to just enjoy the view for now.

It was at least twenty minutes before Hugh started poking at his bond with Kanderon again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Tourists in Hebrast

THEY WOKE LATE the next morning— daylight hours in Hebrast seemed to be several hours offset from those in Ithos. The Kemetrian day also seemed a little shorter— though Galvachren’s day length conversion charts in the Guide remained as baffling and difficult for Hugh to use as ever. Even Godrick struggled to figure out their confusing layout.

After a quick breakfast— sweetened gruel made from another unknown grain— the group set out towards the edge of the city.

It took them half the day to cross Hebrast. Even if they were in a hurry, it would have taken hours— not only was the city huge, but the streets were a maze as confusing as any labyrinth floor, utterly packed with people.

They weren’t in a particular hurry, though. They still had months before they needed to return to Anastis— and, in fact, they’d agreed they were safer here than back home. Sure, there were unknown dangers here on Kemetrias, but there weren’t any great powers with designs on the group here.

Plus, the people were friendly enough, the food was tolerable, and it was certainly less deadly than Apoptis had been or Limnus would be.

So the group took their time wandering through Hebrast. They snacked at various food carts and counters, visited different stores, and even had a street artist draw a quick sketch of the group.

The artist got Talia’s spellform tattoos terribly wrong— he’d clearly kept trying to draw them in patterns more similar to Kemetrian runes.

The group wandered down an entire street of toymakers and candy-sellers. Above them, dozens of wide bridges and platforms running over the street were filled with play-places and obstacle courses for children. Hugh had never seen anything like it before. None of them had. All the stairs up to the platforms had clerks charging people to enter— it seemed the whole street was some sort of business district catering to children?

They passed another street that wrapped completely around a small ziggurat, one that barely over-topped the five-story roofs around it. There was a fountain atop the ziggurat, whose water ran down the sides and through the various parks and gardens covering the ziggurat’s different levels.

Talia stared so suspiciously at the ziggurat, for a moment, that Hugh was worried she’d seen a threat. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s basalt, right?” Talia asked.

“It is,” Hugh replied, puzzled.

“And the labyrinth and the butte it’s in are made of limestone, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“Where’d they get the basalt from? You don’t usually find both stones in the same spot, do you?”

“You find basalt in all sorts of places. I… don’t think there’s any reason why it’s too weird, but Godrick would know better than me. I haven’t really studied basalt much. There’s definitely basalt below the topsoil here, at least, so it’s got to be locally sourced.”

He waved their tall friend over and explained Talia’s question to him.

Godrick nodded. “Yeah, ah’ve been investigating it with my affinity senses since we got here. Basically, the entire city is built over basalt. Here and there, though, limestone breaks up through it from below. There’re a few spots like it on Anastis, too— these are flood basalts. Basically, the earth splits open in huge cracks, pours out giant floods of basaltic magma, and covers whatever’s already there. Eight hundred years ago, a flood basalt event wiped out an empire in Gelid— covered up hundreds of leagues of farmland in their heart, wiped out hundreds of thousands of people with volcanic gases. Threw the whole world’s climate out of control for years. It took an alliance of the weather mages from four continents to fix it, including ones from the Ithonian Empire. That’s what happened here, so far as I can tell— flood basalts covered up limestone karst terrain.”

Talia raised her eyebrows at that. “That’s… terrifying and awful. Why would anyone live here if there was a risk of that?”

Godrick shrugged. “There’s a risk a’ it literally anywhere. Ah’ve never heard a’ a stone mage with affinity senses that could see deep enough ta’ know what causes flood basalts, so there’s no predictin’ ‘em. Leadin’ theory is giant underground elementals, but since ah’ve got no idea if Kemetrias has elementals, kinda casts doubt on that idea? Ah’d bet it does, though.”

“Also, limestone’s not the best for building cities on,” Hugh added. “Great building material, but it’s really porous to water, so rain just sinks into the ground and vanishes. Basalt bedrock isn’t nearly as porous.”

“And ah’d bet this flood basalt’s probably eons old,” Godrick continued.

Talia glared at the ground as if it had personally betrayed her. “I think I’d like to live in the sky now, thank you.”

AFTER EATING LUNCH on the park ziggurat, they continued their gradual meander through Hebrast.

They reached the river before too long and found an astonishing profusion of ways to cross. There were literally dozens of bridges over the river, ranging from narrow foot-paths to bridges so large they were more like tenement-lined streets— you could probably wander across one of them without even realizing you were over the river, save for the fact that they were paved with wood instead of cobblestone.

Even the smallest bridges were dozens of feet above the water, to let traffic pass freely underneath. There were hundreds of boats in the river, ranging from one-man fishing boats that were basically round oversized baskets to colossal pleasure barges that Indris might have been able to sprawl out atop.

When they spotted what looked like a ten-foot-long furred crocodile in the water, Hugh’s respect for the fishermen in the floating baskets grew exponentially. There was no way you’d get him in the water near those things.

The four of them must have spent an hour exploring various bridges, watching the boats pass underneath, and buying snacks from the various vendors atop the bridges.

While they were crossing one of the simple wooden footbridges, Talia abruptly stopped and stared at the bridge.

When Hugh stopped to ask her what was wrong, she gave him a puzzled look. “Hebrast is in the middle of a giant grassland, right?”

Hugh nodded.

“So where do they get the wood from?”

The four of them got quite a few confused stares from passersby as they all stood staring at the wood beneath their feet, trying to figure out where it had come from. On closer look, the wood was bizarrely different from any they’d seen before, with almost non-existent grain. The boards were all weirdly wide and thin, too. None of them had the remotest guess where it might come from. Shipping down the river was Hugh’s first guess, but that would be ridiculously expensive to construct a city the size of Hebrast— as hard as basalt was to work, it would still surely be cheaper than building an entire city out of imported wood, and given the ziggurats, the Kemetrians clearly had the capability to work basalt on a large scale.

After that, they wandered past structures that seemed to function as both roosts for entire flocks of birds and as shrines for the locals, leading to an argument between Sabae and Godrick about what the local religion would look like. Sabae insisted that, if Kemetrias really didn’t have great powers, no one else would be founding religions, and that no government, even without great powers, would tolerate invisible cults as competition.

Godrick’s arguments, on the other hand, were centered around not making assumptions about human nature based on Anastan practice— that maybe humanity’s relationship with religion wasn’t different on other worlds. He also repeatedly pointed out that they didn’t know whether or not there were great powers on Kemetrias, only that independent great powers were unlikely.

Hugh would have liked to listen to more of their argument, but instead, he kept having to stop Mackerel from playing various pranks on Sabae.

Most of the pranks involved trying to steal food or drinks and dump it on her.

Mackerel’s antics drew a surprising crowd, several of whom were eying the spellbook fearfully and suspiciously. It made sense— Mackerel didn’t come close to resembling any of the magic on Kemetrias.

Hugh was halfway worried about a riot when Talia had the idea of showing the crowd Apchek’s letter.

The mob immediately and quietly dispersed. A great many of them stopped by the weird bird shrine to pray, casting strange looks at Hugh and the others.

Talia and Hugh both gave the letter a baffled look.

“What could this thing possibly say? Did Apchek say we’re poisonous or something?” Talia asked.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Hugh replied.

Godrick and Sabae were so caught up in their argument that they hadn’t even noticed any of it.

THEIR LAST INTENDED major stop before reaching the city walls was one of the massive ziggurats looming out of the city.

It was even bigger than they’d realized— the stepped basalt pyramid loomed out of a massive pit, stretching hundreds of feet into the flood basalt bedrock below. The stone of the structure had been quarried out of the ground directly around it.

The only way across the pit were four heavily defended bridges, covered in runes. Talia pointed out several oddly rickety-looking sections, theorizing that they were designed to be easy to destroy, to prevent attackers from crossing.

The lowest levels of the pit were filled with water, with various pleasure craft and waterbirds drifting about. Above them, the various stepped tiers were covered with parkland, with wealthy people wandering freely, attended by servants.

There were, so far as Hugh could see, no huge, furred crocodiles in the water far below them.

The upper levels of the ziggurat— those above ground level— seemed to be some sort of immense, opulent palace.

Hugh and the others were rudely turned away from the bridges. The guards grew more polite when they saw Apchek’s letter but still refused them entry.

That led to a long discussion about the nature of Hebrast’s government, whether they had a hereditary aristocracy, some sort of oligarchy, or something else entirely. Hugh participated happily, even though— really, because of— the fact that none of them had the slightest clue what they were talking about.

They got so involved in the argument that they took a detour to visit yet another, even larger, ziggurat. Unlike the last one, this one was open to the public. There were some major differences— the bridges over the pit were far wider and unguarded, the parklands below were open to everyone, and the ziggurat itself seemed packed with bureaucrats and offices.

This, of course, settled literally none of their arguments, which continued all the way to the massive basalt wall around the city. Not that they particularly wanted to stop the argument; they were all having fun proposing continually more absurd governmental structures. Hugh was particularly proud of his claim that Hebrast was run by having birds walk randomly across different policy proposals laid out on the floor. The group even kept arguing all the way through one of the busy tunnels leading out of the city, which had walls so covered in runes that no lanterns or other light sources were needed at all to see inside.

When they finally passed through the wall and out of the city, though, the view immediately drove the argument out of their minds.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The Shore of the Sea of Grass

AHEAD OF THEM was a huge dry moat, and past that, a port that stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction along the city wall. Not a seaport or a sandport but a grassport.

Galvachren had described the grasses of the plain as tall, but that failed to do them justice. The blades of grass towered thirty feet or so into the air in places, with bases almost like tree trunks.

In fact, there were entire lumbering operations going on in the distance, huge teams of workers clearing back grasses using rune-inscribed axes and saws. A small army of guards and massive suits of paper armor stood guard over the lumber operations, presumably standing watch against the predators Galvachren had warned about.

After being harvested, hovering rune-barges transported the giant grass-blades off towards the river, where Hugh could see massive, water wheel powered sawmills. So far as Hugh could tell from a distance, only the lowest ten feet or so were being hauled to the sawmills— the upper reaches of the grass seemed too flimsy to be useful.

Well, now they knew where Hebrast’s wood was coming from, at least.

The upper reaches of the grass weren’t disposed of, however— they were being bundled off and hauled in various directions by workers.

The lumber operations were only a small piece of the activity in front of them, though. The port was easily the size of a small city on its own.

No less than three other massive tunnels led through the walls of the city, and that was just what Hugh could see before the curve of the wall took it out of sight. Thousands of workers, merchants, bureaucrats, and soldiers poured through the gates at all times, all rushing about ceaselessly. Soldiers and messengers rode about at high speeds on the backs of the tall flightless birds they’d seen pulling hover barges inside Hebrast.

Wide, raised earthen roads crossed the dry moat from the tunnels out to the grassport. Like the ziggurats in the city, the moat appeared to be the quarry from where the wall’s basalt had been mined. The fact that the basalt bedrock only started after thirty or forty feet of topsoil made the quarrying efforts even more impressive— at least in Hugh’s opinion.

There were entire neighborhoods of offices, guard posts, and warehouses scattered around the grassport, along with restaurants and other businesses to serve them.

Scattered here and there around the port were impromptu encampments of the grassland nomads Galvachren had described. The nomads made a life herding behemoths— giant, furred lizards that fed on the towering grasses.

Given how poor of an understanding of the size of the grasses Galvachren had given Hugh, he was even less prepared for the behemoths. The smallest of the furred lizards was over forty feet at the shoulder, with immensely thick limbs and torso and an almost stubby-looking head. Their ridged tails dragged heavily on the grounds behind them.

The biggest of the furred lizards had to be close to sixty feet in height and at least four times that in length. Given their sheer bulk, those giants had to far outweigh any dragon on Anastis.

Galvachren had mentioned that the nomads built their tents on the backs of the behemoths, but Hugh had been expecting small, crudely made personal tents. Instead, huge, finely made, rune-inscribed pavilions rode the back and shoulders of the behemoths, with small crowds bustling around them. Nomads clambered up rope ladders dangling down the sides of the giant, furred lizards, and ran up and down their huge dragging tails, using the ridges like staircases.

Well, most of the nomads had finely-made pavilions. A few of the nomad encampments had less-expensive canvas tents or the like, but none of them actually looked poor.

Even the behemoths and their inhabitants didn’t hold Hugh’s attention for long, though.

No, what held Hugh’s attention were the grass ships.

There were hundreds of them docking, loading, unloading, and departing, stretching for leagues in either direction. There was more activity in Hebrast’s port than in every port city Hugh had ever seen before combined.

He was frankly a bit terrified at the scale of it.

The ships themselves were also astonishing. They hovered a good fifteen feet off the ground, much higher than any of the hovering barges in the city. The ships were tall enough that their decks would stand far above the towering grasses, even above the behemoth-back villages of the nomads.

The grass ships had sails like any sand or sea ship, but these were covered in dense rows of Kemetrian runes instead of Anastan spellforms.

Their flat bottoms were certainly distinctive, of course, but the most astonishing feature of the ships— aside from the fact that they hovered above the ground— was the fact that each of them had floating barges chained behind them. The largest grass ships had as many as four or five massive, cargo-filled barges chained behind them in a line.

Each one of the ship-chains could probably carry as much as a small fleet back on Anastis.

The docks for the ships were immense raised platforms, with great ramps and staircases leading up high enough to access the docks.

Unlike normal ships, however, there were also access ports in the bottom of the ships. Great trapdoors on the flat lower hull had been lowered, and cargo was being loaded and unloaded from both the tops and bottoms of the ships.

Hugh was finally shaken out of dazedly gawking at the port when someone in the crowd jostled him, and he sighed.

“Well, at least we’re not going to lack options for reaching our destination,” he said.

HAVING PLENTY OF options didn’t mean finding a ship was going to be easy, unfortunately.

Even if they had spoken the language, finding someone with time to speak with them would have been a challenge. Everyone in the port looked so busy Hugh wouldn’t have been particularly surprised if someone had just randomly caught fire.

Finally, after a few minutes of awkwardly wandering around, they ran into a tired-looking minor official of some sort who was willing to spend the time to help them. Her robes were old and patched, and she seemed to be functioning purely by the strength of the huge clay mug of tea she clutched in one hand.

She wasn’t the first person they tried to get to help, but unlike the others, they led by showing her the letter from Apchek. The others had all brushed them off the instant they realized they didn’t share a language.

The minor functionary read the letter several times, gave them a few incredulous looks, then sighed heavily.

After drinking several long gulps of tea, the woman introduced herself as Philiti, then settled down to try to understand what they wanted.

Through a mix of pantomime and drawing in Mackerel’s pages, they managed to indicate that they wanted to travel on one of the ships to the triple mountain that loomed past the horizon.

Philiti seemed surprised at that. As if not believing Hugh’s drawings, she led them up onto one of the towering docking platforms, where they confirmed by pointing that the triple mountain was really their destination.

Once Philiti was sure that was where they wanted to go, it was time for another round of what seemed to be Hebrast’s chief pastime: paperwork.

Thankfully, it wasn’t nearly so time-consuming and exhausting as the last time, and Philiti got them through it in no more than an hour. It wasn’t that the process was that much less intensive than it had been in the labyrinth fort— more that Philiti was astonishingly skilled at navigating through bureaucratic procedures, her skills putting Apchek’s to shame. She yelled, cajoled, and bullied her way through the process at astonishing speed— at one point, even physically yanking a pompous official out of his chair and filling out his paperwork herself, all while yelling at the bewildered official.

Hugh was pretty sure the official was apologizing to Philiti by the end of her rant, based on his expression and tone of voice.

Halfway through their newest bureaucratic adventure, Mackerel tried to sneak up behind Sabae, carrying a waste bin to dump on her head, but Godrick intercepted the spellbook in time.

Sabae raised an eyebrow when she turned back and saw what the spellbook had been up to. “Trying way too hard, Mackerel.”

That only seemed to aggravate the spellbook even more.

Once all their paperwork was done, Philiti only paused long enough to refill her mug of tea. Then she dragged them off at a brisk walk along the port until they reached stables for some of the tall riding birds, whereupon she bundled the lot of them into the back of a bird-hauled hover barge.

The driver took them through the port so fast that Talia got nauseous. Even Hugh was nervous about the risk of crashing— the driver was swerving around obstacles with mere inches to spare, hardly slowing the bird down even for the sharpest turns as he sped past ships and ship-chains.

Philiti seemed utterly unconcerned the whole time and somehow didn’t spill a drop of tea from her mug.

By the time they climbed out of the wagon, all of them were relieved.

They didn’t get time to rest, though— Philiti ushered them into a bustling office, filled with lavish furniture, statues, and paintings, where she promptly got into an argument with one of the clerks.

Finally, after showing the clerk all the documents Apchek had given them, the documents she’d filled out for them, and Apchek’s letter, the clerk begrudgingly waved them over, and through pantomime, indicated that they needed to pay him.

It took a little bit to figure out how much the man wanted, which turned out to be an alarmingly large amount of gold— enough that Talia joked about just buying a ship instead.

It wouldn’t be quite that much back home, but it was certainly enough to purchase a luxury cabin for a longer sandship journey.

Then the clerk handed them each a foil-embossed, rune-inscribed certificate, and then Philiti was escorting them out of the office again.

A few minutes later, the group found themselves approaching the dock of the largest ship-chain they’d seen yet.

Each of the barges in it was bigger than a building. The barges in front of Hugh were, quite literally, hovering mansions, with windows and enclosed balconies along their sides. One of them actually seemed to have a ballroom inside it— not a particularly large one, but the fact that it had one at all was astonishing.

The barges farther back seemed to be dedicated to cargo, though Hugh couldn’t tell what they were carrying at this distance. And it was quite a distance, at that— the ship-chain had to be at least a couple dozen barges long.

The monstrous floating ship at the front of the ship-chain didn’t have sails at all, and, for that matter, it barely even resembled a ship. It looked like the offspring of a battering ram and a child’s sled, with some sort of bizarre magical construct spinning at its heart. The construct resembled a colossal gyroscope, with layers of nested rings spinning in different directions at different speeds.

The whole lead ship, especially the gyroscope construct, was inscribed with so many runes that it hurt to look at. The lead ship glowed so brightly that Hugh wasn’t even entirely sure what it was made of.

Philiti said something incomprehensible and gestured at the giant ship-chain, but Hugh didn’t need to understand Kemetrian to understand the woman’s triumphant tone.

Then she stuck out her open palm with a smug grin.

“I think this is the part where we bribe her,” Sabae said.

“Ah’d say it’s a bribe well-earned,” Godrick responded.

Hugh and Talia just nodded in agreement.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Sailing the Green Depths

THEY ONLY HAD to show off the foil-embossed certificates to be let on the ship-chain, but before she left them, Philiti made them show the black and gold-uniformed ship-chain crew Apchek’s letter, which immediately made them start treating Hugh and his friends more respectfully as they escorted them on-board.

Well, most of them. One of the ship-chain’s crewmembers retreated at high speed after giving them terrified looks.

“I really, really wish we could read that letter,” Hugh said.

There was no upper deck on any of the barges of the ship-chain; instead, they were led across a loading bridge sturdy enough that it hardly moved at all under their weight, into a door halfway up the side of the ship.

The inside of the barge was lavishly decorated, with thick carpets, wall tapestries, and rows of brightly-glowing runes on the ceiling for light. Hugh couldn’t help but feel out of place here— less due to the fact that he was from another world, and more due to the fact that part of him was still convinced he was just a peasant from the backwoods of Emblin, and everyone around him could tell he didn’t belong. Even having moved in circles with fabulously wealthy great powers and archmages for years, now, and having enough gold hidden away in his storage tattoo to buy a small village back in Emblin, Hugh still couldn’t shake that feeling.

The anxieties of poverty never really went away, even when actual poverty did so.

Their crew guides escorted them past a well-appointed dining room, up a flight of stairs, and then showed them into a ridiculously huge suite of rooms. Each of their bedrooms was as big as Hugh’s former lair in the library, the central sitting room was larger even than that, and there was even a raised bath in one of the restrooms large enough to swim in, with rune-inscribed taps providing hot water. Along the outer wall of the sitting room, there was a massive window stretching from floor to ceiling, showing off the bustling port below them. Rows of tiny, intricate runes ran across the window in a grid— Hugh was guessing they were probably to reinforce the glass.

Maybe. He didn’t actually know if that was possible for Kemetrian runes, but that’s what Anastan spellforms would be doing if they were laid out the same way.

Their suite dwarfed most, though not all, of the other rooms they’d passed on the way here, the majority of which were in the interior of the grass-ship, with no windows. This was an absurd use of space— one no sandship or seaship back on Anastis could afford.

Each individual ship in the ship-chain was massive, though, and the combined ship-chain dwarfed any ship Hugh had ever even heard of, so it had space to spare.

Talia laughed as she flopped down on one of the couches in the sitting room. “Now this is how to properly travel.”

IT WAS ALMOST two hours after they boarded before the massive ship-chain departed port.

They were eating in one of the many dining rooms when their barge shuddered a bit, and then the bustling port began to slide by.

They had an excellent view out the window near their table, one even larger than in their suite of rooms. The motion of the ship-chain was surprisingly smooth— apart from the gentle acceleration and the motion outside the window, you could hardly even tell they were moving. The barge hardly shook, vibrated, or bobbed up and down.

The ground beneath the hovering barges definitely wasn’t perfectly level, so whatever effect the ship-chain was using to float could compensate for irregular terrain.

The whole ship-chain turned in a great half-loop as the sledge-ship pulling it swung back towards the grass sea. As it did so, Hugh caught sight of the sledge-ship again. Its immense gyroscope had increased its rate of spin, to the point where its runes had blurred together, though Hugh could still make out the individual loops revolving around one another.

Its spin was gradually accelerating even as Hugh watched; it wouldn’t be long before the whole thing turned into a blurry sphere of light.

A random pang stabbed through him at the realization that the gyroscope was almost exactly the same size as Kanderon’s crystal sphere.

By the time Hugh had forced that thought back down again, the ship-chain was pulling into the sea of grass.

The level of the barge their dining room was on was a good ten feet above the towering grass, giving Hugh and his friends a view that stretched for leagues.

Thanks to the curvature of Kemetrias, Hebrast receded behind them far slower than it would have back home, but Hugh hardly had any attention to pay to the immense city. The grasslands stretched forever around them, interrupted only by other grass-ships departing or approaching Hebrast, a handful of nomad encampments perched on the backs of behemoths plodding through the grass sea, and a few limestone pinnacles jutting up in the distance.

Above them, the sky was blue and cloudless, broken only by a flock of birds scared out of the grass by the ship-chain and the massive rings stretching across Kemetrias’ sky.

Looking out over the grasslands, Hugh understood exactly why Galvachren had called them a sea. As the wind raced across it, the tops of the blades of grass rippled in great waves, which sped across the deep green faster than any waves in the oceans of Anastis. The grass didn’t give a hint of how tall it was, and if Hugh hadn’t already known… well, part of him wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been hundreds of feet deep.

AFTER THE GROUP finished eating, they found a crew member who wasn’t too busy, and through a combination of pantomime and drawings of the mountain’s triple peaks, they managed to ask how long it would take to reach Mount Mulberry.

The ship-chain, it turned out, would be making the voyage in less than three days, compared to the weeks it would have taken atop a behemoth village.

They were moving easily as fast as any ship Hugh had ever heard of back home, save for Sabae’s grandmother’s ship, That Old Pile of Junk.

Talia was a little sad about how little time they’d have on board the ship-chain— unlike sandships, the ship-chain wasn’t making her seasick in the least, and she was determined to make the most of the luxury they were traveling in.

They worked their way down to the lower decks next, looking for windows below the grassline. They eventually found an empty lounge near the bottom of the ship, with a heavily rune-reinforced window looking out into the grass sea.

They were probably ten or fifteen feet below the grass line, and the sunlight was already dim and green, cut off by the towering blades of grass above them. The blades near them blurred past, but they could make out the grassy depths more clearly farther away.

The grass sea was astonishingly full of life.

Birds flew among the giant blades of grass in huge numbers, chasing insects on the wing. Furred lizards the size of dogs clambered agilely up and down the blades, hopping between one and another with ease. At one point, they passed something that looked like a furred turtle, the peak of its shell twenty feet tall if it was an inch. It raised its head and watched them pass as it idly chewed on a broken blade of grass.

The grass wasn’t the only plant life, but what other plants there were seemed dependent on the towering blades. Vines wrapped themselves around the lower reaches of the grass, often stretching from one stem to another. Small ferns wrapped their roots around the outside of the grass, thriving in the shade of the depths.

Here and there Hugh could see where a few large stalks had fallen, but the grasslands seemed determined not to let any meadows last very long— they were well along the way to being refilled by young grass.

About an hour into the trip, they spotted their first predator.

The furred serpent was big enough to swallow one of them whole, and as the ship-chain passed it, it reared up menacingly. Hugh couldn’t help but feel as though the creature was menacing him specifically, but it didn’t make any move to attack.

Even though they were fairly sure the window was surely strong enough to resist attack— why would the ship-chain risk having it, otherwise— they retreated back up to their suite by mutual agreement after that.

They spent the rest of the day training in their rooms— mostly just affinity sense exercises like before, pelting each other with marbles, pebbles, and the like.

They also set to work casting cantrips with their new affinities, using both their own mana reservoirs and those of their new aether crystal rings.

They were careful not to drain their mana reservoirs all the way while training, just most of the way— Talia’s plan to have an affinity dedicated to siege magic for each of them was a good one, but they still had a long way to go figuring out how to go about that. All they’d decided so far was that each of them should use a different affinity as their siege magic.

As the afternoon progressed, they also did plenty of other self-guided research and training in their suite. Godrick was working his way through the first of Ranna’s scent affinity lesson plans, and every so often some bizarre scent would fill the room. Sabae and Talia were still working on their lesson plans for the others. Between their storage tattoos and Mackerel, the group had brought quite literally hundreds of books with them, many of them stolen from the library for the exact purpose of helping them develop their new affinities.

Hugh, though, was digging through Galvachren’s Guide to Worlds again.

After running over the sections he’d been looking at a half-dozen times, he looked up at his friends— just in time to dodge a bone shard Godrick had tossed his way.

“We need to talk about our plan,” Hugh said.

Everyone looked at him curiously.

“This trip across the plains was supposed to take weeks,” Hugh said, “not a few days.”

Godrick shrugged. “Ah don’t see a problem. More time ta’ spend trainin’ before we head ta’ Limnus.”

“That’s just it,” Hugh replied. “Instead of waiting here on Kemetrias until we’re ready to return to our own world to cross into Limnus, I think we should head through the labyrinth right away and do our training there.”

“There as in Limnus?” Sabae asked.

“Yes.”

“Limnus, the horrible deathworld that’s almost as deadly as Apoptis?” Sabae asked.

“Yes.”

“Limnus, the world with a poisonous atmosphere, horrible monsters, and constant earthquakes?” Sabae asked.

“That’s the one,” Hugh said.

Sabae and the others just stared at him.

“Ah… have ta’ admit, ah’m a little confused,” Godrick said. “Why, exactly, would we want ta’ go ta’ Limnus?”

Hugh smiled. “Because we’ll have time to learn some of its magic now.”

“Because we really need even more magic to learn right now,” Talia said, gesturing at their piles of books.

“That’s the best part,” Hugh said. “We won’t even have to put in any effort to learn it. Just a matter of spending at least a month there, we’ll get a bit of it automatically.”

“Why not stay here to learn some Kemetrian magic?” Sabae asked.

Hugh shrugged. “We’d have to live here for a couple years before we could start developing it. According to Galvachren, the speed you can develop Limnan magic at is pretty unusual.”

His friends still looked skeptical, so Hugh settled in to try and persuade them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Battle Aboard the Ship-Chain

IT WAS PURE chance that Talia was awake when the ship-chain was attacked— she’d woken in the middle of the night to use the toilet. On her way back to her and Hugh’s room, she’d stopped to gaze out across the grass sea at night and seen the oncoming raiders.

Hebrast’s ring overhead lit the landscape brighter than any full moon on Anastis— Talia could have read by its light with little eyestrain. She imagined it was as bright as day to Hugh, with his sphinx eyes.

The light gave the grass an eerie, hungry look as waves of wind rippled across it. In the distance, Talia could spot other grass ships going their own ways, lit by their runes like rainbow beacons in the night.

Then she realized that several of them were, in fact, not going their own way.

They were heading straight for the ship-chain.

A broad smile cracked across her face.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Wake up!” she shouted. “Pirate attack!”

THE OTHERS WERE dressed and readying their armor in less than a minute, and the attacking ships had already crossed more than a quarter of the distance. Talia could make out sails on most of them, though a couple of the larger ones had armillary engines like the ship-chain. She counted seven of them, but she wouldn’t be surprised if there were more coming from the other side of the ship-chain.

“Are yeh sure they’re pirates?” Godrick asked.

“Regardless of their specific motives, they’re definitely attacking the ship-chain,” Sabae said. “That’s an attack formation if I’ve ever seen one.”

“That means we need to help defend the ship-chain, right?” Talia asked eagerly.

“Yeh, but are we sure they’re the bad guys?” Godrick asked. “Maybe they’re… ah dunno, freedom fighters or somethin’.”

Sabae shrugged. “Maybe, but we’re not riding a warship. Or, war ship-chain, I guess. This thing has minimal weaponry and a fairly light guard compared to a lot of the grass-ships we passed in the port, and it seems to be filled almost entirely with civilians. I’m not particularly fond of anyone who attacks civilian ships. More, we’re on board this ship, and I’m even less fond of people who attack us.”

“I’m surprised you noticed anything on that ride through the port,” Hugh said.

Sabae shrugged. “I know ships, and even if these sail a wholly foreign environment to what I’m used to, they’re still ships.”

“Yeah, ah suppose attackin’ civilians isn’t a strong sign a’ just purpose,” Godrick said.

Talia sighed impatiently. “So we’re going to help defend the ship chain, then, and not just keep talking?”

“You are way too excited about this,” Sabae muttered, as she converted her wind armor into storm armor. “But yes, we’re going to help defend the ship-chain.”

Talia clapped at that. Her scrimshaw ward around her hands fuzzed as it passed through itself.

Godrick and Sabae both gave her odd looks, and Talia did her best to pull back her enthusiasm.

Hugh yawned as he removed the Stormward’s Crown from his storage tattoo and began activating it. “So what’s the plan?”

“Roof fight!” Talia yelled, happily.

Sabae sighed. “Yes, that makes the most sense. Try to fend off boarding as long as possible; take the fight to the enemy ships when possible. It’s going to be hard to coordinate our efforts with the ship-chain guards, unfortunately, since we don’t speak the language. Do your best not to get the attackers and guards mixed up, try not to hurt any civilians, and do NOT try to use your new affinities in a fight, not until we’ve actually trained with them more.”

Talia was already darting out the door before Sabae even finished.

GETTING TO THE roof was even easier than Talia had expected. They were already on one of the uppermost decks on their grass-ship— they just followed the nearest stairwell all the way up.

The hatch in the ceiling was locked, but Talia picked it easily enough.

Well, less picked it, more used dreamfire to melt it into life-sized iron sculptures of ants that tumbled down around her, but close enough.

The wind on top of the ship-chain almost took her off her feet, but Talia managed to catch herself. She almost used her kinetic anchor bracers on her wrists and shins to do it, but stopped herself— that would have just made things worse, considering how fast they were moving.

While the others climbed up behind her, Talia took a moment to look around the roof.

It was utterly and completely flat. Level as a dance floor, with the only distinguishing feature being rounded edges and a grid of runes all across the top.

Not the most interesting combat environment, but she didn’t think she’d ever been in combat moving quite this quickly before. Even the battle against pirates in the Endless Erg had only been at… maybe two-thirds of this speed? If that.

Talia’s prediction about additional attackers proved correct— another five ships were coming in from the other direction.

“Hugh, can you spot any other threats that aren’t lit up?” Sabae asked. Talia found herself startled by how brightly the taller girl’s purple crystal irises glinted in the ringlight.

Hugh was silent a moment as he looked around them.

“No, just the twelve ships. Pretty sure the five opposite our room are going to hit first. Looks like all the ships are each targeting a single link in the ship-chain? They’re mostly targeting passenger ships like ours, not the cargo ships farther back in the chain.”

“Are yeh sure they’re pirates?” Godrick asked, fidgeting with his gravity hammer. “Wouldn’t pirates be more likely to target the cargo ships?”

“That depends on the pirates,” Sabae said. “Some of them are… more violent than others.”

“I’m alright with more violent,” Talia said. “More violent gives me more excuses.”

“I’m very glad you’re on our side,” Hugh said.

Talia smiled, but Sabae interjected before she could thank Hugh properly. “Let’s try and take out the ship heading for ours before its crew can board. Go ahead and open fire as soon as it’s in range.”

Talia smiled even wider at that, carefully calculated the direction of the wind, then unleashed a single bolt of dreamfire.

Nothing happened for several seconds after it struck the enemy figurehead— which, of course, was some sort of bird.

Then, a moment later, the bird collapsed in on itself in a silent implosion.

Talia’s smile broke into open laughter, and she began bombarding the enemy ship with a volley of dreamwasps.

GODRICK SHUDDERED A bit at Talia’s maniacal laughter but didn’t let it distract him as he began using his gravity-enchanted hammer to yank enemy sailors and fighters off the deck of the raider vessel, down into the depths of the grass sea.

To his left, Talia bombarded the ship’s deck with dreamfire. To his right, Hugh blasted the hull of the ship with quartz wardstone after quartz wardstone, each detonating with a blast of power that left cracks and splinters in the ship’s side.

“I have the sails!” Sabae yelled, then storm-jumped across the rapidly closing gap between the ships.

The attackers didn’t take their attacks lying down, unfortunately. Just a heartbeat or two after Sabae launched herself, the enemy responded with a concentrated volley of crossbow bolts.

One of them struck Godrick’s armor almost immediately, sinking several inches into the stone. He felt a brief sensation of discomfort from his armor elemental, which surprised him almost as much as the fact that a crossbow bolt had sunk into his armor in the first place. Crossbows were not built to penetrate stone.

He yanked the bolt out and eyed the glowing runes on it.

If these things could punch that far into his armor, then who knew how much damage they could do to the armor of his friends?

Godrick dodged past Hugh— behind him, so as not to cross his friend’s line of fire— then kept running until he was well away from his friends. Several more crossbow bolts struck him, most skittering off at an angle, though one punched shallowly into his leg armor.

Godrick’s da had told him what his role in battle was, and he intended to fulfill it as best he could. It was his job to distract the enemy and keep attention off his friends.

“Party mode,” Godrick muttered, then pushed mana into the enchanted opal on his forehead.

Hundreds of rays of light lanced out of the opal towards the ship, half blinding the crew and drawing all attention towards Godrick.

As he lit up the ship’s deck, he noticed several suits of Kemetrian paper armor readying themselves to board the ship-chain. These ones were easily distinguished from the ones they’d seen in the city— the paper strips they were made of were a deep scarlet in color, and they were, just like the black suit back in the labyrinth fortress, clearly built for war.

Godrick smiled grimly, then aimed his gravity hammer at one.

It flailed a bit in surprise but didn’t have time to do anything else before it crashed through the enemy ship’s railing and fell down into the grass below.

The second one went almost as easily, but the third latched onto the deck, its runes flaring with light as it held on.

Godrick had to let it go a moment later when a fourth suit of armor aimed at him with a massive bow, ten feet long if it was an inch. It was covered with so many runes that the bowshaft looked like a curved bar of light— he couldn’t even tell what sort of material it was made of.

The arrow it launched shot past him with the force of a ballista bolt. If he’d been any slower to dodge, who knew whether his armor could have stopped it.

Godrick grinned, then turned his attention to the bow-wielding armor.

To his shock, instead of resisting his gravity hammer, the bow-wielding armor jumped into it, launching itself into the air almost as hard as Sabae.

Straight at him.

HUGH GLOWERED AT the ship as it drew aside the ship-chain.

The amount of firepower Hugh and Talia had launched at it would easily have been enough to slow down or even crash a normal sandship, but these grass-ships were at least as durable as any enchanted warship in the Endless Erg, if not more so. And this wasn’t even one of the larger attacking ships.

Hugh had already used up a tenth of his quartz wardstones, and though he’d put a series of small cracks and holes in the ship’s hull, it was barely more than cosmetic damage.

Hugh was about to try starfire instead, when a suit of paper armor launched itself at improbable speed, crashing into Godrick. The two armored figures went into a roll across the roof of the ship-chain. The red armor had to be at least a third again the size of Godrick’s armor. Hugh winced as Godrick’s opal shone light straight into his face. Even with his sphinx eyes, he couldn’t easily adjust to the brightness shift.

Then there was a crashing noise below him, and Hugh turned back just in time to see two more suits of red paper armor leap the rapidly shrinking gap between the ships, then crash through the windows below them.

When he spotted more suits preparing for the same jump, Hugh launched the dozen Stormward’s Crown nodes orbiting in a halo behind his head.

The next three suits of armor to jump met floating wards in mid-air and fell out of control into the grass below them.

The other suits on deck stopped their advance, even as more rose up from below decks.

Several crossbowmen fired on Hugh, their bolts deflecting off the Stormward’s Crown. They drained much more of his mana than he’d expected them to— at least three or four times as much as it would take to stop a mundane crossbow. Simply blocking all their shots would drain mana far too quickly, so Hugh re-angled the ward surfaces of the Crown so that more of the crossbow bolts would slide off instead of hitting straight on.

“Protect your eyes!” Hugh shouted for his friends, then cast a flare protection cantrip on his own eyes.

Not that Talia or Godrick needed it. Talia’s scrimshaw ward protected her from excess glare automatically, while Godrick’s newest warded quartz faceplate shared that function.

Hugh really hoped Sabae could hear him from where she was hopping around in the ship’s rigging, dodging rune-covered crossbow bolts.

He took a deep breath, then launched a bolt of starfire at one of the suits of armor.

The paper suit of armor should have been completely incinerated by the starfire, but when the light faded, the armor was still mostly intact.

It had been thrown back a dozen feet, patches of fire were scattered across it, and the deck between its starting position and its current position had been littered with strips of rune paper, but it was still intact, and still moving.

Even as Hugh watched, the fires on the suit snuffed out. As they did so, a small shower of strips of paper flared brighter, then went dark and fell off the armor entirely.

The vast majority of the suit of armor was untouched.

Well, that wasn’t good.

The enemy troops did, at least, seem a little dazed by the glare of the starfire.

Hugh’s glanced up at the ship’s rigging. “Hurry up, Sabae,” he muttered.

“THIS IS NO way to treat a guest on your ship!” Sabae yelled at the enemy soldiers chasing her through the ship’s rigging.

One of them shouted something incomprehensible at her, but she had no doubt it was something rude. “Same to you!”

They couldn’t actually keep up with her, but there were a lot of them, and they were moving much faster through the rigging than they should have been. They weren’t wearing full paper armor, but they did have smaller partial suits, which seemed to be amplifying their strength and speed, enough to seriously inconvenience Sabae.

She slammed into a yardarm, cast the spellform for a fourth galvanic anchor, then storm-jumped just in time to dodge several runed crossbow bolts.

It took her a couple more storm-jumps to get her balance enough to cast the fifth galvanic anchor, this one affixed to the grass-ship’s mainsail.

Then she storm-jumped straight at one of the partially-armored soldiers and kicked off him to redirect her momentum down towards the deck. The soldier was sent flying up into the air, on a trajectory that would drop him down into the grass, while Sabae shot down through a tangle of yardarms and rigging towards the base of the mainmast.

Only to have a suit of red paper armor step forward and level a rune-encrusted lance straight at her.

Without thinking, Sabae yanked her inertial spear out of her storage tattoo and anchored it into place in midair. She swung about it at high speed, in a maneuver that would have dislocated both arms if she hadn’t mastered carrying the force of the turn with her armor, then deactivated it, pulled it back into her storage tattoo, and shot off at a different angle entirely, towards the rune-encrusted base of the mizzenmast.

She really needed to stop describing things as rune-encrusted here. Everything manufactured was rune-encrusted on Kemetrias.

Sabae cast a sixth galvanic anchor spell on the base of the mizzenmast, then launched herself straight across the deck back towards the mainmast.

She bowled over several sailors without slowing. The suit of red armor tried to shift its lance in her direction, but it still hadn’t had enough time to react to her change in direction, and she slammed into the base of the mainmast, already casting the seventh galvanic anchor.

She didn’t even slow down. The instant she hit, she dropped the galvanic anchor spell on the base of the mainmast, then launched herself at the lance-wielding armor.

When she hit the ten-foot suit of armor, she storm-jumped off it hard enough that it was sent sliding across the deck, crashing into another, even larger suit in a tangle of limbs.

Sabae was already flying straight at the foremast, though, where she cast an eighth and final galvanic anchor spell, before launching herself back towards the ship-chain.

When she landed back on its flat roof, she whirled, faced the attacking ship, then cast a basic lightning spell— one that would follow the trail between the galvanic anchors she’d cast.

Basic, however, didn’t mean weak.

She drained almost two-thirds of her lightning mana reservoir, sending a lightning bolt into the ship’s sails— one powerful enough that it almost overwhelmed her anti-glare cantrip protecting her eyes. She let it burn for ten whole heartbeats.

The lightning bolt should have incinerated the ship’s masts and sails. Instead, when the lightning bolt cleared, they were still there.

Oh, they were splintered, burning, and broken, and the enemy ship immediately slowed— Sabae had achieved her mission just fine— but her estimation of the power of Kemetrian rune-crafting increased quite a bit.

To Sabae’s displeasure, before the enemy ship fell behind entirely, quite a few attackers had time to board the ship-chain through the holes made by the armor that had crossed the gap before.

As the attacking ship fell back, it even managed to pull away so as not to strike the attacking ship that had boarded a few links in the ship-chain back. Sabae’s scowl grew even more at that— she should have used even more lightning mana, destroying the rigging even more thoroughly.

She shook her head. No time for second-guessing herself.

She looked around her to get a quick idea of how the battle was going. Godrick was in a fistfight with a suit of red-paper armor, his hammer and its bow lying just out of reach on the rooftop near them. Talia was still bombarding another ship, while Hugh was shoving enemies off the top of the ship-chain with the Stormward’s Crown.

Meanwhile, the ship-chain’s own defenders had finally started to respond. The sounds of combat were coming from below, and more than a few defenders had burst up onto the roof, including some paper armor belonging to the ship-chain itself.

Sabae’s eyes narrowed as she realized something.

All of the attackers wore well-made uniforms in the same shade of red as their suits of rune armor.

This wasn’t a pirate attack. This was far too organized for that.

The attackers also had far fewer tattoos than the Hebrastan soldiers— the tattoos that Sabae assumed were for linking to rune weapons were notably less common among them. Their gear was otherwise higher quality, though, and she didn’t see any of the partial armor among the defenders.

A few ship-chain links ahead, one of the large enemy ships with the weird, uh, spinny things had latched onto the side of the ship-chain. It was tall enough that boarders could easily hop over to the roof of the ship-chain, and a large force of soldiers and suits of rune armor were assembling.

Even as she watched, they began to move— but not to break down into the car below them.

No, they were marching towards the ship-chain’s own spinny thing.

Sabae jumped back towards her friends.

“Hugh, go help Godrick deal with that suit of armor, then I want the two of you to clear out the attackers in the car below. Talia, you’re coming with me.”

Talia barely had time to issue a protest before Sabae picked her up and storm-jumped towards the front of the ship-chain.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Armor Superiority

GODRICK HADN’T EXPECTED the paper armor to be stronger than his stone armor.

He was well-used to wrestling armor stronger than his own— he’d trained against his father for years, after all— but for all that he’d been impressed with the Kemetrian paper armor, he’d gone into this fight as though he could easily overpower the raider.

His overconfidence had cost him and immediately given the attacker the upper edge in their fight.

The other suit of armor was only a little stronger than his, though, and its superior strength was balanced by a couple other factors— most notably, the fact that Godrick’s stone armor drastically outweighed the other armor, even considering that the other suit had a solid two or three feet of height on him.

Godrick had no idea which of them was a better grappler.

As the two of them wrestled atop the ship-chain, Godrick gave up trying to see what was going on with his eyes. The glowing runes of the ship-chain and the attacking grass-ships blurred together with the runes on the enemy armor and the light from the ring above until everything around him was an indecipherable blur.

Instead, Godrick closed his eyes and focused his opal’s light fully on his opponent’s helmet.

Like his own armor, the paper armor was limited to human ranges of motion. If anything, his stone armor was actually a bit more flexible than the paper armor, especially now that it was being maintained by his armor elemental. Godrick didn’t really need to see to fight back— there were only a limited number of motions a human body could take from one position.

As the two of them brawled, Godrick reached out with his affinity senses. There was no steel or stone in the paper armor, and it was enclosed well enough to block his scent affinity— or, if there were vents, the alien runes somehow shielded them— but he could feel the edges of the ship-car roof via the nails used in its construction.

He was a little amazed at how well the roof was standing up to their wrestling— the combined weight of their armor was probably best measured in tons.

When he ran his steel sense over his gravity hammer, lying a dozen yards or so away, Godrick stopped trying to pin the other armor or break free— instead, he focused on getting his opponent in between him and his hammer.

His opponent, not expecting the move, was easy to maneuver. Their new position gave his opponent an almost assured pin in a normal grapple, but Godrick was hardly an ordinary grappler.

Godrick, his eyes still closed, smirked as he activated two spellforms— one stone, one steel.

A half-dozen stone spikes erupted out of the breastplate of his armor, slamming straight into the paper armor. Almost at the same instant, Godrick’s hammer, propelled by his magic, slammed into his opponent’s back.

The two of them were sent skidding apart by the double impacts. Godrick used the momentum to roll to his feet, opening his eyes and whirling to face his opponent as he did so.

The paper armor was hardly a moment behind him in climbing to its feet. It had grabbed one of its spilled arrows in one hand, clutching it like a dagger. Godrick’s spikes hadn’t punched through its chest, unfortunately, but hundreds of paper strips were falling off its chest, the runes dying and the paper crumbling as they fell.

Godrick charged towards the other armor, calling his hammer to one hand as he did so. The paper armor responded in kind, not even trying to go for its bow, just wielding an arrow in its fist.

Both of them were taken by surprise by a trio of floating crystals that shot between them, and then the red paper armor slammed face-first into a floating ward. Its feet kept moving forward, and a moment later, the paper-armored warrior was on their back on the ground.

Godrick didn’t slow down. He snatched his hammer out of mid-air, activated the repulsion spellforms on it, reinforced his swing with a steel spell, and batted the paper armor off the roof of the ship-chain like a ball.

Hugh jogged up as Godrick was catching his breath.

“You must have launched that suit, what, a hundred feet?” Hugh asked as he pulled the trio of floating crystals back into the Crown’s orbiting formation around himself.

Godrick shook his head and chuckled. “Fifty at most. Ah’d be shocked if ah did much damage ta’ it, though— that armor is absurdly tough.”

Hugh nodded. “I’m pretty sure any damage you do to it gets redirected into individual ribbons on the outside of the armor, so we should probably focus on knocking the armor off the ship-chain if we can. If not, we should focus on continual sources of damage or little swarm attacks, not heavy hits.”

Godrick nodded, then looked around at the battle raging up and down the ship-chain. “Where are the others?”

“They’re cutting off the forces going for the propulsion gyroscope. Sabae wants us to clear out the forces inside our car.”

Godrick nodded and slung his hammer over his shoulder. “Yeh think we should go down the way we came or swing through the side?”

“Way we came,” Hugh said. “Exposes us to enemy fire less.”

Godrick trotted towards the trapdoor. “Propulsion gyroscope, huh? Ah’ve been callin’ it an orrery drive.”

Hugh shrugged. “For all I know how it works, we might as well be calling it the big spinny thing.”

Godrick chuckled, then prepared himself for what was about to come.

Fighting armor bigger than his in an enclosed space?

Not exactly his idea of a good time.

Then Godrick paused and looked back.

There, lying on the roof of the ship-chain, was a massive, rune-covered bow, and a pile of equally rune-covered arrows.

A bit too big for him now, but…

With the way his armor elemental was growing more powerful over time?

A smile crossed Godrick’s face, one that would have been much better suited to Talia.

TALIA HAD TO fight back nausea for a moment as Sabae dumped her on the ship-chain roof, just a single ship back from the armillary engine.

“I can feel the armillary engine in my teeth,” Talia groused. “That’s so weird.”

Sabae glanced back at the colossal whirling contraption. “Yeah, me too. And armillary engine, huh? That’s a pretty good name.”

“What have you been calling it?” Talia asked.

Talia could have sworn Sabae blushed behind her storm armor. “I, uh… I’ve just been thinking of it as the big spinny thing.”

Talia let herself chuckle at that, then focused on their enemies.

Six of the huge suits of red paper armor were charging at them— most around twelve feet tall, one of them at least fifteen— backed up by at least a couple dozen soldiers. Only a few of the soldiers were wearing the movement-enhancing armor, but all the rest still had rune enhanced armor and weapons.

“How are we gonna play this one?” Talia asked. “You probably should have brought Hugh instead of me. He could have blocked off the route with wards.”

Sabae’s smile was visible even through her storm armor. “See, here I was thinking you’d enjoy a game of ‘see how much damage and destruction you can do without hitting the ship-chain’, but if you really don’t want to play…”

Talia scowled, then held up a finger. “Give me a second.”

She spent a few heartbeats considering options— dreamwasp swarms, dreamfire rays, bone needles— before realizing the perfect tool for the job. The advancing enemies had already started firing crossbow bolts in their general direction by the time she came to a decision, though none of them were coming close to them yet.

“Hey, Sabae? When I say jump, I want you to launch yourself up, then get ready to drop down on any survivors.”

“What are you planning?”

In one smooth motion, Talia pulled three carefully carved bone discs out from the storage tattoo around her mouth and threw them in a flat arc. At the same instant, she started channeling bone mana into them.

“Jump!” she yelled as she dropped flat against the rooftop.

Well, not entirely flat. She kept her head up enough that she could watch the fireworks.

As the three bone discs flew, they rapidly expanded in size. She’d shaved them almost paper-thin, so as they grew, they increased far more in diameter than in thickness. Their serrated, saw-blade edges glowed bright red as they expanded rapidly.

By the time the discs reached the enemy forces, they were each seven or eight feet across.

They sliced through the first few advancing troops like they weren’t even there. Then they hit the line of hulking paper armors, and lodged in their bulk.

Just for a heartbeat, of course. Then they exploded— because everything was better with explosions.

Razor-edged fragments of bonefire shot out horizontally in every direction, parallel to the roof of the ship-chain. The fragments dug into the red suits of armor, sliced through enemy soldiers, and rained down into the grass sea around the ship-chain.

When the trio of consecutive halo explosions finished, only four of the suits of armor were still standing— and only barely in a couple of those cases. Two had deep gouges, more than their damage redirection abilities had been able to compensate for. Two of the others were visibly smaller in size, having shed thousands of paper ribbons to survive the damage. They were still burning in places, as the ribbons failed to contain the fire.

All the suits of armor were shifting in a disturbing manner as the paper ribbons burrowed and shifted among themselves to return the armor to the correct shape— albeit smaller now.

Unfortunately, the largest of the armors hardly looked damaged, apart from having lost enough paper ribbons to have shrunk half a foot in height. It hadn’t even dropped its massive glowing halberd.

The grass sea had actually caught fire in a dozen patches where the bone shards had fallen, but it didn’t look very likely to spread as it rapidly receded behind them, to Talia’s mild disappointment. She would have liked to have set an entire ocean of grass on fire.

The roof of the ship-chain also seemed to have resisted catching on fire from the tumbling bone-shards, maybe due to anti-fire runes or something of the sort? They had to have them, otherwise building a giant wooden city like Hebrast would have been insane.

As for the enemies outside the suits of armor, well…

Literally one of them was still standing, and that was only because he’d been standing directly behind the largest suit of armor. The other enemy soldiers had all either been sliced apart by the discs, or shredded by the overlapping halos of bone shards when the discs exploded.

Talia smiled. Most of the carved bonefire weapon shapes she’d experimented with had been failures— some catastrophic ones— but the bone discs were possibly even more successful than the bone needles.

Possibly. They weren’t exactly as… precise as the needles.

The surviving enemies didn’t even have time to catch their bearings before Sabae crashed down into the middle of their group and detonated her storm armor.

Both of the more heavily damaged suits of armor and the surviving foot soldier were sent tumbling off the sides of the ship-chain. The remaining two suits were sent stumbling but managed to stay atop the ship-chain.

Talia was up and running the moment Sabae came crashing down. The instant she got up to speed, she launched herself into the air with her force boots, straight towards the biggest suit of armor. As she did so, she activated her enchanted bracers, and a dragonbone blade extended out of each, flat over the backs of her hands.

The tips of the blades dug into the chest of the biggest suit of red armor. The instant Talia felt herself slow, she activated the primary enchantment of her bracers, both on her arms and legs.

The kinetic anchors, to be specific.

Even with her scrimshaw ward bleeding off some of the force of coming to a halt in mid-air so abruptly, Talia’s hips and shoulders still ached from the stop.

The suit of armor, though, had it worse.

Literally all its considerable momentum— both from its sheer mass, and the high speed the ship-chain was traveling at— was brought to bear against the tips of Talia’s twin dragonbone blades.

The armored figure, its feet dragging on the ship-chain, likely would have slipped off Talia’s blades if it hadn’t almost immediately been shoved back against the other suit of armor, hammering the bigger suit down half the length of the dragonbone blades.

The other suit of armor was sent stumbling to one side, but the big one was lodged firmly on her blades. The grass sea stopped blurring around them, and instead, the ship-chain began zooming away beneath them. The armor’s feet clattered as they were dragged along the roof of the ships, and it desperately flailed in surprise.

Talia had stabbed the blades in so that their edges were almost perpendicular to the ground, the points tilted up just slightly, and as the armor was dragged along, the damage redistribution abilities of the armor were pushed head-to-head against gravity and the dragonbone blades.

And the dragonbone blades, held in place by the kinetic anchors, were winning.

Dozens of paper ribbons began disintegrating around the impact sites as the blades dug in, and the dissolution increased faster and faster.

Which, of course, was when Talia set the dragonbone blades on fire.

With that, she’d finally overwhelmed the armor’s ability to contain damage, and her blades slid into the armor itself like, well, paper.

The armor-bearer finally seemed to contain their panic and began battering away at Talia with its massive fists. It was still somehow holding onto the colossal halberd with one of them, and it couldn’t get that arm into a good position to hit her effectively, but the other fist slammed into her repeatedly.

To Talia’s mild alarm, each of the punches drained a remarkable amount of mana from her reservoirs as it battered against her scrimshaw ward. She took it from her new mana reservoirs first— her ten new ones, and the twelve tiny ones in her blue aether crystal ring.

All of them combined only sustained the ward for two hits, but Talia was a little surprised at how easily the spellforms on her bones handled converting so many types of mana.

She doubted Hugh had ever anticipated their four-way warlock pact. It had almost certainly just been cautious over-engineering on the part of him and Loarna when they’d designed her ward, probably over worries about dreamfire and bonefire volatility.

After that, the blows started draining her bone mana reservoir, but there was enough in there to last a little while, so Talia ignored the assault, and instead formed a dreamfire spellform in her mind’s eye.

A heartbeat later, a thick ray of dreamfire burst out of her mouth, slamming straight into the red paper armor’s helmet.

She didn’t need to fire it from her mouth— it was pure showmanship— but if you weren’t going to think about dramatic presentation when casting battle magic, what was even the point? You might as well just become an accountant or bureaucrat.

The ribbons of the helmet began sloughing off even faster than the ribbons around her burning wrist-blades. These dissolved into incoherent synaesthetic bursts— flashes of colors that sounded like drums, bright crimson sounds, and freezing cold smells.

The relative incoherency of these dreamfire results might be a product of the damage redirection, or possibly just of two magics alien to one another interacting, but Talia really didn’t care that much as the air around them was surrounded with a halo of mind-warping fireworks from the dissolving paper ribbons.

The armor’s blows began going awry as the bearer was presumably blinded by the dreamfire. Even if it hadn’t been blinded, of course, it wasn’t flexible enough to turn around and see the entire battle group of its allied red armors before it crashed right through them, sending them stumbling to the ground— and one of them over the side of the ship-chain.

It also dug Talia’s wrist blades down to their full length inside the armor.

The moment would hopefully give the outnumbered white and black defending armors a chance to turn the tide of battle, but Talia didn’t look back to check.

Largely because the paper armor was finally collapsing.

Another group of battling soldiers and armors dodged out of their way as the ship-chain raced beneath them, but Talia hardly paid attention as the upper torso of the red paper armor began unraveling completely.

She felt the ends of her blades slice through something that clearly wasn’t paper, then deactivated the kinetic anchors around her legs and planted them against the remnants of the armor’s torso.

Then, in a series of rapid motions, she deactivated her wrist anchors, retracted and extinguished her wrist blades, and blasted off from the armor’s torso with her force boots, draining every drop of mana in the boots’ mana reservoir.

Her jump wasn’t quite enough to match speeds with the ship-chain moving forwards below her, and she tumbled a bit before she came to a stop.

To her mild surprise, the armor hadn’t tumbled off the ship-chain. It had finally dropped its giant halberd and lay there motionlessly, its upper half a mess of loose ribbons and loops of paper.

It was too bad the armor was already red— if it had been white, it would have turned red.

Talia smiled and stretched. “I really, really needed this. Just some good old-fashioned violence. No ambiguous motives, no confusing intrigues or dangerous political currents, just me and a bunch of pirates that need blowing up.”

She sighed happily, then turned and began jogging along the moving roof back towards the front of the train.

Lots more pirates to kill.

HAVING HIS MAGIC back felt amazing to Hugh, but at the moment, he thought he might feel even better about the fact that he’d built the Stormward’s Crown.

As Godrick wrested with an axe-wielding suit of red armor behind him, Hugh manipulated his Crown nodes like a puppeteer, controlling the hallway intersection in front of him.

Long thin triangular wards raced along the floor, tripping red-uniformed enemy soldiers and red paper armor.

Equilateral triangle wards blocked the blows of attacking troops and armors, protecting defending soldiers.

A large rectangular ward held five enemy soldiers captive, pressing them hard against one wall of the intersecting hallway. At least until Hugh crystallized quartz spikes out of the barrel of sand in his storage tattoo and fired them into the enemy soldiers, whereupon he could then redirect the four crystal nodes into blocking off one end of a hallway, halting attacker reinforcements entirely.

He even used one Crown node as a simple bludgeon, repeatedly battering it into enemy soldiers like his old misshapen crystal he’d lost in Lothal.

Even diverting his attention so many ways, it definitely took some effort to ignore how weird it was to find an intersection of hallways inside a ship.

By the time Godrick had finished off the suit of paper armor he’d been grappling with— shredding its front with thousands of steel nails he’d pulled from his storage tattoo and set sliding at high speeds across the surface of his stone armor like some deranged giant rasp— Hugh had used the Stormward’s Crown to turn the battle in this link of the ship-chain entirely in the favor of the defenders.

“Think we should help more or head up top again?” Hugh asked.

Godrick hummed out loud as he examined the rune axe he’d claimed from the enemy armor. It looked to be the perfect size for him, and it burned with a particularly nasty green glow— Hugh had seen it slice several chunks of stone off Godrick’s armor with ease. He’d actually felt the crystal structure of Godrick’s armor dissolve entirely where the axe had touched it, even more rapidly than a crystal unlinking spell.

“Godrick?”

His friend started, then tucked his gravity hammer into his storage tattoo, just holding the axe. “Sorry, what?”

“Keep helping here, or go up top?”

Godrick paused to think for a moment as he played with the axe a bit. “Neither. Ah think we should head towards the front through the interior, look fer enemy troops inside the rest a’ the ship-chain.”

Hugh eyed the axe, then rolled his eyes. “You’re just looking for an excuse to use that instead of your hammer, aren’t you?”

Godrick shrugged and chuckled. “Ah mean… sure, it’s one a’ my motivations. Mah hammer’s definitely more useful in the open than down here. But it’s not a bad plan, by any means.”

Hugh shook his head, then set off down the hallway towards the next link in the ship-chain.

“Also,” Godrick added, “ah’m not actually sure how ta’ deactivate this thing’s enchantment, and ah don’t want it shredding everythin’ in mah storage tattoo.”

Hugh rolled his eyes again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Twin Dawns

BY DAWN, THE battle was over and done with.

Or, rather, by the first dawn. There were, apparently, two dawns on Kemetrias— the first of which they’d missed their first day on the world.

There was only one sun, but its light impacted the ring around the planet almost an hour before it rose over the horizon, making it almost too bright to look at, and lighting up the sea of grass around the ship-chain. The light it cast was more silvery than the light of the sun, giving the nearly featureless landscape around them an eerie cast as they slid through it.

Hugh didn’t think he was flattering himself when he said that he and his friends had turned the tide of the battle. The attacking red-uniformed troops had hugely outnumbered the defenders— as had the red paper armor. As for the partially armored enemy troops, the ones wearing the motion-enhancing incomplete paper armor— the defenders had fewer than a dozen black-clad troops wearing the stuff, all defending some important personage, and they’d only shown up near the end of the fight.

Hugh couldn’t say he had a particularly high opinion of the partial armor, but then, it obviously hadn’t been designed for Anastan battle spells in mind. It seemed more than effective enough to let them get an advantage against regular Kemetrian soldiers and even survive a little while against the full paper armor.

Hugh had been expecting Mackerel to be irritated at them for not waking him and letting him sleep through an entire battle, but he’d found, to his surprise, that Mackerel was nowhere to be found in their rooms.

A little bit of searching later, they found an absolutely filthy Mackerel lying on top of a disturbingly large pile of enemy corpses in one of the rear-most passenger barges, all of which appeared to have been killed by massive blunt force trauma, the combined force and frost blasts from Mackerel’s strap, or just by terrifying numbers of papercuts.

None of the corpses had hats or helmets, and Mackerel looked disturbingly pleased with himself.

“See, he really is maturing,” Sabae said.

Everyone, including Mackerel, gave her puzzled looks.

“He’s tidying up after himself now!” Sabae continued, gesturing at the pile.

Mackerel’s confused look shifted to a deeply offended one.

Despite their victory in the night, the four of them found themselves unsettled and disturbed by the battle.

Kemetrian forces were, by their best estimation, frankly superior to Anastan ones.

A common Kemetrian soldier with rune-enchanted gear was at least equal to an apprentice mage, if not a weaker battle mage. Certainly far superior to a non-mage Anastan soldier. Their armor and weapons were startlingly durable.

The soldiers with the partial motion-enhancing armor were hard to judge by Anastan standards, but they were certainly not to be dismissed entirely.

The paper armor, though…

Even a small suit of the full armor was probably equivalent to a powerful battlemage or weaker Anastan archmage. Maybe not as destructive, but astonishingly harder to kill. The bigger suits they’d faced had been absurdly hard to destroy, even for Talia. By the end of the battle, the four of them had drained most of their mana reservoirs and were all exhausted.

None of them could even guess how powerful the truly big suits were— like the forty-foot one they’d seen in Hebrast’s labyrinth fortress.

And they’d seen hundreds of suits of paper armor in just a couple of days on Kemetrias, and they were no doubt just seeing the tip of the iceberg.

They also didn’t have a good of idea how powerful rune-inscribed siege weapons were. And with Kemetrias’ assorted levitation barges, not to mention the hovering grass ships and the ship-chains, they could move armies and supplies far more effectively than Anastan armies.

If Kemetrian forces ever showed up on Anastis, they would rip through the armies and mages of their homeland like a hot knife through butter. The Ithonian great powers might be able to turn back any such invasion eventually, but…

There were good reasons that all combat didn’t devolve to great powers, and why armies and mage corps were still necessary for warfare. No great power could be everywhere, and many of them were highly limited in how long they could sustain combat at full strength.

Hugh really hoped there was no way to move armies through labyrinths or that there were no other ways to move between universes.

Several clues he’d run across in Galvachren’s Guide to Worlds, unfortunately, hinted otherwise.

During the conversation, Godrick did at least finally manage to figure out how to deactivate the bizarre, matter-ripping green glow on his new rune axe.

One particularly strange thing happened while they were in their rooms between the two dawns.

A rune appeared in the sky.

Clouds boiled out of nowhere, drawing a massive circle, filled with angular lines. It almost reminded Hugh of a spellform from back home but was still clearly a Kemetrian rune.

The wind stopped completely in a perfect circle beneath the weird cloud rune.

Not one any of them recalled seeing before, but then they’d only been here a couple of days, and had hardly tried to memorize any of the runes covering Hebrast or the ship-chain.

The instant the rune appeared, yelling started around the train. The four of them rushed out of their suite, expecting another attack, only to find a truly bizarre sight.

The passengers and soldiers were all rushing to the windows to stare at the cloud rune. Within seconds of staring at it, each collapsed to the ground, convulsing in a brief seizure.

They picked themselves up quickly, though, and were all seemingly overjoyed about the cloud rune.

Hugh and his friends exchanged puzzled looks, then returned to their suite.

Even after each of them peeked at the rune several more times, none of them had a reaction even remotely similar to the other passengers.

The four of them were too alert from the battle still to sleep, so when true dawn finally rose over the grass sea and messengers came to summon the four of them before some important figure, they were still wide awake, discussing matters they couldn’t possibly figure out with the limited information they had.

HER ADVISERS HAD recommended against it, but the instant the serpent barge had been confirmed free of attacking rebels, Princess Takhanan had the strangers summoned to her traveling throne room inside the next-to-foremost ship of the serpent barge.

Even if the strangers hadn’t proved themselves immensely dangerous during the battle, and potentially a threat to the royal person, there was much more to do. Captured, red-clothed Bezans to be interrogated, repairs to the serpent barge to be accomplished, and, most of all, a new rune to be analyzed. Greeting strange warriors was hardly a wise use of her time.

However…

It had been fifteen years since the last important rune had been born, and their sole possession of the rune had given the Bezan family power enough to launch their rebellion against her father’s reforms. This new rune, if useful enough, could potentially turn the tide against the rebels entirely, ending their attempts to turn back the march of history.

Takhanan couldn’t help but think the strangers were somehow associated with the appearance of the new rune.

The instant the four warriors walked in the door, her elderly chaperone, Yorta, leaned over and whispered in her ear: “Demons.”

Takhanan rolled her eyes at the old woman’s superstitions and took her time judging the four.

Despite her better knowledge, part of her immediately agreed with Yorta.

Unnatural eye colors, exotic garb, mysterious powers, foreign appearances…

No. Princess Takhanan was a woman of science. These were no underworld monsters. Travelers from far Cupris, perhaps? The snow-filled forests and red stone mountains of the distant continent were rumored to be filled with strange creatures and even stranger runes, ones that could accomplish seemingly impossible tasks.

As they approached, Takhanan was relieved to see that the blue woman was, in fact, merely tattooed to a ridiculous degree. She had thought she had seen every color of skin before, but blue had somewhat beggared belief.

The four strangers came to a halt several feet closer to Takhanan than propriety demanded, and several of her guards shuffled angrily. Her sworn knights stood motionless, but the runes on their bulky armor rippled slightly, in a pattern Takhanan recognized as anger.

Takhanan gave a subtle hand sign for her guards to stand down. None of them look pleased about it, but their grips on their weapons loosened, and they relaxed their stances.

Takhanan kept studying the strangers and came to the surprising conclusion that they were even younger than she was.

“Welcome, strangers,” Princess Takhanan said.

The tall scarred girl— the one said to be capable of leaps almost like flight, said something utterly incomprehensible.

Takhanan just blinked at her in confusion. She spoke half a dozen languages, and had heard dozens more, but that was no tongue she was familiar with.

So she tried again, this time in the slow, rolling, syllable-dense speech of the Karai herdsmen. Hardly anyone else in Hebrast spoke the tongue of their hated southern enemies, who trampled the sea around them with their tens of thousands of rune-armored behemoths every time they tried another invasion, but Takhanan figured it was worth a try. Surely, others had tried the more common languages with the strangers already.

The four just stared blankly at her.

Or… five? Takhanan noticed that the short, pale man’s crystal book seemed to be twitching, and she got the distinct impression that it was staring at her.

She shook her head, then tried again, this time in the tongue of the reclusive Sieme, who only left their mountainous monasteries to trade and carry the sacred falcons they bred to shrines across the grass sea.

The strangers looked even more baffled at that.

On trying the language of the far-traveling Radhan merchants, recognition sparked in the eyes of at least one of the strangers, but it was clear after a moment that while they had heard Radhan speech before, they didn’t understand it or speak it.

Takhanan was ready to try every language she knew when the tall scarred girl stepped forward, and a strange green tattoo appeared on her arm.

Her guards tensed once more, but Takhanan flashed the hand sign for calm.

When a sheet of paper appeared from nowhere in the girl’s hand, Takhanan barely managed to maintain her own calm.

The girl gestured with the paper, and Takhanan, curious, gestured to one of the guards to retrieve it.

When she read it, her curiosity quickly turned to pity. “Oh, you poor things. I am so sorry.”

The strangers just gave her more puzzled looks.

“Any need these poor souls have is to be met even before my own,” Takhanan declared to her traveling court. “We will not stop the serpent barge today for repairs but will perform them on the move, so as to not delay their journey.”

“Your Highness,” the serpent barge captain interjected from one side. “That will cause immense strain to the engine as well as systems all throughout the serpent. I…”

Takhanan gestured at him for silence. To quell any hard feelings, though, she had the letter from Sir Apchek carried to the captain, whose concerns were quickly replaced by his own look of pity.

Takhanan exchanged a few mutually incomprehensible prayers for good fortune with the lost souls, then had their letter returned to them before they were escorted out.

“That explains the new rune,” Yorta muttered as the door closed behind the sad creatures.

The princess nodded. The appearance of lost souls frequently heralded the birth of new runes, especially when they involved themselves with consequential earthly affairs.

“Do the scholars have any ideas about the function of the new rune?” she asked.

One of her scribes nodded. “It’s a subject rune, we know that for sure. It seems to be related to crystals somehow?”

Takhanan raised an eyebrow at that. “A subject rune for crystals?”

The scribe shook his head. “No, not crystals in general. This seems to be a rune for… something inside crystals? Their structure, maybe?”

She raised her other eyebrow. That sounded… interesting. Something so esoteric was bound to have fascinating applications. Again and again over the centuries, many of the most useless-seeming runes had proved some of the most revolutionary.

Though, of course, many still valued runes of strength, heat, and other such ostentatiously useful forms more. More fools them.

“We need to act now if we are to contain this rune, Your Highness,” the captain of her guard offered. “Even if it is so weak and specific, it offers us the chance to turn the tides even farther against House Bezan. We must secure everyone aboard this train, so that they might not share the new rune freely.”

Takhanan shook her head. “Then we would be no better than they are. No, we keep to my father’s reforms, and share the rune with everyone in Hebrast.”

“But…”

“Have not my father’s commands brought unprecedented prosperity to the grass sea, these past decades?”

The guard captain bowed her head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Takhanan could tell the woman was unconvinced and continued her explanation. “This raid was an act of desperation, Captain. Every year, the rune workshops of the Bezans fall behind our own. They work their inscribers like slaves, keep them in secured compounds so they might not teach their runes without permission, all to hoard their own power. No, my father’s open sharing of runes is the way of the future. The Bezan’s secret rune gives them strength, but their top-heavy structure holds them back. Every major technological innovation of the war has been ours for years now, and their secret rune isn’t enough to keep up.”

It was nothing the captain hadn’t heard before, but even the bravest soldiers needed reassurance at times.

The captain’s doubts quelled, Princess Takhanan turned to other business.

There had been much work even before the attack, and now? Now she feared she would get precious little sleep before they arrived at Mount Mulberry.

AS HUGH AND his friends left the throne room of the strange, wealthy girl, he shook his head.

“I’m absolutely sure that was Radhan she was speaking.”

“We’ve heard it, what, once or twice?” Sabae said doubtfully.

Hugh blushed. “Actually, uh… Avah spoke it to me a few times in private when we were still dating. Never told me what any of it meant, but… that was definitely the Radhan language in there.”

To his mild relief, Talia didn’t react poorly to the confession. Not that he’d even remotely expected her to— his girlfriend might be a bit of a homicidal maniac, but she had a healthy lack of jealousy or insecurity about their relationship.

Didn’t stop Hugh from being anxious about it, of course, but he doubted all the great powers of Ithos combined could stop his anxiety from rearing its head whenever it felt like it.

“Ah’m just curious how she knew the Radhan language,” Godrick said. “Has she been ta’ Anastis?”

Hugh shook his head. “No, hold on a second.”

He scowled as he tried to remember what was…

“The greater Radhan fleet!” he burst out.

The others looked at him curiously.

“It was in one of Kanderon’s messages that Mackerel intercepted when we were looking for Imperial Ithos,” Hugh continued. “It mentioned something about the ‘greater Radhan fleet’ readying to rescue their brethren from the Cold Minds.”

“Rescue them and take them to where?” Sabae demanded. “If the Cold Minds had shown up on Anastis, the whole universe would have died. Where would they have sailed off to then? Were they supposed to…”

Sabae trailed off, and a look of realization came over her. “The Radhan live on multiple worlds, don’t they?”

Hugh nodded. “I think so. I’ll browse through Galvachren’s Guide when we get back to our rooms, see if I can find any mention of them or the greater Radhan fleet. At least, if any mention hasn’t all been redacted by whoever censored the book.”

Sabae yawned, which kicked off the rest of them yawning too.

“Maybe yeh should wait until after yeh catch up on sleep,” Godrick said.

“When you do, also look around to see if you can find any clues as to who censored Galvachren’s Guide,” Sabae said.

Hugh started to agree, then yawned again.

“You know what I really want to know?” Talia asked. “What that letter says. Every time someone reads it, they start treating us weird.”

They all nodded at that.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

A Mutual Interrogation

THE REST OF the trip went almost entirely smoothly. No pirate attacks and no giant furred snakes attacking the ship-chain. No danger of any kind.

A small bird somehow got into their chambers at one point, which led to a ridiculous chase to stop Mackerel from trying to eat the poor thing.

The rest of the passengers and the ship-chain crew were unfortunately deferential and stared at them creepily whenever they left their rooms, but Hugh was happy to spend just about all the time left on the trip in their chambers, watching the grass sea pass by.

The trip took a couple more days than had been planned— the ship-chain seemed to have been damaged by the battle— but Hugh and his friends were in no particular hurry and were glad to take the time to rest and start training each other on the theory behind their new affinities.

They passed by a number of behemoth-back tent villages during the trip, a couple of them close enough to wave at. The giant, furred lizards and the nomads living on their backs didn’t seem at all alarmed by the ship-chain— they were a common enough sight on the grass sea, it seemed.

The four of them had a long, lazy, pointless argument about how the ship-chain crew avoided hitting any of the behemoths when moving so fast, which Hugh thoroughly enjoyed.

It got cut off a bit early when they discovered that Mackerel had somehow poured himself a bath and was in the process of drenching their restroom as he splashed around in the tub.

Sabae, of course, insisted that it was a sign that Mackerel had grown up even more, that he was taking care of his own hygiene now.

As Hugh shook his spellbook to get gallons and gallons of water out of Mackerel’s extraplanar storage, he just shook his head as Mackerel glared.

Sabae had to be joking, just to irritate Mackerel, surely.

For all the peace of the last few days of the trip, however, there was one particularly strange incident the night before they arrived at Mount Mulberry.

MACKEREL HAD ALREADY fallen asleep by the window in their suite, and the four of them were winding down for the evening when someone slipped into their room.

Hugh had automatically reached out with his affinity senses for the Stormward’s Crown when he heard the door open, but he didn’t bother to pull it from his storage tattoo when he saw their visitor.

It was the judgmental old woman who’d been standing by… whoever the important woman they’d been taken to meet had been.

“Do you idiots have any idea the kind of trouble you’ve caused?” the old woman demanded, in a thick but understandable accent.

“You speak Ithonian?” Sabae demanded.

“You’re lucky I do,” the old woman snapped. “I can’t believe your superiors would let you wander outside of our enclave in Hebrast. Or do they even know you’ve left?”

Hugh started to respond, puzzled, but the old woman didn’t give him a chance.

“No, there aren’t any big enough idiots there who’d allow you to roam free without knowing the local languages, even if you Ithonians are mostly useless at learning new tongues. You snuck off, didn’t you? Snuck off, interfered with local politics, showed offworld magic to uninducted locals, and used enough of that magic in battle to trigger the formation of a whole new rune, which is the last thing Kemetrias needs. This damnable magitech revolution is already catching the attention of scouts from multiple planar hordes. The Scaled Khanate is only a few membranes away. They’d only need to rip open two, maybe three worldgates, and then, hurrah, the skies of Kemetrias are filled with hundreds of thousands of dragons, all determined to loot this world and knock its civilization back to hunter-gatherer levels. And that’s a best-case scenario— we could attract the attention of one of the non-draconic hordes. This new rune you’ve created, if it advances Kemetrian magitech enough, could provoke action years before we’d feared. And we are absolutely not ready to fight off a Cull.”

The old woman finally stopped to draw a breath, and Godrick started to speak up, but she immediately cut him off.

“Don’t get me wrong, you prevented me from having to intervene and blow my cover— I’ve spent decades infiltrating the royal family, to try and slow the impacts of their policies. And I’m sure the Expansionists would have loved for my cover to have been blown— I wouldn’t be surprised if they were behind this attack, they’ve been steering the Bezan Clan for years now. But that’s not enough to make up for the damage you’ve done. Who’s your superior?”

“Who the storms are you?” Sabae demanded.

The woman snorted in disgust. “You’re even greener than I’d thought, if you don’t recognize me. My name is Yorta of the Fourth Spring Conjunction, and right now, I have the power to decide any number of creative punishments for what you’ve done. Assignment to Ishvean drudge-prayer duties for the next decade, maybe?"

Hugh shook his head, utterly baffled.

“What in the name of the Hundred Clans are you talking about?” Talia demanded. “What’s a Cull, who are the Scaled Khanate, and why would you possibly have any power over us?”

Yorta froze. “You’re… Oh, hell.”

The old woman started pacing. “You’re not Anastan initiates on your first offworld station, are you?” she demanded.

“We’ve got no idea who yeh are or what yeh’re talkin’ about,” Godrick said.

“You’re… ah, damn. You’re really just random Ithonian mages who managed to wander off-world? What, through a labyrinth?”

Sabae leaned forwards. “Trade. We’ll answer one of your questions for each one of ours you answer.”

Yorta thought for a moment, then nodded. “Agreed, but I retain the right to veto questions. If I do, you get more until you find one I’m comfortable answering.”

“Same for us, and it’s agreed.”

Yorta nodded. “Now, how did you get to Kemetrias? By labyrinth? There definitely aren’t any worldgate routes here from Anastis.”

Sabae nodded. “By labyrinth, yes. What’s this mysterious organization you work for?”

Yorta glared at her. “Don’t give me that minimal answers nonsense. If you want to play that game, I’ll play too, and I promise, I’m better at it. Detailed answers if you want detailed answers.”

Sabae considered, then nodded. “Hugh, show her the book.”

Hugh gave her a puzzled look, then glanced at Mackerel, who was still sleeping.

Sabae sighed. “No, not Mackerel, the… Show her Galvachren’s Guide.

Hugh nodded and pulled the Guide out of his storage tattoo. “We used this to plan a route through the labyrinths. We got here through Apoptis.”

Yorta’s eyes widened at seeing the Guide, and she stalked over and flipped it open.

After a few minutes, her lips pursed. “It’s a redacted copy, at least. Put it away. That thing’s potentially more dangerous here than any new rune.”

Hugh made the immense spellbook disappear back into his storage tattoo, but the instant he did so, Yorta snatched his wrist and carefully inspected his green tattoo until it faded.

Then she leveled her eyes at his. “And what was your starting point on Ithos?”

Sabae coughed. “I think we’ve given you a fair amount of detail for one question.”

Yorta stared at Hugh a moment longer, then dropped his wrist and walked away.

“What’s this mysterious organization you belong to that recruits Ithonians and has enclaves in Hebrast?” Sabae demanded.

“Can’t tell you. Ask another question,” Yorta snapped.

“It doesn’t just recruit on Ithos, it has enclaves there too, doesn’t it?” Sabae demanded.

“Can’t answer that either,” Yorta said, but Hugh noticed Sabae smile at that answer.

“How did you learn Ithonian?” Sabae asked.

Yorta paused, then smiled. “Very clever. Because I spent a decade living there in my youth. And no, I won’t tell you where specifically, but…”

Yorta raised one hand, and a flickering flame appeared above her palm. “I picked up some tricks while I was there.”

She closed her fist, snuffing the flame. “Where is your home?”

Hugh almost answered, but Sabae cut him off. “Vetoing that. Besides, I suspect you have an idea already.”

Yorta kept her face studiously blank. “Where are you going?”

Sabae considered that for a moment, then nodded at Hugh to answer.

“We’re heading to Limnus next, then from there back to Anastis,” he said.

At that, Yorta laughed. “You’re worldhopping as a shortcut for conventional travel? The lot of you are mad. And going through Limnus? Audacious, but not the worst choice, if you can survive the weather. Since you survived Apoptis, I imagine you’ve got a plan for Limnus, though. Your turn.”

“What are the hordes, the Scaled Khanates, and Culls?” Talia demanded before Sabae could say anything.

Yorta raised an eyebrow at that. “Not allowed to say, but I let slip more than enough for you to figure it out already. Next question, and hurry— I haven’t got long before I need to slip back.”

Sabae spoke quickly this time, to head off further Talia interruptions. “Are any organizations from other worlds, including your own, interfering with the war on the Ithonian continent right now?”

Yorta shook her head. “I can’t answer that question, but you’re a clever girl, aren’t you? Figure that one out yourself.”

Sabae scowled.

Then, surprising everyone, including himself, Hugh found himself asking a question. “Does your organization defend the worlds it infiltrates or just meddle with them? Are you going to protect Kemetrias from this… Scaled Khanate?”

Yorta gave him a glare, but it quickly softened, and she sighed. “Of course we’re going to try and protect Kemetrias. This is my homeworld, I wouldn’t be part of an organization that would abandon it. If we have enough time to prepare, maybe we could even succeed, but I doubt it. The Hordes hate each other, but all of them will cooperate to ensure a Cull succeeds, and I promise you, the Scaled Khanate is far from the most dangerous of the Hordes. And if a similar threat faced Ithos, we’d try as well. Probably have a lot more luck there. We’re not some group of evil masterminds.”

Hugh gave her a searching look, then nodded slowly.

“Last question, then I need to go,” Yorta said. “Are you knowingly associated with any multiversal travelers or organizations, and did they send you on your mission?”

“Probably, and no,” Sabae said.

Yorta raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“We’ve had close contact with a double handful of great powers, and we suspect some of them to have had multiversal travels, but we don’t know which ones, or how much,” Sabae continued. “None of them sent us, though. We’re here against the will of a couple of them, in fact.”

Yorta’s other eyebrow raised at that. “Not a position I’d like to be in. Anastan great powers are a nasty bunch, and some of them are powerful enough to give even the lesser Named pause. Now, I need to go. Remember, I was never here, you don’t know me, and do try not to upend the course of Kemetrian history again, please?”

Then Yorta slipped back out the door, and they were all left staring at her.

“She is so full of shit,” Sabae finally said.

SABAE HAD HUGH ward the chamber with chalk as well as wake up Mackerel to have him block scrying, before she would let them talk about anything Yorta had said.

“She was screwing with us,” Sabae said, pacing.

“You think she lied to us?” Hugh asked.

Sabae shook her head. “No. She let us go way too easily, with far too few questions. I don’t think she even really cared that much about most of our answers after she realized we weren’t part of her mysterious organization.”

“Why would she do that?” Talia asked.

Sabae shook her head. “All I’ve got is wild speculation, but…”

“She’s playin’ some sorta game, and we’re just pieces,” Godrick said.

Sabae nodded. “She sees us as an opportunity, but against who, I have no idea. I think… I think she actually might be pleased about the new rune but can’t show it? I still don’t understand how we created a new rune, or what that really even means, though.”

“It was the weird cloud symbol, right?” Hugh asked.

“Has ta’ have been,” Godrick replied.

Sabae started pacing even faster. “She mentioned someone called the Expansionists— are they part of her organization? Some other organization entirely?”

Hugh just shrugged.

Sabae halted her pacing and cursed. “Ah, storms. She got one more answer than we did, too.”

Needless to say, they didn’t get to sleep for hours as they tried to figure out what, exactly, was going on.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Mount Mulberry

THEY DIDN’T EVEN see Yorta again before they arrived at the triple peaks of Mount Mulberry, let alone get a chance to speak to her.

The mountain had never really been out of sight on their trip— according to Galvachren’s Guide, Kemetrias dwarfed most inhabited worlds in size, accounting both for its distant horizon and the slow rate things receded past the horizon.

There was a whole section after that describing the planet’s low density and lack of certain metals to explain the gravity feeling like that of a smaller planet, but, as the ship-chain drew close to the base of Mount Mulberry, Hugh and the others really weren’t too worried about those concerns.

Apart from planetary curvature, there was an obvious reason the triple peaks of the mountain were visible from so far away— Mount Mulberry was big enough to challenge the giant peaks in the very heart of the Skyreach Range. And it was far more weathered and rounded than they were, indicating that it had been even more immense once.

One of the sides of Mount Mulberry was a surprisingly gradual slope, leading up to an immense, heavily forested valley nestled between the mountain’s three peaks. Even from here, they could see the city nestling in the heart of that valley— it was no Hebrast, or even a Theras Tel, but it was surely big enough to rival Lothal or Zophor in size. Despite that, the size of the valley around it still made the city look small.

“There’s no way this is natural,” Godrick insisted, waving at the mountain. “Yeh never get a mountain this big just randomly hangin’ around, with nothin’ else around it.”

“What about volcanoes?” Talia asked.

“It’s not a volcano,” Hugh said. “It’s limestone.”

He stretched out his affinity senses as the ship-chain slowed down near the base of the gradual slope. “Actually, it’s… just a big hunk of limestone, as far as my senses can reach. I’m not feeling any layering at all. Or fossils, either.”

Godrick gave him an incredulous look, then turned his attention on the mountain. “That makes no sense. Ah’ll bet yeh we run across plenty a’ layers a' stone farther up the mountain.”

Hugh shrugged. “Maybe this mountain wasn’t formed by normal mountain-building means? Maybe it’s just an erosional remnant, rather than being pushed up from below.”

Godrick frowned, then nodded. “Yeh might have somethin’ there. Big limestone karst gets eroded away, leaves this and a few other smaller karst remnants, then the basalt floods come in and cover everythin’ else up. Bein’ fossil-free is still bizarre, though.”

“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” Sabae said.

Talia shook her head as well.

Godrick chuckled. “Yeh want ta’ learn stone magic, yeh’ll need ta’ learn this stuff eventually.”

Sabae and Talia looked less than entirely thrilled by that.

“It still doesn’t make sense that such a large chunk a’ the karst would avoid gettin’ eroded away,” Godrick said. “Somethin’ has ta’ have slowed its weatherin’.”

“It’s labyrinths, maybe? Having three of them on one mountain has to be doing something weird to it,” Hugh offered.

Talia and Sabae both seemed immensely relieved when the ship-chain came to a halt at a wooden unloading platform similar to the ones in Hebrast, and it was time to disembark.

THE MOUNT MULBERRY docks were smaller and less crowded than the Hebrast docks, but that was like saying a beehive was less busy than an ant-hill. Technically true, but bustling was still the best adjective to describe either of them. Dozens of ships were loading and unloading in sight, and another ship-chain, albeit smaller than theirs, was preparing for departure at the other end of the grass-port.

And, everywhere he looked, he saw bales and bolts of silk being loaded onto ships.

Hugh was deeply grateful for their storage tattoos as they debarked from the ship-chain— trying to carry travel packs through the crowds would have been a nightmare.

After a quarter-hour of struggling through crowds, they finally found themselves facing the slope up the mountain. Ahead of them, a long, gently switchbacking road crossed the miles between them and the forested valley far above them.

They would not, thankfully, have to walk the whole way up to the city— there were dozens of carts, both wheeled and hovering, ready to transport passengers up.

They ended up renting a particularly comfortable hover-cart, pulled by a pair of the huge, fluffy, ostrich-like birds that were so common both here and in Hebrast.

To his minor relief, one of the birds was chewing on some greenery the owner had tossed out for it, confirming Sabae’s earlier claim that they were probably vegetarian.

Hugh wasn’t particularly fond of giant birds, he had to say. None of them were after running into the terror birds in Skyhold’s labyrinth at the end of their second year.

After some haggling involving the usual amount of hand gestures, charades, and incomprehensible exclamations on both sides, they all loaded into the comfortable seats of the hover-barge, and the birds took off at a trot.

It wasn’t quite as smooth of a ride as the ship-chain had been, but it was far smoother and faster than a wheeled wagon would have been— the people taking those looked miserable and were being bounced all over the place.

The trip up to the forest took a little under an hour, and Hugh and his friends used the time to enjoy the view as they climbed the slope. By the time they were halfway up, the view seemed to stretch on forever.

They could not, unfortunately, see Hebrast yet, but they started placing bets on whether they’d be able to as they climbed.

Hugh bet that they would be able to see it after they departed the central valley but before they reached their exit labyrinth.

Even on such a relatively short trip, they did some training— nothing visible, but they worked on using their affinity senses around them, trying to detect the winds above them and stone below them.

By the time they reached the forested valley, they were clearly higher than the peak of Skyhold, and Hugh found himself stunned at how far he could see— the only thing he could compare it to was their flights on Kanderon’s back last summer.

The valley was an abrupt change when they reached it. The slope leveled out abruptly, and Hugh and Godrick both immediately detected the difference.

“Definitely glacier-carved,” Godrick said.

“You think glaciers carved out the lowlands the basalt flooded over?” Hugh asked.

Godrick shrugged. “Ah couldn’t say, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe the labyrinths kept the worst a’ the glaciers off the mountain?”

Hugh shrugged at that— no way to tell without digging deep enough for their affinity senses to stretch past the flood basalts below the grass sea. Even then, it would probably be hard to tell.

“Alright, how can you tell this is a glacial valley? Is it just your affinity senses or something?” Sabae demanded.

It was actually Talia who answered. “They don’t need affinity senses, it’s pretty obvious— the valley walls and floor are curved. River valleys have a sharp angle.”

She scowled when everyone looked at her in surprise. “What? I’ve lived in the mountains most of my life. We had six or seven glaciers within a few days’ travel from Hold Castis.”

Hugh nodded. “We had a handful higher up in the mountains in Emblin, though not as many as in the Skyreach Range. Though I never learned about any of this stuff until Skyhold— a bunch of my crystal magic lessons were basically just stolen from stone magic curricula since rocks are the most common source of crystal around.”

To Sabae’s visible relief, their entry into the forest cut off the conversation about rocks.

They immediately understood why it was called Mount Mulberry. Hugh wasn’t sure he saw more than a handful of trees that weren’t mulberries in the forest.

The one thing he didn’t see, however, were spiders. Given the sheer amount of silk at the Mount Mulberry docks, he’d expected the forest to be absolutely full of spider farms.

Instead, the forest was just filled with workers harvesting the trees. And, for some inexplicable reason, they weren’t focusing on the berries— the workers were filling their sacks with mulberry leaves.

None of the others had any idea what that was about, either.

They did see quite a few armed guards patrolling the mulberry forests and the road, as well as escorting the workers— which made sense, given the presence of three labyrinths on the mountain. There had to be plenty of monster escapes to worry about.

Weirdly, the guards seemed to be eying the passing wagons as well. Surely, there weren’t people out there trying to steal mulberry leaves in an entire forest of mulberries?

Though, now that he thought of it, it seemed unlikely that this was entirely natural— maybe the city had cultivated the mulberries?

Alustin would have known, Hugh was sure. Or, at least, with his fascination with agriculture, he could have ventured a guess as to what was going on here. He…

Hugh remembered what Alustin had done to him— done to Kanderon— then sighed. “We really need to stop dancing around the subject of Alustin.”

Everyone shot him surprised looks.

“Ah mean… ah think we’re mostly worried about how yeh’re feelin’,” Godrick said. “But it’s not like we’re avoidin’ the subject entirely.”

Hugh shook his head. “I’ve already told you, I’m… well, I’m not fine, but I’m not… I don’t need vengeance. We need to stop Alustin because he’s threatening to kill countless innocents with a weapon he doesn’t understand. And right now, we don’t even have a strategy if we have to face him. When we have to face him. We need to get the Tongue Eater away from him before he can destroy it, and there’s no way Alustin doesn’t have a plan for dealing with us.”

There was an awkward silence before Sabae spoke up. “Well, there’s our new affinities. He’s definitely not going to be expecting that. Or Talia’s plan for us to each develop siege magic with one of our affinities.”

“I’m sure he still knows how to beat each of our individual affinities and will be able to adapt quickly enough to us sharing them,” Hugh pointed out. “We need an actual strategy before we fight him.”

Godrick looked ready to say something, but Talia spoke up angrily before he could. “I still don’t understand why he just… abandoned us. Never even tried to recruit us or use us, just threw us away like that.”

“Because he wanted ta’ use Hugh ta’ get at Kanderon, and he knew we’d be against him the moment he hurt Hugh,” Godrick said.

A weird expression crossed Sabae’s face. “Maybe, but… look, we’ve had enough people, including your father, describe Alustin’s style to us. Alustin’s rarely a grand schemer— he finds tools, then improvises with them. His current behavior is the first actual plan we’ve ever seen from him. When he recruited us, there’s no way he could have expected Hugh to pact with Kanderon. In over eight centuries of life, Kanderon never once took on a warlock. No, Hugh was just bait for Bakori. He recruited me for the connections with my family, and he recruited Talia because…”

“He recruited me to turn me into a weapon,” Talia interrupted bitterly. “To turn all of us into weapons. Then he threw me— threw us— away.”

They all just stared at her for a moment.

Hugh noticed the driver was giving them weird looks but ignored the man.

“We’re not weapons,” he told Talia.

“Of course we are. It’s just like Amalda Veil said— Alustin turned us into child weapons, child soldiers. Then he threw us away, barely used,” Talia responded. “Sabae’s said as much before, too.”

Hugh shook his head. “No, I mean… you’re not wrong, but it’s also not the complete story. Yes, Alustin used us as weapons, but we’re not just weapons. There’s more to us than that. We have worth outside our power.”

Talia sighed, then shook her head. “Sure. I just… Let’s not argue about this right now. You’re right, we need a plan for Alustin.”

Talia didn’t give anyone else a chance to speak before she started arguing that they should start by cataloging Alustin’s known capabilities.

Hugh exchanged worried looks with his friends before letting himself be drawn along by Talia. Even Mackerel was giving the redhead a worried look.

WHEN THEY FINALLY reached the city walls, they were in the middle of trying to estimate the sizes of Alustin’s mana reservoir. They had no real way to estimate his farsight affinity reservoir’s size— probably considerable since Alustin was considered a powerful seer— and his ink mana reservoir was likely still small, though none of them doubted that Alustin would be taking risky paths to increase its size rapidly. All they had was loose, unreliable estimates for the two.

Alustin’s paper mana reservoir, though?

It had to be absolutely massive, given some of the feats they’d seen or heard of him accomplishing.

One particularly telling piece of evidence was from their trip through the sandstorm on the Moonless Owl— when Alustin had contributed to the ward protecting them from the storm, the amount of mana he’d funneled into it had dwarfed every other mage on the ship. Admittedly, none of the Radhan mages on board had been noteworthy powerhouses or archmages, and they’d all been drained keeping the ship together as well, but the mana Alustin had provided had still been astonishing.

Unfortunately, Hugh had no way of telling how much of that mana had been paper mana and how much farsight mana.

Their arrival at the walls put the whole conversation on hold.

None of them were actually sure what the city was called— Galvachren had only mentioned a small, nameless village of a hundred souls, another way the entry on Kemetrias was clearly far out of date— by centuries, even.

Nor were they able to get the name of the city from any of the locals— their usual charades and drawings hadn’t been enough to get their question across to anyone.

So, on a whim of Godrick’s, they were just calling it Mulberry City.

The architecture was definitely a close relative of Hebrast’s, but there were some distinct differences between the two. There were far fewer ziggurats than in Hebrast— just four or five of them— and they were smaller, built of the local limestone, and lacked the pits around their bases. It seemed like their material hadn’t been quarried on the spot like in the larger city.

The architecture was more heavily decorated than in Hebrast— more woodwork embellishments and the like— and normal tree wood was mixed in with seagrass wood up here. The buildings were shorter than in Hebrast— rarely over two stories— but with angled tile roofs clearly built to handle snow, unlike Hebrast. There wasn’t a network of rooftop paths, either.

There was also far more greenery inside the city walls than was to be found in Hebrast— potted flower bushes, fruit trees of a dozen sorts, half of which were completely alien to them, and vines running up the sides of the wooden buildings.

The rune density also seemed a little lower than Hebrast— not by much, but definitely lower. There was still no need for lanterns here.

The runes were, though, significantly more color-coordinated than in Hebrast.

Silk workshops were even more common than rune workshops along the streets of the city. The buildings were more likely to be closed off from the streets, though, so they could only see into a relatively small number of them.

Hugh was pretty sure he’d much rather work in one of the rune workshops than one of the silk ones as he eyed the huge, terrifying rune-looms and other, less identifiable equipment.

There were also quite a few places that seemed to specialize in embroidering runes into silk, which Hugh found fascinating, given his own habit of sewing spellforms into fabric. The rune embroidery was far beyond anything Hugh could accomplish skill-wise, though.

And, of course, the city was utterly full of mulberry trees.

CHAPTER FORTY

Descending Mist

UNFORTUNATELY, THEY DIDN’T get long to explore Mulberry City. They needed to begin their ascent up the second highest peak while it was still morning if they wanted to enter the labyrinth this evening.

There were a total of three labyrinths on Mount Mulberry. One was buried within the depths of the mountain, accessible from the forested valley, and it was remarkably similar to the labyrinths they’d traversed so far.

The other two were the strangest labyrinths they’d encountered yet.

The first, near the top of the highest peak of Mount Mulberry, well above the tree line and snow line, was more obviously artificial than most labyrinths, resembling a ruined city, according to Galvachren. When you tried to examine it though, your eyes quickly lost track of the flow of the city, and you’d find yourself completely incapable of interpreting what you were seeing. Galvachren claimed that it was similar to the way victims of strokes perceived the world, though he didn’t explain what caused the effect.

Once you entered the ruins of the upper labyrinth, the effect would weaken enough that it was possible to maneuver through it. Unlike more tunnel-like labyrinths, however, this one didn’t access consistent destinations. The accessible universes via the ruin labyrinth varied throughout the year, following a hellishly complex set of mathematical progressions that they hadn’t even tried to interpret. They weren’t heading to the ruin labyrinth, after all.

The third labyrinth was apparently one of the more common types in the multiverse, of which quite a few were even present on Anastis. It was a mist-form labyrinth, with shifting paths in a disorienting fogbank. Wandering off the path could strand you in a random world— if you ever escaped at all.

This was the one they were heading to, but there were some complications. There were ways to safely make it through a mistform labyrinth even without Mackerel’s help, but they weren’t especially worried about the traversal.

No, it was finding the labyrinth in the first place that would be tricky— it moved constantly.

Even Galvachren didn’t understand much about what factors determined the type of labyrinth that would grow at any given mana well, but one of the few reliable rules involved wandering labyrinths, which tended to revolve around a central point. Their destination was one of those, and it floated all around and between the peaks of Mount Mulberry. Supposedly, it would even descend close to the valley three times a century, releasing monsters into the forests.

Given the size of Mulberry City, Hugh was sure they’d weathered plenty of monster attacks just fine.

Galvachren had provided a table charting the complex peregrinations of the mistform labyrinth in question, but they hadn’t needed it at all— the labyrinth’s central point was most of the way up the second highest peak of Mount Mulberry and returned there every dawn and dusk.

The group spent an hour in Mulberry City buying supplies, trying to use up as much of their Hebrastan coinage as possible. If they were really going to attempt to stay on Limnus for the months in between now and the congress of Indris, Ilinia, and their allies, they’d need to bring as much food and water as they could— there was no telling how much non-toxic food and water they’d be able to find or purify on the hostile world ahead of them.

Well before noon, the four of them were already out of the city and hiking through the forest around the city.

A few guards gave them suspicious looks, watching them to see if they were trying to steal mulberry leaves, which was still baffling to Hugh.

They had to cross a surprising number of streams and small rivers, seemingly all fed by rain and meltwater from the peaks of Mount Mulberry.

At one point, they passed a set of heavily guarded barns, with suits of paper armor standing guard. They didn’t try to approach the barns, but the guards still watched them warily the whole time.

Weirdly enough, the four of them could hear a bizarre chewing noise from the barns, and workers regularly brought loads of mulberry leaves inside.

“Is that where they keep the silk spiders, do you think?” Talia asked.

Godrick sniffed the air, then blinked in surprise. “Ah don’t smell spider at all. Ah smell… some kind a’ caterpillar, maybe?”

The others gave him surprised looks. “You can identify the smell of caterpillars?” Sabae asked.

Godrick shrugged. “Not even close ta’ the weirdest thing Ranna had me learn ta’ identify. Yeh’d be really surprised how many different bugs are in Skyhold— not just the greenhouses, also the alchemy and enchantin’ labs.”

“So if this isn’t where they’re harvesting the silk, what is it?” Hugh asked.

Godrick shook his head. “No, ah smell plenty of silk, too. Ah think this is where they harvest it. Just… not from spiders.”

“Silk from… caterpillars?” Sabae said, a little disgusted. “That’s weird, gross, and explains why it’s lower quality than the silk back home.”

“Where’s it come from on the caterpillar?” Talia asked.

“I don’t want to know,” Sabae said. “Let’s not talk about caterpillar silk anymore.”

Mackerel abruptly seemed interested in the barns— though not for the caterpillars. He definitely just wanted to cause Sabae trouble, and Hugh quickly hauled him back before he could cause any problems with the guards.

“What was the weirdest thing Ranna taught you to identify?” Talia asked Godrick.

“Yeh don’t want ta’ know,” Godrick said, laughing.

The rest of the walk passed largely without incident, save for just before they left the forest.

Sabae stopped walking and pointed at something, looking bizarrely enraged, and the rest of them all turned to look.

There, waddling past the base of one of the rare, non-mulberry trees in the forest— a pine of some sort— was a possum.

“That,” Sabae said, “is utter kraken crap. You’ve all been hauling that one possum around with you just to mess with me, haven’t you? There’s no way those things live on Anastis and Apoptis and Kemetrias.”

Laughing, the others denied any involvement, while the possum gave them a confused look and waddled away in a hurry.

Well, as much of a hurry as a possum could move in.

“I swear,” Sabae said, “if we find possums on Limnus, too, I’m going to declare war on the whole multiverse.”

The others, Mackerel included, were still laughing when they broke out of the forest and reached the base of the second peak.

There was, surprisingly, a road switchbacking most of the way up. They probably could have taken it all the way from Mulberry City, instead of wandering the forest— and it was only a half-league to their right, embarrassingly.

The four of them hiked over to rejoin the road, then started their ascent up the second peak.

The upper reaches of the ascending road were engulfed in mists, but those burned off as the day wore on, revealing a sturdy fortress built into the side of the mountain above them.

A fortress with defenses turned almost entirely upward.

They passed a surprising number of merchants hauling supplies up the mountain— mostly on the backs of ox-sized furred lizards, and a few on the back of the tall birds that people used in place of horses. More than a few groups of soldiers were marching in both directions as well. Hugh and his friends got plenty of curious looks from the merchants and soldiers alike, but no one stopped them.

On the trip up, Hugh and Godrick spent plenty of time delving into the side of the mountain with their affinity senses. Hugh was actually starting to think his stone affinity sense might be manifesting a bit— he was getting more detail, or at least slightly different detail, than he would have before.

The mystery of how the mountain was formed was still baffling to both of them, despite their guesses earlier— the whole thing appeared to be one solid block of limestone, with no layering whatsoever. They hardly even found any fossils until near the fortress itself, and they were never common.

They had the girls try and perceive with their senses as well— unfortunately to little avail. Sabae actually got a weird look a couple times, claiming she’d almost felt something, but that it could have been her imagination.

Either way, she started getting much more interested in their conversation after that.

THEY REACHED THE fortress in mid-afternoon, and it should have been no surprise what they encountered.

Bureaucracy. Lots of it.

Hugh and the others decided to shortcut all of it.

Instead of trying to slowly work their way through a maze of bureaucracy where they didn’t speak the language at all, the group marched up to the biggest, fanciest, most expensive-looking desk in the entry hall. The bureaucrat behind it was a sour-faced old man wearing immense, heavily embroidered robes that were almost painful to look at, considering the number of glowing runes sewn into them. His immense fancy hat had almost as many runes as his robes.

Hugh immediately had to restrain Mackerel from lunging for the huge hat.

Sabae dropped Apchek’s letter in front of the bureaucrat, then dropped a stack of other documents they’d been handed by various other bureaucrats here on Kemetrias, then raised her arm and pointed up and at an angle, through the edge of the ceiling and towards the peak of the mountain.

Then she just stood there, refusing to budge.

The important functionary tried to argue, clearly tried to gesture them towards other bureaucrats, but Sabae simply refused to move, save to occasionally tap Apchek’s letter, gesture at their group, then point up towards the peak again.

At one point, some guards tried to intervene, but Hugh simply blocked the way with the Stormward’s Crown.

That definitely attracted quite a bit of attention, and Hugh thought for a moment that they’d end up in a fight with the soldiers— they actually brought in several suits of paper armor— but the elderly functionary calmed everything down— mostly by yelling incomprehensibly at the soldiers until they went away— then finally deigned to just read Apchek’s letter.

Once he did, the old man’s attitude changed entirely.

A couple minutes of yelling at lesser clerks later, and the old man was filling out a whole pile of forms, with generous stamping of various documents.

He also filed most of their documents into various folders, handing them off to lesser functionaries. Apchek’s letter got put into a drawer in the man’s desk, at which Sabae protested a little, but the old man just shook his head and shushed them.

Finally, the old man handed them a single certificate, got up from his desk, and gestured at them to follow.

To Hugh’s surprise, the old man was floating just off the ground.

It seemed the runes on his elaborate robes weren’t just decorative— from the glimpses he saw of the man’s frail, stick-thin legs, there was no way he could walk on his own. With the floating, semi-rigid robes bearing most of his weight, however, the man could push himself about easily through the halls.

In short order, the elderly floating bureaucrat led them up several flights of stairs and through to the other side of the fortress, where he handed the certificate to a guard, who nodded, handed the certificate back, and then ordered the opening of a series of gates, running through a thick tunnel. The gates and walls were, completely unsurprisingly, covered with so many runes that the tunnel was bright as day, albeit far more multicolored.

The bureaucrat, with a tired look, handed the certificate to Sabae, then left them with a group of soldiers, including a couple wearing paper armor, who led them through the tunnels.

Only a few of the gates were ever open at once— there was never a straight shot between the inside of the fortress and the exit. Finally, though, the doors parted into the outdoors, and the guards waved them out.

There was no proper road on this side, just a painfully steep slope with a precarious, switchbacking, heavily eroded path leading up.

And facing that path were dozens of ballistae and catapults on the wall above them, as well as a pair of paper armor suits flanking the gate they’d just exited. Both suits were closer to fifty feet than forty in height and were carrying appropriately proportioned rune-halberds, which Hugh had no doubt would have been a threat to even the most heavily enchanted fortification on Ithos. The two probably had to crouch before entering the fortress gates behind them.

One of the suits of armor glanced at their group, and Hugh waved awkwardly.

It didn’t respond for a moment, leaving Hugh feeling even more awkward, but finally gave him a nod of acknowledgment before turning its attention back upslope.

Hugh and the others gazed at the peak above them, exchanged glances with each other, and then summoned their armor for the trip up.

THE HIKE WAS blessedly free of monster attacks— or any threats other than the crumbling, uneven path. Hugh and Godrick used their magic to fix and reinforce it wherever they could. He thought about just crossing some of the worse patches using the Stormward’s Crown as a platform, but they were ahead of schedule, so Hugh and Godrick decided to fix the path where needed as a sort of thank you for the help they’d received from various parties in Kemetrias.

Less than a third of the way up, they started running into patches of ice and snow, and near the end, they found themselves having to clear the snow and ice off the path in more places than not.

They reached the top of the trail in good order, finishing their ascent with well over an hour to go until sunset. Near the end, they started struggling even with their armor— the air was getting unpleasantly thin and cold this high up.

The end of the trail was still far below the actual peak, but it was just as Galvachren described it— a wide, flat shoulder, with almost melted-looking barren ground.

They set about preparing a quick meal before the mistform labyrinth arrived. As they did so, Hugh took the time to gaze out over Kemetrias.

From here, Hugh could easily spot Hebrast. The others struggled to see it as more than a splotch of color, but Hugh, with his sphinx eyes, could clearly make out the ziggurats, the endless jumbled tenements, and the boat-filled river.

Hugh could see a half-dozen other lonely, isolated limestone mountains jutting out of the grass sea, scattered seemingly at random. Several other cities made themselves visible from up here, clustered around the rivers cutting through the grass sea, though none of them even approached the size of Mulberry City, let alone Hebrast. He could also make out countless behemoth-back nomad tribes, ship-chains, and grass-ships, and he could even start to puzzle out the trade routes they all followed.

And, above all of it, hung the colossal ring around Kemetrias, seemingly no closer up here than it had been down in Hebrast or the grass sea.

They could also spot the ruin labyrinth on the highest peak of Mount Mulberry, but looking up and across the gap at it was just as disconcerting and confusing as Galvachren had warned. Hugh’s sphinx eyes were actually a disadvantage here— the disorienting view actually made him lose his balance and collapse to the ground, though Godrick caught him with a levitation cantrip before he hit.

As sunset approached, the shadow of Mount Mulberry stretched out impossibly across the grass sea, and the lights of the runes in the cities and ships below began to overcome the weakening sunlight and reflected ringlight. Hugh wondered what this view must be like at night. It must feel like standing in the middle of the stars, shining from both above and below.

They never got a chance to see it because the mistform labyrinth arrived right on cue.

Hugh couldn’t have picked it out from the other clouds drifting around Mount Mulberry, and it seemed to arrive almost out of nowhere.

When it changed direction and drifted straight towards them, it started to change in form— subtly, at first, but by the time it settled onto the empty shoulder of the mountain, nestling against the slope of the peak, it had filled itself with sharp angles and walls like a mad architect’s vision melting into vapor.

And there, right in front of them, was a path leading into the mists of the labyrinth.

Hugh and the others tensed, preparing spells, but no monsters rushed out of the mist this time.

Acting quickly, the four of them tied themselves together with sturdy rope, took one last glance at the world of Kemetrias, then strode into the mists.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Unsolved Mysteries and Unwanted Messages

ANKHETVEN OF THE Ninth Winter Separation had had a truly strange day.

He was the chief magistrate of the Mist Fort, responsible for feeding and provisioning hundreds of soldiers, requisitioning supplies, and even purchasing paper rune ribbons to repair and upgrade the fortress’s suits of battle armor. Without his work, the Mist Fortress would be unable to defend Mulberry Mountain and the city of Phetris, nestled in the forests below, from the depredations of the underworld beasts that erupted from the Traitor Cloud above.

Ankhetven wasn’t vain enough to think he was irreplaceable, nor the most important man on the mountain— after all, he had peers in charge of the other two fortresses on the mountain, both the Cavern Fort and the Mad Fort.

But, he had to admit, it had been a very long time since he’d needed to stoop to filling out a simple exit pass. The lost souls probably could have gotten through even faster if they’d just gone to the right clerk— Ankhetven had actually messed up a few of the forms, it had been so long.

Visitors wanting to pass through the gates were common enough— mostly young knights, freshly gifted their battle armor, wanting to test themselves against the monsters. A few scholars curious about the Traitor Cloud passed through as well, as did the surprisingly frequent poets, musicians, and artists suffering from fatal illnesses or life tragedy, wishing to take poison and die far above the concerns of the world below.

There was, in fact, a specific form to fill out for artists wanting to pass the Mist Fort for honorable suicide. It was usually easier just to pick the third peak, where there were no guards or bureaucracy in the way of the climb, but since that one was the shortest peak, the Traitor Cloud’s peak was preferred.

No one tried to climb the highest peak of Mount Mulberry unless they had to. Most residents of Phetris below tried to pretend that the City of Madness didn’t even exist.

As the sun went down, and Ankhetven took a break from his seemingly endless paperwork, he pulled out the letter from Sir Apchek and read it one more time.

The bearers of this letter are Lost Souls, escapees from the underworld. The languages of the living have been stripped from them, so they do not understand you. I beg you, aid them in their purpose however you can, and do not cheat them, if you have any hope of kindness in the underworld yourself. Likewise, do not give them charity or aid them too freely— treat them fairly, that they may redeem themselves for their misdeeds in life by their own strength.

If you know the stories, you should know this already, but the risks always bear repeating with Lost Souls. They wield strange underworld magics, so if you don’t fear your own eventual fate beyond the gates of the underworld, fear them annihilating you if you cheat them or obstruct their redemption.

May the bearers of this letter right their wrongs and balance the scales quickly, that they might give up the pain of life once more and return to a more peaceful rest in the underworld.

Ankhetven skipped past the descriptions of the Lost Souls and various bureaucratic requirements on the letter, then sighed in pity for the Lost Souls. He said a quick prayer for them, hoping they’d done enough to redeem themselves before they passed through the Traitor Cloud and back into the underworld tonight.

Then he turned back to his form, glaring at it.

It had been nine years since he’d had to fill out reports for Lost Souls passing through the fortress gates and up to the Traitor Cloud, and just like every time he had to do it, he cursed their needless complexity.

After all, the forms for Lost Souls coming out of the Traitor Cloud were far less complex and time-consuming. Admittedly, Lost Souls came down from the mountain three times as often as they went up it.

Just like he’d done a dozen times a day, every day for more than sixty years, Ankhetven prayed there would be no paperwork in the underworld.

And, as always, he doubted the grave would be any bar to bureaucracy’s call.

ALUSTIN WAS SCRYING a minor Havathi fortress in the southeastern Skyreach Range when he found Valia’s letter, written in an old Helicotan cipher.

It wasn’t hidden, wasn’t tucked away in any file— it was just lying there, open on the desk of the fort commander, with the Warwell family crest stamped across the top.

It was addressed to him.

Alustin doubted anyone but the two of them even remembered it existed— it had fallen out of favor over a century ago until they’d dug it up from her family’s library and used it to send secret messages to one another as children.

He still remembered the cipher clearly— he could have read the letter easily.

Instead, he turned his attention away, looking for more documents to scry.

Just an hour later, though, scrying an office of one of Havath’s logistics corps, looking to track supply movements, Alustin came across an identical letter from Valia.

He didn’t read that one either.

Within a matter of days, half the desks in the Havathi Dominion bore copies of the letter.

Worse, new ciphers were rolling out across the Dominion, different than any Alustin had faced so far. He was sure he and the other Librarians Errant would break them eventually, but it would cost him precious time— time they could ill afford.

The new ciphers, at least, only applied to high-level orders, mostly military— if the Dominion were to try and encrypt all of its documentation, it would cripple their own bureaucracy with work.

The Dominion had figured out that Alustin’s scrying abilities had grown.

He wanted to blame it on a leak, but it was almost certainly his own fault. He’d tipped his hand not only with the blatant propaganda he was spreading across the eastern half of the continent, but with the sheer number of secret Havathi supply, diplomatic, and scouting missions the Librarians Errant and their other allies had struck in the steadily escalating guerrilla war.

Assassinating that general being flown dragonback in secret between provincial capitals had probably tipped their hand a bit too hard.

Alustin copied all the documents using the new encryption methods— so long as they weren’t ciphered using one-time pads, they should be able to break them eventually.

It helped that he finally mastered the trick of rapid copying at a distance, letting him replicate documents a hundred leagues away or more onto pages right by his side. He’d been working on and off on the problem for weeks— it was one of those magic problems that couldn’t be solved with a simple spellform. He knew other mages had solved the issue in the past, albeit at distances of a few feet.

In the end, his solution had been inspired by landseers, who could map out entire landscapes at great distances. They usually projected the map into a basin of sand, water, or other free-flowing materials, sculpting it into the shape of the landscape being scryed— but due to the structural differences between the landscapes and any material used to represent them, they’d been forced to add more flexibility into their spellforms. It might cost them a small amount of accuracy, but it was easier than the spellform failing entirely due to sympathetic material mismatches.

Alustin had taken that as inspiration, allowing some inaccuracy in his copies to prevent the spell from failing entirely due to mismatches in paper composition, ink ingredients, and the like.

He handed them off to Emmenson, who, for all their frequent bickering, was a more than competent second.

Then Alustin turned his attention to one of Valia’s letters.

He spent half an hour examining it for wards or other magical traps. Finally, when he was forced to admit that it was exactly what it seemed, he got to work deciphering the letter.

Alustin—

I misjudged you. I spent years thinking you had just been deluded by a monster playing off your anger and your desire for revenge. That you were still the same boy I attended every Blossom Festival with, whom I shared so many memories with.

I was wrong, though.

You’re a monster cast in Kanderon’s own image.

I don’t hate you. Fear you? Yes. But not hate. You’ve been twisted inside until all you can do is lash out. I wish it wasn’t true. I wish we were walking down the streets of Helicote together again. I wish both our hands weren’t covered in blood.

I wish neither of us was broken.

And now you’re walking straight down Kanderon’s path, seeking the death of a city in revenge for the death of our home.

If I’m to be honest, I think your odds of success are slim, even with the weapons rumor claim you stole from Skyhold’s vault. The odds aren’t as important as the consequences, though.

I know I can’t inspire pity or mercy for Havath and its inhabitants from you, so I won’t try. But what I can guarantee?

The cycle of revenge will just start anew. Do you think some Havathi orphan won’t plot to continue the cycle of vengeance? Against Starholt, against Sydapsyn, against each and every one of your allies?

Because I promise you, it will. And not out of sheer chance, either.

Havath is preparing contingencies in the case of its destruction. Kanderon is not the only one to have hoarded city killers. Your allies’ homes will not long survive Havath City if it falls. If Havath lives? They’re under no threat at all.

And we’re making sure all your allies’ homes know it.

Alustin smiled in bitter amusement as he read that.

Good.

He wondered how much of Valia’s letter she’d actually written, and how much had been mandated by her superiors. Parts of it read like her writing, and parts of it read as the sort of bravado she’d never carried. Certainly, she’d never relish threats against innocents.

It didn’t really matter how much was hers, he supposed.

The whole threat was foolish— now that Havath’s threat to destroy his allies’ homes was out there, there was little chance they would ever trust Havath not to pull out that threat again. They would be more committed than ever to the fight.

The Dominion was so used to throwing its weight around that its leadership thought it could threaten and bluster its way out of any situation.

Alustin shook his head, then read through the rest of the letter.

An appeal to their shared past, some bluster about the invulnerability of Havath city…

Definitely a letter written by committee, not by Valia alone.

Alustin almost scrawled some mocking response on the back of the sheet, prodding Valia’s superiors for their poor imitation of her.

Then he stopped and flicked his attention back to the top of the letter.

…that you were still the same boy I attended every Blossom Festival with…

Alustin frowned. The Blossom Festival had been a minor festival at best, celebrating the City of Flowers’ greatest yearly density of flowers in the spring. Of course, it had still been impressive enough— Helicote took its dozens of festivals extremely seriously, and even its most minor ones outshone those in just about any other city.

The Lord of Bells had loved a party, after all.

But the Blossom Festival… Strange. He and Valia had attended it together more years than not, but he honestly couldn’t say he had any particularly strong memories attached to it, compared to any one of a dozen other yearly festivals, after all.

For a moment, he was sure it was an oversight by Valia’s superiors trying to write her letter, a silly mistake stemming from their ignorance of Helicote.

His frown deepened, and he looked over the letter again.

I wish we were walking down the streets of Helicote together again…

Maybe Valia had been more involved with the letter than Alustin thought because it almost sounded like she was inviting him to meet at the ruins of Helicote on the date of the Blossom Festival.

A date that was just a few weeks before the day Havath City was going to die.

Alustin had no question in his mind that it was a trap, but…

Whether it was Valia’s trap or her superiors was another question entirely.

Alustin smiled, then reached out with his ink magic through his scrying and reshaped some of the lower paragraphs into a response.

I’d have liked the better world where we walked the streets of Helicote still, Valia. Maybe in that world, Havath wouldn’t have to die.

Then, just to be sure, Alustin scrawled the same reply across a hundred other copies of Valia’s letter, scattered across hundreds of leagues of Havath.

Just in case, he made sure that the epicenter of the responses was located in the jungles southwest of Havath’s heartlands. Always useful to send more false trails.

Then he ended his scrying and hauled himself to his feet with a groan.

Time to go meet the Ctesian representative again. Of all of Helicote’s old allies, they were being the cagiest about joining him and had been dancing around the issue for a half-dozen meetings now.

Well, almost the cagiest. Tsarnassus was playing their cards even closer to the chest— but if they fell in line, just about all of the others would, too. Tsarnassus had always been the most powerful of Helicote’s allies, after all.

Alustin was confident they’d fall in line eventually. Tsarnassans carried a weight of collective guilt for their failure to relieve the siege of Helicote, and they were quite vocal about it. Alustin, the Last Loyal Son of Helicote, could have had fame, wealth, and power, his for the taking, if he’d decided to settle there. Alustin’s call to battle was Tsarnassus’s chance to redeem their failure.

More importantly, of course, it was Tsarnassus’s chance to reclaim their past glory. They’d spent centuries as the mightiest nation of Ithos, and they’d never forgiven the Havathi Dominion for supplanting them.

Of course, even without Havath, Sica’s star was well on track towards eclipsing Tsarnassus as well, but that was neither here nor there. National pride was always irrational, after all.

Tsarnassus would join him, and they’d almost certainly field an army equal to the rest of his forces combined, if not more.

And when they lost it in Havath’s destruction, well…

Alikea was always looking for a chance to get one up on Tsarnassus, after all. Alustin was happy to give them a chance.

As the old saying went; dorsoi kaim stricht, savh.

He blinked, and then it was as if a dam had burst.

Alustin staggered, almost crashing into the wall of his tent as the words rushed into his head from the Tongue Eater. Not just an isolated curse word like every prior incident, either.

Folk sayings, quotes from important speeches, and religious mantras rushed through his head, one after another. Words poured through his mind like a flood, driving every other thought out of his mind.

Each and every one of them came with flickering images of dead civilizations, of peoples shorn of their languages, cultures, and histories by the Tongue Eater across dozens of worlds. None of them lingered in Alustin’s mind, but he was left with vague impressions of blood-red glaciers, skies full of hundreds of moons, lightning-filled seas, and impossible glass cities.

Inside his storage tattoo, the Tongue Eater shook so violently it threatened to throw itself off the shelf he’d left it on.

It felt like minutes had passed, but Alustin hadn’t even fallen halfway to the ground before the rushing words came to an abrupt halt. He caught himself on his hands, then carefully lifted himself up into a sitting position.

He couldn’t lie to himself anymore. The leakage from the Tongue Eater was getting worse. When he’d first stolen it, the words rarely slipped into his mind, and they’d always been curse words, for whatever reason. The book’s whispers had been distant, hard to hear. Now they were coming more and more often, the whispers growing louder, and this…

This was something new.

At least he hadn’t shown his weakness before anyone else this time.

If it had happened during a battle, it probably would have cost him his life.

Alustin took a series of long, slow breaths to calm himself.

He just needed to keep himself together for a few more months, now.

For the hundredth time, Alustin told himself that it would all be over by summer.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The Layered Sky

THE MISTFORM LABYRINTH was like nothing Hugh had ever encountered— which, in fairness, was a common refrain for Hugh these past few years. For that matter, it had become an even more common refrain the past few days. He’d never even imagined many of the sights he’d seen— on his own world or others.

Still, the mistform labyrinth was something else entirely.

It was, at first glance, less dangerous than the familiar maze-form labyrinths they’d always traversed before. There were no traps, far fewer monsters, and no descending levels.

Even the maze aspect of the labyrinth was far less challenging than a normal labyrinth. There were fewer branches, fewer dead ends, and fewer twists.

For all that, they were, in some ways, in far more danger than they would be in a normal labyrinth.

Apart from fighting off the few monsters they encountered in the maze, their magic didn’t serve much purpose here.

No, surviving a mistform labyrinth was an exercise of focus and will.

The shifting mists around them seemed to invite distraction and lack of focus. They muffled not just sound but every form of sensory input and made it incredibly easy to drift off into one’s own imagination.

Doing so would likely be fatal, or, at best, leave them stranded in another world, because the mist tunnels shifted. Not fast— a leisurely walking pace was enough to keep ahead of their movement— but you could never stop or rest for long within a mistform labyrinth.

Worse, the mists called to you. Not particularly strongly, most of the time— about equal to the urge to eat a pastry sitting on the table. You could resist it easily enough, but doing so ceaselessly was exhausting and required focus and awareness of the sort the labyrinth was intent on denying you.

The key to getting through a mistform labyrinth was focusing on your destination, or at least the idea of getting out. Mistform labyrinths were responsive to mental states, unlike traditional labyrinths.

Well, so far as Hugh knew. The more he learned about labyrinths, the more he expected just about anything from them.

Mackerel was still helpful in this labyrinth, but less so than he had been. There wasn’t any such thing as a set route through a mistform labyrinth, since the paths constantly shifted, connected, and separated from one another, usually in response to those wandering through it, so the spellbook couldn’t simply scry them a set path. He was, however, able to offer Hugh a set of sensations and vague images to focus on, to help them work their way through.

The ground that they walked on felt like stone under Hugh’s feet, but he felt nothing through his affinity senses, and when he tried to brush some of the mist around his feet away, more immediately flowed into its place before Hugh could see beneath it.

Sabae let the rest of them know that only some of the mist was water vapor— the rest didn’t seem to exist at all to her senses.

Their trip through the labyrinth seemed timeless. Only a scattering of monster encounters broke up the monotony, and only one of those posed any threat to them— they turned into an intersection to find themselves facing a full-grown dragon. It was relatively slender— though for a ninety-foot-long monster, ‘relatively’ had a lot of flexibility to it.

The dragon eyed them curiously, holding its wings in a cautious pose.

After a minute or two of the two sides watching each other cautiously, the dragon slowly gestured to its right.

Sabae pointed cautiously past the dragon, in the direction they needed to go, then their group backed down their passage a bit.

The dragon slowly passed through the intersection, watching them carefully the whole time, peering back at them as it departed down its tunnel. Hugh could have sworn the mist tunnel hadn’t been nearly large enough for it before it entered, but soon enough, the dragon vanished into the distance.

When their group passed into the tunnel the dragon had exited, it was small enough that no dragon could have possibly passed through.

Their arrival in Limnus was both gradual and surprising. At some point, the ground beneath their feet had stopped feeling like stone and had started feeling like tree bark instead, not that Hugh could have pointed out when. Their weight gradually decreased as well— not much, but enough that Hugh noticed a distinct spring in his step as he walked.

Then, out of nowhere, the four of them emerged from the mists into the dim light of Limnus.

THE GROUP DIDN’T move to untie the rope connecting them, advance, or do anything but gawk at Limnus for quite some time.

They stood atop a tree branch with a flattened top, stretching over fifty feet from side to side.

Or, not really a branch, but Hugh didn’t know what else to call it. A bridge, maybe? No leaves or twigs emerged from it— it just stretched for a gently curved half-mile between two adjacent tree trunks, the smaller of which was at least a mile in diameter. The larger one, behind them, had to be at least a league across.

And there were thousands of the giant trees in sight.

Each of Limnus’s skyspear trees towered league after league above and below them, stretching far into the distance. The impossibly huge skyspears were far enough apart that they could see for leagues, but the forest still concealed the horizon in the distance. There were a decent number of branches coming from the trees at this height, but they were somewhat sparse compared to the size of the skyspears, and the bridges between them were almost as common. The occasional mountain-top joined the great trees, but most of those came to a peak far below the altitude Hugh and his friends stood at— not that they had any idea how high up they were, nor how high up the tops of the skyspear trees above them were.

A dizzying league below them, the world vanished in a haze of thick purple clouds. A league above them, the world vanished in a soupy yellow haze. Hugh felt like he was standing in an impossibly huge hall, with the leagues-high trees for columns as though he were an ant in the throne room of Indris Stormbreaker.

Galvachren claimed the purple clouds below were made of some substance called iodine, which only Sabae had ever heard of. She claimed that Alikean alchemists had first isolated the substance a few years ago and were still trying to keep it secret from the rest of the world. Its discovery was still new enough that no one had ever developed an iodine affinity, whether natural or artificial.

Hugh wasn’t really sure how good of a job the Alikeans were doing of hiding its discovery, considering that Sabae knew. Though, on the other hand, the Kaen Das family had spent generations setting up their spy networks, and Ilinia was probably the most powerful wind seer alive.

Iodine was caustic, but it wasn’t especially toxic, according to Sabae. It could be found in tiny amounts in just about everything, including seaweed and most animals, and it didn’t usually alchemically react with other substances in a dangerous way, though exposure to the pure substance could cause alchemical burns.

It did have the curious property that its gaseous form was heavier than air, which explained why the purple clouds lurked far below.

The scary part of the opaque purple clouds had little to do with iodine’s chemical properties.

No, the scary part was that iodine was only gaseous at temperatures more than hot enough to set paper ablaze. If any of them fell, it was entirely possible that the caustic purple clouds, crushing pressure, and severe heat below would destroy their armor and kill them before they even struck the ground.

As for the vile yellow clouds far above, blocking the impossibly tall skyspear canopy from sight, they were composed of brimstone gases launched high into the sky by the world’s countless volcanoes.

Unfortunately, the brimstone fogs didn’t stay up in the sky as well as the purple clouds stayed below. The rains on Limnus were yellow and acidic, and they were strong enough to burn skin or even dissolve it on prolonged exposure.

That was far from the only danger of the sky. As you ascended the great trees of Limnus, the temperatures dropped rapidly— by the time you reached yellow clouds, they were low enough that humans unprotected by magic would struggle to survive, even if they could breath the acidic fog. Limnus’s sun shone dimly through the yellow layer above them, but provided almost no heat to the planet— its warmth came almost entirely from below, from the near-molten surface of the planet.

Galvachren had a long section in his guide explaining how the world of Limnus worked, which Hugh only somewhat understood. He claimed Limnus’s sun was a tiny, cool thing, and that Limnus orbited incredibly close to it— close enough that the gravitational pull should have stopped Limnus’s revolutions, leaving one side always facing the sun.

Limnus’s immense atmosphere, however, had somehow interfered with that process, and the tidal pressures inflicted on the planet not only prevented it from freezing from the lack of heat from the sun but also heated the surface to the deadly temperatures that allowed the iodine clouds— though those temperatures rapidly leaked away higher in the atmosphere.

Somehow, in the midst of the two lethal gas layers, a band of livable atmosphere had survived— largely thanks to the maintenance of the skyspears and the ecosystems they supported.

Galvachren seemed sure that the excess gas, especially the iodine, had come from the labyrinths, but by that point in Limnus’ entry, Hugh barely understood most of the concepts Galvachren was talking about.

It was safe to say, however, that Limnus was a horrible deathworld, in some ways almost as dangerous as Apoptis. Between the acid rains and fogs that sometimes descended, the burning purple clouds that sometimes rose in great thermals to incinerate the unwary, the lethal heights, the freezing cold above, and the raging heat below, there was only a thin slice of habitable air, stretching less than a league on a good day. When one of Limnus’ immense layer storms arose, that habitable slice of sky was liable to vanish entirely for hours or even days as the storm violently mixed the layers together.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Limnus had more deadly, gargantuan monsters than you could shake a stick at. Though, on second thought, you probably couldn’t get away with shaking sticks at very many giant monsters. It’s very likely the limit of monsters you could shake a stick at was one, for rather violent reasons.

Colossal flying predators patrolled all three layers of the sky, often raiding into the mutually toxic layers above and below. Territorial herds of bark-eating crustaceans roamed by the tens of thousands, with shells ten feet tall or higher, and venomous insects threatened the unwary with truly novel mixtures of toxins.

It was, to say the least, somewhat surprising that civilization not only existed on Limnus but actually thrived.

THEIR GAWKING AT Limnus was quickly interrupted, unfortunately, by the onset of aether sickness. For whatever reason, aether sickness worked differently with mistform labyrinths than with other types— it didn’t kick in until after you exited the labyrinth entirely.

With no convenient stone nearby to shape into shelter, Hugh set up the Stormward’s Crown as an impromptu shelter instead, configuring it primarily as an attention ward and air filter for the group.

Maintaining the Crown’s configuration for hours while sick stretched Hugh to his limits— and seemed to extend his aether sickness, for a few minutes past that of his friends— but it was notably less awful than the past two times they’d gone through it. It took them another half-hour of resting before they felt ready to move again, but once they started their walk, they were feeling back to normal in short order.

THE NEXT LABYRINTH lay only a few hours’ walk away along the natural bridges connecting the skyspear trees. It was found in the trunk of a particularly massive skyspear, close to two leagues in diameter, that grew around and through one of the largest mountains they’d ever seen. They could see the tree easily from their current position— it was hard to miss.

They weren’t heading there, though.

Instead, as they began their crossing of the first of the bridges, they looked for flowers.

Galvachren claimed that the bridges between the skyspears were used to share nutrients between trees and to architecturally stabilize the forest. The Guide said that skyspear wood was among the strongest natural materials in the multiverse, but that even it struggled to support the colossal skyspears— the bridges were just one of many ways the skyspears helped keep themselves aloft, helping brace the forest against Limnus’ storms.

The walk across the first bridge was thankfully uneventful. They could see a handful of immense flying creatures soaring in the distance— some approaching the size of dragons, though far more alien in appearance. Hugh could make out more detail than the others, but he still struggled to make sense of the massive creatures. There seemed to be dozens of different species of giant fliers, ranging from building-sized balloons with tentacles to vicious spear-faced soarers.

None were close, though, and most hung about the edge of either the purple clouds below or the yellow above. The creatures darting in and out of the iodine clouds tended to be far larger and stranger than those lurking in the brimstone clouds above, but there were enough commonalities between them that Hugh was sure they were at least distant relatives.

The bark on the bridge was relatively normal-seeming, albeit with crevices and ridges big enough to trip over, but the bark on the trunk itself was filled with far larger crevices, running and intersecting in every direction, some cutting dozens of feet into the bark without ever reaching wood.

Even if the inhabitants of Limnus hadn’t cut clearly artificial pathways into the bark, with rope bridges across dangerous gaps, it would have been easy to climb through the crevices to any of the branches or bridges jutting from the sides of the skyspear.

As it was, though, they just chose the artificial path that looked best-maintained and followed it.

Just in case, none of them suggested removing the rope connecting the group.

They spent about an hour wandering the bark paths before they saw another human, and even that was at a distance. The person was covered head to toe in colorful veils and was just sitting on a small branch, one that only jutted a half-mile or so out into the air.

The instant the stranger saw them, they waved and headed over towards the group.

Despite their bulky veils, the stranger launched themselves up the side of the skyspear with unnatural speed, often jumping much farther than any of them but Sabae could, even considering their force boots. Hugh would have thought the stranger was using force magic, if he didn’t know that Limnan magic lacked any sort of direct energy applications.

It wasn’t more than five minutes before the stranger reached them, in a feat of athleticism that no human on Anastis could possibly have replicated without extensive body modification. They didn’t even seem to be breathing heavily behind their thick veils.

Hugh and his friends were still all fully armored, and Hugh held a starfire bolt spellform in his mind’s eye, just in case, but the stranger’s demeanor was entirely relaxed, with not a hint of aggression in their posture, which matched well with what Galvachren had described of Limnan cultures.

On deathworlds like Limnus, Galvachren claimed any paranoid, untrusting, or aggressive civilization quickly wiped itself out. You couldn’t fight the poisonous clouds, giant storms, or frequent volcanic eruptions with any amount of martial or magical might. Any culture that couldn’t cooperate for the good of all its members would inevitably fail on Limnus.

The four of them went through the now-familiar ritual of exchanging incomprehensible greetings with a stranger they shared no language with. This one seemed far more interested in their armor than their language, however. They were only moderately interested in Godrick’s stone armor, significantly more interested in Hugh and Talia’s wards, and absolutely delighted by Sabae’s wind armor— they kept poking it whenever they came near Sabae.

The stranger also played with the rope connecting them, and it didn’t take any comprehension of the stranger’s language to know that they were being teased.

Mackerel slipped off Hugh’s shoulder at one point and tried to sneak up on the stranger, only to have them immediately notice the spellbook. Their response wasn’t fearful like the people in Hebrast— instead, the stranger immediately started petting Mackerel like a cat and cooing over him.

Mackerel, to the stranger’s amusement, darted back and hid behind Hugh shyly, unused to such a friendly response from new people.

The group played their usual introduction game then, eventually figuring out that the stranger’s name was Kunin. Kunin hadn’t made any move to remove their veils, their body largely concealed by their thick, bulky clothing, and their cheerful tenor voice didn’t give any particular clue as to their age or gender.

The way Kunin had moved earlier, however, made it obvious that they had quite a bit of Limnan magic. Hugh had no standard of comparison for other Limnan magic, but by Anastan standards… it was definitely impressive.

Despite knowing next to nothing about Kunin, the group readily followed when the Limnan grew bored of inspecting their armors.

Kunin had to slow down several times to let them keep up, but it didn’t seem to bother them. They led the group through a series of crevices, pathways, and even a couple tunnels in the bark, then over another natural bridge to a tree even bigger than the one holding the first labyrinth.

And as they exited a pathway cutting through a particularly deep crevice in the bark, they found themselves overlooking a massive tree branch, jutting several leagues out into the open air. The branch rested partially on the shoulder of a particularly tall, bulky mountain, which was covered in foliage, all the way up to the peak. As far as they’d seen yet, there was no snow on Limnus.

A mile or so out onto the branch, three-quarters of the way out to the mountain, they spotted the flowers they’d been looking for, bunched together like a psychedelic blanket— one of the bromeliad villages of Limnus.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Bromeliad Life

AS THEY WALKED out along the branch towards the bromeliad village, they got their first close look at skyspear leaves.

They were depressingly normal. Hugh had been able to tell, even from a distance, that the leaves wouldn’t be anywhere close to proportional in size to the tree— that would have required them to be dozens of feet across, if not hundreds— but these basically just looked like palm-sized elm leaves, albeit with a weird waxy coating.

Hugh had really been hoping for giant leaves.

As they walked out towards the bromeliads, they were passed by several groups and individuals moving in the opposite direction towards the tree trunk. They were all, like Kunin, almost entirely covered in heavy clothes and veils, but they varied wildly in color and design, to the point where they put the bromeliads themselves to shame.

The bromeliads, spiky flowers that grew in pink, orange, purple, red, and yellow, were more proportional in size to the massive branch than the leaves had been. The largest of the bromeliads in sight had to be at least three hundred feet in diameter, spanning well over three-fourths of the top of the branch.

Built in and among the massive flowers were bark pathways filled with foot traffic. As they drew closer, Hugh realized that they were sewn together with rope, rather than being nailed together.

The people in the village were just as heavily covered in bright clothing and veils as Kunin or any of the people they’d passed so far. About a quarter of the people wore garishly painted, grotesque masks over their veils, but they mingled freely with everyone else, so Hugh had no idea what that meant.

He did notice, as they grew closer, that several people in sight were even bigger and taller than Godrick. One of them, wearing yellow robes and veils almost the exact shade of the clouds above, had to be upwards of nine feet tall— and proportionally even wider than the stone mage.

After a bit of pantomime, Kunin managed to let them know that the village was named Chelder— at least, that was the best approximation they could get. Kunin never seemed exactly satisfied with their pronunciation, but they didn’t push too hard.

Hugh and his friends got quite a bit of attention from the crowd as they were led into the bromeliads, though none of that attention seemed hostile, or even overly surprised.

The bark paths were much sturdier than they looked— they hardly bent even under the weight of Godrick’s armor, and the spiky bromeliad petals the paths rested atop didn’t budge at all. Hugh wouldn’t be surprised if skyspear bark was as strong or stronger than Anastan wood.

As they passed over the smaller flowers atop the bark paths, Hugh spent quite a bit of time peering into the insides of the bromeliads. Like the bromeliads back on Anastis— from the tiny autumn bromeliads back in Emblin, no bigger than a thimble, to the torso-sized bromeliads they’d seen in the jungles of the Ylosa rainforest north of Zophor— these ones collected water in the center of their spiky blossoms. But where the bromeliads back home stored just a few cups or gallons of water, some of these stored entire ponds— and they hadn’t even reached the bigger bromeliads yet.

Inside the bromeliad ponds, Hugh could see entire ecosystems. Crabs, insects, water plants, luridly-colored frogs, even fish.

It was certainly a surprise when a school of fish erupted out of one of the bromeliad ponds and flew on wing-like fins to another pond nearby.

Soon enough, the group passed through the outskirts and into the heart of the village, where bark-and-cloth huts were woven into the outer petals of the bigger bromeliads. A few doors and shutters were open, but even they were covered by cloth veils.

Hugh found himself surprised by the apparent lack of a market. Instead, there were quite a few storehouses for various goods that anyone seemed free to take from or add to at will. There were also a few open-sided gazebo structures, woven from heavy bark strips, where people cooked and served meals. The open sides weren’t entirely open, though— they, like the open doors and windows, and the people of Chelder, had thin, mostly translucent cloth veils over them.

It was into one of these dining halls that Kunin led their group. There were several layers of veils in the doorway, each weighted at the base so they wouldn’t blow around. They also clung strangely to the walls around them— not hard enough that one would struggle to push them open, but enough that there weren’t any gaps in the veil while closed.

Kunin stopped before they’d passed through all the layers of veil, looking back to make sure Sabae, at the rear of the group, had passed through the hindmost veil and closed it before passing through.

It seemed that the Limnans wanted to avoid having an open path between the inside and the outside.

Hugh eyed the cloth of the door, wondering what they were made of— they were far different from any fabric he’d encountered before.

When Hugh passed through the veils and into the hall, however, he immediately forgot his speculations.

They were driven entirely out of his head by his first sight of unveiled Limnans.

IF HUGH HADN’T read about Limnan magic in Galvachren’s Guide to Worlds, he wouldn’t have believed some of the people in the room were human.

Some of the Limnans in the room were hairless, with smooth, waxy-looking skin, almost like a frog or salamander’s, in almost as many colors. Others had armor-like plates scattered across their body, while a few seemed entirely covered by fur.

Most of the masked Limnans kept their masks on, carefully lifting them to bring food to their mouths without revealing their faces.

There were, quite noticeably, no children in the room.

One particularly distinctive Limnan— Hugh thought they were female but couldn’t tell for sure— was entirely hairless, bright orange, and had a weird, membranous crest that ran down the center of their skull from their forehead all the way down to the base of their skull in the back, where it split and ran along the edges of their jaw. The membrane had gill-like slits running through it, and it seemed to inflate and deflate as though they were breathing through it. Even as Hugh watched, the entire crest folded backward against their skull and then lifted back up again.

For all the mad variety in the room, they were all still human. That variety was purely a product of Limnan magic because that’s what Limnan magic did— it changed people.

It wasn’t a conscious, directed change, Limnans couldn’t just shape-shift into whatever they wanted. The changes were adaptations, altering Limnans to be able to survive the wildly different extremes and environments of their world. Some of the people around them were likely adapted to climb up into the frigid acidic clouds above them, while others would be able to delve into the burning purple below.

Kunin’s extreme athleticism was clearly an adaptation driven by that same magic.

Hugh and his friends were planning to gain just a little bit of that magic.

Not to the point of shape-shifting, however. Not even close. Unlike magic on Anastis, or magic on many of the other worlds Hugh had read about in the Guide, the capability to perform Limnan magic wasn’t gained all at once after you’d spent enough time on the world. On Anastis, for instance, once your affinities developed, you could leave the world entirely for another— say, Kemetrias— and still potentially develop your magic all the way up to the level of one of the great powers.

On Limnus, magic developed more gradually and evenly. In just a month or so on Limnus, Hugh and his friends would gain the first stage of Limnan magic. It wouldn’t alter their bodies in any significant or visible way— that level of power took decades to develop.

Instead, the first stage of Limnan magic would enhance their natural survival capabilities, expanding the comfortable and survivable range of temperatures for them by a couple of degrees in either direction, make them ever-so-slightly more resistant to disease and toxins, and let them go just a few days longer without food, a few hours longer without water, and a few seconds longer without breath. It would also enhance the durability of their bones and tendons just a little, make muscles atrophy just a little slower from disuse, and even make them ever-so-slightly faster and stronger.

It would also, wonderfully, help reduce the impact and duration of aether sickness.

None of it would take them out of the natural human range of ability, but it would nudge them closer to the extremes. It wouldn’t help them at all if they were hit by a siege spell or stepped on by a dragon, but it was still an edge.

And if there was one thing they’d learned from all their teachers, from the people who had fashioned Hugh and his friends into weapons, from Alustin and Kanderon to Artur and Loarna— it was that incremental advantages added up, that you never knew what would save your life or shift a battle just enough in your direction.

Hugh’s thoughts were interrupted again, this time by Kunin removing their own veils.

Or, her veils, rather.

Hugh realized that he’d started to think of Kunin as male, for some reason, despite a near-complete lack of evidence either way on the trip.

Kunin’s alterations weren’t quite so extreme as some of the others in the room, but there were still plenty of them. Pointed ears that shifted about in response to noises, albeit not so much as even a dog or cat, let alone a bat. Unusually large face and neck muscles, though not shockingly so.

Her nictating membranes, clear inner eyelids like those of a lizard or dragon, were a bit more surprising.

Kunin gestured at the group to follow her over to a table filled with food, then started filling up a bowl for herself.

“Can we actually eat any of this?” Talia asked, staring at various unidentifiable foodstuffs.

Godrick shrugged, then grabbed a wooden bowl. “Most of it smells pretty good to me.”

The others exchanged nervous looks, then grabbed bowls of their own and followed him.

HUGH LEARNED SEVERAL important things about Limnans over the course of that meal.

First, that Limnans were intensely gregarious and social— the chatter in the room never died down, and Limnans took a remarkable amount of time to eat a meal— it seemed more a social event than anything. Hugh would have thought it was some sort of special event if every subsequent meal among the Limnans during their stay didn’t turn out the same.

Second, that Limnans were, well, extremely touchy and not particularly good with boundaries. When Hugh and the others removed or deactivated their armor to sit down and eat, they found themselves on the other end of countless backslaps, friendly hugs, and people curiously inspecting their Ithonian clothing.

The old Limnan man sitting next to Hugh seemed deeply concerned that Hugh wasn’t eating enough and kept giving him more food to eat.

Hugh might not speak Limnan, but the third important thing Hugh learned during that meal? That the facial expression of an elder who thought you were too skinny was a universal constant. Even if the face in question was mottled green and had nostrils that sealed themselves closed between each breath.

For all their gregariousness, the Limnans actually weren’t overwhelming to Hugh. It was certainly difficult to be anxious in the face of such overwhelming friendliness, but they were also more perceptive than Hugh had realized at first— after a while, Hugh realized that Godrick and Talia were getting a bit more physical contact and attention than Hugh and Sabae, almost exactly proportional to how sociable each member of their group was.

Mackerel, who had got over his initial shyness towards people who seemed genuinely excited to befriend him, got more attention than the rest of them combined and spent the whole meal having his spine and covers scratched by friendly Limnans. One of them even played fetch with Mackerel using a twig.

The cooking pots being used weren’t made from metal— he hadn’t seen any metal since they’d arrived— but rather seemed to have been glued together from fragments of crustacean shell. They rested on a wide stone slab that must have been harvested from a mountain— almost certainly the mountaintop Chelder’s branch leaned against. Above the fire was a chimney made of the same thin fabric as the veils and door curtains, held in place by stone weights and cords attached to the floor to keep the smoke from blowing it around. To Hugh’s surprise, it did an excellent job of funneling the smoke out of the room.

The food itself, though almost none of the meat and vegetables were recognizable, was very much edible. There were bowls of various sauces on the table, and you were supposed to pour them into your bowl in different combinations according to what meats and vegetables you’d added to your food.

It seemed that not all the available foods were, in fact, edible— when Hugh reached for one of the sauces, several of the Limnans sitting nearby all reached out at once to stop him in alarm, then moved the sauce away.

Hugh had no idea how they knew he couldn’t eat it, or who could actually eat it. He was guessing it was meant for some of the Limnans with more extreme adaptations?

His favorite of the sauces ended up being a thin purple sauce that tasted like a mix of plum, ginger, and cabbage. Not exactly like any of them, though, just akin to them.

Finally, after well over an hour, the meal came to a close, and their group set to finding somewhere to stay while they were on Limnus.

KUNIN AND A friend of hers, Otkin, tried to offer Hugh and his friends one of the bark houses woven into the bromeliads, but they did their best to decline politely via pantomime— instead, they set off down the tree branch toward the mountain.

There was already a well-maintained path down off the branch and onto the mountain peak, so it wasn’t even fifteen minutes of easy walking to be standing on stone again. There were even a few Limnans wandering about the peak, harvesting various rock-growing ferns and mosses as well as cutting stones with chitin tools.

Hugh and Godrick delved around for a good spot for a few minutes using their affinity senses. It didn’t take them long to find a sturdy area of the mountain’s volcanic rock without faults running through it— though that spoke more towards the power of their affinity senses than the quality of the stone on the mountain. The mountain was absolutely riddled with faults and weak points.

Then the two of them set about carving a losthome into the side of the mountain, just like the countless thousands scattered across the Skyreach Range back home.

This quickly caught the attention of Kunin and Otkin, but they seemed more interested than surprised. Hugh was beginning to suspect that otherworldly magic was a more common sight in Chelder than he’d anticipated— Galvachren had said Limnus was a particularly busy multiversal crossroad, both for transit purposes and for the ease at which basic Limnan magic was absorbed. Hugh hadn’t really suspected how busy Galvachren had meant until now, though.

It took a few hours to get the house set up. The aether of Limnus was a little thinner than they were used to, but most of the delay came from arguing about the specific designs of the losthome with the others— where their training hall should be, how many windows they should have, that sort of thing.

As the four of them worked and argued cheerfully, Hugh couldn’t help but have his gaze drawn back to the impossibly huge forest in every direction, to the mountain peaks dwarfed by trees, to the angry purple clouds below racing one way, and to the sickly yellow clouds above racing another.

He found it hard to believe it was only a few days ago that they’d left their own world.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Provincial Fools

SABAE WAS FURIOUS.

She did her best not to take it out on her friends or the cheerful Limnans who were always wandering into their temporary base. They seemed to have far less of a sense of privacy than any other people she’d ever met— even the Radhan, as gregarious as they were, had some quite specific etiquette regarding privacy, given how hard it was to find on-board a ship otherwise.

The fact that the Limnans always seemed to come bearing food and other gifts cut a lot of the irritation out for her. One of the Limnans, Omski— an old woman with color-changing skin and bone spikes jutting from her joints— had actually wandered into their artificial cavern and just started painting beautiful naturalistic designs on the walls. Especially impressive was the stylized forest on the opposite wall from their massive window— the one Hugh had filled with a single pane of quartz, along with some emergency wards.

Sabae wasn’t furious at her friends nor at the Limnans. She was a bit irritated at the constant stink of Limnus— no matter what they did, the acrid odors present everywhere leaked in past the wards, and Sabae found herself yet again deeply envious of Hugh’s enchanted marble and Godrick’s scent magic. Somehow, the fact that she’d have her own scent magic soon enough only made it more difficult. Still, that was an irritation she could handle. But as the days on Limnus passed, as the four of them spent most of their waking hours training their new magics, her anger just grew and grew.

She’d been played like a fool for years and hadn’t even realized it.

Sabae had been oh so proud of herself for her understanding of the political currents of the Ithonian continents, for understanding what drove the machinery of civilization. She’d thought her understanding sufficient to let her meddle, to try and change things for the better.

And all this time, there’d been an entire layer of politics invisible to her. This whole storming time, there’d been visitors from other worlds— organizations, empires, she didn’t know what— meddling with Ithonian politics.

That was, admittedly, at least somewhat conjecture on her part. But Yorta had as much as admitted that her organization was meddling with the politics of Hebrast— the idea that they would do so on Kemetrias and not Anastis was absurd.

And if they really were, there was no way it was happening without the knowledge of Kanderon or her grandmother. The messages Mackerel had intercepted since he ate the communications diary last summer as much as proved that Kanderon had not only known about the multiversal meddling but was likely involved as well. All this time, the Coven had to have known, and yet they’d still let her run around making plans to meddle in politics.

They must have thought she was adorable. Must have thought it so amusing, must have…

It made Sabae angry enough that she considered releasing Davragam’s Census to the world out of spite.

Then, of course, she remembered their uncertainty. Remembered Kanderon’s doubts about the Census, and remembered her grandmother’s admission that passing on Stormseat again was likely impossible. These were not the sorts of things a great power would share with someone they didn’t take seriously.

Finally, Sabae forced herself to set her irritation to the side. No matter how much time she spent worrying about this, it wouldn’t be anything more than idle speculation until they returned to their own world.

Besides, regardless of who was meddling behind the scenes, it didn’t change the evils of either empire or the system of great powers.

More to the point, as they finally all started to develop their new affinity senses, she had less and less time for anything but training.

IT TURNED OUT that the veils on Limnus weren’t omnipresent— on days when there were fewer poisons in the air from the clouds above and below, and when the temperature wasn’t frigidly cold, most of the Limnans, save for the masked ones, took their veils off and wandered freely. Sabae and her friends had, it seemed, arrived on a moderately bad day.

As if worrying about the poison content of the air wasn’t bad enough, the temperatures varied wildly on Limnus. One day it might be hotter than any summer day back in Ras Andis as hot air rose from the purple clouds below, to the point where the villagers all plunged into the bromeliad pools to cool off, and the next day those same pools might have thin layers of ice on the surface as yellow clouds descended towards them.

The villagers of Chelder were unfailingly friendly and didn’t seem even a bit bothered about feeding the group. This made Godrick, of course, feel terrible, and he kept trying to do nice things for the villagers— shaping stone furniture for them and the like. Sabae found it amusing but tried her best to focus on their training.

Still, she kept finding herself drawn into village life.

At first, she’d assumed that the Limnans were simple, harmless folk, but it hadn’t taken much time to dispel that opinion.

The harmless part had gone first when a barn-sized tree-lobster moved on the village.

Sabae and the others had moved to defend the village, but before they could even get there, the villagers had already ripped the huge crustacean to shreds, in great part with their bare hands. Within a few hours, they’d harvested all the meat and shell segments they’d needed, then shoved the remainder of the corpse over the edge of the branch, to fall into the purple clouds below. Sabae and her friends had at least been able to help with that part.

Some of the more heavily altered villagers were terrifying in action. A couple of them could match her own speed in battle, and at least one hunter, Emgol, was strong enough to wrestle a fully armored Godrick.

Some of the more nomadic Limnans who stopped by the village every now and then, those who spent most of their time in the burning purple or frigid acidic yellow, made Emgol look like a child.

Limnan magic wasn’t simply a matter of growth and change over time— it also required you to push your body’s abilities to the limits, to stretch your abilities to survive conditions. Those who wanted to adapt to the cold above, for instance, would need to spend more and more time in the cold, climbing to slightly greater heights with each trip. Change would naturally happen over time, of course, but risk-taking accelerated the changes.

In an odd reversal, the older a Limnan was, the stronger they generally were and the more environments they could survive— Limnan magic held off the onset of physical weakness and illness until fairly extreme old age. It was common to see grandparents carrying loads multiple times their own body weight and having far more energy than their children or grandchildren.

Her assumption that the Limnans were in any way simple was disrupted the first time she got invited into one of their homes and encountered an astonishing number of books and scrolls— significantly more than you’d find in the average home back in Ras Andis. The books weren’t on paper, however— they were all printed on bizarre membranes of some sort. Sabae had no idea what the membranes were from— some sort of plant or creature, presumably— and she’d never quite encountered a material like it. It was slightly heavier and denser than paper, and had mottled patches throughout.

After that, she was always stumbling across villagers reading or writing, and towards the end of their first week, she was finally shown the village printing press, which seemed to largely be fashioned out of various monster parts— mostly bits of shell, like that of the huge predatory lobster. Printing presses might be inferior to a workshop of paper and ink mages, but this one worked well enough for Limnus’ membrane books.

She also wasn’t sure if printing was the right name for it, because it seemed more like they were tattooing the membrane sheets than printing on them, but a tattoo press just sounded weird.

The villagers also regularly held what seemed to be debates and lectures inside the bromeliad they’d fashioned into a theater. At least, Sabae assumed they were lectures and debates. They could have been religious sermons and plays, for all she knew.

There was even mandatory schooling for the children, who she hadn’t gotten to encounter the first few days they’d been there.

The children only got to come out and play in the village on especially clear days— otherwise, they were kept inside the largest bromeliad in the village, inside a crèche shrouded in countless layers of air-filtering veils. Sabae didn’t know whether they hadn’t developed their own magic yet, whether the Limnans didn’t want their children changing yet, or whatever alternative, and she had no way to ask.

Whenever it was Sabae’s turn to lead group training, she often led them to the largest bromeliad she could find without buildings woven into its petals or atop its pond. There, she trained her friends in the beginnings of water and air magic— mostly focusing on basic utility spells and cantrips.

The crabs, frogs, fish, insects, and other creatures filling the bromeliad ponds were seldom their only audience— the Limnans were endlessly entertained by Anastan magic. For hunter-gatherers living on a deathworld, they had a remarkable amount of free time.

Limnus’ lower gravity was an extra bit of difficulty in their training— it was barely noticeable unless you actively paid attention, but every now and then, a hop or a step went just a little bit farther than expected, and you found yourself stumbling. Not usually more than a mild irritation, thankfully.

More bothersome than the gravity were the frequent earthquakes. They were even more common here than back on Anastis— at least, outside the range of quake-absorbing enchantments. None of the earthquakes were particularly powerful— they shook the skyspear trees and their mountain-top a bit but never hard enough to knock a well-balanced person over. Still, whenever one of the quakes hit, Sabae was hit with immediate anxiety that this one would topple the skyspear trees, that it would send them all plummeting into the deadly purple clouds below.

The rain was probably the worst irritation they faced. So long as the four of them kept their armor active, they could ignore the yellowy acid droplets, but the daily early afternoon showers reduced visibility to almost nothing, and the stench of brimstone grew almost intolerable, even through their wards and magic.

Sabae really, really couldn’t wait to learn scent magic.

A few times during training, Sabae accidentally let acidic rain droplets slip through her wind armor, and the resulting burns were a nightmare to heal. Burns were among the most frustrating injuries to deal with to start, but alchemical burns were even more time-consuming and aggravating.

It was at least fascinating to watch how quickly the bromeliads and the ecosystems in their ponds purified their water— you could actually see the brimstone be filtered out of the pond water faster than all but the heaviest rain could keep up with.

“ARE YOU SURE this is going to work?” Sabae asked Hugh.

“Not even a little!” Hugh said, then coughed.

Sabae rolled her eyes, then fixed the pattern-unlinking spellform in her mind’s eye.

She’d been expecting, of all her new affinities, either scent or bone to be the easiest for her because of their respective overlaps with air and healing. It had been something of a surprise when her crystal affinity sense was the first to develop, and at how quickly and easily her mana reservoir was developing.

Her limitations on magic range were still in effect with all her new affinities— she couldn’t do magic more than a few inches from her body— but she’d been able to fairly easily link loose sand into quartz crystals while touching it and dissolve it just as easily.

This, well…

Sabae spun up her wind armor around her as the others all retreated behind safety wards, then activated the pattern-unlinking spellform, with the modifications Talia had suggested Hugh make.

Then she punched the floor of their underground training hall as hard as she could.

Her wind-armored fist sank several inches into the stone as the spellform unlinked it, and the resulting rock dust was vacuumed into her armor.

“It worked!” Sabae called.

“Alright, now for the hard part!” Hugh called.

Sabae dropped the pattern-unlinking spellform, then drew the modified pattern-linking spellform in her mind’s eye.

The rock dust spinning around in her armor began assembling into crystals of quartz, feldspar, and other minerals. Thankfully, they all stayed in the outer layer of her wind armor, rather than scraping against her skin— she’d been fairly confident she could use her various pre-existing formless casting mana techniques to help control the orbit of the crystals around her, but she had not been entirely sure until now.

Once the growth of the crystals slowed, she propelled them out into the wind armor of one arm and switched out the pattern-linking spellform for a more basic crystal spellform.

Then she activated the crystal propulsion spellform at the same time she released a wind-strike from the arm in question.

The wind-strike hammered into the person-sized chunk of bark they were using as a target and sent it flying, as usual— but this time, the dozens of tiny crystals in the wind-strike also shredded a head-sized hole right through the center of the bark.

Sabae’s crystal mana reservoirs— her own and that of her ring— had both been drained almost completely in the process, but they were both growing steadily. By the time they needed to return to Anastis, she’d be able to repeat the strike multiple times before draining them— if not more.

Her friends started cheering at that and came running over to inspect the target.

“Once yeh get yer stone magic workin’, it should make this process even easier,” Godrick said. “Yer windstrikes are just gonna get nastier and nastier.”

Sabae smiled at that, some of her recent frustration draining away. “Oh, I don’t intend to use it just for wind-strikes.”

Godrick gave her a curious look.

“The end goal is not having to slow down at all when passing through solid stone,” Sabae told him.

He raised an eyebrow at that, then frowned.

“That… actually might work. Yeh’re a long way off from that, though,” Godrick said. “Years, probably? Dunno. Between all yer weird mana techniques, and havin’ both crystal and stone magic, yer progress is pretty hard ta’ predict.”

She nodded; she hadn’t planned on having that trick ready by the time they got back. “Have you figured out which mana reservoir you’re going to convert to siege magic yet?”

Godrick nodded. “Ah think ah’ll just be goin’ with stellar mana. It’s already halfway ta’ being siege magic anyhow. Yeh chosen yet?”

Sabae shook her head. “I don’t know if it will work for me, honestly. I can’t do the traditional ranged siege spell, so I’d have to do some sort of shockwave spell, akin to detonating my armor? Before we started developing this new crystal addition to my armor, I’d thought about picking stone magic, but not now. Scent, maybe?”

Godrick chuckled at that. “Ah think that might work pretty well, though yeh’d be sacrificin’ some utility.”

Sabae wrinkled her nose at the faint brimstone odor in the room and nodded.

“Ah wonder what yeh’d get from turnin’ a planar affinity inta’ siege magic?” Godrick asked.

“Dead,” Hugh called, having overheard the question from where he and Talia were examining the bark target. “Very, very dead. And probably spread out over a few leagues, at that.”

Sabae and Godrick both winced at that.

“Maybe I shouldn’t bother with siege magic,” Sabae said. “Obviously I don’t want to do it with bone, learning traditional bone magic is going to be extremely useful for me, especially in combination with healing magic and the Limnan magic we’re aiming for. Steel is… a maybe, but it’s not very exciting and only situationally useful for me. Dream has some interesting possibilities, but it’s got even more possibilities mixing it with my armor.”

“What about lightning?” Godrick asked.

Sabae started to reject that immediately, on the grounds that it was one of her natural affinities, then paused to think.

“Actually, that… makes a certain amount of sense,” Sabae said. “I really don’t use it often in a single battle, and I know, what, three or four spells I can actually use? And I’ve only ever used the galvanic anchors in combination with a basic lightning spell before.”

“Could you still use your galvanic anchor trick in combination with the lightning if you convert it to siege magic?” Godrick asked.

“I should be able to just cast the galvanic anchors using stellar mana,” Sabae said. “There’s enough overlap between the two for it. The shield aspect of a starbolt, now that I’ve had a chance to really look at the spellforms, is shockingly similar to the spells that guide lightning bolts.”

“Shockingly similar?” Godrick repeated. “Please tell me that was an intentional pun.”

“Of course,” Sabae lied.

“Anyhow,” she continued, “I should be able to just plant the galvanic anchors using stellar mana and then just blast my target with siege lightning. It’s not like I was likely to be able to use stellar magic for its intended purpose, anyhow, since I can’t maintain the starfire shielding away from my body. I…”

She stopped, then a wicked smile started to spread across her face.

“Actually, you know what? I don’t think I will train any siege magic. I just thought of a much better use for my lightning and starfire affinities,” Sabae said, her smile growing even more. “I’ve thought of something even more destructive I can do with it.”

“More destructive than siege magic?” Godrick asked skeptically.

“Well, in a more focused way, but yes,” Sabae answered cheerfully.

It seemed Talia was rubbing off on her a bit.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Last Words

TO GODRICK’S AMUSEMENT, the rune bow and entropic rune axe weren’t the only Kemetrian weapons he had to train with.

Talia had, it turned out, stolen over a dozen different rune weapons from the raiders that had attacked the ship-chain, not counting a small crate of daggers. Most of the weapons were just regular soldier’s weapons— so far as they could tell, their runes just made them sharper, more durable, and hit a little harder.

Four of them, however, were stolen from warriors piloting the paper battle armor, and they were considerably more interesting.

Two of them were a matched set of throwing hatchets, sized for a twelve-foot suit of armor— which made them over half the length of Godrick’s gravity hammer. The hatchet edges could heat up enough to ignite wood— or, at least, skyspear bark— just by touching it, but that was far from their most interesting ability.

By pressing one of two runes on each hatchet, you could make them attract or repel each other, which offered some extremely interesting battle tactics— especially in combination with steel magic.

The third weapon was considerably more straightforward. It was a greatsword perfectly sized for him— or, rather, it was a dagger for one of the larger suits of armor that had assaulted the ship-chain. Talia was still grumpy she hadn’t managed to bring that armor down, but she had stolen the sword from it, somehow.

Godrick was competent enough with most melee weapons— his da had started training him young— but swords weren’t his favorite. This one, however?

This one’s blade drained the heat from whatever it touched, then vented it out the pommel-stone at the touch of a specific rune.

Godrick intended it for dragon fighting. Stab a dragon with it, leave it in the wound?

You’d get a very unhappy dragon in short order.

The fourth weapon, however, was by far Godrick’s favorite.

It was a hammer, of course. Even bigger than his gravity hammer, it had only one effect other than reinforced durability— it added force to all its swings.

A lot of force.

It made Godrick rather happy.

He didn’t, sadly, get as much time to play with the new weapons as he’d like— outside of his daily weapons practice, they were dedicating almost every waking moment to training their new magic.

Of all Godrick’s new affinities, his crystal and healing magics were developing fastest, with lighting not far behind. On the mutual agreement of the group, none of them were prioritizing their healing magic— doing so without sufficient knowledge of anatomy and medicine was dangerous, so they’d rely on Sabae for now.

Godrick’s crystal affinity was what he’d planned to dedicate most of his attention to when they’d first made their plan— it should be relatively easy to modify crystal spellforms to work with his armor and would allow for significant upgrades in strength, speed, and durability. Overlapping affinities almost always had a more impressive effect on a material than any single affinity manipulating it.

Godrick’s new affinities weren’t taking all his attention, however. He also had two lesson plans to work through: Ranna’s scent magic curriculum, and Eddin Slane’s mathematical casting techniques.

The latter were, thanks to Godrick’s mathematical talents, proving significantly easier. Well, along with the fact that Ranna, for all her skills as a teacher in person, wasn’t the best at writing out lessons. She wasn’t horrible at it, but Godrick often had to spend quite a while puzzling out her meaning about the mechanism behind some scent spell or other. Slane, meanwhile, was a gifted, easily understood writer, and Godrick readily followed his arguments and explanations.

It would be quite some time until he’d be able to control swarms of objects anywhere near the size of Slane’s ceramic tile swarms, but a few dozen floating objects? Shouldn’t be a problem.

Though, all that said, Godrick could see why Slane was struggling to get others to adopt his methods. His spellforms were disproportionately huge compared to normal object swarm spellforms— enough so that a normal mage would be unlikely to be able to fit other spellforms into their mind’s eye. Godrick’s da’s methods had helped expand his own mind’s eye in size enough that he had plenty of room, without even taking his armor elemental into account, so it wasn’t an issue for him, but for normal mages?

Much less practical.

As Godrick mastered Slane’s techniques and adapted them to his affinities, however, he’d be able to handle object swarms far larger than any he had before.

SIEGE MAGIC TRAINING was, for obvious reasons, a bad idea to attempt indoors, so the three of them were working on it out on the skyspear branch, a good half-mile farther out from the village of Chelder than their mountain. Sabae, sticking to her plan not to develop siege magic, worked on her own projects during that time.

Godrick didn’t have enough mana in his starfire reservoirs— both his new one and the ring reservoir combined— to fire a starfire bolt yet. Instead, he was just practicing a basic starfire spell, one that summoned a small jet of focused starfire, one intended to cut through metal.

It was almost impossible that Godrick would be able to train his starfire affinity up to Hugh’s level before returning home, even with the accelerated gains from training it as siege magic, but even a single starbolt coming from Godrick might be enough to surprise Alustin, if need be.

Unsurprisingly, a small crowd of Limnans had wandered out to watch them and were cheerfully heckling the group as they trained.

Next to Godrick, Hugh was training his new steel affinity as siege magic, launching one of Godrick’s steel spikes repeatedly into the bark in front of him. Each shot drained all the short mage’s mana— just as using the starfire jet rapidly drained Godrick’s mana— so the two of them had plenty of time to work on other training or just chat while they waited for their mana reservoirs to refill.

Talia was off practicing by herself because her tests with her new magic had proved even more explosive than anticipated.

“Do you think this will really be enough?” Hugh asked. “What we’re doing… We’re not giving each other any deeper understanding of our affinities, not building any sort of foundation for future knowledge. We’re just devising a bunch of tricks, really.”

Godrick shrugged as he tried to levitate a rock using only crystal magic, rather than stone magic. “Tricks were enough for the Wanderer, enough for Alustin, so they’re enough for us. And we’ll have plenty a’ time after all this is over ta’ build up solid foundations. Not ta’ mention, we already know quite a bit about each other’s affinities, just from studyin’ together over the years.”

Hugh scowled, and for a moment, Godrick thought he’d said the wrong thing by bringing up Alustin.

“One of the messages Mackerel intercepted claimed the Wanderer was still alive,” Hugh said.

Godrick wanted, for a moment, to claim it was impossible that the legendary mage had survived most of five centuries past her heyday, but…

Compared to some of the tricks the Wanderer had pulled off in the stories, immortality was nothing.

And, after everything he’d seen in just a short time wandering the multiverse, Godrick’s definition of possibility had expanded many times over.

“At this point, it really wouldn’t surprise me,” Godrick said. “But yeah, new tricks will help. If we’re somehow goin’ ta’ get the Tongue Eater back from Alustin, we can’t just come at him with better versions of our old tactics, he’ll be more than prepared for them. We’ve argued that over, again and again.”

Hugh scowled, then blasted the steel spike into a nearby patch of bark. Bark dust rained against Godrick’s armor and the Stormward’s crown, but neither of them even flinched.

Godrick reached out with his own steel magic and pulled the spike free. It hadn’t punched all the way through the branch’s thick bark— not even close.

He caught the spike in one armored hand, then gently tossed it back to Hugh. “Ah don’t think that’s what’s botherin’ yeh, though, is it?”

Hugh sent most of the Crown Nodes orbiting in his crystal halo flying back behind him, where they formed a chair built entirely of wards. Hugh flopped backward into it and groaned.

“Yeh’re tryin’ ta’ understand why Alustin would betray yeh,” Godrick guessed.

Hugh chuckled, then shook his head. “Not in the slightest. I’ve understood that this whole time. Alustin has never been anything but clear about his hate for Havath. Admittedly, I never thought he’d go as far as to betray us, but… I’ve never struggled to understand why. I wanted to believe that he never cared about us at all, but I couldn’t even force myself to believe that— no, his affection for us was simply less than his hate for Havath.”

Godrick forced himself not to press harder, and instead he just sat down on a fold in the bark looking at Hugh and patiently waited.

It was a long wait— long enough for Hugh’s steel mana reservoirs to recharge enough for another shot, and for Godrick to activate the starfire jet again.

Finally, Hugh slumped down in his ward chair and resumed talking. “It’s just… I’m worried that I’m like him.”

“How do yeh mean?”

“I don’t… I’ve always told myself that I don’t care about revenge, that I’m not driven by it. That I’ve never wanted revenge against my family, against Rhodes, against any of the people that hurt me— that I just want them out of my life. That I’m not going to get caught up in the same cycles of revenge as Kanderon, Ataerg, or Alustin have trapped themselves in. That I want to stop Alustin because it’s the right thing to do, not because he hurt me. Hurt us. But… I just keep thinking about Amalda Veil.”

“Yeh didn’t have a choice with Veil,” Godrick said. “Yeh can’t safely imprison an archmage durin’ the middle a’ battle. Someone like her, yeh probably can’t safely imprison ever. It was the tactically sound decision.”

Hugh shook his head sadly. “But that’s the thing— I didn’t kill her for tactical reasons. I did it because I was angry… because she tried to hurt all of you. Even if it was the sound tactical decision, I did it for revenge, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise. And every time I think of that…”

Hugh started coughing, and Godrick used that time to consider his answer.

He pushed down his first response, then his second. He thought carefully before going with his third.

“Yeh made that decision in the heat a’ the moment, Hugh. It doesn’t invalidate yer actions or yer motives then, but… who we are in a crisis isn’t the whole a’ us. It’s not our innermost selves. It’s just a part a’ us, and far from the greater part. With yer long term, considered actions? Yeh get ta’ choose who the rest a’ yerself is goin’ ta' be. Revenge? It’s not normally somethin’ yeh can resolve as quick as yeh did against Veil. And when yeh choose different often enough, when yeh choose who yeh’re goin’ ta’ be in the long term… well, over time, it’s goin’ ta’ change who yeh are in a crisis as well. Yeh keep turnin’ against revenge in the long term, yeh’ll find yerself turnin’ against it in the heat a’ the moment.”

Hugh gave him a surprised look. “That… actually sounds really wise. I… I need to think on that for a while.”

Godrick nodded, then yanked the steel spike back out of the bark with his magic again. “A’ course it’s wise, ah stole it from me da.”

Hugh smiled sadly. “I wish Artur was here for us to talk to.”

“Ah… yeh, me too,” Godrick said. “Me too.”

THAT NIGHT, GODRICK finally read his da’s letter.

He wasn’t sure why, exactly, he chose to open it. Maybe his conversation with Hugh had helped, maybe it had just been enough time, or maybe it was just purely a matter of whim.

But he read it.

Dear Godrick-

If you’re reading this, I’m either dead, or you’ve gotten bored and decided to read it while you wait for me.

I really hope it’s the latter, but if it is, please stop reading now.

I doubt it’s the latter, though. You’ve always been a conscientious lad, and you wouldn’t pry into something this important out of boredom.

There’s no way for me to tell you how proud of you I am. I’ve never been good enough with words for that. I’ve written a new version of this letter every single time I’ve left you to go into battle, and not once have I ever found a comparison that feels like enough to tell you how proud I am.

You’re loyal, strong, curious, and kind, and somehow, the bitterness of our world hasn’t crushed it out of you. Even in the worst days of your mother’s illness, your spark never wavered, Son.

I hope it never does.

I wish I could just spend this whole letter telling you how much I love you, but there are a few practicalities to deal with.

First, all my money and material goods belong to you, now. Do with them as you see fit.

Second, the secrets of our armor are also yours to decide what to do with now, Godrick. If you decide to take on a student, or if you decide to never tell a soul how it works, either is your decision. I trust your judgment, and I beg you don’t decide based on what you think I would have wanted— because I’m telling you now that you deciding is what I wanted.

Third, no matter how I fell or who I fell to, I beg you not to waste your life chasing revenge. Every time I’ve gone into battle, I’ve done so knowing the risks, knowing what I face, and if today is my day, well… I walked out to face Skyhold’s enemies with my eyes open. Please don’t risk your own life for revenge— your future is a far more valuable currency.

And finally…

Godrick, please don’t remember me as perfect. Don’t put me on a pedestal as some shining example you can never live up to. You always seek to see the best in those you love, and as kind as that is, it sometimes blinds you to the faults in those close to you.

I am not, and have never been, anywhere close to perfect. Nowhere in a thousand leagues.

I am, by any sensible appraisal, a monster. I have killed more mages and soldiers in battle than I’ve ever tried to count, as a mercenary as often as not. No matter how good of a father I have tried to be, no matter how many good causes I have tried to stand for, nothing can erase the stain of killing for coin. Even if I can forgive myself for the bloody acts I was forced to carry out at sea in my youth, I can never forgive myself for my callous mercenary warmongering in the years after your mother passed away.

Nor can I forgive myself for being a worse father than I should have been for you. For the weeks and months I left you alone, in the care of near-strangers in Skyhold, as I fought in campaigns across the continent. For pushing you far harder in your training as a child than is forgivable, treating ordinary childhood curiosity and distractability as some sort of personal flaw.

You should have spent your childhood playing and making friends, but I took so much of that from you.

I learned better over the years, and I hope I’m not deluding myself when I say that I became a good father to you eventually, but… that doesn’t make up for my failings in the years after Kari’s death.

After all, you were mourning her, too.

I’m sure you would forgive me if I asked, but I never felt worthy of being forgiven.

I just ask that you remember me not as some sort of golden hero or perfect father, but just as an imperfect man who tried his best.

There’s not a doubt in my heart that you’ll be a better man than I ever was.

Don’t try to walk alone like I did. Guard your friends’ backs, and let them guard yours. Do your best not to get caught up in the games of the great powers, and forge your own path.

I love you, Son, and I always will.

-Artur Wallbreaker

Godrick read the letter half a dozen times before he carefully folded it back up and replaced it in his storage tattoo.

Like most other nights the past few weeks, Godrick cried himself to sleep.

This time, though, he slept peacefully, undisturbed by nightmares.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Bad Air

TALIA PROBABLY WOULDN’T be able to use many of her new affinities for anything like their original purposes, but it didn’t seem like any of them would be entirely impossible to use.

Her tattoos were, at least, less hostile towards most of her new affinities than her original ones. Her bone affinity was still by far the least cooperative affinity with her tattoos that she had.

Ever since she’d developed bonefire, she’d had no idea how it actually worked— nor had Alustin, her family, nor anyone else been much use in figuring it out. There had been plenty of thought-provoking clues on the matter— for instance, the enchanted ballista bolts that she’d helped the Skyhold enchanters create with her mana hadn’t worked quite like her own bonefire— they didn’t add on extra mass to the ridiculous degree that her own spells did. And the extra mass from her own bonefire wasn’t actually new mass— the bonefire was converting air, dust, and loose mass around it temporarily into more bone.

They’d had a half-dozen hypotheses about how her magic really worked, but Talia was fairly sure the vision they’d all shared while carrying out their warlock pact had solved the question.

If those really had been their mana reservoirs they’d witnessed in their visions, which seemed likely, her dream mana had started leaking into her bone mana reservoir, creating some sort of barely-stable hybrid mana. The rupture had probably happened in the labyrinth, the first time she’d created bonefire.

Talia was lucky the process hadn’t killed her, but it explained most of the mysteries around bonefire, especially its ability to temporarily convert and absorb mass, which was remarkably similar to dreamfire’s abilities.

None of her new affinities seemed likely to react as weirdly as dreamfire— none were anywhere near as foreign to fire magic as bone mana was. There was a chance that some of them might react fairly normally— stellar and lightning mana, especially, shouldn’t be interfered with too badly by her tattoos. Though, despite the name, starfire wasn’t similar enough to real fire to actually be enhanced by her tattoos.

Others would likely have minimal effect. Her stone magic would likely heat up its target when being used, but rock had a fairly massive capacity for heat, so it’s not like she’d be turning it into magma or anything— yet, at least.

It was definitely on her to-do list.

Scent magic and healing magic were looking to be the least useful for Talia— she’d probably just end up burning whoever she tried to heal. It didn’t even seem particularly likely that it would be useful in battle— there was a reason there were so few mages that used healing spells for combat, outside those few who used it to modify their own bodies or accelerate their healing to unnatural degrees. Not that Talia would have minded either of those, but most human practitioners of those arts died horribly and young. And she doubted she’d be able to produce any scent other than things burning.

Of all her new affinities, though, wind was not only the one growing the fastest, but it was also the one most benefited by her tattoos.

So far, the small gusts of wind she’d been able to produce had only been a little on the warm side, but Talia was delighted at the prospect of scouring battlefields with superheated wind.

Her planned siege magic was going to be even more fun. It was one of her less-useful affinities that her tattoos interfered heavily with— but for the purposes of siege magic, it shouldn’t be a problem.

In fact, Talia would go so far as to say the affinity in question would have been useless for literally anything but siege magic.

Her new affinities weren’t the only change she was going through, however. Talia had kept a dream and sleep journal for years now— it was standard practice for all dream mages. She did, admittedly, put less effort into it than most, but she usually remembered to use it.

With the revelation that her bone mana had been contaminated by her dream mana, however, Talia had taken the time to go back through the journal and look more seriously for any changes over time.

Talia’s dream affinity might be broken, might never work save for some highly specific uses, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t studied the affinity extensively— and, as an extension of that, dreams.

Dream was something more fundamental to thinking beings than language, play, even than sex. It was rare to find animals that didn’t speak, even in rudimentary languages of barked panic or chemical signals, but it happened. It was uncommon to find animals that didn’t engage in play, but it did happen among insects and some hive organisms. It was easy and common to find creatures that reproduced without sex, via cloning themselves or other odd means.

There was no such thing as an undreaming animal, though. Even artificial minds like Mackerel slept. The single most common way liches failed, apparently, was neglecting to build the ability to dream into their demesnes, which drove them irreparably mad and killed them within weeks.

Even animals that didn’t sleep dreamed.

To use magic that meddled with something as fundamental as dream warped you, changed you. Some dream mages began sleeping more, often half of every day. Some began sleeping less, as little as two hours a night. Others just went strange, reacting in progressively less normal ways to everyday life.

They commonly lost their ability to distinguish dream from reality, reacting to that in a variety of different ways. Most eventually simply shrugged, and accepted both as real, content to live life slightly mad. Others went dangerously mad, often driven to suicide. A rare few ended up going to war with themselves, their living selves fighting their dream selves, both convinced the other was some growing mental parasite intending to take over their true life. That one seldom ended well.

Not all dream mages ended up so badly, of course, and research attempts to minimize the changes had borne a decent number of fruit over the years. The overwhelming majority of dream mages these days lived normal lives, albeit usually getting rather eccentric later in life. Some dream mages had actually embraced the changes, and self-modification was increasingly common. Constructing dream-minds that could control and protect the body during sleep, mental calculating engines that could solve problems while the mage slept, and more esoteric alterations to the psyche were possible. Talia had no interest in trying any of those modifications, though— even for normal dream mages, the casualty rate for self-modification was even higher than it was for magical body modification. Talia was reckless, but not that reckless, especially given how weird and volatile her magic was.

Even dream lichdom was theoretically possible, though it could only be built in a city larger than any existing today— the theoretical minimum population was seven million inhabitants, far larger than any city on Anastis. Talia doubted that even Hebrast had been anywhere near that population, and the Kemetrian city was much larger than anything her homeworld had to offer, so far as she knew.

Even if it was unlikely to happen anytime soon, it was entertaining to speculate about. Who knew how having their dreams become a part of a lich demesne might change the citizens of a city?

Regardless, even without actively trying to modify her own psyche, using her dreamfire inevitably would end up changing Talia. Dream manifestation provoked larger changes over the long term than dream illusions but smaller changes than dream tinkering.

And those changes were already starting for Talia. She needed less sleep per night than she had a couple years ago— by half an hour less or so on average. Not a huge deal to the average person, but significant for a dream mage. Likewise, her dreams themselves were changing— she was recording half again as many discrete scenes in each dream now as she had when she’d first started the journal.

She hadn’t noticed those changes until now— they’d happened gradually, and it was only apparent when going back over her dream journal.

What those changes meant, Talia wasn’t sure, but there would be plenty of time to worry about them in the future.

THEY’D BEEN ON Limnus a little over two weeks when Talia woke to the rotten-egg stench of brimstone, hints of the metallic scent of iodine, and Hugh coughing in his sleep.

Talia actually started hacking herself before she activated her scrimshaw ward— something must have happened to the wards filtering the air in their temporary home.

“Hugh, wake up,” Talia said, shaking him. “Activate the Crown, now!”

Once Hugh had the Stormward’s Crown protecting him, his coughing died down considerably, though it didn’t stop entirely.

Even Mackerel was giving Hugh worried looks from his normal resting place on the stone bed-stand.

By the time they got dressed, Godrick and Sabae were already out in the living room in their own armor, checking over their losthome’s air wards.

“What’s wrong?” Talia demanded.

Godrick looked up and shook his head. “Ah’m not entirely sure. It’s like the wards are just crumblin’ ta’ bits everywhere.”

Hugh crouched down next to him, still coughing a bit. After a minute or two of examining the wards, he stood up and drank from a waterskin from his storage tattoo.

“I’m an idiot,” Hugh said. “It’s the quakes. We’ve been feeling them the whole time we’ve been here, but I didn’t pay them much attention— I figured they were too small to break my wards. I was clearly wrong, though— I’m guessing that the sheer number of small quakes set up some kind of destructive resonance in the ward.”

“I don’t think the leak just started, though,” Talia said. “Your cough has been getting worse and worse the whole time we’ve been here. I think this has been going on the whole time.”

“It hasn’t been that bad, has it?” Hugh asked.

Godrick shrugged. “Ah didn’t notice it until Talia pointed it out, but… yeah, it has been gettin’ worse, now that ah think about it.”

Sabae nodded in agreement.

Talia sighed. “I think… I think we might need to leave Limnus. Either head back to Kemetrias or return home early.”

“Hold on,” Hugh said.

“Kemetrias is probably the safer bet,” Sabae said. “As long as we’re on the Ithonian continent, we’re at risk of being tracked down by our enemies. Mackerel might protect us from scrying, but unless we’re hiding out in the wilderness, mundane search methods will still work fine.”

“Seriously, wait a second,” Hugh said. “My cough isn’t that bad, and now that we know the problem with the ward, I can do regular maintenance to deal with it. And we’re only a few weeks away from getting basic Limnan magic, which should help my cough.”

Talia shook her head. “The healers told us over and over that you need to avoid airborne contaminants, poison gases, and the like. You can’t keep the Crown active all the time, and if you stay here, you’re going to injure your lungs all over again. And basic Limnan magic might help prevent further damage, but it’s not going to heal the damage that’s already there, is it?”

Hugh scowled but shook his head. “I still think I can fix the wards and maintain them well enough, though.”

“We can settle this later,” Sabae said. “For now, can we fix the wards?”

It was approaching dawn already, so none of them tried to get back to sleep again. Hugh was still coughing regularly as he and Godrick worked on the wards, and Talia watched him worriedly as he worked. Mackerel had slung himself over Hugh’s shoulder and refused to move.

“Even if I do go,” Hugh said, “which I’m not agreeing to yet, you all shouldn’t. I can last a few weeks on my own on Kemetrias while you all develop Limnan magic.”

“We’re not letting yeh wander through a labyrinth on yer own,” Godrick said.

The conversation was looking like it would descend into an argument when Emgol, Kunin, and an elderly Limnan with immense, bat-like ears whose name Talia didn’t know walked into their losthome.

“Seriously, do Limnans not have any sense of privacy?” Talia muttered.

The elderly Limnan woman ignored the rest of them and marched straight over to Hugh, reaching for his face.

When her hand bounced off the surface of the Crown, the woman scowled, barked something at Hugh, then knocked on the ward again.

Hugh gave Talia a puzzled look, but the ward shimmered, and when the old woman reached through it again, her hand passed through easily.

The elder set to looking down Hugh’s throat, listening to his breathing, and in general behaving the same as any healer Talia had ever met.

“Hold on, do you think they came here because they heard Hugh coughing?” Sabae asked. “All the way from the village?”

“It kinda seems that way,” Godrick said.

Emgol and Kunin, meanwhile, were wandering around and sniffing the air in their losthome with obvious distaste. After a short conversation, they hurried off.

After a few more minutes, the healer ordered Hugh to sit down in one of the stone chairs Godrick had crafted for the losthome, then dragged Godrick off to their kitchen to… make some sort of herbal tea, it looked like.

“I think maybe we should hold off on making a decision for now,” Hugh said.

“You just want to get out of leaving,” Talia said, irritably.

“Well, yes,” Hugh admitted. “But at the same time, the Limnans are living here fine, and it can’t entirely be due to their magic, can it?”

Talia was going to argue more but refrained when Hugh started coughing again.

When Emgol and Kunin got back, it was with a whole crowd of villagers from Chelder, many of them carrying big bundles of the fabric they and their buildings used as veils.

“There’s no way some fabric will do the trick where your wards fail,” Talia muttered.

Despite her skepticism, Talia actually found herself hopeful about staying. Sure, Limnus smelled horrible, they were in constant danger from one threat or another while they lived here, and their beds just consisted of their bedrolls laid out atop stone blocks in their rooms, but…

Talia was, she had to admit, really excited about developing alien magic, even if it would be subtle.

Part of her kind of wanted to try and develop the full suite of Limnan shapeshifting powers, but according to the Guide, it took years or even decades, and she didn’t think her tattoos or the modifications to her bones would mix well with shapeshifting.

On top of that, the view on Limnus was amazing, and Talia wasn’t ready to give it up just yet.

“You know, Mackerel would have gotten distracted by now if this had happened even a few months ago,” Sabae said. “Him watching over Hugh so patiently seems like another sign of how much he’s maturing.”

The spellbook shot Sabae a dirty look but didn’t leave Hugh’s side.

“You know, I think you’re right,” Talia said.

Mackerel gave Talia a betrayed look, and she shrugged apologetically at him.

Talia wasn’t even sure how many villagers were bustling through their losthome, but before long, the four of them were being fitted with veils of their own, and fabric veils were being fitted at seemingly random places along the walls, floor, and ceiling.

Godrick looked sheepish at that. “We spent most a’ the time makin’ sure gases didn’t leak in the doors or windows, but the quakes opened other cracks to the outdoors.”

“How are they tracking them down without stone magic?” Sabae asked.

The question made Godrick look even more embarrassed. “Ah’m pretty sure they’re trackin’ the leaks by smell— which is somethin’ ah coulda done, if ah’d thought to.”

“What even is this fabric?” Sabae asked, inspecting some of it curiously.

“They make it from fibers in the bromeliad petals and leaves,” Talia said.

The others all gave her surprised looks.

“What? I pay attention to things other than weapons and books,” Talia insisted.

“I’ve never heard of bromeliad-based fabrics back home,” Sabae said doubtfully.

“These pretty clearly aren’t the sorts of bromeliads you find back on Ithos, are they?” Talia rebutted.

Sabae shrugged affably at that.

After about a half an hour, an argument broke out between two groups of villagers— about what, Talia had no idea.

“Is the tea helping?” she asked Hugh. It certainly seemed like it had— his coughing was sporadic at most now.

He nodded. “Tastes good, too. Kinda like… I dunno, mushrooms but sweet, if that makes sense?”

Talia gave him a skeptical look at that, though the other two just nodded. Talia didn’t hate mushrooms, but she wasn’t their biggest fan. The other two, though, like everyone that grew up in the Endless Erg, were well-used to mushrooms— half the cities in the desert had underground mushroom farms, it was one of the few forms of viable large-scale agriculture in the region.

After a few minutes, the argument between the villagers was resolved, and they started taking down the fabric.

“Did they… decide not to help us?” Sabae asked.

Emgol noticed their confusion and came over to try to explain to them what was going on.

The big hunter’s incomprehensible speech and gestures failed to clear literally anything up. After a couple of minutes, he sighed audibly, shrugged his furred shoulders, then gestured at them to follow.

Talia and the others exchanged weird looks and made to follow, though the healer forced Hugh to stay put while he drank more tea.

The villagers were all friendly and cheerful enough as the three of them followed them back to the village, so Talia was pretty confident they weren’t getting kicked out of the village. Emgol seemed especially friendly, chatting incomprehensibly with Sabae as they walked.

Talia raised an eyebrow at that, then nudged Godrick with an elbow. “Sabae’s got an admirer, it seems.”

Godrick rolled his eyes. “Dating without a shared language sounds like a disaster.”

“You have seen Sabae’s love life so far, right?” Talia asked him.

Godrick rolled his eyes even harder at that but didn’t argue.

The inexplicable behavior of the villagers became clear when they were led over the bark walkways to one of the largest bromeliads, where the three of them were ushered into a large bark dwelling woven into the outer petals of the massive flower.

“I think they’re offering us a different place to stay,” Sabae said. “I don’t know if it’s going to be enough for Hugh’s lungs, though.”

“Easy way to find out,” Talia said, then deactivated her scrimshaw ward and took a deep breath.

She couldn’t smell a hint of brimstone or iodine.

AFTER THE GROUP moved most of their stuff over to the house in the village, Kunin’s friend, Otkin, took the time to show them how the houses kept the air so clean.

Of course, they missed out on a lot due to the language barrier, but Otkin showed them how the walls were made of alternating layers of bromeliad silk and bark boards, keeping most of the brimstone and iodine traces out of the house.

It was a bit more of a struggle to explain the role of the bromeliad itself in the process, but it seemed like Otkin was telling them that the massive flowers didn’t just clean the water in their internal ponds, but also filtered the air around them, so if you let the petals jut into your house, it would actually clean the air for you.

The house’s toilets also led down into the roots of the bromeliad— it seemed it benefited almost as much from the relationship as the Limnans did.

The group didn’t clean out the mountaintop losthome entirely— it would still be a decent training area— but Hugh’s cough had retreated back to pre-Limnan levels within just a few days of moving into the village proper. Talia suspected that was in great part due to the regular visits of the healer, Amsky.

The Limnans might be weird, but they were excellent neighbors.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Decaying Towers

ALUSTIN’S MEETING WITH the Tsarnassans, when it happened, was in the north of Ithos, on the plains between the Skyreach Range and the Green Mountains.

Alustin had taken a small, highly mobile force with him— twenty-odd Librarians Errant and half again as many Starholt battlemages. There were also contingents from Ctesia and Sydapsyn, and a handful of mages from some of the smaller city-states, but no one from the Ruhn Syndicate— the gangsters weren’t exactly diplomatic at the best of times. Tsarnassus would also have an easier time justifying joining the conflict openly if they could reasonably fake not knowing about the Syndicate’s role.

Not that they weren’t already well aware, of course, but there was always an element of formal play-acting to politics.

With as many non-fliers as they were bringing, Alustin had needed to bring a disproportionately large number of gravity mages to ease the burden of flight. On long-distance flights like this, wind mages were generally preferable, but…

Alustin would have liked to have brought a few dragons as well, but they were crossing far too many draconic territories on the path there. Not to mention, the plains between the entrance to Highvale and the borders of Havath were far too closely watched to slip dragons through right now.

All told, Alustin’s escort to the negotiations numbered less than a hundred— far more than he would have preferred, but he hadn’t been able to find an argument to keep most of the factions in his mage army from joining him in negotiations with Tsarnassus. The force wasn’t enough to really defend itself from concerted Havathi assault if they were able to track them down, but it was still too many to be able to conceal with any ease. Between Alustin’s labyrinth stone and the dozen illusionists flying with them, they were able to just barely work their way north across the plains.

Barely.

It would have been much easier if they could have crossed Highvale, but the valley nation had firmly sided with the remains of the Coven, even with the ridiculous plague propaganda falling apart. And when Highvale didn’t want a force crossing their territory, it didn’t cross their territory. They might be lacking in terms of great powers, but their military was otherwise one of the most effective on the continent.

As long as they stayed hostile to Havath as well, Alustin wasn’t too worried.

Their biggest aid in traversing the northern lowlands, however, was Solintus the Patient. The plains were the territory of the gargantuan creature, who easily outweighed any other land animal on the continent.

Solintus hadn’t, so far, taken any stance in the brewing conflict— nor did Alustin think it likely. The giant gravity mage rarely showed interest in leaving his territory, save to steal new castles to adorn his shell. He might frequently be referred to as castle-sized, but only the largest of castles rivaled Solintus’ bulk— smaller castles just served as ornament, defense, and homes for Solintus’s servants.

Even with Solintus nowhere to be seen, neither Havath nor the Coven was willing to risk his ire by sending more than a few scouting parties into his territory.

Solintus was hardly the only great power in the region, either. The rest all bowed or hid from Solintus, but there were some real monsters in the region— not least Keayda, the naga stone lich, in the southern Green Mountains. He was, so far as Alustin knew, the oldest, and one of the most powerful, liches on the continent.

Despite having had a few friendly interactions with Keayda in the past, Alustin was staying far away from the lich’s demesne. Keayda was involved with the same shadowy extraplanar organization as Kanderon and Havath— he doubted the lich would take kindly to his mission. And given that Keayda and Kanderon had shared an uneasy friendship older than any Ithonian nation alive today, he imagined his betrayal of Kanderon wouldn’t be met with approval.

One of the hazards they’d been on guard against while traveling, in fact, was Keayda’s own order of Librarians Errant— Kanderon had gotten the idea for the order from the lich centuries ago. Thankfully, there hadn’t been any sign of their sibling order.

It had been nerve-wracking crossing the plains, but they’d made it incident-free to their meeting place: the dead city of Allanoi.

Before the fall of Ruhn and the assassination of Essem, the Iron Lich of Skoura, Allanoi had grown wealthy off the iron trade. It sat alongside one of the countless tributaries of the Stoneknife river that came out of the ancient Green Mountains, far enough east of the Skyreach Range that it didn’t have to worry about raids from the mountain clans. The great overland caravans from Skoura brought the iron southeast to Allanoi. Most of it was then shipped downstream— some to Highvale, of course, but most of the remainder was loaded onto more caravans to be shipped down to Ruhn, for the construction of the immense steel towers of Suriphan.

Suriphan had fallen when Ruhn was conquered by Havath fifty years ago, however, just a few years after the assassination of Essem.

And though it was common knowledge that the Mirror Mage who slew the lich had been a rogue Librarian Errant, it was a far better-concealed secret that the Mirror Mage had been responsible for the sabotage of Suriphan as well.

A secret that Alustin and the other Librarians Errant had no intention of ever sharing with the Ruhn Syndicate.

After the iron trade collapsed, Allanoi had begun a slow, painful death. The fall of the iron trade hadn’t been the only factor, of course— it was certainly the biggest, but there were plenty of others. The annihilation of Louthem at the talons of Intet Slew had closed off the best northern trade route across the Skyreach Range, Highvale ambitions had forced a number of the mountain clans farther north, leading to increasing raids across the region, and the improving relations between Alikea and Tsarnassus in response to Havathi expansion had reduced the number of Alikean merchants willing to cross the Green Mountains, when there was a far easier trip they could make to the east.

Without the money from trade, Allanoi hadn’t been able to pay the dirt and water mages to keep the river from changing course, and over the years, it shifted its banks until its closest approach was over a league away from the city.

The final death blow had been an assault by Dorsas Ine, stripping the city of all its gold. The phoenix great power hadn’t bothered to conquer the city— he never stayed in Solintus’s territory for long, probably rightfully fearing the gravity mage more than any other great power— but had burned down huge portions of it as he robbed the city.

Allanoi’s arrogant towers, raised high above the plains, now stood half in ruins. A couple of them had even been stolen by Solintus over the years.

In its glory days, Allanoi had been home to almost two hundred thousand souls.

Now it lay empty, save for the occasional scavenger or herdsman wandering through.

NO TWO OF the towers of Allanoi were alike, but it wasn’t a graceful chaos like Tsarnassus’ own tower city Lemannen, where the wildly diverse towers somehow came together in a cohesive whole.

No, Allanoi in its heyday had just been a gaudy mess, the towers the purchases of egotistical merchant princes, each feuding to build the biggest and most impressive tower of all. Towers not just of stone, but also metal, glass, and living tree towers. One of the merchant princes had somehow even convinced Solintus to use his shell magic to grow him a mother-of-pearl tower, though no trace of that one remained— Dorsas Ine had gone out of his way to smash that one out of spite, and the broken shards had long-since been looted for decorative purposes.

Alustin was of mixed mind about meeting the Tsarnassans in the ruins— on the one hand, it saved them from having to sneak into an inhabited meeting place, while on the other, if anyone spotted either side sneaking into the decaying ruins, it would absolutely arouse suspicions.

Alustin’s force chose to settle in one of the remaining living tree towers near the river— it was badly overgrown, and most of the living space inside it had closed off during the decades, but there was still enough open space higher up for them to camp inside, and the tree tower was much more stable than most of the other ruins.

As he landed on one of the upper branches of the tree, Alustin felt the Tongue Eater twitch. He immediately focused on a twig nearby, dedicating all his attention to it, doing his best to replicate its appearance in his mind.

He felt a few words from dead languages slide around the edges of his mind, but the visualization trick actually worked this time.

He’d spent quite a bit of time researching through his personal library for ways to protect himself from the Tongue Eater— he’d been trying various techniques from protecting oneself from mental manipulation, mostly. This visual focus technique was the best he’d found so far, and it was only working half the time.

Alustin shook his head, then got to work scrying the ruins of Allanoi, both for threats and the Tsarnassan delegation.

To his relief, he found none of the former, and the Tsarnassan delegation had arrived before them.

Alustin crafted a sparrow origami golem. “Celia, I found the Tsarnassans. Greet them for us, would you?”

Celia the Anchor nodded and flew off behind the golem.

The paper mage watched her fly off thoughtfully, then chuckled wryly.

Now was hardly the time to pursue romance, but old habits die hard.

Alustin turned his attention towards seeding the Allanoi ruins with origami golems, glyph-inscribed pages, and more defenses.

Just because enemies hadn’t arrived yet, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Visiting Titans

HUGH HAD— UNCONSCIOUSLY, at least— considered Limnan magic inferior to Anastan. Hardly useless, otherwise the group wouldn’t be pursuing it themselves, but the upper bounds of it were clearly inferior to the upper bounds of Anastan magic.

Their first sight of a Limnan great power cast severe doubt on that.

When it arrived, Hugh and his friends were training atop one of the bromeliads, as Mackerel swam about inside its pond chasing fish and frogs. The group didn’t pay much attention as some of the villagers started shouting— Chelder was a noisy, boisterous place, and there was always some sort of celebration or argument going on.

More arguments than celebrations, albeit cheerful arguments. The villagers really seemed to enjoy arguing with each other, often over their bizarre membrane books.

The first thing that really caught their attention was the shouting of the village children as they were led outside the crèche that dominated the village’s largest bromeliad flower. Hugh had only seen children outside the shelter a handful of times in their weeks here, usually when they tried to sneak out to play.

The children didn’t hold their attention for more than a few seconds, though. The shadow of the Limnan great power snatched that right away.

At first, Hugh thought it was one of the monsters from the deep that Galvachren had warned about— and that he’d often caught glimpses of breaching the purple clouds below. The creature was larger than the village itself, and Indris Stormbreaker could have fit multiple times over into its bulk. It still wasn’t as big as Ephyrus, the massive storm jellyfish that drifted the skies over Ithos’ jungles, but it was immense, nonetheless.

It took Hugh several seconds of staring for his mind to figure out the shape of the fur-covered being hovering above them. It was almost snakelike in shape but far thicker proportionally than any serpent, and its tail branched out, again and again, until it had split into dozens of long, flexible tentacles behind them. The creature also had dozens of long, multi-jointed arms stretching out radially up and down its length.

More than the thick, forest-like fur, the constantly moving arms and tails, or the unsettling way its sides expanded, contracted, and rippled, it was its eyes that caught Hugh’s attention. There were hundreds of them running up and down the creature, many of them bigger than Godrick.

And each and every one of those eyes was recognizably human.

“I guess Limnan shapeshifting goes farther than we thought,” Hugh said.

HUGH’S FRIENDS ALL gave him startled looks.

“There’s no way that thing used to be human,” Talia said, but there wasn’t any heat in it.

Below them, the villagers of Chelder were rushing over the walkways of the village, heading towards the giant Limnan shapeshifter, who was slowly lowering itself towards the branch near the village, anchoring itself to the tree with its long, multi-jointed arms.

Kunin went jogging past on a nearby walkway and waved cheerfully at them, then gestured for them to follow.

“Is this some sort of ‘let’s feed the strangers to our giant shapeshifting elder?’ ritual?” Sabae asked jokingly.

No one laughed.

“Yeh have any clue how it stays afloat?” Godrick asked.

Sabae looked a little disappointed at the lack of response to her joke but nodded. “It’s got some sort of internal gas flotation sacs, filled with a mix of air and… something else, not sure. My air affinity sense is having trouble coming to grips with it.”

“Really wasn’t expecting Limnus to have great powers,” Talia said, echoing Hugh’s earlier thoughts. “Also, I dunno if shapeshifters is the right word since they can’t shift back again?”

“Are yeh sure now’s the time for naming conversations?” Godrick asked.

Hugh shrugged, then started climbing down off the top of the bromeliad. “Not like we’re going to get much training done. I vote we call it a Limnan titan.”

The others followed behind, equally curious. It said a lot that none of them argued about his proposed name for the being.

He imagined that the others were trying just as hard as he was to understand how exactly the titan had grown so huge. Advanced Limnan magic could create immense shifts in a living body, but only in response to stress, danger, and damage to the body. The Limnans who changed the most were those who lived the most dangerous lives.

In order to become as large and as inhuman as the titans? Hugh couldn’t even imagine the dangers and injuries they’d faced, nor how many Limnans died horribly trying to pursue that state.

Hugh was certainly nervous approaching beings so immense, but the good cheer of the villagers and the presence of the children were definitely a relief.

He did pause when the titan started speaking to the villagers. He wasn’t sure where it came from— he still didn’t see a mouth on the creature— but its voice was surprisingly melodious and no louder than Kanderon’s— which, admittedly, was still overwhelming, but less so than he’d expected for something so big.

Hugh’s comfort levels dropped precipitously when another titan descended from the clouds above.

This one didn’t fly, but rather scuttled down the trunk of the skyspear head-first. It was smaller than the first— no more than four hundred feet long, and maybe thirty feet wide. It looked like a centipede if every segment of its body was a yellow crab the exact shade of the mists above. The only reason Hugh even guessed that it was another titan like the first was the cheering from the villagers and the friendly waves the first titan gave.

As the crab-centipede titan drew closer, Hugh saw that its six eyes were just as human as the flying titan that had risen from below.

“Are the villagers setting up a festival?” Talia asked, pointing out a group of them hauling tables and chairs out onto the branch in front of the two titans.

“Sure looks like it,” Godrick said. “Yeh think we should help?”

Hugh felt a little torn— after the stress of the past few months, an afternoon and evening to celebrate sounded wonderful. They also only had a few weeks left to train, though.

Before he could make up his mind, though, Mackerel dropped a fish on Sabae’s head.

The fish spread its wings and took to the air, flying in a panic towards the nearest bromeliad, while Mackerel looked extremely satisfied with himself as he darted behind Hugh.

Sabae rolled her eyes. “You’ve already done the fish gift gag. When’s the last time you’ve tried a new prank? Face it, you’re just going through the motions.”

Sabae shook her head and turned to the others. “We all need the break, I think. And the villagers have done so much for us, the least we can do is help them set up the festival. Though I’m going to have to wash my hair, first.”

Hugh patted Mackerel on the cover. “Well, it was a nice try, buddy. Maybe next time.”

Mackerel gave Hugh an exasperated look.

LIMNAN MAGIC MIGHT be more powerful than Hugh had realized, but Anastan magic was still, so far as he was concerned, unparalleled when it came to party prep.

Hugh and Godrick made short work of transporting furniture, cooking gear, and musical instruments using levitation spells, while Talia entertained the crowd by blasting thrown chunks of bark out of the air with dreamfire.

The party was set up and in full swing in just half an hour, even faster than Theras Tel set their parties in motion on storm days. The villagers had set up a barn-sized veil tent for the children to play in, where they were close enough to see and be seen by the two titans. It was a fairly clear day, so far as toxic gases went, to the point where none of the adults except for the masked Limnans wore veils, and even Hugh could breathe mostly normally. That still wasn’t clear enough for children, it seemed.

Hugh and his friends still had no idea what the deal was with the masked Limnans. They didn’t seem to be treated differently than any of the other Limnans, nor hold themselves apart in any way other than the masks.

“I wonder if this was an impromptu thing or something scheduled?” Hugh asked Godrick. “A seasonal holiday, maybe?”

“Does Limnus have seasons?” Godrick asked.

Hugh frowned. “I… don’t actually know.”

He turned to Otkin, who was standing next to them eating some sort of crustacean leg. “Otkin, does Limnus have seasons?”

Otkin said something cheerful and incomprehensible.

“I don’t know why I thought that would work,” Hugh said.

Godrick laughed at that. “Don’t feel bad, ah do that a solid five times a day.”

Before they could speculate about the festival more, Talia popped out of nowhere and dragged Hugh over to the dance floor. The two of them knew none of Chelder’s dances, but most of them seemed to require more enthusiasm than anything.

The music was even stranger than the music in Hebrast— half the instruments were bizarre pipes and woodwinds built into the masks of some of the masked Limnans, and most of the rest were sharp, twangy stringed instruments with circular bodies.

The drums were just drums, of course.

The festival ran well into the night, and both titans seemed delighted by it, curling around the outside of the celebration. At one point, the larger titan flew away, returning a few minutes later with the sphinx-sized corpse of some purple Limnan creature with tentacles trailing from its wings.

Hugh was more than a little disturbed watching the two titans eat the winged creature raw, but none of the villagers seemed even a little bothered.

“Emgol is definitely interested in Sabae,” Talia said as they rested by one of the fires. Godrick had been sitting with them but had left to go help out at the cookfires. Mackerel, still a bit grumpy, had been playing with the children in their big tent most of the evening.

“I just saw him making out with another hunter, not an hour ago,” Hugh protested.

“Yeah, and?” Talia asked. “I think they’re fairly easy-going about that sort of thing here. I know there are at least a few three and four-person relationships in the village.”

“Maybe, but…” Hugh stopped as he saw the hunter Emgol had been kissing earlier stalk over towards where he was trying to convince Sabae to dance, then start yelling at him. “Wait, no, Emgol’s just a jerk.”

Sabae separated herself from the ongoing argument and made her way over to Hugh and Talia with an exasperated look on her face.

“Was it really too much to hope, that flirting would be less terrible and dramatic on other planets?” Sabae demanded.

Hugh and Talia couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Sabae glared at them for a little bit, but before long, her scowl cracked into a smile, and then she was laughing right along with them.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Tsarnassan Negotiations

THE NEGOTIATIONS WITH the Tsarnassans had already been going for three days, and Alustin was growing increasingly impatient.

Most of the supposed Tsarnassan concerns were minor quibbles; the actual hold-ups were the endless attempts to get more information about the weapons stolen from Skyhold’s vault. Not the Tongue Eater, of course, but the Tsarnassan delegation was endlessly curious about the chitin wand and the Last Echo of the Lord of Bells.

The head Tsarnassan negotiator, Styres Elial, from the family of Champion Casser Elial— better known as Casser Spellstorm— seemed convinced that the Last Echo was a resonance cascade weapon, no matter how much Alustin had assured him otherwise.

As deadly as resonance cascade weapons were, they were almost impossible to transport without setting them off. And even if Alustin wanted to build one, Kanderon was probably the only one alive who…

Well, Alustin supposed that no one left alive knew how to build a resonance cascade weapon. Probably for the best, that. He was genuinely surprised Styres had ever even heard of them— only a small handful of them had ever been built and tested centuries ago, and only by Skyhold. The calculations involved were nightmarish, growing exponentially more difficult and time-consuming the larger the magical explosives grew. There was no standardized way to produce them. Even then, the largest blasts they’d produced were smaller than the spells many great powers could launch in battle.

Admittedly, the destruction within a resonance cascade weapon’s blast radius was nearly total, but the handful of them in Skyhold’s Vault were considered among the less dangerous weapons there.

Sitting around in an overgrown tree tower for days listening to diplomatic prattle and ridiculous theories was hardly his idea of a good time, so Alustin relieved the boredom by scrying the territory near Allanoi every few minutes.

When one of his scrying spells picked up Havathi dragons flying inbound at high speed, he found himself immediately wishing he was still bored.

Alustin bolted up out of his chair, interrupting some minor Tsarnassan functionary arguing that the chitin wand should be turned over to them if they joined, rather than entrusted to Sydapsyn. Probably for the best that Alustin interrupted him— the gorgons at the meeting were looking distinctly unamused.

“We’ve got incoming. At least a full wing of Havathi dragons carrying passengers, accompanied by dozens of fliers. We’ve got maybe half an hour. Everyone, get ready to move out now.”

The minor functionary blanched at that and started spluttering, but Alustin ignored him.

“Representative Elial, do you want to retreat separately or consolidate forces with us?”

To his credit, Styres looked remarkably unfazed by the news they were under attack. Tsarnassan politicians were often appointed purely for their family connections— it was one of the major downsides of their extremely family-centric social structures. Styres, it seemed, had been chosen for more than just his kinship with one of the most powerful Tsarnassan Champions.

“Splitting up seems foolish,” Styres said. “As does split command. I remand control of my escort to you until we’ve escaped this attack.”

Several of the minor Tsarnassan delegates protested, but Styres just waved them down. “Consider it a test, Alustin Haber. I’m sure you’re quite as competent as rumors say in battle, but there’s a big difference between individual combat and command.”

Alustin raised a brow at the man, but he didn’t waste time with further discussion, and began issuing orders immediately.

The Tsarnassan force was considerably smaller than his own— thirty or so all told, including seven delegates, none of whom would be of any use. Most of their mages were scouts and fliers— useful in a retreat, certainly.

A full dozen of the Tsarnassans were gryphon rider warlocks, which would be considerably more useful.

The next few minutes were hectic as Alustin issued the orders to prepare for emergency departure. Despite Styres handing command of his forces to Alustin, the book mage kept his orders to them bare-bones and minimal— he didn’t know their procedures or their chain of command. Better to simply give them a goal and let them figure out the how.

That was, really, one of the most effective ways to lead, so long as you had sufficiently independent and capable forces.

As Kanderon’s left hand, Alustin had led plenty of small and mid-sized task forces over the years, and his father had certainly prepared him for command when he was young.

Darmyn Haber might have been an abusive monster of a father, but he’d never skimped on Alustin’s education. Most of the cruelties he’d inflicted on Alustin as a child had been in the name of teaching him. And as one of Helicote’s most prominent Lord Citizens, his father frequently led troops into battle, and he’d expected Alustin to follow in his footsteps.

All the same, despite all Alustin’s training in leadership from Kanderon and his father, and despite the past weeks of leading his growing army, he felt woefully unprepared at the moment.

Once Alustin had everyone bustling in preparation, he felt his stress recede a bit. As long as they left quickly, they should be able to escape. He’d take a force of fliers in combination with his skysail trick any day of the week over dragons in an endurance race.

Not to mention, dragons would be leery of closing in when their forces included gryphons. Rightfully so— the smaller creatures had been magically engineered millennia ago to fight against dragons by the enemies of the ancient draconic empire.

Alustin gave a few final orders, then turned his attention to scrying, checking first to make sure the Havathi dragons hadn’t accelerated, then checking to make sure the potential routes away from the city were clear.

The dragons, to his relief, were maintaining a steady pace.

The routes away from the city, however, were anything but clear.

There were Havathi forces coming from every direction. The first force he’d detected was still the biggest, but each of the others still outnumbered his forces on their own.

Alustin shook his head and smiled bitterly. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“New orders, everyone. We’ve got more incoming from every direction. At least four wings, carrying plenty of troops— mostly mages, I’m guessing. We’re going to have to stay and fight.”

One of the Tsarnassan dignitaries spluttered. “We can’t fight four wings of troops, we’ll be annihilated. We’ve got to be outnumbered, what, six to one?”

“More like eight to one,” Alustin said.

“That’s insane,” the dignitary protested. “We should just turn you over to them instead.”

“You can try,” Alustin said with a smile.

The dignitary started to speak again, but Styres Elial cut him off. “Can you handle the Havathi?”

Alustin looked him right in the eyes. “I can. It’s not going to be easy, and not without casualties, but we’ve had days to ready our defenses.”

Styres just stared at him as though looking for any sign of doubt, then sighed. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

Alustin’s opinion of the man went up considerably, and he nodded.

“Alright, we’re moving all of our noncombatants to our fallback point!” Alustin called. “Let’s get moving!”

Celia caught up with him as he was flying back towards their base tower, the overgrown living tree. “What in the hells are you doing? We can’t handle four full wings, not with the wards and traps we’ve set up. They’re built to delay attackers while we flee, not hold off a small army!”

“We don’t have a choice,” Alustin told her, peeling back the mask of his paper armor to look her in the eyes as they flew. “Besides, I have a plan.”

“What, did you steal yet another secret weapon from the Vault?” Celia demanded.

Inside his storage tattoo, the Tongue Eater twitched.

“Not from the vault, no,” Alustin said. “I’m going to use the relay golem.”

Celia blanched at that. “That thing is dangerously untested. Emmenson wanted to spend at least a few more weeks running trials before you used it. And will it even be enough to turn the tide?”

Alustin gave her a cocky smile. “We’re about to find out, aren’t we? Oh, I’m going to need you to take a couple dozen fliers and start setting fire to the grasslands— we’re going to need a lot of smoke.”

ONCE ALUSTIN HAD issued the rest of his orders, he retreated to his hiding place. On the way, however, he scattered most of the paper and ink in his storage tattoo throughout various towers— not only most of his supply of glyph pages but also the majority of his blank paper and unused ink.

Once he’d reached his hiding-place, he seated himself, then pulled the relay golem out of his storage tattoo.

The relay golem itself was a spellform-coated paper cube, just over a foot to a side. The spellform lines were intricately detailed— far more so than Alustin would ever have been able to accomplish before he made his ink affinity.

Alustin sent mana into the cube, and it floated up off his lap and unfolded into a series of elaborate interlocking polygons, one after the other, in a ceaseless origami dance, never holding one shape for more than a few heartbeats.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and reached into the relay with his magic…

And his mind shattered into a dozen pieces.

It hurt entirely as much as all the prior tests had. Those had all been brief function tests, though, the longest lasting no more than a minute.

Alustin was about to use it to fight an entire battle.

The relay golem wasn’t a crude ambulatory weapon, nor some elaborate magical engine. It was fragile, and even a simple sword blow would be enough to destroy it for good.

The relay golem had started off years ago, when he’d first started developing his ink affinity, as a mad dream to allow him to singlehandedly perform the job of an entire team of seers at once.

He’d been able to divide his scrying to focus on multiple scenes before— he’d done it as recently as Heliothrax’s assault on Skyhold. It was one of the most challenging abilities for any seer— a little easier for farseers like himself than most but still monstrously difficult. He’d never been able to handle doing so for more than a few seconds at a time before.

The relay golem had evolved into so much more than just a scrying aid, though. As he delved into will-imbuing, golem crafting, lich transitions, and even elemental creation, he’d realized he’d be able to do more with it than he’d first hoped.

He’d been forced to imbue more of his will into the relay golem than was contained within dozens of his lesser origami golems, but his years of calculations had finally paid off. Emmenson had called it a prosthetic for Alustin’s mind, but it was no mere prosthetic.

The relay golem was going to allow him to not just monitor the whole battle at once but to command his entire force remotely. Beyond even that, it was going to allow him to split his magic and cast multiple spells at once across the entire battlefield.

And it was still only the fourth most ambitious plan he’d come up with for his combined affinities. Not that he’d get to develop most of the others. Still, though, he couldn’t help but feel pride over his invention.

Alustin smiled, and then his awareness erupted across the ruined city of Allanoi.

FOR THE MOMENT, Alustin split his attention into no more than a dozen pieces. He could theoretically go farther, but he didn’t want to exhaust himself too quickly or risk pushing the relay golem too hard.

A dozen was more than enough. For now.

One-twelfth of his mind stayed near his body and began dragging recombinatory ward segments out of his storage tattoo to protect himself and the relay golem.

Two-twelfths of his mind carried paper bands inscribed with communication glyphs aloft, to distribute among both his own troops and the Tsarnassans as smoke filled the ruins of the city.

Three-twelfths of his mind scattered inscribed paper across the city so that he wouldn’t lack for weapons anywhere.

And the remaining six-twelfths of Alustin’s mind?

They focused in on the enemy. Taking stock, counting numbers, and estimating arrival times.

But one of those six didn’t move about, didn’t scan across the enemy forces.

It remained focused on a single member of the enemy, one of their commanders. On a woman he’d not expected to see for weeks yet.

Valia Warwell.

CHAPTER FIFTY

The Art of Hosting a Party

ALUSTIN HAD GROWN used to overconfidence and even incompetence from Havath over the past few years. The nepotism and corruption so common in their officer ranks, combined with a devastating loss of expertise and experience from their war against Helicote, had resulted in a notable drop in the quality of their forces. They might have the biggest and best-equipped armies and mage-corps on the planet, but the number of pampered nobles making foolish decisions based in their own egos had ensured Havathi tactical failures left and right.

The biggest and best-equipped could afford a certain level of overconfidence and incompetence, though. And, for all their tactical failures, Havath’s strategists were significantly more competent, and their logistical divisions were nigh-peerless— Alustin had never encountered an under-supplied Havathi unit.

They’d learned that lesson from Helicote, who’d assassinated thousands of clerks and logistical officers in the opening weeks of their war against Havath. The resulting supply shortages had ground the Havathi war machine almost to a halt. The Dominion was absolutely determined not to be caught unprepared when it came to logistics again, and little was more important than logistics in war.

As the Havathi entered the ruins of Allanoi, he saw none of the expected tactical incompetence. Their forces entered simultaneously, no one racing ahead for glory. They also kept a solid fifth of their force in reserve outside the city, patrolling for attempted breakouts. Their forces flew far enough apart not to be at risk from bunched spell volleys but close enough to be able to respond to strike-and-fly attacks on one another.

They even sent a full wing of dragons overflying the outskirts of the city— a high-risk tactic, given that it gave line-of-sight to any mages targeting them from below, but each and every one of the dragons patrolling overhead had their underbellies protected by windshields from accompanying wind mages. Keeping the overflight patrols away from the center of the city kept them out of clear lines of fire by battle magic coming from farther in, as well.

What was worse, the Dominion had clearly come prepared for him in specific. They had grossly disproportionate numbers of wind and fire mages among their ranks— both effective for obvious reasons against paper mages. Alustin had countermeasures for both, but that hardly made dealing with them easy.

Far more alarming?

They’d brought paper mages, dozens of them. As the Havathi advanced into the city, the paper mages reached out with their magic and shredded his traps, wards, and ammunition caches scattered throughout the ruined towers.

Alustin was far stronger than any one of the paper mages, but not all of them together— and even with the relay golem, he couldn’t split his attention in that many directions at once.

So he didn’t try. Right now, he’d do the most good coordinating his forces, not trying to fight the battle himself.

The first Havathi to die was a scout who was flying just a few feet higher than the rest of her squadron. In the hazy, smoky air of the city, she didn’t see the wire strung between two close-set towers until she’d flown right into it.

It was the oldest trick in the book for fighting fliers in close confines, but old tricks didn’t stick around if they didn’t work.

Alustin found himself impressed at how quickly the Dominion forces responded to the scout’s death— moving dragons, various metal mages, and armored fliers to the front, and equipping poles with bladed crossbars to slice unseen wires.

Even so, another half-dozen fliers died to wire traps in the various Dominion units before they’d crossed the outskirts of the city.

Just a drop in the bucket, but the blows to their confidence were more important.

The fires were spreading rapidly as the Havathi fliers advanced into the city. The disproportionate numbers of wind mages were enough to keep the smoke from choking the Dominion forces, but the visibility loss was the more important result, so far as Alustin was concerned. It didn’t significantly block his scrying, after all.

The next Havathi casualties came from their rearguard.

Alustin’s forces had laid out their defenses as a series of concentric rings when they’d first arrived, expanding outward from the center of the city. Their last-minute preparations had all built off that, trying to add a bit more lethality to their defenses.

His forces had planted numerous alchemical explosives and other traps in the next ring in from the wire-trap ring, and Alustin waited patiently for the bulk of the enemy forces to pass before he spoke orders to his mages with the ability to remote-detonate them.

It was hard to get a count of how many Havathi died in the explosions, but he doubted it was more than ten or twenty.

The number of injuries, however, had to be five times that.

A less competent force might have halted or sped up, but his respect for the enemy commander increased even more as the Havathi forces kept up their methodical advance, and the only concession they made to the blasts was spreading out their forces a little more.

This was when Alustin ordered his sharp-shooters to begin their bombardment.

The classic sharpshooter mage was one with wind and wood affinities, launching arrows from enchanted bows at targets a mile away, and Alustin did have five of those— four from Tsarnassus and one from Ctesia.

The remaining nine sharpshooters that targeted the Dominion fliers, however, were from the Librarians Errant and Starholt, both far more unconventional forces.

Anders the Pyromaniac, a Librarian Errant ice mage, nailed a Havathi scout with an icicle from half a mile away. He was called Anders the Pyromaniac to distinguish him from Glacial Anders, a fire mage who had been killed by Heliothrax during the battle for Skyhold.

Estella Skipshot took down four Havathi fliers with a single slingstone from a third of a mile away. She had no less than four affinities— stone, force, inertia, and wind— and while all of them were individually quite weak, to the point she struggled to even hover despite having three affinities that could lead to flight— she’d spent years practicing mana techniques to extend the range of her spells. She could send her slingstones an astonishing distance, bouncing them off targets and obstacles multiple times. Of all the sharpshooters, she was least likely to be discovered— her slingstone ended up hitting her targets from almost the exact opposite direction she was targeting them from.

An iron and lodestone mage from Starholt had the most impressive kill of the lot— instead of launching projectiles at an enemy, he yanked iron debris from one of the towers towards him. Not hard enough to fly all the way to his location, but more than hard enough to instantly kill the dragon in its path. Unfortunately, most of the battlemages strapped to its back survived the impact, but given that they’d crashed in the middle of a grassfire, Alustin figured they wouldn’t come into play just yet.

To his mild surprise, the forces of the downed dragon weren’t abandoned— whoever was commanding sent three other dragons to pick up the survivors.

At this point, Alustin was confident Valia wasn’t the commander in question. Not because she wouldn’t attempt to rescue the survivors— that was absolutely her style— but because he was still watching her, keeping a shard of his mind focused in her direction.

She hadn’t issued a single order, save to the small force of Sacred Swordsmen she led.

He’d suspected she’d fall out of favor after he destroyed most of her warlocks at Skyhold, and this seemed to be proof. The fact that she’d spent years trying to recruit him instead of killing him couldn’t be helping her now that he’d publicly declared his intention of annihilating Havath City with a magical superweapon.

As Alustin’s sharpshooters fell back, they made sure to give the Havathi forces a chance to spot them— risky, but with any luck, it would trick some of the Havathi into rushing after them, into the next set of traps.

No such luck. The Havathi held formation, returning fire with some of their own sharpshooter mages. One of the Tsarnassan mage-archers died to a Havathi mage-archer, unfortunately, but the rest of Alustin’s sharpshooters made it to their next hiding place just fine.

It had been no more than two minutes since the Havathi had entered the city.

THE NEXT FEW minutes didn’t change much. The Havathi kept losing mages to the traps scattered throughout the city and to Alustin’s sharpshooters— who he ordered to stay out of sight as much as possible from here on out— but they didn’t break formation or pause in their advance. This force was disciplined, cautious, and clearly had more than its fair share of combat veterans.

Their casualties kept climbing, but as the Dominion forces converged on the center of the city, Alustin doubted their traps and defenses had killed more than a few dozen of the enemy. Wounded many more, but not killed.

The only silver lining was that Alustin’s sharpshooters had, with his guidance, taken out fully half the enemy paper mages he’d been able to find so far, preventing them from shredding his glyph pages and traps throughout the city. He could still use paper scraps as weapons, of course, but he preferred his confetti just a bit more lethal than paper scraps.

The Havathi force couldn’t risk the delay of searching the city building to building— it was a calculated risk but a sensible one. It would have been frankly mad for Alustin to have attempted to use his labyrinth stone to conceal his entire force in a single tower with an army searching for him at close range, and he couldn’t cover more than one tower. The Havathi didn’t know precisely how he was blocking scrying, but some of his capabilities seemed to be well known at this point. The only logical assumption would be that he’d scattered his forces throughout the city.

Mackerel might have been able to shield an army more effectively, of course— Alustin was confident the spellbook was far more powerful than his students, or the spellbook himself, suspected— but Alustin’s own improvised imitation of Mackerel’s ability wasn’t nearly as effective. Enough to hide his army from seers dozens of leagues away, certainly, but from an army at close range?

Not a chance.

At least, not without plenty of additional forms of concealment.

Most of Alustin’s sharpshooters managed to hide in pre-constructed, attention-ward guarded boltholes as the Havathi advanced, but he lost three more of them, including Anders the Pyromaniac.

Despite the low number of casualties the Havathi had suffered, and despite the loss of almost a third of his sharpshooters, Alustin was smiling as the enemy forces burst into the center of the city, ready to engage his own forces.

Only to come face to face with one another amidst the empty towers of Allanoi.

Alustin issued the order, and the true defenses they’d prepared activated— not the paltry number of traps they’d used against the troops advancing inward.

Clockwork crossbows triggered in response to magical signals, launching hundreds more wires across the routes the Havathi had already passed. Enchanted noisemakers activated by the dozens, filling the city with a painful din to drown out Havathi orders and spread confusion. Alchemical smoke-bombs lit themselves, and pumped out a wide range of toxic gases, ranging from deadly poisons and opaque fogs to fast-acting hallucinogens.

Alustin had plenty of his own contributions as well. Glyph pages and recombinant wards activated themselves by the thousands around the city— the Havathi paper mages had destroyed many but far from all of them.

Worse for the Havathi were the origami golems, though.

Alustin had been manufacturing origami golems almost every single day since he was a teen, starting just months after the destruction of Helicote. It had been his first serious idea for how a single paper mage could destroy a city on his own— flood it with an impossible army of origami golems.

It had only taken him a few months to realize the plan wouldn’t work, that there was no way to build enough origami golems to destroy the greatest city on the continent, even if he had a century to do so.

He’d kept making them anyhow, though, because they were quite useful in the right circumstances. He’d found himself using most of them in various battles over the years— half of his remaining supply had been used up during the battle for Skyhold when he hunted the Sacred Swordsmen through the library.

He still had tens of thousands left, however, and he’d distributed most of them among the Librarians Errant sharpshooters. When he sent the order to them through the paper headbands with communication glyphs he’d distributed, they dumped them from their storage tattoos, and the golems spiraled in towards the Havathi through the smoke.

Not from his own storage tattoo, though— it wouldn’t do to give away his location just yet.

For all the traps, all the explosives, and all the golems, though, the single biggest change to the battlefield was the wards.

A few dozen Librarian Errants could manufacture an absurd number of wards across the course of three days. They weren’t, for the most part, particularly complex or powerful, and most were built to run off stored mana or the aether. Hugh, Alustin suspected, would have hated them, especially because they lacked self-decay functions— it wasn’t unlikely that a few would persist for years, posing threats to innocents that wandered into the ruins.

When Alustin ordered his forces to activate the wards, he could actually feel the aether density around them drop from their sheer numbers. Not, admittedly, that Allanoi was particularly mana-rich— a battle between great powers would have drained it entirely.

Valia, to Alustin’s surprise, actually looked nervous as the trap sprung around the Dominion forces. He’d never seen her look anything less than entirely focused in battle before— maybe he’d broken something in her in Skyhold when he slaughtered all her warlocks? There couldn’t be many Sacred Swordsmen left— between the battle for Imperial Ithos and the battle of Skyhold, most of the weapon-pacted warlocks had been killed, many of their weapons destroyed or captured. Seeing him destroy so much of her life’s work couldn’t have been easy for Valia.

Despite the joy he usually took in breaking Havathi, he couldn’t make himself feel any satisfaction at Valia’s fear.

The Havathi commander, whoever it was, reacted to the trap they’d forced their troops into with remarkable speed. It couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds after the trap activations began that the Dominion forces moved— the commander must have some sort of communication magic to rival Alustin’s— though they clearly lacked his information gathering abilities.

In normal circumstances, the smart decision would have been to just obliterate everything in your path as you fought your way out of a trap like this. The best way to disarm a trap, after all, was to annihilate.

This commander had another option, due to the fact that their army was made up entirely of airborne forces. Aerial forces were usually best as support for ground armies or as scouting and raiding forces— siege mages and sharpshooter mages were a nightmare for aerial forces unsupported by their own ground troops. Since this army was dedicated to hunting a smaller, highly mobile force, though, there was no point in being slowed down by ground troops.

The Havathi didn’t try to fight their way out of the trap at all.

They flew straight up, instead, attempting to rejoin the patrol force they’d kept above the city.

At this point, Alustin couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face if he tried.

The first Dominion fliers to ascend died messily as they struck the horizontal wards projecting outward from the tower-tops. Some were set on fire, and others were frozen or electrocuted, but most just crashed head-first into solid magical barriers, including one dragon.

The rest of the Havathi checked their ascent immediately, but that came at a cost— for the first time, their defensive formation broke as they scattered in every direction.

It wouldn’t take them long to regroup and destroy the wards keeping them from ascending, of course, but Alustin didn’t intend to give them that time.

He finally gave his forces the order to open fire, and destruction rained down on the Havathi from above.

If this were one of the terrible adventure novels Talia liked to read, the illusion wrapping the bulk of Alustin’s army would have dropped, revealing the smaller force floating above the city center. As it was, however, the massed spells dropping down on the Havathi forces seemed to emerge from a huge cloud of smoke above the city.

The overflight patrols immediately started winging their way towards the heart of the battle, but as they approached, they found out the hard way that the wards extended upward, too. No less than three dragons crashed head-first into invisible wards rising from the city below, and only one of them managed to regain control of their flight before crashing down into the city.

The overflight patrols scattered in confusion, but didn’t have time to regain their formation before the dozen Tsarnassan gryphons erupted from yet more smoke clouds and began strafing runs.

Books and stories tended to depict gryphons as horse-sized mixes of cat and bird, which… wasn’t too far off. They didn’t actually have any fur, unlike the stories— feathers were far better for flying, and they had them all across their bodies. Their tails were also bird-like, instead of being cat or lion tails, and extended they a full body length behind them.

The biggest difference between gryphons in the stories and gryphons in reality, though?

They weren’t the size of horses. They were closer to the size of elephants.

No one was quite sure whether gryphons were truly sapient or not, but they definitely possessed magic of their own, and they were able to shape the winds around them as well as any wind mage. There was no variance in their magic, no affinities other than wind, but they were powerful enough to make up for that.

They were almost as sturdy as dragons, far swifter, had claws and beaks that could slice through dragonscale with ease, and had truly vile tempers and a hatred for dragonkind that had been bred into them by their long-gone creators.

Even so, they’d been hunted to extinction across most of Ithos— and likely Anastis as well. The Ithonian Empire had kept and bred a few, however, to help control their subjugated dragons, and some of their former provinces in Northeast Ithos— Tsarnassus most notably— had kept up the tradition, even improved it.

Bonding a warlock to a gryphon made for a truly terrifying force, especially when the warlock was also pacted to a second source of magic. For whatever reason, affinities could be passed easily from warlocks to gryphons.

So when the gryphons dove out of the illusions and smoke clouds at the disorganized dragons, they did so wreathed in fire and frost, lightning and force. One gryphon even dove surrounded by a swarm of copper razors.

Twelve Tsarnassan gryphon riders weren’t enough to destroy the overflight patrol, by any means, but in combination with the wards and smoke, they were more than enough to keep them disorganized.

The main Havathi force, meanwhile, had almost entirely fallen into chaos as the bombardment hit them from above. To make things worse for them, Alustin’s paper golems had fully closed in on them.

Alustin couldn’t count on the chaos lasting for long, unfortunately, not with a commander this skilled, nor with as many veterans as the Havathi force seemed to have. And if they did manage to get organized again, they’d be able to break out of the trap easily.

So Alustin gave the order, and the hiding sharpshooters resumed their attack once more, this time targeting every officer they could see.

It wasn’t, unfortunately, enough to stop a few Havathi from organizing and fighting back, blasting lightning and fire up into the illusions above them.

They couldn’t see their targets through the illusion above, of course, but the sheer amount of battle magic ascending should have struck at least a few of Alustin’s mages.

Unfortunately for them, Alustin’s forces had fortifications.

Gravity mages weren’t anywhere near as fast as force mages or agile as wind mages in the air, but they had one huge advantage over the other two— namely, the sheer mass they could levitate. And when they weren’t trying to move said mass anywhere, just to hold it in place? The total mass they could suspend increased even more.

Alustin’s forces were all hiding atop massive stone blocks from the ruins being levitated in mid-air, and the few Havathi battle-spells to make it all the way up to the blocks were just crashing ineffectively against them. Celia the Anchor had been his inspiration for the strategy, and, in fact, she was taking the center-point of their formation.

Stone mages weren’t particularly known for the range of their affinity senses, and Alustin doubted there were many, if any, among the Havathi forces, given how predominantly airborne they were. That, of course, had been a huge gamble on his part— if the Dominion had brought enough stone mages, or one with range enough to detect the floating stone blocks, Alustin’s strategy might have failed entirely.

The fact that Alustin was seated atop one of those floating stone blocks in the sky, contributing his labyrinth stone anti-scrying defense to their concealment? That definitely helped tilt the odds at least a bit in the right direction.

His gamble had paid off, and the Havathi were dying in droves.

Which was when Alustin’s mind forcibly collapsed back into one center of focus again.

Not because the relay golem had failed, however.

No, because all twelve segments of his mind lurched over to Valia Warwell.

Valia, his oldest and dearest childhood friend. Valia, his archenemy for all his adult life. Valia, who should have been his… should have stood at his side against Havath all these years.

Valia, who had just been struck in the chest with a bolt of lightning from above.

As she plummeted from the sky, Alustin felt as though his heart had stopped along with hers, as though time had frozen as he desperately scryed her face, waiting for her to wake up. For a moment, he forgot his vendetta and everything he’d sacrificed for it.

Only for a moment, though, because the instant the illusion disguising the false Valia dissolved, revealing an unfamiliar face, Alustin realized that he’d been duped.

“Oh, no,” he muttered, and he expanded the pieces of his mind back out again.

Whereupon he immediately caught sight of thirty-odd fliers, high above the city, even above his own forces, descending at a steep dive towards the concealing illusions.

Each and every one of them wore the uniforms of the Sacred Swordsmen, and Valia Warwell flew at their head.

“Nope,” Alustin muttered, a little louder this time.

It was then, of course, that he noticed he was only watching the battle through eleven shards of his mind.

The twelfth was filled entirely with a meaningless flood of words and images from the Tongue Eater, and he could feel it pushing on the rest of his mind-shards as well.

There was really only one reasonable response to that, Alustin felt.

“Well, shit.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

A Polite Chat

ALUSTIN IMMEDIATELY ISSUED orders to his forces hiding among the floating rocks with most of his mind-shards. He still only had one voice, so he was limited in the speed he could give orders, but he could easily relay one order to multiple mages at once through their communications bands.

He kept most of his mages focused on targeting the scattered Havathi forces below, but he redirected twenty battlemages to focus on the oncoming Sacred Swordsmen. Their fireballs, lightning bolts, and sprays of heated wire lanced out towards the enemy warlocks, but most of them were redirected by windshields, the lightning bolts were absorbed by levitated galvanic beacons, and most of the rest were simply dodged.

Most of them. Several of the Sacred Swordsmen fell to the magical attacks but not enough.

Alustin, meanwhile, wasn’t leaving this fight up to his troops alone. He focused five of his mind-shards on his storage tattoo, and much of his remaining supply of origami golems rushed out of it— followed by three suits of paper armor, each wielding paper swords.

To Alustin’s displeasure, the majority were blasted out of the sky before they even approached the oncoming warlocks— along with a disproportionate number of wind and fire mages, there were clearly paper mages being carried along by the Swordsmen as well.

Valia had prepared well for him, it seemed.

Still, there were enough origami golems that a few made it past the defenses, slowing the onrushing force.

He almost got one of his armor doppelgängers past the Havathi windshields, but he lost control of it when the Tongue Eater launched an assault on another mind shard.

As the three suits of paper armor fell apart, Alustin summoned a fourth out of his storage tattoo.

He’d been intending to save this one, but it was better to lose a weapon than his life.

Even with his massive paper mana reservoir, Alustin could feel the drain of piloting this one— it weighed far more than any of the other suits. That was partially due to the spellform-embossed silver foil coating its outer layer to help protect it from hostile magic, but mostly due to the fact that its insides were entirely filled with paper instead of hollow spaces.

Well, that and the fact that this suit was ten feet tall.

Most of the silver foil was blasted off by enemy magic as the armor accelerated towards the Havathi, but it served its purpose well enough. A few sheets on the outside were destroyed as well, but they were promptly replaced from the internal reserve.

Alustin didn’t send this one after Valia— her atthuema affinity made her too dangerous against it. As much as he’d like to build the thing with different spellforms on each page, it just wasn’t practical if he wanted it to replace damaged sheets on the scale he’d designed it, and he’d already used up most of his paper golems designed to fight her in Skyhold. Instead, he sent it towards the outside of Valia’s formation.

The wind mages in Valia’s force tried to batter the armor apart, but it weighed far more than any human— the density of paper was over a fifth again that of the human body, even before accounting for its huge size— not to mention the sheer amount of magic and momentum pushing it forward.

The fire mages, likewise, tried to incinerate the thing, but even after the silver foil coating was destroyed, it was about as effective as trying to burn a book in a hurry— the outer layers were charred, while the inside remained largely untouched.

Even the paper mages being carried along by the Havathi— no more than three, if Alustin was judging correctly by their magical assaults— were proving helpless to stop the thing.

Not for any particularly clever reason, Alustin was just overpowering them with sheer quantities of mana.

The armor only cut down two Havathi wind mages before Valia caught up with it, but that was just a side-benefit to Alustin’s true purpose.

Valia destroyed the armor with just a bare handful of slashes of her Helicotan saber, her echo magic rippling out and destroying every copy of every sheet she hacked through.

The armor collapsed into loose paper, which was swiftly caught up in the Havathi windshields.

Well, most of it. A handful of sheets drifted closer to Valia, and Alustin sent his voice out through one of them.

“Didn’t expect to run into you so soon,” Alustin said as casually as he could manage.

It wasn’t that casual, considering that another shard of his mind had just been flooded by the Tongue Eater. Still, Alustin was surprised to see Valia, weeks before the date of the Blossom Festival.

Valia’s voice sounded just as strained as his when she responded. “We’re not playing this game again, Alustin.”

“What game?”

“You have had more chances to end your vendetta than has been even remotely reasonable,” Valia said as her forces accelerated towards the illusion field again. “I can’t allow any lingering sentiment I have towards you to interfere when you’re threatening the lives of the innocents of Havath City.”

“Well, you’re welcome to evacuate them before I arrive,” Alustin pointed out. “That’s half the reason I let you know when the Last Echo would strike. If you can’t evacuate the civilian population with several months’ notice, that’s really on you, not me.”

Valia’s grip tightened on her sword, and for a moment, Alustin was convinced that she would hack apart his communication spellform.

“I’ve come to accept that you’re a monster, but I have to admit, I was shocked you would go so far as to betray your master and your students,” Valia said. “How much enjoyment did you take out of that?”

“None,” Alustin said. “They aren’t Havathi, after all.”

He tried to keep his tone lighthearted, but that one had struck home.

“You’re going to want to check your advance,” Alustin added. “You’re about to lose most of your forces if you don’t. You sure you want the last great battle of the Librarians and the Sacred Swordsmen to end so ignominiously? These have to be the majority of your remaining warlocks.”

Valia scowled and ignored him, and Alustin let his body shrug. He’d been telling the truth, after all.

His shrug was followed by a wince as the Tongue Eater seized control of another of his mind-shards.

Alustin redirected four-twelfths of his mind to the scraps of paper floating about in the Havathi wind-shield, then yanked on them with his magic.

Not with his paper magic, with his ink magic.

As the Havathi dove at high speed towards the edge of the barrier, thousands of ink droplets erupted out of the paper scraps and flew into the faces of the Havathi. They weren’t lethal, nor even likely to cause injury, but they were enough to blind and disorient most of the Havathi for just a few precious seconds.

A few seconds were an eternity in battle.

Dozens of icicles, flying daggers, and even several of the floating stone blocks Alustin’s forces had been using for defenses tore through the collapsing Havathi formation, and before most of the enemy warlocks had a chance to wipe their eyes clear of ink, they were dead.

Only Valia and five wind mages, all surrounded by personal windshields— far inferior to Sabae’s if you asked Alustin— survived the volley.

To her credit, Valia immediately ordered a retreat, diving down towards the city below. The wards were only set to block anything from ascending, so Valia could have just dove straight down, but to Alustin’s irritation, she hacked through ward after ward with her echo magic as she descended.

“I did warn you,” Alustin told her. “I’m really not much for bluffing. I have to say, you fought well. How’d you find us, by the way?”

Valia didn’t look at the sheet of paper dancing in her wake, but she did respond. “Ordinary espionage. Found out about the meeting from our spies in Tsarnassus.”

“Figures,” Alustin said. “No matter how advanced your magical defenses, people will always be the weak point.”

Valia looked back at his communications sheet. “You know, I’ve been wondering— before you betrayed your students, did you force them to address you as ‘sir’, just like your father did to you?”

Then she hacked apart the page.

ALUSTIN DIDN’T BOTHER trying to speak to Valia again after that.

Not just because he didn’t want her to hear how much her parting words had shaken him, but because he was struggling to command the battle while fighting off the Tongue Eater.

Even when the Havathi broke out of the center of the city, their nightmare didn’t end. The floating, rubble-filled illusion field followed overhead, keeping up a continual bombardment from above.

Despite their horrific tactical position, Valia eventually managed to lead the shattered remnants of her forces out of Allanoi. She was down to barely over half of the army she’d brought with her, and those were exhausted and heavily wounded, but the smoke filling the city began to work in her favor— especially with the Tongue Eater seizing more and more shards of Alustin’s mind, reducing his ability to manage his troops.

Most of the overflight patrol had managed to escape Allanoi’s airspace, and the Tsarnassan gryphons hadn’t pursued them— out in open air, away from the smoke and wards, the dragons would have the edge against the gryphons.

Alustin’s forces didn’t bother pursuing Valia and the Havathi— not least because chasing after a larger force out in the open would have been insanity. And by the time Valia and the Havathi escaped Alustin had plenty of other things to worry about.

Mostly the fact that seven-twelfths of his mind were under assault by the Tongue Eater. It was worse than it had ever been before, but Alustin doubted it was a coincidence— something about the relay golem was actively attracting its attention.

Just when he thought the Tongue Eater was about to overcome his mind entirely, to drown his memories with fragments of dead languages, his mind violently collapsed back into one piece.

It took him several seconds to gain control of himself again, and when he did, he found the remains of the relay golem sliced in half in front of him.

With the destruction of the relay golem, the Tongue Eater’s assault had ended as swiftly as it had begun.

“I think you probably should have done more testing before using that thing,” Celia told him, putting her sword back in her tattoo.

Alustin just nodded faintly.

Best to leave the blame on the relay golem. It had performed flawlessly, but the alternative to using it as a scapegoat was to reveal the Tongue Eater.

The ancient superweapon in question twitched irritably, but it didn’t seem further inclined to assault his mind.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

The Gathering Storm

AFTERWARD, HUGH WOULDN’T have been able to say exactly when he developed the lowest level of Limnan magic. It was, at times, almost easy to think that nothing had changed, that he was just imagining things.

His reflexes felt faster, but in the ever-so-slightly lower Limnan gravity, it was hard to be sure he wasn’t imagining it being easier to catch falling objects. He felt stronger, but that could easily just be his daily physical training paying off as he continued his slow recovery from the burns he’d received in Ithos.

There were dozens of tiny little changes in his body, but all of them were so small and gradual that Hugh really struggled to believe he’d changed.

All except one.

Hugh could breathe again.

Oh, his lungs weren’t fully back to where they’d been before, and they probably never would be, but about five weeks after they’d arrived on Limnus, for the first time since the battle for the ruined city of Imperial Ithos, Hugh went an entire day without coughing. Exercising barely hurt his lungs and throat now, and more often than not, he could take a deep breath without any discomfort.

It was as though Hugh had undergone years of healing in a matter of weeks.

Over the last few weeks on Limnus, Hugh felt like he mostly struggled to convince himself it was safe to push himself in training. The fear of his lungs acting up was far more of a challenge than his lungs actually acting up.

Slowly but surely, though, he started feeling comfortable in his own body again.

Though running in Limnan veils was still annoying, of course— he was constantly getting them in his mouth. Still, they worked— between the veils and the Crown, he could jog even on days when the air was choked with yellow fog.

Hugh’s friends showed a marked improvement in their strength and speed as well, though Hugh’s lungs remained the most noteworthy change. He even suspected that Mackerel had gained some aspect of Limnan power— though whether it was at all similar to theirs, he couldn’t tell. Some aspect of his bond with the spellbook felt subtly different, though.

More obviously, Mackerel had started picking up Godrick fully armored, often trying to drop him on Sabae. The spellbook had been steadily growing stronger for quite some time, but that was a massive jump in power.

For all the questions about how basic Limnan magic was affecting them, there were no questions about how quickly their new affinities were growing. Between the higher-risk mana reservoir training they were undergoing and the differential mana reservoir effect, some of their new affinities had already grown more in two months than they had in their entire first year at Skyhold and then some. And that was before even counting in the slow but steady growth of the artificial mana reservoirs in their aether crystal rings.

Their siege mana reservoirs had grown the most impressively. Their siege spells paled before those of professional siege mages, but they were already hitting as hard as anything else they had in their arsenals. By Alustin’s deadline for his attack on Havath City, Hugh suspected they’d be the hardest hitting spells they had.

Sabae had offered them one of the quotes of the trash-living arsonist philosopher Lucann the Sour in comment on the speed of their growth.

“Those who already have great power will always find it easiest to acquire even greater power. No matter how hard one works, life will always reward those who start farther ahead.”

Hugh was coming to really dislike Lucann’s cynicism, but it was hard to disagree.

As much as he hated the thought, he also had to question how much his dislike for the idea came from the fact that he was powerful, wealthy, and had more advantages than he knew what to do with at this point. There was no honest way he could keep thinking of himself as a poor, weak orphan from Emblin anymore.

Still, none of them could be counted as well-trained in any of their new affinities. They had a few dangerous tricks, but they’d be looking at years and years of training to develop their skills with their new affinities.

Most of all, Hugh still didn’t feel ready to face Alustin in battle.

THEIR DEPARTURE FROM the village of Chelder was, of course, marked with a feast. The villagers took literally every excuse they could to celebrate, after all.

In other circumstances, Hugh might wonder how they’d realized the group was leaving, but given how often Limnans just wandered into their borrowed bark home to greet them during a regular day, they’d been caught packing almost immediately.

The party that night hadn’t been as big as the one thrown in celebration when the Limnan titans had visited, but it had most definitely been impressive.

The crowning moment of the night had been when a drunken Sabae had spent several minutes giving a speech about how awful possums were to the uncomprehending but enthusiastic villagers, and how they were blessed to live on a possum-free world. It was, its ridiculous content aside, definitely impressive— Sabae’s family had trained her well in the art of speech-making, it seemed.

Godrick, who had warmed up a bit to possums, had tapped his nose and then pointed to one of the mysterious meats the Limnans had been serving them. “Probably fer the best that ah’ don’t tell her what we’ve been eatin’ the past few weeks, then.”

“Discretion is the better part of valor,” Hugh agreed.

Hugh, Talia, and Godrick couldn’t stop randomly giggling the rest of the night. Thankfully, Sabae thought they were laughing at Mackerel’s increasingly ridiculous pranks, as the spellbook tried to prove that he was not, in fact, maturing.

The morning after the feast, when they were due to depart, the hungover group was awoken by a very distressed Kunin.

Once their Limnan friend dragged them outside, Hugh and the others realized why immediately.

In the far distance, the three layers of the atmosphere were slowly collapsing into one another.

“Everyone, finish packing now!” Sabae yelled. “We need to get out of here immediately.”

The group only took a few minutes to get ready, but by the time they’d finished, the villagers were all running about at high speed, battening down shutters, securing house-veils, making sure every home had enough food supplies to last, and otherwise preparing for the oncoming storm. A few of them spared waves or nods for the Anastans, but it was clear their minds were elsewhere.

“You sure we shouldn’t stay here, wait out the storm?” Talia asked.

It was always surprising to hear his girlfriend be the voice of reason, but not even Talia had enough hubris to take a poisonous alien hurricane lightly.

Well, not really a hurricane— hurricanes weren’t nearly as dangerous as layer storms.

Hugh shook his head. “Galvachren wrote that the layer storms can last for days or even weeks.”

“We’re already cutting our departure close enough if we want to make my grandmother’s conclave in Highvale,” Sabae added. “It’s going to determine the shape of the war and likely what comes after.”

“If we can stop Alustin,” Godrick said dourly.

No one responded to that. Even Mackerel rested somberly at Hugh’s side in response.

THE RACE AGAINST the Limnan layer storm was a strange one. The storm didn’t actually follow them yet— the layer storms took a while to get up to full strength and start expanding, and they seldom actually moved much apart from that expansion, at least until the last stages of the storm. The group needed to go as quickly as possible, though— they couldn’t afford to get caught in the storm once it started spreading from its center point— a single layer storm could expand to cover hundreds of leagues.

Poison gases were just the start of the threat. Gusts of wind inside a layer storm were more powerful than any natural wind on Anastis outside a tornado— and if that wasn’t bad enough, they were equally likely to give you frostbite or fatal burns, as the storm churned the layers of the atmosphere.

That didn’t even get into the bizarre alchemical reactions that could occur inside a layer storm.

Even though it wasn’t expanding yet, they could still see the storm intensifying as they sprinted towards their exit labyrinth. Downbursts of yellow brimstone clashed against rising whirlwinds of purple iodine, and the immense skyspear trees within the bounds of the storm shuddered in the storm’s winds.

The exit labyrinth was only a couple hours away— Chelder, thankfully, was located almost exactly halfway between their entrance and exit labyrinths.

Though, given the village’s comfort with other-worlders, Hugh doubted its location was entirely coincidental.

As the group raced along the paths carved in the bark of the skyspear tree, the last sight Hugh saw of Chelder was of the bromeliads folding their petals up, bundling the bark-houses of the village delicately within themselves.

The group took risk after risk as they raced the growing storm, even crossing gaps of hundreds of feet between branches and skyspear bridges on ward-platforms Hugh constructed with the Stormward’s Crown, stretching its capabilities to the very limit.

They reached the labyrinth entrance just as the layer storm began its expansion. The clouds above and below seemed to just collapse into each other all at once, leaving only a malevolent blur of toxic colors that raced outward faster than a dragon could fly.

The group only took a few seconds to watch the onrushing storm approach, but by the time they darted into the wooden mouth of the labyrinth, they could already feel the winds trying to blow them off into the churning purple void below them.

KUNIN SIGHED HEAVILY as the bromeliad around her shook heavily. “You know, I’m really going to miss those barbarians.”

Otkin rolled their eyes. “You couldn’t understand a word they said. Also, don’t call them barbarians, that’s insensitive.”

“Oh, please, no civilized person could be that heavily armed,” Emgol offered.

Kunin threw a fragment of bark at her friend— plenty of them broke off every time the bromeliads folded up. “Oh, you’re one to talk. Try telling Olst that you’re civilized.”

Emgol gave her a sour look, but he deserved the barb after how immature he’d been during his breakup with the other hunter.

Kunin didn’t believe the old claim that yellow hunters and purple hunters shouldn’t date, of course— just an old superstition.

It was more she thought Emgol was best off not dating anyone right now, he was a complete mess.

“Anyhow, you don’t need to share a language with someone to like them,” Kunin said. “Sabae and her friends were fun.”

Orea looked up from the newest book by her philosopher namesake, delivered by the most recent courier from the next village over. “This is really interesting, you should hear what…”

Otkin groaned. “Uggghhhhhh… Orea the Resistor is so boring. I get that you’re named after him, but he’s just… the worst philosopher alive. He’s like the equivalent of unsauced food.”

“He’s got some interesting points about how best to decide when a village has gotten large enough that it needs to be split and how to carry out that split,” Kunin offered.

“Alright, sure, but utilitarian philosophy is completely useless outside of highly niche situations,” Otkin replied. “They always end up just obsessing over who should get abandoned or sacrificed if a crisis ever arises where you can’t save everyone.”

“That is an important question, especially for hunters and healers,” Emgol interjected.

“No one’s denying that,” Otkin said, “but why is it that you never see a utilitarian offering solutions for preventing those sorts of crises in the first place?”

Even Orea nodded at that.

“Axtirn has some interesting thoughts on that,” Kunin said.

Orea just rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Axtirn’s ‘interesting thoughts’ are always just clever insults and poking silly holes in the ideas of other philosophers. What else do you expect from a philosopher who sits in a pitcher plant with the trash all day?”

“He claims the pitcher plant’s digestive fluids are excellent exfoliators,” Emgol offered.

“I feel like he could sit in a pitcher plant that wasn’t digesting garbage, though,” Otkin said. “It’s kind of weird, right? Also, isn’t his skin mostly acid-proof and several inches thick?”

“Okay, sure, he’s weird,” Kunin acknowledged, “but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t make valid points.”

“I wonder what kind of philosophers Sabae and the others have on their homeworld,” Emgol pondered.

Kunin rolled her eyes and flicked another loose chunk of bark at the big hunter. “Please, everyone knows barbarians don’t have philosophers.”

“Rude!” Otkin said. “If they didn’t have philosophers, what was in all the books they were reading?”

Kunin shrugged. “I dunno. Probably guides to how to be more violent? Propaganda for primitive hierarchical nation-states? Not actual philosophy. I liked Sabae and her friends, and I would have loved to spend more time with them, but they’re not exactly enlightened souls.”

“So, what, you think her speech last night was just atavistic nationalism or something?” Emgol asked.

Kunin gave him a weird look. “What? No, that was obviously just a normal ‘it’s been lovely staying with you, thanks for hosting us’ speech. Don’t be ridiculous.”

As the Limnan youths argued, the bromeliad around them shuddered at the raging layer storm battering at it, but the flower’s roots went deep, down past the bark and all the way into the flesh of the skyspear branch. The immense flower had survived hundreds of layer storms before, and it would survive hundreds more to come.

After all, it had been designed that way by the distant ancestors of the Limnans, just as they’d designed the skyspears and half the ecosystem of Limnus.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

The Terraced Kingdom

THE MORE LABYRINTHS Hugh encountered or read about, the more he realized how strange and diverse the whole labyrinth ecosystem was. Each one he encountered, even those supposedly of the same labyrinth subspecies, varied wildly from one another.

The one they were currently working their way through was nominally a traditional maze-form labyrinth like the one inside Skyhold, but Hugh was still struggling with the idea of it being made entirely of wood. Living wood, at that, which brought up so many questions. Was the labyrinth somehow connected to the skyspear tree it was embedded in? Did they share nutrients with one another somehow? Did the labyrinth help hold the skyspear tree in place?

Galvachren didn’t provide answers to any of these questions, at least not in the sections of Galvachren’s Guide to Worlds Hugh had read so far. He suspected it would take him years to read a meaningful chunk of the Guide, though— and that was even with the extensive redactions in his copy. There were entire chapters redacted, even segments as long as a normal book.

The unusual nature of the wooden labyrinth didn’t discourage Mackerel’s abilities, however, and the spellbook led them quickly and easily down to the third floor of the wooden labyrinth.

There were no symbols scattered across the walls, no runes or spellforms or dot patterns. The grain of the wood seemed unusually twisty, and Hugh almost felt like he could see some sort of pattern or meaning in it, but it vanished when he focused on it.

Unlike other labyrinths they’d encountered, most of the wildlife inside this one was native to Limnus. They started stumbling across some more alien creatures as they descended deeper— including, to their surprise, a small and sickly sunling, which quickly fled at their presence.

The traps in this labyrinth were appropriately themed— poisoned thorns, carnivorous vines, that sort of thing. They were no more difficult to pass with Mackerel’s help than the traps in any other labyrinth.

This labyrinth grew even stranger when the time came to pass into their own world again.

The side of the labyrinth reaching into their homeworld was of a completely different type than the side on Limnus. They’d entered a wooden labyrinth, but they were exiting a mistform labyrinth.

Galvachren had mentioned hybrid labyrinths a few times, but even he was unsure whether they were two labyrinths linked together or one strange whole.

Regardless, it was unsettling to come to a wooden archway and to see only mist beyond it.

It was probably for the best that the mistform side was on Anastis instead of Limnus— quite a few of the Limnan mistform labyrinths were located in and made out of iodine or brimstone clouds. The one they’d entered Limnus through from Kemetrias was only a handful of water vapor mistform labyrinths on the planet, according to the Guide.

THEIR PASSAGE THROUGH this mistform labyrinth was as strange, timeless, and disorienting as it had been in the last one they’d passed through.

The fact that they were all focused on getting back to their own world made things worse.

Hugh was filled with a dozen conflicting emotions about returning. He was excited to be returning, terrified that they might be too late, nervous that something might go wrong, and more, all in a churning mess in his mind.

His friends were all just as bad, and it was only thanks to Mackerel’s intervention that their distraction didn’t lead them off the path and into the mists. If he hadn’t intervened, they could have easily ended up stranded in some strange corner of the multiverse— or worse.

Hugh did wish Mackerel’s intervention had involved less biting, of course, but that seemed a small price to pay.

OVER THE LAST few months, Hugh had visited three alien worlds, seen vistas he’d never even imagined, and crossed landscapes like something out of a fever dream.

And yet, when they stepped out of the labyrinth and into the evening light of Anastis, Hugh felt a certain local pride— his homeworld had views that could compare to anywhere in the multiverse.

The four of them stood in the snow atop the shoulder of one of the mountains of the Skyreach Range, overlooking the kingdom of Highvale.

Far below them, the ancient Stoneknife River flowed lazily through its immense canyon, cutting all the way through the young Skyreach Range from east to west, and stretching from cliffside to cliffside in most spots.

It was the easiest and fastest way for trade to cross the Skyreach Range, and that trade had given birth to the kingdom of Highvale.

Hundreds of terraces had been carved into the cliffs and slopes of the canyons, stretching along the river on both sides— and that was just along the section they could see. The terraces were present throughout the canyon, from one side of the mountain range to the other.

The Stoneknife Canyon wasn’t the entirety of Highvale, of course— its territory stretched out into tributary river valleys, glacial valleys, and even into some of the rugged uplands around them. The overwhelming majority of its population lived atop the terraces carved into the Stoneknife Canyon walls, however.

Most of the terraces were filled with farmland, ranging from rice paddies to potato fields to orchards. The specific crops planted largely depended on the altitude of the terraces. Despite it still being winter in most of the mountain range, the weather mage corps of Highvale had already raised the temperature in the pass, and the growing season was well underway.

Alustin had spent quite a few hours over the years rambling to them about the wonders of Highvale’s terraces, and it was only now that Hugh really understood what he’d meant.

Cities and villages seemed to crop up at random along the terraces. There were a few cliff-dwelling villages as well, but most of the architecture rested atop the terraces. Agricultural and urban land rested side by side, often interlocked in a sharp and arresting pattern.

In the distance, they could make out one of the immense blocky river fortresses, rising from the canyon bottom, halfway up to the snow line. The broad, flat roof was covered in bustling activity, though even Hugh’s sphinx eyes struggled to make out any details of said activity.

Highvale had dozens of the huge fortresses scattered up and down their canyon kingdom, and they were the lynchpin of their defenses. They served as not only military installations but also as food stores, government administrative facilities, even as emergency shelters for citizens when it came under attack by raiders, dragon flights, or roving great powers.

Not that even most great powers were foolish enough to attack Highvale. For all that Highvale had the least great powers of their own of any major nation, they were indisputably among the most powerful and well-defended states on the Ithonian continent. They had well-trained professional armies, more fortifications and magical defenses than any single nation had any business possessing, and even specialist mage strike teams formed for hunting specific great powers.

Highvale’s greatest defense, however, was a subtler one. For whatever reason, the aether around Stoneknife Canyon was less dense than anywhere else in the Skyreach Range. It was nowhere near low enough to be a mana desert, of course, and it was only low in comparison to the rest of the mountain range, which always had dense mana generated by the frequent earthquakes and numerous labyrinths of the mountain.

Still, those caveats aside, the aether density around Highvale was low enough to allow them a particularly effective defense— they used up most of their mana from day to day.

Highvale kept careful track of the mana levels in their territory, and over hundreds of leagues, keeping it low enough through controlled usage that any great power attempting battle would drain it rapidly.

For all the might of great powers, once their mana reservoirs were empty, lesser mages had the advantage in low-mana regions. More great powers had died raiding Highvale than nearly any other nation on Ithos.

The frequency at which Talia’s clan raided Highvale, when most great powers were nervous about the idea, really put Clan Castis’ insanity into perspective.

Hugh took a deep breath of the crisp, clean alpine air and sighed happily, with not even a trace of irritation from his lungs or throat.

He glanced down at his spellbook, who was gazing out over Highvale with as much interest as any of them, and patted him on the front cover. “I don’t know if I’ve thanked you enough lately, Mackerel. You’ve saved our butts more times than I can count, including just now in the labyrinth. We couldn’t have made it without you.”

Mackerel gave him a look of happiness and pride before turning his attention back down into the canyon.

Then the spellbook tensed and looked back up at Hugh in horror. Hugh was alarmed for a moment, thinking that Mackerel had spotted a threat, but instead the book floated up off his shoulder and over to Sabae.

Hugh struggled to make sense of the feelings of regret, embarrassment, and acceptance that Mackerel was sending for a moment, but it didn’t take more than a few heartbeats to puzzle out what Mackerel was trying to convey.

“Sabae, I think Mackerel’s trying to apologize to you. I think he’s saying that maybe he really is maturing and that he shouldn’t have caused you so much trouble about it.”

Sabae gave the spellbook a thoughtful look, then knelt in the snow so she’d be at eye level with his cover. “That kind of apology takes a lot of courage, and I really appreciate it, Mackerel.”

Then a wicked smile spread across her face. “But… I’ve just been messing with you this whole time about the maturity thing because you absolutely deserved payback, after all the pranks you inflict on us.”

A look of horror and betrayal spread across Mackerel’s cover, but before the spellbook could give a response, Sabae shoved a handful of snow into his crystal pages and darted off.

Hugh rolled his eyes and struggled not to laugh as his spellbook chased his friend through the snow.

Probably not the smartest thing to do this close to a cliff, but that’s what magic was for, after all.

The group took a few minutes more to enjoy the sunset over Highvale, then got ready to hike down. There was a narrow, difficult trail heading down into the canyon— one in even worse shape than the trail they’d climbed atop Mount Mulberry, but they should be able to fix it with stone and crystal magic. It would be a bit nerve-wracking doing so in the dark, but they could handle it.

As they were gathering near the trailhead, Talia gave him an apprehensive look. “Hugh, is… have you checked your bond with Kanderon yet?”

Hugh scratched the back of his head and gave Talia an apprehensive look. “Not yet. I…”

“It’s alright if yeh aren’t ready yet,” Godrick said. “Take yer time.”

Sabae didn’t say anything, just gave Hugh a sympathetic look.

“No, I… I’m ready now,” Hugh said.

He reached into the back of his mind and felt for his pact with the sphinx.

His bond still felt dull and unresponsive, but… different than it had before. It was, at the very least, easier to sense now that he was home again. He couldn’t tell whether the difference in sensation was because their plan had actually worked or whether Kanderon was still comatose, and the difference in how the bond felt was just a matter of their bond being freed from the valley of energetic metastability.

And then Hugh felt something he hadn’t expected from his pact with Kanderon— felt it through one of his new affinities.

Felt it through one of the affinities he’d gotten from Talia, in fact.

“She’s dreaming,” Hugh said with wonder. “I can feel Kanderon dreaming.”

A smile split Talia’s face, and she started towards him to embrace him. Only to stop, a weird look crossing her face.

Then she turned and vomited into the snow.

“Oh, this isn’t fair,” Sabae said. “Why are we getting aethersick on our own planet? This…”

Hugh didn’t hear the rest of the complaint because, by then, he was vomiting too.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

The Blossom Festival

ON THE DAY of the Blossom Festival, Alustin stood on a twisted plain of glass.

If you looked carefully, you could still see the shapes of buildings in the lumpy, broken glass— the melting of Helicote by the Havathi great powers hadn’t been total.

You could even see flickers above the glass, remnants of the atthuema echoes that had made the city unlike any other in history. The demesne of the Lord of Bells had been shattered and broken, the lich slain with brutal thoroughness, but rooting up the enchantments of the demesne would have been a years-long project that the war-ravaged Dominion couldn’t have afforded.

Wasn’t much point, really. If anything, the flickering remnants of the demesne made Havath’s message clearer.

Don’t mess with the Dominion.

The glass plain ran for miles in every direction, where it came to an abrupt halt against the edges of the Aito Forest. He was sure that Tetragnath, the hive mind of millions of spiders that ruled the woods, was watching him, but Alustin didn’t worry over-much with that. Tetragnath had kept a peace treaty with the Lord of Bells for centuries, and, for whatever inscrutable reasons of his own, had maintained his side of the bargain with the two surviving Helicotans.

Even if there were others living in hiding somewhere, they’d as good as renounced their heritage, for fear of Havath.

It wasn’t long until the sole other remaining Helicotan landed on the lumpy glass plain.

“Valia,” Alustin said, politely.

“Alustin.”

They didn’t speak for a few minutes, just silently observed the glass around them. The flickering visual echoes had redoubled in number near them, probably in response to Valia’s atthuema affinity.

“So are you actually here, or is that just an empty suit of armor?” Valia finally asked.

Alustin unfolded the paper breastplate of his armor to show the empty space inside.

After staring at his armor pensively for a time, Valia sighed heavily. “Time was, you would have trusted me enough to come in person to one of our little palavers.”

Alustin folded his paper breastplate closed again, then shrugged. “Things are different now. The stakes are higher, and we’ve crossed a point of no return.”

Valia nodded at that, then idly swiped her hand through one of the flickering echoes. The blur of color collapsed entirely as her hand passed through it.

“I know it’s useless, but I still need to try to persuade you to stop this madness,” Valia said. “There are too many lives at stake.”

“I know,” Alustin said. “And part of me honestly wishes that you could succeed at convincing me. I didn’t follow this course of action lightly or without doubts, but… it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve set in motion an avalanche, and there’s no stopping it now, even if I wanted to.”

“When do you think was the last chance we had to escape this all?” Valia asked. “How many years now have we been locked in the same old patterns?”

“I was serious about my offer at Dragonclaw Yardang,” Alustin said. “We could have just… left. Gone to Gelid or maybe Cloudspine.”

Valia gave him a doubtful look, but Alustin chose not to argue.

“Well, we might be trapped by our pasts, but history will—” Valia started.

“Please, don’t give me that nonsense propaganda,” Alustin interrupted. “History doesn’t have laws, doesn’t guide the paths of civilization. History’s just things happening. And even if it were, it’s not history guiding Havath— it’s a bunch of multiversal meddlers scheming over power and trying to rule behind the scenes.”

Valia gave him a baffled look, and Alustin rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve never suspected that someone was acting as puppetmaster, manipulating the Dominion. Someone who’s also been involved with Kanderon, Keayda, and a dozen other great powers and nations across the continent.”

“You’re mad,” Valia replied.

“Well, yes, but I’m also not wrong.”

“Ridiculous claims aside…”

Alustin shook his head. “Don’t set my claims aside. Take the time to look into them.”

He summoned a folder out from the depths of his armor and dropped it onto the ground in between them.

Valia didn’t touch it, but he didn’t blame her— she didn’t have much reason to trust that it wasn’t a magical trap of some sort.

Alustin changed the subject, pointing at the insignia on Valia’s uniform. “I’m a little surprised you haven’t been reduced in rank or worse after the trick I played on you.. A promotion is… a bit of a surprise.”

Valia shrugged. “They still haven’t confirmed a second duarch after Locke’s death. Icola’s been using that opportunity to rid the upper ranks of incompetent nobles. They’re all furious, but the threat of you is keeping them in line. And Icola’s hardly one to punish failures that are out of someone’s control.”

Alustin nodded. “You commanded well at Allanoi. Almost glad to hear your years of loyal service are being rewarded. You know, other than the part where I have to face you again.”

Valia gave him a skeptical look at that, but his blank paper helmet gave none of his emotions away.

“What’s the Last Echo of the Lord of Bells?” Valia asked. “And don’t give me any crap about it being the last spell the Lord of Bells ever cast. I’m probably the only living atthuema mage on the continent— if the Lord of Bells had cast any such spell, I’d know it.”

“Would you believe it was actually a hanathos spell that he cast?” Alustin asked, naming another of the Lord of Bells’ foreign affinities.

Valia gave him a wry look, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“The Last Echo is nothing special,” Alustin lied. “It’ll go boom and punch a big hole in Helicote’s defenses. Plenty of ridiculous explosives in Skyhold’s vault. It was easy enough to find one sufficiently powerful.”

Alustin could see the wheels turning in her head as she considered his story. He doubted she’d just accept his answer, but… she’d likely find a way to help Havath better prepare its defenses against that sort of explosion, whether or not she reported this meeting to her commanders.

Which, of course, would only make the Last Echo even more powerful when it activated.

“I never made my students call me sir,” he said abruptly. “I actually did my best to stop them from calling me that.”

Valia gave him a confused look.

“During our fight in Allanoi, you accused me of acting like my father, forcing my students to call me sir,” he said.

Valia shook her head in amazement. “All these years, all these barbs we’ve used at one another, and that was the one that finally landed, that you couldn’t get out of your head?”

“They all landed,” Alustin said. “Every one of them hurt. This one, though, my students, I just… I really did try. To be a good teacher, to be there for them, to be a better teacher than my father was. To help my students prove that the people who thought they were failures, for things out of their control, were wrong.”

“And then you betrayed them,” Valia said.

Alustin wanted to protest that he’d done it to protect his students, to stop his enemies pursuing them after he sacrificed himself to bring down Havath.

He didn’t, though. He knew it was self-serving nonsense. Even if he stopped now, his enemies would still pursue his students. And if he succeeded at destroying Havath, ruining the plans of its multiversal masters?

No one Alustin had ever known or cared about would escape being hunted. There was no escaping the cycle of revenge.

Even beyond that, though, it didn’t matter. Even if his enemies wouldn’t have to hunt his students, he had still hurt Hugh and betrayed all their trust.

Even if he ever got a chance to explain himself to them, Alustin wouldn’t know what to say.

“I did,” Alustin said, simply.

The two of them stood silently for a long time, watching the echoes marking the grave of their home.

Then Alustin’s empty armor dissolved into loose sheets of paper, and Valia was left alone.

She almost left then and there, almost put the whole meeting out of her mind to prepare for war.

Instead, on some strange whim, despite the fact that it was almost certainly one of Alustin’s traps, she drew her sword and used it to nudge open the folder he’d left on the ground.

Nothing happened. No explosions, no blinding flares of light, not even a swarm of razor-edged pages flying at her throat.

She did pull on gloves before she picked up the folder— Alustin loved using the old poisoned paper trick— but she still picked up the folder, setting all common sense and tactical protocols for dealing with Alustin aside.

Valia Warwell spent hours there in the ruins of Helicote, the frown on her face growing deeper with every word she read.

THE LIAR HAD already set up a campfire and spitted a rabbit over it by the time the Wanderer joined her. A small spider, one of Tetragnath’s millions of bodies, sat in a web close to the fire.

The Wanderer nodded companionably at both, and sat down next to the fire, facing towards Skyhold.

Neither of the Named needed the campfire despite the ice and snow on the mountain peak around them. They could have lounged naked atop the peak and still not been at risk from frostbite.

There was always something comforting about a fire, though. And Tetragnath could probably use the warmth— it had to be a strain for the Endling to control one of his bodies this far from Aito.

“Anyone else shown up?” the Wanderer asked the older Named.

The Liar shrugged, the words drifting across her skin rippling in response. “Would have thought Galvachren would have shown up, but I haven’t seen him.”

“Galvachren left this universe when the ruins of Imperial Ithos returned,” the Wanderer said. “Claimed he was worried about Cold Minds.”

The Liar raised a skeptical brow at that but didn’t argue.

Tetragnath’s body stirred at the mention of Galvachren, but he didn’t say anything either.

“It’s about time the sphinx chose to join our ranks,” the Liar said.

The Wanderer shook her head. “She’s not joining us. She only has Anastan magic still.”

The Liar puffed on her pipe and gave her a disbelieving look. “Eight centuries old, and you expect me to believe she never sought power beyond this horrid little world? What’s she doing, if not becoming Named?”

The Wanderer chuckled. “Becoming something else entirely. Something magnificent.”

She was about to continue when something caught her attention in the distance. Swirls of snow were rising in bizarre patterns from another mountain peak.

Apple Pie squeaked at her in alarm from inside her cloak, and the Wanderer did her best to calm the bat as she sought out what had alarmed him.

It didn’t take her long to use Apple Pie’s senses to pick out the eerie melody coming from the swirls of snow.

“Wasn’t expecting the Singers to pay this much attention,” she said. “At most, I’d expected them to have the Toothguard hire a land-dweller to observe.”

Tetragnath spoke for the first time at that, his voice rising from vibrating spiderwebs. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re referring to. I don’t have enough bodies or webs here to get a clear picture of whatever that is.”

“The Singers sent a Living Song to watch,” the Liar said. Even she seemed a little impressed at that.

The Wanderer peered into the aether with her crystal eye at the Living Song— opportunities to study the magical constructs were rare indeed— but she couldn’t make much sense of it. Its aetherbody was far more complex than any elemental.

She was careful not to look at the aetherbody of the Liar, though. No need to make that mistake again.

As the minutes wore on, the Wanderer could feel quite a few scrying attempts on Skyhold. She and the Liar silently took turns foiling them. She would have liked to make a game of it, but it was best to make the scrying failures seem accidental— most of them were just local seers checking up on Skyhold; they didn’t know what was happening today.

“You know, there was a hydra living here until a few days ago,” the Liar said. “A draconic hydra, not a true hydra. Fully grown, though. On top of that, it was possessed by some sort of sentient magical chains. Thought they were Secondborn enchantments at first, but no, just inspired by them, I think.”

“What happened to it?” the Wanderer asked.

“Headed north, in a hurry,” the Liar said. “Faster than an adult hydra should be able to move— the chains were acting almost like legs and grapnels? Fairly disturbing stuff.”

“Ramyl the Chained,” Tetragnath offered. “Fought alongside Kanderon and her allies in the battle for Skyhold, possessed the hydra afterward. Still working alongside Kanderon’s Coven, for whatever reason.”

The Wanderer and the Liar both listened as the spider hive mind explained recent events in detail— the Liar politely, the Wanderer out of genuine interest.

She did try to keep track of the goings-on of her homeworld, but it was so easy to get distracted.

For a time, the Wanderer thought it would just be the four of them watching— the two Named and the Endling by the fire, and the Living Song on the nearby mountaintop.

She wasn’t entirely sure why the Singers thought this worth observation— their actions were inscrutable at the best of times— but the others, at least, had a simple enough reason to be here.

They were Kanderon’s friends and allies— or as close as old monsters like them could have friends.

Then, as if out of nowhere, a Kyrene appeared on another mountain. It wasn’t particularly large as Kyrene went, only sixty or seventy feet tall, but it was completely invisible to the naked eye. It showed up clearly enough inside the aether to the Wanderer’s crystal eye, though.

“What’s a Kyrene Watcher doing here?” the Liar asked. “Or… is that a Chronicler?”

“Neither,” the Wanderer said, pleased to know more than the Liar for once. She’d visited Kyrene worlds numerous times over the centuries, while The Liar mostly contained herself to the known multiverse, the labyrinth ecosystem. Her endless, hopeless war didn’t give her much time for travel. “That’s a Kyrene Birth Witness.”

“Fitting,” Tetragnath observed.

The conversation ended there because the process they’d all come to watch had begun.

Deep beneath the earth, far past the three immense ward tunnels circling Skyhold, was a fourth tunnel. A ring a dozen leagues in diameter, buried so deep within the bedrock that no mere stone mage could ever hope to detect it with their senses. There were no paths leading down to the tunnel, nor any access points— Kanderon had spent decades constructing the ring-tunnel at the absolute farthest reaches of her magic.

As if that weren’t enough, the sphinx had wrapped the entire tunnel in a pocket dimension of its own, one that protected it from geological forces and from any magical detection. Not even the Liar, with all her power, suspected its presence.

There had long been rumors of its existence in Skyhold, but there were so many rumors about secret places in Skyhold that Galvachren would have trouble keeping track of them all.

The Kyrene Birth Witness sensed it, but it had no reason to share.

The tunnel’s secrecy, of course, was for the best— if any of the Hordes even suspected the existence of the tunnel, they would have invaded Anastis in a heartbeat.

For all the tunnel’s importance, it had finished its work decades ago. It had funneled immense torrents of energy in great loops until they hammered into one another; channeled them through enchantments, wards, chained elementals, and magics even more esoteric. It would, most likely, never run again.

It didn’t need to, though, because high above it, where the gathered multiversal powers watched, the fruits of its labor were ripening.

Atop Skyhold, in the impossible depths of a blue crystal orb, light began to shine.

GRAM OF CLAN CASTIS

THE FOLLOWING NOVELLA takes place in the late fall during the events of A Traitor in Skyhold, following one of Talia’s (many) older brothers, Gram.

GRAM OF CLAN Castis was having one of those days.

One of those days where you almost got sprayed by a skunk, where you forgot to secure your pack properly and had to repack everything in it, one of those days where the wind kept trying to blow his hat off his head. It wasn’t a bad day, necessarily, but a frustrating one?

Absolutely.

Not a distinction most people would appreciate, but an important one in his book.

Right now, the last thing he wanted was to deal with the Clan Yehal gate guards.

Clan Yehal was one of the largest and wealthiest of the mountain clans. They occupied a great valley far to the north of Clan Castis’ own territory, and could field a raiding force larger than nearly any other clan.

Their valley was enormous, nestled deep within the mountains. The air in it was so thick Gram had private doubts about whether or not Yehal should even truly be counted as a mountain clan. It was densely forested, save for the orchards and fields of Yehal. Looming over the whole valley was Mount Yehal itself, one of the tallest mountains in the whole Skyreach range. (The tallest, if you listened to Clan Yehal, which Gram didn’t.)

At the base of Mount Yehal was Hold Yehal. With a population nearing thirty thousand people, it was easily the most populous clan hold, and even Gram had to admit it was magnificent. The tree mages of Clan Yehal had grown a mighty living wall surrounding their hold, of trees grown together so closely their trunks had merged together. Over the whole thing towered their ancestral tree, said to be planted over the grave of the founder of Clan Yehal. Anywhere but at the foot of Mount Yehal the tree would have boggled the mind with its size— it was hundreds of feet tall, with entire buildings rising along its trunk and secured in the crooks of its branches. There were plenty of other tree cities on Ithos, and while a great many of them were far more populous than Hold Yehal, only a handful had anything to match the Yehal ancestral tree in size.

It was said that the inside of Hold Yehal was even more beautiful, but Gram wouldn’t know. He’d been waiting in line in the snow to get in for two hours, and now that he’d finally gotten to the front, the guards were being… difficult.

“It’s really just you?” the burly female guard asked.

Gram scratched at his bright red beard and glared up at her. She had most of a foot on him in height. Admittedly, not a difficult task— Clan Castis was hardly known for their great height, and the only members of his family shorter than him were his mother and his little sister Talia.

He hoped the guard hit her head on things regularly. That applied to everyone tall, in fairness.

“Yes, it’s just me,” he snapped.

The male guard chuckled. “What’s wrong, Clan Castis a little short-handed?”

Gram narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything. The guard had been cracking short jokes for the past few minutes, and Gram was doing his best not to pick a fight, for once.

He was quite proud of his own restraint.

“All the other clans so far have sent considerably… more populous embassies,” the female guard said. “Usually bringing impressive gifts and honor guards. Some of the Canopy members might take Clan Castis sending just you as an insult.”

Gram started to say something rude, but stopped himself. He might be frustrated, but the female guard had been nothing but professional this whole time. Just because her partner was an ass didn’t mean he should take it out on her.

“It’s just me,” Gram said. “Clan Castis didn’t feel this was important enough to warrant a larger embassy. If the Canopy feels insulted, well, we officially don’t care.”

Unofficially, Gram’s parents would laugh their asses off.

The male guard’s amusement vanished off his face. He moved right into Gram’s face and glared. “And if I feel insulted, little man? A little nobody clan like yours should have more respect.”

The man swatted at Gram’s broad-brimmed leather hat, but Gram leaned out of the way. The oversize feather sticking up from it flopped wildly.

Gram smiled up at the fellow, who was even bigger than the female guard. “Considering how annoying you are, I think I’ll be quite pleased if you’re insulted.”

The male guard reached for his sword, only to have his wrist grabbed by the female guard.

“Enough,” she snapped.

The male guard looked like he wanted to argue, but eventually deflated. Gram noted a number of other guards at the gate watching them.

“You can go ahead and enter,” the female guard said. “You’re going in as an observer, I assume?”

Gram shook his head. “As a participant.”

He could hear the male guard ranting in disbelief as he passed through the tunnel into Hold Yehal. That really was a problem— the man genuinely seemed to not know Clan Castis.

Gram hated being the bearer of bad news, but it seemed like Clan Castis really hadn’t been raiding other clans enough lately. He briefly considered burning down the Yehal ancestral tree to make sure Yehal remembered Clan Castis name, but quickly dismissed the idea. He was a guest, and that would be unnecessarily rude. Besides, he had a definite goal here, and burning the place down wouldn’t help.

“You moron, do you really not know who Clan Castis are?” the female guard hissed, trying to be quiet. “Are you trying to get yourself incinerated?”

Gram’s smile came right back at that.

GRAM, DESPITE HIMSELF, couldn’t help but be impressed at the inside of Hold Yehal. It was a forest of only giants inside— the ground was free of saplings or brush, and buildings nestled between roots, in the crooks of branches, and atop the larger branches. Many of the enormous branches actually merged into the trunks of other trees, like great bridges. Many had rows of buildings atop them, like city streets in midair.

The fact that the sheer size of the trees was only possible with careful and painstaking spellwork over the course of generations only made it more impressive.

He did notice that the branches that merged only did so with trees of the same species. He couldn’t see any winter oaks merging with greatpines, or giant cedars with the great tangles of compound aspens. Many of their branches- or, in the compound aspens’ case, trunks reaching out horizontally from the great tangle at their heart- achieved the same effect by winding together at the tips with branches from other tree species, however, forming more junctions and streets in midair.

Great staircases spiraled up the trunks of the trees, save for the chaos of the compound aspens. They had great platforms built inside of them farther up, where the tangle of aspen trunks and aerial roots opened up more, but unless there were staircases hidden inside the tangled aspen trunks, you could probably only get to them from trees of other species.

If Gram had to guess, there were many times more people living up in the trees than on the ground in Hold Yehal. He wasn’t entirely sure how they got water up there or dealt with waste— he didn’t see any aqueducts or pipes. The aether wasn’t thin here, but nor was it anywhere near strong enough to solve these problems with just magic. If he had to guess, Clan Yehal had modified their trees to have internal channels and reservoirs to handle these problems.

“Wait up!” a voice called from behind him.

Gram turned to see the female guard from before. “Can I help you?”

“My superiors decided that we should offer you a guide to help you around the city,” the guard said, looking a little uncomfortable.

Gram channeled a little mana through his tattoos, causing the geometric blue lines to flare on his pale skin.

“You mean they wanted to make sure I didn’t burn down Hold Yehal the first time I got irritated,” Gram said.

The guard opened her mouth to say something bureaucratic and apologetic, then visibly changed her mind.

“Yep,” she said.

Gram let his tattoos quiet and smiled. “Finally, a bit of respect! Much appreciated. Out of curiosity, though, how are you supposed to keep me from burning down the place?”

“I’m not. I’m supposed to make sure you burn to a crisp too if you try anything,” the guard said.

“You have a fire affinity too?” Gram asked, suddenly interested.

“No,” the guard said, as she started walking forwards.

Gram had to hurry to catch up- a leisurely pace for the tall guard was a fast walk for him.

Neither said anything for a moment. Gram was busy considering what affinities the guard might have. Wind, perhaps?

“My name’s Gram, by the way,” he offered.

“You introduced yourself already,” the guard said.

“I introduced myself at the gate,” Gram said. “This is a personal introduction.”

“I’m not sure I entirely understand the difference,” the guard said.

Gram gave her a weird look. The difference was fairly obvious, he should think.

“Haela Root Yehal,” the guard finally offered.

Haela had flawless skin and gorgeous auburn hair knotted in a tight bun to keep it out of her way, but Gram doubted anyone would ever call her beautiful. She had an overlarge nose that had been broken more than a few times, a big bruiser’s jaw, and the build of a particularly muscle-bound blacksmith. She had several flasks strapped to her belt, as well a heavy axe and an oddly shaped oval shield strapped to her back. That last perplexed him, as the rest of the guards he’d seen all carried heater shields, or the occasional kite shield.

He didn’t even pretend to understand the complexities of Yehal clan politics, but given the fact that she was of Root status, and gave the Yehal clan name instead of a family name, she was either an orphan or had been banished from her family. Either way, she was very far down their social ladder, and would be considered a nominal ward of the clan chief.

She also, Gram noticed, didn’t seem afraid of him. Cautious, but not afraid.

Interesting.

“So where can I find quarters?” Gram asked, shifting his heavy pack on his shoulders.

Haela sighed. “That’s going to be fairly tricky— with all of the people coming into town for the council, most of the inns and boarding houses are completely packed, and the rooms that are left are going for outrageous sums.”

Gram smiled. “Price isn’t a concern.”

AS IT TURNED out, the price of even a tiny cramped attic room of an inn on one of the lower branches was enough to make even Gram’s wallet take notice, but he didn’t bother trying to haggle too much.

“Alright, Haela, what do you think? Should I meet with the Wairlun girl or the Ulathe girl first?” Gram asked.

Haela stopped walking. Gram kept walking down the bark-covered path atop the branch idly watching as the glow crystals lighting the branch streets began to light up here and there as the sun sank in the sky.

“Are you trying to tell me you not only haven’t arranged an appointment, you haven’t even decided which one to court yet?” Haela asked, incredulously. “Even if their schedules weren’t both absolutely packed, meeting with both of them could be construed as a massive insult.”

Gram adjusted his hat and gave her another weird look. “Why would I decide to court someone I hadn’t even met yet? Besides, they’re going to be fighting over me.”

Haela clutched at her head and muttered angrily to herself.

The Wairlun and the Ulathe families were two of the most powerful Canopy families in Clan Yehal. The current Yehal clan chief was getting quite old, with no heirs of his own. At this point, it was all but certain that the next Yehal chieftain would come from one of the two families, but it was anyone’s guess as to which.

Succession in Clan Yehal was notoriously problematic— the actual Yehal family had died out years ago, the last Yehal clan chief killed when she foolishly attempted to lead a raid to kill Afranxis, the elder dragon that lived on the edge of their territory. It had fairly clearly been just an effort to glorify the Yehal chief’s name and cement her still uncertain rule, as she’d taken the seat young. Afranxis wasn’t particularly aggressive, and he largely ignored the mountain clans, save for eating the very occasional sheep, goat, or horse.

Of course, it had also been foolish because Afranxis easily counted among the great powers, albeit one that merely wanted to be left alone. So far as anyone knew, the Yehal crown still rested in Afranxis’ lair.

A clan chief having a crown was a little over the top in the first place, in Gram’s opinion.

The current round of their political jockeying was, to say the least, fairly ridiculous, at least to Gram’s way of thinking. There were a bunch of complicating factors, which didn’t really matter so far as Gram could tell, but the whole situation basically boiled down to the older, respected Ulathe family declaring the youngest granddaughter of the family head was now eligible to be courted. The new, ambitious Wairlun family promptly announced that one of their young women was now eligible to be courted as well, and things… escalated a bit out of hand. Essentially, it had turned into a ridiculous competition over who could find the best spouse for their daughter, and what brideprice they could offer.

To make everything even more ridiculous, both girls were named Ygritte.

The Ulathe family currently seemed to have an edge on gaining the Yehal throne, from what Gram had heard, but it was still anyone’s game.

Normally this was the type of situation that Gram would avoid like the plague. Unfortunately, his parents had recently demanded that Gram stop his constant wanderings around the Skyreach range, find a spouse, and settle down.

They claimed it was for the good of the Clan, but Gram was pretty sure they just wanted more grandchildren to spoil.

When he’d said as much, they’d failed to see why the distinction was important. As usual.

After Haela calmed down a bit, Gram started walking again.

“Might as well go with the Ulathe girl first,” he said. “Which way to their place?”

THE ULATHE MANOR was, entirely unsurprisingly, a giant tree, just like literally everything else in Hold Yehal. It was a massively oversized winter oak with stone buildings sprouting from it in a way that looked entirely cultivated and orderly.

Before they’d gone in, Haela had explained— in a seemingly respectful tone of voice, but with a faint edge to her voice that made Gram suspect she wasn’t a particular fan of the Ulathe family— that even with tree mages, it had taken generations to grow the tree according to the original plans, so the buildings would fit just so.

Gram tried to pay attention to everything Haela explained to him about his expected etiquette when they went inside, but most of it just slipped in one ear and out the other.

In hindsight, he really regretted not listening more carefully.

It wasn’t the numerous wood mage archers pointing the famous Clan Yehal greatbows at him that he was really worried about— he already had the spellform active to incinerate the arrows and bowstrings if they tried to release. It was a hellishly complex spellform, but one that was a standard part of Clan Castis tattoos— he just needed to supply mana to it. Arrows at close range were only really a concern to Clan Castis mages either in truly huge numbers, or to his sister Talia, whose tattoos were… a little broken. Ironically, if the mage archers had been farther back, he’d have been in more danger— their range was much farther than his, and his tattoos were most effective against arrows as they were being launched. Those greatbows were the reason Clan Yehal had never been conquered by a dragon or one of the other great powers of the Skyreach Range. They could punch through solid steel at a distance several times farther than a normal bow could even reach.

He wasn’t particularly worried about the armsmen brandishing swords and axes at him. Non-mages weren’t harmless, like many mages foolishly thought— if they were within about twenty-five feet, it was frequently possible for them to cross the distance before the average mage cast a spell. Gram was hardly average, however.

He wasn’t even overly worried about the Ulathe family patriarch, who… was either a bone mage really obsessed with using teeth as projectiles, or was actually a tooth mage. He’d never heard of that before, but it was impossible to keep track of all the different types of mages.

He’d put a lot of study into bone affinities in an effort to help his little sister when she developed her bone affinity. He hadn’t been the one to find a solution— their brother Luthe had been the one to get her an invitation to attend Skyhold, where she’d found a teacher to help her— but he had found a few excellent ways for fire mages to beat bone mages. (Though, honestly, just like with most other types of mages, sufficient application of fire was usually enough.)

No, he was only worried about two things. First, that he might have flubbed his first impression with Ygritte Leaf Ulathe. She was certainly as beautiful as everyone claimed, but it was a little spoiled by the terror on her face as she stared at him, cowering behind her grandfather.

Well, he was pretty sure she was staring at the massive fireball he was currently suspending in the air above him. It was pretty impressive, if he did say so himself. It was compressed down quite a bit in size— if he let go, it would cause a wonderfully massive detonation.

The biggest thing he was worried about, however, was Haela.

“You’re an oil mage?” Gram said.

“Clearly,” Haela said, glaring at him.

Gram glanced back down at his skin and clothes, all of which were coated in a thick layer of oil from a flask hanging on Haela’s hip. He’d never met an oil mage before, though he’d heard of them.

“That does make casting spells a bit trickier for me,” Gram admitted.

“As in, if you cast anything else, you’ll quite literally fry yourself?” Haela said.

“Like I said, tricky,” Gram replied with a smile.

“This is a gross offense to the dignity of the Ulathe family, the Hold, and Clan Yehal,” the family head snapped.

Gram rolled his eyes and sighed. “I wasn’t the one who drew weapons first,” he said.

Strictly speaking, he’d only cast spells, not drawn weapons, but he managed not to mention that fact. That probably wasn’t a useful distinction right now.

“You can’t simply barge in here and demand an audience whenever you’d like,” the old man said, glaring daggers.

“You could have just asked me to leave, instead of simply ordering your guards to go after me,” Gram said.

Really, the fact that the Ulathe family had their own guards at all bothered Gram. Hold Yehal hardly felt like a proper clan-hold at all— it felt more like a lowland city. And if the Ulathes were supposed to be a more traditionalist family, he couldn’t help but wonder how spoiled and ridiculous the Wairlun family would be.

Not to mention the ridiculous clan ranking system they had. Roots were the most important part of a tree, shouldn’t they be the highest rank, rather than the lowest? It’s like they were solely basing their naming system off height, which was foolish.

A little voice in the back of his head wondered if he just thought that because of how short he was, but he dismissed the thought.

Before the Ulathe family head could start yelling again, Haela interjected. “Gram, get rid of the fireball, and we’ll all resolve this peacefully.”

“Nope,” Gram said.

Haela glared at him.

“I’m trying to resolve this peacefully,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if you would stop being a battle-crazed idiot and work with me here. Your suit clearly doesn’t have a chance now, and it would be best if you simply left the city as quickly as possible.”

Ygritte nodded vigorously at that.

“I think you’re operating under some misapprehensions,” Gram said. “I’m not battle-crazed— though I’m not sure I’d argue too heavily with the idiocy accusation— I’m merely unwilling to lower my guard first, considering how many people here seem to want me dead.”

“This is our home,” the Ulathe family head snapped. “We shouldn’t have to lower our guard first, we’re merely defending ourselves.”

“You escalated to violence first,” Gram said. “Am I really the only one who sees the importance of that distinction?”

Before the old man could start yelling and cursing again, Haela again tried to restore calm.

“Gram, I can personally assure you of your safety,” she said. “I…”

“No, you can’t,” the old man snapped. “A dirty Root like yourself doesn’t get to issue commands of any sort in my home.”

Haela’s face went blank. Entirely, rigidly blank. Her knuckles, on the other hand, turned remarkably pale as her fists clenched.

“I’m here as a duly appointed representative of the clan chief,” she said, in a suspiciously calm tone of voice.

“A clan chief so old he almost certainly won’t survive the winter,” the Ulathe patriarch said. “He’s not going to get himself involved in nonsense like this— he’s too worried about the upcoming council meeting, especially given how little pull he has. Ulathe will rule from the Ancestral Tree as we did generations ago, and if you wish to keep your position in the future, you’ll keep your mouth shut and respect your betters.”

“I’m really not seeing an incentive to letting my fireball go,” Gram confided to Haela. “It definitely seems like my life’s in a little bit of danger right now.”

Haela sighed. Heavily.

“How do we know we’re safe from you?” Ygritte demanded from behind her father.

Gram’s opinion of her rose a little bit. She was obviously terrified by the whole situation, yet still managed to not only speak up, but look him straight in the eye.

Only a little bit, though. He actually suspected this was her first armed standoff, which was a bit embarrassing at her age- she was older than his sister.

“Well, it would rather ruin my chances courting you if I burn down your house, wouldn’t it?” Gram said, reasonably.

The Ulathe patriarch turned a particularly deep shade of red at that. “You never had any chances, you impudent whelp! I swear on my good name, I’ll shove that oversize ugly hat of yours so far up…”

“Alright, alright, let’s not escalate anything further,” Haela said. “Gram, we’re going to slowly walk out the door, and once we’re out of range, you’re going to drop the fireball.”

“There is no way I’m simply going to…” the old man started, but Ygritte laid her hand on his shoulder.

“Grandfather, let him go, he’s not worth your time,” she said.

Haela started moving, and Gram slowly followed her. Haela, thankfully, moved the oil up off his boots so he could walk safely. Once they’d gotten a distance towards the great entry doors, Gram lowered the fireball from above him to in between himself and the Ulathes.

“By the way, old man,” Gram called out. “You’re not only going to be personally apologizing to me for all this sooner than later, you’ll be inviting me to court your granddaughter as well!”

The guards had to physically restrain the old man.

Hmmm. Maybe Gram should have actually remembered the man’s name.

When they were out of sight of the Ulathe manor, Gram slowly let the fireball dissolve, then turned to Haela.

“Well, that could have gone better,” he said. “And I understand him insulting me, but insulting my hat was just uncalled for.”

Haela punched him in the face. Hard.

GRAM WOKE UP in a jail cell.

Well, sort of a jail cell. It was sort of an oubliette, but in order to count as an oubliette, the only entrance had to be in the ceiling, and the entrance to his cell was just really high up on the stone walls. He could actually see a rope ladder through the cell bars, but there was no way to reach it.

His pockets had all been emptied, his bootlaces had been removed, and he had a cut on his lip from the punch. Somehow, Haela hadn’t broken his nose, which rather surprised him, considering how hard she’d hit him.

He still had his hat, at least. The feather was looking even worse for wear, though.

This was all going to be quite a bother. This cell was an aggravatingly ambiguous fringe case. Usually the distinction between a cell and an oubliette was fairly clear-cut. Gram strongly preferred it when he could easily categorize things. He… had some issues with ambiguous fringe cases.

He usually didn’t set them on fire anymore, though.

It was at least a couple of hours before someone showed up to speak to him. To his delight, it was Haela.

She seemed less delighted.

“Haela, does this cell count as an oubliette?” he asked.

She just gave him a flat look. “Do you know how difficult you’ve made my life? I have the Ulathes demanding my job and your head, and the Wairluns are mockingly spreading the story about how the Ulathes were embarrassed by you to fan the flames even more.”

Gram grimaced at that and rubbed his beard uncomfortably. “I’ll have to find a way to make all this up to you,” he said.

Haela gave him a flat look. “Please, don’t. I can’t even imagine how, but I’m sure you’ll just get me into more trouble somehow.”

Gram gave her a wounded look.

She rolled her eyes. “The clan chief issued orders that your case would be tried in two days, during the council. You’re being accused of breaking into the Ulathe manor, threatening their persons, and insulting their honor. It looks like your trial’s going to be as much a part of everyone’s scheming as the betrothals.”

“I’ll bet you my hat I’ll be declared innocent and set free in less than ten minutes,” Gram said.

“I don’t want that ridiculous, beat up old hat,” Haela said. “And that feather sticking out of it is hideous. It’s the feather equivalent of a burlap sack.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Gram said, “that hat is the most valuable thing in Hold Yehal right now.”

Haela burst out laughing at that. “In that case, I suppose I’d best bet something as well. Hmmm. I’ll tell you what— if you manage to get free of charges that fast, I’ll help you work on your marriage suit to whichever of the girls you decide to pursue.”

“Done,” Gram said.

Haela, still laughing derisively, walked off.

THE HOLD YEHAL council hall was, Gram had to admit, a lot more impressive than the Hold Castis council hall. Admittedly, the Castis council hall was also their feast hall. And their regular dining hall. And…

They really didn’t need anything bigger, honestly. There were only a few hundred members of Clan Castis. A good, appropriate size for a clan, not like the ridiculousness that was Clan Yehal. How many clan members slipped through the cracks of Clan Yehal, and weren’t taken care of?

The Yehal council hall was nestled in the main crook of the branches of the Yehal ancestral tree. It was a massive, circular, living cathedral woven of the branches of the immense tree. Great windows filled much of the wall space between the branch buttresses— the amount Clan Yehal must have spent to bring glass mages this far into the mountains must have been staggering.

The floor of the cathedral sank inwards toward the center in a series of stepped tiers, leaving a broad, circular area in the center. The most powerful Yehal families could be found on the tiers lowest to the center, along with embassies from the more powerful clans, while the lesser families and weaker clans could be found on the higher, farther back tiers.

Gram paid special notice to the embassies of other clans present. He recognized most of them. Clan Bluethorn, the most prominent clan of the far northern territories, was an old enemy of Clan Castis, despite Clan Castis being one of the most southerly clans. Admittedly, it was because Clan Castis had made something of a habit of sneaking through dozens of other clan territories just to raid Clan Bluethorn every generation or so.

Clan Gulson was from the far eastern border of the clan territories, almost in the foothills. They made a point of adopting anyone into their clan who was willing to learn their ways— they had members who were Radhan exiles, gorgon members, a few dragon members, and even a small colony of sentient spiders. They’d begun swell rapidly in number over the last few decades, swelled by an influx of refugees from Havath’s wars of conquest. Clan Gulson was also something of a rival to Clan Yehal— they were likely the two most populous clans, and both were major suppliers of foodstuffs to smaller, poorer clans.

Clan Silverscale was named after their leader, the dragon Errinax Silverscale. Clan Silverscale was one of the few clans led by one of the great powers— the aging beast was an immensely powerful mist mage. Attacking Silverscale’s territory was to be led into shifting clouds of mist, where you couldn’t see past arm’s length. You were more likely to fall off a cliff than to ever set foot in Hold Silverscale uninvited.

Gram noticed Clan Derem standing back at the top tier, and frowned. Clan Derem was a traditional ally of Clan Castis. He understood why they were at the back— they were a tiny, impoverished clan, who kept to themselves more often than not. Still, he felt that the other clans should really respect them quite a bit more— they were one of two clans Clan Castis wouldn’t ever raid. They were, one and all, scent mages. No one in their right mind should mess with stink mages.

And, of course, there were the Ulathes, glaring daggers at him. And across the council hall there were the Wairluns, laughing and whispering among themselves. He noted Ygritte Leaf Wairlun among them— she was every inch as beautiful as Ygritte Leaf Ulathe, but looked far more confident. By all accounts, she was a promisingly powerful ice mage.

Gram ran his eyes over the rest of the assembly as he was led shackled into the center of the hall, then turned to face the Yehal throne.

The throne, a living branch of the ancestral tree grown into shape, cut through the rising tiers of the room like a ship through waves. Behind it, a truly massive window opened onto a view of Mount Yehal itself.

It really was a lot more impressive than Clan Castis’ hall.

The clan chief himself, Rorick Trunk Yehal, was dwarfed by the throne. He’d been a huge man once, a fabled raider who’d also fought as a mercenary against Havath during their early wars of expansion. He had bronze and wood affinities, and he’d gone into battle controlling a flying swarm of bronze spears and bronze-plated wood shields. He’d been a one-man battle line. Bronze might make for poor weapons and armor compared to steel, but the skill Rorick had wielded them with more than made up the difference. The main other thing he’d been famous for was his massive beard, stretching all the way down to his waist. Apparently he’d been able to grow a full beard at the age of twelve, and had never shaved since.

Age, however, had shrunk him to a shriveled husk of his former self. Gram could hear the breath rattling in the old man’s lungs from here, and he’d seldom seen more wrinkles on another human being.

The beard, however, was still there. Snow white now, instead of raven-hued, but still immense. Rorick looked like he was drowning in the thing.

His eyes were still keen as well— they bored into Gram like needles.

By all accounts, Rorick was a staunch traditionalist, one who believed Clan Yehal had grown soft and pampered. He had delayed choosing an heir for years out of disdain of all the major candidates the Leaf families had put before him. Rumor had it he was looking for another Root or Trunk candidate to follow him, but it was rare that anyone below Leaf or Branch was appointed Clan Chief, and there weren’t any particular standout candidates.

Gram winked at him.

“Did you just wink at the chief?” Haela hissed at him. She looked legitimately scandalized. “You don’t just wink at the chief!”

Gram kept his eyes focused on the chief. That massive beard made it really, really hard to read Rorick’s facial expressions.

“This is going to end with me kicked out of the clan somehow, I know it,” Haela groused. “Why did I ever agree to guide you around the city?”

“Because guard duty is the most boring thing in existence?” Gram offered.

Haela just started muttering under her breath at that.

Gram just kept watching Rorick as the Ulathes began presenting their case against him.

“Your time’s ticking,” Haela whispered. “I think they’ll be taking a lot longer than ten minutes to present their case, so get used to the idea of losing that stupid hat.”

Gram looked away from Rorick to give her a skeptical look. “Really? I thought we were starting the bet counting from when it was my turn to defend myself.”

Unlike Haela, he didn’t bother to lower his voice, and it rang out through the chamber right while the Ulathe patriarch had paused his angry rant. Gram glanced back to see him turning a truly fascinating shade of red in anger.

Before the Ulathe patriarch could start screaming, a rasping voice broke into the silence.

“Bet?” Rorick asked.

“I bet Guard Haela here I could get free of my charges in less than ten minutes,” Gram said.

“Free?” the Ulathe clan head— Gram still couldn’t remember the man’s name— yelled. “You’re not going free ever, you imbecilic piece of…”

Rorick raised his hand, and the Patriarch cut off. Rorick might be backed into a political corner by the Leaf families, and he might be greatly reduced by age, but it seemed he still commanded significant personal respect.

“What did you bet?” Rorick asked.

He was smiling behind that beard, Gram was sure of it.

“I bet my hat against Haela’s help courting whichever of the eligible Yehal clan bachelorettes I end up choosing,” Gram said.

Chuckles raced around the room, and he could swear Rorick’s beard was wobbling a bit. The Ulathe fellow sounded like he was choking on his own rage.

“It seems,” Rorick said, “that would be a bad bet for Guard Haela there. Your hat… the politest way to describe it is, I think, as the ugliest, most poorly fitting piece of headwear I’ve ever seen.”

Gram raised his shackled hands to touch the battered brim of the oversize leather hat. “This hat, Clan Chief, is the single most valuable and important piece of headgear in all of Hold Yehal,” he said.

Open laughter broke out at that. Rorick openly laughed along with the crowd at that one.

Finally, the room settled down a bit, and Rorick waved his hand.

“Very well, Gram of Clan Castis,” he said. “It’s only fair you’re given an opportunity to win your bet. You have, I think, about six minutes left?”

“Five!” the scribe keeping notes on the council called from his low table.

“Five minutes,” Rorick corrected himself.

“Plenty of time,” Gram said with a smile.

Then he started stretching.

It wasn’t easy in shackles, but he made a real production of it— made it clear that he was in no hurry, and that he was utterly confident in the outcome of the trial. The crowd was silent at first, but as the stretches went on, he could hear scattered giggles coming from the crowd.

“Four minutes left!” the scribe called.

He glanced over at Haela, who looked like she wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment.

Gram winked at her.

“Have you ever faced Clan Castis in battle?” he asked Rorick.

“I’ve fought against them and alongside them before,” the chief said. “You’re all a bunch of pint-sized pyromaniacs with a deathwish and a chip the size of Mount Yehal on your shoulders.”

There were giggles from the crowd, but Gram just nodded. Rorick wasn’t wrong.

“Is the Ulathe family manor a smoking heap of ash right now?” Gram asked Rorick.

“I don’t believe so, but just to be sure, I’ll double check for you,” Rorick asked.

With a groan, the old man pulled himself out of his throne. An aide rushed forward with a cane, and Rorick started hobbling around the edges of the room towards the window looking towards the manor.

He was hobbling very, very slowly.

“Three minutes left!” the scribe called.

It seemed like the whole room was focused on the slow hobbling of the chief. No one was making any noise, caught up in the drama of the moment.

Gram started whistling a jaunty tune. He couldn’t remember its name, but it was one of those songs that just wormed its way into your ear and got stuck there for weeks. It was next to impossible to get it out of your head.

Haela groaned miserably.

“Two minutes left!” the scribe called.

The chief reached the window, and took his time peering out it at the city below.

“It does,” Rorick said, “appear to still be intact.”

“Does an intact manor that isn’t a smoking heap of ash sound like a member of Clan Castis trying to be rude?” Gram asked.

Rorick raised a bushy white eyebrow at him. “As a matter of fact, not burning down your house is almost suspiciously polite coming from Clan Castis.”

There were chuckles from the audience.

“Well, there you go,” Gram said. “Proof that I was on my absolute best behavior, and that the Ulathe patriarch is just pompous, self-important, and wasting your time and mine. That’s really all you should need to decide the case.”

The rest of the Ulathes had to physically restrain their patriarch.

Rorick ignored the shouting and gave Gram a considering look.

“He’s insane,” Haela muttered to herself. “He’s insane, I should have rejected that bet immediately, and I should have destroyed that damn hat the instant I saw it. I’m definitely getting kicked out of the clan.”

Gram smiled widely at Rorick.

Rorick’s eyes abruptly narrowed, and he shot a thoughtful look at the yelling Ulathe patriarch, then at the suddenly eager looking Wairlun family.

“One minute left,” the scribe called.

Gram’s smile just got wider. The old man was sharp as a knife, and he’d definitely seen what Gram was doing. By insulting the Ulathes like that, the whole trial turned from another minor battle in the political arena into a much larger point of pride for the Ulathe family- deciding against them, especially in the timeframe of the bet, would be a fairly massive blow to their pride, and would fairly effectively whittle away a big chunk of their political power at the moment, which would both benefit the Wairlun family and give Rorick a little more breathing space to make a decision.

Honestly, Gram had thought they’d just turn him away from the Ulathe manor— he never expected things to go this direction. He’d planned on both families turning him away— hopefully, quite insultingly— then flipping things on their head on his own during the council. This whole trial, however, had been a truly unexpected turn of events, but also a massive opportunity for Gram. And for Rorick, if the old clan chief acted swiftly.

The Clan Castis reputation really never failed him. When he wanted to play the dumb, belligerent barbarian, everyone would fall all over themselves to believe it. When he decided to be clever, it was wonderfully easy to fool people who weren’t expecting it.

And when he wanted to make an absolutely absurd, insultingly stupid legal defense based off said perceived gratuitous belligerence…

“As much as I’d like to delay a little longer to make sure you lose that awful, hideous hat,” Rorick said, “I’m afraid we’ll have to suffer its presence a little longer. I release you from all charges, and demand an apology on both our behalves from Venson Ulathe for wasting our time.”

Venson! That was his name.

“What… what just happened?” Haela asked.

“You lost the bet,” Gram said with a smile.

GRAM ENJOYED VENSON Ulathe’s forced apology more than almost anything else he’d ever experienced. He’d never heard anyone apologizing more reluctantly or less sincerely.

When Venson retreated back to the tier where his family stood, however, Gram stayed right in the center of the council chamber, rubbing his wrists to get the circulation back into them from the shackles.

Haela still stood awkwardly next to him. She’d made to leave when she’d taken off the shackles, but Gram had informed her that she would be starting to pay off her wager immediately, and she’d been forced to hand off the shackles to another guard.

“Is there something you’d like to bring before the council?” Rorick asked. “Or are you merely uncertain where to sit?”

The crowd tittered.

Gram was quickly growing to adore the old warrior. He could only hope he was half so sharp when he got that ancient. Hell, by the time he reached middle age.

“I actually did have something to present to the council,” he said, and took off his hat.

Gram reached inside his hat, seized a loose thread, and began to yank on it.

The man he’d taken the hat off had— before he crossed Gram— possessed a much larger head than the diminutive fire mage. In order to make it fit properly on his head, Gram had needed to sew a thick layer of leather into the inside of the hat to pad it. He had, however, connected the top of the layer to the hat only by an easily removed thread. Honestly, the thread wasn’t necessary to keep the leather in place— the thicker thread at the bottom and the shape of the hat did that fine— but he wanted to be extra careful it wouldn’t come loose.

“I actually did come here to find a bride, not to cause trouble,” Gram told Rorick and the crowd. “Or, at least not this much trouble.”

The crowd— minus the Ulathes— chuckled on cue at that. One thing every clan had in common was an appreciation for a good play. Most clans were snowed in all winter in the Skyreach Range, and they had to find ways to entertain themselves so they wouldn’t go stir-crazy. Plays were a particularly popular way to do so, and at this point, everyone in the chamber recognized that Gram was putting one on.

“I figured, given how much competition I have, and the fact that I hadn’t met any of my prospective brides before this, that I should probably put in a little extra effort on my bride-price gift. So… I made an extra stop on the way here to find the perfect gift.”

Gram popped open the last stitch, and unfolded the layer of leather.

He pulled out a thin band of spellform-covered red gold from inside the hat. He really shouldn’t have been wearing it— it was rude at best, offensive at worst— but he technically hadn’t been wearing it, it had just been inside the hat he was wearing. It had never actually touched the skin of his head directly. A fine distinction, to be sure, but an important one.

“To be specific, I stopped by the lair of the great dragon Afranxis,” Gram said. “What would make a better bride-price gift to a family of Clan Yehal than their lost crown?”

The whole room erupted into chaos as people started yelling.

“I told you they were all going to be fighting over who gets to marry me,” Gram said to Haela. “You’re going to have your work cut out for you, helping me out with all of this.”

Haela just closed her eyes and whimpered a little bit.

Gram smiled, folded the leather flap back up inside the hat, and set it back on his head.

“I HATE YOU, I hate all of this, this is going to all bite me in the ass somehow,” Haela said, glaring at Gram, then at the crown casually resting on the dresser of Gram’s new room. His old room had been rented out to someone else after he’d been arrested, but Rorick had made sure an even better inn room had been made available to him after the trial.

“I don’t know, I rather like this jacket,” Gram said, turning around in front of the mirror. “It matches my tattoos quite well.”

There weren’t a lot of downsides to being a member of Clan Castis, to Gram’s mind, but the difficulty of finding clothes that really worked for him was one of them. Being pale, having bright blue geometric spellform tattoos that stretched across most of his body, as well as bright red hair that covered, well, nearly as much as the tattoos, made it fairly difficult to find clothes that worked color-wise. Most of his clan just ended up wearing lots of neutral earth tones. If they just had red hair, or just had blue tattoos, it would be easy, but…

Of course, rough, earth-toned clothes worked better with the whole pyromaniacal barbarian image, and it was already hard enough to blend in with the surroundings here in the mountains with the hair and tattoos, so you didn’t really get to indulge in colorful clothing very much, to Gram’s disappointment.

“I wasn’t talking about the jacket,” Haela said. “It’s fine, it matches your tattoos. I was talking about literally everything else about this situation. Was being a Hold guard a particularly adventurous life? No. Was it the most fulfilling life? Far from it. But did I have to worry about, oh, getting kicked out of the Clan, murdered by thieves after the crown, getting ground up in the gears of political machinations, or just accidentally burnt to a crisp when the crazy barbarian I’m stuck working for gets drunk and belligerent? No, no I didn’t.”

“I’d never burn someone to a crisp accidentally,” Gram replied indignantly.

Haela gave him a skeptical look. “That’s less comforting than I think you intended.”

It had been a chaotic couple of days. There’d nearly been a riot in the council chamber before Chief Rorick had restored order. A group of Clan skalds, historians, and diviners had been assembled to prove the authenticity of the crown, while more than a few Yehal families, embassies from other clans, and even the council had immediately started divining and sending scouts towards Afranxis’ valley.

The massive anti-scrying wards carved into the cliff faces near Afranxis’ lair were still very much active, however. And given how bad tempered Afranxis likely was at the moment, Gram doubted the scouts would have a good time. So long as they weren’t particularly foolish, and didn’t approach too brazenly, he doubted Afranxis would kill them outright— the dragon was intensely private, but not particularly murderous.

Still, greed made people stupid. Dragons, too, of course. There’d been legends about Afranxis’ fabled hoard for years, and many attempts on it by humans, dragons, gorgons, and even, bizarrely, a team of naga once, despite their aversion to the cold.

When Gram had breached Afranxis’ lair, however, he’d found precious little in the way of gold, silver, or jewels. Instead, he’d found a truly spectacular sculpture gallery, the majority of which appeared to be Afranxis’ work. Most of the work was naturalistic— trees, mountain ranges, and waterfalls— with a few more abstract pieces.

Gram would have loved to spend more than a hurried few minutes there. Afranxis’ work was spectacular, apparently fashioned with a combination of stone magic and his own claws. Doing art with stone magic was more difficult than most people realized— it took much of the physical effort out of the process, but required nearly as much skill as sculpting by hand. More in some ways, according to some sculptors who used both methods.

One of the downsides of the Clan Castis public image was the difficulty of convincing people he had interests beyond battle and setting things on fire. On more than one occasion, he’d had city guards called on him while visiting art galleries in Highvale. He’d managed to talk his way out of trouble each time, but these days, he always sent word ahead of time when visiting art galleries.

Quite a few art collectors around the world would be shocked at how many works of great art could be found in the cottages and longhouses of Clan Castis. Quite a few of the other clans would be surprised as well, he suspected.

He idly wondered whether it would be possible to commission some of Afranxis’ work for Clan Castis, but he’d have to find some way to apologize to the dragon first.

“You’re not even listening, are you?” Haela asked.

“You were continuing to prophecy doom and chaos?” Gram ventured.

Haela gave him a dirty look.

“So what’s next in your convoluted master plan?” she asked.

“I don’t really have one,” Gram said. “I’m improvising most of this.”

Haela just gaped at him.

“You’re what now?” she finally asked.

“I mean, I sort of had a plan coming into all this, but things haven’t gone even remotely as anticipated,” Gram said. “No idea what will happen next. Though I’d give even odds that one of these upcoming meetings will end in someone trying to murder me. Maybe my potential bride-to-be?”

Haela groaned.

Gram really loved pessimists. It was delightfully easy to mess with them.

YGRITTE LEAF WAIRLUN was, up close, perhaps not quite as beautiful as Ygritte Leaf Ulathe, but if so, the difference was almost negligible. The difference in their appearances otherwise, however, was striking. She was sharp-featured, pale around his own height, and had hair blacker than the night sky, compared to the brown-haired, gentler Ulathe girl.

The difference in their temperaments was, however, night and day. This Ygritte was far more confident than the other, and had spent the entire meeting so far, beyond a brief introduction, staring him down challengingly. She didn’t look even remotely intimidated by him.

“…You will, of course, be settling here with us,” the Wairlun family matriarch continued. “Ygritte is accustomed to a certain standard of living, and some hovels up in the heights would hardly meet her standards.”

The matriarch, Ulassia Leaf Wairlun— a great aunt of this Ygritte, he gathered— had been bouncing back and forth between lecturing him and trying to impress him with the wealth of the Wairlun family this whole visit so far. She and her grand-niece were both decked out in silks and jewels, and the tour had taken them down halls filled with paintings and sculptures. Gold leaf and inlays covered most of the walls not filled with paintings or tapestries.

It was, in Gram’s opinion, horrifically tacky, as often was the way with families new to wealth. Ulassia Leaf Wairlun had started life as Ulassia Trunk Wairlun, and had worked her way up to Ulassia Branch and then to her current position, through a series of intelligent marriages (her wives and husbands had all died mysteriously young), cunning business decisions, and utter ruthlessness. She hadn’t, however, picked up the sense of restraint that many older families had with their wealth. (Many, not all— Gram had definitely seen a few old money families with even less restraint than any new money family.)

Haela, following behind them all, had reverted to her stoic, blank-faced mode.

Gram reached out to the wall and scraped a fingernail across a poorly-attached bit of gold leaf, tearing off a piece. He glanced at it briefly, then flicked it off his finger.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “This place is far too big for me. I’d get lost trying to find anything. And did you know the gold just comes right off your walls?”

Ulassia’s face turned red, but before she could start yelling, Gram casually spun the Yehal crown around his finger. The matriarch’s eyes immediately fixed on the crown, and greed shoved the anger out of her face.

“If you’d prefer a more… intimate dwelling, we could, of course…” the old woman started.

“Great-aunt, he’s playing games with you,” Ygritte interrupted.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“He’s deliberately playing stupid, and acting the barbarian at every turn. He’s seeing how far he can push your ambition, and how far he can take things. I’d imagine he’d have started blowing his nose onto the carpet before too long,” she said.

“Ygritte, don’t insult our honored guest,” Ulassia snapped. “He…”

“Saying I’m actually intelligent is an insult?” Gram asked innocently.

Ulassia looked like she was trying to weave her way through a briar patch as she tried to think of something to say.

“He’s acting stupid for negotiation purposes. He wants us to underestimate him,” Ygritte said to her great-aunt.

“And as for you, I’d strongly appreciate it if you would stop messing with my great-aunt,” Ygritte said, calmly turning to look him in the eyes.

Gram sighed theatrically. “I suppose.”

“Ygritte…” Ulassia said uncertainly.

“Our wealth doesn’t impress him, great-aunt. He’s pretty clearly after something other than gold, or he would have just tried to ransom the crown back to the clan.”

Ulassia was clearly struggling with that idea. Honestly, it was quite fun to watch— though he preferred it when people figured out that their preconceptions about him were wrong on their own, rather than being told.

“So what do you want out of this negotiation?” Ygritte asked.

Gram smiled at her, but didn’t say anything.

Ygritte raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been paying attention to us more than the wealth, except for the artwork. I’d guess that you’re quite a bit wealthier than you dress, since with the Castis reputation at raiding, you’ve probably got quite a bit of wealth stockpiled. Especially since you’re the son of the Clan Castis warleader.”

Gram was impressed at her deduction, but just kept smiling blandly.

“I’m not really sure what’s going through your mind with the artwork, but it’s clear it’s not your main focus,” she said. “You’re definitely interested in it, but it’s clearly not the reason you’re here.”

“I’m here to meet you,” Gram said.

Ygritte rolled her eyes at that.

“Deliberately conflating purpose with motive is effective, but annoying,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if we didn’t go down that rabbit hole.”

Gram sighed again, but nodded. He was good at politics, but hardly peerless. Ygritte had easily seen through the whole barbarian image— at least, those parts that were image and not substance. Given how much he tended to rely on it, he’d have to play things a bit more seriously now.

Honestly, he was shocked that Ulassia hadn’t seen through it, given his performance in front of the council. But, then again, people saw what they wanted to see.

“So— we’re trying to figure out what you want in a bride,” Ygritte said. “Given the circumstances, you’re clearly trying to influence the election of the next chief, and establish an alliance with the next ruling family. Given that you’re a bit too far away to rely on us for purchasing foodstuffs or lumber, you’re more interested in finding powerful allies than cementing trade relationships. Some raiding is expected between clans, but Castis tends to take that farther than most clans. You’re dangerous, but not enough so to resist enough other clans uniting against you, if they decide they’re tired of your raiding.”

“We’re quite good at judging the limit of what other clans are willing to tolerate, but yes, that’s one concern,” Gram admitted. “We’ve learned that lesson the hard way more than a few times over our history.”

“I’d guess you’ve been planning this for quite some time as well,” Ygritte said. “I’d wager you’d know exactly who all the players in Clan Yehal are and everything at stake.”

Haela coughed politely. “With all due respect, ma’am, I’d recommend against making wagers with him.”

Ulassia glared at the guardswoman, as if her speaking up was an insult, but Ygritte smiled. “A fair point, Haela Root Yehal,” she said.

Haela smiled back before going back into blank-faced guard mode.

“Not to mention, there’s no way you could have seized that crown without extensive planning,” Ygritte said. “I’d be quite interested in hearing the story of how you seized the crown. Perhaps we could all retire to the parlor for that story? We could have food and drinks sent up as well.”

Gram chuckled. “I think I’ll be saving that story for the moment. It’s rather too large of a bargaining chip of its own to give up just yet. Other than that, however, there are plenty of things we could discuss in the parlor.”

“Great-aunt, if you’d have the good parlor prepared?” Ygritte said.

Ulassia looked like she wanted nothing more than to have Gram thrown out at the moment, but she forced a smile. “Of course, dear.”

Good parlor? Of course they had multiple parlors.

When Ulassia was out of earshot, Ygritte turned back to him and smiled. “Be aware that my great-aunt’s reputation for ruthlessness is quite well deserved, and that she holds grudges a very long time. I’d strongly recommend you quit taunting her. I’d also appreciate it on a personal level, as I’m quite fond of her.”

Gram gave her a searching look, then nodded. “I could do that,” he said. “You don’t seem to mind the games, though.”

Ygritte chuckled. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages,” she said. “Yehal politics have been a slog of predictable pettiness and grubby mercantile backstabbing since long before I was born. Your performance in front of the council was a genuine breath of fresh air, and one of the most entertaining things I’ve ever seen.”

Gram smiled, this time much more genuinely. “I have a lot of fun being the proverbial bull in a porcelain shop,” he said. “Most of my tricks involve just rampaging through people’s expectations of me, but you’d be shocked how effective they keep being.”

“People put more weight in their ideas of people than in the actual people,” Ygritte said. “It’s not even stupidity on their part, just that it’s far too much work to pay the necessary attention to people all the time.”

Gram chuckled, amused by how closely her ideas paralleled the central political philosophy of Clan Castis.

“I have to admit, though, I’m still slightly perplexed,” Ygritte said. “Political allies are a compelling reason to seek this marriage, but it doesn’t seem like it could be the entire story.”

He gave her a long, searching look. “I’ve heard you’re quite the ice mage,” he said.

Ygritte held up her hand, and mist started coiling in her cupped palm. Within seconds, it had crystallized into the shape of a hovering snowflake half a foot across, formed of ice so perfect that Gram couldn’t see a single bubble within it. The whole thing slowly spun clockwise, while simultaneously rotating around its vertical axis.

“Impressive control,” Gram said.

Ygritte smiled, and with a slight twitch of her hand, the snowflake went flying. It buried itself halfway into the wall, not shattering or cracking in the least.

“Very impressive,” Gram admitted.

He was telling the truth, there. He’d seen other ice mages form much larger quantities of ice even faster, but such precision was unusual.

The way it had come together, however, told him quite a bit about what sort of ice mage she was. Most people— for that matter, many ice mages— acted as though ice affinities were all the same. There were, however, at least four different types of ice mages that Clan Castis knew of. The various types were most easily divided up by what other types of affinity their own behaved most like. There were ice mages whose affinities behaved most like water mages, ice mages whose affinities behaved most like crystal mages, ice mages whose affinities behaved like stone mages, and even ice mages whose affinities behaved most like fire mages. A quite specific type of fire mage, at least. The types could, by and large, use almost all the same spellforms as one another, and there was usually a significant amount of overlap between them. It was something of an academic question, but one of quite a bit of practical interest to Clan Castis.

Primarily because fire affinities were one of the few other affinities with that kind of division. That, however, was something that even fewer people knew about.

“How’s precise is your air temperature control?” he asked.

Ygritte narrowed her eyes, then Gram felt a sudden chill in his left pinky, and only his left pinky. The neighboring finger didn’t feel the cold in the slightest.

“You’re trying to figure out what type of ice mage I am,” Ygritte guessed.

Gram actually raised his brow in surprise at that, then nodded.

“Why…” Ygritte asked, then trailed off. She turned to him.

“Heat transfer,” she said. “You think that ice mages with more heat transfer abilities might result in improvements in your Clan’s flame magic.”

Gram realized that Ygritte was even more intelligent than he’d thought. That was an alarmingly fast leap to a correct conclusion.

“We don’t just think that,” he admitted. “We’ve made quite a few marriages to ice mages over the years.”

Affinities weren’t entirely hereditary, but they seemed to be so to at least a small degree. Quite a few breeding programs had been attempted over the years by various nations and great powers. Most of them had failed quite horribly. They often resulted in massively powerful mages, but often ones with significant physical deformities or mental limitations. Humans couldn’t be safely bred like other species. It seemed that high degree of mutability shared by dogs, cabbages, and dragons was a trait that not all species shared.

The ones that had succeeded tended to have one thing in common— they were less fixated on a specific endpoint, and merely on marrying powerful mages together. The most effective weren’t even proper breeding programs, but were merely royal families or other powerful mage lines merely seeking to keep their lines powerful, like the Highvale royal line or the Kaen Das family. Many philosophers had concluded that meant that nature had a sense of humor, and defied being controlled, but Clan Castis tended to put more faith in the philosophers that believed that there was some aspect or aspects to heritability that humanity simply didn’t understand yet.

You couldn’t reason your way through every problem. Or, sadly, set all the ones you couldn’t on fire. Sometimes you just didn’t know enough to solve a problem. Reason and philosophy couldn’t, ultimately, supplant knowledge.

You could set most philosophers on fire, though. At least, the non-dragon ones.

Gram rather suspected that was one of the reasons that most philosophers were dragons or sphinxes or the like. Philosophers had a tendency to irritate the mighty, and so the philosophers that lasted tended to do so on more than simply the strength of their ideas.

“Ice mages with the ability to transfer heat out of their targets function quite similarly to fire mages,” Gram admitted.

“It just so happens that I’m quite spectacular at heat transfer,” Ygritte said. “On the other hand, my Ulathe counterpart isn’t an ice mage. Nor a fire mage. Nor much of a mage at all. So far as anyone knows, she has a weak wood or plant affinity or some such, but not one that she ever developed. Your goal of making new allies would work with whichever family took the throne. You never meant to marry her, you’re just using the threat of trying to marry her as a bargaining piece to put yourself in a better position, and to get Clan Castis a better eventual treaty with Clan Yehal. You hardly need to play hardball on this one— that crown in your hand essentially guarantees the throne to whichever family gets it, and will likely save the clan months of political maneuvering and scheming before the next chief is chosen.”

Gram smiled, despite his surprise. Ygritte was astonishingly smart.

“You’re making three big assumptions,” he said.

“Oh?” Ygritte asked.

“First,” he said, “you’re assuming that those are my only two goals.”

“Perhaps you have others, but a future alliance and your future bride’s affinity are definitely two of them,” Ygritte said. “And, I’m almost certain, likely the two most important goals, given that you’re clearly not worried about wealth or resources.”

“Second, you’re assuming that the gossip around the other Ygritte’s affinities is true,” Gram said. “How would you react to someone who simply assumed they knew everything about you from the rumors about you? Just like you said, people put more weight in the idea of a person than the actual person.”

Ygritte’s eyes narrowed at that.

“There’s no way we could have missed something as important as her having another affinity,” she said. “And even if there were, how could you have known it when we don’t?”

“Weren’t you the one who accused Clan Castis of planning this for a long time?” Gram said, teasingly.

“I’m pretty sure you’re just messing with me again for negotiation purposes,” she said, but Gram could see an uncertain look in her eyes.

“If you say so,” Gram said. “And, of course, there’s your third assumption— namely, that Wairlun can guarantee Clan Castis a better treaty than Ulathe. The Yehal clan chief doesn’t make treaties alone— your council is just as heavily involved.”

Ygritte gave him a sharp look, but smiled. “Now that’s something well worth discussing,” she said. “The parlor should be ready for us to head to now.”

As they set out down the hall, Gram smiled to himself. He genuinely hadn’t expected to enjoy Ygritte’s company quite so much— he’d fallen into the same trap he expected others to fall into regarding him. He’d expected Ygritte to be a pompous, gold-obsessed socialite, like the image her family suggested. That was certainly true of her great-aunt, but Ygritte was something entirely different.

He’d honestly been quite resentful when his parents demanded he find a bride, but he could see himself happy in a marriage to Ygritte Leaf Wairlun.

She had, however, been entirely wrong in one of the three assumptions.

MUCH LATER IN the day, as they left the Wairlun manor, Haela stopped and groaned.

“What?” Gram asked.

“She called me by my full name,” Haela said.

“And?” Gram asked.

“I was just a guard before, not worthy of attention,” Haela said. “Now I have members of Leaf families who consider my name worth knowing. I’m worth paying attention to politically now.”

“Well, of course,” Gram said. “What were you expecting?”

Haela glared at him, but it lacked bite. The big woman mostly just seemed worried.

“It’s best for people like me to avoid politics like plague,” she said. “I’ve got no family to back me up, no fortune to protect me, and I’m liable to be smashed in the games of the powerful just for gaining their attention.”

Gram scowled. “It’s right and proper that families should protect their own, but something’s gone wrong in this clan, that there’s no room for people outside top families to make a name for themselves.”

“Chief Rorick’s only from Trunk origin,” Haela said.

“And how many other high ranking clan positions are filled by others outside the most powerful Leaf families or their Branch cronies?” Gram asked.

Haela just frowned at that.

“Rorick’s a man well worthy of respect, but he’s been backed into a corner politically,” he said. “He does what he can to keep to the old traditions, but once he’s gone, what then?”

Haela didn’t have anything to say to that.

YGRITTE LEAF ULATHE and her grandfather Venson sat awkwardly across the table from him, while Haela stood even more awkwardly behind his left shoulder.

Neither Gram nor the cat in his lap showed any sign of awkwardness at all.

“…and I would like to tender my formal apologies for the unfortunate misunderstanding stemming from your last visit,” Venson continued. It looked physically painful for the old man to get the words out.

“You are just insufferably adorable, aren’t you?” Gram said to the ugly, battle-scarred black cat, which was happily kneading his legs as he scratched its chin.

Venson grimaced before continuing. “I hope that this doesn’t unfavorably color any future negotiations between us, and that we may have a long and productive future relationship.”

“Apology accepted, Benson,” Gram said. “How could I stay mad at someone with a cat this cute?”

No one had an immediate reply to that one. The cat in question, at least, seemed to take that as its due.

It probably didn’t help the Ulathes’ confusion that the black cat was a stray Gram had befriended and smuggled into the house for the meeting. He was rather pleased with himself that he’d managed to pull that one off without anyone realizing, but the Ulathe’s security had been frankly terrible. He’d been able to find out where their parlor was without a problem, and the window latch hadn’t been warded against cantrips at all. He’d been able to quite easily levitate the stray in before the meeting.

Haela, of course, had been terrified the prank was going to backfire on her somehow, hence her current greater-than-usual awkwardness.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about, Benson?” Gram said, emphasizing the mispronunciation just a tiny bit more.

“I…” Venson said, looking like he was about to choke on his own words, “would like to offer you the opportunity to formally court my granddaughter Ygritte.” The man looked away, glaring daggers at the fireplace.

Gram smiled at that.

“You know, that’s not the first proposal I’ve received in the past few days,” he said. “Ygritte Leaf Wairlun has been courting me as well, and I’ve received invitations to meet with several other Leaf families as well, all of whom have eligible bachelorettes as well. Even a couple from other clans.”

“A few with eligible young bachelors as well, and even a few young widows,” Haela added.

Gram nodded at that, though he was inwardly surprised that Haela had spoken up.

Curiously, that seemed to relieve both Ulathes.

“Of course those others did,” Venson said. “Vultures squabbling for scraps. They know they don’t have a chance at the throne, but they want a bargaining chip to offer whoever does win it. It’s moot, though— it will, in the end, be us or the Wairluns.”

“Who, I should point out,” Gram said, “made a fairly compelling case for my betrothal to their Ygritte.”

“Of course they did,” Venson said. “One which I’m quite confident was filled with mercantile appeals to your greed and baser instincts for power, and treated you as though you had no concern with honor or anything higher than their grubby horizons.”

Gram raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t the direction he’d been expecting the conversation to go. It did explain their comfort with this line of discussion, however— they were more prepared for bargaining than apologies.

The cat hopped out of his lap onto the table and began washing itself, right atop the Yehal crown. Everyone other than Gram visibly winced.

Gram was just surprised at the ridiculous things cats would lay on top of. It almost seemed like they could understand what was valuable or seizing people’s attention, and that cats lay on those things to reclaim their rightful attention.

“There’s no difference between the Wairluns and any wealthy lowlander family,” Venson spat. “Their concerns don’t stretch farther than their pocketbooks or their power, and they have no patience for the customs and values of the Yehal, or of the clans in general. You, however, come from Clan Castis. It might not rank among the eldest of the clans, but it’s kept to the old ways as many older clans have failed to over the years. You understand the value of tradition in a way the Wairlun simply don’t.”

The old man actually had a point there, Gram reflected. For all that he’d been impressed by Ygritte Leaf Wairlun, the rest of her family he’d met pretty accurately reflected Venson’s accusations.

Of course, Gram found the implication that the Ulathes did keep to the old ways a little amusing, as he watched Venson pick up his fine porcelain tea cup up from his wildly-expensive-without-being-ostentatious table, and sipped on the finest Tsarnassan tea without spilling any on his soft, uncallused hands.

Appreciating art and the finer things was one thing, but using luxury as a shield against work or hardship? It rather undercut Venson’s message.

“That’s not to say we don’t understand the importance of baser concerns in day to day life,” Venson said, “but one must also have higher aspirations, higher purpose. This transition of power, this upcoming coronation— it will decide the fate and moral character of Clan Yehal for generations.”

Politely concealed offers of bribery mixed with appeals to Gram’s honor and respect for traditions— whether or not it was honest, it was cleverer than Gram had expected. He’d expected nothing more than poorly concealed disrespect and blatant bribery.

The cat wandered over to the Ulathe side of the table, and Ygritte began scratching it behind one ear. The cat immediately butted its head against her hand, then hopped into her lap.

Gram managed to keep himself from raising his brow in surprise, and took a sip of his own tea instead. He’d always found that animals tended to be good judges of character— when one couldn’t understand speech, it was rather difficult to be deceived by lies and acting. This went double for strays, who didn’t last long if they couldn’t tell a friendly person from someone who would kill or torment them.

Of course, Gram had known quite a few people over the years who were kind to animals, but quite unconcerned with the welfare of other people, so you could only trust animal judgment of character up until a certain point. Still, it was a point in this Ygritte’s favor.

Not that he’d smuggled in the cat as an elaborate personality test, he’d just thought it would be funny.

“You’re really convinced I’m so concerned about honor and tradition, Benson?” Gram said. “You certainly didn’t seem to think I respected them last time I was here.”

It was Ygritte who spoke up this time, to his surprise. Her voice was quiet, but firm. “You didn’t seem to respect our family or our customs, but, in fairness, what real importance does our family have to Clan Castis? And customs are a type of tradition, but there’s more to tradition than mere custom.”

Gram did raise his brow in surprise this time. This whole trip was proving something of an exercise in humility— he was proving less resistant to falling into the expectation trap than he’d thought.

“That’s an excellent distinction,” Gram said. “Not one most people would bother with.”

“Most people are too busy talking to really be observant,” Ygritte said.

Quiet and shy, perhaps, but not stupid or weak. That flash of backbone he’d seen before definitely hadn’t been a fluke.

A pity, too. The decision would have been much easier if she had been weak and stupid.

“I DIDN’T EXPECT you to speak up in there,” Gram told Haela as they left.

Haela sighed. “I didn’t really expect myself to speak up, either, but the bet was for me to help you find a bride, not just to stand awkwardly behind you and not say anything.”

Gram thought of a couple jokes he could make, then sighed. “You didn’t enter the bet thinking it was a serious one, Haela. You must have thought I was joking at best, or more likely crazy. If you want out, I won’t hold you to it. I don’t want to force you into situations if you’re this uncomfortable.”

Haela was silent for a couple minutes as they walked along one of the great branch-streets, almost a hundred feet off the ground of Hold Yehal. Gram waited patiently— not something he was usually very good at, but a trait he’d spent years trying to cultivate.

“I am uncomfortable being near to the center of attention like this,” Haela said. “I was happy being a relative unknown. A random orphan guard isn’t likely to get caught up in the power plays and schemes of the mighty. But… helping you also gives me a chance to influence your decision, to try and convince you to make a choice that benefits all of Clan Yehal, not just its most powerful members.”

Gram was entirely unsurprised about being surprised. Nothing about these past few days had gone as expected.

“So who do you think I should pick? Who is going to benefit Clan Yehal more?” Gram asked.

Oddly, Haela looked surprised at being asked that.

“What?” Gram said. “I’m not heartless and conniving, and Clan Yehal is hardly an enemy of Clan Castis. It would make me happy if my actions result in something good.”

Haela spent a few minutes thinking, then sighed. “The Ulathes aren’t as corrupt or venal as the Wairluns, but only comparatively. They’re still pretty awful. Either family would do a lot of harm.”

“So you think I should pick a different family entirely?” Gram asked. He’d actually spent some time considering that already.

Haela shook her head. “Venson was right when he said it was pointless— with the political landscape the way it is, even the crown isn’t enough to prevent one of the two families from taking the throne after Rorick. No, all that decision would do would be to shift the power balance among the lesser families. You could do some good there, but it would be overshadowed by the damage the Wairluns or Ulathes would do.”

“So what should I do, then?” Gram asked, genuinely curious.

“You should pick one of the Ygrittes,” Haela said, “but you should use the negotiations to do something that would result in real change. If you wanted to make the most difference… I think you should demand that the family of the Ygritte you choose make her their chosen chief. You could, if you’re smart, use your position as the chief’s spouse to influence their decisions. Plus, both of the Ygrittes are surprisingly more intelligent and less awful than I was expecting. Of course, you don’t seem to want to be tied down to Clan Yehal, but there are still negotiating positions you could take up that would do some good for the clan, I’m sure.”

“Well,” Gram said, “assuming I was willing to stay, which Ygritte would you suggest?”

“Just thinking of the clan, I suppose Ygritte Leaf Ulathe,” Haela said. “But… given how much Venson hates you, I’m pretty sure you’d find yourself dying mysteriously young if you married her.”

“And not if I married the Wairlun Ygritte? Their family has a history of spouses dying mysteriously young as well.”

“The Wairlun matriarch’s spouses, but I don’t know of any others in the family. And, I should point out, all of her spouses were wealthy and lacked heirs,” Haela said. “You’re wealthy, but your family has plenty of other heirs, and I doubt any of the Wairluns are foolish enough to think they could try and get their hands on any of your family’s fortune. Ygritte Leaf Wairlun is your best bet. It didn’t really help that you were deliberately aggravating Bens… Venson. Or the thing with the cat.”

“Well, I do appreciate you trying to keep me from dying young and mysteriously,” Gram said, “though that mostly just confirms my desire to not settle down here. I’ll settle back home if I have to, but I’d honestly quite prefer to just keep wandering. And hey, I found our little furry friend a new home, so I did some real good today.”

Gram also couldn’t help but be pleased that he’d managed to make a cat politically important by pretending he thought it was the Ulathe’s cat— he was sure that next time he set foot in their manor, they’d make sure the cat was there to greet him. Plus, it seemed like Ygritte had been quite taken with the stray.

Haela snorted. “If I were a powerful enough mage to safely wander the Skyreach Range alone, and had enough money to afford it, I’d happily do the same. You’ve got no idea how lucky you are.”

Gram felt a brief urge to argue with that, but she wasn’t wrong. The Skyreach mountains were extremely dangerous, filled with wandering beasts, dragons, and great powers that were often extremely private and resented any intrusions into their domains, not to mention being extremely rugged and hard to survive in.

“And for all that you’re making my life difficult and annoying, I’m not petty enough to not warn you about the dangers you’re wading into,” Haela said.

Neither of them said anything as they wandered through the narrow walkways winding through the compound aspen Gram’s newest rooms were located in. Night had begun to fall, and glow crystals were providing most of the light on the streets. It was dim, though— glow crystals tended to glow fairly weakly until full dark.

Compound aspens were a strange sort of tree. Regular aspens were odd enough— the white-barked trees grew in immense groves, often covering miles and miles, where each tree was actually all part of the same plant, spreading its roots and sprouting new trunks far and wide.

Compound aspens, however, decided to sprout all those trunks atop one another, forming a massive, nearly impenetrable cluster of rising trunks. Trunks even grew out of lower trunks, like immense deformed branches, turning compound aspens into chaotic tangles. They could grow to immense heights even unsupported by mages. When they were supported by tree mages, compound aspens grew to truly massive sizes— more buildings could be supported between their countless trunks than any other type of tree in Hold Yehal, or almost any other tree city Gram had visited or heard of.

“Shouldn’t there be more people around than this?” Gram asked, double-checking to make sure the pouch holding the crown was secure.

Haela glanced around at the nearly empty walkways. “Shit. At this time of the afternoon, there should be way more people than this.”

“Ambush?” Gram asked.

“Ambush.” Haela agreed.

Then she tackled him off the edge of the walkway, just before the arrows started flying.

EVEN AS HAELA tackled him off the edge of the walkway, Gram began to channel mana from his mana reservoirs into his tattoos, especially the arrow defense one.

To his surprise, they didn’t crash into a trunk or a lower walkway. Instead, Haela landed almost gracefully on a gently sloping branch, and began sliding down it like it were greased. Gram was slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, which hardly helped his dignity.

Gram realized after a moment that the branch was greased— a film of oil had pooled up beneath Haela’s boots. Before he could comment, however, Haela leapt off the side of the trunk, the oil following in the air in the wake of her boot as she pushed off. Several arrows blurred past them— some of them charred, many others untouched.

Gram began envisioning the spellform for a more active arrow defense in his mind’s eye— one, unfortunately, that was most effective while stationary, but better than the tattoo defense alone— when Haela came down hard on another branch and began skidding down it. Sparks exploded around them in the gloom.

“Careful!” Haela yelled, then leapt again.

An arrow slammed into the shield strapped to Haela’s back and bounced off. Haela’s graceful leap turned into an uncontrolled tumble, and the two of them slammed hard into a walkway. Haela skidded quite a bit farther than Gram did, carried along on another film of oil.

Gram quickly stumbled to his feet, and ran to pull Haela up. He noticed that she hadn’t picked up a rash from skidding across the wooden walkway like he had— another use he hadn’t thought of for her oil affinity.

“This way!” Gram yelled, and began activating another spellform tattoo as he started to pull Haela forwards. This one was pretty unusual, and only worked for fire mages with a quite particular variety of fire affinity.

To his surprise, however, Haela pulled him back. She swept her oddly shaped oval shield off her back and threw it off the ground, then stepped atop it, pulling him on as well.

Then she kicked off, and the shield began to slide along the walkway. With seconds, it was moving far faster than the average person could run. Gram stopped channeling mana into the unusual tattoo, though he kept his more usual combat tattoos and the arrow defense one active.

Several more arrows punched into the walkway around them, including one arrow directly ahead of them. Haela leaned slightly to one side, gently angling him to one side as well, and to Gram’s surprise, the shield easily steered past the arrow. Several people along the wide walkway screamed, ducking for shelter.

“Lots of those arrows have their durability enhanced magically,” Haela yelled. “We might be able to break it, or it might send us flying!”

Gram nodded, afraid to move too much in case he sent them tumbling.

In the compound aspen trunks to either side of them, masked figures with blades had begun flickering through the gloom, launching themselves between aspen trunks. Wood or force mages, most likely. Wood mages weren’t normally known for their mobility, but brachiating between the trunks of a compound aspen? That was a whole different story.

Careful not to shift his weight much, Gram sent a series of focused fire darts blasting into the trees. A lot of amateurs would point their hands to send out magical projectiles, but that was bad form— the fraction of a second needed to lift your arm could cost your life in a battle.

Two of his fire darts slammed into their pursuers, but more missed— mostly due to Gram’s inexperience with firing them while moving at this speed, especially with as many tree trunks as were in the way. The two figures hit by his darts both had their clothing ignite, and went tumbling, their concentration broken. One fell out of sight, while another crashed into a trunk ahead of them at top speed. He doubted that one would be getting up again.

Another batch of arrows slammed into the walkway around them, and Gram immediately immolated the ones in their way. They were harder to ignite than they should have been— magically reinforced against fire, he didn’t doubt, but normal fireproofing spells and enchantments were hardly effective against a Clan Castis mage.

Haela pulled out her axe as one of their pursuers landed ahead of them. She tilted the shield and leaned her weight to the side, then sunk her axe into the masked figure. With the speed they were moving added to the force of her blow, the figure’s arm simply came off at the elbow.

Gram briefly wished that he was a more standard flame mage— that is to say, a heat transference flame mage. Most of his brothers were, and one of the most common affinity sense types heat transference flame mages had allowed them to detect heat at a distance, like their nerves extended far past their body. They could use it to track other creatures in the dark— at least, warm-blooded creatures. They would be much more easily able to track their enemies in this gloom and the confusing shadows of the compound aspen.

Gram was working on a spellform that would replicate that ability for his fire affinity variant, but he hadn’t had much luck yet.

One of their pursuers landed heavily ahead of them, but a ribbon of oil shot out, impacting the ground beneath their feet. They took a step back instinctively, and their feet immediately shot out from under them. As they shot past the downed figure, Gram send a plume of sparks into the oil, igniting the figure.

Ahead of them, a staircase angled off from the main walkway. To Gram’s surprise, Haela steered them straight for it.

“Hold on!” she shouted.

They never made it to the staircase.

The whole walkway shuddered, then tore and buckled ahead of them, and they were both sent flying off the shield.

GRAM LANDED ON his left wrist wrong as he crashed into the walkway, and he felt something in it snap as he rolled to a halt. It didn’t hurt right away, but he knew the pain would arrive quickly. He pushed himself up with his right hand, but a group of their pursuers had already landed around the two of them.

He slowly rotated, counting them, while constructing a spellform in his mind’s eye. They were all masked, and most had blades in hand. A couple had shortbows aimed at him, which he discounted immediately. His anti-arrow tattoo would deal with them easily at this range. One of his pursuers, to his surprise, had a small fireball floating above his hand.

“Just give us the crown,” one of the figures said, “and we’ll let you live. All we care about is…”

Gram never found out what they cared about, not that he’d been particularly interested. He finished counting his opponents before the figure finished speaking, and flooded mana into the spellform he’d been constructing. It was an especially complex one for the relatively simple effect it produced, and it was particularly mana hungry and inefficient, but it was tailor-made for situations like this.

All seven of the masked figures around him and Haela simply exploded into pyres of flame. The fireball held by the other flame mage detonated when its wielder died, but it didn’t even take a significant portion of Gram’s attention to quench the flame before any of it could get close to them.

In just a couple seconds, all that were left of their pursuers were piles of ash and half-melted knives and swords. The wood of the walkway, meanwhile, was barely even blackened.

Gram could hear shouting behind them and frowned. His mana reservoir was two-thirds empty, and there was no telling how many other pursuers were behind them.

Haela was still on the ground. She was still breathing, but unconscious— Gram was guessing she’d hit her head in the fall. He frowned, then picked her up. His injured wrist screamed in pain, and he staggered under her weight, but managed to sling her over both his shoulders.

He started to run towards the staircase she’d been taking them towards, trusting her superior knowledge of the terrain. As he ran, he began channeling mana into the unusual tattoo he’d started to use before Haela had done the thing with her shield.

Gram had actually helped design this tattoo, and had been the first one to get it, despite his parents’ protests. It had been attempted before outside of Clan Castis a few times, but had failed every time— quite destructively, resulting in the spontaneous combustion of the user.

It would only work for a very specific type of fire affinity. Not one based around heat transfer, but around the actual process of ignition itself. It was usually referred to as a fuel or ignition affinity by scholars, though neither of those names really seemed right to Gram. Combustion affinity sounded a bit better to Gram, but only a bit. For the most part, it functionally operated the same as other, more common fire affinities, not even requiring different spellforms most of the time. There were, however, some important differences. Most unusually, fire mages with that variant of fire affinity could not only perceive open flames but also, curiously enough, the bodies of people and animals— more strongly while they were inhaling or physically active.

Most of the mages and philosophers who had theorized about it in the past had considered it to prove that the body was powered by flame, that the warmth of the body was literally fire. They’d acted accordingly in their designs, which was probably what resulted in this spell causing the spontaneous combustions.

Clan Castis mages, however, had noted that snakes and other cold-blooded creatures showed up to combustion affinity senses as well. Instead, they’d come to the conclusion that what they were seeing was the actual process of the body burning air and food as fuel, and that body heat came from something else.

From there, it had only been a matter of experimentation. They’d had to develop a spellform for use on animals first, for safety’s sake, and quite a few dead chickens and rabbits later, they’d finally developed a version of the spell that didn’t injure the target. A few modifications, a lot more experimentation, and thankfully no human deaths later, and Clan Castis had finalized the spell.

As Gram began to run, his body began to draw on his mana reservoir as well as the air in his lungs to fuel itself. Gram began to feel himself pick up speed, and strength rush into his limbs. He launched himself down the stairs at a dead sprint, not so much running as falling forward in a controlled manner. If he misstepped even once, he and Haela would almost certainly crash over the railing to their deaths.

Gram realized he was laughing out loud.

The staircase ended at a walkway ahead of them. Gram’s knees almost gave way when they hit it, but he managed to keep sprinting forwards. People yelled and dodged out of his way as he charged through the marketplace the staircase led to.

With his short legs, Gram wasn’t the fastest sprinter around, but he didn’t have to be. Any sprinter could outdistance a distance runner over the short-term, and Gram could keep sprinting as long as his mana reservoir held up. It’s how he managed to make the three day trip from Afranxis’ lair to Hold Yehal in a bit over half a day. And he was guessing that he’d taken out all of the remaining mages who’d been able to keep up with Haela’s shield with his pyre spell, so all he had to do was keep moving long enough, then find a place to hide.

He’d expected an attack eventually, but this was sooner than expected. He didn’t know who’d sent the attackers, but it didn’t matter too much for his plans. There was supposed to be another council meeting tomorrow- more interminable negotiations and scheming— so he just needed to keep Haela and himself safe until then. This was earlier than he wanted to act, but he couldn’t wait as long as he’d hoped.

GRAM WAS BUSY shoveling jerky into his mouth when Haela woke up.

There were significant downsides to using the body-fueling spell- most notably, he was left utterly drained afterwards, and had to eat a truly alarming amount of food to recover. During his long run from Afranxis’ lair, he’d shoveled down several days worth of trail rations on the move— he’d wanted to be sure to be a long way away from the lair before the dragon realized the crown was missing. He always made sure to have some food on him.

“Where are we?” Haela said, clutching her forehead in the dim light of his cantrip.

“Mmmmmph,” Gram said, spitting out a few crumbs of jerky. He offered her some from his bag.

Haela eyed it suspiciously, but took a piece.

Gram crawled across the rough floor, careful to not to hit his head on the low ceiling or put any weight on his broken wrist, and removed one of the loose boards he’d used to get them in. Below, several well-lit walkways were visible through the compound aspen’s countless trunks.

“Not far from the ambush,” he said quietly. “I managed to find this empty space below an inn— I think it was intended for storage purposes, but never finished.”

“Did you happen to notice any clues as to who sent our attackers?” Haela asked, still rubbing her head.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gram said, adjusting his hat a little. He was honestly a little shocked that it had stayed on his head during the ambush— though he’d lost the feather. He’d have to find a new one somewhere.

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” Haela demanded, her voice rising a little. She quickly lowered her voice. “Of course it matters. If it’s the Wairlun or the Ulathe, it affects your decision— not to mention, we could probably lean on the other family for protection. If it’s one of them, they’re probably looking to take the crown out of play entirely, rather than lose their chance at the throne— so it would probably only be if they thought the other had a better chance at it. If it’s another family, well… that complicates things quite a bit, since we have a lot less read on what their goals might be. If it’s another clan, they’re probably just looking to destabilize things in the clan.”

Gram shook his head. “It doesn’t matter who did it, because all it means is that I need to step up my own plans. Also, I honestly don’t care that much who did it.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what they are?” Haela said, taking a bite of the strip of jerky. “What is this, by the way? It doesn’t have much taste.”

“Sunling meat,” Gram said. “I got it visiting the northern edge of the Endless Erg, where it touches the Skyreach range. And… I thought about concealing my plan for the crown, but it’s not going to work without your help.”

HE WAS, IN the end, extremely pleased he’d shared his plan with Haela. It might have been funnier to wait until the council meeting, but also a bit cruel, even for him. It had still been pretty funny seeing Haela’s reaction, though.

It had also been productive on a more practical level— the part of his plan that actually got them to the meeting wasn’t exactly fleshed out, and involved a certain degree of climbing the ancestral tree. His broken wrist had been one complicating factor, of course. On top of that, there were, apparently, some serious magical defenses preventing it.

Haela’s plan was considerably more straightforward, but Gram definitely enjoyed it quite a bit more.

Just walk in the front door.

An attack at dusk in a quiet neighborhood was one thing, but attacking them in one of the most heavily guarded locations in the city? Absolute insanity.

Gram wasn’t used to bureaucracy working in his favor, for once, but, then again, he did usually go out of his way to complicate life for bureaucrats. Probably in part thanks to his brothers frequently accusing him of being a bureaucrat himself, with his obsession with categories and distinctions.

He clearly wasn’t a bureaucrat in any way, of course. A small number of shared traits was hardly enough to lock two entities in the same taxonomic category. That was like insisting a bat was a type of bird simply because they both fly.

Haela had tried to insist that they find a healer for his wrist first, but Gram had refused. It would be a few days before he risked serious long-term damage, and with her help, he’d been able to rig up a crude splint. He’d gone on longer with worse injuries before.

They waited for the busiest hours of the morning to leave, then simply walked out. They’d even spotted a couple of watchers that Gram was fairly sure were working with their attackers— not that Haela would take that bet with him, she agreed with his assessment— but Gram had just waved at them, and stuck to the crowds all the way to the ancestral tree.

Of course, in his head, they hadn’t needed to sit through two hours of other council business first.

When his turn came, he started to saunter out onto the floor, Haela at his side, only to be interrupted by a shout.

“This man,” Venson Leaf Ulathe called, “is a fraud. Our scouts returned this morning— much diminished in number— to find that Afranxis was still alive, and quite vigilant over his valley. There’s no way that this buffoon managed to sneak into Afranxis’ lair while the beast still lives, when dozens of subtler mages have failed in the past.”

“I never said I killed Afranxis, Benson,” Gram called back. “I’d have been bragging about it for sure if I had! Seriously, I’d be a terrible excuse for a barbarian if I was that humble!”

Venson grew even redder at the ensuing laughter. Gram had rightfully expected the Wairlun to laugh loudest, but he hadn’t expected Chief Rorick to laugh so noticeably.

“We’ve already confirmed the crown as legitimate, Benson,” Rorick said, emphasizing the mispronunciation. “Leave it be.”

Cue more laughter.

The old warrior turned to Gram, ignoring the spluttering Ulathe patriarch.

“You know, I heard some interesting reports of a rather destructive battle last night,” he said. “One that left quite a bit of soot, and a few charred corpses. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

“Do I look like a man who’d know anything about a battle last night, perhaps one in the form of an ambush?” Gram said. He conspicuously fingered his ripped, dirty clothing as he said that, and stretched so that his splinted wrist was visible to everyone, despite the pain.

“Not in the least,” Rorick said, to further amusement from the crowd. “Now, was there a reason why you wanted to speak to the council?”

“Yes, actually,” Gram said. “I’ve picked out my bride, and I’ve come to offer my bride-price.”

For the second time, Gram pulled the crown out in the council chamber. Every single pair of eyes in the room was on him, save for one pair determinedly staring at the floor.

The families he’d snubbed were sending him ill-concealed glares. The embassies from other clans ranged from looking entertained to irritated that their own suits were being stood up for his. Venson Leaf Ulathe stared at him with ill-concealed hate, while Ulassia Leaf Wairlun looked at him triumphantly, clearly convinced Gram’s public insulting of Venson meant her family was victorious. Rorick still held an amused expression on his face, but his withered, wrinkled hands were clenching onto his robes like his life depended on it.

Both Ygrittes were staring at him with intent, inscrutable expressions.

“Haela Root Yehal,” Gram said, and levitated the crown over to Rorick with a cantrip.

HAELA HAD, OF course, thought he was joking at first when he’d told her the plan in the storage space under the inn.

“I’m an absolute nobody, Gram. I’m just some oversized ugly orphan who’s unlikely to ever rise farther in the guards than I am now,” Haela said. “And you barely know me. And you’re throwing away a chance to do some real good for Clan Yehal. This is a cruel joke, and I want none of it.”

Gram was, at this point, convinced that he’d been right to tell her before the meeting..

“Haela,” Gram said, “I wasn’t sent here purely to find a bride. I was, in fact, sent by my family to meddle in the choosing of the next chief of Clan Yehal.”

Haela glared at him. “And you’re just wanting to throw that opportunity away on a cruel joke.”

“Specifically,” Gram said, “I was sent to ensure neither the Wairlun nor the Ulathe seize the throne. Clan Yehal has been drifting away from the old ways and traditions for a long time now, and those two families are the worst offenders of the lot. Others might call the clans barbaric, but the raiding, the constant low grade warfare— they keep us sharp. Other than the Hidden Clan, it’s what let us keep the Ithonian Empire from ever fully conquering us. It’s what keeps us strong. When’s the last time you can think of Clan Yehal even sending out a raiding party?”

Haela glared, but said nothing.

“Clan Yehal is well on its way to just becoming a slightly colder lowlander city,” Gram said. “And most people haven’t realized it, but there’s trouble on the horizon. We need all of the clans ready. The great powers are becoming more active. The dragon territories are shifting. Havath is readying for war again. Highvale has begun stockpiling, Tsarnassus and Alikea are rattling swords, and spy networks are more active than ever. We don’t know why, but we know it only means trouble for anyone unprepared.”

“More reason for you to…” Haela started, but Gram interrupted her.

“You’re not thinking,” Gram said. “Assume I’m not making a joke. Why would I pick you as a bride?”

“You wouldn’t!” Haela spat. “No one in their right mind would!”

Gram blinked at that. That… see, this was why it would have been better to take more time. Haela definitely had quite a few issues in her past he didn’t know about. Not to mention tragically low self-confidence.

“Haela,” Gram said, “where do bride prices for orphans in Clan Yehal go?”

Haela snorted. “Like it matters, they’re hardly ever more than a pittance. No one cares about the reputation of orphans. They…”

She stopped midsentence, and her eyes flicked to his belt pouch where the crown was.

“They go to the clan chief,” she whispered.

“They go to the clan chief,” Gram agreed. “All orphans in the clan are, at least in theory, wards of the chief.”

“Which…” Haela said.

“Which means the political capital for the return of the crown goes to Chief Rorick,” Gram said.

“But what good does that do?” Haela asked. “He’s dying, and there’s no decent heir.”

“Is he?” Gram asked.

Haela just stared at him.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out that he was just faking the severity of his illness, to make his opponents extend themselves politically and make them vulnerable?” Gram asked. “If he reached out covertly to another clan from far off for help? Hypothetically, his plan at first might have just been to have them, oh, launch a raid deep into Hold Yehal, targeting the wealthiest families there, which circumstantially happen to be his political opponents. And maybe the clan in question might have been amenable to helping him in this hypothetical scenario, but was unwilling to commit to a major raid at that distance from their lands in such troubled times. And maybe they hatched an alternative plan together, instead.”

“So… marrying the first orphan you met was your plan instead?” Haela asked.

Gram snorted at that. “I was actually supposed to irritate the Wairlun and the Ulathe as much as humanly possible, demand increasingly more ridiculous terms for marriage, before finally choosing someone from a small list of Branch and Trunk families loyal to Rorick- hopefully rousing the Leaf families to attacking me, and letting Rorick use that to crack down on them. We also considered just giving the crown to Rorick, but that isn’t nearly a big enough blow against Leaf pride or reputation. Also, my parents just really want more grandchildren, so they saw this as killing two birds with one spell.”

“So why me, then?” Haela asked.

Gram shrugged. “I enjoy your company, you’re good in a fight, and you’ve got an affinity that would be a ridiculously useful addition to Clan Castis. Seriously, can you imagine how effective we’d be fighting together with a little training? Oil mages are one of the most valuable affinities that we could add to the clan. Most importantly, I’m pretty sure you’d be happy wandering with me. Can you seriously see either Ygritte, or any of the rich girls from Clan Yehal, wanting to wander around the mountains for months at a time? I started considering this after you locked me up in jail.”

“But… I’m too tall, I’m ugly, I’m…” Haela started.

Gram interrupted her with farting noises from his mouth..

“Being good in a fight is a hell of a lot more important than being pretty, and I’d hardly call you ugly,” Gram said. “And I actually rather like your height. Our family’s way too short already, it could use a few more inches. Besides, all my brothers will be jealous if I have the tallest spouse. Also, I really can’t stand those pompous Leaf families, for the most part, and marrying you is one of the most aggravating things I can think of doing to them.”

Haela glared at him, but the heat had gone out of it. “This isn’t exactly romantic,” she said, gesturing around the cramped space.

“Are you kidding?” Gram said. “We’re on the run from enemies, wounded, our marriage would alter the political fortunes of an entire clan, you’re an orphan, and we’ve only known each other a few days. That’s just about the most stereotypical romantic plot from one of the awful books my sister Talia and my brother Luthe love so much.”

Haela stared at him. “I’m pretty sure I hit my head a hell of a lot harder than I thought,” she said.

“Nope, that’s just me,” Gram said.

She just stared at him.

“That… that sounded better in my head,” Gram said.

“This is just really not how I fantasized about someone proposing to me,” Haela said. “Part of me still thinks you should have just gone with the burning down their manors plan.”

“I mean, I’m not opposed, if you wanted to help,” Gram said.

Haela snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely tempted, but I’d prefer not to kill other Yehal, no matter how wealthy and awful they are.”

“I can understand that,” Gram said. “So…”

“I probably can’t just go back to a quiet life as a guard, can I?” Haela asked.

“Probably not, no,” Gram said.

Haela didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just stared at her feet. Gram forced himself to wait as patiently as he could.

“I…” she finally said, “I suppose I’d marry a lot worse than you to help the clan like this. So… yes.”

“See, you’re getting the hang of this romance stuff,” Gram said. “Want to make out now?”

Haela threw her boot at him, hitting him in the shoulder, then turned away. Gram just chuckled.

“Yes,” Haela said in a quiet voice, a few heartbeats later.

AFTER GRAM’S ANNOUNCEMENT in front of the council, of course, there’d been a predictable amount of yelling, arguing, threats, at least two fist fights on the floor, and a hell of a lot of laughter from Rorick and a good chunk of the crowd.

There’d also been a much needed visit to the healers, a couple assassination attempts, several serious brawls between various families, three major fires— only one of which Gram started— and, mysteriously, both the Wairlun and Ulathe manors ended up having some sort of malfunction in their plumbing that filled their manors with truly foul lingering stenches.

A rather thoughtful betrothal gift from Clan Derem, Gram thought.

Their departure was a bit anticlimactic after all of that, honestly. Haela did, however, spend quite some time just staring at the gate before they left, as though saying goodbye to her old life.

When she finally sighed and led the way through the gate, Gram didn’t say anything, just slipped his hand into hers.

As they set off down the road, Haela reached over and pulled the hat off his head.

“You know, this looks really terrible on you,” she said.

“That is a dirty, cruel lie,” Gram said.

Haela set it on her own head. “It looks much better on me,” she said.

Gram opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. It actually did look better on her.

Before he could get to properly sulking over it, Haela turned to him.

“You know, you never did say how you managed to steal the crown,” she said.

Gram chuckled. “I need to keep some mysteries, don’t I?”

Haela punched him in the shoulder.

“Fine, fine,” he laughed. “I set a big wicker basket of skunks loose in Afranxis’ lair.”

Haela stopped walking, and gave him a dirty look.

“Seriously?” she demanded.

“Seriously,” Gram said. “There’s not a creature alive that skunks fear, and even dragons know better than to mess with them. Plus, dragon-flame actually makes the stink worse, somehow.”

Gram set out walking again. Haela caught back up with him after a few moments.

“Where’d you get a wicker basket full of skunks, and how did you not get sprayed?” she demanded.

Gram just chuckled.

AFTERWORD

THANK YOU SO much for reading Tongue Eater, Book 6 of Mage Errant! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review online- reviews are vital to the success of any book, especially for indie authors like myself.

Mage Errant’s story will be concluded with Book 7: The Last Echo of the Lord of Bells, though there is a short story collection on the way as well that explores more of the world of Anastis.

If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to contact me on Twitter (@john_bierce), on Reddit (u/johnbierce), or via my website, www.johnbierce.com. You can also go to my website for news about the Mage Errant series, other upcoming works, and random thoughts about fantasy, worldbuilding, and whatever else pops in my mind. The best way to keep updated on new releases is to sign up for my mailing list, which you can find on my website. You can also discuss Mage Errant with other fans on the r/MageErrant subreddit, at www.reddit.com/r/MageErrant!

I also have a Patreon, which can be found at patreon.com/johnbierce. There, I post monthly Mage Errant short stories like Gram of Clan Castis.

Edited by Paul Martin.

Cover art by Aaron McConnell and Lee Moyer.

Special thanks to my beta readers Katrine Buch Mortensen, Sundeep Agarwal, Jacob Perkins, Sarah Lin, Travis Riddle, Charissa Williams, Francis James Blair, and Otto Schloegl.

Additional special thanks to my Patreon subscribers Joao Souza, Nìlat, Dominic Hills, windinthewire, Lloyd Hale, Jensen, Robert Tafoya, Noah August, Orthes, Derek, bbjace, Tiffany Hamilton, Andrea Jensen, Cody Luna, michael prescott, Calvin Brindley, Mikel Gray, Lukas Ketner, Harrison Hogan, Jacob, Dana Reiner, John Berrett, Ben Warner, William Organ, Richard Forsyth, JasonD, Sean Elliott, Brad Barnes, octopuddin, Justin Barnett, E.Anthony.H, Lazlo, Nathan Cutler, Donovan Banh, Peter Trško, Nikki, BoboTheTroll, Van Tarver, Ryan McWilliams, Tyderion, Aleksei Besogonov, Alan Watkins, Charis .Kotfila, Andy Marx, Lucian von Brevern, Kwame Ricks, Udy Kumra, Connor Brennan, Ramsey Hufford, Ryan Cosgrove, Eric Rood, David Mckenzie, Timothy Felker, Colin Huber, Holly Edge, Oken, Artgor, Chris Ironside, Moonsong, Marc Chang, Nathaniel Ownbey, David Kidd, Justin Treptow, Anika Howard, Andrew Alves, Jeremy Miller, Florian Kotnik, Mikal hofstad, Jeff Chang, Jacob William Perkins, Jeff Petkau, Paolo Ruiz, Andreas F. Sørensen, Kyle Matthews, Andy Barnett, Otto Schloegl, Ruediger Pakmor, Cortney Railsback, Ryan Campbell, and Raymond Lenihan

AETHERIAD

THE AETHERIAD

MAGE Errant is part of the Aetheriad, a set of stories by me that are all located in the same overarching multiverse. The different settings all have ties and links to one another, and I’m planning to bring them all together in a grand finale series eventually. (The Aetheriad’s still in the early days, so the list is still a bit short.)

- Mage Errant: Magic school, kaijucratic governments, the works. You’re reading it right now, so I hope you know what it’s about.

- The Wrack: Standalone epidemiological fantasy novel following a plague across a continent. Awkwardly came out at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. Features a novel-in-stories plot structure and a magic system that lets people see into the inner workings of things by replacing an eye with a gemstone.

FURTHER READING

IF YOU ENJOYED Tongue Eater, I highly recommend you check out the following books:

- Bastion, book one of Phil Tucker’s The Great Immortal Souls: A trippy, high-stakes progression fantasy novel set inside a cylindrical city sunk vertically into the ground of the outskirts of hell. Bastion is a blast, and I highly recommend it.

- Ascendant, book one of Michael R. Miller’s Songs of Chaos: a dragon rider progression fantasy reminiscent in the best way of the classic dragon rider novels like Pern and Temeraire. Reading it feels almost like coming home, if you’ve got a soft spot for dragon riders.

- Dragon Mage, book one of ML Spencer’s Rivenworld: Yet another dragon rider fantasy novel! This one features an autistic protagonist and a seriously awesome knot-based magic system.

- Awakening Arte, book one of Bernie Anés Paz’s The Eldest Throne: Creative magic powers, a psychedelically weird setting, and seriously entertaining battle scenes.

- On Lavender Tides, book one of Travis Riddle’s Jekua: Pokemon-inspired progression fantasy that captures all the magic from its inspiration, and then some! Its relative low stakes are counterbalanced by the books being ridiculously fun. (I’m the alpha reader for this series- I get to read them before anyone else- and whenever Travis emails me a new volume, I drop everything to read it.)

- The Enchanter, book one of Tobias Begley’s The Journals of Evander Tailor: A magic school series with a gay main character, a giant tree school, and an intricate magic system. The most similar to Mage Errant of any of this list of recommendations. (And one that kept me up late reading until my eyes hurt!)