“I wish you’d stop messing with that thing.”

Shavala looked up from where she was sitting cross-legged with the staff laid across her lap. “It’s not saying anything now,” she told Katrin.

“It’s a hunk of wood—it shouldn’t have said anything at all! It’s creepy.”

Shavala stood and leaned the staff against the wall, then went to sit next to the other woman. “It was more like it was thinking than talking. It just didn’t like what I was doing.”

“What if it happens again?”

She didn’t have an answer.

Corec peered through the open doorway, then came in when he saw them there. “Are you all right?” he asked Shavala. “Marco said you were injured, and Boktar said he didn’t see you cast any spells during the fight. He was worried something had happened to you.”

“I’m fine now. It was nothing, but I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Katrin said. “Tell him what happened.”

Shavala sighed and looked down. “It was the staff.”

“What do you mean?” Corec asked. “What sta— … the staff you found in the ruins?”

“It didn’t want me to cast any spells.”

“It hurt her!” Katrin said.

Corec furrowed his brow. “Wait. Why? How? It isn’t magic; I checked it myself.”

“It must be some sort of magic!” Katrin exclaimed. “It’s been talking to her!”

“Not talking, exactly,” Shavala said. “When I first took it, it was showing me visions of things it’s seen in the past. I think it’s druid magic. Elven druid magic.”

“Then why would it hurt you?” Corec asked.

“I think it just didn’t want me to kill anyone. I’m not sure it understood what was going on.”

Corec’s eyes narrowed. “It didn’t want you to kill anyone? Or you didn’t want to kill anyone? I know you weren’t happy about the last time we fought them.”

Shavala hadn’t realized he’d known. Or had Katrin told him?

“They had to be stopped,” she said. “I hate that they didn’t give us a choice, but we couldn’t let them hurt us or anyone else. I understood. The staff didn’t, but I think I can talk to it, teach it.”

“Teach it?” Katrin said. “You should get rid of it!”

“It’s not hurting me now, and it’s also helped me.”

“Helped how?” Corec asked.

“The room it was in, with the mushrooms and the moths—they were all dying. The staff helped me save them.”

“The moths?” He exchanged a confused glance with Katrin. “What do they matter?”

“I think they might be unique. I’m not sure anything like them exists anywhere else. Not just the moths but everything else growing in that room.”

Shavala had known he wouldn’t understand, and from his expression, it was clear she’d been right. But he tried. “Why were they dying?” he asked.

“It was the staff that let them live the way they had been. It created an environment to support them.”

“Then shouldn’t you leave it here?”

She considered that. Was she being selfish by removing the staff from where it had rested for thousands of years? But she’d seen the visions of what it had done in the past. It felt wrong to let it languish underground rather than serving its purpose, whatever that purpose might be.

“It’s important,” she said. “It has to be. Why else would it have been locked in there?”

“Because it’s dangerous!” Katrin exclaimed.

Shavala shrugged. “Maybe, but so is Corec’s sword,” she said. Katrin threw her hands up in frustration, so she added, “And your voice. But I don’t just mean it’s important; it’s also important to me. The things it’s shown me—I think the staff was used by the early elven druids. We always say elder magic was the first to be discovered, and the dorvasta believe the druids were the first of the elder mages. I think the staff knew those druids.”

“But if it hurt you …” Corec started.

“Then maybe it will again. At least until I can get it to understand me. Didn’t you ever get hurt when you were learning to fight?”

“Sometimes, but that’s not the same thing. And a staff that talks? That’s like something out of a story. Some of those stories don’t have nice endings.”

“It thinks; it doesn’t talk. Didn’t your sword have to think to choose you over everyone else?”

“I’m pretty sure that was due to a warding spell.”

“This is just a different kind of magic. My magic.”

He sighed. “I just worry about you.”

She gave him a small smile. He and Katrin worried too much, but sometimes it was nice to have them around to worry about her. She wasn’t entirely sure what was going on between the three of them. She’d only intended to join Corec’s bed for a short fling before he married Katrin, but somehow that fling was still going. Shavala wasn’t looking forward to ending things when it was time for her to return home.

“I know you do,” she said, “but I need to at least try to learn more about it before I give up. Sometimes you two treat me like a child, but I’m not; I’m older than either of you, and I’m responsible for my own decisions. But I’m sorry about today. I know I messed up. I could have gotten everyone killed.”

“No, I messed up,” Corec said. “I’d never try to defend a position with a single archer or a single infantryman, but then I put together a plan that placed all the heavy work on you and Ellerie, with no fallback plan if something happened to either of you. I need to get better at this, but none of my training covered it. The knights told me a few things about how to fight mages, but never about how to work with them. I misjudged things, thinking our enemies couldn’t stand up to magic, and the Travelers had to come in and save us.”

“Are they still here?” Katrin asked.

“They’re gone now, but they caught the Seeker. He says the men with the knives are part of some cult that worships a snake, claiming it’s one of the old gods. He insists they wouldn’t tell him why they’re hunting Leena and the other Travelers.”

“What are we going to do with him?”

“Leena’s uncle and another fellow already took him back to Sanvar to lock him up. Their people are the ones who were killed, so I wasn’t going to interfere. It doesn’t sound like there’s another group heading our way right this moment, but that could change. Losing their Seeker might stop them for a moment, but they already know where we are. Oh, that reminds me, have either of you seen Razai?”

“Sarette saw her through the spyglass when she was up on the slope. She says she was following the mercenaries who ran away.”

“What? On her own? What’s she thinking?”

Katrin shrugged. “I don’t know. Sarette figured you’d sent her after them.”

Corec frowned. “It’ll be dark soon. I’m not going to be able to find her after the sun goes down, even with a mage light. If she’s not back by morning, I’ll go look for her.” He paused, then said, “I suppose it’s good she’s tracking them, though—she can make sure they don’t sneak back here.”

“I can go after her,” Shavala offered. “I can make my way in the dark well enough.”

Corec hesitated, seeming to consider the idea, but then shook his head. “After what happened today? I think you should stay here and rest. Razai knows how to take care of herself. If she wanted our help, she’d have told someone she was leaving. I’m sure she’ll be careful.”

#

Razai crept closer to the men she’d been following, mercenaries who’d fled from the battle. There’d been three when she first caught sight of them back at the ruins, but they’d met up with others as they’d traveled east. She’d stayed a mile behind the group while the sun was still up, following their trail, but as the evening turned dark, she’d gradually closed the distance.

It was late now, well past sundown, and the mercenaries had stopped to make camp—if it could be called that. There was no moon, and the stars only provided a small bit of light, mostly blocked by a light covering of clouds. There was no wizard this time, and no mage lights. The men had scrounged up two torches before leaving, using them as they’d made their way in the dark, but they’d extinguished them once they’d stopped for the night.

Razai, though, could see just fine.

The mercenaries were gathered in a rough semblance of a circle. They’d eaten a meal of cold trail rations, and now their eyes darted back and forth at every little sound their companions made. They spoke quietly, quickly, occasionally glancing back in the direction of the mountain.

She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it was obvious they were frightened. What right did they have to be frightened? They were the ones who’d chosen to wage a battle against a much smaller group. Now, they had to face the consequences of their actions.

She waited until they began bedding down for the night, then inched closer, invisibly, until she was only a few feet away from the nearest man.

There were eleven of them, but most had taken off their armor and were trying to get some sleep. It appeared that only three were staying up to keep watch. She could handle eleven under those circumstances.

She gripped the hilts of her curved knives as she waited for the best moment. She would stab the nearest mercenary through the heart as he lay atop his bedroll, then grab the next closest—who was standing watch, still wearing a mail shirt—and slit his throat. She’d have two of them down before the rest even realized they were under attack, and the others would hardly be able to see her in the dark. If she got lucky, they might even start killing each other by accident.

Slowly, she unsheathed her knives, taking care not to break the invisibility spell.

Then she hesitated. Corec’s words came back to her. He’d wanted to let the mercenaries go free if they weren’t complicit. It was idealistic foolishness—they were the prey and she was the hunter. They’d crossed the line, taking money to kill Leena and the rest of the group.

But was Razai really any better than them? She’d been a mercenary on occasion. She’d done the same as them, and she’d done worse. She’d killed people in cold blood if she felt they deserved it. Or, sometimes, if her father had ordered her to.

What would the others think if she killed these men? Corec’s opinion didn’t matter, but what would Leena think of her? What about Boktar? Would Treya tell Renny?

Razai slid her knives back into their sheaths. She wanted to scream at herself for growing soft, but she kept quiet. If she made any noise, it would give away her position. She forced herself to calm down, pushing the rage back deep inside where it belonged.

Fine. She wouldn’t kill them, but that didn’t mean she could let them go free, with no punishment for their actions. They’d tried to kill Leena.

Summoning her demon disguise, Razai let loose with a wild howl, then leapt forward, stomping on the stomach of the man who’d been trying to sleep nearby. She snarled, then howled again, this time with a different tone. In the dark, the humans would see nothing but a huge black shadow with glowing red eyes, but if she made enough noise, she might convince them that more than one demon had come for them.

They screamed and shouted, scrambling up out of their bedding in a panicked frenzy. One man kept his nerve enough to try to face her, but she snatched the spear out of his hands and snapped it in two, then grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the ground.

They all ran after that, fleeing into the night in different directions. When one of the mercenaries tried to grab his pack on the way out, Razai stomped on the strap, catching the man’s fingers under her heel. He screamed in pain and she lifted her foot to let him scurry away without his supplies.

Moments later, she was alone in the remains of the camp, surrounded by bedrolls and packs, and discarded armor. About half the men had escaped with their weapons, she estimated, but the only ones who’d managed to take their armor were the three who’d still been wearing it. None of them had taken the time to grab their bedding. There were only ten packs, but Razai was pretty sure one of the eleven men hadn’t brought one with him, which meant the mercenaries were now all stranded in the middle of the barrens without any food or supplies.

It would take them at least three to four days to reach any sort of civilization, and that was only if they knew where to find the nearest village. Still, there was water in the barrens, and it wouldn’t hurt them to go without food for a while. They were trained mercenaries—they would probably live through the ordeal. If they didn’t, Razai wouldn’t shed any tears, but at least she could say truthfully that she hadn’t killed them.

She remained in her demon disguise in case any of the men tried to return, but she picked through their belongings to look for anything interesting. After transferring all the food into two of the packs, she stacked the other packs together with the bedding and spare clothing, then lit the pile on fire with a tinderbox she’d found.

While it burned, she dug through the four coin pouches she’d discovered, finding quite a bit of silver and even a few gold pieces. Those four men would learn a valuable lesson, she figured, and would keep their coin pouches closer to their person the next time they slept in the wilderness.

She left the weapons and armor where they were, not wanting to haul them away. If the mercenaries came back for them, so be it. Cold steel would offer little comfort when what they really wanted was something to eat.

Slinging the two packs of food over her shoulders, she headed back in the direction of the mountain. It would be her second all-night journey in a row. Good thing she’d caught a nap before the fight.

#

Bobo was still unconscious, but Treya couldn’t find any injuries other than a few small abrasions. She didn’t bother to heal those—she was exhausted, having used the last of her strength to patch up a few of the enemy mercenaries just enough that they might survive for another day.

Before disappearing, Razai had claimed Bobo was suffering from drain shock—she and Boktar had both seen him wielding magic. Razai insisted it was divine magic, as if he was a priest, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t any other sort of mage either, as far as Treya knew. Was he godborn, like her? Bishop Lastal had been able to identify mages just by looking at them, but Treya hadn’t figured out the trick yet.

Of course, if someone was going to suddenly start using magic out of nowhere, being a priest was the most likely answer—it would just require being blessed by one of the gods. The gods usually chose their blessed priests from among the ranks of the unblessed priests and their students, but that wasn’t always the case. Sometimes they chose an outsider. But which had chosen Bobo? In the past, he’d masqueraded as a priest of Fox, but Fox didn’t have priests. None of the old gods did. For Bobo, Allosur seemed a likely choice—the God of Knowledge. It was Allosur’s priests who’d tried to teach Treya what they could about her abilities.

“What to happen us?” a voice asked in badly accented trade tongue, interrupting her musings. The question came from the only injured mercenary who was currently awake—a man who’d lost his right hand during the battle. Based on his descriptions, he’d been fighting Sarette. His compatriots had helped him away from the fight and tied a strip of cloth tightly around his lower arm, keeping him from bleeding out, but he’d lost consciousness anyway. His friends had either left him behind or died in the fighting. Treya and Boktar hadn’t allowed him to check the bodies to find out for sure.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Why did you attack us?”

“They tell us you, uhh, how say, thieves?”

“Bandits? Brigands?”

He shrugged, apparently not recognizing those words in trade tongue. “Bad thieves.”

She grasped his arm to check his injury, though there nothing more she could do about it. She’d healed it enough to keep it from killing him.

“Did you believe them?” she asked, feeling a tiny hint of power behind her words.

“Yes. Then no.” He blinked and worked his jaw, looking surprised to have admitted that. “Very very, uhh …” He grunted, unable to find the words to complete his thought. “They bad.”

“But you attacked us anyway.”

“They pay.”

She let go of his arm after assuring herself the injury wasn’t showing any signs of getting worse or becoming infected. “Well, they’re not going to pay you any longer,” she said. “We’ll have to figure out what passes for the law around here, and ask them what to do with you.”

He furrowed his brow, not seeming to understand her.

“Never mind,” she said.

She left the room they’d set up as a makeshift infirmary, nodding to Nedley, who was standing guard over the prisoners. He was alone, but Josip was scheduled to join him soon, after catching a few hours of sleep. It would have to be enough—everyone else was too busy. The two of them should be able to handle four unconscious, heavily wounded men, and a single man with one hand and no weapons.

The rest of the mercenaries were dead, other than an unknown number who’d managed to flee. Sarette had seen five through her spyglass from her perch partway up the mountain, but she was certain others had gotten away before she’d made it there.

The men with the knives were dead too. Those who’d lived through the battle had died just like the one outside Tir Shar—their mouths foaming and their bodies convulsing.

There had been a lot of death that day, more than Treya had seen in her life. It had been worse than anything since the day the raiders had murdered her parents while she hid behind a pile of firewood. But her friends had all lived. That counted for something.

She took a deep breath of the crisp night air, then found a fallen stone block to sit on. The camp was mostly quiet, other than the faint, distant sound of Corec and Boktar still dealing with the bodies. Treya was tired but she wasn’t ready to sleep, still too worked up from the events of the day. She needed to relax. Maybe some meditation. That would have required her to move, though, and she didn’t want to. She’d just sit, instead.

There was a scraping sound of metal on stone, and the presence of another person nearby.

“My people are dead, aren’t they?” Ariadne asked, taking a seat next to her. “All of them.” She spoke Western this time, but Treya had learned Western at the Four Roads chapter house.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Whatever happened here, we think the people were able to leave. The city seems to have been evacuated in good order.”

“In good order? With Fortress West destroyed, and leaving me—” Ariadne clamped her mouth closed, not finishing the sentence.

“We don’t know what happened, but isn’t it good they were able to flee? Maybe they found a new home somewhere.”

“Even if they did, they’re not my people anymore. The people that I knew would still be dead.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Ariadne was silent for a moment. “Van Kir was forests and grasslands as far as the eye could see. I don’t recognize anything anymore. There used to be a lake just south of the outer city. How can so much have changed?”

“I don’t know, but you should talk to Ellerie and Bobo. They know more than I do.”

The tall woman didn’t make any move to do as Treya had suggested. Instead, she said, “Do humans rule over my people’s lands now?”

“You said your lands extended from here to the seas?”

Ariadne nodded.

“Mostly humans and dwarves, then. The closest settlements are human villages.”

“Dwarves?”

“The stoneborn?” Treya said, thinking the girl might be more familiar with the older term.

Ariadne just shook her head in confusion.

“You’ve seen Boktar in the camp? The strong, short man with the beard?”

“Yes. He is dwarve?”

“A dwarf, yes.”

“I have never heard of his kind before,” Ariadne said.

How could the Ancients not have known about dwarves? She was talking, though. Maybe Treya could learn something about her before she went quiet again.

“You seemed surprised to see humans in the … the fortress, you called it?” Treya said. “Were there no humans here when you went to sleep?”

“Some in the outer city who prefer life in Tir Yadar rather than among the human tribes, and, of course, many in the refugee camps. But few humans live in the inner city, and even fewer work in the fortress. Only Zachal is allowed into Fortress Central without authorization.”

“Zachal?”

“The human warden,” Ariadne said. Leena had mentioned that the woman knew about wardens.

Treya said, “I know that Ellerie would really like to talk to you about your people and Tir Yadar. And the wardens. She might be able to help you learn what happened here.”

“She talks and she talks and she talks. Her and the fat man. Sometimes I understand what they say, sometimes I don’t, but I won’t put myself on display for their amusement. Let them pose their questions to someone else.”

“I don’t think there is anyone else,” Treya pointed out.

Ariadne ignored that, changing the subject. “I require assistance,” she said. “I must lay the other Mage Knights to rest.”

“We were reluctant to disturb them,” Treya said. “Are you sure?”

“I cannot leave them in the stasis pods. It isn’t right. They should be buried beneath the earth.”

“If that’s what you’d like to do, we’ll help. I’m sorry about your friends.”

Ariadne tilted her head to the side. “Friends? They are the heroes who won the war, but I had only just met most of them. I wasn’t truly one of them yet—I was the newest recruit, earning the armor when the previous bearer was chosen to become a warden.”

“Oh.”

“I will also need help in recovering and transporting their blades and armor. I must safeguard them until I can find my people.”

“Oh!” Treya said, surprised. “You don’t wish to bury them with their belongings?”

“The blade and panoply belong to The People, not to the knight who bears them. I’m not blind—I know what you are doing here. I cannot bury the weapons and armor, but I won’t allow your people to take them either.”

Treya nodded. “We’ll help you. We’ll figure out a way to haul them back to Aencyr.” Corec had already started talking about taking some of the wagons back with them so they could carry the contents of the armory. Now that they knew the route, they wouldn’t have to cross the swamp. They could follow the passes through the mountains instead.

“Aencyr is where you are from?”

“No, but it’s the nearest large city. We came from across the sea in Aravor. I’m from a city called Tyrsall.”

Ariadne drew in a sharp breath. “Tir Sal still stands?” The pronunciation wasn’t quite the same.

“There’s a city called Tyrsall on the northeast coast of Aravor,” Treya said. “I don’t know if it’s the one you’re talking about.”

“Aravadora, we call it. Yes. But there are no Chosar there?”

“No, I’m sorry. It’s a human city, mostly.”

“That was the agreement. Two hundred years ago, the human tribes were given a Tir of their own in exchange for sending farmers, miners, and fishermen to the continent to aid in colonization efforts. But if Tir Sal still exists, The People should have a presence there.”

“I’m sorry,” Treya said.

The other woman looked down, silent for a moment before speaking again. “Much of Aravor was destroyed during the war. Only a few of the great cities still stand. Still stood. What about Tir Navis? Does it yet remain? Tir Illia?”

“Tir Navis is in the Storm Height Mountains, but it’s been abandoned. The mountains belong to the stormborn now. Tir Illia … do you mean Terrillia? The dorvasta city?”

Ariadne frowned. “I do not know these words, stormborn and dorvasta, and the necklace does not translate, but vasta is the elves’ name for themselves, and Tir Illia was granted to them in the same way Tir Sal was granted to the humans. The vasta had to flee Cordaea …” She paused, her brow furrowing in concentration. “They had to flee Van Kiradaea when the demons attacked their forest homes. A new forest had already been grown for them in Aravadora, so they went there.”

Treya wasn’t sure what to say. The woman’s story raised so many new questions, it was hard to keep track of them all.

“I really think you should talk to Ellerie and Bobo about this. If you tell them what you know, they may be able to help you learn what happened.”

Ariadne didn’t reply at first, just staring off into the night. Finally, she said, “I will consider it.”

#

“Five hundred gold?” Ellerie exclaimed.

“Five hundred twenty-two all told, though a lot of that’s in silver,” Corec said. “Half of it was in a lockbox in one of their supply carts. I suppose they must have been using it to pay the mercenaries. The cultists weren’t carrying much in the way of coin.”

“How many of Leena’s people did she say were here?” The expedition’s charter specified that spoils of war were divided evenly between participants rather than becoming part of the expedition’s profit.

“Fourteen, I think, not counting her or the man they took prisoner. But I want to offer the wagon drivers something for putting them in danger. I imagine we’ll want to stay on good terms with Livadi if you ever plan to return here.”

Ellerie nodded. “What were you thinking?”

“Five gold each, and give them their pick of the mercenaries’ weapons. There are a few suits of armor worth salvaging, but I don’t want to bother with the weapons. They’re just not worth as much as the stuff from the armory.”

“I don’t think anyone will object to that,” Ellerie said, calculating the numbers in her head. “So, subtract twenty-five, and divide by twenty-eight.”

“Twenty-eight? I counted twenty-seven.”

She lowered her voice. “I think we should include Marco. I don’t want to single him out as not helping in the fight. I don’t want him to think he’s not part of the group.”

Corec nodded. “That makes sense. There are some things I want to do, and I’m going to need him in a good mood.”

“So will I,” Ellerie said. “You’re thinking about Ariadne?” Treya had told the two of them about the Chosar woman’s request for help in retrieving her comrades’ weapons and armor.

“To start with, yes,” Corec said. “I don’t know which nation’s laws apply here, but I think scavenging rights get complicated when a resident is still around to make a claim. We need to make sure she’s taken care of. She’s claimed her friends’ weapons and armor, and she took that necklace. Let’s say those are hers by right, and if she takes something else, I’m not going to complain. But I think we should grant her two shares on top of it.”

Ellerie nodded. She’d been considering the same idea. “That seems fair. When we return to Aencyr, we’ll look up whatever laws we can find about it. And there are some other ideas I want to convince Senshall to agree to. So, we’ll include Marco in the spoils. Sort of … a bribe we can all politely pretend isn’t a bribe. That brings it to, what, seventeen gold and some silver per person? I guess it’s not that much after it’s split up.”

“It still seems like a lot to me,” Corec said with a wry grin.

“I’ll ask Leena to take the Travelers’ shares back to Sanvar the next time she visits home. How’s everything else going?”

“Bobo’s still unconscious and Razai’s still missing,” he said, “but we managed to clear the streets and haul all the bodies to the plaza. I’m not sure what else to do with them. We can’t bury them all, and we don’t have any wood for a pyre. We may just have to leave them, but if so, we’ll need to move the camp farther away. And upwind.”

“How much wood do we need?”

“More than Leena can bring, and more than we can realistically transport in the wagons. And, honestly, by the time they got here, I wouldn’t want to go anywhere near that plaza.”

Ellerie sighed. “I guess we don’t have a choice, then. We’ll have to leave them where they are. We can move the camp tomorrow.”

Corec nodded. “We also went through their supplies. We’ve got plenty of food now, but only for ourselves, not the animals. And these carts of theirs will be useful for hauling stuff up from the armory.”

“Then let’s plan on heading back inside the mountain tomorrow.”

#

Bobo opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by endless mists. Was this some sort of dream? The last thing he could remember was the fighting. There’d been a sense of hopelessness, and then a sense of hope. And a sudden realization—but of what?

He sat up abruptly as the memories returned. Magic. Not from his friends or from the enemy priests, but from himself.

You weren’t supposed to suffer from drain shock, a voice said, echoing in his mind.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

A blessing is meant to control the amount of power a priest can use, preventing drain shock, but I’m new to this and you didn’t have years to spend learning to master your abilities. You’ll have to be more cautious than other priests.

Bobo couldn’t see anyone talking. He couldn’t see anyone at all. “Who are you?” he said.

You already know, but keep your suspicions to yourself. It’s too soon to let the others realize I’ve joined the game.

If this was really who Bobo thought it was, there was so much he needed to ask …

“You saved my friends, didn’t you?”

Did I? Or did you?

“I wasn’t afraid.”

That wasn’t my doing.

Bobo opened his mouth, then closed it, not sure how to respond. Finally, he said, “Why me?”

Why not? But my time here grows short. The laws they imposed upon themselves, to prevent interference, have somehow affected the actual strictures governing the ascended. Now I understand why they only send visions. Ask the question to which you actually need to know the answer.

“What do you want me to do?”

Nothing you wouldn’t have done on your own. I learned that much from watching the others. Be yourself. Perhaps someday you and I will speak again.

Bobo woke up with a startled gasp.