Being carried in Vedlinia’s arms was strangely comfortable and made Kinnevar glad he hadn’t worn his armour. As they plummeted towards the sacred city, she had cast her feather fall spell, slowing their descent, but only if they stayed in close contact. And so, rather than trying to keep their hands clasped throughout the descent, she had pulled him in, carrying him in her arms.

‘Normally, this is the other way around.’

Vedlinia smirked down at him. ‘Yes, I imagine there aren’t many that can say they’ve held the mighty and fearsome Kinnevar Ultremar in their arms. You’re not as heavy as I thought you would be. And watch out with that thing!’ He didn’t have anywhere to put his sword, so was having to hold it in one hand as they descended, trying to keep it close enough that it was supported by her magic, but without accidentally cutting her and stealing her soul. Her arm around her lower hips squeezed a thigh. ‘Nice and firm here though. Most in your position get flabby, all that sitting around in throne rooms.’

‘Small chance of that with Skatara around! Last time I tried to sit on the throne, the armrests were covered with poison and the crown had been cursed to set the wearer on fire. That was an exciting visit, I had to execute most of the Royal Guard for treason.’

‘If this sort of behaviour is normal, I can see why your wife behaves that way.’

‘Well, it certainly keeps the marriage exciting. And the boys are growing up well, Hanathar is casting spells already, has his nose in a spellbook every time I see him.’ Ash dove past them with a whoop of delight, corkscrewing and rolling through the sky, revelling in the chance to fly, but showing at least enough self-control not to transform into her true form. ‘So, if we could try and land somewhere within the city itself? It might be easier to hide ourselves that way and avail ourselves of your father’s resources. Although I’d rather leave as soon as possible – with a night’s rest, I should be able to prepare the spells necessary to shroud myself and this thing.’ He shook the blade.

‘I thought it an artefact, but is that truly…?’

‘Yes. We’ve formed an arrangement. I suspect it isn’t truly evil, as is commonly thought, but I am still unsure as to the true purpose of it or it’s kin.’ The thing flexed its will, trying to overwhelm him, but it was drained by having given so much energy to its sibling, unable to do more than plaintively beg for control, lacking the power to forcibly command. ‘I’m still not entirely sure why it disliked the elven empire so much, but it, and the Book and Bell, are not purely agents of destruction. Within their darkness there is something else, seeds of light in the void. Do you know where we’re going to land? I suspect that we may have to fight.’

He glanced over at the mountains – Ash had transported them far enough that whatever illusion hid the sanctum was in place, hiding wherever they had come from, the place impossible to see from outside. Beneath them was the city, the clean and tidy outlines of the buildings clear from this high up, the whole city divided into even blocks. Far too orderly for his tastes, a city should have a little mess and chaos, to liven it up.

‘It looks like we’ll land in the Dawn Gardens. I suppose I should change, although I am starting to run low on energy.’ A spell shimmered around her, pale fabric appearing, a mask settling on her face. ‘Are you going to make an effort?’

‘I think this is quite enough, don’t you?’ It was hard to pose when held in someone else’s arms – not a problem he had ever experienced before, but he tried to gesture at himself. His shirt was now stylishly dishevelled, a few cuts and singes showing his flesh, a scratch along his cheek showing the risks he had undertaken.

‘I suppose it’s better than armour, at least. Useful, but a bit bland to look at.’ Her grip stayed strong enough; they were still high up enough that he wouldn’t want to fall, still dropping at a steady rate.

‘I suppose you do have a reputation to maintain. I prefer masking myself as the White Wraith – it means I can enjoy the best of both worlds.’

‘I had considered such, but it seems a lot more work. Better to force the world to live with me on my terms, I think, than to flit between personas all the time. That seems likely to get tiresome fast.’

‘You seemed to have few issues with doing it for a short time, at least. And it certainly seems easier than ruling and commanding personally. Now, if you could help eliminate the guard, then that will create some opportunities for expansion.’

Kinnevar smiled up at her. ‘I shall endeavour to be of service, then. Are you going to make this place your home? You have talent; you could leave.’

‘Oh, I think I like it here. If we just cull back the guard a little, then father and I can expand significantly. Let the gods have their temples, I can have the crypts and tombs, the speakeasies and warehouses.’

‘An ambition to be proud of!’ He looked down – they were just above the buildings, a washerwoman on the roof looking at them with surprise. Kinnevar waved at them, as they fled in terror.

The sounds of a band filled the air as they descended into the park, where a performance was going on – one of the newer pieces, all brassy and discordant jumbles of sound, impossible to properly dance to. As their shadow covered the audience, they glanced up, scattering already, shouting in panic. ‘The White Wraith!’

They landed, Vedlinia alighting in a stone plinth, memorial inscription worn away to nothing. More shouts went up, Kinnevar awkwardly dismounting from her grip. Immediately, yellow rings appeared around them, disgorging members of the guard.

Kinnevar attacked, not giving them a chance to focus, cleaving straight through the first one, red energy sparkling along the blade as it sucked away their life-force. Vedlinia’s form blurred, her cloak billowing around her and making her vague and indistinct, an arrow streaking through the vague outline without hitting her. It was messy work, more and more of the guards appearing, disgorged from the teleport-circles, probably from barracks all across the city. They tried to form up, raising shields in a defensive position, to little effect. Kinnevar simply smashed through the flimsy wood and iron, and then the armour beneath as well, in powerful cleaving strikes. With every kill, a little more power trickled into the blade.

He gestured, a cursemark appearing above one of the guards and helping to guide Kinnevar’s next attack. As the guard died, the mark flickered, appearing on another. These were all weak, their armour unable to resist his blade, every kill only strengthening the blade, more and more power flowing through him. Vedlinia was dancing and slicing through more of them as well, her blade sinking into their bodies, targeting faces and wrists, delicately striking wherever there wasn’t armour. She vaulted over a shieldwall, blade striking out in a trio of swift thrusts, killing three more, the shieldwall starting to crumble already.

When the initial group had been whittled down to a few terrified survivors, Kinnevar switched tactics, using his eldritch blasts to finish them off, rather than closing the gap to assault them directly. As more reinforcements arrived and formed into proper formations, arcane energy crackled, as spellcasters reinforced them, safely on the backlines and out of melee range.

Kinnevar moved until he was back-to-back with Vedlinia. ‘I hope you have some method of escape. This might be a little much, even for me!’

‘Rumour spreads fast. Word will hopefully get to my father soon, and he will transport us out of here. Unless you’d like me to carry you again?’

‘It was strangely relaxing, although probably less comfortable on the ground.’ He parried an attack, riposting with a slice, stabbing them in the shoulder, their arm falling limp as the sword drained off their spirit. Their body sank to the ground; still alive, if barely, but unable to fight. ‘I can certainly see why some find it so appealing, although I’m normally the one doing the carrying.’ She twisted around, blade singing, cutting arrows from the air. A low roar, a burst of heat, gave Kinnevar barely enough time to tackle Vedlinia to the ground, a column of fire blasting above them, singeing his back. A force yanked at him, and he chose to let it, a swirling light enveloping his senses.

They landed on hard stone, Kinnevar still atop Vedlinia as they fell a pace downwards, the air getting knocked from them both.

‘This is… very much what I expected, to be honest. But I trust the mission was successful?’ Devram’s voice was sardonic, magical energy fading from around his hands.

Kinnevar stood up, blade still howling for blood, unreadable runes glowing down the blade, only slowly fading from sight. He offered his hand to Vedlinia and pulled her up as she dispelled the illusion around herself, eye-watering blur vanishing as she returned to visibility.

‘Well, daughter? What news?’

‘We were successful. I think? Kinnevar, do you get what you needed?’

‘Yes. And Ash should be happy as well. Oh, and your cut.’ He took out his own pouch, untying it and tipping it out. Gold spilled out, as well as the magical trinkets he’d been able to grab. Compared to the huge heap of treasure left behind, it seemed quite small, but it should be enough, especially with the magical items.

‘Impressive work. And you managed to survive and bring Vedlinia back intact. Although your sword seems somewhat… diminished. I felt a strange disruption to the flow of magic – I assume that was you?’

Vedlinia scowled. ‘I would have appreciated a warning that I was going to be introduced to the Bell of Lost Souls! I suppose it’s a bit flattering it wanted me as a servant, but not what I was expecting.’

Devram shrugged. ‘Consider it part of a rounded education. You always chide me for coddling you; now you have survived working with Kinnevar Ultremar and spoken with one of the breakers of the Elven Empire. Impressive, although scarcely something you can brag to your friends about.’

Kinnevar answered. ‘Yes, you did well. If you would have made a pact with the Bell, then your power would be impressive! Although it seems a harsher master than the Blade.’ He tapped the pommel, the thing sending a drowsy and sated grumble back in response. ‘This thing mostly desires food, with little care for aught else. When I first acquired it, the thing was starving.’

‘That would be the conquest of Athan? I suppose that would explain the bloodpits.’

‘Yes – savage work, but with the Blade’s hunger somewhat satiated it became a more willing partner, and strove to dominate my own will less often. I think it may have been acting out of concern for its kin?’

‘Are you suggesting that it was they that desired the destruction of the Elven empire, rather than their wielders? Hmmm, that would explain a few things. We should talk of this in more detail. I’ve just opened a particularly fine old Athanian red – if you have to conquer places, maybe you could take care not to burn the centuries-old vineyards in future? It will be decades before they produce anything of value!’

‘Yes, that was slightly regrettable. But there were a lot of rebels hiding amongst the fields, and it was the quickest way to deal with them. I can have a few cases sent over from my personal collection, should you wish.’

'That would be appreciated.’ He gestured, an ethereal chiming sound ringing out, a table sliding out from the wall, already set with cutlery. ‘Food shall be with us shortly, and then you can tell me everything.’