“Sanity was the gap between perception and desire,”

― Max Gladstone, Two Serpents Rise

Alyssa sat down heavily on one of the cushions thrown haphazardly on the ground. “What do we do now?”

“Let’s storm the city and rescue the people!” Mireille sounded as if she was only half-joking.

“Not the best of plans.” The captive wizard remarked. After a pointed look from Mireille, he quickly added. “But who am I to judge.” He tried to shrug but had to content himself with looking a bit helpless instead.

“Shall we get them back into the cellar?” Iseret asked into the ensuing silence.

“No. I think we can probably come to an agreement. Won’t we?” Vanessa kept her eyes on Leomund.

“What are you thinking?”

“The army is coming,” Vanessa said bluntly. “And it is not likely that Zygmund von Nordmark will turn the tide. There are even temple warriors in attendance.” She glanced at Jill. “And you could do worse than stand on the winning side even more as it is the right side, in my opinion. And what about you two? You have been silent all along.” She gazed at the apprentice and the female warrior.

“I...hate what Nordmark has become.” The armored woman swallowed dryly. “But what should I do? I have seen the fate of those whose families try to flee or who make ‘mistakes’ for which said families suffer. I have a mother and three siblings. Father was a soldier like me…” She stopped. “But you won’t want to hear this. Please, if you can keep my family safe, I will help however I can.”

“Ah.” The apprentice looked a bit overwhelmed. “I was only hoping to study. My family are merchants, and they did not want to invest in my schooling. ‘Magic is for those with gold to spare,’ they always said. If master helps you, I will too.” He winced as he moved. “Thank you for healing my arm.” He nodded in Alea’s direction.

The wizard gave a weak chuckle at that. “I think you got your priorities straight, at least.” Turning toward Vanessa, he nodded, “Yes. I will help if it seems in any way feasible. I will not do suicide missions, but if it looks like a fair chance, I’m your man. And you will put in a good word for m...us?”

“Of course.” Vanessa shrugged. Looking at the others, she pondered for a moment. “Do you think we can trust them?”

“I think that it is obvious how the wind has turned. Yes, I think we can trust them that far, at least.” Iseret answered.

“What would be the alternative? Keep them in the cellar indefinitely?” Alyssa sighed. “I think what was said is reasonable.”

Alea softly cleared her throat. “I concur. If there is nothing else, I will clean Butler One.”

After the altercation in Volstedt, the construct had been mostly useless as minor and major damage had to be repaired.

Vanessa spoke a word of power, and black ice formed around her fingers, with a decisive slash and a grin, she cut the ropes binding the captives.

Flinching back, Leomund nearly toppled over before smiling sheepishly and rubbing his wrists. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You know that this is your only chance?”

“Yes.”

Vanessa nodded and turned to the other two, slashing their bonds with the same efficiency.

The female warrior stretched painfully and then rubbed her nose. Seeing the looks she was getting, she blushed. “It was itching all the time! Especially when he...” She pointed her chin at Leomund. “...had to mention it! I am Johanna of Nordstrom. I’m not some noble. It’s simply the place I came from.” She cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the apprentice.

“Me?” The apprentice pointed at himself. “I’m Ralf. Ralf Hollermark. I’m his apprentice.” He pointed at Leomund.

“A bit old for that, are we?” Mireille asked him bluntly.

“Hey! I did not get the opportunity until the town was gone to hell and back. But if you ever need a barrel made, I got you covered.” He smiled sheepishly, “I was apprenticed to a cooper before.”

“He is not even the worst apprentice I have seen,” Leomund interjected, but his smile remained cautious all the while.

Johanna looked at the silently thinking people and hesitantly asked. “And? What do we do now?”

“Let’s have a look at the city. Perhaps we can pose as cultists? There are a lot of robes in that cupboard over there!” Mireille grinned broadly.

“That might not be so bad an idea. Pose as if you were injured. Smear the face with some ash, and Leomund can get us inside.” Iseret mused.

“And if he warns anyone, we have a very bad fight on our hands.” Alyssa looked conflicted.

“Otherwise, we have no recourse but to wait for the troops to arrive and then help as much as possible.” Iseret shrugged.

“Usually, you are so cautious.”

“I don’t want us to get caught. Someone will come to look for Leomund and his group sooner or later, and that does not even include cultists coming to look for their own.” Iseret shrugged.

Alea, who had quietly begun to scrape some dried mud from a hinge in Butler One's torso, looked up and quietly focused on Jill, who seemed to be wrestling with her conscience. Cautiously, she put down the scraper and leaned over to the priestess before whispering. “Didn’t you say that the physical is less important? Wearing some cultist robes should not be so bad. You could even remove the insignias if there are any. I doubt the soldiers will be so knowledgeable to look for it.”

Jill nodded at her and whispered back. “I will do it.” She then raised her voice and asked, “And what is our plan when we get into the city?”

“Kill Zygmund and then take control of the undead before laying them to rest,” Alyssa responded, looking a bit guilty but determined as she said that. “If Johanna is any indication, I think they will be glad to be rid of this whole fiasco. Perhaps we can even offer amnesties or reduced sentences if they surrender?”

“Then let’s go. Waiting will get us nowhere.” Mireille yawned and then blinked rapidly before grinning sheepishly. “I might not have gotten enough sleep. But I will be okay- Promise!”

Even Jill had to grin at that.

Jamila pressed her back to the brick wall, slowly turning her head and leaning to the side. She tried to catch a glimpse of the next alley. When she had exited the escape tunnel, she was greeted by the tolling of a bell and saw the soldiers, living and otherwise, hurriedly searching for something. Someone. Probably herself.

Now, she cursed the weight of the backpack she had forced on herself, and even as the spells made moving no longer a chore, she was still hampered by the unwieldy contraption.

The air seemed clear, and with quick movements, she jogged toward one of the old sewer entrances closed off with a grate and cursed again as she saw the rusted-shut ruin of a lock. ‘Damn it. Why can’t anyone do their fucking job!’ With a quick whisper, she gathered magical energy from the sludge seeping into the grate, and with a gesture a pale liquid appeared over her hand, slowly dripping onto the lock. With a sizzle, the metal softened and sloughed off before falling into the smelly darkness below. Gripping the grate, she pulled with all her might, thankful for the gloves she was wearing, and with a heart-stopping screech, the metal cover swung open. Without waiting to see if anyone noticed, she clambered down the mortared-in steps on the side.

The group around Vanessa walked down the snowed-in road toward the city. Lights on the walls flared as gusts of wind met burning coals. They made for an unsettling sight as they wore the robes of the dead gravekeeper. He had owned more than they had expected. Leomund, Johanna, and the apprentice did not need such disguises and walked alongside them.

“I don’t do suicide missions. If you really do something stupid, you are on your own.” Leomund grumbled.

Vanessa’s glowing eyes gazed at him unblinkingly before he seemed to shrink a bit. “Not that that will happen.”

After another few minutes with the gates coming fully into view, he stopped while looking at the walls warily, “There are quite a lot of guards for the late hour. Even with some of them being undead, that means something happened.”

Nearing the gate, one of the guardsmen shone down with a bullseye lantern and called. “State your name and business!”

“Leomund von Hollgren, court magus. Here on the duke's orders.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“You can ask his grace if you don’t believe me. And don’t think I don’t know that it’s late. My bed has been calling me since hours before!”

The figure backlit by the flaming brazier shook as if with laughter, and then a gesture to the side made one of the guards clamber down the stairs inside the gate tower. “Patience. Someone will open the side gate.”

A small ironclad door opened with a groan, and a tired-looking soldier beckoned them inside. As he saw the robes more clearly he made the sign of Gesserach and stumbled back to let them pass, trembling all the while.

“Seems those cultists are well-loved,” Mireille whispered to Alyssa, who nodded in return.

“Quite.” Iseret's whisper carried on a cold draft of wind reached their ears.

“Spoilsport,” Mireille murmured but then held her tongue.

“Do you require an escort, my lord?” The gate guard waiting outside asked them as they exited through the front.

“No. That will be all.” Leomund imperiously answered, much to the obvious relief of the guard who pulled a threadbare shawl around his neck.

Soon, they walked out of the plaza adjoining the gate and down a larger thoroughfare, empty and covered in snow. Statues stood at intersections every dozen meters or so, depicting famous knights and personages of the duchies past.

“Can we talk now?” Mireille asked rebelliously.

“Yes. We should be clear. But please be more careful. This is no game.” Iseret looked at her with a bit of disapproval. “Where to now?” She turned toward Leomund.

“Down this road and then the castle road.” He answered, distracted by a patrol moving swiftly down the road armed with lanterns with which they shone down alleys and into darkened doorways. “Something got them riled up. Hope whatever it is does not trouble us.”

Mireille winced. “Nirileth, I hope she did not listen.”

The patrol stopped them for a short chat but was reassured by Leomund, and Johanna left with clear instructions to keep to the larger roads. Their robes had, again, intimidated the soldiers.

“Do you know why they fear those robes so much?” Alyssa asked.

“The duke has given them a lot of leeway, and some of those robed freaks can call demons to their help.”

“And how did you miss to tell us that?” Vanessa asked, still looking ahead while walking down the road.

“Ahem. I did not think it was an issue? They were nearly all at the cemetery after all, and you had to have met them already?”

Jamila had exited the sewers when she came across the first groups of undead stalking the frigid, thick liquid flowing through the channels carved into the middle of the tunnels.

And now she was still inside Sevenpeaks with her energy and patience waning fast. As she looked from the alley mouth, she was hiding in, she saw a group of cultists walking with a scout and a mage. The last seemed to have difficulty moving and, even as he kept pace, was nearly stumbling from a bad left leg. Eyeing the robes speculatively, she remembered the reactions she had seen in the market square. Flexing her hands, she gauged her chances. A small illusion that mimicked the missing cultist for a minute or so should be doable, and she still had a wand of sleep tucked into her sleeve.

Without taking risks, she was not getting out of here.

The group came closer, and one of the cultists looked in her direction. With a whisper, she activated a ring on her right hand, giving her a few seconds of near invisibility. She was quite proud of the charging runes as she could use the thing every half hour or so.

And then they walked past.

Still invisible, she brandished the wand and waited for the perfect moment. A mental command activated the wand, and green energies surged along the crystalline structure, hitting the last cultist full-on. A smile grew on her face as her right arm made a gesture she had practiced more often than she liked to remember, and an illusion of the cultist took the place of the one she had...stopped.

Shocked, she looked as her victim turned in her direction, and the robe's hood was blown back by a sudden gust of wind, uncovering a mask made of porcelain.