The Dreamer

Table of Contents

I

Introduction

Synopsis

Pronunciation Guide

II

Prologue

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Epilogue(?)

Indented

Indented
Indented

Introduction

GarneacHey Terrarians.
GarneacThis thread will be the definitive version. Feel free to read the previous thread, but keep in mind a good chunk of it will be ret-conned.
GarneacSpeculate away. Also, let me know what you think. What you liked, what you disliked, criticisms -- you get the idea.
GarneacEnjoy. Or don't. Your choice.
Garneac(I reserve the right to ret-con the shit out of any part of this story.)

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Synopsis

(Will definitely be rewritten at some point in the future.)

IndentedIn the shadow of a dungeon a god-killer prepares to escape from the world by destroying it.

IndentedOn the other side of the continent, another man wakes up in a field with no memory and among strangers.

IndentedHis past lies locked in the fragments of his dreams, but in an attempt to remember he will be forced to retrace the god-killer's footsteps and set off a series of events that will plunge the land into chaos.

IndentedThis is the story of their war to control fate, whatever the cost.

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Pronunciation Guide

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Chapter One

Dasgreil (dahs-grail)

Chapter Two

Anya (an-yeah)

Agraiman (ah-grey-men)

Damon Nalicai (nah-leh-kai)

Faedra Savierani (fay [rhymes with pay]-drah sa-veer-annie)

Hasvatos Encagra (has-vah-tose [rhymes with dose] on-ca-gra)

Praetan Juris (pray-tan)

Emradine Tower (em-ra-deen)

Averiss (pronounced avarice)

Raikon (rye-con)

Voltarine Consul (vole-tah-reen)

Oradano Ocean (ore-ah-dan-oh)

Demanithro (deh-mah-knee-throw)

Vaccaneli (vak-ah-nelly)

Majira (ma-jeer-ah)

Ferasere (fare-ah-seer)

Krusata (cru-sa-tah)

Lodicus University (lode-ee-cuss)

Sodratha Collegium (sod-rah-tha)

Quindai (qwin-die)

Karam (cah-ram)

Sepharrim Syndicate (se-fah-ream)

Cormac Isparo (is-pah-row)

Chapter Three

Imperator (im-peh-rah-tore)

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Indented

Indented

Prologue

IndentedWhen the Dreamers filed onto the terrace to arrest him, he considered deconstructing their bodies at a molecular level. It pleased him to know he was now capable of this. Instead, he turned and watched her closely to see how she would react: on her face flickered first surprise, then outrage.
Indented(What is the meaning of this?) She stood up when they gave no reply. (This is a private meeting between Advocates. By whose authority do you trespass?)
IndentedHe spoke: (Yours, of course.)
IndentedThe hurt look she turned on him was a masterful performance. (How can you say that?)
Indented(It's the truth.)
Indented(I love you.)
Indented(Is that an apology?)
IndentedShe went still. (I've done nothing wrong.)
Indented(Such careful wording.) He smiled, and then was taken away to the Hall of Principle Axioms where he stood immobile on the courthouse floor for days while around him his former colleagues debated how best to proceed. There was no precedence in place for punishing a Dreamer. It was an honor of sorts.
IndentedAt one point it was suggested he be put to death; to which he replied in an amused voice, (I cannot be killed.)
IndentedThe silence that followed was revelatory: not one of them was his equal. The distance between accused and Advocates would now be measured in godhood.
IndentedShe sat in the fifth tier. Her assault, when it came, was almost casual: (Our role is to observe. We do not interfere. But he's compromised us. We're all agreed there can be no forgiveness.) A slight nod of her head. (For his crimes, the abomination should have both his consciousnesses suspended.)
Indented(I am not afraid to sleep.)
Indented(That's not the point.) She paused, as if to savour the moment. (We will erase you from history. A day will come when you're no longer remembered.)
Indented(Perhaps you will forget.) He studied their faces. (But I will not.)

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Indented

Part One

Chapter One

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IndentedThe god-killer ran across fresh-fallen snow, dragging his prisoner behind.
IndentedThey came to a frozen stream and crossed, boots hammering the surface. The noise was loud and erratic, an intrusion into the silent watch of trees standing sentinel and armoured in snow. Once they’d reached the opposite bank the captor turned to his captive. A brief pause as they stared at one another.
Indented“You have to know this isn’t going to work out.” The ragged merchant tugged at the chain looped around his neck, an act of minor rebellion long since rendered meaningless. “Doesn’t matter what happens now. They won’t let you reach the dungeon.” His lips formed what might have once been a wry smile; instead it was a savage grin revealing shattered teeth and bloodied gums.
IndentedThe god-killer shrugged. "Let them come."
Indented“You can’t kill all of us.”
IndentedSilence, and then: “I seem to be doing all right.” He jerked the chain hard, causing the merchant to stumble.
IndentedAnother savage pull. He watched the head snap back, the mouth widen in a silent scream.
IndentedWhen it was finished he looked up at the night sky and saw the stars gazing back. On earth as in the heavens, reflections of the other: distant and implacable, patient and cruel. He wondered if the old man knew he was coming. Query: what use is power if you can’t even save yourself?
IndentedIn the far distance a horn sounded. The hunters were closing in.
IndentedHe spared a glance at the cooling corpse before walking off into the woods.

IndentedIt was some time before the trees began to thin and finally disappear but he had arrived before them at the dungeon. It sprawled across the nighttime fields, a hulking titan with blue-black skin. At its wooden mouth sat a huddled shape. As if by some silent cue the mass of tattered cloth rose to its feet and slowly dusted itself. Eyes like hellfire burned in that wasted face. The old man approached, calling out a greeting.
IndentedThe god-killer drew his sword in response. The blade ran the length of his arm from shoulder to fingertips, a natural extension of the body.
Indented“Must we do this?” asked the old man.
Indented“Yes.”
Indented“You know what will happen.”
Indented“You’ll die.” He slid his right foot back and leaned forward, sword point raised.
IndentedThe old man continued walking. Stopped only when the blade pricked his throat. He smiled. “My body might die. My master will not.”
Indented“Then fuck your master.”
IndentedThe old man opened his mouth to laugh—
Indented—and out crawled the skeletal arm of a god.

** ** **

IndentedHorse’s hooves trampling gently packed snow. Breath pluming in frigid air. The bounty-hunters crested the next rise and slowed their mounts as the god-killer’s corpse came into view.
IndentedThe men stopped at the top of the stony hill, instinctively reaching for sheathed swords. They looked down at the scene of destruction before them and found it difficult to take its measure. But the Empress had been explicit: I want to know what happens. Remember everything. So they bore witness.
IndentedFurrows in stone hundreds of feet long where a colossal hand had gouged the rock. Dirtied snow still melting into small pools from the fury of some unimaginable furnace heat. Slabs of earth stood upright like sticks in mud; their casual lean only emphasized the inhuman strength that had wrenched them from the earth. And the dungeon framing the violence: sprawling and sinister. Timeless.
Indented“Red God save us,” one of the hunters muttered as the horses shied from the carnage.
IndentedGod and god-killer: the collision between the divine entering human space and the mortal attempting to eradicate the holy. Impossible events made possible by the hubris of the man they’d hunted for months now, whipped onward by the Empress’ rising fury: dead or alive, bring him to me.
IndentedThey slid off the horses and led them down the ravaged slope, wary. Like slaves called to appear before the judgment of a pitiless master.
IndentedThe traitor lay on his back, a sword jutting from his chest. The ground around him had been splintered into fragments so fine that as the men and horses neared, dust rose into the air on moonbeams. They looked down into the god-killer’s sightless eyes.
Indented“What was his name?” someone asked suddenly, and was met with silence. Not that it mattered.
IndentedRope was fetched out of the saddlebags while another man eased the sword from the body. The blade was blue-black and gleamed. They heaved the body onto one of the horses, bound it tight, got back into their saddles. Not one of them was disappointed at not having been able to fight the dead man. What could they have done to stop someone mad enough to battle a god?
IndentedA final look across the lifeless ground. The old man was gone for now but he would return in his own time to resume his watch, waiting as the land’s fallen people came forward as they always did in their ones and twos, hoping to master the dungeon's secrets. And here, at the end of the world, the god of bones would correct them of their erroneous thinking.
IndentedHis punishment would be swift and terrifying.

IndentedThey retraced the trail out of the frozen waste, arriving where the chained merchant had been murdered. The god-killer had been a silver-tongued fox, cunning as he was deadly, manipulating innocent and damned alike only to brutally dispose of them when their usefulness had run its course. The merchant, they’d learned during the course of the hunt, had dreamed of escaping from under the empire-spanning Guild. Which meant escaping from the Empress. If that kind of attitude was allowed to spread, she’d explained, then other similarly stupid people might get it into their heads to do the same, especially if the wealthy merchant succeeded.
Indented“But he won’t, of course.” She had leaned forward on her Rosewood throne to hold them captive in her gaze. Weighing them. “I will not permit it to happen.”
IndentedThe bounty-hunters made camp near the corpse, rifling through its satchel and pockets for anything of use. As the sun rose they prepared to go to sleep. In the heart of the Badlands, they slept during the day and traveled quickly at night; reversing the order would be to invite death.
IndentedThe first man on watch settled down and watched the others. When they’d fallen asleep he stood up and looked around at the thinning trees and grey skies and over at their prize tied down and strung out on the back of a horse.
IndentedHe frowned.
IndentedMoving closer he saw the blood still flowing from the gaping wound in the chest cavity. Except the hole didn’t look as large as it had before. In fact—he leaned close, ignoring the pungent smell of unwashed skin and sweat and shit—yes, no doubt about it: the hole had shrunk.
IndentedThe hunter turned right to look into the corpse's face and saw the god-killer smiling back.
Indented“Red God save us,” he said quietly.
Indented“No,” the dead man said. “I don’t think he will.” His smile widened. “That’s the thing about gods. They’re all so unreliable.”
Indented“How?” the hunter managed. His right hand crossed over to his sheathed sword.
Indented“Death is also unreliable.” And in the same light-hearted tone he continued: “I will kill you the second you touch the hilt.” Bound and bleeding he looked calmly at his captor.
IndentedThe hunter grabbed his sword.
IndentedHe had time to wonder on the impossible become possible, the divine wearing human skin, before the other man’s foot lashed out and crushed his windpipe. The heavy sound of meat hitting trampled snow woke some of the sleepers; the sound of cold laughter woke the rest.
IndentedA moment’s confusion and then they began to move. As they fumbled for their swords the god-killer snapped his restraints. As the hunters rose and began to draw, their prisoner slid down off the horse. Even as they leveled the blades in the other man’s direction it was too late.
IndentedThe god-killer knelt and drew the dead bounty-hunter’s sword and rose back up to wait. Sword-tip pointing at the snow, a casual stance. He smiled.
IndentedThey came at him, thinking to overpower by their numbers, realizing their mistake at the last moment as they remembered that this was a man who had survived the assault from a god. Whose appearance now meant he had killed that god. Momentum faltering. Eyes widening.
IndentedOne man was out of sync with the others, moving forward too far, and it was a weakness brutally exploited: he fell, blood gushing from his neck.
IndentedThe blade was caught in the collar-bone. The god-killer wrenched it free, then with a sharp turn of the wrist snapped the sword into middle guard; enough power behind the movement to send an arc of blood across the other men's slack faces as they back-pedaled before his advance. He batted away their unsure strikes, answered questioning thrusts with savage cuts. A hunter slid to the right, trying to trip up the god-killer's feet in the cross-over—
Indented—and cried out as his face was cleaved in two.
IndentedSome of the men threw away their swords and knelt, calling out for mercy, but none was shown.
Indented
IndentedThe last hunter was long in dying. His arms ended in stumps and his face was a mass of deep incisions and blood that congealed in the grey light. The god-killer asked his questions.
Indented“Who sent you?”
Indented“The Empress.”
IndentedImpossible; then he corrected himself: not so, because these men were proof. But it was too soon. He closed his eyes. Sucked in cold air. Considered where he might have slipped up but found no error in anything he had done so far. Irritation; then he opened his eyes to watch the kneeling man again. "What does she want with me?” he asked.
Indented“Don’t know. Just told to bring you back.”
IndentedHe thought about that. "Alive?”
Indented“Doesn’t matter to her.” The man tried to swallow, failed. Drool slipped past his lips. “Please,” he begged.
IndentedThe god-killer ignored him. “Pay attention.” He twisted the blade deeper into the man’s shoulder. “Is Dasgreil still with her?”
Indented“The sorcerer? Yes.” The man groaned. “Oh Red God, it hurts.”
Indented“That's the point.”
Indented“I have a wife. A daughter.”
IndentedThe god-killer looked at him, puzzled. “Why should the dead care about the living?”
IndentedThis is the power of a man who murders gods: the blade was pulled from the hunter’s shoulder and severed his neck before the weeping man could register the movement.

IndentedHe stepped over the bodies and rummaged through the camp before finding his sword tucked away among the satchels. Picked it up and ran a critical hand down the blade’s length; the dark metal felt unnatural and cold, even in daylight. Satisfied it hadn’t been abused he sheathed and turned to look at the bodies. Anyone who came upon them would put it down to the various creatures that lived in the Badlands. Then again, they might not. He realized he didn’t much care.
IndentedThe pain in his chest was a slow burn. Pulling a face, he lay down on the ground and looked up at the sky. Clouds the colour of sheet metal piled one atop the other and choked out the sun. Everything has an end, living or otherwise. Query: were the bounty-hunter’s deaths also inevitable? Perhaps the moment they’d decided to ride out from Janramak their fate had been to end face down in snow. (How neatly that line of reasoning absolved him of fault: he was simply the means by which the bounty-hunters could meet fate. Yet that made him a tool, and that was something he could never agree to. So be it: he had killed the men because that was the most efficient way to ensure they couldn’t interfere later on. Like a sword drawn and swung and sheathed in one smooth motion, he would remove all opposition.)
IndentedHe bit down hard on sudden rage. The Empress. Half a world away and she had him in her sights. It was almost enough to make him believe that she was meant to be his end. Almost.
IndentedSuitably chilled and soaked clean through, he got up from the snow and pulled down a hooded cloak resting on a low hanging branch. He put it on and gathered what coins he could find in pockets and hidden purses and saddled a horse and rode out.
IndentedHe reviewed what he knew about the Empress. By all accounts there had never been a woman as beautiful. Or as dangerous. Ever since he’d first woken alone and terrified in this land, stories of her rise to power—and more importantly, her efforts to hold onto power—had been on every tongue of each city he visited. Scholars and common-folk agreed that she was centuries old, appearing as if from myth. Through her Unification Wars she had subjugated all contending territories and forged a nation: Terraria. Armies fell under her hammer, beaten into submission and turned against their former generals. Self-styled kings and queens and lesser nobility bent the knee.
IndentedAnd those who did not bend, she broke.
IndentedThat was the sole message to her subjects: I will suffer no disobedience. So long as the newly made Terrarians did not resist she sheltered them from both their own destructive desires and from the goblin-raiders across the sea. Titles of rank were restored. Freely elected councils assembled to counter the nobility’s influence, and guilds formed to restrict the councils. She blessed crops and farmers harvested triple their usual returns come fall. Abundance, prosperity, peace—but defiance was rooted out. Witness, she commanded, and her people came to understand that there were fates worse than death.
IndentedNow she stood against him.
IndentedHe snapped the horse’s reins and sped across an eroded trail winding through white fields and clusters of grey and black stone. Even though the Empress was not the target he would have to remove her. The sword at his side, a secret prised from the dungeon’s clutches, would see to that.
IndentedLate afternoon found horse and rider cutting across the fields, the faint trail long since disappeared. Weak light filtered down through the clouds. The god-killer arranged in his thoughts the pieces necessary for his next move; variables deemed unimportant took on new significance (and those once important were either set aside or further elevated in their priority). There was a storm of possible outcomes but he saw through the chaos to arrive at the next component in the mechanism that would ensure his escape from Terraria and see the Red God dead.
IndentedStinging kisses from freezing rain jerked him away from his designs and matted his black hair. He pulled up his hood and slowed the horse’s gait but its hooves still scrabbled for purchase on the blanket of snow now become a dangerously slick crust. In the distance sat a house and behind it a couple of spindly purple trees with leaves of darker hue. Wind-lashed branches like gnarled fingers clawed at the sky. He frowned. The frozen Badlands falling behind and a patch of corruption ahead. There was a lesson in this somewhere if he could only tease it out.
IndentedWhen he hammered on the door a giant of a man answered, and the god-killer had to step back from under the porch’s covering into the rain in order to look up at the heavily lined face. “I was hoping for a place to stay the night. Maybe a meal too, if that’s not asking too much.”
IndentedThe large man blinked. “This look like an inn to you?” His voice was gravel tumbling down a mountain.
Indented“It’s good enough.” Wrong thing to say, judging by the way the man’s jaw clenched, and so he reached into his pocket and dug out a fistful of coins. “Look, I’d really appreciate some help.”
Indented“Not much use for money up here.” And yet he took a gold piece and three silvers, shaking off the rainwater. The god-killer resisted the urge to draw his blade. Instead, he pulled back the left side of his cloak to reveal the sword’s hilt.
IndentedThe other man wasn’t impressed. “That’s the going rate, take it or leave it. And no weapons in the house.”
IndentedThe god-killer smiled. “But I’m harmless.”
Indented“I don’t doubt that at all, skinny guy like you”—the god-killer’s smile vanished—“Still, rules are rules.” He crossed his massive arms and waited.
Indented“This is extortion.”
Indented“We ain’t running a charity here.”
IndentedThe lesson of the Badlands and the corruption made itself clear: he was caught between a rock and a hard place. “Alright,” he said.
IndentedThe other man nodded as if that were a given and stuck out his hand. “Name’s Jacob.”
Indented“Adam,” he replied, gripping the proffered hand and delighting in Jacob’s surprised grunt. Handing over the sword he kicked off his boots and stepped inside the home and was immediately accosted by a sharp-nosed woman. She took in his wet, dirty clothing and her snort of disapproval rivaled a noblewoman’s scorn.
IndentedJacob came forward. “He’s paid good money.”
Indented“He’s filth,” she said. There was a world of difference between that and filthy.
Indented“He’ll be staying the night, Mara.” His voice brooked no argument.
IndentedShe took no notice. “We look like an inn to you?” she snapped.
Indented“That’s what I told him.”
IndentedAdam made a polite noise and the other two looked over. “A place to clean up. Food. Sleep. It doesn’t even have to be in that order.” As an afterthought he added, “Please.”
IndentedJacob nodded. “The wife will see to your clothes.”
IndentedMara smiled sweetly. “Like hell I will.” She turned and started down the hallway, talking over her shoulder: “Supper’s not for a couple of hours. You can clean up outside at the back of the house.” And then she started screaming for the children to come down because she’d be damned if she was going to do all the cooking herself.
IndentedNeither she nor Jacob had mentioned the chest wound.

IndentedWhen it came time to eat, supper was a busy affair, hands reaching across the chipped table for boiled potatoes and crumbling cheese and pieces of the two slightly charred pheasants. Adam watched husband and wife and their children, two boys and a girl, heap their plates with the food and did the same. He lifted a potato to dip into some of the gravy when Mara stopped him.
Indented“We say grace first.”
Indented“Alright.”
Indented“You can lead the prayer.”
IndentedHe looked at her. “That’s not going to happen.”
IndentedFilth, she mouthed at him and assigned the task to the oldest boy. Soon afterwards they were eating.
Indented“So,” Jacob said, “You finish with your business up at the dungeon?”
Indented“Sorry?”
IndentedThe other man looked smug. “Oh, come off it. Only reason people come this far north is to visit the dungeon.”
Indented“Oh. Right. You get a lot of people through here?”
Indented“Sure. Doesn’t matter what time of year, they all come. People thinking they have it in them to best the old man.”
Indented“Of course they never do,” Mara said pointedly, and stabbed a potato with her fork. “You can’t beat a god.”
IndentedAdam’s smile was downright cheeky. “I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed. That irritated her even more; she scolded the girl to sit up straight.
Indented“At least you came back alive,” Jacob said.
Indented“Guess I did.” He nodded. “Found what I was looking for.” He ignored their curious looks and continued eating.
IndentedThough small and sparsely furnished the room was warm and in the corners were torches that gave off no smoke. Planes of seasoned wood smoothed and interlocked tight to become the floor and walls and roofing, the table and chairs and even the cutlery. The house was less a home and more a mark of human will imposing some measure of order in this northern wilderness. A life could be lived here. Demanding and thankless, to be sure, but a life all the same: a large man and his sharp-tongued wife and their three healthy looking children.
IndentedJacob had been saying something and Adam turned his attention away from the ice water drowning the world outside.
Indented“The patch of corruption’s been a blessing of sorts, really. Wood is wood wherever you go, that’s what I say, and the trees grow back in no time. Only trouble is trying to keep it contained. If it grows too much, we'd have to pack up and leave.”
Indented“Evil stuff,” Adam said half-heartedly.
IndentedJacob nodded. “Ain’t that the truth. Still, travellers passing through to the dungeon always seem to fancy a bit of vile powder. Doesn’t do them much good though, does it?” He laughed.
IndentedA flash of lightning threw their faces into warring light and shadow, and they all paused to look out the window.
Indented“God’s own wrath,” Mara murmured.
IndentedHer husband shook his head. “God ain’t got nothing to do with this. Still, didn’t think it’d storm like this.” Soon the couple were debating the finer points of whether or not the divine had a right to interfere so noisily in the workings of the natural world. The bickering had a rote sound to it, husband and wife repeating arguments and counter-arguments that had long since lost any heat.
IndentedAdam ignored them and sat still, head cocked. Listening. He switched the carving knife in his left hand over to his right and tightened his grip.
Indented“My sword,” he said, softly, “where did you put it?”
IndentedThe other man grunted. “Told you no weapons in the house.”
Indented“This is important.” But it was too late.
IndentedHe sensed someone enter the room from behind and watched the family’s faces slacken with confusion.
IndentedJacob stood up. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
IndentedPatiently, as if a parent speaking to a slow child, a voice answered: “In the name of the Red God and the Empress who serves Him, you and your family are ordered to leave this room. Refuse, and you will be subject to the full force of both ecclesiastical and civil law.” A pause, and then: “I doubt you know who this man you’ve invited to your table actually is.” Another pause. “Or maybe you do. We can sort that out later.”
Indented“Like hell we will.” Jacob kicked back his chair but his wife grabbed him.
Indented“No,” she said, her voice flat. Jacob looked at her. “Believe me,” she warned him, “you don’t want to.” If the threat of violence wasn’t suddenly hovering above them all, the two would have looked ridiculous, a stick of a woman restraining a giant. She patted her husband’s thick arm and clucked at his confusion. “Best we do as the Father says.”
IndentedThey filed out, shooting looks of curiosity and apprehension at their seated guest (whereas Mara looked quite pleased with herself). He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them a bald, lean man draped in silver robes sat across from him at the head of the table.
IndentedDasgreil. High Priest of the Church of the Red God. Called Veratos in the Old Tongue which loosely translated as “seeker of truth.” And arguably the most powerful sorcerer in all of Terraria.
IndentedThe holy man spoke Adam’s name, brown eyes crinkling with amusement at the visible shock the word elicited. Yes, his eyes seemed to say, I know you. There is no place you can hide from me. “I would have thought you long gone by now,” he said aloud. His voice was cultured and crisp with no trace of an accent.
Indented“Freezing rain changed my mind.”
Indented“I thought nothing could stop you.” The sorcerer lifted Jacob’s cup and drank deeply. His throat was exposed as he swallowed and Adam nearly acted. But then he caught sight of the armour beneath the robes untouched by rain and stopped cold. Metal the colour of dusk, fringed with rose highlights. Shadow armour.
IndentedDasgreil lowered the pewter cup and smiled. Black juice trickled down his chin and he wiped it away.
IndentedHe said: “I, too, have murdered gods.”
IndentedAdam breathed deep to fight off sudden dizziness. And then again. He had made a terrible mistake. Previous calculations were suddenly useless. He fumbled for the next move and came up with nothing.
IndentedDasgreil continued speaking: “You see, to stand before the Eye and the Worm is a blessing. To witness their fall is nothing short of divine. Because even though they are facets of the one true God they are bound like us and so must fall.” His face was a mass of angles and chiseled planes. “Everything has an end, living or otherwise.”
IndentedAdam recognized the phrase. “Stay out of my head,” he said with a calm he did not feel.
Indented“No need to read your thoughts.” The man who commanded the hearts of every religious person in the land leaned forward, suddenly intense. “You shared those same words with me once. A long time ago.” He gave a knowing smile. “Memory isn’t what it used to be, is it?”
Indented“Fuck you.” Tantamount to an admission of failure, and it rankled. He looked out the window and then back. “How did you find me?” he asked finally.
Indented“Where else would you be?” A meaningless response and still it was the truth.
IndentedTruth. He frowned. Maybe there was a way out after all.
IndentedDasgreil misread the silence. “There was no other outcome. It had to end. The Empress cannot afford instability now when the goblins are raiding in numbers greater than ever before. Imagine a war on two fronts: the savages across the sea and malcontent subjects across the continent.”
IndentedVincent had said as much last week. He considered incorporating the goblins into the design. The mechanism thus far had withstood smaller loads. Mercenaries. Armies. Even the son of an Imperator. But could he harness the power of an entire nation? Somehow, he thought Vincent would disapprove; he smoothed away a grin. “So she sent you.” A tentative thrust, checking for weakness. “Like a dog.”
IndentedDasgreil parried. “Do not test me,” he said, amused. “You haven’t the intelligence.”
Indented“Oh, I seriously doubt that.” Adam shifted in his seat, altering his center of gravity in a slight forward lean. The wind howled and the torchlight guttered, sending the room into brief darkness. Another minor adjustment, this time to his right hand. “But like you said, it had to end.”
Indented“So you’ll come quietly?”
IndentedA shrug. “Never been one to make a big scene.”
IndentedDasgreil clapped his hands. “Excellent.” But he sounded unsure. He sensed the trap, even if its exact content was unknown. “Excellent,” he repeated.
Indented“Quite.” And then as if he’d only just remembered Adam asked, “But you’ll want to talk to the old man, right?”
Indented“Pardon?”
Indented“The dungeon’s keeper.”
IndentedSilence, and then: “I see.”
Indented“Actually, no, you don’t, but you will.” He tsked. “Only one problem. Minor really.”
IndentedDasgreil’s smile was fading. “Explain."
Indented“I killed the god of bones.” And then Adam snapped his right arm out and let fly the knife.
IndentedShadow armour’s inhuman speed allowed the sorcerer to dodge the blade with a twist of his head. His eyes had hardened to nails.
Indented“I didn’t miss,” Adam said, and the other man spun around.
IndentedHe kicked his chair back, simultaneously whipping his heaped plate at the exposed skull while leaping backwards out of the room. Not waiting to see if the blow had connected, he started running down the hallway towards the cramped foyer, where Jacob and his family turned at his approach. In Jacob’s hands was the sword.
IndentedAdam stepped spider-quick, one arm extended as if in an embrace—
Indented—and punched the large man in the throat. He followed with a knee to the groin and another savage punch and took back his sword. Jacob fell to the floor and didn’t move. Mara screamed. Ignoring her, he weighed the children. It would have to be the girl: innocence and youth and vulnerability.
IndentedOne of the boys saw this and shouted.

** ** **

IndentedBack in the dining room, the sorcerer had recovered from the feint. He uttered a phrase and the world erupted into chaos.

** ** **

Indented
IndentedBlinding light filled the hallway in a solid wave, and on its heels, agony.
IndentedAdam was thrown into the boy who’d shouted and they fell to the floor in a heap.
IndentedHe grabbed the hand shoved into his face. Bent the fingers back until they snapped.
IndentedThe boy’s howl was lost in the golden tempest.

** ** **

IndentedAnother string of unintelligible words was barked into existence, and the walls of the house bowed and then cracked under the violence.

** ** **

IndentedSplinters and spears of wood whistled through the air. Mara was impaled to the door, a mother’s horror stretching her thin face.
IndentedAdam was on his feet in an instant. He grabbed the girl and maneuvered himself into a corner. When her brothers moved close he drew his blade with one hand, laid the dark metal across her throat. The boys stopped—
Indented—and then they exploded into shards of light.
IndentedThrough their smoldering remains walked Dasgreil. His silver robes were on fire but the heat did not touch him, for in his eyes was the fury of the sun. He spoke Adam’s name, and it was a name filled with the promise of an eternity of suffering.
Indented“Do you know what you’ve done?”
Indented“I killed the old man.” The girl struggled in his arm but he shook her, hard. “Seems we’re not the same after all.”
IndentedThe house groaned under the tidal stresses of sorcerery. Dasgreil stared. “You stupid man,” he breathed, disbelieving, “If the god of bones falls, the world falls with him.”
Indented“Exactly.” Dasgreil reeled as if struck. “It's you who doesn't understand,” Adam snarled. “This is not a game. I will bring this entire fucking world crashing down if that’s what it takes.”
IndentedThe sorcerer said: “You will never leave Terraria.” But then he noticed the sword in the other man’s hands and for a moment the brilliance that raged around them grew dim.
Indented“Muramasa,” he said, face twisting with understanding. Mage-killer. “You mustn’t. You cannot.” He stepped back, and the light retreated.
Indented“I will never stop.” And then Adam slit the girl’s throat.
IndentedShe choked. She tried to push the blade away and cut her fingers to the bone instead. Her mouth widened and so did the second pair of lips on her neck. Blood flowed down the skin and onto the blade.
IndentedThe sword drank the liquid and grew darker.
IndentedDasgreil spun, fleeing deeper into the house, his sorcerous light dissipating.
IndentedAdam let go of the girl’s body. He followed the holy man.

** ** **

IndentedSunlight reflecting off of muddied snow. The land beaten into submission.
IndentedThe dungeon’s door swinging open to reveal a black maw—
Indented—and a tall white shape peeling away from the darkness to step out into the light.
IndentedA legion trickled out from the dungeon’s innards, skeletons and hooded figures and flaming wheels that roared at the sky and set the air itself on fire.
IndentedAn unending procession of the dungeon’s secrets made known after an eternity, bringing with them the end of the world.

Return to ToC

Indented

Chapter Two

Return to ToC

IndentedThe students staggered around in a circle, shouting praises and singing hymns up at the full moon. One young man raised a square of paper and snorted deep. The square was passed until all the white powder was gone, and then another was pulled out and unwrapped with the respect of worshippers before an altar. Bright eyes, bright stars. The night sky fell around them like a shroud.
IndentedAs close to the campfire as she dared for warmth, Anya clapped her hands in encouragement. The others yelled back, and increased their feverish movement. For non-believers, they had the intensity of the faithful. The pixie dust has more to do with that than anything, she thought, shaking her head ruefully. It was the same on all the expeditions she led. This final stop in fringes of the Badlands, explaining the rituals that had taken place here since time immemorial (“before the Empress sat the Rosewood Throne,” she always remarked, and watched as the more gullible of the clients raised brows appreciatively) and the slow reveal of the packet of dust. Authentic ancient herbs, she would say. Meant to lift the soul to join with the Red God’s up in the sky (or down below them in the earth, or in a running stream; she was at her best when she improvised).
IndentedAnd always the same result: clothes discarded, wondering faces, a cacophony of words approximating bits and pieces remembered from weekly sermons at a local church. And these were supposed to be top students from Lodicus University. So much for that.
IndentedAt her side, Landon shifted. “Idiots,” he muttered. “Just look at them.” He tossed another log onto the fire.
Indented“That’s the beauty of it.” Anya leaned over to peck his cheek. “Also, they want this.”
Indented“Only because you tell them they should.”
Indented“Well, yes, that’s the whole point.” She pulled away from him slightly. “Smile. Someone’s always watching, remember?”
Indented“Let them watch.” He leaned close. “I want you.”
Indented“Now?”
Indented“Yes.” He waved at the naked clients. “Let our love be an offering to God. Or some such bullshit.” His smile was greedy.
IndentedAnya paused. There was a time when she would’ve agreed immediately—and why not? He was good looking. But that’s where she always stopped now: she couldn’t be bothered to look beyond the winning smile and dancing green eyes. Once it had pained her to admit it, but now there was no hesitation: a pretty face isn’t everything. And he’s not that good of a fuck, either. It was like waking up in the morning and looking around the room, knowing something was missing; a knowledge puzzling in its certainty because at first glance everything seemed to be in order. (“Something’s changed between us,” he had said, “I’m sure of it. Last night was the best we’d ever had.” Landon reaching across the rumpled bed sheets to place both hands on her shoulders, gazing at her with a need so desperate that all she could do was nod mutely, so startled by his clumsy plea of I love you and realizing for the first time she felt no desire to speak those words to him.)
IndentedStill, she’d said so herself: someone was always watching. Even if they happened to be a bunch of glassy-eyed academics. And the thought of doing it not just out in the open but in a place as forsaken as the Badlands was kind of kinky. She gave a slow nod.
IndentedHe was already pulling at his pants. “Good. You’ll be singing, too, when I—” he fell silent, and then, frowning, asked, “Where did he come from?”
IndentedAnya turned and saw an old man approaching. He greeted them with a wave. After a moment’s hesitation, they returned it.
Indented“Mind if I join you?” he asked. He glanced at Landon’s lowered pants and a corner of his lips turned up. “For the fire, that is.” Amusement in the lines around his eyes; no harm done, they seemed to say.
IndentedAnya nodded, slightly taken aback by the bloodshot eyes. As the old man lowered himself to the ground, tucking his tattered rags around him with the sort of care reserved for cloth-of-gold, she glanced at Landon and saw him arch a brow.
Indented“You alright?” he asked the old man, fully dressed now.
Indented“Never better.” A wan smile. “I just need to rest for a bit.”
IndentedLandon blinked. “I see,” he managed, and mouthed at Anya: senile.
IndentedAnya ignored him. “What’re you doing out here all alone?”
Indented“I am not alone.”
Indented“Of course,” muttered Landon, “He’s crazy.” He grunted when Anya elbowed him in the side.
IndentedShe tried again. “It’s not safe out here at night.”
Indented“Agreed.” He fell quiet, the lines of his face deepening into grooves. The student’s drug-induced revelry filled the silence: hoots and slurred song and the offbeat rhythm of feet stamping snow-crusted earth. Just when she’d begun to think he had fallen asleep he spoke: “I'm looking for someone.”
IndentedNow we’re getting somewhere. “What for?”
Indented“He stole from me.”
Indented“You’re chasing a thief?” Landon asked, incredulous.
Indented“Among other things.”
IndentedCurious, Anya asked what had been taken.
Indented“A sword.”
IndentedShe froze, remembering.
Indented“Blue eyed, tall fellow. All serious looking?” Landon said quietly.
IndentedThe old man looked at him. “Where is he now?”
Indented“No clue.”
Indented“Was the sword moving?”
IndentedLandon threw up his hands. “Okay, you’ve lost me.”
Indented“Humour an old man, if you will.” He laughed; but there was sadness in the sound.
IndentedAnya thought back. There had been a moment, hadn’t there, after the initial scare at turning and seeing the stranger behind them, when she had known there was something not quite right? Although the feeling quickly faded as they tried to answer his sudden slew of questions. Where did you come from? Where are you going? How far is it until El Matar? Has there been news of Dasgreil? And still more questions, all voiced in a smooth, sure voice; the hypnotic gaze that saw her, saw who she really was; and a thrill of excitement as a fantasy took her: to lie down in the snow and kiss this man; to hold and be held by someone other than Landon. Someone outside of the grinding, repetitive work of the touring business she’d entered into what felt a thousand years ago.
IndentedFlustered, she looked down and saw in his hand a sword the colour of night.
Indented(And it had moved. She was sure of it. A slight rippling, like metal seen through the haze of furnace heat. The image hardened, clarified, refusing to be tucked away at the back of her mind again, as if it were the result of having accidentally inhaled pixie dust.)
IndentedShe looked at the old man. He must have seen the truth in her face because he nodded his thanks and slowly stood.
Indented“Look. It’s none of our business, but that guy looked like he could take care of himself.” Anya got up, Landon following. “Forget the sword,” she urged. “He didn’t look like the sort to play around.”
Indented“But he is. He just doesn't know it's him being played, like all the others before him.” Weariness pulled at his face; he had set himself to a task he did not much enjoy. “It will end the way it always has. The Dreamer cannot be allowed to wake up.”
IndentedLandon, loud and exasperated: “What in the Red God’s name are you talking about?”
Indented“There are no gods. Only Dreamers. And we are nothing more than tools in their hands.” He closed his eyes, lips moving silently in a conversation neither of them were privy too—
Indented—then he opened his eyes. “I am sorry I couldn't save you.”
IndentedAnya smiled to mask her unease. “Landon’s not so bad,” she joked. A gentle punch on his shoulder to complete the facsimile.
Indented“Oh, lay off it,” groaned Landon before turning to shout at the others. When that didn’t work he yelled at them to get dressed. They were leaving.
Indented“It’s not morning yet,” she reminded him, but that wasn’t true: the night was brightening around them.
IndentedShe turned around, looked up, saw the rising sun break free of clouds—
Indented(but it only just got dark; and then, following abruptly, she thought, this is not the life I wanted; she was filled with a regret so deep she almost wept)
Indented—and then the sun began to fall.
Indented At her back came the old man’s voice: “I cannot save everyone. If I intervene and spare your lives, all that would accomplish is another group of people dead in your place. Maybe another town this time. The horde will not stop killing until I find Muramasa and restore it to the dungeon." Pause. "A paradox: in order for life to continue, I must allow you all to die.”
IndentedThe sun split in half, and then once more; endless divisions until the sky was a sheet of flame descending to silence Anya’s screams.

IndentedShe was slammed into the snow but couldn’t feel the cold. There was just the fire. On her clothes, her skin; in her lungs and mind. The simple act of rolling onto her side took years, and she blacked out halfway; when she woke, the world was still burning, and running in the flames were a legion of skeletons.
IndentedOne slowed and peered down at her. Its ribs were coated in sizzling chunks of fat and hanging meat. She closed her eyes. When she opened them it was gone.
IndentedBut she was not alone. Bare feet crossed in front of her before stopping. She rolled her eyes up and saw the old man—and stared.
IndentedHe was wreathed in flame; a living candle. And where there should have been hissing blood and charred flesh only steel remained.

** ** **

IndentedThe sounds of the city waking up dragged him out of sleep, although it was the damned seagulls that did him in. Screeches like broken glass dragged across a chalkboard. (There was another noise nearby, of metal clanking, which after more than a month now seemed so commonplace.) He opened his eyes to the shadows of his room, debating the sense in getting up when lying in bed, lumpy though it might be, was infinitely preferable to another wasted day. Slight irritation; at his momentary weakness, and at the realization that it was justified. Biting back a grunt he got out of bed. His body protested even the slightest of movements; he noted the complaints and promptly forgot them—except for the slight twinge in his right arm. Apparently, last night’s sword exercises had been performed more out of frustration than calm.
IndentedWith the cries of seagulls far-off, and the muffled movement of The Unjust Queen’s tenants through the walls, Adam stretched. He was naked except for the darkness against his skin. Measured breaths. Sharp exhalations. The monotony of the day’s agenda set aside as weakness was located and purged until he had only the almost sweet soreness of muscles when finished.
IndentedHe made his way around the bed to the shuttered windows by memory and threw them open.
IndentedA magician’s trick: El Matar hidden by fog except for patches where the rising sun burned through, offering glimpses of the Cold Iron district’s tightly packed buildings across the street. Tall and smooth-faced; man-made mountains. Down below on black and white cobblestone, figures moving at a brisk pace, like ant-sized soldiers off to do battle in the banks and Guildhall, the docks and market. (Or it could very well be these buyers and traders hadn’t slept at all, and had been about their business of breeding coins since last night. Perhaps for these prospectors, rest was too precious a commodity to be freely indulged.) Out of the fog stretched black cables, past balconies and brightly painted brick, as if El Matar were a spider’s web writ large. (One such thread was embedded to the left of the window. During his first night at the inn, he had reached out to take hold of it and frowned at the vibrations. A starless sky above, the boisterous, almost defiant, racket of people below. And in full dark, the cables like scars of a wounded reality.) Cupping it all in a grey hand, though he couldn’t see it now, the Oradano Ocean. He could smell the salt spray.
IndentedRustling from behind. He turned, leaning on the windowsill.
IndentedBy the foot of the door a cloth-and-chain bundle squirmed. It strained against the constraints, forming a parabola before straightening out into a sword. More violent contortions, as if Muramasa chafed under his gaze; metal bending without the aid of forge and hammer, obeying laws foreign to reason.
IndentedFeed me, it said.
IndentedThe command came as a slurry of hatred and hunger sliding in his thoughts, and he shook his head, hard, to clear the compulsion. For a moment there, he’d wanted nothing more than to free the sword and descend to the first floor of the inn where he could slaughter anyone he laid eyes on. He’d even drawn closer to it without realizing.
IndentedThat Muramasa would need a constant supply of blood he hadn’t expected. An unfortunate, nearly fatal side-effect learned firsthand during his travel to the city down from the Badlands when it slipped its sheath and tried to skewer him. From that point on he’d begun each day by killing a snow fox or rabbit, a sacrifice meant to appease. But it wasn’t satiated; it craved human blood.
IndentedOf course, that wasn’t possible. He suspected once he gave in or was forced to use the sword once more, whichever came first, he would have more luck moving mountains than sheathing it again. Besides, it could project into his thoughts all it wanted, he would be daft to unleash the weapon here in a city home to the Agraiman assassins. (Adam thought then of Faedra and her rare smiles and, with less enthusiasm, Vincent; wondered what they would be doing now in Janramak. It was possible they were executing the plan without him. Also, just as likely, they might have begun to question his commitment.)
IndentedHe padded over to the warped sword, so much like a rabid animal. Knelt beside it. Bits of blue-black metal poked through the package, glinting.
IndentedAs if suddenly remembering it was supposed to be inanimate, Muramasa stopped moving. It occurred to him that snakes had a similar way of behaving before striking.
IndentedAdam gave a slow count to five—
Indented—and on three, the sword lashed out.
IndentedHe was faster, but only just: he snapped his hand out and clamped down on the bundle. It shook in his grip, chains clanking, eager to carve and rend.
Indented“You,” he said patiently, “are almost more trouble than you’re worth.”
IndentedHe crouched there until he’d begun to feel a bit foolish, then tossed the bundle back down. The sword arched before slowing to a standstill.
IndentedAdam frowned. Where was the frustrated thrashing? He looked at his hand and saw a dribble of blood where he’d clenched an exposed edge.
Indented“Oh,” he managed; and then, “That’s cheating.” There was no pain, just the slight split in skin. No need for the spurt of anger he felt all of a sudden. Even as he watched, the cut was knitting itself closed until there was only the trickle of red to suggest there’d been an injury.
IndentedAbout to wipe his hand on his pants, he realized he wasn’t wearing any, and so brought hand to mouth, licking away the blood. Turning his back on the sword, he got to his feet and looked around the room for clothes and found them piled atop the table by the open window. (A stupid place to put a table. He’d sat there one afternoon writing letters while somehow trying to ignore the wind swatting the stationery. And the rain sneaking past the shutters. That he could have simply moved the table hadn’t escaped him. Stubbornness kept him there until he’d finished, after which he then decided keeping in touch with the others wasn’t worth going through all that hassle again.) He got dressed, fetched the second, properly lifeless sword on the floor by the bed—always in easy reach if he woke in the dark and in danger—buckled it on his left hip and left the room, locking door and pocketing key. There was no one waiting by the lift, so he was alone as he stepped inside, the enameled double doors sliding shut.
Indented“First floor,” he said. A brief hesitation, as if the wooden cage was debating whether or not to comply, and then he was moving.
IndentedOn the way down he considered the problem of dependencies. Such as the innkeeper’s dependency on the continued patronage of El Matar’s wealthiest, even as those Cold Iron residents frequented The Unjust Queen in smaller and smaller numbers. And the further case of the lift’s reliance upon the thaumaturgy that powered it. Except now the innkeeper’s gimmick, a pseudo-automated elevator, had cost him a dear chunk of what profit the inn generated, so that the fruits of his labour went not into his own pockets but that of the sorcerer who arrived each day in the basement, Aqua Scepter in hand, and who ran the series of gears and pulleys and chains manipulating the water that raised or lowered the patrons paying ridiculous prices for the brief ride. A destructive relationship which would see the owner bankrupt in a few more years and left with no choice but to abandon his livelihood. Broaden the scope to include filial ties, wherein children follow parents who in their old age then turn to their offspring, their legacies, for help. Wider. A king and his people, an Empress and her nation: obedience rewarded with safety; rebellion, with annihilation.
IndentedAnd, finally, him and the Red God; fallen acolyte and former master. A dependency that became domination, love and hate blurring into the other, bringing the moment of his deviation and the subsequent punishment. Expulsion from the dream and the years spent searching for a way back, so as to return in kind the agony he had endured (until he hadn’t been able to endure any longer, and the screams that the god’s flayed fingers had ripped from his throat had been a long piercing note in an ode to suffering). Dependency: everything that happened, the lives lost and those still to die, all of it hinging on the fulcrum of the faceless god torturing a man who decided to believe no more. The effrontery of the task balanced with a need to return home, even if he had no idea where it was or who he had been before. How many nights had he woken up in a cold sweat and looked at the walls of his surroundings, or the ceiling of the star-strewn sky, and hated them for substituting what he’d forgotten? For what had been taken from him? There were other worlds than these. Places where gods had no more authority than what was allowed by their followers.
Indented(A chill passed over him as he remembered the faceless god striding towards him in the distance, a blood-soaked vision crossing the sands as the sun fell into the ocean, knowing with a singular terror that was almost sensuous in the way that it slowly brought him to his knees that there could be no escape.)
IndentedWhen the lift came to a stop he walked out into the common room where Bartholomew the innkeep saw him and barked at another man sitting at a table by one of the windows. The man, wearing a satchel with the strap across his chest and a blue cap atop his head, got up and approached. Stitched onto a purple square on his shirt with yellow thread were the words Divine Deliverance.
Indented“Adam Nalicai?” he asked. Before waiting for an answer he reached into the satchel and brought out two envelopes. “These are for you.”
IndentedHe took the envelopes and turned one over, hesitating when he saw who had written him. When he opened the letter enclosed the page was blank. He ran the paper’s edge across his thumb and there was a flare of pain followed by blood. The seal broken, words filled the page.

IndentedVincent Ariston to Adam Nalicai, greetings.

IndentedYou are becoming a nuisance.
IndentedBefore heading off to our assigned tasks we agreed to reconvene in Janramak. That was a month ago. Now you write to us from El Matar.
IndentedI have a map at hand, one of Gabidon's latest gifts. Quite exquisite, if a bit unorthodox; the material is antlion skin beaten soft and stretched to transparency. It shows the entire known civilized world. It also shows that El Matar is nowhere near Janramak. As such, if you leave now, it will take the better part of two weeks to arrive here. Considerably less if you manage to hire a coach. While I shouldn't have to say this, it's always better to be explicit when you're involved: do nothing to raise suspicion on your way back here.
IndentedLet me be clear. I neither know, nor care to know, what prompted your detour on route from the dungeon to the capital. Whatever your business in El Matar, end it. Nothing is as important as waking the Dreamer.
IndentedOnto business. No news regarding the Great-sword or Blade of Grass. As for Bane, the Empress has it.
IndentedHow or why the dryad should come to have it, I don't know. One possibility suggests she, like us, is a disciple. There is, however, one flaw which makes further speculation moot: the tension between herself and Dasgreil. It makes no sense for her to be at odds with the head of the Church of the Red God, with the Dreamer who made us.
IndentedA final note, something to consider. Janramak is slowly being overrun by a steady stream of refugees from the northern territories. I have heard talk of the refugees claiming they were driven out by skeletons and flaming wheels. Ridiculous, of course; these country folk are just as susceptible to mob hysteria as anyone else. Or so I thought, until I recalled the dungeon you visited was in the north. I can't help but feel there is a connection—even though there should be none. Especially since all you were supposed to do was talk with the old man. In fact, I specifically—and repeatedly—told you not to do anything that might offend him.
IndentedAs ever, you remain a stubborn man.

IndentedHad he not known better, he could be forgiven for believing Vincent was next in line to sit the throne, so thick was the arrogance in his looping, slanted handwriting. “Becoming a nuisance my ass,” he muttered. The son of a bitch thought too highly of himself.
IndentedFaedra’s letter, on the other hand, was much shorter, bordering on cryptic: two sentences sharp as the stilettos she always carried hidden about her body.

IndentedFaedra Savierani to Adam Nalicai, greetings.

IndentedThe disciples of god are not gods themselves.
IndentedWe are immortal, not invincible.

IndentedA hand stretched out in welcome, moving too quickly for the uninitiated to notice the blade pressed against palm. That she was threatening him there could be no doubt. Knowing her, she’d make good on the threat, too. He grinned.
Indented“Thanks,” he said looking up but the postman had already left. Folding the letters away into a pocket he nodded at Bartholomew’s glum face and walked out of The Unjust Queen.
IndentedThe fog was on him immediately, thick and clammy like a drunken uncle’s unwanted embrace. Breathing deep drew in watered down, familiar smells: old stone and salt spray; spiced cakes and ambition. People passed on either side while he walked, appearing suddenly through the grey veil and disappearing as if the city were populated by ghosts. There would be disorder in the streets until the fog lifted; he could hear muffled sounds of polite arguments and, where genteel restraint gave way, pitched battles of shouts and scorn. (Over in the lower districts and further still in the Ashfall slums, the day had started with bruised knuckles and ended with blood. Then again, observers from the wealthier parts of El Matar would comment, how much more different was this low-brow violence than any other day? Not realizing that as spectators to violence they were not unlike its participants.)
IndentedHe turned down a street and collided with a woman in long, pale blue dress with nose inches away from a section of creased parchment. She looked up, startled.
Indented“I think I’m lost.” Panic in those widening eyes. “Do you know where Guild headquarters are?”
IndentedHe pointed behind her. “Outskirts of the city, off of where the Imperial road ends. Or begins, depending on which way you’re going.”
IndentedShe stared at him. “What?”
Indented“Exactly.” He let his hand fall. “That a map?”
Indented“This?” She lifted it as she would a hateful thing. “I suppose it is.” She tore it into strips, then into pieces (not without a certain amount of relish, he noted). “I swear, the streets change when I’m not looking,” she said, exasperated. Then she thanked him and was gone.
IndentedHe had been like her his first week here, vaguely stunned at the often recursive cityscape; and like her, he had decided to buy a map. To his annoyance he realized soon enough how inaccurate and hopelessly worthless it was. A gathering of blotches, supposedly a cluster of buildings, turned out instead to be a vacant lot. And the map insisted there were no banks in the upper district, defying reality in the cramped, tiny scrawl that stated the Fisherman’s Club occupied that block. Or when he decided, against his better judgement, seeing as how the map had been wrong in everything else, to visit a large park only to find himself standing on the docks looking out onto the ocean. “This is a magical place,” the map-maker had told him sagely, handing over the tightly rolled sheet; and later, when pressed to explain what the hell that meant, added, “No refunds.”
IndentedSo he had decided to create his own map, an imposition of mind upon surrounding landscape: dividing into grids what moments before was a stone accretion; walking a section each morning, the shipbuilder’s quarters one day, the apothecary complexes the next; collating physical information until he could close his eyes and see an unfolding of lines running parallel and crossing, rising and then falling as straight edges turned into curves. Reducing the world to imaginary markings.
IndentedStopping for a breakfast of seared shark-steak and sweet butter-bread, he stepped back out onto the street—and stumbled as someone ran into him.
IndentedHe looked around but the man was already out of reach. Shouting after him only got him the middle finger in response.
IndentedIt was a short walk from the store down some more streets before the jewelry shop’s stained glass windows came into sight. He pulled the door open and entered.
Indented“You’re late,” the merchant said, with a faint air of barely restrained disapproval. “Again.” A gold coin walked back and forth across his knuckles. He tossed it into the air before folding a hand around it (all without looking, of course; his eyes, grey and sharp as fish-hooks, were fixed on Adam).
Indented“This might surprise you, Cormac, but some people actually like sleeping.” He shrugged out of his coat and hung it off a peg on the back of the door. Then he looked the other man full in the face. “It does wonders for the body.”
Indented“So I’ve heard. Don’t bother sitting down,” said Cormac, getting to his feet. “We’re heading out.”
Indented“Oh.” He tried not to look out the coloured windows at the fog. “Don’t you have something that needs doing inside?” He flapped a hand at the gems on display. “Go count some sapphires or something. That always seems to cheer you up.”
IndentedInexplicably, Cormac did smile. “I am going to a meeting,” he said slowly, as if speaking to an imbecile, “which means you are coming with me. Today, you work.”
Indented“Have them come here.” A last ditch attempt which, as it turned out, wasn’t even worth the effort: the merchant was already walking past him, pulling on coat and leather cap. Then he was out the door and there was nothing else to do but bite back a curse and follow.
Indented“You didn’t mention this yesterday,” he pointed out, closing the gap.
IndentedCormac snorted. “I don’t have to tell you everything.”
Indented“Your prerogative, I get it. But I can’t do my job if I don’t know what’s going on.”
Indented“What is going on,” he said, stopping abruptly and turning with lips thinned, “is that certain people have gotten the rather silly idea in their heads that important decisions can be made without my approval.”
IndentedHe understood now. “You weren’t invited to this meeting.”
Indented“No.” He looked away, annoyed.
IndentedA mock bow. “My condolences.”
Indented“What I want from you is obedience, not sympathy.” He made to walk off—
Indented—but Adam held him back.
Indented“It seems to me,” he said after a moment, “that you still don’t understand the arrangement between us.”
IndentedCormac bristled. “I don’t have time for this.”
Indented“Then make some. Or don’t. I don’t particularly care.” He released the sleeve. “Just don’t make the mistake of thinking yourself my superior.”
Indented“I sometimes question the point of keeping you around.”
Indented“That’s funny,” said Adam. “I feel the same way about you.”
IndentedCormac was silent. “If I thought you were playing me,” he said finally, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
IndentedHe laughed at the threat, the melodrama behind it. “I’ve died before. It’s not a big deal.”
IndentedA flicker of fear in the merchant’s eyes, gone as quickly as it had come. “You’re using that pixie dust, aren’t you?” he accused, a bit too loudly. “Why am I not surprised.” An evasion to recover his ground.
IndentedHe didn’t give him the chance. “Back when I used to dream—back when, like you, I thought myself better than my superior—the Red God would disassemble me in the same way an engineer takes apart a faulty machine. I died and was remade so many times that I didn’t know what those words meant anymore. Of course, that was the point. Or one of them, anyways. A lesson on how treacherous the parts which make up our bodies are. Flesh, blood, bone. Nothing more than elaborate lies masking the mind’s truths. Here, let me show you,” and he marshalled his will; he looked at the other man’s face, and then into his face, past the ruddy appearance to where muscles flexed, animating the confused expression; he saw the steady pulse of veins beneath skin; he saw the truth.
IndentedHe spoke: “You’re playing the cost-benefit analysis, wondering if it might not have been better to turn me over when those Agraiman assassins approached you asking after me. You’re surprised; you weren’t aware I knew. The point is I know now.” A pause here as Cormac’s thoughts, like an animal’s frantic thrashing, beat against the inside of his skull. He tracked the echoing struggles until he knew their shape and genesis. “This meeting will be held—no, you can’t hide from me, don’t you get it? The meeting will be held less than an hour from now at a building marked for demolition. You find the setting ridiculous, indulgent even, like they’re children playing at spies. Full of yourself, aren’t you? You remind me of someone I know. Except Vincent would look down on you the same way he does everyone else, even if the bastard doesn’t admit it: you are irrelevant.” He was losing control and stopped, realizing he’d backed the other man into an alley and had him cornered. Still, there was enough light here to see the face, and that was all that mattered. The link would stay open. He honed his intent, saying: “The councillor will be there. Who’s the councillor?” He delved deeper. “He’s from the south, but you don’t know where. A newcomer. Influential.” Surprise; then confusion. “You’re scared of him.”
Indented“Enough.” Cormac closed his eyes.
Indented Adam severed the connection, gratefully pulling back into himself, the sense of dual, conflicting identities ebbing. (How Vincent claimed he could do this for hours beggared the mind; to almost lose yourself to another person in ways love never could.)
Indented“What just happened?” Cormac sounded shaken, but even so, his composure was commendable: already he was standing straighter, the calculating look returning to his eyes, as if he would find a way to turn such a trick to his advantage. “You never told me you were a thaumaturge.”
Indented“I’m not.”
Indented“Don’t lie to me.” He took off his cap, running a hand through white hair. “Fine. What do you want? A raise?”
Indented“You don’t pay me.”
Indented“Then what?”
Indented“Passage across the ocean.”
Indented“What for?”
Indented“To meet the raiders.”
IndentedA beat of nothing. “And what makes you think,” said the merchant slowly, “I could ever arrange something like that?”
Indented“There are a lot of things you can do.”
Indented“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Indented“No? Then let me explain.” Adam looked down, considering his reply, before meeting the merchant’s wariness. “I am tired of this city and I am tired of you. No, listen—listen to me. It took a while when I first got here, but once I realized who you were it made sense to fit you into the plan. The problem was getting your attention. The answer, of course, was money, although owning it wasn’t the point. The point was to show I knew how to get a large amount as quickly as possible. To make a man with your wealth and influence stop and consider the usefulness of an individual able to correctly predict and win at the gambling houses. At the stock markets. At the fighting pits. I made myself so remarkable you believed it unforgivable to allow someone else to snatch me up. And that’s where the difficulty started.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Instead of acting like a good little cog, you’ve done nothing but fuck up my designs with your Guild power plays and secrecy. I couldn’t just take from you what I wanted, because I wasn’t sure you knew a way to the raiders. Forcing the issue would bring the Agraimans down on me and maybe the Empress, and I’m not ready to deal with her just yet. So I’ve had to finesse you. It almost got to the point I was beginning to regret having involved you at all.
Indented“Until now, when I looked inside you. Thinking about the councillor drew several associations, foremost being the raiders. You’re worried he’s going to find out you’ve figured out a way across the ocean to the goblins. Actually, that was a guess. Your twitching just now confirmed it.
Indented“This is what we are going to do. We go to the meeting and I do my bit. Afterwards, you take me to the raiders. If you don’t, if you think you can brush me aside or try to run, I swear, Cormac, I will do such things to you—” he checked himself, breathing once, twice.
IndentedThen he smiled. A stark reminder that it was no more than the peeling back of lips to reveal bared teeth.

IndentedThey crossed a bronze bridge wrought in the curves of the extinct wyvern, while below them coursed waters separating El Matar into its many districts; the silvered surface was so reminiscent of lightning that it was possible to believe it came down not from the sky but surged up from wet earth in shimmering silver streams. On the other bank, the wyvern’s snarling mouth seemed to protest the grime masking it like a second face. That life was cruel indeed if such a feral beauty could be left to rust on a bed of ash so thick that the grass beneath grew and died in darkness. The contrast, while startling, was standard El Mataran cheek and excessiveness: a mastery of thaumaturgic-metallurgy diminished to little more than a marker announcing the awful stench of Ashfall and its residents. (A moment of amused clarity as newcomers realized the currents were natural barricades for enclosing the sprawling slums in the same way plague victims were quarantined.) Soot-stained factories belched a permanent haze of coal into windowless buildings rising like tumors. Torch-topped poles jutted from street and trash and roof like small, smudged suns. People here did not walk, they trudged.
IndentedHe followed Cormac into a building which leaned on another for support, up stairs that fossilized their passing, so thick was the coating of dust over years of abandonment. On this level were rooms with missing doors, each one dark and quiet as they walked past. Except for the room at the end of the hallway, where light and voices spilled out. When they entered, people stopped what they’d been doing to look—and then stare. Their expressions were universal in meaning: oh shit.
Indented“Cormac?” a woman asked, voice unsteady. “What are you doing here?” She took a long swallow from a fluted glass of blue liquid before setting it down hurriedly on a side-table where it shattered. She winced. Then, as if struck by inspiration, busied herself with inspecting the shards as if they were exquisite jewels suddenly requiring her utmost scrutiny.
Indented“Usually, between friends, it starts off more like, ‘what a pleasant surprise.’” He walked past her, briefly resting a hand on the nape of her neck. “Between friends, of course.” She gave the slightest of shudders at his touch but made no other move.
IndentedAnother man chimed in: “I know what this looks like, but isn’t what you think it is.”
IndentedCormac rounded on him. “What you know, or think you know, is of little use to me.” The man stumbled before his anger. “If I ever need a worthless opinion,” Cormac went on, “I’ll be sure to ask you. Until then, keep your mouth shut. That goes for the rest of you as well.”
IndentedHe stamped out resistance with hard words and brisk gestures. Adam leaned against the doorframe, looking on with admiration while smog drifted wraith-like past warped windows.
Indented“We were asked to come here,” a portly man explained (and his fervent hand-wringing made Adam grin), “you have to understand that. We’d never go behind your back.”
Indented“What would you call this then?” Cormac’s raised hand cut off the blubbering reply. “Don’t waste my time.”
IndentedAdam looked up at the sagging ceiling where holes like open sores marred the wood. There was a flapping noise coming from above. Some bird stuck on the next floor. He dropped his gaze back to the fray.
Indented“You don’t own us, Cormac.” This from a furiously blushing woman clutching at her shawl for reassurance.
IndentedHe laughed. “Go on.”
Indented“We have every right to meet with who we want.”
Indented“That is debatable.”
Indented“You can’t stop us.”
IndentedHe stopped laughing. “Yes, I can.”
Indented“We’re just as much a part of the Guild as you.”
IndentedHead cocked. “Am I to understand then that you’re all here in your capacity as full members?”
IndentedA long pause while they tried to decipher the too-sweet lilt of his question. “Yes?” they answered, the word polysyllabic in their uncertainty, as if it could be taken back at the last instant if they changed their mind.
Indented “Fine. Let me remind you—all of you—of how this works.” He raked them with pale eyes. “You all belong to the Guild. Therefore, you all belong to me.”
IndentedThe trapped bird was getting louder. Adam frowned. None of the others seemed to notice. It could be they were too rattled by Cormac; if possible, they would’ve fled if not for the knowledge the man would follow. That was the entire point of this little act: to teach them the meaning of fear. He thought about the Guild. Centuries old, it couldn’t have lasted so long without keeping its various short-lived parts in check. There were acceptable margins for error when it came to business, yes, but wilful error, such as the thought of striking out independently, was intolerable. Blasphemous even, where the Guild’s deity was burnished coin and not the Red God—although no one would admit to that, of course. Discretion in all matters. Even when ruthlessly plucking from garden all offending weeds.
IndentedThe only one missing in this drama was the councillor. There had been genuine terror in Cormac’s mind earlier. Although judging from his relaxed stance, the other man wasn’t present. Inevitable query: where was he?
IndentedAt that moment, Adam realized two things: the sound of flapping wings had stopped; and there was someone standing behind him.
IndentedHe whirled around, sword-hand reaching for hilt—
Indented—and an iron vise clamped down on his wrist.
Indented“There will be blood.” Looking down on him a tall man in form-fitting blacks and reds. “But not now.” The dark-eyed stranger waited a moment before releasing his grip.
Indented“Who the hell are you?”
Indented“Councillor Hasvatos Encagra.” A cursory nod. “Did I hurt you?”
Indented“I’m fine,” lied Adam; his wrist throbbed at his side. “Just startled. It’s not everyday someone gets the drop on me.”
Indented“You should be more careful.”
Indented“Thanks. I think.” He frowned, taking a closer look at Hasvatos. It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing, but when he did, he had to fight the urge to reach for his sword again.
IndentedThe councillor’s face was all wrong.
IndentedHe was handsome, striking even. Unblemished skin and high cheekbones. A steady, direct gaze. Smile lazily unfurling. But that was where it ended. Behind it all, where Adam should’ve been able to track muscles and the cues they betrayed, there was emptiness. A hollow human; a living lie.
Indented(He thought about the Red God: the featureless face behind which had nonetheless been eyes that saw eternal; the absent mouth which had consumed with equal measure his obedience and love, his fear and hate; the mind that had dreamed a world into existence.)
IndentedHere was a man whose face held secrets he could not read, possessing the strength and speed to stop him drawing.
IndentedHe stepped aside to allow the councillor space and looking inward found something he hadn’t come across in a long time: uncertainty, that close cousin to fear. He examined it, tested its depth and, displeased, discarded the aberration before following the councillor into a room which had gone uncomfortably silent.
IndentedWhere Cormac had been a wolf disciplining a wayward pack, Hasvatos was a king among subjects. His stride was stately as he made his way over to a table at the front of the room and sat on its edge. He offered an explanation for his being late which upon reflection actually explained nothing at all. He made no apologies.
Indented“Sit down,” he said. His smile charmed away all resistance.
IndentedShaking his head, Adam took a seat beside Cormac and, leaning over, whispered, “All that work for nothing.”
IndentedIt was true. The councillor’s presence strengthened the others, confidence creeping back into their voices until they were relaxed once more. They weren’t ignoring Cormac—they’d forgotten about him.
IndentedExcept for Hasvatos. He glanced over at them. It was like watching the sky darken. “Neither of you belongs here,” he remarked, as if surprised they hadn’t left.
IndentedCormac raised his chin. “I could say the same thing about you.”
Indented“I called this meeting.” His hands were pale spiders resting on top of the table; he walked them over to the edge where they crawled into his lap. “I have every reason to be here.” He stopped. “But that’s not what you meant.”
Indented“No, it’s not,” Cormac drawled (but when Adam looked at him, he saw behind the bravado a quickening pulse). “When I found out what these fine men and women were up to, I decided to ask some questions.”
Indented“About?”
Indented“You.”
Indented“I see.” The councillor’s eyes drank the light. “Tell me what you learned.”
Indented“Very little, as it turns out. No one seems to know much about you.”
Indented“I have family all across Terraria.”
Indented“Interesting you should say that,” replied Cormac, leaning forward. “I had a friend of mine check with Imperial records. No member of the Encagra line has ever been registered.”
Indented“I never said my family was worth noticing.”
Indented“The anonymity works in your favour then.”
IndentedA faint smile. “Most things do.”
IndentedCormac laughed; there was irritation in the sound. “Well then.” He repeated himself. “Well then.” His own attempt at a smile was still-born. “I suppose the next stop is the Rosewood Throne? Don’t think the Empress would appreciate that.” Nervous chuckles at the weak joke, like animals catching scent of an impending, violent storm.
IndentedThat was when Hasvatos informed them the Empress was missing.

** ** **

IndentedThe last time she had been seen was when the throne had been hearing petitions. Praetan Juris, a middling lord with some estates in the miles long expanse marking where the north ended and the Badlands began, had asked for a private audience and, when denied, got down on his knees to beg. Northerners, inhabitants of the lands of ice and snow, well known for their stubborn refusal to curl up and die on those frozen fields; yet there had been Praetan weeping in full view of the court.
IndentedHe won his audience in the end, once the day’s requests had come to a close—and was subsequently never seen or heard from again. His retinue still came each day to the Emradine Tower asking after him; the imperial staff’s response remained the same vague but hopeful apology.
IndentedGossip became rumour became full-blown make-believe: he had offended Elaine with his tears; he was financially ruined and seeking help; he was a Devotee of the Dryad come to die in her Garden. Speculation eventually entertained the idea that perhaps it was the news he’d shared with her, and nothing to do with him, which was the reason for his disappearance. Latching onto this theory, the curious had swarmed with eerily unanimous resolve to inquire after, then forcefully interrogate, Praetan’s retinue who, still shaken by his absence, responded first with confusion, then with sternly worded warnings and finally with swords, sending the city into a spiraling political nightmare with those powerful northerners still in Janramak at the time—the Averiss and Raikon families, the Voltarine Consul—clamouring for the heads of the gutless, instigating southerners or, failing that, their not inconsiderable wealth. The insulted parties stated they had no intention of giving recompense, other than to suggest the representatives go back to their frigid hells and continue fucking the polar bears or whatever it was that passed for pleasure there. The requisite months, perhaps even weeks, needed for the utter unraveling of already tenuous relations between the north-south cultural divide happened in a matter of days. The speed with which both camps readied themselves for slaughter alarmed those who could legitimately call themselves neutral in the entire debacle, leaving them to wonder why the Empress did not intervene.
IndentedAfter a week of relative peace—the sort which only presaged the violence to come—in a tavern near to closing its doors for the night, an imperial staffer deep in her cups let slip to barkeep and few remaining patrons that if Elaine were still around, the dispute would have been settled, by force if necessary.
IndentedUnderstandably, her considerably less drunk audience wanted confirmation she was, in fact, saying the Empress was not in Janramak.
Indented“Of course she isn’t,” the staffer said much too loudly. “The crazy bitch has been missing for almost two weeks.”
IndentedShe then proceeded to throw up. When she could again count to ten without fear of passing out, she noticed there was one less person in the room. Another cup later, she astutely observed everyone but the wide-eyed barkeep and she had left. Getting unsteadily to her feet, the staffer wondered if she hadn’t just done something terribly stupid.

IndentedWhen the sun came up the next day, it dawned on a city about to implode.

** ** **

IndentedFor a while there was no sound save for the muffled drumming of factories far off, a slow counterpoint to their racing minds. Scenes of ships struggling to stay afloat a wrathful Oradano sea peeled away in listless strips; behind the wallpaper the surface was pockmarked, as if silent, eyeless beings watched from within a cage of crumbling brick and thin baseboard.
IndentedA narrow-faced Guildswoman wearing a silver-slashed coal-coloured dress spoke first. “Praetan Juris,” she muttered. “Why does he sound so familiar?” Out came a weathered brown notebook which she flipped through until she stabbed a page triumphantly. “Figures.” She looked up at the others. “Praetan is related to Mondo Juris, the man responsible for the daybloom fiasco.” A breath of ahs around the room followed by disappointed, but amused, head shaking.
IndentedAdam cleared his throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Indented“What? How do you not know…” She stared at him. “Hold on now. Who the hell are you?”
Indented“A new partner I’ve been doing business with lately,” Cormac interjected smoothly. The far too pleasant look he shot at Adam made it clear that no further noises were to leave his mouth.
IndentedAdam ignored him. “You were saying about Mondo.”
Indented“I was saying he was an idiot. Let me see.” She scanned a page before continuing. “Prior to Unification, he was one of the first to realize both the Empress’s campaign and her existence would change everything. He made his way down to Janramak, only a string of villages back then, swearing full support to her cause. Once established years later, he decided in all his wisdom to take out a loan from the Silver Sons and finance what he called a small gardening project up north. That decision,” she added, with unmistakeable disdain, “is the point from which he lost everything. Apparently, the bank was also run by idiots, because no one thought to ask what, exactly, he would be growing. So Mondo takes a sizeable loan, makes all necessary preparations and, not surprisingly, isn’t able to get a single daybloom to survive in the cold. He is also unable to repay the loan. Since he’s a northerner, which is shorthand for ‘a fucking fool’”—there was a startled, offended noise from someone to which the woman made a flippant gesture—“the lands, and the estates enclosed within, which he put up as collateral are seized and sold. Enter right a bloated bank; exit left a destitute dimwit.” Another cry of protest; she gently responded with a colourful expletive.
Indented“Maybe I’m missing something,” Adam said, “but I don’t see anything particularly frightening about that.”
Indented“Mondo believed he could grow dayblooms in a frozen climate where they have never before thrived. I find his brand of stupidity bone-chilling.” She shrugged. “Of course, things became considerably worse when the sorcerers found out.”
Indented“How so?” Then he winced, understanding. “Oh.”
Indented“Exactly. I suppose he consoled himself by thinking they wouldn’t do anything since the project never worked out. Like I said, an idiot.” She shut the book. "Demanithro. Vaccaneli, Majira, Ferasere. The Krusata.” Each academy was punctuated with a raised finger; then the fingers closed into a fist. “Do you know the Juris family used to be a Great House? Of course you don’t. Not many do, it’s been so long. The only reason why any of them are still alive is because the sorcerers thought it would be much more enlightening to stretch out their punishment throughout generations. As opposed to, say, just wiping them out.” She paused. “Like they did the Silver Sons.”

** ** **

IndentedThough it seemed unlikely, so firmly entrenched in memory was her centuries-spanning rule, there had been a time before the Empress—Lady Everlasting, Mother of the Earth, sole successor to the Rosewood Throne—had yet to descend upon and bind to her will all the contending Great Houses during the War of the Nine Kingdoms; a time when if anyone was asked who among the competing factions stood out as an undisputed authority, the answer given every time without hesitation would have been the five schools of sorcery.
Indented Most historians, whether from the prestigious Lodicus University, the Sodratha Collegium in far west Quindai, or lesser but still respected academies throughout the continent, seemed bent on explaining to whoever would listen that pre-Empire was man in a fallen state, no better than a beast of burden—said burden being man’s lust for power after undeserved power (at this point, the hapless victims would nod and smile vaguely at the lecturer; less patient individuals gave the finger and moved on). Yet even the scholars could not deny the influence of the thaumaturges who fashioned instruments designed to ply the arcane.
IndentedRegardless of social standing, those with Talent made their way into one of the five divisions. There they trained in the arts until they mastered their gift or were killed by it. Unworthy or unlucky initiates who could not pass that year’s comprehensive exams had their Talent taken away; no tears, no prayers, no amount of bribery or screaming could stop the older practitioners from culling out the failures. Rogue sorcerers or self-trained wizards and witches were hunted down and executed.
IndentedFew things distracted them from their studies, aside from summons requiring they stand before the Throne, or if a war broke out between the schools.
IndentedOr if some unfortunate soul made the mistake of stealing from them.
IndentedMoonglow and waterleaf. Blinkroot and deathweed. Ubiquitous daybloom. All magically attuned flora and artifacts belonged to them in perpetuity. Theirs was a monopoly established not by cunning or trade but by the spectacle of fear.
IndentedFor these were thaumaturges who spoke spells shaping cities out of stone and wood and glass. Or with a single word could set those cities ablaze with never-ending fire.

** ** **

Indented“Am I the only one here,” Adam said suddenly, “who thinks this is bullshit?”
IndentedBeside him, Cormac choked; from the others, considering looks cooling into contempt.
IndentedNot that they mattered. He locked eyes with Hasvatos. “People don’t just up and decide it’s a good idea to torture aides for curiosity’s sake.”
Indented“Some people,” Hasvatos replied, “are naturally violent.”
IndentedAdam decided he didn’t much like him. “What’s next?”
Indented“There is a power vacuum now. If the Imperials stall, Dasgreil will fill it. There’s always—”
Indented“No.” Was it just him or did Hasvatos sound satisfied with the mess? “I mean this meeting.”
Indented“Pardon?”
IndentedHe made sure to enunciate. “Her disappearance is incidental. Wouldn’t have come up if Cormac hadn’t given you the opening.” There: a slight wrinkling of the councillor’s brow. Adam was absurdly pleased. Elaine’s mystique like a bubble popped, taking with it the councillor’s hold on the room—even though, of course, she was far from incidental. But that wasn’t the point: the others straightened in their seats; he looked into their faces, saw embarrassment at being so easily distracted become a hardening of resolve in tightening muscles. Control. Adam would have control.
IndentedHasvatos took from pocket a folded brown cloth and lifted one corner at a time, at the center of which lay a nugget, violet and fissured. “The secret sorcerers have killed to keep.” But he was openly annoyed now, inscrutable face or no. “Demonite.” Another cloth taken out which flooded the room with red and orange light when opened; a shimmering flower. “And this the secret that will make sorcerers obsolete.” A long stare. “Fireblossom.”
IndentedIt seemed he was going to say more but then he looked up at Adam. His face perfectly still except for the light in his eyes like flames.

Indented“That was pretty pointless,” said Cormac after the meeting had ended. “His presentation, I mean.”
Indented“I ruined it for him.”
Indented“My heart weeps.”
IndentedThey walked through Ashfall, god-killer relaying observations on whose loyalties were true and whose in flux, other hidden knowledge, the merchant nodding brusquely. They passed a building surrounded by a ring of onlookers with heads craned. Motionless, they blended into the scenery; tall shrubbery that just so happened to have faces.
Indented“What do you know about fireblossoms?”
IndentedAdam shrugged. “Never heard of it.” He was disappointed. Hasvatos had turned out to be little more than a false-faced oddity, the meeting a waste of time. If anything, it might make it easier for Vincent and Faedra to steal Bane. (In his mind a machine was trundling along, suddenly unencumbered, its speed fractionally increased but a gain regardless, and he had to make sure the next section of track was laid down or else it would derail.)
IndentedHe soon lost patience with the merchant’s questioning and broke off down a street with an abrupt goodbye. When Cormac caught up to him and took hold of one arm Adam turned. “Move away, little man,” he said, quietly, and Cormac did, falling behind into the grey and desperation and wheezing noise of the dying district.
IndentedSo busy was Adam with forecasting and organizing motives and consequences that he didn’t notice he was being followed.
IndentedThose denizens who saw gave pause, unable to make sense of this man with ice for eyes and the footprints in ash shadowing his own.

IndentedIn his room he took out a length of paper and began to write. When the letter was finished he went down into the common room and asked of Bartholomew an envelope. As payment, he was forced to listen to the man’s middling conversation about the shrinking business and the Red God’s black humour and had he heard about the Empress up and leaving court, just like that, as if she didn’t have any responsibilities, no obligations, no people to protect and keep safe, even if, sure, no one could ever say that to her face, especially now, since she was nowhere to be found and wasn’t the entire matter just bizarre?
IndentedAt the table again, writing their address on the envelope and sealing within the letter. Finished, he left it alone, then undressed and took a shower. Before closing the shutters, one last look at the city both magnificent and malignant; the image imprinted, it accompanied him as slept through the afternoon and late into the night until he woke with a start.
IndentedHe slid out of bed across the room to his clothes and rifled through the pockets; at first careful, then hurried; but he finally stopped and accepted that Faedra's and Vincent’s letters had gone missing.

** ** **

IndentedThis is how the city with no walls defends itself: the dangers threatening its existence, both the realities and the ideas behind them, are sold to the masses like any other commodity. A professional transaction in which each person receives a thrill commensurate with the price paid. The drug trade is regulated and taxed by the Guild (as almost all things are) so that a tourist can purchase a narcotic from a selection ranging in intensity from gentle numbness to dementia. Political protests become instead opportunities for each party’s grievances to be sampled and discarded by the curious but too-busy public. Subversive literature is never censored, just expensive. Nothing is taboo because all pleasure is sacred.
IndentedAnd there is little more revered than the opportunity to murder. Where a small payment allows admission onto the killing grounds that are the wide open plains surrounding El Matar’s western face. An attraction calling to arms the disturbed, the normal, the inquisitive and the patriotic. Each night slaughtering the dead who walk the earth as stars shimmer behind moving screens of floating eyes.
IndentedFolly turned profit. Nowhere else in Terraria are people charged a fee for doing what in any other place is mandatory for survival. But in El Matar, the cyclical struggle between humanity and nighttime horrors is promoted as sport, as game, as an event free of risk (and when some competitors die their deaths are spun until they serve as further enticement to join).
Indented“Everything is fine,” proclaim the people, “everyone is safe. Nothing is wrong and no one can hurt us.”
IndentedThe mantra is repeated often enough that they have forgotten it is a lie.

** ** **

IndentedThe next day the Divine Deliverance’s manager unlocked the front doors of the three-storey building straddling the district divide between Cold Iron and Lover’s Lane. Inside, she took off her coat and slung it over one arm, humming as her eyes adjusted to the gloom; so she was badly startled when she finally noticed the man sitting behind the front desk. A familiar face, although she could not figure where from.
IndentedHe nodded, stood up, came around to her. “Right. I have a letter for some people in Janramak. What’s the fastest way to get it there?”
IndentedShe blinked. “Who’re you?”
IndentedHe shook his head. “No one important.”
Indented“That so?” She frowned. “And how’d you get in here?”
Indented“Through a window in the back. Although, again, not that it matters. Now,” he added, taking a step closer, “about the letter.”
Indented“Look,” she said, “I’ll be nice and give you three seconds to get off the premises and I’ll conveniently forget to report the break-in to the Watch.”
Indented“I see.” He shrugged. “Well, if it helps, the window was open. So, technically, I didn’t break anything.”
Indented“One,” she said, and that was as far as she got because he was suddenly in front of her, as if the intervening space between them had been an illusion.
IndentedHe grabbed her by the arm; then his grip tightened.
IndentedThis had gone far enough. She was a big woman, and drew herself to full height. “Let go of me,” she snapped.
Indented“No.” He pulled her despite her struggles. Away from the door and prying eyes. She realized this and swung at him, but then his fingers dug into the flabbiness of her arm and it was all she could do not to collapse. How could so much pain come from so little movement? He dragged her along with alternating clenches of firm and agonizing; across the empty sorting floor where stacks of envelopes and parcels waited in the glow of torches. She heard a low keening, like a small animal dying. A moment before she understood she was making the sounds. There would be bruising. An ugly dark purple by the afternoon shift. Then a thought occurred to her, so absurd she was genuinely unable to comprehend it until they’d reached her office at the back of the building: I might not live that long.
Indented“I’ll scream,” she warned, trying to mask the waver in her voice. “I will.”
Indented“Be my guest.”
IndentedShe did, until all the air rushed out her lungs and her ears were ringing. Coughing now, throat raw. Silence.
IndentedHe looked back at her. “Finished?”
IndentedShe stared. Knowing that if she screamed again, he would never let her stop.
Indented“Much better.” The smallest of nods as a show of appreciation, like one of the undead mimicking human actions.
IndentedNervous, she licked her lips. “What do you want?”
Indented“I told you. There’s a letter that needs delivering.” He smiled. “Cormac asked me to, you see.”
IndentedA piece slotted itself into the puzzle; she recognized him now. Cormac’s bodyguard, or something like that. She sometimes saw them at the end of the work day on her way to the bank, crossing through one of the few scattered parks throughout the city: the merchant with his trademark cap and coat; and this man with his long strides and watchful gaze. But she also knew Cormac was possessive of his letters, trusting their delivery to none other than himself when he showed up at the post office, messages in hand, to be turned over to a particular employee with explicit and often changing instructions. Conclusion: this man was lying. (Or, a hopeful, still naïve voice in her head said, maybe he really does have Cormac’s letter. Do you really want to risk offending him of all people? And even if he doesn’t have his letter, it’s a small enough lie meant to comfort you. She thought about that and discarded it. If he’d cared one bit about her well-being, he wouldn’t have hurt her. Or come outside of business hours.)
Indented“Alright.” She took the offered letter. Then hesitation; confusion. “If this is so important, why not get a sorcerer to translocate it?” A brief pause to calm her nerves. “It’d get there today, although, what with trying to get one of them to even notice you, it’ll be more expensive.” She realized then that there’d been no talk of payment from him so far.
Indented“I’m not a fan of sorcerers at the moment,” he explained before pulling out a substantial amount of gold coins, counting them, digging back into his purse for more and dropping them into her palm.“Deliver the message,” he said, “or I’ll be back to visit.”
IndentedAfter he left she went into her office, lit a couple of torches, sat there in the smokeless light until her shaking stopped. By the time she could hitch on a semblance of a smile she heard the noise of the morning shift coming in after the long weekend. Snippets of stories and short bursts of laughter.
IndentedShe walked out to them and grabbed a worker at random. “I want you on a horse and on the road to Janramak within the hour.” She pressed the letter against his chest. “Stop only to replace your mount. Well,” she barked as he gaped at her, “what’re you waiting for?”
Indented“I work in cataloguing, actually.” He fell silent. “Also, I’ve never been on a horse in my life. I hate the damned animals.”
IndentedShe was luckier with the next poor soul; and before the sun had cleared the horizon an irritated courier from Divine Deliverance was galloping across the Imperial Road on route to the capital. He slowed the horse to a light trot once he rounded a rise of hills and El Matar was safely hidden away, but kept at it until late in the afternoon when he reached the first outpost and changed to a new mount. Before him, the Imperial Road ran arrow-straight through grass plains and copses of spruce and fir in the distance. Further still, smudges of terrain blurring up into clear skies. He set out again, this time urging the horse on faster, having gaged the likelihood of reaching the next outpost before evening and determined enough to get the bizarre assignment over with as quickly as possible. He raced against the sun until it veered off and down into sleep and the moon rose next to keep him company. Thundering past the undead that stumbled into view; crowing at the whirling red eyes falling behind.
IndentedCockiness blinded him to the mass of darkness ahead where the road curved between low hills. It wasn’t until he passed the bend that he realized something was wrong. The horse reared at the moving shapes. He sawed at the reins to turn around but the goblin-raiders were behind as well. As insubstantial as shadows yet the hands that pulled him down out of the saddle were hard and powerful. Afterwards, his body was dropped in a ditch and the horse beheaded before the scouting party allowed the night to fold around them once more.
IndentedThey loped easily alongside the road with measured strides carrying their amorphous group strung out in a line—until without warning they turned as one to the right and struck off across trimmed plains and rolling hills which, in the dark, became an endless chain forged by titans. At a hidden signal the raiders moved quicker, and quicker still; each scissoring of legs thrusting them forward like sleek shadows suddenly separated from the land below, flitting through air for the span of heartbeats and then descending to press against earth before leaping again. A synchronized series of movements, each unit making the smallest of adjustments to horizontal lean or angle of knees or tilt of head. Whatever sentient, living things crossed their path they killed in silence; as if they were less a scouting party than some punishment loosed upon a moonlit slumbering land. Their path described a massive spiral on the earth, whereupon each successfully completed loop would contain the start of a new track; progressions within progressions; almost full circles narrowing one within the other until the final ring would bring them to the continent’s center: Janramak.
IndentedOn the fourth day of reconnaissance the raiders rested. Dawn revealed their diamond-shaped eyes and slits for noses. One of them rifled through the items picked up so far and came upon the dead man’s letter and read it. He sat there for a long time, sunshine and milkweed sliding across smooth, grey skin, considering the message meant for the two immortals hundreds of miles away in the capital who were waiting for a reply from Adam which would never arrive.

** ** **

IndentedVincent watched mounted Averiss and Raikon in the streets below, their armour catching sunlight in bright banners. Proud to a fault: their ice giant and winter wolf standards raised for no one save the first disciple to witness, as if they rode for him. But he did not know them. Lately, he’d begun to feel as if he didn’t know Janramak either. It had become a stranger, turning to him a face wide-eyed with terror yet grinning, as if the fear and hate unravelling the city was welcomed.
IndentedUnblinking, he looked on as they turned a far corner, in their wake dust rising from baked sandstone, until across his vision drifted serrated green petals. Pressing his forehead against warm glass he could just about make out the jade oak in the courtyard. An emerald cloud appeared around the black-bark hybrid; dissipated; the Empress was breathing, so the stories went. Except she wasn’t in the city and the jade oaks were increasing their activity. Whatever that meant.
IndentedVincent turned away from the window and looked at her. “Now do you believe me?”
IndentedFaedra shrugged; a delicate, economical movement. “Adam could still be on his way. Maybe he ran into some trouble.”
Indented“Two weeks. That’s how long he’s had our letters for now. And not one word from him. Apparently, he has more important business to attend.” He frowned. “I don’t trust him. If I’m being honest with myself, I never have. And if he can’t be trusted,” he continued, when she gave no reply, “he becomes a liability. We’re at a stage where even the slightest disturbance and everything we’ve worked will have been for nothing. Have you any idea the pieces I have to look after in order to make this work? No, you don’t. That’s alright, though. We all have our parts. You can appreciate that, I’m sure. The necessity of us three using in full what gifts the Dreamer gave us.”
IndentedShe said, “I’ve only now realized how much you must love the sound of your voice. You never seem to stop talking.”
Indented“Faedra, he’s dangerous.”
Indented“We all are.” She looked away. “You made sure of that.”
IndentedHe gave a small nod, even though she couldn’t see it. “Adam needs to be dealt with.” A pause. “Understand you have no choice. Consider this warning a courtesy.”
IndentedShe was silent for a long time. “Leave me out of this,” she said in a flat tone.
IndentedHe called her name. When she didn’t respond he crossed the room to where she was sitting, knelt before her (and drank in her profile: the lines of her pale neck, her raised cheekbones and arched brows. The soft lips at times so quick to smile and at others curling into a sneer). Still she ignored him, gazing at a portrait of aristocratic hunter and stag frozen in midair on the far wall as if it was the most fascinating painting in the world.
IndentedVincent reached out and took hold of her chin. Turned her face to mirror his.
Indented“Listen carefully.” His voice, distant and implacable, as if spoken from a great height. “I will not allow anyone to interfere with waking the Dreamer. Again, this is not a matter of choice.”
Indented“Yet you just made one.” She moved his hand away and studied him. Finally: “Well, what are you going to do about him?”
IndentedHe told her. And when he’d finished, he smiled in a way that left his eyes cold.

** ** **

IndentedThe Agraiman school of assassins: a stone kraken, its tentacles the black cables shooting out every hour from pitted, limestone skin, attaching and detaching sucker-like to the streets and architecture of El Matar hunched below—as if the city is cowering.
IndentedOr maybe the city turns away to better hide its feverish actions: the ceaseless negotiations of a people divided neatly into two categories, buyer and seller (even the destitute play their part: purchasing in bulk the years spent huddled away in alleys and decrepit shelters; fading into obscurity as they sell their dignity).
IndentedThey believe themselves sly creatures. Nudging the person beside them and with a knowing smile pointing at the school in the distance. “What do they know?” a banker demands of her colleague; “what can they do?” says the fisherman to his partner. They serve no purpose in our city is the common reply.
IndentedNot once do the masses suspect they have been invaded. That the assassins ride the cables down into their numbers and walk unseen. Even in the hushed underground markets, where slaves are sold and sun forgotten, the Agraimans wait. Observe. Punish.
IndentedAs for those select few aware that they are being watched: they pray the invisible men and women do not notice them; that a gust of wind or creaking step is not, in fact, an assassin nearby.

** ** **

IndentedSalt-encrusted wooden quays marked where the Oradano Ocean kissed El Matar’s eastern-most docks. This courtship continued as the star-lit sea ran fingers across the city’s wide curves, reaching around ships berthed for the night to press firmly once more against land. Water withdrawing, earth eroding; the sounds of a hundred-year-long conversation—but further north a dark shape interrupted the exchange like an argument.
IndentedBodies fish-belly white and broken fused with one another and calcified. Beneath this shell sagged a tangle of massive, desiccated limbs; the carcass rested in a channel cutting across the boardwalk far into the district, where the buildings there fell under its shadow.
IndentedThese were the remains of the Merfolk’s Rebellion. This was the price of their pride.

IndentedThey had dared rise out of their submerged kingdom onto territory forbidden them.
IndentedWe fear no man, they cried, riding into city atop giant red-shelled crabs. Scaled faces stretched into sneers; webbed fingers grasping trident and buckler. We fear no man, the Merfolk sang, and cut down those frightened who did not flee at their approach.
IndentedBut the Empress was not a man.
IndentedThis was the first year after her Unification Wars, and Terraria’s newly conquered watched to see how she would respond to resistance. Her answer, they soon learned, would be without mercy.
IndentedWhen the Merfolk understood this they turned to their zeutarim, and the shamans in turn looked to the ocean. They called out to the deep. Made blood-offerings. Waited.
IndentedSo it was that when the Empress reached the fallen city, she found there waiting for her a leviathan.
IndentedArrayed to either side of the colossus stood the Merfolk in their strength. The warriors mounted with weapons leveled. Zeutarim chanting their water-spells. At their backs the sea taking on silver-grey forms which shimmered in the light.

IndentedShe devoured them all.

IndentedWhen El Matar was rebuilt, the district in which the Merfolk’s ossified remains were gathered became known as Leviathan Wept. It was here, during a dinner of roasted rabbit and greens in a private room at The Iron King, that Adam learned how he would make contact with the goblins.
Indented“A ship will arrive at the docks as the final stop on its route along the coast,” explained Cormac. Beside him dined a black man who at the start of the meal had set down a flintlock pistol on the table. “The rights to the shipping lane,” the merchant continued, “belong exclusively to the Guild, maintained through force by mercenaries hired to patrol the waters and escort our cargo.”
Indented“Why bother with a guard?” asked Adam, frowning. “Can’t imagine anyone in their right mind attacking Imperial goods.”
Indented“You mean Guild goods.”
Indented“No, I don’t.” He gave Cormac a level look. “In any case, the Empress kills all pirates.” A pause. “Doesn’t she?”
Indented“If she catches them. But she can’t be everywhere at once. Besides,” Cormac added, waving a hand in dismissal, “her strength is linked to the continent.” He shrugged. “Trade by sea is our concern, not hers.
Indented“Once docked and unloaded, the Stratagem will rest there until Karam here can secure some cargo—which, by the way, will not appear on the manifest. What will show up are chests, furniture, some silks and statues. You get on the morning it departs, no sooner. All goods will be offloaded in Nevariim.” He raised a hand to forestall the coming question. “The Guild has little interest in whether or not those we trade with are a part of the Empire. Citizens, foreigners, enemies—we’ll take their coin gladly.
Indented“The ship will swing around Nevariim’s shores and out on a north-east heading. Eventually you’ll sight a small island and there be dropped off to wait for the goblins’ arrival.”
IndentedHe stopped there, taking out a pipe to tamp it down before lighting it. Smoke purple and heavy curled between the three men.
Indented“You still haven’t told me what this is all about,” Cormac said after a while. Another long, deep drag on the pipe. “I think it’s about time you explained yourself.”
Indented“I disagree.”
Indented“That’s not how I do business.”
Indented“I don’t care how you do business.” Adam kept his voice casual. He turned to the other man who had yet to say a word throughout the evening. “Explain why a gunsmith is partnering up with the Guild.”
IndentedKaram arched a brow. “That’s racist.”
Indented“How so?”
Indented“Not every black person comes from the desert or is a gun-toting fanatic.”
Indented“Gunsmiths are actually pretty restrained.” He should know: he’d killed one. (Well, Faedra had. The gunsmith had been pivoting for the kill when she darted forward and sunk a stiletto in his arm and another up into his throat. Afterwards, the Agraiman had shaken her head in disgust. “Keep fooling around and you’re going to wind up dead,” she warned; to which he wryly replied, “Been there, done that. One of the perks of being immortal.” For that he’d received a cool, lingering look.) He shrugged. “What is it you do then?”
IndentedKaram was silent before grating out: “I’m an arms dealer.” A muscle flexed in his jaw.
Indented“Well then.” Adam tried not to smile. “Not much difference, is there? But look,” he added smoothly when Karam stiffened, “Let’s just chalk this up to a misunderstanding.”
Indented“No, I think we understand each other perfectly.” He swallowed the last of his drink and stood up, holstering pistol and nodding at Cormac. “We’ll talk later,” he said before leaving the dining room.
Indented“Was it something I said?”
IndentedCormac resumed eating.
Indented“No. Really. What does he do for you?”
Indented“Drop it.”
Indented“Not a chance.”
IndentedThe merchant let out a vexed sigh. “He represents my interests overseas.”
Indented“What interests?” Then a thought occurred to him. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said slowly, eyebrows raised, “but you’re supplying them, aren’t you? You’re giving the raiders weapons.”
Indented“Keep your voice down, damn it.”
Indented“So it’s true. He is an arms dealer, after all. Fine. But why? What do you get—” Remnants were surfacing from when he’d peeled back the merchant’s mind weeks ago, oddities he’d ignored at the time but now possessed of meaning as he slotted them together. The Sanragan deserts, the furthest south the raiders had ever reached, where they’d wiped out a string of villages—along with the seeds of a promising community-driven farming initiative. Terraria’s west coast, where it was rumoured that along with the fishing-dependent towns, warehouses for a newly created naval trading company had also been set on fire. More pieces, greater clarity. He could better appreciate the Stratagem’s title. “Interesting how some of the goblin’s targets seem to coincide nicely with any group posing a threat to the Guild’s trade monopoly.”
IndentedCormac put down his fork.
Indented“Aiding known enemies as they murder your fellow citizens. There’s a name for that, isn’t there?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh yes. Treason.”
IndentedCormac paled.
Indented“And now,” said Adam quietly, “you belong to me.”
IndentedHe could see the change in the merchant. The too-wide stare of a man informed of the day and hour he would meet his end.

IndentedIn his mind the design shifted to incorporate this new piece without which the entire mechanism would still have functioned, but now by its inclusion offered a measure of efficiency (which was so important, after all. What he had set in motion, his construction comprising human-shaped gears driven by historical forces and reinforced with alloyed rods of the real and the imagined, the black oil of his retribution coating the parts against the corrosiveness of chance—this continent-spanning machine could endure only so much stress for so short a time before it buckled beneath its own weight. Efficiency was key). The merchant was simply another addition among so many others carefully collected from the idea’s inception, those necessary and sometimes unexpected components integrated by his aggression at certain points or his acumen elsewhere.

** ** **

IndentedTomorrow would be the first day of summer in the 784th year of the Lady Everlasting’s rule. The official celebrations for the Festival of Light would begin at noon when Guild members in their mercy sent runners throughout the city throwing fistfuls of copper and silver at citizenry. (Not to be undone, the pleasure houses of Lover’s Lane requested of clients only half payment in order to lie with the oiled men and women.) Green and yellow streamers draped across newly scrubbed fountains and shop faces. Bushels of snow-lilies upended throughout Ashfall to blanket the grime. In the Blessed District, priests and novices alike would take up their vows once more. A time of fresh beginnings.
IndentedTonight, however, the city could not care less about renewal; tonight, people would drink, fight, fuck; tonight, screams joyous and pained would fill the streets.

Indented“Like what you see?” asked a redhead. She sashayed up to Adam but stayed just outside his reach, holding up her arms as she twirled for his approval. He did, as a matter of fact, like what he saw. Although his enthusiasm died when she lifted her skirts to reveal she was actually a he. That would explain the bold jaw.
IndentedThe cross-dresser’s shrill laughter was still in his ears as he turned down an avenue lined with barrels of burning pitch. Out of the leaping shadows darted faces leering, fearful. There was a sigh off to his left that was either intense satisfaction or someone’s last breath. Catcalls and shouts. A naked woman burst out of a building weeping—only to be stopped by the many hands that grabbed and drew her back in.
IndentedShe was almost through the doorway when she noticed him. “Help me,” she begged. A hand snaked around her right breast up to her throat and squeezed. Adam kept moving.
IndentedNot a word from Cormac except for a brief message by courier explaining the Stratagem would be arriving. That had been three days ago (the last he’d seen of the letter before his determined search turned it up in a coat pocket where he must’ve forgotten it). But it had arrived as promised at dawn: a thing of planked beauty, and it was this memory he carried in his head as for the rest of the day and into the night he walked the city. The impulse was sudden, unexplainable; he had indulged in it.
IndentedCrossing into Cold Iron, where the midnight revelry had yet to infect, he felt a mosquito bite and slapped at it. Another precursor to the changing seasons. The city thrummed with blood-suckers.
IndentedIn the common room of The Unjust Queen. He nodded at a bent Bartholomew wiping already clean tables.
Indented“Good night,” he called.
Indented“Is it really?” The innkeeper straightened with audible cracking. “I hadn’t noticed.”
IndentedBut Adam was gone before the onslaught of complaining could begin. He stepped into the lift, requested the twenty-fifth floor. It was a moment before he remembered the lift wouldn’t be working this late. He frowned, stepped out, took the stairs.
IndentedHe had to rest twice on his way up, and once more when he stood in front of his door. (The decision to stop for evening drinks had been a bad idea then.) He fished key from pocket and stooped to retrieve it when it slipped his hand. Inside the room, he tossed his sword on the bed and stood by the open window with eyes closed, grateful even for what little breeze there was. He loosened his collar.
IndentedAll he would be taking with him was Muramasa. He made a slow turn, spied the sword beside the dresser, went over to kneel and pick it up.
Indented“Tomorrow,” he told the weighted bundle, “we leave this place.”
IndentedBehind him, the door clicked shut.
Indented“You are mistaken.” A woman’s voice from nowhere. “No one gave you permission to leave.”

IndentedAdam stood up slowly.
IndentedA second voice now, clipped and precise: “Our reports indicate you are a violent man. As such, you will likely try to assault us. I advise against such action.” He paused. “Simply put, you will not succeed.”
IndentedThe room was empty. He scanned from left to right and still his eyes relayed the same message. The room was empty.
IndentedHe blinked. Of course.
IndentedA man’s voice. Deep. Assured. “You know who we are.” The Agraiman sounded calm. “The Grand Master would like to see you.”
Indented“I don’t want to see him.”
Indented“What you want is immaterial.”
Indented“Ever the gentleman.” Door locked. Three Agraimans in the room. He was starting to wheeze. What the hell had been in those drinks? No, not the drinks. His body repaired itself too quickly to become inebriated. This was something else. What then? What was—
IndentedThe mosquito. He swore. It must have been carrying something.
IndentedOr maybe he hadn’t been stung by a mosquito at all.
IndentedThe female assassin spoke: “Paralysis is taking longer than expected.” She sounded puzzled.
IndentedThere was confirmation. He took a deep breath to prepare himself.
Indented“Take him.”
IndentedBut he was already moving, pressing Muramasa to chest—
Indented—and sprinting across the room out the open window.
IndentedImmediately his left hand reached out to take hold of the black cable embedded in brick.
IndentedExcept it wasn’t there anymore; his fingers closed on spiteful air. And though he wished otherwise, his forward momentum transitioned into a plummet.
IndentedThe city tilted. Tumbled. It played hide-and-seek as he considered the impending twenty-five storey drop.
Indented(Black and white cobblestone rushing up reminded him more than ever of a checkerboard. El Matar’s blue-black smears gave way to warm browns and creams of an estate in Janramak, where a reclining Vincent waved at a game board and in the corner Faedra stood looking out the parlour window as olive-crested birds flittered by at the sound of bells tolling. “Do you know how to play?” asked the first disciple; and he did, as a matter of fact. Except in place of ivory and obsidian pieces he used flesh and blood, the same as them. Theirs was a game not of will but fate, with more than just two sides opposed; the alliances and counter-alliances were as multifaceted as the amethyst agelet on Faedra’s wrist. And of course the three immortal disciples, each using the other two until every one of them carried out multiple functions. The issue then becoming what purpose these functions served. All this in the time it took for the people below to notice there was something queer about the expanding shadow on the ground and look up to see the falling figure and stare.)
IndentedHe’d come too far to die now. Resurrection would place him hundreds of miles away from El Matar, the Stratagem and the goblins.
IndentedA quick prayer to the Red God for intervention. Then he recalled he was trying to murder the god. Wild laughter slipped past his lips.
IndentedMultiple somethings slapped him in the back. His fall came to an abrupt stop as he slammed face first into The Unjust Queen’s side.
Indented“Oh hell,” he groaned, swinging from side to side.
IndentedHe’d had enough sense to hold tight onto Muramasa, which was now speaking nonsensical blood-lust into his throbbing skull: Feed me. Loose me release me set me free. Cut chains break body sever skin from flesh—
IndentedHe twisted to see what had caught him and saw by the light of a half-moon gossamer strands translucent and taut.
IndentedThe strands shook; he jerked upwards. Nothing for a moment while he stared skyward in slack-jawed befuddlement. The next pull raised him two stories high. Back towards the Agraimans.
IndentedHe looked below him. Still too far a drop.
IndentedThe next jerk brought him level with a shuttered window. He dug his feet into the bottom corners of the windowsill; his left hand went into the top. With his other hand he shook Muramasa until he could see metal through the bind. Then he brought the blade up and sawed through the threads that were pulling at him.
IndentedHe made himself rigid to better brace himself, brought Muramasa level and stabbed the shutters open.
IndentedToo much force. For one horrible moment he felt himself falling backwards.
IndentedHe quickly hooked the sword in and up around the window’s upper ledge. Just enough of a hold to ease himself forward and crash into the dark room.
IndentedRustling. A scream. Why wouldn’t there be people in the room? Perfectly normal and wholly problematic.
Indented“I’ll be out of your way shortly,” he said. Trying to stand up revealed his legs were no longer interested in co-operating. “Actually, this will take a bit longer than expected.” He could move his arms at least, and pushed himself into a sitting position beneath the window. A tired wave at the staring couple. “Go back to sleep.”
Indented“We weren’t sleeping,” answered the woman after an awkward silence, drawing the blankets higher.
Indented“Duly noted.”
Indented“We’re thirteen stories up. How are you even in here at all?”
IndentedHe spread his arms. “I’m an angel of God.”
Indented“Minus the wings.”
Indented“Well, yes.”
IndentedShe nodded. “I think I’m going to scream again.”
Indented“You’ve been remarkably calm so far. Let’s continue that trend, alright?”
Indented“This is stupid.” Her lover slid naked out of bed and stalked closer.
Indented“Ah.” He let go of Muramasa. “I can appreciate the need to seem all protective and alpha-male in front of the lady but, really, there’s no need.”
Indented“Shut up.” The young man walked over to a coat hanging on a chair and pulled out a knife.
Indented“Oh.” Adam frowned. “Not a good idea.”
Indented“Don’t move.”
Indented“I would if I could but I can’t, so there.”
Indented“What?”
IndentedHe flexed his hands. “Do not come any closer.”
Indented“Jessica,” said the young man, “go down and tell Bartholomew to fetch an officer from the Watch.”
Indented“Actually, Jessica, I’d prefer you stay right where you are.”
Indented“I told you to shut up.”
IndentedAdam looked at him. “You’re not very smart, are you?”
IndentedThe knife came whistling down.
IndentedHe slapped the hand away. With his own he yanked the young man to his knees and brought palm heel-first into the surprised face.
Indented“Listen to me—” but the knife was coming back around.
IndentedThis time he caught the other man’s wrist and squeezed until he heard bone break. The knife clattered to the floor.
Indented“Much better.”
Indented“You broke my wrist.” The man was in shock. “You broke my fucking wrist.”
Indented“Nothing gets past you.” He applied pressure to his hold, eliciting a shriek. “Now, I accept your offer to help me up.”

IndentedParalysis easing as body repaired damage. Muramasa writhing. Pulse quickening.
IndentedIn the stairwell down landings through a common room emptied of life and light. Running through the doors.
IndentedBreathe.

IndentedNarrow streets so often busy seemed vast now in a silence broken only by his flapping sleeves and sandaled feet. He had to reach a populated area. The only problem was making it out of Cold Iron before they caught him. It wasn’t until he heard distant bells chime the hour that the beginnings of a plan formed.
IndentedHe ducked into an alley, jumped at the wall to his left and leapt up to snag a hanging fire escape. At the top he looked around and saw at the far side of the roof’s edge a cable. It stretched across open space marking district’s end over to the pearlstone buildings and swaying lanterns of Blessed District. Looming behind it, the Agraiman school haloed by countless black threads.
IndentedThe halo contracted.
IndentedHe ran and caught the cable as it pulled away and was sent flying through air. Grinning now.
IndentedChance a look back at Cold Iron receding; and that was when he saw the pair of crossbows floating above a rooftop.
IndentedDisbelieving stare. He assured himself they couldn’t make the shot. That they would want him alive. He was moving too fast for them to track—
IndentedA bolt slammed into his left shoulder; another into the forearm.
IndentedSimple geometry: the quarry moves in a straight line; therefore, the hunter lets loose where it will be, not where it was.
IndentedPain so bright it blinded him. When he could see again he saw the shrinking crossbows go down the side of the building and disappear.
IndentedAbove Blessed District he let go of the cable. The fall to rooftop was short and he was running as soon as he landed. Startled birds exploded upwards at his passing. Church bells sounded the call to midnight devotion. Something moved in his injured hand. He looked down to see Muramasa buckling; where blood dripped down through the binds, the sword had gone dark.
IndentedHe switched the blade to his right and ran faster.
IndentedBlurred glimpses of people below as he leaped the gaps between buildings. Air filling lungs; frustration expelled in tight bursts.
IndentedStreet level. That was where he needed to be, where he could lose himself among the milling faithful.
IndentedIt was while hanging partway down the side of a temple, judging the distance until the next ledge, that his left arm seized up. The rest of his body followed suit. Muramasa, along with the ledge, fell away from nerveless fingers.
Indented(Cross-bolts dipped in paralyzing agent. He couldn’t help but admire the foresight; the hunter allows his prey to flee safe in the knowledge that escape is illusory.)

IndentedHe had landed on his side in a puddle. Water trickled into his mouth, foul, granular. He could still move his eyes. Saw the crowd gather. Alarmed looks. Muffled talk.
IndentedThen a space opened in their midst. Onlookers staggering with the force of having been shoved.
IndentedMuramasa, just beyond his reach, rising. As if someone had knelt to pick it up.
IndentedAgainst his neck a needle’s cold kiss. The world slipping into shadow.
IndentedSoft lips brushing ear; a voice from the void.
Indented“No one gave you permission to leave.”

** ** **

IndentedSometimes, when he closes his eyes, he can still see the Dreamer’s flayed finger engrave a circle in damp sand. A few feet away, white-capped waves lap at the deserted beachfront. A wind cold and sharp as knives slashes at charcoal-coloured clouds. The sun is a ring-shaped blood mark imprinted on dark sky.
IndentedNow the hand rises almost imperceptibly while day bleeds into night, and night smears into day; until time slows to a stop and this dream-spun landscape hangs suspended in silence. Excoriated fingers take a pose of command: (tell me what this means.)
IndentedVincent claims to know. The furrow curves endlessly to encompass itself, as the mythical serpent is said to have swallowed its tail. Motionless movement; a contradiction become paradox. Future and past converge in the infinite present of those limitless turns. Here is an invitation, the first disciple proclaims, to share in the same godhood come the day of Awakening.
IndentedFaedra thinks otherwise: the circle is symbolic of balance perfected; each point on its golden-grained circumference no different than any other. Order, she says, is their goal. Together they will restore and maintain the Dreamer’s rule.
Indented(Tell me what this means.)
IndentedSometimes, he can still see the arm much larger than his own reach down into honey-hued sand and trace a groove which ends where it begins. Each movement is deliberate, instructive. In the sliding of muscles atop gleaming bone are wonders and horrors.
IndentedAdam sees neither invite nor mandate. He knows better.
IndentedThe circle is joined, its seam soldered shut. No breach, no relief.
IndentedIt is a prison.

** ** **

IndentedWhen he opened his eyes he was still immobilized. Before him in a large room was a square table on which rested Muramasa unchained. On the other side sat a bespectacled man in a loose blue shirt whose eyes hid behind the glare of light striking lens. On his lapel the triple half-mask insignia signifying Grand Master.
Indented“Mr. Nalicai!” A clap of delight. “How wonderful to finally meet you.”
IndentedAdam found he could move his head and gave a slight nod.
Indented“How do you feel?”
Indented“Something tells me you don’t care,” he replied.
Indented“Even so.” The Grand Master laid his hands on the table. “I asked you a question.”
IndentedHe glanced at the sword. “Have you claimed it?”
Indented“I don’t follow.”
Indented“It’s a simple enough question. Do you claim it as yours?”
IndentedAdam didn’t see him move but felt the backhand all the same. His head rocked back. The ceiling was sectioned into mirrors which threw his reflections down at him. Startled faces trapped in glass. He lowered his head. Worked his jaw.
IndentedThe Grand Master lifted a finger. “I don’t think you understand what’s happening here. You have been operating under the rather false assumption that you are in control. Nothing could be further from the truth.”
IndentedAdam fabricated a smile. “Give me a sword and we’ll see who’s in control.”
IndentedGenuine laughter. “Oh, I like you.”
Indented“The feeling isn’t mutual.”
Indented“You wound me.”
Indented“Deeply, I hope.”
Indented An open handed slap this time. The Grand Master settled back in his seat and waited.
IndentedHe licked blood from his lips. “Touch me again,” he said softly. “Go on.”
Indented“You must be disciplined.”
Indented(Echoes of violence. He closed his eyes and saw the Dreamer reaching for him. Sharp, swift pain as the god’s nails slit open his belly. Then the hand reaching elbow-deep up into his chest. Fingers wrapping with a lover’s grace around his heart. Everything has an end, living or otherwise. Body arched in agony from the obscenity. His heart, horrified, beat slowing. The Dreamer sliding arm back out and holding in his palm the shuddering organ.)
IndentedHe opened his eyes and spoke: “Understand this. One of us isn’t leaving this room.”
IndentedThe Grand Master nodded. “My only problem is that you refuse to stay dead.”
IndentedSilence. Too late he realized his blunder and tried to laugh. The noise choked in his throat.
IndentedFrom underneath the table the Grand Master took out and placed down a faded, yellow sheet. “Year 296 of Our Lady Most Graceful’s rule. Tarsem Bavarat, a historian, witnesses the fall of Kasterro. His accounts describe a man who looks like you.” Another document. “Twenty years later, another city falls. Survivors recall a blue-eyed, dark-haired man arriving the day before the slaughter.” Another. “Year 355. You turn mercenary and join the Sepharrim Syndicate for close to a decade.” Another. “Grissant, year 370. You appear and plague follows.” An array of papers framing the sword. “A summer of killings in 400. Rebellion in the north in 410. The west coast razed a decade later. 436, you form the Blackguard mercenaries and support the Usurper’s Uprising.” A further litany of dates and offenses rattled off in vague amusement. “I have as many accounts detailing your supposed deaths.”
Indented“Oh.”
Indented“Quite. Wherever you go, destruction follows.”
Indented“Unfortunate bit of business, I agree.”
IndentedThe Grand Master studied him over steepled fingers. “Why are you here, Mr. Nalicai?” His voice was spider-soft.
Indented“How the hell should I know?” he replied. “Or should I remind you that it was your people who broke into my room and chased me through two districts. After drugging me, too. Let’s not forget that.”
Indented“I meant El Matar.”
Indented“Ah.” He raised his chin. “Why I’m here is none of your goddamned concern.”
Indented“You will tell me your reasons—”
Indented“I will do no such fucking thing.”
Indented“You will tell me your reasons,” he repeated firmly. “After you do—and believe me, Mr. Nalicai, you will tell me everything—I must find a way to permanently dispose of you.” An arched brow. “I imagine beheading an immortal would be a waste of resources and patience.”
IndentedSo he didn’t know everything then. “I thought you liked me.”
Indented“I make a point of not mixing business with pleasure.”
IndentedAdam grinned. “You know what they say. All work and no play will leave you dead when I’m done with you.”
Indented“More empty threats.”
Indented“That one’s a promise.” He looked away, a minor brush-off. The walls were bare save for bright flames in sconces and the oddly morose portraits of men and women, presumably deceased members from the Order. He didn’t see Faedra. He thought about that. How had she faked her death? A Grand Master in her own right and not once did he ask for details. To be fair, the need had never arisen. Although she had warned him about El Matar—not that either of them had ever known he would set foot in the city of commerce. During those periods of idleness in their efforts to bring about awakening she would speak with guarded reservation about the city within the city; a government of military-aristocrats elected without public consent because the public was never allowed to understand the depths to which their lives were held hostage by hidden powers.
IndentedSomething in his peripheral vision. He looked down and saw the cross-bolts were still in his arm. Surprise; then unease. The blood around both wounds was black and flaky.
Indented“About that.” The other man’s voice was steel against whetstone. “So much has happened that I’ve been too busy to remove them.”
IndentedFaint alarm. “Exactly how busy?”
Indented“Let’s see.” He collected the documents. Stacked them in a pile. Squared them off and folded his hands on top. “Your rather public takedown has caused some problems for us. In the end, after some persuasive instruction, we’ve managed to dissuade witnesses from coming forward. Not to mention the uproar over the Empress’ disappearance.” He frowned. “To think I trusted the public to remain calm. No matter. The situation is well in hand.” A pause. “You did say exact, right?”
IndentedAdam said nothing.
Indented“If I were to judge by the Stratagem’s departure four days ago, I would say I’ve been busy indeed.” He took up the papers and left the room without another word.

IndentedThere were no clocks in the room so he measured time by needle pricks.
IndentedJust when the numbness was beginning to wear off and he could curl his little finger or slide a foot forward, the door at the far end would open and with ear cocked he would listen to the footsteps growing louder until he heard breathing at his back and the inevitable jab at the base of his neck. Sometimes the needles brought sleep as well; he would open his eyes and see the glass of water had been refilled. No food though. Just the constant pricking, both physical and verbal.
Indented“How old are you?” asked the Grand Master.
Indented“Old.”
Indented“Try to be a bit more specific.”
Indented“Very old.”
IndentedPause. “What business do you have with Guildsman Cormac Isparo?”
Indented“Had. No need for him any longer.”
Indented“You mean the Stratagem.” He penciled something down. Looked up again. “What was so important about the ship, Mr. Nalicai?”
IndentedLaughing cracked his dry lips. So they hadn’t been at The Iron King. Thank the Dreamer for small favours. (He grimaced at the thought; he was weakening in this place.) “Here I was thinking invisibility would make your lot great eavesdroppers.”
Indented“We have our limits.”
IndentedAdam nodded. “Yes, you do.”
IndentedThe implication didn’t go unnoticed: the corners of the Grand Master’s mouth wrinkled into a slight frown. “And yet here you are.”
Indented“Sounds like you’re trying to reassure yourself.”
Indented“Do I seem worried?”
IndentedThat was the rub of it. He didn’t. Each session he arrived and left composed. As if he had all the leisure in the world to pick at the details of his life with a gentle humour which, if Adam had been a lesser man, would have left him feeling cold and small before the contemplative expression. Like a hog brought to market and hung by its hind legs. How succulent the flesh, cries butcher to crowd, right before cutting its throat and quartering the meat.

IndentedEventually, the cross-bolts were taken out. At regular intervals, hands practiced and firm would pry open his mouth and force down a green paste which started bowel movements and caused him to urinate. Afterwards, they did not clean him. In the following days (or weeks, or months, because this was a place where time could not enter and in its absence all things turned stale, even the water poured down his throat ever so infrequently) he peered down at his stained pants and watched as tiny maggots appeared and gorged. Before long they matured into flies and took to the air only to die and dot table and floor like specks of black snow.
IndentedHe ignored the stench. The humiliation and thirst. He had done worse. Had suffered far worse.

IndentedThey came to take Muramasa when it started to writhe; when returned, it lay still. He wondered what they were doing with the bodies, and pictured the building’s foundations made up of the dead. It was a strangely cheerful sight, the sword lifting then floating away and out the room before returning at a later point to rest on the table, but after the first dozen or so times it stopped being funny. Segue into an altogether far more interesting phenomenon: the Agraimans still wouldn’t reveal themselves to him, despite his uncanny rag-doll mimicry. Did they fear reprisal? Conveniently forgetting he had better chances of spontaneously shifting into, say, a tortoise, than he did of escaping (aside from dying, of course, although he shied away from that most final of options like a fawn before the wolf). Am I so petty that I’d hunt them down? A loaded question. Fine. Would I hurt them if someone walked in right now and said I was free to go? The answer, unsurprisingly, was an emphatic yes. He distracted himself with fancies of sword-play and screams.
IndentedHe was in the middle of decapitating the Grand Master when the man himself strode into the room with head still firmly attached. Trailing him, the noise of marching boots; he guessed there were five, maybe six others.
IndentedNo preamble or verbal fencing: “Explain the nature of your relationship to the Phoenix.”
IndentedAdam blinked. “What’s this now?”
Indented“It’s what the more excitable among her followers are calling her.”
Indented“Can she fly or something?”
Indented“She has severe burns from head to toe,” the Grand Master snapped. “And a remarkable talent for eluding my agents.”
IndentedHe grinned. “Nice to hear someone had better luck than me.” He could almost see the other man count to ten.
Indented“Her supporters in Janramak are growing and I want to know how, exactly, you’re involved.”
Indented“But I’m not.”
Indented“Mr. Nalicai.” There was an edge to his tone.
Indented“I’m telling the truth.” He would’ve shrugged if it was possible. “I have no clue who you’re talking about.”
IndentedHe moved closer. “How is she able to heal people?”
Indented“I don’t know.”
Indented“She’s a blasphemer.”
Indented“That’s news to me.”
Indented“Why target members of the faith?”
IndentedHis mouth worked soundlessly for a couple of seconds. “Did you not just hear what I said?” he asked, incredulous.
Indented“What do you know about these riots she’s started in Janramak?”
Indented“Maybe it’s just me,” said Adam, staring, “but I think you’re telling me more than you intended.”
IndentedThe Grand Master stopped his advance so suddenly it was as if he’d stumbled into an invisible wall.
IndentedThen he nodded.
IndentedNot agreement, but a signal: Adam’s face was shoved against the table. He wrenched his head to the side and saw his left arm being straightened out. Unnerving, knowing that hands were restraining him but unable to feel them. For all his struggling not even a finger moved.
IndentedWhen he looked up the Grand Master was holding a sword.
Indented“The Phoenix,” he said in a flat tone.
Indented“I already told—”
IndentedIt was almost too quick to see: the ghost trail of the sword descending to sever his hand from outstretched arm.

** ** **

IndentedAfter nearly two weeks of celebration the Festival of Light was finally winding down. A crowd had gathered dockside in Leviathan Wept to begin the closing ceremony of the city-wide procession, a clockwise journey meant to form a circle, albeit one raggedly formed by faces both ecstatic and exhausted.
IndentedTo their left the Oradano Ocean was ablaze with the setting sun, as if the Red God was offering a glimpse of His divine riches in the waves so much like cascading gold coins. El Matar draped itself in evening shade and soft carmine light, and for once the disparate districts seemed less a madman’s fancy as the glow smoothed away the chaotic skyline of buildings and clashing designs. Wheeling above, seagulls in repose.
IndentedCormac knuckle-walked a coin absently while looking down on the crowd from his vantage point atop the Merfolk’s hardened remains. Beside him, the presence of the captain of the City Watch ensured those who looked up at them with envy could do little else.
Indented“Maybe now you’d like to explain why I’m not down there with the rest of them,” said Isaac hopefully.
Indented“I told you. We need to talk.” He scanned the people below but his eyes weren’t what they used to be. Even still, no sign of Adam’s irreverent face in the mass. He gave another small prayer to the Red God for the man’s continued absence. Another week or so and he could forget the entire unsettling ordeal.
Indented“A bit much, don’t you think?” Isaac gestured at the carcass beneath them. “The Guildhall would’ve worked just as well. My office, too. This…” He trailed off, shrugged.
Indented“One thing you’ve never managed to grasp,” Cormac said not unkindly, “is the need for theatre.”
Indented“I don’t go in for that kind of stuff.”
Indented“Stuff,” Cormac repeated, as if the word was a rare species of animal. “That stuff is partly what keeps this city running smoothly. Appearances and angles.” He looked at the captain. “Your badge, for instance.”
Indented“What about it?”
IndentedCormac tapped it. “Black hawk embossed on red-dyed sheet metal. The artistry and cost exceeds its utility. When the city looks at you they see both police and performer. A legitimate lie.” Like a certain man who claimed to dream of God and could ferret out lies and read minds. He felt embarrassed all over again at how he easily he’d been taken in by Adam’s offer of advice. “In return for staying at your side just for a chance to see you at work,” the bright-eyed terror had said the first time, and each time after, persistent, almost relentless, until Cormac, feigning wearied reluctance when in truth he felt close to turning a caper at his sudden good luck, had agreed. How could he have refused, when Adam, a nobody, inconsequential in the larger scheme and at the time seemingly normal, had within weeks sent the business stratum into a frenzy as he methodically turned a profit in every prospect he touched?
IndentedWhat was it the man had said? Flesh, blood, bone. Nothing more than elaborate lies masking the mind’s truths. Whatever else Cormac had been about to say escaped him, so he simply stood there.
IndentedIsaac, ever so perceptive, despite his gruff look and heavy build: “Is this about that associate of yours? As long as he’s still in the city, we’ll find him.”
Indented“Eventually.”
IndentedIsaac gave a lop-sided grin. “Eventually.”
Indented“I must commend the Watch for its tireless efforts on my behalf.” He couldn’t quite keep the bite out of his voice, but the captain only laughed.
IndentedDown past limb-ridges and flattened faces of Merfolk he saw the mayor addressing the crowd. The little man kept shifting his head up; presumably seeking Cormac’s approval. He nodded, and could almost hear the reed-thin voice continue with its banalities and place-holders. As if this festival was any different than those that had come before. Although, he considered after a moment, there was a change: a ribbon of discomfort running throughout those assembled like the green and yellow streamers teased by wind. How to celebrate the light without the Empress’ shadow, within which they’d lived for so long? There was a philosophical cant to that thought, and he was about to put it to his old friend when Isaac spoke first.
Indented“If you’d just tell me what you want him for.”
IndentedI want him dead; instead: “You still haven’t heard anything new from Janramak.”
IndentedNot a question, but the captain answered with a nod. “No news is good news.”
Indented“Whoever came up with that particular bit of fluff,” Cormac snapped, “should be shot.”
Indented“Person’s most likely dead by now.”
Indented“Good.”
Indented“You’re drifting.”
Indented“I know.”
IndentedA flare of trumpets, followed by spelled fireworks that burst bright blue and white into outlines of animals and abstractions, their afterimages fading to cries and applause.
Indented“Look.” Isaac slid his large hands into the front pockets of his uniform. “Everyone knows the Empress will turn up again. That’s a given. Only question is when.”
IndentedNo, the question is why she disappeared to begin with. Deductive reasoning: begin with the thesis, the cause, and all further supporting arguments and effects will reveal themselves in neat order. He found it interesting scholars never thought to mention how frustrating it could be to discover the reasoning in the first place.
IndentedLike the actions of councillor Hasvatos Encagra, for example. “Does your contact in Imperial records have access to files on sorcery?”
Indented“Yes and no.”
Indented“Meaning?”
Indented“It’s a matter of incentive.” When Cormac shot him a look he raised a brow. “For my contact, not me. Thaumaturgy is mostly hands off stuff. As in, you’re likely to have your hands cut off for being nosy. They’re a sensitive bunch, or so I hear.”
Indented“Demonite,” Cormac said tersely. “I want to know more about it.”
Indented“That’s easy. It’s the most expensive thing in the Empire and no one, and I mean no one, has any clue why.”
Indented“Except sorcerers.”
Indented“Naturally.”
Indented“Consider it a challenge.”
Indented“I’ll have to decline,” replied Isaac cheerfully. “I’m rather fond of my hands.”
Indented“Fireblossom, too,” he continued, ignoring him. “And soon.”
IndentedNo reply.
IndentedCormac looked at him.
IndentedIsaac was frowning. “What do you think that’s about?”
IndentedThe merchant turned where he was pointing. The sun was a crescent above piled clouds. Below it, the sea, mirroring a sky gone the colour of blood.
IndentedThen he saw the black ships waiting on the horizon.

** ** **

IndentedOn the table under a blanket of flies was his left arm in chunks, where the Grand Master had placed them.
IndentedHe was breathing through his mouth now, careful not to swallow any of the insects. (Although he’d considered the merits, however briefly. A small crunch of skin between teeth, then a spurt of ichor. Brief sustenance; and he could even inhale them, so thick was their cluster that rose and broke and fell to feed.)
Indented“We’ll start on the other arm tomorrow,” the Agraiman had said before leaving.
IndentedThat was fine with him. Let them come.
IndentedAdam looked at his right hand resting in his lap and moved the fingers.

** ** **

Indented“Damn it, Cormac, slow down, will you?”
IndentedHe didn’t want to but the crowd pressing in on all sides tugged him back. Someone grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was Isaac, cheeks flushed. Around them flowed a human sea, arms like flotsam raised with torches in hand.
Indented“Where are you going?” demanded Isaac.
Indented“I need to talk with whoever’s in charge at the Shipping Exchange.” He yanked his arm away and started off, but Isaac snagged his sleeve.
Indented“What for?”
Indented“I’m not sure.”
Indented“What?”
Indented“Listen.” He wanted to shout. “I only want to have to explain this once.”
Indented“At the exchange office.”
IndentedNod.
Indented“Because of those ships.”
IndentedHe nodded again. Was jostled by a passing elbow. Their faces flickering in flame, eyes filled with shadow and a dark smear for lips.
IndentedIsaac was looking at him. “How bad is this?” he said quietly.
Indented“Like I said, I’m not sure.” He plucked out the hawk badge and held it between them. “We need to move.”
IndentedIsaac hesitated before taking the badge. Shouldering ahead he bellowed for people to move aside, to make way for the Captain of the City Watch, their co-operation would be greatly appreciated and their reluctance rewarded with a kick if they didn’t step to fast enough, thank you very much for understanding.
IndentedWood teak and cypress came into view, the building’s oiled surfaces catching the dying light. A quick glance over to see the ships were closer and then they were inside.
IndentedTo their right by a window looking out was a man in blue shirt. When he didn’t move they made their way to a desk behind which another man, barrel-shaped and brawny, gave them a cursory appraisal. When he saw the embossed hawk, though, he scowled.
Indented“Look, I already told you, it’s a warrant or nothing, smuggling allegations be damned.” He set down a sheaf of papers and took up a mug. It was steaming but he took a long swallow, head turned and watching them with one eye.
Indented“I’m Isaac Telashan.” Nothing. “Captain of the Watch.” That got him a grunt.
IndentedCormac stepped forward and rapped the desk hard. The man took one look at his face and seemed to deflate somewhat. “Guildsman Isparo.”
Indented“Good.” Beside him, Issac muttered while affixing badge to chest. “Who’s in charge here?”
Indented“That’d be me.” Then quickly afterwards, “Sir.”
Indented“Oh, come on,” Isaac protested. “I’m an officer of the law.”
IndentedCormac leaned close. “What ships are scheduled to dock tonight?”
Indented“None, sir.”
IndentedHe gave his head a very small shake. “Let me rephrase that. What ships, legal or otherwise, will be coming in?”
IndentedIt was distressing to see a face so ugly blushing. He made a mental note to ask later whose idea it’d been to make the man head of Shipping Exchange. He was better suited, build and mind, to the shipyards. That was, of course, if there was a later. His hands started to shake and he took them off the desk.
Indented“A vessel with some sandguns up from a Sanragan outpost.”
Indented“At least you have the decency to look embarrassed,” sniped Isaac. “Sandguns. How wonderfully overpowered.” A pause. “But there are three ships out there.”
IndentedNow the man look confused. “Can’t be.”
IndentedCormac’s mouth was dry. So he’d been right after all. He closed his eyes and saw planks of ebon witchwood ribbed with shanks of white bone.
Indented“Did you hear me?” Isaac was saying. “There’s more than one ship out there.” He turned Cormac by the shoulders and peered into his face. “We’re here, like you wanted, and now you’re going to tell me what’s going on. Who is on those ships?”
IndentedSo he told them.

** ** **

IndentedHis reflections in the ceiling of mirrors were smiling. He watched himself roll his shoulders, lift the arm, lean forward.
IndentedThe paralysis was a code his physiology had finally solved. Grudging thanks to the Red God for one of the many gifts to his disciples, even if it was too little, too late. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about needles anymore. When they returned he’d—
IndentedA sharp pain in the eyes. He cried out. Blinked. Noticed there was someone else in the reflections.
IndentedHe looked down, and sitting across from him was the Dreamer.

** ** **

Indented“Oh God,” said the barrel-shaped man. His mug fell away and spilled across the papers on his desk. “Oh my sweet God, have mercy.”
IndentedIsaac took a step back. “You’re sure of this?”
IndentedThe shake in his hands wouldn’t go away. “Almost certain. I’ve only seen the ships from a distance, but I think it’s them.”
Indented“You think.”
IndentedHe didn’t look away. “Where are your men right now?”
Indented“Most of them are with the procession, but I’ve got patrols in the rest of the city.” He ran a hand through his hair, and said as an afterthought, “End of the festival is a perfect opportunity for thieves to make their pickings.” His eyes were unfocused.
Indented“How soon can you round most of them up?”
IndentedIsaac reached for a sphere on his belt. “This will bring them running.”
Indented“Do it.” The captain stepped outside and after a moment there was a bright red light followed by a piercing shriek. The man in blue shirt had left at some point, Cormac noticed. A sound policy in other circumstances, when escape was possible. (But he wasn’t sure if he was right. Prayed that he wasn’t.)
Indented“Bows and fire-arrows,” Isaac said, steeping back in. “We’ll sink them if we have to.”
IndentedCormac heard himself ask: “Are there any sorcerers in the city at this moment?”
IndentedThe exchange manager began to cry.
IndentedIsaac winced. “Good call. There’s the man who works the lift at The Unjust Queen. A Vaccaneli.”
Indented“Krusata would be better.”
Indented“Yeah, well, Dasgreil has his own troubles in Janramak right now. I’ll see if I can interest the sorcerer and we’ll meet up by the docks.” Yet he stood there. “Damn it. The procession. Timing couldn’t be worse.”
IndentedBut the timing is perfect, he thought, don’t you see? All these bodies crowding the streets. It’ll make killing them so much easier.

** ** **

Indented“I’m not dreaming.”
Indented(If you were, then you would have both arms.)
Indented“No, I mean.” His difficulty in swallowing had nothing to do with a dry throat. “I mean I don’t dream anymore. So please tell me,” he went on, as flies crawled over the table, as his heart hammered, “what is happening right now.”
IndentedEverything about the Red God was massive. His size, his degradation. The heavy weight of his eyeless scrutiny.
Indented(You failed.)
IndentedHe went cold at those words. “But you’re here.” Lingering paralysis slowed his hand underneath the table touching a wooden leg. “This is real.” Awe, at first; then terror so immense at knowing he had, indeed, failed. “So they found the center.”
Indented(They?)
Indented“Vincent and Faedra.”
IndentedThe Red God was still. Then: (What do you mean by center?)
Indented“Down in the earth. In lava. Where your body is.” No response. “You told us to go there.”
Indented(After collecting the swords.)
Indented“Right. But they’d still need Muramasa.”
Indented(For what?)
IndentedHe smoothed away a frown. “To kill you.”
Indented(Is that so?) Adam heard something in that voice he wouldn’t have thought possible: surprise.
Indented“The only way to awaken you is to destroy the body. Like you told us.”
IndentedThe Red God tensed under the light. As if preparing to strike a blow.
IndentedHe looked away—and froze when he saw Faedra’s portrait on a wall. Sharp breath. Discernment.
IndentedIn one fluid movement he picked up Muramasa and thrust the sword into the Red God’s chest.
IndentedA subtle skewering of perception, like walking into a spider’s web. The flies buzzed away. He let go of the blade and rubbed his eyes, and when he could see clearly again it wasn’t the Dreamer but Hasvatos slumped in front of him. In his right hand a book of deep purple. His left tapped spastically at the metal pinning him to seat.
IndentedAdam spared a glance at the wall for confirmation; as he’d suspected, Faedra had disappeared. Had never been there to begin with. He looked back at Hasvatos and stood up. In his ear the thrum of a hundred insect wings. He was around the table and closing his hand around the man’s throat. “You’d better start talking,” he breathed into Hasvatos’ face—
Indented—and it melted away, like a lie exposed. Beneath was fused bone pulled into a rictus of pain.
Indented“We’re not so different,” gasped the councillor. “From one disciple to another.”
IndentedImmediately Adam let go, stepping back while drawing out Muramasa. Arm raised to level sword. A moment to eye the curving horns and wings which seemed cramped even in the large room. They beat the air, thrashing distortions: one moment visible; the next, vanished; now multiplied and frenzied.
Indented“Let’s say you’re a disciple.”
Indented“I am.” Hasvatos raised an arm to the wound in tattooed chest. “How else would I know about the swords?”
IndentedTrue. Except: “You stole the letter,” he realized.
IndentedNo denial. Instead: “I’m sorry about your arm.”
IndentedAdam said nothing for a long time. A perfect riposte: so subtle it left the victim reeling from the complexities behind the seemingly simple move. He allowed himself one question: what sort of influence was required to involve the Agraimans?
IndentedHasvatos again. “My brother would like the sword back.”
IndentedIn a duel, that would’ve ended the match. He had the distinct impression that he should be grateful Hasvatos hadn’t come with steel in hand. “But I killed the god of bones,” he heard himself say, and didn’t care for the lost quality in his voice.
Indented“He’s not divine, though he might act the part.” Hasvatos sank a finger into his wound. Probed around; satisfactory sound. Adam could see the flesh trying to knit itself. “Unfortunately, I need his horde to run free a bit longer before I can hand Muramasa over.”
IndentedVincent’s skeletons and flames. If the old man had come back then he was a disciple too. His arm faltered. Lowered. The councillor was telling the truth. He looked at those white eyes crinkled in amusement. “Was imitating the Dreamer supposed to put me at ease? He can’t wake until we have all the swords—”
Indented“And reach the center. Of Hell.” His hand fell away. “So that’s how he intends to deal with the Sentry.”
Indented“Start making sense.” Yet he could see the face, absolute, tangible, and there was no lie there to be found.
Indented“Your so-called Red God.” He turned and spat out blood. “He’s playing you all for fools.” A wheezing meant as laughter—then it stopped. “You don’t know, do you?”
Indented“Know what?” He stood still. Watched for a sign.
Indented“That there’s another Dreamer.” The book in his hand flared bright.
IndentedAdam kicked the table. It crashed into Hasvatos, knocking the book free. He lunged for it but Adam closed the distance between them with a stride, jabbing Muramasa into his neck.
IndentedHe stayed that way for a moment, supporting the councillor’s weight on sword, then pulled out to cleave head from torso before the body struck the floor.

** ** **

Indented“Tell me who you are or prepare to be sunk!” hollered the young Vaccaneli.
Indented“You’ll have to speak up,” suggested Isaac with a neutral expression. “What with them out on the ocean and unable to hear you. Just a thought,” he added, when the sorcerer scowled.
IndentedThey stood on a pier watching the ships draw near. At their backs officers of the Watch with bows lowered while further still the procession wound down the street, urged on by other officers when the crowds spotted the gathering and slowed.
IndentedCormac fumbled his knuckle-walking and bent to retrieve the coin but it slipped through the floorboards into cold water. He chose not to read anything into that and straightened up.
IndentedBeside the red-faced Vaccaneli—Tomas, a third-year apprentice dispatched to El Matar on what he called an educational posting but to Cormac felt more like punishment for some unspecified wrong, he seemed like the sort prone to mouthing off—was a woman eyeing Tomas with distaste usually reserved for trash. One of the Majira, Old Tongue for sorceress, the only female school. She had a flower with glass flames for petals in one hand and impatience in her stance as the Vaccaneli resumed yelling.
Indented“Be quiet,” she snapped finally and Tomas, surprised, closed his mouth—for a moment. Then he puffed up his chest, saying, “You don’t get to talk to me—”
Indented“Be quiet.” Her voice was thunder in the air, staggering them all. Cormac clapped his hands to his ears, backing away. The others quickly followed.
IndentedThe Majira turned her back to them. Cormac felt a chill at the sight of her cerulean robes and shawl moved by non-existent winds. She was channeling; it was a pressure on his eyes, his skull, on his soul which he suddenly became aware of in his mind’s eye as a grey-spotted ring bending under thaumaturgic currents slow-moving and deep.
Indented“Identify yourselves.” Her voice boomed across the waters. “Or everyone on board will burn.”
Indented“Still want Dasgreil?” Isaac shouted beside him.
IndentedHe’d asked for a Krusata in general but it made no difference now. From this angle he could see the high sweep of cheekbone, her lips pressed into a thin line. She would do it, he was certain. Either rain fire from night skies or cause them to combust, innocent or not. It was the demand that mattered: she, like her peers, wanted obedience. (That sort of power should belong only to God and Empress. There was a sourness on his tongue, narrowing his eyes, hardening his heart.)
Indented“Guess there was no need to bring my people along!”
Indented“Why are you yelling?”
Indented“Oh.” He glanced at the Majira, waiting now, clothes hanging undisturbed. “I was saying—”
Indented“I know.” They lowered their hands. “You should’ve sent the civilians home.”
IndentedIsaac gave him a strange look. “That’d include you too.”
Indented“I’ve just saved the city.”
Indented“If you’re right.” A brittle grin. “Otherwise, we’re all going to end up looking like proper fools. And we’re paying a steep price for those two’s services.”
IndentedCormac saw the coin slip through the floorboards again and made no reply.
IndentedThe middle ship was lowering a boat with three figures which, as it approached, resolved into two men rowing while a panicked third waved hands back and forth, not letting up until the craft bumped pier.
Indented“Ah.” Isaac craned his head up at the stars coming out. “Cormac. Dear friend. I do hope the city’s surplus this year was substantial.”
Indented“What in the ever-loving fuck,” cried the third man, clambering onto pier, “is wrong with you people?” There was a stud in his right ear—diamond, Cormac noticed—to complement fine-cut black vest and pants and a white silk shirt so sheer he could see his abdomen tighten as the Watch seized him. “Let go of me. I said let the fuck go.” He regarded them with irritation.
IndentedIsaac waved his men off and stepped forward, a smile on his face so wide it was anything but credible. “Apologies, my good man.”
Indented“I’m not your anything.”
Indented“Oh, I agree, but it was either that or smash my fist into your face for the scare you gave us.”
Indented“What?”
Indented“Accept my apology.”
Indented“No.” His face spasmed with emotion. “No,” he repeated.
Indented“Well.” Isaac shrugged. “See, some of us may have confused your ships for raiders.”
IndentedThe man’s face went blank. Then: “Again, I ask, what is wrong with you people?”
Indented“I’d like to know as well.” A side-long glance at Cormac.
Indented“Do I look like a goblin?”
Indented“Of course not.”
IndentedHe pointed at the two men still in the boat, gawking up at them with disbelief. “How about them? Do they look like goblins?”
IndentedIsaac looked pensive. “They’re ugly enough to pass.”
IndentedThe man opened his mouth. Closed it. A wetness in his eyes which might’ve been mirth but was probably harassment.
Indented“What’s your business in El Matar?”
Indented“I want to lodge a complaint.” He raised his voice. “Do you hear me? You can’t be threatening to put people on fire for no reason!”
Indented“For the record, she was the one doing all the threatening. Me? I’m just an oaf with large hands and a badge. Prone to abusing my powers and so on.” Isaac winked. “Although I have every right to detain any unscheduled suspicious arrivals, especially tonight. Emergency powers and whatnot.”
IndentedCormac was sure the studded man was shrinking. “I’m a vintner.”
Indented“I do like a fine red now and again. More of a beer man though.” He nodded at the ships out in the water. “You planning to sell your stock?”
Indented“Give it away, actually. For the Festival.”
IndentedIsaac looked at him. “Give it away.”
Indented“It’s my first time coming here. Thought I’d make an impression.”
IndentedIsaac eyed the ships. “No need to worry on that account.”
Indented“It’s supposed to attract attention.”
Indented“Mind if I take a look inside?”
Indented“Not as if I can stop you.”
IndentedIsaac smiled. “There’s the spirit.” He walked over to the Majira, who relayed the message to the ships. As they came in and docked Cormac tried to stay as still as possible, as if the absence of motion would stop the embarrassment from continuing. But he saw the looks the officers were giving him. Even Isaac couldn’t meet his eyes. Hot needles pricked his armpits; he imagined his cheeks taking on a rosy shade of shame. A thought like lightning struck him: his mind was dull, not sharp; he was measuring repeatedly, mistaking uncertainty for prudence, and when he did make the cut it was crooked and shallow, raw at the edges as if he was newly come to the business of carving compliance out of people like blocks of wood in his hands.
Indented Men appeared at the first ship’s bulwark and let down a gangplank for the Watch to climb. The vintner was talking with the Majira; she looked surprised at her own tentative smile. The two men in the boat stepped onto pier and stretched. One of them asked where the Vaccaneli was and the other pointed. Cormac saw Isaac glance over at them.
IndentedHe looked at the ships, his gaze skittering away as if it pained him—and then froze. Looked back again.
IndentedRibbed bones appearing to break out of dark wood. This close up he could see a pattern in their arrangement. A face in profile. He edged nearer. Saw a rusted metal patch whose placement doubled as a red eye. Hard to make out unless you knew what to look for. He couldn’t breathe.
IndentedSlow quarter turn and there was Isaac at his side, the big man looking down at him. “Tomas has been in the city less than a month.” Confusion hardening into accusation. “How would those two know who he is if they’ve never been here before?”
IndentedCormac backed away. “It’s them.” His voice barely a whisper but his old friend heard and his eyes widened.
IndentedA moan from behind and they turned to see the Majira leaning on the vintner, folding around him like friends long parted now reunited, chin nestled at his neck before he stepped away with wet dagger in hand, pushing her with a stiff arm, saying in a voice emptied of earlier fear and helplessness that it was finished and looking over as Tomas struggled, frantic, mouth trying to form words, a plea perhaps, or spell, instead only letting blood drip as the vintner’s partners let him fall and as one the three strangers spinning to face the remaining Watch who were nocking arrows to bows which should never have been lowered, should have loosed burning arrows the moment the ships came in reach, and it was too late now, even for the men reaching for swords, and for those turning to flee, because the killers were a whirlwind they could not escape.
IndentedShouting. Cormac and Isaac turned, looked up, saw a goblin grey and sleek approach bulwark with an officer held almost casually in the air with one hand clasped around neck. The goblin brought the man close. Kissed him slow and deep. Opened his mouth wide and sank teeth into the officer’s face. The veins in the goblin’s neck tautened as he wrenched his head to side, tearing away flesh in a spray of blood.
IndentedHe let the man fall over the side of the ship into water, a coin slipping through floorboards, and then the screaming began.

** ** **

IndentedNo assault when he’d opened the door. A look back at Hasvatos’ smoking remains from when he’d tried to pick up the book, his fingers closing on spine and a brilliance filling the room, bright even against the veined darkness of closed eyes, opening them to see book gone to ash and a charred skeleton for councillor.
IndentedMaking his way out of the underground levels had been a tense affair, but no one had stopped him. He soon gave up stealth for speed.
IndentedOutside. He made his way down the wide steps at the front of the building, Muramasa in hand and babbling content.
IndentedThe building sat on the highest hill in the city, giving him an unobstructed view of the harbour ablaze. Smoke billowing. Snatches of cries from all points of the city. He frowned.
IndentedIn the streets now, nothing for a time as he ran, then around a corner and before him humanity running at him, pursued by fast shapes. He got a good look at them and his skin crawled. He ducked into an alley. Took stock. Jogged through the corridor into another street.
IndentedThe goblins were here. There was still a chance to make it work.

** ** **

IndentedCormac lost sight of Isaac when the raiders leapt overboard onto pier, unharmed and moving as soon as they landed. He saw sabres and bows but none of them touched him. Even if they had reneged on their deal, there was this last grace. Meaningless, when he thought about it, but he sank to his knees, weeping.
IndentedThe procession was scattering, whistles piercing air and red lights flashing for the Watch to assemble, and in the glow the raiders moved with purpose. They were corralling the citizens, he realized. Loping around them with gruesome grins. Pushing them back towards the ships. But then he saw others killing wholesale, goblins falling on the frightened with fists and maw and blade. It made no sense. Madness.
IndentedA burning arrow struck the hull of a ship. He looked around, dazed, saw an officer atop a building. He was taking aim once more when something slammed into his chest. He staggered back, bow falling, and then a raider grappled up onto the roof and tore out his throat. Cormac closed his eyes—
Indented—and opened them when a voice spoke in his ear.
Indented“In my robes. Restorative. Quickly now.”
IndentedHe shuffled around. The Majira grimaced at him. Her lips fluttered.
Indented“Do as I say, Guildsman, or all is lost.”
IndentedIt already was. The rush of raiders had slowed to a trickle. Most of them had gone after the procession and further into the city. The city which he had argued for a lessening of the police force, a long debate in Guildhall following which Isaac had sworn to make him pay when the restrictions passed but he had soothed his old friend, saying the money could be better used elsewhere. And what about goblins? he had asked; to which Cormac had replied in ignorant arrogance, “They will never come to El Matar.”
IndentedHow curious that what was once truth became lie. It tasted like blood from where he’d bitten down on a cheek.
Indented“Guildsman.” She shuddered, tried to hide it. “Help me.”
IndentedHe got to his feet. Made eyes with a goblin who opened his mouth and laughed silently. He looked away and found Isaac on his side, half his face missing.
IndentedHe searched through her clothes and now there was laughter from behind. He knew what they were thinking. All to the better then. A sob in his throat turned to a snarl. Fingers fumbling. Her life seeping warm through fabric. Then he pulled out a number of vials, stared at the blood on his hands.
Indented“Red,” she whispered. He huddled close, as if to kiss her, shielding her from view as he pulled the cork and spilled its content down her mouth. Hesitation; then with his other hand he pulled at her robes and rested it on the inside of her thigh. He glanced back. The raiders were either doubled over or leering. He fixed what he hoped was a passing imitation onto his face and looked at her. She nodded her understanding. Colour was returning to her cheeks.
Indented“Light purple.” He obeyed.
IndentedA horn sounded. A squadron of the Watch had arrived, these few he allowed to carry flintlocks (“the Watch has performed well in the past without guns and I see no reason to change now,” he had told the committee, and they had listened to him, the fools, but there was no time for regret now; the Majira’s thigh was growing warm) and they raised them now with a shout and fired. Those constrained citizens ducked, the bullets dropping their captors behind.
IndentedIt wasn’t enough. The raiders closed in even as they were hit. An arrow shot into the squadron’s midst, followed by an explosion. Humans and goblins flew apart in chunks. He looked back and saw the goblin that had first appeared at the bulwark calmly nocking another arrow.
IndentedTheir eyes met. Understanding. The goblin shouted. Raised his bow.
IndentedBeneath him, she took a deep breath.
IndentedHe saw the arrow fly and it was death loosed but then the Majira was standing, pushing him aside. In her hand the glass flower. A swirl of crimson in its confines—
Indented—and a torrent of flame leapt out to burn the arrow.

IndentedShe rose into the air.
IndentedHer hair was alive, the flower an inferno. Each shift of figurine razed grey figures below in fire.
IndentedCormac saw on her face serenity and he went cold, even as the floorboards beneath him burned.
IndentedThe Majira went higher. Turned towards a raider ship. Engulfed it in flames that licked hundreds of feet into the air. As if they hungered for darkness and sky.
IndentedWitchwood cracking like gunshots. Cormac got up, lumbered away onto solid ground and turned with the others to watch chaos. The ship’s black sails were smoke and the entire thing was falling in on itself. A groan went up from it, a titan’s bellow.
IndentedShe spun, hem flaring, describing an arc with the flower which descended and devoured.
Indented“You will burn.” Her voice was a dirge. “Oh, how you all will burn.”
IndentedMore raiders leaping from the second ship. She caught them up in mid-air and they were nothing more than ash. Hot winds blew the remains into Cormac’s face; he could taste them turning to sludge on his tongue. He swallowed.
IndentedThen he saw him in the flames. Couldn’t quite believe it.
IndentedCormac watched as he bent down to retrieve a grappling hook. Watched him glance up.
IndentedNo. He screamed his name. Red God, no.
IndentedAdam turned. Saw him. Smiled.

IndentedAdam let go of Muramasa and placed the hook between his legs before sliding his hand into the liquefying metal. The glove seared his hand but he was able to press the switch inside which shot the hook into the ground. He flicked it again, reclaiming it. Took up the sword once more in glove.
IndentedThen he took aim at the sorceress and fired.
IndentedThe hook sank into her belly. Her mouth was a circle of pain but before she could react he pressed the switch.
IndentedSight blurring as he rose to meet her and she fell to him, the chain their bond, uniting them in an impact of flesh striking flesh.
IndentedHe looked into her face and read the agony there. Then the muscles grew slack. Shriveled. Cracks formed in darkening skin and he looked down at where Muramasa was hilt-deep in her body, the mage-killer deconstructing her, negating her existence until there was nothing left of the woman but robes which kept the shape of her absence for a moment before sagging.
IndentedAs he fell he took aim at a raider ship and reeled himself in. He struck the deck, rolling until he was stopped by the mainmast and lay there as smoke and screams drifted up past him.

Return to ToC

Indented

Reserved.

OOOOOH YOU MULTIPOSTED, I'M REPORTING YOU!!!!!!

I'm going to read this thread and the old version too... eventually. Damn it's already long (twss), but I'm confident it will be an enjoyable read.
(If you need me to delete this, just ask and I'll do it.)

I did say to wait until the second chapter was up but it's fine. XD

To old readers: the prologue is new. You should read it. Seriously. Also, I've dispensed with not calling GK Adam. The "suspense/secret" wasn't worth repeating "the god-killer" over and over. Plus, now that I'm writing (mostly) in chronological order -- GK's storyline first, then Adam's -- it just seems to make more sense, since now there's a shift away from my poorly executed "what's his real identity???" to "how did GK become Adam?"

Dear god that is a lot of text.

His original one was 50k words long, and he removed several of the chapters, so...

Really love the new prologue. But just asking, is the information from the previous chapters canon?

Also, I'll be making a PDF for this one too, pretty soon.

The funny part is that I never actually read his first one, I just felt like figuring out how long it was compared to all my stories combined, and mine were about 14k... I do have the PDF version of the old version on my comp so I can read it sometime, though.

Quite. :]

I had no idea it was that long. >_< Thanks!

I really love the new prologue, too. =P It feels...right. And it's how I should've started the story in the first place.

Regarding the other two storylines. The Dreamer interludes will remain unchanged (maybe I'll add a bit more information). Present-Adam's storyline I intend to fucking eviscerate. But, I'm realistic, so it might just amount to a general "tightening up" where prose is concerned and a rewrite for certain things.

For now, consider it canon... But at the same time, forget anything related to present-Adam. >_< By the time I finish past-Adam's storyline, I'll be able to say with more certainty.

And thanks for the PDF. You're awesome like that. ^_^

In my opinion it was fine with the inclusion if Adam, but hey if you want to change it fire ahead

Strangely enough the prologue reminds me of two characters in my W.I.P book/series/epic I'm writing, Sands of Ruin. two of the characters (The Tentacled Son and The Tentacled Father) sound a bit like the Dreamers of yours

I've seen enough hentai to know where this is going...
/joke

~Insert generic complaint about lack of updates to provide something vaguely on topic to the actual story~

Well, I finished the PDF version.
Still don't know how to get the page number off of the table of contents and title page though -.-

And good job, 30,000 words so far.

And also, the optimum viewing zoom-out is at 100% as, one may expect. This, however, may change due to monitor sizes or personal preference.

For old readers, if you're interested, I thought I'd point out an edit to Ch.1:

Dasgreil misread the silence. “There was no other outcome. It had to end. The Empress cannot afford instability now when the goblins are raiding in numbers greater than ever before. Imagine a war on two fronts: the savages across the sea and malcontent subjects across the continent.”

Vincent had said as much last week. He considered incorporating the goblins into the design. The mechanism thus far had withstood smaller loads. Mercenaries. Armies. Even the son of an Imperator. But could he harness the power of an entire nation? Somehow, he thought Vincent would disapprove; he grinned.

Nothing special. Without it, I thought it would be disorienting to new readers to have the sudden scene change between the two chapters (we went from Adam being in the north to...this city?). Also, it explains why the hell Adam ends up going to El Mater in Ch.2 in the first place. I realize Ch.2 on its own doesn't hint at his purpose until well into the chapter and only confirms it right at the end. That's a needless wait for an explanation.

Also. The son of an Imperator bit. For a little short story on that, you can check this out. It's by no means mandatory, though. And it explains less than it should. XD Thought I should provide the link in case you're wondering where I was going with that. Anywho, regardless, it's one of those things that I mention now and expand on in later chapters.

There are both possible and definite issues with present-Adam's storyline. From time to time, I'll pick at them to see how serious the flaws are. Thankfully, I won't have to make a decision until either Book Two or Three. In any case, thanks.

Ooh. I like the title. Best of luck with the endeavor.

XD

And lack of updates. Right. I haven't written more than a couple paragraphs of scrap stuff. Still planning in my head. Although I haven't given much effort to the planning because I feel oddly tired from writing for the meantime. That said, I'm hoping that when I do get around to writing the next chapter, it'll range between 5000 to 10000 words (if that. Could be much less). Since Book One focuses only on past-Adam and the various other characters involved, I don't feel pressured to stuff everything into one massive chapter.

Much thanks!

And I smiled, realizing that I will easily reach 100 000 words for TDatG. I don't mean that as a boast. It's just that, prior to this story, I'd never written anything so extensive. It's cool knowing that I can gradually learn to go the distance for future works. Anywho, thanks again. Really appreciate it.

Psst! The title itself, The Dreamer and the God. I'm not sure what it's supposed to mean. I mean, "The Dreamer" bit is correct. As for "and the God"... There are days when I frown at that, wondering what the hell game I thought I was playing when I thought it up. The title sounds cool to me, I guess? :0 And do all titles have to make sense? They should be relevant, though.

Should it be changed? I don't know. Probably. Maybe once I get far enough into the story.

Although... Yeah. The Dreamer on its own would make more sense. Maybe not as, uh, cool sounding without "and the God," but it's a) concise and b) aptly-named.

So. Erm. I think I'll put in a request... If I'm taken by whimsy again, I'll just change it again.

(I'm not quite sure if with this post I'm asking for permission or apologizing or something. XD)

For what it's worth, if you mean to make a few PDF's in your life, I would recommend you learn LaTeX. If what you produce is to be longer than a few pages it is the de facto best way to typeset anything. For demonstration purposes I drafted a version of the Dreamer in LaTeX, which is linked below, both the PDF and the .tex source file:

PDF || .tex

Or, for the adventurous, a typesetting made for print, with margins adjusted for the presence of a book spine:

PDF || .tex

It should be noted that I am not used to typesetting anything but mathematics in LaTeX, which is to say that a more seasoned person could make a much, much better job. I would like to think it shows some of the beauty of the language, though.

Is it free to use? And is it downloadable?