A Practical Guide to Evil

Chapter Book 7 38: Salvo

The flying tower hit the ground with a thunderous sound, earth rippling and breaking under the impact as we ‘landed’.

It was like an old god had just had a slugging match with the earth, and it sure as Hells wasn’t the earth winning. The foundations of the tower stolen from the broken remnants of Ater groaned, their reinforcing enchantments struggling with the load, but in the end they held. Not that you could tell there’d been doubts, from my comfortable throne under the stars. The viewing platform was so heavily warded not even a gnat could come through without permission and not so much as a shake had made it to my seat. I leaned back against the cushion, sipping at the Vale summer wine I’d sent for. Iridescent strands of magic still skittered across the sky, announcing our presence to anyone who cared to look.

Well, that and the massive amount of Night I’d been accumulating for the better part of an hour now. I figured even onlooking angels had to be a mite worried about that, given that there was now so much of the power roiling around me that the tower itself was beginning to be wreathed in shadow. I figured it’d make for a nice touch, you know, when the heroes showed up: dying lights above, a desolate empty plain around us and a lone tower swallowed by writhing, malicious darkness. The war had killed or seasoned all our greenhorns, but I figured that a few of the younger ones ought to balk at least. I finished my glass and set it down a pearl-encrusted table.

“If I were a maniacal laughter kind of girl,” I noted, “that would have been a good time for it.”

“Wow,” Archer said, sounding impressed. “The power is going straight to your head.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her.

“It’s kind of hot,” she admitted. “It’s a Praesi flying tower, you know, so I’m sure if we look there’s gotta be a least one revealing dress to-”

I raised a hand at the height of my chest.

“This is where you are right now,” I said, then waited a beat. “And this is the expendable asset zone.”

She squinted at me.

“You didn’t move your hand,” she pointed out.

“No, I did not,” I pleasantly smiled. “So are you sure that downwards is the direction you want to keep digging?”

I’d never gotten to throw anyone down a tower before. I felt like doing it at least the once would allow me to better understand the people that I represented as Warden of the East, which was definitely the main reason I wanted to do that and not because it seemed like everyone else had gotten to. Just in case I began eyeing the rampart and working out the angles.

“Message received,” Archer cheerfully replied.

She then knelt and made a melodramatically sombre face, because she’d always been a wench and always would be.

“What are your orders, Your Dark Mistrajesty?” she sinisterly asked.

Wait, had she just pushed together mistress and maj- no, Catherine, don’t let yourself be sucked into her pace.

“I need you to go to the edge of the rampart and look at how long we’ve got before they show up,” I said, then paused. “Also, send for a refill. My glass is empty.”

Indrani eyed me skeptically.

“And you can’t walk the like ten feet to the edge of the wall to look yourself, because…” she trailed off.

My lips thinned.

“Disloyalty is severely punished in this outfit, wench,” I warned her.

She studied me for a long moment, then suddenly grinned.

“You can’t get up, can you?” Indrani said.

Shit.

“Of course I can,” I lied.

“Do it,” she challenged. “Just for two heartbeats. Do it and I’ll speak entirely in rhyme for an entire month.”

I shifted in my seat.

“Look,” I defensively said, “it’s not my fault the mages built this damn thing so that all the channelling arteries end up right under the throne. If I stop touching it-”

“You lose control of a bunch of the power you’ve gathered,” Archer said grin, widening. “Oh Gods, you’re literally stuck in that seat until they show up aren’t you?”

“How far are they?” I whined. “The back of my knee itches and I don’t want to have to take off the armour bending around on the chair.”

“You’re a tragedy,” Indrani amusedly told me.

She went to have a look, though, so I let it pass without censure.

“So?”

“We’ve got a dozen riding hard our way,” Archer said. “And that cloak is pretty hard to mistake: Shiny Boots is in the lead.”

I hummed.

“Is the Witch of the Woods with them?” I asked.

“I would have mentioned the giant monster wolf, Cat,” she snorted.

Good. We’d been pretty sure she wouldn’t be there, since she was supposed to be fixing a breach in the wards up north, but it was hard to be sure with her. The Witch avoided cities and even towns like the plague whenever she could, so it was even more difficult to keep track of her than your average Named. I’d had a backup plan in case she did end up being there, but I was happier not having to use it. Since Cordelia had taken to using the ealamal like a goddamn party trick the boundary with Arcadia had damned hard to breach in the region. Tabula rasa, Masego called the effect. Pissing angel light all over the land fixed the accumulated damage in the fabric of Creation.

Two breaches in a single evening would have taken more out of me than I’d like.

“The First Prince?” I pressed.

“Nowhere in sight,” Indrani said. “Told you it was long odds.”

I waved a hand.

“She’s not the one I want to talk to anyway,” I said. “And I’ve already gotten most of what I want.”

“Breaking up a party,” Indrani solemnly said. “Shame on you, Cat. You used to be fun.”

“It was a Good party,” I argued. “They would have all drunk responsibly and there’d have been no brawling.”

Except for the Levantines, I mentally corrected. They definitely would have drunk too much and brawled. Indrani snorted, then her eyes turned serious even as the smile remained.

“You think it’ll be enough?” she asked. “It’s not even half of them riding here.”

I suspected that probably had more to do with the number of horses fit for a hard ride they’d had on hand than interest, but that hadn’t been the thrust of her thought.

“Hanno left,” I said. “That kills his plan as well as whatever Hasenbach was cooking up to match him.”

“He could just do it tomorrow morning,” Indrani said.

I’ll have gotten my licks in before then, I thought. I still answered, because it would have been arrogance to assume what I intended was guaranteed to work.

“A repeat?” I dismissively shrugged. “He’s free to try. Won’t have the same weight, though. I stole that by slapping down a gauntlet through the clouds and daring him to pick it up. My bet is he’ll push it back a day or two, trying to gather momentum again, but by then it’ll be a different game.”

“It’s coming close to supporting Hasenbach,” Archer said.

I smiled, cold and lean.

“If she gets something out of tonight, good for her,” I said. “But I’m not doing it on her behalf. When I laid down the gauntlet, I was completely serious.”

Archer slowly nodded.

“You’d really do it?” she asked.

I clenched my fingers, then unclenched them.

“I will, ‘Drani,” I said. “If Hanno doesn’t give me a good reason not to, I’ll eat the Book of Some Things.”

I’d not gathered all this Night on a lark. Indrani hummed.

“At this rate,” she told me, “Shiny Boots and attendants will be there in two hours.”

I cursed in Mthethwa.

“You’re going to have to help me out of my armour,” I told her. “And send for the damn bottle, would you?”

A warband of heroes approached my tower on half-dead horses.

Picking out the faces and Names, they’d come ready for a fight. They had the steel: Vagrant Spear, Mirror Knight, Myrmidon, Bloody Sword and Valiant Champion. A balance of Light and magic for their backline: Forsworn Healer, Blessed Artificer, Apprentice and the Wise Astrologer. Then a pair of specialists, the Bitter Blacksmith and the Painted Knife, with Hanno himself the last of the lot. Exactly twelve in all. The rode across the yellow grass towards the tower’s gate, their silhouettes cast in moonlight as shadows roiled before them.

Twelve heroes to the seven villains lying in wait. Most of them of better calibre too. It was a good thing I had no intention of picking a fair right.

I was watching them all through eyes of Night I’d seeded into the writhing darkness embracing the tower, using it as cover. At a long distance I’d been forced to rely on Indrani’s eyes, but up close these would do just fine. Hanno was leading them to the gate, in front with the Astrologer and the Champion, but aside from that they were pretty loosely arranged. Most of the Levantines were clustered in the back, talking excitedly in one of their languages as they pointed at the tower. The Sword of Judgement rode ahead of his two companions, white cloak trailing behind him as he stared up with hard eyes.

“Warden of the East,” he called out, “open your gates. You owe explanation.”

I snorted, up on my throne, as I began to mould the Night within the tower. Yeah, like that was going to work. I still couldn’t leave my seat, but thankfully I had assigned a gatekeeper. He’d gotten his latest orders from Indrani, who had proclaimed herself my herald safe in the knowledge that I couldn’t get up to contradict her. Given even that minute amount of authority she had immediately become a hedonistic tyrant, as everyone even remotely knowing her had seen coming. Still, I did wonder how Ishaq was going interpret ‘slow them down, without fighting if possible’.

“To pass this gate,” a ghastly voice answered from an arrowslit above the gate, “you must answer my riddles three.”

Goddamnit, Ishaq. The Barrow Sword had been handed an enchanted necklace that’d lace his voice with horror, an old Praesi favourite, but that wasn’t going to be enough to carry this. There was a pregnant pause from the heroic side. Getting the Night in place was taking longer than I’d thought it would, even with the tower mostly emptied so I wouldn’t have to worry about collateral damage. He better keep them busy for a while still or this wasn’t going to work.

“We won’t be doing that,” Hanno politely replied. “Stop trying to buy time and open the gate.”

“Lord,” the Vagrant Spear cut in, sounding appalled.

All the Levantines except the Painted Knife, who was rolling her eyes, seemed to agree. Sidonia looked up at the arrowslit.

“Speak your riddles, gatekeeper,” the Vagrant Spear called out.

… I took it back, Ishaq had at least a vague idea of what he was doing. He began to give them his first riddle and I kept half an eye on the situation as I continued moulding the Night, layering it carefully, and noticed that the Wise Astrologer was quietly talking with the Apprentice. Who looked a little uncomfortable as he nodded. Ugh, the Astrologer. She was barely even a mage, I was pretty sure at least half a fraud, and I didn’t care that – the older Ashuran heroine pointed her finger, the Apprentice’s magic flashed in fire and I lost one of the Night eyes I’d hidden. I lost another four in quick succession, almost half the ones I’d seeded. My flesh eye narrowed.

“Dicer,” I spoke into the Night. “Hit the Astrologer.”

The Pilfering Dicer was a rather minor villain I’d assigned to the First Prince’s service after having disciplined him for bad behaviour. He had, you see, stolen luck from my soldiers. That was his trick, stealing luck from others. And tonight, with no story hanging above our heads to punish us for overstepping, I had no hesitation in using him against heroes. I got a hesitant nod from the young man in reply and he dipped into his Name a moment later. Three heartbeats later, the Astrologer’s horse saw something move in the grass it got spooked. She got shaken right off the saddle, landing on her back with strength enough it would bruise.

I coldly smiled.

“Well done,” I praised through the Night, even as Hanno’s face hardened.

“That was an attack,” he called out at the gate. “I felt it. Enough of these games.”

Even as the Levantines protested he bared his sword, but he was just a little too slow. The Mirror Knight had already dismounted, and with a few quick strides he stood before the steel-barded gates of the tower. Sighing, he took a sharp step forward and slammed his helmeted head into the gate. It groaned. Another and it cracked. A third and it broke. On the fourth, the steel bars keeping it closed snapped and the gate flew open. The human-shaped battering ram took a step back, brushing away wooden shards.

“There,” Christophe de Pavanie said. “Shall we get on with it?”

That was a little impressive, but the Barrow Sword had done exactly what I’d asked of him: he’d bought me enough time to finish my preparations.

“Cursed are you who broke the pact of entrance,” Ishaq told them in that horrifying voice. “You will know no rest in this world or the next.”

Now that was just dedication to the job, I approvingly thought. Even better, some of the Levantines looked like they were taking him seriously.

“Astrologer?” Hanno asked.

“I’ve never seen so much Night in one place before,” the Ashuran told him, grimacing. “It is difficult to tell what it is meant for.”

“Then we press on,” Hanno grimly replied.

“I could hammer at the tower,” the Blessed Artificer offered, “I have prepared-”

“Warning shot,” I ordered through the Night.

The black arrow streaked down, landing less than a hair’s breadth away from the end of Adanna of Smyrna’s left foot. She wore good leather boots, but not so good they’d stop an arrow fired by Archer. She yelped and flinched away, but it wasn’t her I’d been looking at. Hanno’s eyes narrowed. A message received, then. I was only going to play nice so long as they did. The moment the gloves came off for them, I stopped holding back.

“We press on,” Hanno repeated, voice firmer. “Prepare yourselves, we are awaited.”

They must have talked tactics on the ride over, because they got into a formation without much jostling. Hanno and the Mirror Knight in front, Champion and Myrmidon out back, their strikers distributed according to range and their most vulnerable Named safely encircled by steel. It was pretty well thought out, I noted as they passed the threshold of the broken gates and entered the bottom floor of the tower. It’d be difficult to crack in a fight, especially considering the small number of villains I’d judged safe to bring into this. A shame for them it wouldn’t matter. Within a heartbeat of the entire warband having ventured into the dark, I pressed down with all my might and the Night I’d been moulding obeyed.

There floor under their feet broke and all of them were dropped into Arcadia. Separated.

And best of all, I could finally get up from the throne.

I’d not known for sure how many would come, so ten cells had seemed a safe bet.

Not that I meant ‘cells’ in the sense of iron bars, of course, since throwing a hero in a dungeon was a recipe to have them rampaging all over your fortress before the day was done. I had instead made sure that they ended up in different, distant parts of Arcadia. The difficulty was that I needed to move them towards one destination or another while they were transitioning, and naturally the opiniated little bastards fought me over it. Fine, it wouldn’t be a perfect spread then. I’d still mostly get my way.

I dropped the Myrmidon and the Bloody Sword on a sunny island in the middle of a deep lake, keeping a single eye on them from the shadow of the trees. Neither was hurt, and I could now consider them pretty much out of the game: both of them were a whirlwind of pain when you let them get in lose, but they had no mobility trick and no deep experience with Arcadia. Let them swim their way to the shore and wander around, it’d take them hours and even providence couldn’t magically bring them to another hero able to guide them.

I tossed the Painted Knife into a swamp near a fae tower, betting that she’d get curious and waste her time there. If allowed to wander she had the potential to be a pain, as a stealthy Named, but between the mud and the distraction she should keep out of my hair. The Blessed Artificer would need careful handling, so I dropped her into a natural well. It was a deep stone shaft with even deeper water at the bottom, in a mountain valley, so while she was in no real danger she’d have to be careful about blowing her way out if she didn’t want to bring half a mountain down on her head. Most likely she’d burn through a bunch of her smaller Light trinkets to carve steps, which I had no issue with. While it might be the massive workings that made her a real threat, in practice she only had a handful of those to call on. Disarming her of the rest would do much to box her in.

The Forsworn Healer was the first to fight me off successfully. I’d meant to dump him in the middle of an open and empty plain, let him wander around, but my nudge was slapped aside and he clung to the Valiant Champion instead. That wasn’t great, I thought, but neither was it horrible. I’d sent her into the broken echo of an old battle, the massacre of some Alamans tribe by what had to be Triumphant’s ancient Legions of Terror, and while the ghosts wouldn’t be able to hurt them getting out of a shard like that could be tricky. The Healer might be able to guide them out, though, so the Champion would be back in play sooner than I would have liked.

That could be dealt with.

“Harrowed Witch,” I called out.

The answer came promptly through the Night.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Draw fae to the battlefield shard,” I ordered. “That hunting party out in the woods ought to do nicely.”

Only one noble there, Indrani had told me, and not a powerful one. Even if one of them did end up wounded, well, they had a healer along. Hopefully they’d enjoy tangling with a pack of fae in the middle of what was essentially a violent illusory field, I thought with just a drop of viciousness. I did manage to split the Astrologer and the Apprentice, putting my back into it, but the fucking Astrologer managed to wiggle her way into falling along with the Vagrant Spear. I’d chosen for them low hills that looked like Twilight, banking on confusion, but that wouldn’t work. And the Astrologer pointed at my eyes within moments, the Spear killing them in bursts of Light.

I’d lost sight on them, which was potentially problematic.

The Apprentice I nudged towards a beautiful golden apple orchard, since she was a good kid and she’d looked a little hungry. She, uh, fell through a bunch of branches on her way down which I’d not meant her to but she seemed to walk off with only bruises. I’d known from the start that moving the Mirror Knight would be like trying to punch a rock barehanded, so him I just let fall straight down. He landed on an old raised stone, which he cracked bouncing off, and got his footing almost immediately. Already he’d be able to see my tower’s Arcadian reflection in the distance, but I had plans to slow him down.

A heartbeat after him the Bitter Blacksmith followed him down, landing in the grass with a thump. The Mirror Knight would be able to run full tilt the whole way to the tower in full plate, he was that kind of ridiculous, but the Blacksmith definitely could not. She was built like one of her trade: for effort, not long runs. Christophe wouldn’t abandon her alone in Arcadia, so they’d be moving at her pace instead of his. It wasn’t perfect, but it bought me time. And time was what I needed, I thought as I angled Hanno for his own fall. Light flared for a moment as he burned away the Night, but a heartbeat later he realized I was sending him exactly where he wanted to go and stopped.

Like a falling star, white cloak trailing behind him, the Sword of Judgement fell before the roiling darkness of my tower. Knees bending as he landed in crouch, he rose smoothly with his sword in hand and did not bat an eye before beginning to advance. Best get the reception ready, else he’d be on me before I’d finished the last of my preparations.

“Barrow Sword,” I spoke into the Night. “Entertain our guest.”

“Of course,” Ishaq lightly agreed. “Rules?”

“Nothing permanent,” I said. “Withdraw if it gets too heated.”

“Understood.”

I moved my will through the Night, finding another villain.

“Hunted Magician,” I said.

“You have my attention, Warden,” the man easily replied.

“The Barrow Sword and our favourite guest are about to fight in the gatehouse,” I said. “Be a dear and shoot the White Knight in the back while he’s busy, would you?”

I got a delighted laugh back.

“Your Excellency,” the Hunted Magician replied, “it will be my very great pleasure.”

I didn’t even bother to tell him to keep it nonlethal. The Magician was a predictable sort of a creature: he’d not want to risk the backlash of killing Hanno even if I had given him such an order. That ought to keep Shiny Boots busy for a while, even if it’d definitely not turn him away. Opening my eye, I ripped off the globe of Night I’d burrowed my head in and dispersed it. The strands of darkness slithered around my skin, going down below my seat where the channel would lead them to the heart of the tower. The preliminaries were finished, all the forces in movement and accounted for. I could begin my ritual with a degree of assurance that I wouldn’t be jumped.

Finally, I rose from my throne. Reaching out with my hand without looking, I found my staff of yew waiting. Rolling my shoulders, I adjusted the Mantle of Woe and began limping my way to the stairs. Barely three steps in, there was a tug at the Night. I flicked my wrist and circle of Night appeared by my head as I kept moving.

“Archer,” I said. “I’m listening.”

“Painted Knife is loose,” Indrani said. “She captured the fae tower keeper and cut off fingers until he gave her directions. She’s headed straight for the tower.”

Well, that’d gotten out of hand impressively quick.

“She’s still in the swamps, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Indrani replied. “I’m keeping an eye on her from a distance.”

“I’ll handle it,” I said. “Astrologer and Vagrant Spear are in the hills and they killed my eyes, I want you to look in on them.”

“Gotcha.”

I’d put the Painted Knife near the edge of the swamp not only because that was where the tower was. It was also because there was a little spot of trouble deeper in. I moved my will through the Night and found the villain I was looking for.

“Dicer,” I said.

“Ma’am,” he replied, sounding wary.

No doubt he’d been hoping that after stepping in once he’d be able to stay out of it. The little bastard wasn’t that lucky, though. At least not yet.

“Steal the Painted Knife’s luck,” I ordered. “As much of it as you can.”

“Is it, er, all right if I run away afterwards?” the Pilfering Dicer.

“I’d actually prefer it,” I honestly replied.

With a sigh of relief on his part, the conversation ended. The Dicer’s little trick ought to compensate for providence enough that the house-sized and very territorial heron in the swamps would pick up on the sudden scent of blood in its territory. That ought to keep the Painted Knife busy for a while longer. I’d barely taken another three steps before Archer was tugging at the Night again.

“Cat,” she said the moment the circle formed next to my head. “You sent a hunting party after the Champion and the Healer, right?”

“Asked the Witch to lure one in, yes,” I corrected. “And?”

“Half of the fae are dead, they stole two horses and now they’re riding out of the battle echo at a gallop,” Indrani bluntly said.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Fine. Fucking fae, and to think they’d been so reliably awful when I started out. Those two were a genuine problem if they got to Hanno, they’d be able to support him well enough he’d blow straight to the chamber where I was keeping the Book. Worse, I realized as I closed my eye and visualized the path they’d be taking, they’d be coming through the plains where the Mirror Knight and the Blacksmith were walking. If they gave a horse to the Mirror Knight, this was going to head downhill real quick. Although, wait, technically to the east of them…

“Hold on a moment,” I said, plunging my head into the circle of Night.

I found the eye I was looking for, the one in the swamp where the Painted Knife had landed. While I couldn’t see either her or the Pilfering Dicer, I could see the very large and very angry red heron storming through the swamp. Yeah, that could work. I withdrew my head from the circle.

“I’m going to have the Witch light up the swamp, it’ll draw their attention to a fight brewing there,” I said. “Should delay them long enough.”

Then I paused.

“How good at flying are herons, do you know?” I asked.

“Average, I’d think?” Indrani replied.

Yeah, I wasn’t taking the chance.

“See the giant red bird?” I asked.

A moment passed.

“Found it,” she replied.

“Shoot one of the wings,” I said. “Something the Forsworn Healer won’t be able to heal. And I still want you on the Astrologer and Sidonia when you have a moment, so keep moving.”

“I hear ya, Your Dreadsome Majority.”

I rolled my eye at her, even knowing she wouldn’t be able to see it. Taking a wing would make it an easier fight for them, but I wasn’t going to have this end in the three heroes riding the giant bird to the tower. It was easy enough to call on the Harrowed Witch and have her cast a lightshow around the swamps, which had the added benefit of making the heron significantly angrier. I got to the bottom of the stairs, at least, before the next set of bad news. From the Royal Conjurer, this time, whom I’d been hoping to keep back until the last moment.

“Your Excellency,” the old man said. “The Blessed Artificer is drowning.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose.

“She tried to blow her way out through the fucking mountain, didn’t she?” I guessed.

“That appears to be the case,” the Royal Conjurer agreed.

Goddamn Adanna. She was actually going to be the first one to take someone on my side off the board by sheer virtue of having put herself into such a bad situation. I’d kept the Conjurer near the valley as a precaution in case she got out too early, not thinking she’d get herself killed.

“Get her out,” I sighed. “You won’t make it back in time for the reception, but it can’t be helped.”

Leaving her to die would push this further than I was willing to take it. Even if it weakened my second line of defence more than I’d like. Aspasie will have to do instead.

“And should she attack me after she’s been rescued?” the old man mildly asked.

I snorted.

“I said get her out,” I replied. “Never said anything about her being conscious. Our charity has limits.”

“Indeed,” the Royal Conjurer lightly replied, and I would have bet good money he was smirking.

That did some to improve my mood, at least until Archer tugged at the Night again.

“Let me guess,” I sighed, “they seduced the goddamn King of Arcadia and he’s giving them a ride to the tower on his personal flying chariot?”

“Good news or bad news?” Archer asked.

“Good news,” I said.

Could so with some of those.

“The Astrologer helped Sidonia to some strange Light trick and she shot up a pillar in the sky as a signal,” Indrani said. “I’m pretty sure only two people saw it, though, the Mirror Knight and the Bitter Blacksmith. They’re trying to link up, but looking at it Sidonia and the Ashuran are going the wrong way entirely.”

Which would slow down the heroic battering ram even more. The hills were to the east of the region where I’d dispersed the heroes, it was very much going off-road for the pair that’d been in a straight line to the tower since the start.

“The bad news?” I asked.

“Only the Blacksmith is headed that way,” Indrani cheerfully said. “The Mirror Knight is now running after the tower like it stole his glistening codpiece.”

I swore. So when they’d figured there were other heroes close by good ol’ Christophe had felt comfortable pawning off the Blacksmith in their general direction. That was a problem.

“Pull back to the tower,” I said. “We’re starting early.”

“You got something in mind for handling Polished Ponce?” Archer curiously asked.

“He’s shit with illusions,” I said. “I’m going to have to tie down the Harrowed Witch keeping him out, but it’s a worthwhile trade.”

And there went my backup for the second line of defence, not that the woman in question seemed to mind. If anything, Aspasie seemed relieved when I gave the order. She’d be sitting out the rest of this, after all: her only duty would be hiding herself and making the Mirror Knight believe the tower was in another direction entirely. It was a good bet that sooner or later a comrade would run into him and help him out of the illusion, but that’d take a while. Not as long as I’d like, but that was why plans had to be kept flexible. And mine was, in a manner of speaking. See, since I knew that the heroes had kept their stories but my side didn’t it was much easier to predict how events would unfold.

Like if I were to say, begin a ritual to eat the Book of Some Things?

Everyone would converge on the tower immediately and Hanno would begin smashing whoever was in his way at the time. I could have put everyone on fighting him from the start, sure, but it would have been a mistake. It would all be a single ‘fight’ that he’d blow through when I began the ritual and providence put a finger to the scale so he could stop me in time. And if I didn’t begin the ritual, then providence would begin nudging every hero to get there to reinforce him in time – which was still a loss condition for me. No, much as it ran against my instinct to disperse my forces what I needed was a second line of defence after he got his. Fortunately, she was already on her way back to the tower. I would have liked for the Royal Conjurer or t least the Harrowed Witch to back Archer up, but we’d have to do without.

The butt of my staff rapped against the stone floor as I entered the chamber where all the writhing strands of Night converged, stone walls covered with carvings and runes humming with power. On a pedestal awaited an unimpressive leather-bound book. There was nothing special about it, until you noticed that no shadow seemed to be able to come within precisely seven inches of it. Mind you, for anything with a shred of a sense for power the Book of Some Things felt like a storm shoved into a teacup.

“You know,” I told the Book, “there’s usually rules about this. Like, don’t eat unknown magic or you’ll blow up. Don’t double-cross devils for kicks or try to cannibalize gods.”

Wood on stone, a gentle rap as I limped forward.

“Only they’re not rules so much as stories,” I said. “And those are out of the game, at the moment. So it’s still a risk, just between you me, and I won’t pretend otherwise. But it’s a risk and not a risk, you get me?”

I leaned forward.

“So I’ll admit that I’m a little curious,” I murmured. “I know my teeth are sharp, but are they that sharp?”

I smiled, drawing back, and reached out. Strands of Night began to flow from the walls to my hand, returning to me. By my ear, I felt bare fangs as an old friend grinned her approval. I sank into the shadows one last time, and saw through my eyes on the tower. In the distance, I glimpsed riders. Coming closer. Not many, but not few. At their head rode the Kingfisher Prince, but their leading banner was not his: it was a mountain crowned in bronze on a field dark blue. The heraldry of Rhenia, the First Prince’s banner. So you’re going to show up as well, Cordelia, I smiled. Good. It’s better this way. My eye opened and I looked down at the stolen stories of Good made into an artefact.

“Let’s find out,” I grinned, and the Night howled.