List of Characters from previous stories

Untruths of Time

Sparrow Hawk and Lightning

To Stand once more in the Sun

Solar Exalted

Sparrow Hawk - Dawn Caste - Airship Captain who exalted when fighting a demon.

Heron Jade Eyes - Eclipse Caste - Gambler, beautiful man

Ivory Peleps - Twilight Caste - Child of the Empire, sorceress and engineer

Lunar Exalted

Lightning - Fullmoon Caste - Servant of the Silver Pact

Sidreal Exalted

Dreaming Blue - Chosen of Secrets - Seeks the Orrery of the Unseen Stars that Ivory possesses

Gracious Shaia - Chosen of Serenity - Acquaintance of Dreaming Blue

Terrestrial Exalted

Anzar Ragara - Water Aspect - A Dragon Blood who tried to kill Ivory and Heron

Kihoshi Cathak - Fire Aspect - A Dragon Blood who joined the hunt for Ivory and Heron, now Heron's servant

Peleps Jade Dolphin - Water Aspect - Ivory's mother

Mnemon Gazan - Earth Aspect - Leader of the Empress's Left

Menmon Tolsay - Earth Apsect - Member of the Empress's Left

Maheka Yoti - Earth Aspect - Member of Lookshy's Sorcerer Engineers, Ivory stole his armiger

Abyssal Exalted

Faded Maiden of the Tomb - Midnight Caste - Servant of Walker in Darkness, hates Nihilistic Courtesan

Truth Found in Pain of Fire - Daybreak Caste - Servant of Walker in Darkness

Nihilistic Courtesan - Day Caste - Rogue Abyssal, Lightning's mate

Cold Rain - Midnight Caste - Rogue Abyssal

Whispers of the Dead - Moonshadow Caste - Rogue Abyssal

Ghosts

Abbess Cloud Hands - once an Air Aspect - Killed by Heorn

Mnemon Grace - once an Earth Aspect - Killed by Heron

Gods

Kage Hu - God of things in Shadows, servant to Five Days in Darkness, protect Ivory

Darken Gray - God of Corporal Punishment, servant of Aisha Hikari Ex

Aisha Hikari Ex - God of Children


Secrets and Roguery

Through Out Creation - Zero Chapter

The conversation was a low susurration, like the gentle flow of water; always there and equally meaningless. To Anzar the water like association offered some peace, but not as much as the opium he smoked from a long, jade pipe; or the rough and burning alcohol he drank.

The proprietor of the 'bar' shuffled softly up to where Anzar sat straight backed and placed a small, resinous ball of opium in a silver dish that was on the small table top. Behind him a young woman, pretty enough, but for her bruised eyes, carried another bottle of the clear liquor, 'white lightning' that Anzar had been drinking near constantly.

He nodded and the woman placed the bottle on the table. The proprietor walked away, but the woman remained, standing by the table, in her thin outer robe, tugging slightly at the material to expose more of her full breasts. Anzar shook his head and held out a handful of silver bits to her. She nodded and took them, then left as well.

He turned his pipe in his hands for a time, feeling the smooth silver and jade fittings, each part precisely created and assembled. It was a small work of art. The pipe's metal bowl had gone black with use. He scraped some of the burnt resin and smoke stains away with a thumbnail.

Around him people came and went, passing through the small door, finding a seat, or more often sprawling on cushions. Some were taken further into the building, where they would not disturb the other patrons as they sought their own escapes into less peaceful madness.

Escape, Anzar thought, as, with a silver knife, he cut a chunk of opium from the ball. They all were escaping something. Carefully he filled the pipe bowl and then with a pair of scorched, iron tweezers found a burning coal in the ceramic bowl resting on the centre of the table. With the coal he set the opium to burning.

Time meant little in the dimly illuminated room. It was cut off from the world outside, as much as could be arranged. No one bothered him, asked for anything, just came and placed liquor and drugs in front of him, made subtle offers of other things. As long as he had money they would continue to do so. He smiled as he put the pipe aside for a moment, knowing that they would continue to do so even if he had no money. He was a Dragon Blood after all, and he was in the capital city of Dragon Blood Empire. This was a place where proper respect would be shown.

He worked the cork from the bottle the girl had left and filled his tall glass to the rim.

Whether he was deserving of that respect or not.

Musing as he was Anzar missed the subtle change in the atmosphere of the establishment, and it was not until he head a soft gasp, so unsubtle in the den, that he pulled himself away from murky thoughts and looked up.

A tall man walked through the bar, his robes not really covering his jade breastplate, his hood pushed back showing a head shorn of hair and a hard, cruel face. Anzar had seen him before, but even if he had not he would have recognized the Master of the Pinnacle and the Wyld Hunt; Peleps Deled.

The girl, bravely, probably foolishly, approached, as if to ask the man if he wanted anything, but the words died still on her lips and her knees looked as if they might buckle as Deled fixed her with a stare but for a moment. He continued into the room, unconcerned with the people who shifted out of his way, or left the den entirely. Finally he stopped and took a seat across from Anzar.

"Ragara Anzar," Deled said, his voice raised with no regard to the quiet that all maintained.

Anzar nodded, and reached for his pipe, but the Master of the hunt was faster, his hand coming down to snap the pipe. "We must speak," Deled said.

Swallowing to moisten a suddenly dry throat Anzar nodded.

Deled looked about and then asked, "Hiding in such a place does not befit one of the Blood of the Dragons. Does fear, humiliation, or perhaps," a sneer coloured his tone, "a broken heart send a Dragon into hiding?"

Anzar shifted, leaning forward, for a moment a flare of anger burning away good sense. "Don't judge me."

Deled's hand was wrapped in the cloth of Anzar's shirt, faster than he could see, and he was pulled close to the hard face of Deled. People stood, quickly vacating the den. "Answer my question."

Anzar said nothing, and Deled released him. "I've read the reports," he said. "Your hunt was quite the failure. Of course I put much of the blame on Cloud Hands. She should have know better."

Anzar felt that Cloud Hands deserved better, but his earlier anger was damped. "You were not there," he said calmly.

Deled smiled cruelly. "I've dealt with worse. She failed. You failed as well."

Anzar was silent, firming his jaw.

"Tell me about Dreaming Blue."

"What do you want to know about her?" he asked after a moment.

"Who is she?"

Anzar shook his head. "I don't know."

Deled frowned. "I dislike her. She seems to be a cipher."

"She always served the cause of the Order," Anzar told him.

"Did she?" The cruel smile played at the corner of his mouth.

"She did."

"Perhaps that is true, but only, I believe, because it served her cause. There are others like her," he bit off the words, "making a mockery of the Faith. Do not let your feelings blind you to that fact Ragara Anzar."

"I trust her," Anzar said, though he felt his words ring hollow.

"You are a fool then, but I do not need you to hunt this woman. I want the demon in the form of the Peleps girl."

"It all started with her," he said quietly in agreement.

"I will not have anyone speaking of that thing as if she were some kind of saviour." There was venom in his words, and his fingernails carved shallow furrows in the wood of the table as he closed his fist.

Anzar looked at the man and realized that Deled's world was in danger of being knocked askance, as Anzar's world had been by the betrayal of Dreaming Blue. The Shadowland being closed by a Solar, by an Anathema, one who accomplished what the Dragon Bloods could not; such a thing could not stand in Deled's world.

Anzar was careful to say nothing of the sort.

"I do not know where the girl has gone."

"Then we will find her together."

It was on his lips to ask why, but good sense stilled that question. "You will lead a Wyld Hunt against her."

Deled nodded. "And the other Anathema with her, and those who follow, willingly or not."

Anzar picked up the glass of liquor in front of him, before Deled could stop him, but he did not drink from it. Instead he carefully poured it back into the bottle, then put the cork into the neck. "I will use this to drink a toast over their dead bodies," he said to Deled, lifting the bottle by the neck.

Anzar did not really believe the words, but he spoke well enough that likely Deled thought he did, for the master of the Wyld Hunt smiled.

Anzar answered the smile with one of his own as he got to his feet. In truth he was terrified, certain he was going to his death.


With great care Mnemon Gazan wrote several characters onto the map, in red ink. The characters spelled out 'Blossom'. Blossom, was, as far as Tolsay and his agents had been able to figure out, Heron Jade Eyes, disguised as a woman.

He leaned back from his map, looking at it. In black ink Heron's name was written. In blue ink the name 'Verity Jinx', in red 'Blossom' and in green 'Chalim Ofons'.

The names covered a large part of the lands in the South, the Scavenger Lands, and up into the North.

"One man could not have done all this," he said.

Across from him knelt a woman, pretty, a little plump, dressed in a formal, mannish suit. She leaned forward, her short, brown hair falling forward, brown eyes scanning the map. "Chalim Ofons?"

"Young man, bookish, nervous, by all reports, twitches when he plays. Most people think he is lucky."

"Really? I mean, I accept that Heron can disguise himself as Blossom or Verity, he is, by all reports, as beautiful as any woman, but some bookish guy? How can the guild not see through that disguise?"

Gazan tapped his finger on one incidence of the name in green; which appeared twice in Nexus, once in Great Forks, and once in Gem. "I have thought of that myself Lin, but Chalim seems a likely choice, so I leave him on the list. There are three more possibilities, but I am not certain enough to add them."

Lin Iselsi was a member of the Left, serving as a Liaison to The Thousand Scales and the All-Seeing Eye. He would not trust her but for the fact she was completely loyal to the Empress.

Lin looked at the map. "He's gambling quite a bit."

"And not like he usually did. Gentleman Gambler was how most people described him, win or lose, always polite, but not now. Now he is taking gambling houses for all he can. He's broken the bank at three Guild casinos."

"The Guild will not be happy. That explains the disguises?"

"They can't ban him if they can't identify him. And he is damnably fast. He outruns news of his actions, and then changes to a new identity and starts the process again."

"How long as he been doing it?"

"Three months."

"That is a great deal of money."

Gazan smiled and nodded. "A great deal, and I don't know what he is doing with it." He looked at her. "Yet."

"I will see if I can follow the money trail."

"Good."

"You know he wants money now, for some grand project no doubt. We could give him quite a bit..."

He shook his head. "He'd never fall for such simple bait, but as you say, he needs money. I have Tolsay looking into it. He is going to find someone unpleasant, possibly with the Guild, to set up a con around, then offer to bring Heron in. It is transparent..."

"Very much so."

Ignoring her Gazan continued. "But he will probably go for it, and it will be a start. And none of our own money spent."

Lin reached forward, spreading out several pages on which were sketches. "One could see Blossom and Heron as sisters."

"Sister and brother."

"No one could ever see two like that standing side by side and assume Heron was male. Unless he was naked." She paused. "I would dearly love to see him naked you know."

"I'm sure you and many others."

"Yes. Now Verity on the other hand looks like a scared little mouse, a librarian, or someones' forgotten daughter. If she came to a casino I owned I would turn her away immediately just because, well, why would a little mouse come to a casino?"

"Casinos exist to part fools from their money and don't do well turning people away."

"Perhaps that is why I am not running a casino. Still don't think Chalim is Heron."

"Time will tell. Find out what he needs the money for, and while you are at it I need to know who in the Upper Echelons of Thousand Scales is still completely loyal to the Empress."

"I will do so." She got to her feet, then knelt down and put her hand on the picture of Verity. "May I have this?"

"Why?"

"I have a servant I want to dress up like this." She smiled.

He waved his hand and said, "Take it."

"Thanks." She took the picture and nearly flounced from the room.

Returning his attention to the map he wished he had Heron Jade Eyes working for him. He could accomplish great things with an agent like that. Though, he thought, picking up the picture of the beautiful man, it seemed more likely that he would end up working for Heron.

And the dangerous thought was that he might not mind such a thing.

He put the picture aside and got to his feet, walking to his window, looking out over the gardens. "Where are you right now my Empress, and what is it you plan for your Empire?"


The staff of the Seven Fold Lotus were busy. They were always busy of course, maintaining a manse of Seven Fold Lotus' size was a large job. Opal Peleps had grown up the manse, it and the grounds around it had been the entirety of her world until she had exalted. She knew the ebb and flow of the manse, and knew that the servants were preparing for something.

Nothing too large, she thought, no one too important. She acknowledged the shows of respect from the servants as she passed, but did not let it slow her. Possibly a magistrate was coming to visit, or some minor functionary of the court. She might have asked, but she had heard important things and she must talk to her mother about them.

She was tall, for a woman, an athletic build, mostly concealed by her clothing. She was pretty, long black hair, and tanned skin, and dark blue eyes that seemed to glow at times.

Turning a corner took her out of view of servants and other, lesser household members. With the privacy she started to run, her kimono sleeves flapping as she moved. Quite unseemly, which is why she had waited until she was unobserved. Down the hall, out into an open plaza, not often used for there were no easy exits from it. A cul-de-sac existing for the purpose of essence flow in the Manse, not a structure built for the convenience of its inhabitants.

She quickened her pace, leaping up, her foot touching down on the rim of the central fountain for a moment before she sprang up and forward. The silk of her kimono snapped like a sail as she covered nearly thirty feet in distance to land on a balcony railing twenty feet up from the ground.

Pace unbroken she leapt from balcony railing into room beyond and then into a hall.

Opal had to slow her pace slightly, once more entering the well travelled paths of the manse, but her earlier burst of speed and the shortcut had bought her some time. Probably not enough though.

Up ahead the corridor turned, and would turn again before it would bring her to the staircase she sought, and then she would have to backtrack. She looked about, saw she was alone, for a moment, and ducked into one of the side doors. This brought her into the third level of a vast library, lit by the sun streaming through large windows of adamant panes.

Below her scholars, students and others perused the library and its contents, but few were up in the higher levels, and no one saw her cross the wooden walkway, open one of the window panes, and then leap out.

She dropped quietly into an empty, walled garden, between a pair of ground level windows, unmarked stone at her back. Two young children were sitting in the shade of an apple tree. They stared at her, surprised. Opal regarded them for a moment as she put her clothing to rights. She did not recognize them, likely children of the servants, hiding from work or taking a break.

Placing a finger to her lips, holding them with her gaze for several seconds likely got her point across loud and clear. She turned and walked towards a gate. Pushing it open and stepping out nearly put her at her mother's elbow, but her timing was a little off, and she ended up beside the Majordomo, a pretty young woman who managed a quick smile before shifting to the side so that Opal might approach the woman in the lead.

She stepped forward, waited a moment for the stable master to get his instructions, then addressed her mother. "Might you spare me a moment mother?"

Jade Dolphin turned towards her daughter and smiled. "Of course Opalescence, but for the moment I must deal with other issues."

"Yes mother," Opal said, and then took a step back so others might speak with Jade Dolphin.

They walked along the bricked tiled path, towards the river, her mother assigning tasks to her senior staff, clarifying things when necessary. All the things required to run the manse and the other lands that her mother commanded. Opal was worried that she might not get a chance to actually speak to her mother when the dock came in sight.

Jade Dolphin paused in her discussion with the master of the kitchens and looked back at Opal. "Get the gondola ready, you will be rowing."

It was on Opal's lips to say, 'Me?', but she had been too well schooled, and instead dipped her head in a bow and said, "Of course mother."

She stepped forward, lengthening her stride as much as her clothing and decorum would allow, reaching the white gondola, tied off with a number of other small craft, several steps ahead of the rest of the crowd. She cast off the bow mooring, and then took a long oar from a rack. Stepping one foot into the boat she was able to offer her mother her hand to assist her into the craft.

Her mother settled, Opal undid the stern mooring and then used her foot to push the gondola from the dock. Settling onto the end she spun the oar, dropped the end into the water, and with a sweep turned the bow towards the middle of the river. A few strokes took them from the calm pool near the docks, into the river's current. It gently took the boat and pulled it into its embrace.

"Satisfactory," her mother said.

Rare praise, Opal thought, moving the gondola out towards the middle of the river. "I remember when you took me out on the river, just after I exalted," Opal said.

"I am glad to hear that. You were supposed to remember it."

Jade Dolphin's tone carried a subtle edge to it, letting Opal know she had made an error in drifting into nostalgia, stating something so obvious.

She did not try to defend herself, or make excuses, instead focused on her rowing, lifting the oar from the water, spinning it in an arc above, and then plunging it smoothly into the river on the other side of the gondola. When her mother had preformed the same maneuver, many years ago, she had brought a spray of water with the oar, that had formed a rainbow above them, beautiful and amazing as not a drop of water had fallen on the boat.

Something expected of a water aspect, but not something that Opal was willing to try yet.

"The river," Jade Dolphin said, dipping a hand into the cool water, "protects us, as much as anything. You may speak freely while we are upon it."

She did not look back at Opal.

Opal was silent for a moment, and then, "They say that Peleps Deled requested house aid in a Wyld Hunt he is leading. They say that you refused it to him."

"Deled is a fool who is going to his death. Of course I refused him."

Opal swallowed, in spite of her mother's words that they were safe upon the river.

"He is a powerful man, and he hunts," she paused, "an Anathema who likely killed Ivory."

Her mother laughed, and shifted back on her elbows, extending her neck so she was looking back at Opal from an upside down perspective. "He is hunting Ivory, no demon that took her shape."

Lazily she lifted her head so she was once again staring in the direction that river took them.

Opal considered her mother's words for a few seconds. "So you hope that Ivory can be of use to you."

"Very good," Jade Dolphin told her, not looking back.

"What is she?"

"She is your little sister, the same girl that occasionally spoke true prophecy and I sent to Gazan Menmon. She is just more powerful now."

"I don't understand," Opal said.

"There is nothing wrong with that. You lack information. When I took you on this river I told you many things."

"And you said there was more that you might one day tell me."

"And this is one day," Jade Dolphin told her. "It has been our family's privilege and duty to maintain the essence flows in the Prefecture of Juche. The essence flows in this part of the island are of vital importance to the health of the Blessed Isle, and of the workings of the Sword of Creation.

"There are many materials that our line has needed to perform our duty, materials that have been sanitized so that we might not know the truth. The thing is, however, had they been sanitized too much, they would have been useless. Truth has remained, the result is that members of our line have always known too much."

"Too much about what?"

"About history, about history as it happened." Her mother shifted in the gondola, looking towards the banks. "Of course knowledge of true history has always been of little use, for there was nothing that could be done with it. Until they returned in great numbers. And as your sister has become one of them, that knowledge is even more valuable."

"Become one of what?" Opal asked, still rowing, keeping the gondola moving fast and steady.

"A chosen of the Unconquered Sun, a Solar Exalted, and, possibly, a true ruler of Creation. And there is no longer just one or two of them, appearing once every decade or so, as was the pattern in the past, but hundreds. Deled's time is over."

"How do you know that Ivory will do what you want though?"

Jade Dolphin laughed. "Opalescence, why do you think your sister would be able to refuse me? It is not as if you can."

Opal nodded after a moment. "What would you have me do?"

"Watch and wait Opal my dear, and be flexible in your thinking. This is a time of change and those who cling too tightly to the past will be lost."


In The Lands of the Dead - Plotting of Ghosts

In the Underworld no city was as grand as Stygia, the city that sat at the centre of the land of the Dead, as Mount Meru and its ruined city of Meru was the heart of Creation. Built around the Well of Oblivion it was, in its way, part of the wards that protected the rest of the Underworld from complete destruction and Oblivion.

The city was one of ghosts, mostly, but as it had been built in part by mortals, mortals still found safety, of a sort, within.

In the city district called Soul's Lost, the Death Knight Cold Rain and a single zombie had found such temporary shelter.

On the upper floor of an elegant, monochrome mansion Cold Rain looked, from a bay window, down on the fine brick roadways and highborn ghosts that walked them. The room that he was in was very nearly empty, but for a few pieces of old furniture, and a large object, covered in silk, pushed up against one of the walls. Cracks lined the walls and ceilings, and mould grew here and there.

He was not bothered by the shabbiness of the room, for it was quite common in Soul's Lost. The elegance and beauty were just facades of the old and crumbling heart of the district. If anything he was amused at the ghosts, desperately trying to hold onto their living lives of opulence with so little to do so with.

He heard a soft rapping at his door, three rapid knocks, a long pause, and then a final one. The thought of ignoring it played on his mind for a few moments, but he finally looked to the door and said, "Enter."

The door opened and a tall, thin woman, with long red hair and dark skin, entered. She was as mortal as he, and like him was a Death Knight, once in service to the Mask of Winters.

"So why do you come here this time Whispers?" he asked her, turning back to the window and the performance below.

Whispers of the Dead closed the door behind her. "I thought you might like news," she said softly.

Cold Rain had found her when he had entered the Mask's holdings to obtain his Monstance of Celestial Portion. He had helped her obtain hers as well, as she had helped him. He had no idea where she had hidden hers, but his was in the room with him, covered in silk so he did not have to look at it.

As the reliquary of his Black Exaltation, and where the power would flee were his mortal life ended, it was as much a part of him as his arm. It was not something he had wanted anyone else to lay their hands on once the Mask of WInters had been ended.

"News of what?" he asked.

"The Maiden of the Mirthless Smile still holds Thorns of the Underworld, what is left of it."

"Has any other Death Lord made a serious play for it?"

"No," he heard her say after a moment, "though the walker in Darkness has sent some scouting missions. She tells her followers that the Mask of Winters will return."

"I wonder if she really believes that?" Cold Rain asked softly. He did not, was certain the Mask was gone.

She must have known his question was rhetorical for she did not answer, but said, "I have heard that the Lady of Darkness in Bloodstained Robes has sworn service to the Lover."

Cold Rain laughed at that. "Her and her Death Lord's appetites might match, but I would be surprised if she lived out the year. More likely the Lover will end her and find someone more interesting to exalt in her place. And what of the Disciple of the Seven Forbidden Wisdoms?" he asked, suddenly finding a liking for this game.

"I do not know, but, the Physician of the Black Maladies travels to speak with the First and Forsaken lion, though if he does so with the Maiden's knowledge I do not know."

"And Typhon?"

"There have been many deaths in the River provinces. I believe he is working out certain issues."

Cold Rain left the window, walked into the room, picked up a bottle from a worn table and then filled two glasses. Pausing for a moment to gently stroke the rotting face of the zombie who stood close, he then picked up the glasses and carried them over to Whispers, holding one out. "What say we drink a toast to Typhon then, who seems to be having fun in all this?"

She took the glass he held, almost hesitantly, and lifted it. He brought his up, tapped it against hers, filling the room with a soft chime. Then he drank. Watching Whispers drink, her throat working as she swallowed the contents, he waited, and then asked, "And what of Whispers in the Darkness, who does she serve?"

The question surprised her, but he had timed it so she did not choke on her drink. "I do not serve anyone, like you I am on the run."

"Liar," he said to her, with no real heat, and finished off the contents of his glass. "Now, show me the respect I deserve and tell me."

Holding the glass in two hands, nervously fidgeting with it, she said, "I have been approached by agents of the Lion. They've asked me to extend an invitation to you?"

"And have you told them where I am?"

She shook her head.

"And were you followed here?"

She shook her head again.

"So killing you might be of a benefit to me."

She looked uncertain for a moment, and then said, "I will not go quietly."

He laughed softly. "I will think on it. Thank you for the message."

She nodded, put her glass down, and left.

Cold Rain returned to the window, wondering if he really wanted to remain in the service of any Death Lord. He looked at the silk shrouded Monstrance. He might, remain a rogue, do as he wished, take what little freedom he could.

It did not seem such a bad thing. But he would have to give up fantasies of revenge, for without a Death Lords backing and the resources it brought he would be foolish to pursue the powerful entities he had battled against.

"What do you think Mother," he asked softly, "shall I be a slave again?"

No answer was given, for which he was grateful.


The Noss Fens was full of stagnant, scum covered pools and streams; thick black moss hung from the trees. The life energies of the elemental Pole of Wood mixed with the energies of death in the Shadowland, so that things grew and rotted at the same time.

In the centre of the Shadowland was the Mound of Forsaken Seeds; a vast labyrinthine ziggurat, sunken into the fen so only a hundred feet of the top was visible above ground. Within, the tunnels and chambers of the Mound were odd and disquieting, lacking right angles or parallels line.

It was the power base of the Dowager of the Irreverent Vulgate in Unrent Veils, and there she dwelt with her menagerie of foster children.

Cloud Hands, now a ghost, had been brought to the Mound, with Grace, by Shoat of Mire. She had not met the Dowager, for which was she was glad. She had seen the living children, with their fear filled eyes, and she had seen the ghosts. Many ghosts. The majority of them destined to become soulsteel.

She and Grace had been given fine raiment, and comfortable quarters, and they were made to look out at the forge that took ghosts and turned them into soulsteel. It was terrible, but Cloud Hands did not think to run. To run would be to give up her hatred of Heron Jade Eyes. To run would be to accept the call of Lethe and to be reborn, new and unknowing. That she could not accept, that her vengeance against Heron might never bear fruit.

If she was strong enough, then she would play her part in Heron's destruction.

If she could endure.

It was what she had been promised.

Grace and she did not speak often, they had little to say that had not been already said. They only waited, refusing to be cowed by the terrible sights they were forced to watch.

"Almost done," Shoat of Mire said.

Surprised, Cloud Hands turned to look at the child.

"What do you want?" Grace asked, trying to hide alarm with anger, Cloud Hands supposed.

The child knelt near the small table where Cloud Hands and Grace spent most of their days. She was dressed in a silk shift, the once delicate embroidery gone to tatters with age, and the material yellowed from too many washings. She canted her head to the side and put a pinky into one ear, working it back and forth in small circles. "I want to ask you about Ivory," she said, bringing her finger out to look it over.

She was not disturbed by the forge and the cries of ghosts, but Cloud Hands had been told the children of the Mound were surrounded by soulsteel, made from the ghosts of their parents, grand parents, great grand parents, and even father back. Obviously they were inured to the idea.

"What do you want to know about her?" Cloud Hands asked.

"Why?" Graced followed.

"There aren't many children Exalts," the Shoat of Mire explained. "So I want to meet her, if I can."

Cloud Hands and Grace looked at each other, then back to the child. "I saw her call foul magics against the Wyld Hunt," Cloud Hands told her. "And found many dead by her hand or the claws of her tiger."

"So she's a sorceress," Shoat said. "Neat. What else?"

"She would have been raised in luxury," Cloud Hands told her, "well educated, though possibly harshly so."

Shoat snorted. "Don't think she's got it more harsh than me."

Cloud Hands nodded in agreement.

"She will be capable of being unfailingly polite, if she choses to, and a master of etiquette, if she chose," Grace said.

"If she choses to?" Shoat turned her gaze to Grace.

"The way we are raised. She will think too highly of herself, and is not old enough that anyone will have beaten that idea out of her. Likely no one will now."

"So she could be fun to play with," Shoat said.

"I think the two of you would become fast friends," Cloud Hands said, and it was not a compliment.

Shoat of Mire only smiled, suggesting she knew the true meaning behind the words. Instead of speaking more of Ivory she asked, "Do you think your hate is going to be strong enough, or will you just get lost with all the other ghosts?"

"It will be," Grace stated. "We will overcome."

"We shall see," Cloud Hands told her.

Shoat smiled. "Good, cause it's happening t'morrow." She smiled. "I'm gonna watch."

Cloud Hands felt ill, but did not let it cross her burnt face, and only nodded. "Then tomorrow our questions are answered."


The hand that closed on the soulsteel railing was claw like, the skin withered, the flesh underneath melted away. Faded Maiden of the Tomb had grown more powerful in the weeks since she had returned to the Underworld, weeks spent meditating on the Void. The power of it had entered her, strengthened her, but had left her changed. She looked more skeletal, the curves of the limbs had disappeared, and she had grown gaunt.

She was not concerned with these changes, for those that served Oblivion, as they grew in power, would never appear average to mortal eyes. And the signs of death upon her body pleased the Faded Maiden.

She looked down from the tower fortress, on the Walker's forces, gathered below in neat, orderly rows. They moved in uniformity, marching past their officers, weapons raised in salute.

Would they be sent today to take the lands that had until recently been claimed by the Mask of Winters? It was a question that everyone asked for the Walker in Darkness was not open with anyone. She wondered whether when the time came if she would be marching with the troops, or left in her comfortable cell.

Since she had returned, after her debriefing with the Walker in Darkness, she had been left alone, to meditate and train, but confined. Was she prisoner or being given a chance to recover from wounds? She did not know and no one would tell her, assuming they knew.

Someone called her name, she looked back towards her room, saw one of the ghosts that served her.

"Truth wishes to speak with you Madame."

"Thank you," she said in a voice that had grown harsh, "show me to him."

Truth was waiting for her in the foyer. With him was a jade effigy, carrying a large chest across its shoulders.

"Truth, I am glad to see you," she said.

He nodded. "Lord Walker has sent for you, I have brought your new armour."

She felt her heart speed up in her breast as the effigy placed the chest on the floor. She stepped closer as Truth popped the heavy clasps. When he opened it she saw the black metal of soulsteel within and was able to truly relax for the first time in many weeks.

"I shall let you prepare. You will find Lord Walker in the mausoleum." He dipped his head in a bow, and then left.

The ghosts came and helped Faded Maiden prepare. She did not even bother to have them carry the chest to her rooms, but stayed in the foyer, shedding her clothing so she stood naked, unashamed of her withered form. Soft cloth of silk steel, dyed black, was draped across her, to provide some padding where the armour might otherwise pinch and bite. Then the plate armour was placed on her.

It was a full suit, covering every part of her, the joints cleverly designed so that she might enjoy full mobility even while she was protected. She put on the helm, which fully enclosed her head, and was formed in the shape of a skull—the jaw could split open and shift back to free her mouth so she might talk clearly she supposed, or feed.

Flexing her fingers in their soulsteel gauntlets she looked into the chest, expecting to see a weapon, but there was nothing else. Behind her helm she frowned.

"Will there be anything else Madame?" one of the ghosts asked.

"No," she said, keeping all doubt from her voice.

She strode from the room, the metal of her boots ringing loudly on the stone floor, as the armour softly moaned around her.

For the first time in weeks she exited the tower, nearly running down the stairs. She slowed her pace slightly as she walked the brick road, around the drill square where the ghosts still marched, towards the vast mausoleum where the Walker in Darkness held court.

At the foot of the long stairs that led up to the jade clad, steel double doors, two bone striders stood guard. They held pole-arms with bladed heads that were nearly larger than the Faded Maiden. The weapons were crossed, creating a barrier to the stairs. She almost had to stop lest she run into the steel, but at the last moment the bone striders lifted their weapons so she might pass.

It showed little respect, and worried her.

Refusing to dwell on it she strode up the stairs. The doors opened just before she reached them, and she stepped into the dark chamber beyond.

There were others there, but her focus was completely on the Walker in Darkness. He was tall, muscular, in a soulsteel breastplate over scarlet robes. His skin was blue, hair white and his eyes glowed with an orange light. Those eyes turned on her and the Faded Maiden felt as if she was laid bare before him.

"I have been waiting for Courtesan to return," he told her.

The Faded Maiden swallowed and then said, "Yes my lord."

"Had she returned I would have had her kill you."

The Faded Maiden felt her knees grow weak, and she gritted her teeth and forced her legs to hold her up. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"She has not returned," the Walker told her, "so instead, I charge you to the task that you willfully followed of your own accord before. You will go forth and kill Courtesan, for I have questions for her ghost." He reached down and grasped an object wrapped in black silk. He pulled the material from it, revealing a huge, soulsteel axe; a grand grimcleaver.

"An axe for an executioner," he told her, holding the weapon out towards her.

She stepped forward and took the weapon.

"Do what you need to succeed."

"I will my Lord," she said, the axe settling heavily into her hands.

"If you fail at this task your life will be forfeit, and your unlife will be suffering." He smiled.

"I understand my Lord. Courtesan will die."


Rumours fly like snow in the North

The largest city in the North, Whitewall occupied a large, fertile valley. Over 700,000 people lived there in the different districts of the city: Foretown, closest to the city's single gate, Midtown, and Afton. Afton, the farthest from the gate, was where the upper crust of the city lived.

Less crowded than Foretown and Midtown (and the slums of Underton) one could walk the orderly stone streets of Afton, without having to deal with the jostling masses. And, if agile enough, could run.

The runner was tall, with pale skin, and long, blue black hair that hung heavy and yet flowed like the waves of the ocean. Her black jade half plate was strangely silent, absent the creakings of leather and mail. She was Terrestrial exalted, a beautiful young looking woman who moved smoothly between the other pedestrians, so fast that she was clear of them before they could admonish her.

Turning into a narrow street she sprung up, leaping between one wall and the other, climbing three stories in only a few strides. The balcony on the third floor ran completely around the building, but she only circled halfway around before jumping across to the roof of another building.

Her boots skidded on the stone roof as she came to a stop near the roof's occupant. He was a bugged eyed, older man, with skin that was nearly the colour of snow, and eyes like ice.

He looked up from the brazier he had been warming his long fingered hands at. "Some people would use the stairs Blue," he said.

"Oh poo on the stairs, there is a line up at the stairs of people who want to get up here. You know I hate line ups." She pouted cutely.

"But they are orderly," he said, and looked back to the brazier.

"Orderly is for other people." She dropped down onto her knees, spreading her fur cloak around her. "What news do you have from Thorns?" she asked him, dark green eyes sparkling.

"News from Thorns is very valuable," he said softly. "Everyone wants to know about Thorns. Perhaps I should hold onto it." He looked up at her from under his brows, smiling.

"You couldn't hold onto anything," Blue said, and dropped a bit of jade into the brazier.

He reached in heedless of the heat and pulled the jade from amongst the coals. "I have heard some interesting things from Lookshy and the Marukan Alliance," he told her, looking at the jade. "This might be good enough for half of those things."

"Couldn't you just ask for more money like a normal person?" She took another piece of jade and dropped it into his palm.

He closed his fingers around the jade. "The Tyrant of Thorns is gone."

"I know this," she told him in a raised tone.

"No, you knew that people were saying he was gone. I am telling you that he is gone. That is news that comes from Lookshy. And the entire shadowland is gone as well, replaced by lands tainted by the Wyld."

"So you would be at home there."

"If you did not have money and power you could get by on your looks, but not your charm," he told her.

"Thanks. What else can you tell me Frog?"

He rolled the jade in his hand. "The ones that ended the Mask, the riders name some."

"Tell me," Blue ordered.

Frog seemed a little taken aback and shifted backwards, nearly falling from his stool. Blue reached out, grabbing his wrist and pushing another piece of jade into his hand.

"There was a woman called Sparrow Hawk," he said quickly. "According the to the riders she would not stand out, but they say she is a great general, a destroyer of the dead. And a beautiful man named Heron, though he did not directly fight the Mask. And a little girl named Ivory."

"A little girl? It sounds as if you are making things up to sell your story," a voice very like Blue's said.

Both Frog and Blue looked towards the Speaker. She was a woman, who looked exactly like Blue, but for her red, fine hair, that moved like fire.

"I don't make things up Red," Frog said, angrily.

"Of course he doesn't neesan," Blue said. "He can only charge so much for his news because it has proven to be true."

"There is always a first time."

"Not today," Frog said angrily.

"What else do you know?" Blue asked him, holding up a piece of Jade.

His eyes tracked the small bit of precious material then his gaze drifted to something off to Blue's right. She turned to look, saw he was looking towards the central temple.

She looked back at him, dropped the jade into his lap. "What?"

"They say Sparrow and Heron were champions of the Sun, and a Wyld Hunt called them Anathema, but the riders would not hear of it."

Blue looked up at Red. "Well worth a little bit of jade don't you think neesan?"

Red turned and looked towards the temple as well. "This time Blue-chan, this time."