Owing to a lack of info on the wikis, I've ended up borrowing the term "pod" from Talik Sanis' fic Let Words Be Few. I'm not sure if it is the correct term by DOTA standards, but it hits the mark. My thanks to Talik Sanis for support and for writing some excellent Dragon's Blood stories. Be sure to give them a read and nice review.


Chapter Seventeen

Old Wounds

Fymryn grimaced as the strangely silent woman named Marci finished binding the rope around her wrists, cinching it tighter than Fymryn would have liked. The priestess, Mirana, had yet to put down her bow. Only Davion and the night-beast seemed less wary of her.

'I know you're... unhappy with what I did.' Fymryn said lamely. 'But this isn't necessary.'

'I disagree.' Mirana retorted. 'And don't try any of your magic tricks either.'

Fymryn groaned with frustration. 'I am here to help you!' They might not have killed her, but this was not what she wanted. How was she supposed to guide them to the Invoker's tower if they would not trust her?

Willing or not, that was what he had told her.

Fymryn sighed. 'Fine. I get it. You don't trust me and you probably never will. I understand that. But I know how to find your precious lotuses. If I'm lying, you can do whatever you like to me.' She wished she hadn't been so vague. The male human was still an unknown quantity. She'd just have to hope that he was satisfied with the two women in this pod. Did humans have pods?

Still, he was rather impressive as human men went. Very impressive.

Davion looked up from the battleaxe he had taken. He preferred swords, but it was better than nothing. 'You say you know where the lotuses are. Would you leave something so valuable unguarded?'

'You're trying to lure us into a trap, aren't you?' Mirana scowled.

'No.' Fymrym resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 'I took them to a sage.' They all stared at her, surprise mingling with their mistrust. She sensed that she had stumbled upon some sort of coincidence. When no questions came forth, she continued. 'He took them from me and sent me to find you.'

'Why?'

'I told you: to help you.' That was true, though she still did not know why. 'He said that it was wrong of me to steal the lotuses, and that I should redeem myself by helping you.' That was a lie, but it was the best thing she could think of.

As they glanced at each other, Fymryn did her best to look lost and innocent. She had the right face for it. She had to be the youngest one present too. Hopefully they would see her as an impulsive young woman trying to repent. Maybe Davion would take pity on her, he seemed the sort.

She noticed that he seemed to pay more attention to Marci than anybody else—odd considering that she did not speak. Looking innocent was still worth a try though.

Marci tapped the amulet under her tunic and made an odd motion with her fingers, as if she was miming walking, then indicated Fymryn with her head.

'No, Marci. I still think it's a trap.'

'And she ran into those centaurs on purpose?' Davion muttered.

'Accidents happen.'

Marci tapped the amulet again, indicated Fymryn again, and waved both hands away from herself in a sweeping movement.

Mirana thought for a moment, then sighed heavily. 'You're right.' She finally turned to regard Fymryn, her gaze still hostile. 'Very well, Fymryn. We will let you guide us. Your hands will stay bound and Marci will be keeping an eye on you. If you do anything she doesn't like, it won't end well for you.'

Though Marci was roughly the same height and about as slim, Fymryn took the threat seriously. She had seen what the strange woman had done to the centaurs. Marci emphasised the warning by pressing one fist against her palm, cracking her knuckles.

Fymryn smelled cooked meat and her stomach rumbled. With all of the fear and the adrenaline, she had forgotten how hungry she was. 'Any chance of a bite to eat? I'm starving.'

Davion handed over a bowl of partially eaten rabbit. 'That's all there is.'

Fymryn took it awkwardly, sat down and began to carefully eat. Doing something this simple with her hands bound was a new experience, and it was no longer simple. She was making a mess of her tunic.

Marci dutifully watched her as she ate, barely blinking. She did sleep, didn't she? Fymryn wasn't going to be well rested if this weird human spent the whole night staring at her.

This had to be the strangest pod she had ever encountered. Oh, that was a thought. Did Selemene's followers show their love in the same way? These three seemed too serious for that, though she supposed that her presence would have killed the mood if there had been anything going on.

If they did show their love for the Usurper in the same way her people did for Mene, she would have to cope. Humans were noisy... well, most of them were.

Mirana, still in a foul mood, unstrung her bow and settled down next to Sagan. 'Let one of us know when you want some sleep, Marci.'

Davion sat quietly, inspecting the crescent-shaped blade of his newly acquired axe critically. It had been used before, and was likely scavenged from some previous victim. Nevertheless, it was in decent condition.

Marci continued to watch Fymryn intently. Fymryn turned away and lay on her side, deliberately avoiding Marci's gaze. She closed her eyes and deepened her breathing, trying to convince Marci that she was asleep. Maybe she would stop boring holes in her back and get some sleep herself.

Davion sighed. 'I swear this gets more complicated every day.'

Silence.

'No, not really.'

Fymryn frowned. Was he talking to himself?

'I didn't catch that. Can you say it again?'

Silence again.

Davion chuckled. 'Yeah? Well, I enjoy your company too.'

Fymryn was becoming more and more confused. It actually sounded like he was flirting with thin air. She strained her ears and thought she heard the rustling of fabric, maybe clothing moving.

'It's no problem, Marci. It couldn't be helped.' Davion now sounded like he was trying to reassure the thin air, though now it was obvious that he was talking to Marci. 'But if I'd known you were going to stare, maybe I would have paid more attention back in that cave.'

More silence. Fymryn resisted the urge to turn over. By now she had figured out that Marci was somehow communicating with Davion.

'I barely noticed.' There was another pause, followed by: 'They don't bother me. I have scars too. Do they bother you?'

Silence again, followed by a short whistle.

Davion chuckled. 'And I think you're cute, Marci, and more impressive by far.'

Fymryn could imagine the woman blushing now. Maybe she had been right about a pod.

'Are you two going to spend all night flirting?' Mirana demanded wearily. 'Some of us want to sleep.'

'Spoilsport.' Davion muttered. 'All right. Poke me if you need anything, Marci.'

Fymryn heard him settle down. A few moments later, he was sound asleep. Fymryn could practically feel Marci's amber eyes upon her back. How dangerous could she be with her hands bound?

Fymryn almost sighed at the foolishness of her own question. Marci and Mirana had seen her use Mene's blessings in the Nightsilver Woods. They would not take any chances.

Fymryn glanced up at the moon overhead, silently praying to Mene that this journey would not take long. It was certainly going to be memorable.


Mirana opened her eyes, roused from sleep by anxiety more than anything else.

When she and Marci had set off on their mission, they had been the hunters. But now the thief had come to them, and they were the hunted ones thanks to Davion.

She did not resent him, though. She felt obligated to help him simply because he had risked his own life to save Marci. Mirana hated to admit it, but she doubted that she would have succeeded if it had been down to her. She still felt guilt well up inside her heart whenever she thought back to their perilous journey across the mountains. It was her impatience that had nearly caused Marci's death.

Mirana had grown to appreciate Davion as an ally, maybe even a friend. Marci's interest in him was growing, and that both intrigued and concerned Mirana. Although Marci obviously trusted Davion, he was still dangerous. Mirana also felt a need to protect Marci, who could be pretty naïve at times.

Marci was still keeping watch over the elf, Fymryn. She would have stayed up all night if Mirana had asked her to. It was that devotion which had kept them both alive for so long, and it still scared Mirana at times.

Although Marci was stubborn, she would acquiesce to any orders Mirana gave her. If Mirana had ordered Marci to abandon Davion in the wilderness, or demanded that she leave him to his fate when the bandits had attacked him, she would have obeyed. She would not have been happy about it, but she would have obeyed regardless.

But there was one thing she would not do. Mirana knew that if she ordered Marci to abandon her, even to save herself, she would refuse. She would sooner throw herself on a sword.

It was not the same, but the way Marci watched over the elf reminded Mirana of those times she had sat with Marci in the royal infirmary, watching over her as she slept, singing to her when the nightmares came, even holding her hand throughout the night. It had been vital that Marci move as little as possible, given that some of her bones had been on the mend at the time.

And if she had disturbed the stitches in her throat... it was still a thought which made Mirana shudder even now, fourteen years later when Marci was healed.

She was healed in body, at least, but the spirit was not such an easy thing to mend.

She should have died. They all said that. But that was pure Marci, a fighter to the end, stubbornly clinging to life when anybody else would have let death claim them. Mirana suppressed a chortle as she imagined Marci punching death in the face if it ever came for her again.

She'd punch death if it came for Mirana too.

As Mirana watched her, her mind drifted back of its own accord, back to that fateful first meeting. A meeting which had changed her life forever.


Rasolir, fourteen years ago...

'Must I attend these debates?' Mirana demanded, following her uncle, the Prince, and her governess through the hall. Her expensive shoes echoed on a more expensive tiled floor. 'They're so boring!'

Shabarra half-smiled. 'That is the nature of politics. But they are important, Princess.' Though she did not know it at the time, he was masking his bitterness as he said: 'You will be Empress one day, and therefore you must know how to rule.'

'When will I be Empress, Uncle?'

'When the time is right.' Not that he planned on her ever becoming Empress.

'Your father is also planning to assign you a new handmaiden, Princess.' her governess added.

'A practical way for you to learn how to command your servants.' Shabarra added.

'I hope she won't be a commoner.' Mirana grimaced and shuddered at the thought of some unwashed peasant in her presence.

Shabarra chuckled. 'Of course not, Princess. She will be of good stock.'

'I just hope she will be up to your standards, Princess.' the governess said warily.

Mirana had yet to be assigned a handmaiden she actually liked. They always got something wrong, which would send Mirana into a fury which inevitably led to the dismissal of her handmaiden. She had gone through seven so far, and two governesses.

'I think you should be a little more forgiving, Princess. People make mistakes.' her governess continued carefully. 'Mistakes are part of what make us who we are.'

'They shouldn't get things wrong!' Mirana argued. 'And don't tell me what to do!'

The governess swallowed. If she said the wrong thing now, she would lose her job. Like most of the people employed to work in the palace, she was not poor. But if she was thrown out, she would struggle to find another job. Many of Mirana's former handmaidens were still trying to find steady employment. Losing a job in the palace always raised awkward questions, and word spread quickly in the richer districts.

Mirana did not care. She had not even bothered to learn her governess' name. She had stopped trying to learn the names of her handmaidens too.

Shabarra chuckled. 'Nobody should tell a ruler what to do.' He stopped by one of the windows and gestured theatrically. 'All of this and more will be yours one day, and you will be able to do whatever you want.'

Mirana gazed out of the window, looking down over the magnificent, sprawling city of Rasolir. Below lay the upper districts, rich and prosperous and home to nobility. The shows of wealth diminished the further away she looked. The slums stood ugly and drab at the edge, huddled against the city walls like cowering beggars.

'The slums are hideous.' Mirana muttered. 'Why can't we replace them with something nicer?'

Shabarra laughed. 'I wish we could, Princess.'

'Really?'

'Of course.' Shabarra stated. 'But you can order the poor around easily enough.' He placed a hand on her shoulder. 'We are royalty, Princess. We are touched by the gods, and we are their mouthpieces here in the world. We are conduits for their greatness. That is why everybody in the Imperium must obey you. It is your divine right, Princess.'

'My divine right,' Mirana repeated softly, liking the sound of that. It made her feel powerful. It made her feel superior. 'Yes. You are right, Uncle.' She scowled briefly. 'But I still don't want to attend these meetings, even if they are important.'

She strode on regardless, pulling ahead of Shabarra despite being shorter. She had decided that she might as well get it over with. She would probably end up daydreaming her way through the boring, circular discussions her father had with the Senators and his advisors.

Mirana huffed as she reached the stairs, thinking that she had much better things to do.

'Princess?'

Mirana looked back over her shoulder just as she lifted her foot. Distracted, she mistimed the movement and tripped.

Mirana screamed when her knee struck the hard stone step and she fell awkwardly, scraping her shin. She felt warm blood course down her leg and the sting of torn skin.

It seemed that she would not be attending the boring discussion after all.


It was one of the Sun Guard who took her down to the infirmary. It was hardly a serious injury, but she was the Princess. Even a little cut had to be treated, not because it might become infected, but because Mirana would raise hell if nothing was done.

Mirana scowled at the ugly wrapping around her knee and shin. 'I'll have to cover this, you know. A Princess cannot be seen in such a state.'

The nurse attending to her swallowed. 'I am sorry, Princess. But it is necessary.'

Mirana winced. Her leg still stung and red stains were expanding across the bandage. As far as she was concerned, this was terrible.

Abrupt movement caught her eye. One of the royal physicians stumbled away from a bed shrouded by white curtains. The man was clutching his nose. Mirana gaped when she saw drops of crimson fall and spatter on the floor.

'She hit me!' The physician's cry was muffled by the hand clamped over his face. 'I was trying to help her and she hit me! She's broken my nose!'

'I don't think she meant to hurt you,' one of the nurses said. 'You touched a bruise.'

'What isn't bruised?'

'Who is there?' Mirana demanded. She stepped forwards, limping slightly. She lifted her chin haughtily. 'I was not told that I would be sharing the Royal Ward.'

'Uh... Princess, please do not be alarmed,' the bleeding physician mumbled. 'It's just... Viceroy Kashurra insisted that we attend to the patient here. He said it was important. I assure you that he had no intention of causing offence, nor did we, or—' he broke off as Mirana reached out. 'Princess! You shouldn't look. It's—'

Mirana ignored him and yanked back the curtain.

What she saw stopped the air in her throat. She had to force herself to breathe. The pain in her leg was non-existent now, a distant throb she could barely feel. Her pain was nothing compared to this.

The sheets were crumpled and tainted with streaks of blood. What lay atop them seemed less a person and more a mass of bruises and lacerations. It was hard to tell what colour the skin was meant to be under the purple-black blotches and criss-crossing red furrows.

One leg lay oddly, the bone clearly broken, and an arm hung limply, dislocated. A tangled mane of auburn hair full of grit and dirt tumbled about the stricken face. The lips were split and bleeding, crusted with blood running from a bleeding nose. It was a miracle that the teeth were intact and the face whole.

Around the throat was wrapped a bandage. It was stained red.

One eye was swollen shut. The other was somehow untouched. A brimming eye flicked towards the Princess—a soft, pale brown orb which turned amber in the sunlight, swimming in tears, full of pain.

Mirana felt bile rise in her throat at the sight. She could guess what had happened, and the thought snapped something inside her. It suddenly did not matter that somebody who was not royalty was here in her presence, or that this unfortunate was a commoner, a slum-rat, still clad in tattered, torn, rough-spun clothing better suited for sacks.

This was someone like her. This was someone she could have been if fate had not been so kind to her.

Mirana felt an alien emotion fill her as she looked for the very first time upon the person who would change her life forever.

It was pity.

For once in her life, she wanted to help.

But what could she do?

Mirana gazed into the open brown eye, a painful lump growing in her throat. It was only now that she realised that she was looking at a girl—a child no more than three or four years younger than herself.

Another physician entered the chamber and spoke with the one with the broken nose, conversing in whispers made into shouts by the silence.

'She's violent. She'll have to be restrained.'

'The Viceroy said that she is not to be mistreated!'

'But if we do nothing—'

'Fine. Get the straps. I hope the Viceroy understands.'

Mirana took in a breath. 'No.'

They all halted, turning to stare at her. 'Princess?'

'You will not restrain her.' Mirana ordered, her voice not imperious or impetuous, but commanding and firm. 'You will treat her gently.'

'Princess, we will, I assure you. But you must leave now.'

'No. I will stay. Do you understand me?'

'But—'

'I will stay.'

'I... of course, Princess. Forgive me.'

Mirana reached out slowly. Her fingers found the girl's hand and, with infinite tenderness, caressed the small patch of pale skin left untouched.

A single tear spilled from the girl's eye. She turned her hand over and slowly entwined her fingers with Mirana's.

'What is your name?' Mirana asked in a whisper.

Under the bandage, something moved. The girl's throat convulsed as she tried to speak. She gagged suddenly and a small trickle of blood spilled from her lips. Mirana lifted her arm and wiped the blood away gently with her own sleeve.

'She... she cannot speak, Princess.' The attending nurse's voice was heavy. 'One of her attackers, he... he had a knife. She's lucky to be alive, Princess. But she will never speak again.'

'Do you know her name?'

The nurse hesitated and glanced at the girl. The girl managed a tiny nod.

'Her name is Marci.'

Mirana continued to hold Marci's hand. 'I'm here for you, Marci. I will stay here for you. I promise.'

More tears leaked from Marci's open eye. Her grip on Mirana's hand tightened a little.

'It's all right, Marci. It's all right. I'm here for you. I always will be.'


Mirana wiped her eyes, returning to the present. Marci was still dutifully watching Fymryn, who now seemed to be sleeping. As Mirana gathered her thoughts, she noticed Marci's eyelids droop.

Marci pinched her wrist and her eyes snapped open again. Pure Marci, stubborn to a fault.

Mirana smiled and shook her head. 'Marci?'

Marci looked round, eyes blurry from fatigue.

'Get some sleep, Marci. I'll keep watch.'

Marci smiled gratefully, lay down and closed her eyes. She was asleep in a heartbeat.

Mirana softly padded over and sat next to her handmaiden. Like she had on that first day, she gently caressed the back of Marci's hand. Marci sighed as she slept and turned her hand over, unconsciously entwining her fingers with Mirana's.

Mirana smiled down at her and whispered once more: 'I'm here for you. I always will be.'


Kashurra found them by one of the windows, gazing out over the city. Torches flickered below, mostly carried by the city guard. Tiny lights glimmered in the multitude of windows across the sprawl. It was like watching fireflies flitting around in the night sky.

'I have reason to believe that the former Princess does not intend to return to the Imperium.' Janulus was telling Shabarra. 'According to my sources, she genuinely joined the service of Selemene and is part of the Dark Moon Order, as is her handmaiden.'

Shabarra scoffed. 'That goldfish of hers would follow her into a dragon's mouth.'

Kashurra said nothing. He'd always hated that nickname, it was unfair.

He had been nearby when Mirana had first shown Marci around the palace grounds, including the fish ponds. Marci had never actually seen a live fish before, she had been fascinated by them. She and Mirana had spent a lot of time in the grounds, working together to refine Marci's new methods of communication.

Shabarra believed that fish were the stupidest creatures on the planet, goldfish especially. He also believed that Marci was stupid—he believed all slum-rats were. Her being mute, regardless of how that had come to pass, only enforced this erroneous belief. Thus, he had derisively referred to her as Mirana's "goldfish". He felt encouraged to use the term when Mirana took it upon herself to teach Marci how to swim.

Shabarra had despised Marci on sight, because she was, in his eyes, an up-jumped dim-witted slum-dweller. Though he had seemingly liked Mirana at first—Kashurra believed that it had been a ruse—he had started to show obvious resentment when Marci was assigned to her as her handmaiden. Shabarra had been trying to make Mirana adopt his views, but Marci had opened Mirana's eyes to the world outside the palace, and the lives beyond her own.

Though it had not been part of Kashurra's plan, it had all turned out so much better than he had expected. Serendipity could be a powerful ally.

'I still want her dead, Janulus.' Shabarra said. 'So long as she lives, she is a threat to me.'

'I agree, your Majesty.' Janulus said. 'My men are closing on her. Kalin has never let me down. He will return with the Princess' head, and the heads of anybody who protects her.'

'Good. See to your duties, Spymaster.'

Janulus bowed low and withdrew. He spared Kashurra a brief nod as he went. Neither of them liked each other, but they did share a mutual respect. Janulus was a snake of a man with no scruples, but he was a cunning opponent. Even with his eyes turned towards the Princess and Kalin, he was still a major threat to Kashurra's co-conspirators.

If Kalin succeeded, their plans would all be for naught. The Imperium needed a capable leader of royal blood to replace Shabarra, or it would tear itself apart. There were also plenty of enemies on the outside. Stonehall had long gazed upon the lands of the Imperium covetously, its soldiers honing their blades the whole time. There were also plenty of recently annexed provinces, like Misrule, which might strike if they sensed weakness.

Sadly, there was nothing Kashurra could do about Kalin. He would just have to hope that the assassin failed. It was a massive gamble in this long game, but it was not one he could have avoided. It was unfortunate that Gwanwyn had realised who Mirana was. He had immediately reached out to Janulus' spies, greedy for gold as always.

Kashurra had foreseen that possibility. He had expected Janulus to send his best assassin. But he had not expected him to send so many mercenaries with Kalin. Numbers did not win every battle, but they certainly tipped the odds.

Kashurra hated not being able to do anything, but he had learned when to stand back and let events play out. In this case, he really had no choice. If he tried to send them aid, he would give himself and his allies away. He had to wait, no matter what misgivings he felt.

And the simplest fact was that they were too far away for him to help anyway. Sometimes the simplest obstacles were the hardest to overcome.

'Come, Viceroy,' Shabarra waved him over. 'Join me.'

Kashurra stepped closer and joined him at the window.

'Tell me, Viceroy, what do you see?'

'I see Rasolir, your Majesty. I see the finest city of the finest nation the world has ever known.'

He saw more than that. He saw what needed to change and what could be.

He saw what should be. He saw what needed to be.

'Just so.' Shabarra murmured. 'Yet it could be greater, don't you think?'

Yes, it could. But not under Shabarra's rule. 'It is always good to strive for perfection, your Majesty.'

'If we didn't need the slums, I would clear them and build something more worthy of this fine city atop the ruins.'

'I understand, your Majesty.' Kashurra said. 'But we still have need of them. Every city and every nation suffers a division of wealth, no matter how prosperous they are.'

'What are you saying?'

'There will always be people who are less fortunate in this city, your Majesty. Clearing the slums would only result in the occupants settling elsewhere. The other cities and provinces would protest. The slum-dwellers might even start camping outside the walls. Besides, we need them to serve the Imperium.'

'I fear that you are right.' Shabarra grimaced. 'It's a shame that the plague prevents the slavers from reducing the surplus population. There are too many useless bodies in this city, especially in those wretched slums.'

'We could always have them trained as soldiers.'

'No.' Shabarra retorted flatly. 'You can't trust them with pitchforks, let alone swords. Nor should they be allowed to sully the fine armour and weapons of the legions.' He scowled at the tiny glittering lights below. 'If it came to war, we could always use them as conscripts. They might take a few arrows and spears meant for our troops.'

'Of course, your Majesty.' Kashurra masked his disapproval. A wise leader knew when to set their pride aside. 'What do you want me to do about Stonehall?'

Shabarra thought for a moment, his mind no doubt swaying between all out war and intimidation. 'What would you suggest, Viceroy?'

'Diplomacy, your Majesty.'

'They have marched troops to the border, Viceroy.'

'They are simply trying to provoke us, your Majesty.' Kashurra assured him. 'That said, it might be prudent to march a legion or two to the border, just in case the Stonehall soldiers become reckless or bored. At the very least, a show of force will discourage them and make them more receptive to our requests.'

Stonehall was a nuisance right now. It had always been a nuisance for the Imperium. But they would not attack yet. Their forces were far outnumbered by the legions.

The Imperium could have overrun Stonehall. The casualties would be high, yet victory would be assured. But Stonehall was a player Kashurra needed to stay at the table for the time being. They would be useful later.

'Very well.' Shabarra accepted. 'Though I would still like to wipe them off the face of the earth.'

'It would be a waste of troops, your Majesty. We may need our troops to keep Misrule in check. Strategically, it is more important. It also has more resources than Stonehall. I agree that destroying Stonehall would be satisfying, but it would cost us dearly in the long term, your Majesty.'

Shabarra yawned. 'Send out your emissaries, and have the Grand Legate assemble two legions. Tell him to send them to the border. If one Stonehall soldier sets a toe in our territory, he is to lose that toe. And his head.'

'It shall be done, your Majesty.' Kashurra looked down at the streets below as Shabarra walked away. Lina would be in play again tonight. Another roll of the die.


Lina remained tense as the gate was closed behind her. She had gone to a lot of trouble to stay out of sight of Janulus' minions. Even though she was now out of sight, she was still far from safe.

Many of the rich houses in the Old Quarter had tunnels bored under their cellars. These had been used by servants to stay out of sight and sound of their masters. When brothels had been outlawed, they had been attached to underground flesh markets. When the brothels had been reopened, they had been used by whores and noblemen for discreet trysts.

Many people had forgotten about them. Janulus probably knew about them, though many people, him included, were under the impression that they were no longer used. Many of them had not withstood the tests of time and new construction. More than a few were dangerous or had collapsed.

Marsian had quietly kept the tunnel under his home open and subtly reinforced the supports. He claimed that it would make it easier for him to smuggle his troops into critical areas when the rebellion erupted.

Lina didn't really care if he was seeing whores. What he did in his own time was his business, not hers, so long as he pulled his weight for the cause.

Though he was often sarcastic, Marsian did work hard for the rebellion and he was vital to the cause. As a senior member of the War Council and Principle Legate of three legions, the men of which were all steadfastly loyal to him, he would play a critical part in the deposition of Shabarra.

So no, Lina did not care if he enjoyed the company of prostitutes. Whether he would be able to do so when Mirana took power was up for debate. Probably not, she suspected, but Marsian would have to cross that bridge when he came to it. It was a small price to pay for having a decent ruler back on the Solar Throne and being able to live without constant fear.

The oglodi shepherding her grunted and gestured. 'This way.'

There was only one way to go. Lina humoured him anyway. 'Thank you.'

This was a task better suited to Kashurra or Gavenus. Sadly, neither of them were available. Kashurra was needed in the palace, and Gavenus was attending a Senate meeting. Although she was constantly watched, it was oddly easier for Lina to move around more freely. She could go wherever she wanted in Rasolir, she just couldn't leave the city.

Though nobody had said it, Lina was a hostage. She was greatly admired in Misrule. If Misrule misbehaved in any way, Lina would lose her head. Misrule could do nothing about it either. It was now a subjugated state and Shabarra could easily crush it on a whim. Although Lina was not actually native to Misrule, she still cared about it and its people.

Lina behaved when they could see her. But none of Shabarra's spies could see her now.

'Wait.' The oglodi thumped the wall. Lina heard a bolt sliding back and the wall swung open like a door. It actually was a door, cleverly disguised as part of the wall.

'That's impressive.' Lina remarked.

'Don't want to make it easy for them.' The oglodi ushered her inside. 'She's waiting for you inside.'

They walked through a wide space hidden somewhere next to one of the canals. If Lina's bearings were right, they were under the Merchant District. People milled hither and thither, peering at the ramshackle stalls stocked with illegal goods. This was another market, mirroring the one above. The only difference was that being caught with these goods could cost a person their hands, or even their heads. Shabarra was very fond of beheading people.

Lina heard water lapping over the bustle. There was an underground dock which no doubt connected to the canal, a smart way to smuggle goods in and out of the city. So many barges came in and out that it was impossible to check them all. Bored guards were also easy to bribe. Aside from that, Shabarra mostly had them monitor the poor districts, where there were no canals.

This rebellion meant that they needed to make some strange friends—friends people like Gavenus would not normally associate with.

These people were smugglers and black marketeers. They were experts in getting illicit items in and out of the city under the noses of the guards and Janulus' spies.

Their support, if Lina could acquire it, would be invaluable. If they could smuggle narcotics, precious stones and rare beasts around, they could just as easily bring in weapons, armour, legionnaires and mercenaries.

It made sense to send Lina to meet with the boss of their clandestine operation. These were people who respected directness, vigour, strength, ambition and power. Diplomacy bored them, and they were not easily intimidated, nor did they appreciate threats.

If Lina got this wrong, she could easily end up at the bottom of the canal. If they were feeling kind, they might cut her throat first.

The oglodi ushered her into a smaller room and closed the door. It was barely furnished, occupied only by a table and two chairs. 'Sit.'

Lina did as she was told and pulled back her hood. She tapped her fingers on the wooden surface, careful to keep her power under control.

A door clunked open in the darkness at the other end of the room. Lina stayed still as a tall, lean elven woman sat opposite her. One half of her face was marred by an ugly burn. The ear and hair on that side were missing. She was dressed entirely in black and carried a pair of strange swords with curved hook-like blades, a form of khopesh perhaps—they had once been used by Imperium soldiers long ago before they switched to modern straight, twin-edged swords.

'Hmm,' the elf peered at Lina. 'When they said that I would be meeting Lina the Slayer, I laughed. Yet here you are.' She indicated her face. 'I have no love of fire, as you can imagine.'

'Then don't make me use it.' Lina retorted.

The elf laughed, rasping like an iron file on rusty bars. 'You have guts. I like you already.' She snapped her fingers and a second oglodi placed two mugs on the table, then poured something into them. 'Don't worry. It's just wine. It's actually a decent vintage. Being a smuggler has its perks.'

'I imagine it does.' Lina sipped from her mug. 'You're right, it is good.'

'I only smuggle the best.' the elf drank from her own mug. 'Did they tell you who I am?'

'I was told that you're known as "the Wraith".'

'Good. I'd prefer to keep it that way.' The Wraith muttered. 'Now, what does the Slayer need smuggled?'

Lina leaned forwards. 'Information, weapons, armour and people.'

'That is rather a lot. I don't really mind. The more I smuggle, the more money I will make.' She held out her mug and waited until it had been refilled. 'But that makes me wonder what you need all of that for. Word travels fast in this city. Word has it that you're friends with a certain Senator. Word has it that he's not very keen on our glorious divine ruler.'

'Does that worry you?'

'I'd like to know where I will stand if you turn those weapons you seek on the Emperor.'

'Wherever you like, provided it's honest.'

The Wraith scowled. 'I make a lot of money doing this.'

'You said that word spreads fast around here.' Lina reminded her. 'That goes both ways. You hear things, I hear things.' She sipped from her mug again. 'This is good. Is it from Tarrin?'

'Quath.'

'Mm.' Lina put the mug down and leaned forwards. 'I know that you have not always been down here, performing a dishonest trade. I also know how you were maimed. You have my sympathies.'

The Wraith glared at Lina. 'Your sympathies are useless to me.'

'I'm offering you more than that.' Lina planted a bulging purse on the table. 'There will be more if you agree to my terms. When our business is concluded, we will give you a fresh start. You may even have a position with power. Somebody as clever and well-connected as you could be of use in the future.'

'To you?'

'To whoever needs you.'

'And why should I do any of this?'

'You know why. I'm not asking you to do it because it's right. If I wanted to use that argument, I would speak with a cleric.' Lina fixed the elf with a determined stare. 'I know what Shabarra had his men do to you and your family. Help us because we're going to kill the bastard and put somebody decent in charge.'

The Wraith leaned back and folded her arms. 'And what's to stop me from telling Janulus about all of this? I could just kill you if I wanted to. It might be less trouble for everybody, especially me.'

Lina lifted her hand. Flames flickered into being around it. Tongues of fire lapped at her hair and her eyes glimmered with heat. The shadows retreated and the two oglodi gasped and reached for their weapons. The Wraith tried to hide it, but Lina could see the fear in her eyes.

'Will I need a better argument?' Lina asked, arching a fiery brow.

The Wraith shook her head. 'Consider it a hypothetical question. Besides, you are right. I would like to see Shabarra dead too. I just hope whatever you do to him, it bloody well hurts.' She calmed herself. 'All right then, Slayer.' She picked up her mug. 'I agree to your terms. Let's drink to a good deal.'

Lina clunked her mug against the elf's. 'To a new Imperium.'

'And death to the bastard Shabarra.'


Just for clarity, the conversation between Davion and Marci went like this:

Davion: 'I swear this gets more complicated every day.'

Marci: 'Nothing is ever simple, is it?'

Davion: 'No, not really.'

Marci: 'It's not all bad. The company is good.'

Davion: 'I didn't catch that. Can you say it again?'

Marci repeats herself and winks.

Davion: 'Yeah? Well, I enjoy your company too.'

Marci: 'I'm sorry I kept staring at you back at the keep.'

Davion: 'It's no problem, Marci. It couldn't be helped. But if I'd known you were going to stare, maybe I would have paid more attention back in that cave.'

Marci: 'You saw my scars.'

Davion: 'I barely noticed.'

Marci: 'Sometimes I wish I could get rid of them. They look ugly.'

Davion: 'They don't bother me. I have scars too. Do they bother you?'

Marci: 'No. I think they're impressive.'

Davion: 'And I think you're cute, Marci, and more impressive by far.'

I have to say that the conspiracy in the Imperium is proving to be more fun to write than I expected. There will be more to come.