Warm and content, she floated on a rising cloud.

Like the cloud, her thoughts were fuzzy, indistinct. And that was good. Everything was good. As long as she didn’t think too hard, everything would remain good. But if she let her thoughts solidify, the illusion would be dispelled, and she’d come crashing down. Better to just…be.

“Come to me.”

The voice was like a weighted line, pulling her down to earth. Why couldn’t she just have one good—

“Come to me,” the voice repeated. It sounded like her mum’s voice. What was her mum doing up here in the clouds?

“Go away,” she murmured. “I’m trying to float, here.”

“Come to me. Release me.”

She let out an exasperated groan. “Release you from where?”

And then she was sinking. Gone was the blissful sense of peace. There was something she had to do, and she wouldn’t be able to rest until she’d done it.

Beneath her, white clouds gave way to rolling hills, surrounding a green valley. Nestled in that valley, a golden city. Amidst burbling canals and crystal blue ponds rose ancient spires of pitted stone, draped with yellow-flowering vines. Every rooftop was a garden; every balcony a feast for the senses.

She knew this city. She’d been here before. A different time. A different dream. But the essence of this city lingered across the ages.

Its name was Ambiellar, and it was the high seat of the high alvari.

She drifted between the verdant towers, feeling herself drawn toward the great palace at the city centre. The palace was new, but it was built upon the foundations of something far older.

Down she went, sinking through the high domed ceiling into halls of polished marble, bedecked with gold filigree, and adorned with the trappings of royalty. Fancy embroidered drapes; furniture with all sorts of knobbly bits; exquisite paintings and fine tapestries; marble statues and burbling fountains.

Still further, and the polished walls gave way to chambers far older, and ravaged by time.

One such chamber held a sphere of shining amber, floating in the air like a soap bubble. Why floating? She didn’t know, and in that moment, she didn’t care. Her attention was drawn to what—or rather, who—lay inside the sphere: a woman, naked, and curled in on herself like a baby in a womb.

This was not her mum. But it was someone she recognised. Someone whose blood she shared.

As she drifted closer, the woman’s eyes opened.

“Come to me, child,” said Sarthea.

 

Saskia leapt to her feet almost as soon as her eyes opened—and fell back down again, rubbing her head, which she’d just banged against an overhead compartment.

If the old god Sarthea was alive, and imprisoned here on Lumium, it could change everything. She had to get to her!

“Sashki, ’twere a dream,” said Ruhildi, standing on the other side of the dragon’s cabin, watching her with a single eerie, unblinking eye. “It may not mean what you think it means.”

Saskia gave her a long look. “Maybe not. But maybe it means exactly what I think it means. The keystone did indicate that there’s a location of interest on Lumium. Night’s Rest, it called it. What does that sound like to you? And remember the earlier vision I had of Sarthea? I’m pretty sure that was in Ambiellar too. So maybe she didn’t die. Maybe she’s in some kind of hibernation. If we could ally with her…”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t investigate,” said Ruhildi. “Just…don’t be too hasty. The palace is the Imperator’s abode. It will be heavily fortified—as will the whole city. Getting there will not be easy. We will need to plan our attack. It may well be simpler just to conquer the city.”

“Conquer the capital?” said Saskia. “Baldreg would love that, but no. Let’s not go that far. I’m not sure how our new high alvar recruits would feel about that, if it were even possible. Some of them have family in Ambiellar.”

Over the past couple of weeks since they defeated the high elf legion, they’d had their hands full keeping those who had surrendered in line. At the time of their surrender, her truth sense ability had been able to filter out those who had still wanted to do her people harm, but it couldn’t predict future motivations. Since then, she’d had to quell several violent confrontations instigated by high elves who had changed their minds, and decided the price of cooperation was too high.

In the long term, if she could convince them to fight by her side against Abellion, the high elves would be a great boon to the war effort. But in the short term, it was a logistical nightmare. The need to keep a close eye on them strained the limited resources of her meagre army, slowing the repair effort.

Then there was the problem of what do with them once the repairs were complete. There weren’t enough airships to transport both her own people and theirs. But if she just left them here, they’d be at the mercy of Imperator Jecham’s forces, who outnumbered them at least ten-to-one. The main reason most of them had surrendered was so she could protect them from the Imperator’s wrath. If she abandoned them here, they’d very likely be crushed.

She needed more airships. Back on Grongarg, the sky trolls of Cloudtop were hard at work assembling the next batch. It would be weeks before those were ready. That was still sooner than the construction crews and stoneshapers could hope to build one here. Could she afford to wait weeks?

The repairs to the four damaged airships were nearly done. Maybe they should take multiple trips with those—start ferrying their new allies to Ciendil.

Or maybe, a tiny inner voice suggested, she should conquer the rest of the high elves.

That morning, she gathered her friends to discuss their options. Also attending the meeting was the shadowmaster, Velandir. Not only had he been the first to voluntarily pledge himself to her service, but her new vassal had proved to be a valuable source of advice about his people over the past weeks.

“The way I see it, our best choice might be an aerial drop into the palace,” said Saskia. “The high alvari don’t seem to have much in the way of air defences. We’d have to fight our way through the palace, find a way to revive Sarthea, and get out before the whole city descends on us. There’s a lot that could go wrong…”

Baldreg barked out a laugh.

“…but it may be our best shot.”

“We could just take the city,” said Baldreg. “They are no match for us. The last battle proved that.”

“Last time, we set up a trap for them, and they were fighting out in the open, with no established defences,” said Saskia. “This is a completely different situation, and you know it.”

“We held back our full strength,” said Baldreg. “Our stoneshapers, with your help, could breach the walls of Ambiellar as easily as the Chosen breached Torpend’s walls.”

“Many innocents would die if we do this, yes?” said Zarie.

Saskia nodded. “Far too many for my liking. Wild magic of the sort that can melt walls can’t easily be contained. It would be hard to avoid collateral damage.”

“And after we breached the walls, what then?” said Ruhildi. “We’d be fighting from street to street—a fair good place for them to lay traps, ambush us, use innocents as shields. You ken as well as I do how quick it can all turn to shite, Baldi.”

Baldreg nodded. “Aye, I suppose I do.”

The sound of a throat being cleared drew their attention to Velandir. “If I may offer a suggestion.”

Saskia nodded at him. “I’m all ears.”

He blinked at her. “All…ears? Your ears are barely bigger than mine. Yet your head is…” He held his hands apart, illustrating the extent of her voluminous noggin.

Ruhildi snorted. “Aye, she does have a fair fat head.” Her friend had picked up a few Earth expressions in their time together, so she was pretty certain Ruhildi wasn’t referring to said noggin’s literal size any more.

Saskia sighed. “It’s just an expression. I mean, I’m listening. Say what you were going to say. I won’t bite.”

Velandir paled. “Bite?”

She groaned. “Speak!”

“Ah, I was just going to point out that there may be a…less visible way to reach the palace than either of the proposals you have brought up, thus far. There is an underground passage leading from the palace to a secret location outside the city walls. That location is guarded, too, but more lightly than the palace or the city at large.”

Saskia frowned. “Why the frock would anyone build such an obvious weak point?” He opened his mouth to speak, but she waved him off. “No, don’t tell me. It’s so the royal family have an escape route if they come under siege, right? Yeesh, don’t they know that enemies always learn about so-called secret passages and exploit them? I mean, why even have walls if you’re gonna do that?”

Velandir coughed. “Ah…I think the general idea is…not to let the enemy discover the secret passage. Hence the word ‘secret.’”

“Well they clearly did a bang-up job with that. Here you are, telling me about it.”

“As a shadowmaster, I overhear things,” said Velandir. “It was quite by accident that I heard about this passage. My curiosity was thoroughly piqued. I just had to see it for myself.”

“Well it’s fortunate for us that you did. How big is this passage? Big enough to fit, say, a trow?”

He eyed her up and down. “I believe so. Though it would be best if you bring one of your stoneshaper friends, in case you get stuck.”

“I can go,” said Kveld. “Ruhildi should stay with Iscaragraithe, in case they need to…”

“Pull our butts out of the fire,” said Saskia, nodding in agreement.

His idea was an enticing one. If they could somehow get into the palace without alerting the entire neighbourhood, they might be able to pull this off with minimal bloodshed. Assuming his information was correct, and he wasn’t luring them into a trap.

That last part seemed unlikely. Her truth sense would have detected any outright lies from him, and she’d interrogated him mercilessly over the past couple of weeks. If he were planning to betray her, surely she’d have picked up some hint of it by now. There was always a chance he’d figured out how to fool even magical truth detectors, but the odds of that seemed low. If she was going to work with him, she’d have to trust him sooner or later, just as she did with her other former enemies. Might as well be now.

She turned back to Velandir. “If it is as you say, then this may indeed be our best option. I don’t fancy our chances of staying hidden for long, though. I’m about as stealthy as a…big, noisy creature in a shop that sells breakable things.”

“You have such a way with words, Sashki,” said Ruhildi.

“I can help with that, too,” said Velandir. “Not with the words. With the sneaking. Or I could, if you return my shadows to me. Ones such as I can cast our web of shadows upon those other than ourselves.”

Saskia felt her eyebrows climbing her forehead. “Really? You can make me invisible too?”

“Not completely invisible,” said Velandir. “Just…harder to see, and hear. And smell.”

“Och, that last one will be sorely needed,” said Ruhildi. “When I had a working nose, I could smell a Sashki two spurs yonder.”

“Upwind,” added Zarie, wrinkling her nose.

Saskia gave them the stink eye. “It’s not my fault you primitives haven’t invented showers.”

“’Tis alright, Sashki. ’Twere not so bad, after I got used to it.”

Saskia harrumphed. “So we’re decided then? Me and Kveld and Velandir take the secret passage?”

“Methinks you’re making a mistake, Caesitor,” said Baldreg. “But I’d be more at ease if I accompany you as well.”

“If we do any fighting, it’ll be at close quarters,” she pointed out. “That kind of environment doesn’t exactly play to your strengths, Baldreg.”

“I ken my way around blade as well as crossbow,” said Baldreg. “I’m faster and stronger than I were afore…”

Before he became a Chosen.

If one good thing had come out of Baldreg’s stint as Abellion’s lackey, it was that his physical attributes had levelled up. He was probably almost as fast as the high elf quickdraws, and as strong as the average troll—although a lifter troll, born to the seed of strength, would still beat him handily in an arm wrestle. The downside was that he was nowhere near as fun to be around as the old, more lighthearted, Baldreg.

“Okay, you can come with us, too,” said Saskia, after the silence had stretched just a little too long. “That’s if Velandir can keep all four of us hidden?” She looked at the shadowmaster, who inclined his head in confirmation. “We’ll be in and out before you know it.”

As the day wore on, and they made their plans and prepared for the mission, Saskia was beginning to have second thoughts. She was risking everything on the basis of a single dream. This wasn’t something a good leader would do. It was borderline insane. And yet, her dreams and vague premonitions and irrational hunches had served her well on many an occasion. They were just part of being an oracle. So frock it. It may be irrational, but this time she’d just go with it, and come what may.

Preparations complete, they boarded Iscaragraithe and flew into the hills surrounding Ambiellar. Not so close as to make it obvious they were heading for the city. A giant glowing skeletal dragon would be easily spotted, night and day, and Velandir couldn’t conceal something that big. But close enough that the journey to the city on foot wouldn’t be too arduous.

“We’ll be waiting nearby if you need us,” said Ruhildi, as they stepped out of the dragon. “Be safe, all of you.”

The name Velandir gave to his stealth magic, web of shadows, was an apt one. Darkness crept across the ground and gathered about them, until all she could see of her companions were oddly-coloured patches of ground where they stood. As they moved about, she couldn’t hear their footsteps.

“Impressive,” she said. “Wait, can you hear this?” When she didn’t get a reply, she spoke through her oracle voice link.

“I hear you,” said Baldreg.

“How do people under a web of shadows normally communicate with each other, without this oracle voice link?” asked Saskia.

“They don’t,” said Velandir. “Ordinarily, I could see and hear you, but you wouldn’t be able to hear me, or each other.”

Looking from his eyes, she saw the truth of his statement. She and the others were plainly visible to his eyes, albeit surrounded by swirling streaks of darkness.

“I can rope us together if you like,” he added.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Saskia. “We can see each other on our map.”

That, presumably, was only possible because all of them were her vassals. The assassin who had attacked her hadn’t shown up on her map until the moment he struck. The same would be true of any other shadowmasters they encountered. Which brought up another question.

“Can other shadowmasters see us?” she asked.

“Only insofar as they’re trained to to spot the signs of other webs,” said Velandir. “We should be careful where we tread.”

Saskia wondered what the ettiquette would be if two invisible assassins bumped into each other on the road. It’d probably involve knives.

They hiked through the hills at a brisk pace. Velandir, though chubby, was as fit as any other elf she’d met. Baldreg, made up for his stubby little legs with a Chosen’s speed and endurance. Kveld was a giant among dwarves, with a strength and stamina to match. And she…well, she could’ve left any of them in the dust.

It was early in the morning, but not yet dawn, when they made their way down into a wide valley, filled with patchwork fields and neat rows of trees, giving way to the high walls of a bustling city. The spires of Ambiellar loomed over the walls, and they were every bit as breathtaking as they had been in her dream, and the vision back in the Night’s Dream. Not content with bald stonework, the high elves grew plants atop every roof, and covered their walls in vines and mosses and lichens. They may not be druids, but they had a gardener’s touch.

Velandir lead them to a small grove hidden near the edge of the valley. There were guards stationed among these trees. She could see them on her map, if not with her eyes. Also plainly visible on her map was the covered entrance to the not-so-secret-any-more passage. To an unobservant eye, it looked like a pile of rocks stacked inside a hollow formed beneath the roots of a gnarled tree. These high elves must not have met an oracle or stoneshaper before if they thought some carefully arranged rocks would keep the entrance hidden.

“Careful,” said Velandir. “The sentries may not be able to see us, but they can see the movement of trees in our wake, even under cover of darkness.”

“How are we gonna uncover the entrance without them noticing?” whispered Saskia. She didn’t need to whisper, but they were sneaking, so it felt like the right thing to do.

“Those sentries aren’t the brightest bunch,” said Velandir. “They’re all looking outward. None are actually watching the entrance. See? If he’s quiet about it, your stoneshaper friend can get us in and out without them noticing.”

“Think you can put the stones back exactly as they are now, from the other side, Kveld?” asked Saskia.

“I…could,” said Kveld. “But there’s no need for anything so risky. We can simply find a concealed spot further along the tunnel, and I can…”

Saskia smacked her palm against her forehead. “I’m an idiot. Of course we don’t have to use the heavily-guarded entrance. Duh. With your magic, you easily can dig a hole for us.”

The spot they chose was in a little gully, hidden from view by some convenient bushes. Kveld parted the earth beneath them, forming a neat, round hole, just big enough for Saskia to squeeze her butt through. Lowering herself into the dank, slimy tunnel, she watched as Kveld sealed the hole shut behind them. The tunnel wasn’t built to accommodate trolls, but she found she could crawl through its depths without too much difficulty.

At the other end of the tunnel was a stone wall that could normally only be opened by a lever attached to the shelf on the other side. Kveld could get around that, too. He slid the wall aside with a firm shove of his magic. The shelf concealing the secret passage also slid aside, revealing a dusty basement, stacked with wooden barrels and mouldy old furniture.

There was no-one guarding this end of the passage, but her minimap suggested there were more than enough guards in the rooms and hallways upstairs to worry about. If just one of them bumped into her…

Fortunately for her, the palace was huge, by elven standards, with high ceilings and widely spaced walls that gave her room to move about in relative comfort. It was just as she remembered from her dream: a vision of splendour. They worked their way through one exquisitely decorated chamber after another, until they reached a walled-off hallway. Kveld once again opened the way for them, and they stepped into an ancient, disused wing of the palace.

Blue arlium lined the crumbling walls, glowing brightly. The patterns of blue all seemed to point to one room: the room she’d seen in her dream.

As she approached the room, she was starting to feel that something was off. A small, but growing voice inside her was screaming at her to turn back.

“Something is wrong,” said Saskia. “I don’t know what it is, but…something.”

“Should we go back?” asked Kveld.

“I don’t know…” She wanted to. And yet… “No. We’ve come this far. We have to see it through to the end. But keep your spells and weapons primed. Be ready for anything.”

She pushed open the door to Sarthea’s chamber, and stepped inside.

There was no amber sphere. No woman trapped within. Just a jet black obelisk.

A keystone.

“Well that…sucks,” said Saskia. “Was my dream just a metaphor? Or is she in the keystone…?”

There was only one way to find out. Pulling off her gauntlet, she pressed her hand against the smooth, black surface.

A feminine voice echoed through the chamber: “Say your command, mouthlet.”

“Keystone, tell me—eugh, what the frock!?”

Something cold as ice had slithered against her fingers in the instant before she jerked them away. Now she could see a silvery liquid flowing across the surface of the obelisk, like the slime trailed by an invisible snail.

Being nearly invisible, she couldn’t see her own hand. Nor could she see anything on it. But she could feel the mercury-like substance moving inside her.

When she absorbed arlium, it felt…well, embarrassingly good. This sensation was the exact opposite of that. It felt like a million tiny blades tearing into her flesh. And in their wake, an icy numbness.

“Saskia, are you alright?” asked Kveld.

“I…don’t think so, Kveld,” she gasped. “It feels—oh god.”

The web of shadows dispersed around her companions, leaving them starkly visible in the dim blue light of the chamber.

Baldreg rounded on Velandir. “Why did you do that?”

“The demon is injured,” said the shadowmaster. “You need to see this.”

Ignoring them both, Kveld rushed toward her, his face awash with concern.

Tugging off her vambrace, Saskia inspected her arm. Her rock-hard flesh was turning black, and fractures were forming across its surface.

Kveld lifted his axe, and gave her a look that was part terror, and part apology.

“Do it,” she said. “It…won’t be the first time.”

She removed her pauldron, lay down on her back and spread her arm wide.

Kveld mouthed a silent prayer—to her perhaps—and swung with all of his considerable strength, bringing the axe down on her arm, just below the shoulder. The duanum blade of his axe was harder than her flesh. Even so, it left only a tiny gash that was already beginning to heal over.

“’Tis no good,” whispered Kveld, looking defeated.

“Let me try, lad,” said Baldreg, advancing toward them.

Velandir stepped in front of him. “I will do it.”

A blade of shadow materialised in his hand.

It occurred to Saskia that if Velandir intended to betray her, now would be the perfect opportunity. Still, it wasn’t as if she had much choice. Giving him a silent nod, she steeled herself as he drew close.

The shadowmaster knelt at her side, and without preamble began to saw into her arm. The pain, at first, was indescribable. But it didn’t last long. Soon, there was only creeping numbness.

He kicked the severed arm aside, leery to touch it. Saskia eyed it with morbid fascination. The dark decay had spread along the length of the arm, almost to the shoulder joint where it had been severed.

Had they gotten it off soon enough? The numbness spreading throughout her body suggested that no, they hadn’t.

The door creaked open behind them. Velandir stiffened beside her.

“Oh balls,” he hissed. “They are here.”

Hefting his shadowblade, he wavered and vanished, reappearing a moment later, with the blade sunk deep into the chest of a startled-looking quickblade.

Well, thought Saskia. I guess that puts to bed any notion of him switching sides again.

All around her erupted a frenzy of steel and shadows and blood and exploding masonry. She watched it unfold with growing detachment as the chill continued to seep into her. Whatever happened here, she was frocked.

“Sashki, just hold on!” Ruhildi’s voice was loud in her head.

She tried to reply, but nothing came out except a wracking cough, which turned into a choking spasm. Her muscles went rigid. Her back arched. What remained of her vision seemed to splinter, and the sound of her moan morphed into a mosquito whine that became her whole world.

 

Once more, she was sinking into the warm, bright depths. The ropey coils of vines trailing from her back and neck were torn and frayed, and bleeding light into the water.

Down, down, down she sank. This time, there was an uneasy feeling of finality to her descent. The great winged leviathan of the deep—her deepest self, her undermind—was calling her home.

No. This was unacceptable. If she quit now, what would become of her friends? They needed her. And she…she needed them.

Summoning every ounce of her flagging strength, she thrashed and flailed, fighting against the pull of the deep.

Far below, her undermind circled. And in its gentle rotation, she began to discern…words. Not the words of the surface worlds, but something more primal.

“Do not be afraid,” said her undermind. “Do not fight. This is not an ending. It is a beginning. You will live on in our other fronds.”

“You don’t understand!” she said. “They will be lost without me. Abellion will kill them all, and their world will never be free of his tyranny!”

Her undermind seemed to pause in its orbit, as if considering her words. “You place a high value on our vassals, as you call them.”

“Not just my vassals. All of my friends. Everyone I care about. I can’t just abandon them!”

“I do not entirely understand this concept of ‘friendship,’” said her undermind.

“That’s because you’re a…” She’d been about to say ‘psychopath,’ but that wasn’t really true now, was it? Her undermind’s thought processes couldn’t be compared to those of her surface mind—or any others who shared those worlds with her. It had been alone down here its whole ‘life,’ with only her for company. Why would it have learned about something it could never experience, except through her? The fact that it was even capable of holding this conversation was surprising. Her father had led her to believe her undermind would always be unknowable to her, and her to it. Clearly that wasn’t entirely true. It had been learning…

“Why devote so many thoughts—so much energy—to something so ephemeral?” asked her undermind. “You know we are more than just one frond; one world. You can’t take your ‘friends’ with you—with the exception of your frondlet. They will come and go. All that matters is what they can do for you.”

“Wait…frondlet?”

“She means me, Sashki.”

Saskia started at the sight of Ruhildi, sinking beside her, pulled by her own crop of tentacle-vines. “What’s going on? Are you really here?”

“Aye—and no,” said Ruhildi.

Saskia groaned. “Now you’re beginning to sound like my donkhole dad.”

“You’re not dead yet, back in the waking world,” said Ruhildi. “I am trying to keep it that way. But at the same time, I’m sharing this dream of yours.”

“Well that’s…strange.” To her undermind, she said, “See? I’m not dead yet. You can’t have me.”

“I already have you,” said the leviathan. “You are a part of me, and I of you. But your time in the light of your surface world is nearly at an end.”

“Och no ’tis not, you big lunk of a dracken,” said Ruhildi, scowling down at her undermind. Clearly, she wasn’t seeing everything Saskia was seeing. “Sashki’s strong, and I won’t let her die. If you want to take her from this world, you’ll have to go through me!”