I inwardly curse as we weave our way deeper through the backstreets into the slums under concealment. Everything has to be a hassle.

“How can mental magic affect so many at once and without damage?” The man asks after we briskly walk past another beggar who doesn’t even look up as we pass.

“It targets a different area than what you’re thinking. Most mind mages target the centre of self, and that’s a fortress. To do anything there you must pit your whole being against it, and break through. That takes time and damages the target. However, it’s what’s necessary to shape even a basic act or catch a single thought.

“What I’m doing is targeting a function on the periphery, the node of perception– much easier. I’m also not actually changing anything. I’m just attaching a signal to everything we do, including sounds, that carries an instruction not to see us, or rather not to notice. Nothing major.”

“It sounds major. Just not seeing someone who’s standing right in front of you?” He says.

I smile. “Well, really all it does is give a little push. Doing stuff that’ll draw attention will push right back, and then people will see.”

“A little push?” He scoffs.

“Yes. We’re all so proud of our perception, our whole world revolves around it. So, making someone not notice something seems earthshattering. But people don’t notice things all the time. Look around. How many things can you be aware of at once? A handful? How many things are actually in view? Thousands, sometimes millions. Not noticing things is the natural state, and magic that reinforces the natural state is always easy. Just think, if it wasn’t the case, how could the resistance have lasted? Your cell with its slack security especially?”

“Right.” He says in a tone that says I might technically be right, but I’m clearly ascribing greater significance to it than is warranted.

“Were’ here.” He says, stopping in an alley looking at the nicest building in the area. Four stories, mix of stone on the bottom and wood at top, with a stream of people going in and out. The entrance with the people is on the largest street around, and it towers over the buildings on the other sides that form cramp alleys.

“Public role, right. What does he do?”

“I thought you knew.” He gives an alarmed look saying, ‘I thought you had a plan’.

“I just heard his name and that he’s looking out for the refugees.”

He gives a look that says ‘and you threatened to kill me for that? It could be a completely different Lindrid’ but doesn’t press.

“He’s a merchant. He buys the grains coming in and other goods and gives it away to the refugees to buy influence. He also sells a lot of it for enormous profit under other companies, but the refugees only see the donations.”

“That sounds like he’s slowing down this town’s uprising rather than hastening it.”

He shakes his head. “He’s not actually bringing in anything, he’s just arranging for as much as possible of what does to be under his name. He’s even bought up merchant groups to direct them away from Fluemberg.”

“I see. So, all these people are going in to receive handouts?”

“And other things. Some of them are going in to see one of the charity doctors he pays to come from other parts of town. More are coming to him… holding court, you could say. People coming in and telling him their problems that he promises to fix.”

“Right, so if he just got up and left the building it would cause notice?”

“Yeah.”

“Where is he holding court?”

“A hall on the first floor.”

“Is there a private place he can go to inside the building that won’t cause notice?”

“Yeah, he’ll often retreat to his office, either because something came up or he needed a break.”

“Where is it, exactly?”

“Top floor, corner windows on the other side overlooking his granary.” He says pointing to the slightly obscured storage structure.

“Do you have a public role in there?”

“Yeah, his assistant.”

“…Okay, here’s the plan. You go in and whisper that there was an urgent problem meeting me. When you go to his office, tell him that I’ll only meet with him now, but I won’t come in with all the people. He’ll have to figure it out himself. I’ll defer to his judgment. I’ll wait here, come and get me when he gives you instructions. Make sure he understands that if he takes his time, I’m gone.”

“You won’t actually leave before I get back though, will you?” He looks at me with eyes that says he’ll be hurt if I do. Damn social operatives.

“That depends on how fast you are. Now go.”

He rushes towards the door. The moment he turns away, I drop our concealment spell and recast it on just myself, then immediately run across the side street into the alley at the back of the building.

I expected refugees taking shade in the cramp alley, but I come across a thug patrolling with a cudgel evidentially to keep them from camping around the building. Makes this easier for me.

I wait a few seconds for them to leave the alley while changing my cloak to match the exact shade of brown of the stones that make the wall, then I start to climb.

The stones are flusher than in many buildings around here, but still jut out enough to provide stable holds at the mortar, especially with my tiny fingers. It might even be enough for me to climb without my boons, provided I left my pack at the bottom. With my boons it’s an easy climb even while carrying it.

It gets tricky halfway up where the material changes from brown stone to whitewashed wood with seams far too small to grab. The floor juts out more than a yard in all directions in an overhang supported by wooden struts that merge into support beams going all the way up to the roof.

I take a short break laying on the support as I change my cloak from brown to white, then I hang off it, backside down, and scurry to the edge of the inverted floor. Once there, I hook my legs round the support and let go with my hands in a sort of sit up position. I grab hold of the inch or so of the thick vertical support beam that protrudes from the wall, and pull myself up along it.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Even with god given strength my muscles ache as I pull myself up while maintaining my grip. Panic strikes! How long do I have? Should be… an hour, maybe an hour and a half. What if I’m wrong, what if they give out midway? I’ll… just jump back on to the roof of the building behind me. How much time will our meeting take? Will I have to go back the same way? No… I should be able to just jump down.

If only the window wasn’t closed. I would have just gotten on the roof of the building behind me, and jumped up to it. I can still do that if I feel my boon about to go, but it’ll be too noisy. My concealment might work for people in the surrounding rooms, but I don’t know if anyone in here has enhanced hearing, even ignoring the possibility of them being in the room.

It takes about a minute to reach the corner office. I leap sideways from the beam to grab a hold of the sill, then pull myself up to insert my small knife in the crack and slowly lift the latch. I leverage the knife to open the window a crack for me to peak through. Seeing nobody inside, I open the window the rest of the way, push my pack through, and myself after. Then I relatch the window, pick up my pack, and hide in the corner behind an armoire, changing my cloak to match the room’s dark red wallpaper.

Enough time for me to catch my breath passes before a fit middle-aged man– with neat salt and pepper hair in an ornate silk tunic that subtly suggests fine muscles beneath– bursts through the door with the man who contacted me. The latter closes and locks the door behind them.

“So, what’s the problem?” Lindrid, presumably, says as he sits in a padded chair behind his ornate desk.

His assistant relays what I instructed and Lindrid leans back and considers.

“Little shit.” He finally mutters. “Do they know how much trouble they caused me?”

“They’ve been informed.” The assistant says dryly.

“At yet they have the gall to demand I move up the meeting to my most productive time?”

His assistant shrugs. “They seemed in quite the rush.”

“Field ops always are…” He goes silent thinking, before snapping instructions. “All right, find Bryvos and tell her to take her team and hide in the cellar. Make sure everyone else is out and lock the door. Then go get our friend and take them there through the secret tunnel. I’ll be down shortly.”

“… is there a reason why we’re including Bryvos in the meeting? Our new friend is a mage, and very serious. You know how oversensitive even a laidback field operative can be. If our friend thinks this is an ambush, who knows how they might overreact.”

“Bryvos knows how to hide, and I need her there in case negotiations fail. Our friend from the field has already cost me two setbacks, and their arrogance is grating. Depending on what they have to say for themselves I might turn their body over to the mob after all.”

“… I’ll let them know then.” The assistant says without emotion then leaves– a click as the door locks behind him.

Lindrid pulls out a pen and paper and starts writing something furiously in code. I creep up behind him, put my hand tightly over his mouth and press my dagger against his throat.

“It’s so nice of you to plan me a party, but I’m afraid I must decline the invitation. Accept my spell.”

Lindrid tenses, then relaxes and nods. I drop my concealment on myself, and then let go of his mouth to recast it over both of us.

He speaks with unveiled contempt. “I should have known that a field operative wouldn’t defer to my judgment.”

“Naturally. You really should have realized it before sending your entire security team to the opposite end of the building though. That was nice of you.” I smile very smugly as I move around him to sit on the desk, keeping the dagger pointed at his throat. Morri would be appalled… or maybe delighted.

He glares, and my smile deepens as his eyes go to my dirty shoes dangling against the fine wood.

“What did the spell do?” He asks.

“Made it so others can’t hear us.” I say, hopefully misleading. Casual eavesdroppers won’t notice our conversation, but it won’t do anything if he screams.

“I have an enchanted item that does the same.”

“You don’t really think I’d let you activate it do you?”

“No.”

“Good. Now, you wanted to meet? Well, I’m here. What do you want?”

He glares, tension building in his forehead. “What do I want? I want to know why, after two years priming this town for revolt, when I am a week away from activating, my usual outside contact doesn’t show on time? Why the next day a half-sized blood crazed field operative comes instead, and instead of coming to see me, bulls their way through my town, murders five of my assets, and nearly destroys my whole operation?”

“Well… first, they attacked me, and they didn’t know the passphrase.”

“I said they were assets, not cell members. They didn’t know they were working for us. It would be counterproductive if I brought everyone under my patronage into the fold.”

“Well, the point remains they attacked me. Accidents happen. It was unavoidable, let’s move on.”

“You just snuck into my office on the fourth floor and hid through an entire conversation about you. I’m sure you could have avoided them just fine.”

“Aw, well, um… by the way, if they were assets, why weren’t they godsworn? Surely, they would be more useful if you offered guidance as their patron on that issue, and it wouldn’t reveal our plans.”

“I survive by avoiding notice. Accumulating an army of godsworn under me would attract the empire’s gaze. I intend for them to take mass oaths when we were closer to the uprising. Until then I’ll discourage it both for subtly and so they feel more dependent on us. Now answer the rest of my questions.” He says in a commanding tone, steely eyes, verry much as if a dagger isn’t being pointed at his throat. “Why did my regular contact not show, and why are you here instead?”

“Well, I’m here because I needed shelter from the storm last night. Your contact most likely isn’t here because they’re dead, or having their mind ripped apart. As is half the resistance.”

His eyes narrows so I explain the details.

“I see.” He says when I’m done. “Then I need your help to move up the schedule.”

“What!?” I stare at him in mild shock. “You want to go ahead with the uprising? Why? There’s no point without the field cells to support you. Even if you defeat the garrison, without us, they can concentrate their forces and take back the town with a day’s effort. The resistance is dead, why hurt Caethlon more if we can’t drive them out?”

“If the resistance is dead, why are you on a mission?” He asks, giving me pause. “You are on one, right? It’s why you’re in a rush?” I nod. “Let me guess, you’re going someplace to plant the seed of a future struggle? This is the same.”

“I fail to see how depopulating Caethlon further will strengthen Caethlon in future rebellions.”

“It helps because if they do depopulate Fluemberg, then that will build resentment that could last generations. They know this, and will be willing to negotiate for our surrender. Even if we don’t get much, we can still win a few rights that will increase our autonomy just a little. With those rights we can support future resistance. So, whether they wipe us out or not, it’s a seed.”

“Yeah, sure.” I say derisively. “They’ll give Fluemberg some minor autonomy maybe, and maybe they’ll put you in charge after the lord mayor happens to die in the riots. You’ll become a lord just like you wanted.”

“…Timos told you that?” He looks…a little hurt?

“Timos…?” It takes a moment for me to realize who he’s talking about. “What’s with this cell and giving out it’s member’s names without even being asked? And don’t tell me how your rules are looser because paranoia attracts attention in the settlements. ‘Timos’ went through that. It’s still nonsense.”

“Listen, I don’t know what Timos told you about my intentions.”

“Hey,” I interrupt, gesturing away from his throat with the dagger. “I’m not one to judge. Plenty of people are in the resistance for their own benefits. Without opportunists and profiteers, myself included, we wouldn’t have lasted a year.”

“…I appreciate your sentiment. And yes, it’s true I have my own ambitions. But I wouldn’t be pushing the plan if I didn’t believe it would help the cause whether I live or die.”

I sigh, considering his argument. Sure, it’s been two years since I really believed we could push the Arkothans out and regain our independence. I’ve read my history book, that just doesn’t happen in the timeframe we’re talking about. The leaders know, and I know, we’re just lying to ourselves and the lower members because we can’t admit that what we were always fighting for was a war generations from now. So, this line of thinking isn’t really new. And if he gets to be a lord? That’s great for him. I certainly entertained the notion for myself, not to mention the power I’ve gained by giving Anar souls.

Besides, causing a revolt would be a good way of covering my tracks for the murders.

“Fine.” I say, putting away my dagger. “I’ll make you a lord. But if I’m helping you on your mission, you’ll need to help me on mine. I mean a lot of help. Enough to be worth the title. So, what’s the plan?”

He smiles with perfect straight white teeth. “I need you to burn the imperial granary.”