“It'll be here soon,” Rorshin reported.

He was sitting, cross-legged, outside the shallow cave that the three of them had been camping in for most of the day. Contort's wound had reopened, and Ichabod was applying salves they had pilfered from Merrin to the open, still-bleeding cut. The magic they had been forced to use to stave off infection had possessed a drawback, and that was that it ate through stitches far too quickly. They would need stronger stuff, and soon.

The plane they were on was known as the Quiet, and was an empty world. A grassland, a savannah, as far as the eye could see, with a few mountains cropping up here and there, cracks in the earth, rivers that puddled by, devoid of fish. No one knew why it was an unpopulated place.

Well, no one knew. But people avoided the Quiet best they could. Colonies had been set up here, then disappeared within weeks. Travelers were known to be taken by... something. The wind that blew gently across the plane had something in it, a spirit, like the Spioa of Nesona, perhaps.

But more concrete. Predatory. Forceful.

But it had not accosted them on their journey across the bright fields. A stormwall rumbled in the distance, a solid sheet of rain and cold that blotted out the northern horizon. Clouds were pulled into the rain elemental's influence, tugged across the sky like fish caught on the rod. They merely added to the rain elemental's power, its devouring of the world, its inexorable crawl to the three of them.

For the last week, in their mad spring across the multiverse, they had managed to shake the living storm off. But somewhere along Dalsim, it had caught up with them.

Becenti's words hung in their memories as Rorshin stamped down into the cave.

Every raindrop was an eye.

If even one could see them, it would find them. Tear them to pieces with a directed gale. The rain elemental would not relent.

The druid turned around, and whispered a few words, scratching at the bare earth. There were no animals here, true, but there was plantlife. Very few planes were dead, truly dead. The Quiet was not one of them.

He raised a hand, and a wall of roots began to rise at the mouth of the cave. It covered the cave's entrance, sealing it tight.

“We'll be safe here,” Rorshin said.

“We'll have air?” Ichabod asked.

“Yes,” Rorshin said, “Just enough holes to let it in. Like we are pets.”

The druid gave Ichabod a toothy smirk at that.

“Did you ever claim to own insects, half-man?” he asked, “Put them in glass jars, poke holes at the top? Does this not feel the same?”

Ichabod grimaced. Sneered.

“Have you, wildman?” he asked, “You certainly seem to have personal experience, you poor thing.”

Rorshin's grin dropped. His eyes went hard.

“That's enough, you two,” Contort said. He was sitting down, back against the cave wall, the bandages on his leg freshly re-wrapped. He had it out to one side, which was uncomfortable for one of his species – he much preferred to be bunched up like a coiled spring.

Ichabod's mind came back to the data chip stored in his head. He had not had time to properly start clawing at the firewalls surrounding it, at the heavy security that OzTech had installed. It held what Captain Ramsey, far away on Londoa, had requested – the identity of the client who ordered the guild Like Shadow on an assassination in Scuttleway.

An assassination attempt with a Maizimorph, that had led to two of their own getting broken noses and split lips.

Ichabod didn't particularly like one of them, and cared little for the other. But it had led him back to OzTech

It had led to this.

“How long do we wait?” Contort asked, almost whispered.

“As long as the storm lasts,” Rorshin said, “Despite its power, it is still beholden to the wind. It will pass.”

“It'll come back,” Ichabod said, “We'll need to find another hiding spot once we leave.”

The druid nodded.

The rain washed over the roof of the cave. Hard. Like a thousand stone drums beating overhead, a thousand footfalls, a thousand warnings. Thunder rolled dull in clouds they could not see. They were quiet.

For they did not know if the rain had ears, as well.

So they waited. Ichabod continued probing at the firewall, but the rain's assault distracted him, kept breaking his concentration, and soon enough he was merely sitting there, a scowl on his face, his hands on his knees, staring at the firewall in his head. Contort let out a small groan. Rorshin did nothing but stare at the roots that covered the cave's entrance.

After what felt like hours, the rain began to relent, bit by bit. The intensity died down, the droning of water upon earth lessened, then ceased.

They waited another two hours after that.

Then, Rorshin raised a hand. The root wall squelched its way back into the earth. The sun greeted them, which was a relief. When they walked out, they could see the rain elemental on the opposite horizon, gray and taking up the world.

“It'll go back and forth between here and the Traveling Point,” Ichabod said.

“This is going to take forever,” Contort said, “Rorshin, you still haven't figured out a way to shake it off?”

“Hnn,” Rorshin growled, “A desert, I think, we need a desert.”

“The next Traveling Point takes us to Hanbusan,” Ichabod said, “From there, we can get to...”

His mind raced. He had downloaded a map from Shambling before they left for Neos, but it was out of date in certain places. He pulled it up, a green hologram over a metal and glass arm. The socket on his shoulder rattled uncomfortably – a stray bullet had struck him during the Tower assault, and since then it hadn't been rotating right.

As if he had time to properly repair it.

The map here, at least, was still correct. Hanbusan was in forecast, and leading out from the Eternal Plateau was...

“Nesona,” he said, “We can lose it there.”

***

The ship was the Guttersnipe, a small airship from Melmaen that belonged to House Rithmound. Wakeling had booked passage on it for a steal, speaking with Lord Rithmound himself. She merely needed to give word to him about the Federation investigator, and she got the fastest vessel in the Rithmound fleet.

The ship's captain was a gnome named Ivar Orvisan, of the minor House Orvisan, which had been allied with the Rithmounds for the past few decades. A bushy beard plagued the gnome's face, red and scraggled, and he looked all the world like a viking that had been scrunched down in a freak accident. He was currently on the deck of the ship, a spyglass in hand, scoped out and pointed behind them.

He gave a grim scowl, and passed the spyglass to Meleko. The Jugdran looked through it, muttering to himself for a moment, before giving it to Rosemary.

“I don't work well with these things,” he said, “Too many eyes.”

Rosemary nodded, bringing the spyglass up to her face.

The Gil-Galad danced in the dark winter clouds, just bright enough to be made out, even by the naked eye if she knew where to look. White, like a swan, it crested across the sky towards the Guttersnipe. Elves were onboard, members of the White Feathers, most likely, armed and preparing cannon.

Beside her, Ora Sota shook. She offered the Nelnuthan the spyglass.

“Want a peek?” she asked, “See what we're up against?”

The Federation official looked down at the bronze piece in her hand. He took it in a paw, taking a shaky breath, before bringing it up to his eye. His expression, already nervous, became taut as a rope.

“It's one thing to know that they want to kill you,” he murmured, “Another to see.”

“They already tried to kill you once, guy,” Meleko laughed.

Ora glanced at him.

“You're certainly jovial about all this.”

“You learn that you have to be,” Meleko said, “This is your first time out, isn't it? First time really seeing your life on the line.”

After a moment, as the crew of the Guttersnipe prepared for battle, Ora nodded. Meleko put a hand on his shoulder.

“Relax,” he said, “It'll be alright. Rosemary and I are here for you, in case things get bad. Right now this is a long-range battle. Isn't that right, Captain?”

Orvisan glanced over at them. Gave them a curt nod.

“Aye,” he said, “We're quicker than the Gil-Galad. We'll be able to outrun her, just fine. She'll be aiming at our sails and engines to hamper us in the skies.”

Already, the crew was preparing cannons of their own. Two of them, bulbous and (to Ora, at least) barbaric. They were loading ammo into them. Not plasma, like the Nelnuthan had seen in his stories, but rather two balls connected with a chain.

“You'd better get below, now,” Orvisan said, “We'll do most of the fighting. But keep that mace handy, lass. You two, shark, with the Fedtek.”

Rosemary nodded. Ora heard her mutter “It's a sceptre,” under her breath.

The Jugdran, on the other hand, gave Orvisan a quizzical look.

“What's a shark?” he asked.

***

The Amber Foundation allowed Ora to take the one cot in the room that was allotted to them. There wasn't much room onboard the Guttersnipe, not with the crew operating at near-full capacity. Ora lied down on the bed, hands behind his head, his heart shuddering. Meleko sat down on the chair beside him. Rosemary leaned against the wall. Her mace – no, sceptre – was held in her head, glowing gentle as a sunrise, but the way she held it made Ora suspect she was ready to beat any interloper's head in.

His ears flickered at the sound of distant cannon fire. Twin booms, echoing out of the night. He heard shouts above on the deck. Captain Orvisan's barking out orders, his voice commanding despite its shrillness.

“Not sure why we took these guys,” Meleko said, “Didn't you have a ship?”

“It was...” Ora winced as he heard the Guttersnipe answer the Gil-Galad's cannonfire. Much closer, the cannons went off with shuddering booms that made him rattle from his ribs to his jaw.

“One of those temporary ones, yeah?” Meleko said, “One-stop shops, right? It's only gonna come back when you call for it.”

Ora nodded. The Jugdran seemed to be talking to distract him.

“Buddy,” Meleko said, “Those are a scam. It ain't coming back.”

His heart fell.

“O-Oh,” he whimpered.

“How much you pay for it?”

“Almost two months' salary.”

And the mercenary had the gall to laugh at that, a cackle that was both amused and spiteful. Ora's eyes narrowed.

“Hey,” Rosemary said, “Be nice to him. It's his first time out here, you know.”

She was smiling, though.

“I know, I know,” Meleko said, “Just... whoof. Yeah, pal, don't use those services. Don't use anything that's on the web, yeah? Best to know a guy to get out into the multiverse from the Silver Eye.”

“I used the proper channels,” Ora said, “It's-”

Another boom. The sound of scraping wood. Meleko and Rosemary traded glances. The Guttersnipe stalled for a brief moment, shuddered, then pressed on.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“If you used the proper channels, then you got scammed,” Meleko said, “Department of Interplanar Transportation's been gutted for a while now, just filled with thieves and punks.”

“I-” Ora stammered, “That's- The Federation would never allow that!”

“Please,” Meleko said, “You're one of their investigators, right? You think you're the only one who's never been off-plane?”

The Nelnuthan went silent.

“Betcha there are thousands of you,” Meleko said, “Never been off their damn homeworlds, doing what daddy did, doing-”

“Meleko,” Rosemary warned, “Laying it on a bit thick, yeah?”

The Jugdran stopped. He fixed Ora a look. Ora returned it for a moment.

Then looked away, shame-faced.

“Yeah,” Meleko said, “Maybe I was.”

He sighed.

“You came out here, at least.”

Another distant cannon. Ora groaned. His ears flickered.

“I can't take this,” he said, “Any moment, we could be torn to shreds.”

“We could be,” Rosemary said, “We just have to trust the Captain.”

“Do we?” Ora asked, “Maybe he gives up. Maybe he lets them onboard, let’s them take me, let’s-”

“Do you think we have a choice?” Rosemary asked.

Ora took a deep breath.

“...No,” he said, “I suppose I don’t. I’ll… have to trust them.”

It was a difficult thing, he found. He had always opined about the might of the Federation, the influence it had on the multiverse, the protection it afforded him as one of its servants. But this was very different from the idealized protector he had formed in his head. Here, the danger was real. He was not used to that.

He had never been in danger before.

So he mirrored Meleko and Rosemary. The Jugdran was cracking a few jokes, trying to keep the mood light, though he never removed his grip from the plasma rifle in his hands. Rosemary smiled at his wisecracks, smiled at Ora, always smiled, as though her face were a mask.

After what felt like hours, they felt a shaking and rumbling. Ora gripped the edges of the cot, gasping, squeezed his eyes shut. The entirety of the Guttersnipe rumbled.

“H-Have we been hit?!” he screamed.

“We're planeshifting!” Rosemary called back, “Hang on tight!”

It was nothing like when he had been on the Federation ship, heading to Londoa. The shudders had been accounted for, the vessel designed specifically to travel the multiverse in smooth arcs. The Guttersnipe felt like it was going to shake itself to pieces.

And yet...

The rumbling stopped, and they were whole.

Another hour passed.

There came a knock on the door.

“It's over,” Captain Orvisan said, “We've lost them.”

They stepped out of the room, and back onto the deck. The Guttersnipe had taken a few good licks – a gash cut across the hull, and one of the cannons had been blown to smithereens. Two bodies lay in the center of the deck, covered in white sheets.

“Oh, dear,” Ora said.

“Aye,” Captain Orvisan said, “They fought well, Toes and Ceris.”

The Nelnuthan continued to stare at the two veiled forms, while Rosemary glanced around. It was night here, still, though the air was markedly warmer, muggier.

“We're on...” she struggled to remember the pathways they had taken to get to Chliofrond, “Yuradal, right? The World of Swamps?”

Orvisan nodded.

“If you can help with the injured, do so,” he said, “It was a hell of a time getting you here.”

“It'll be more of a time,” Meleko said, “That ship, the Gil-Galad, knows where we're heading. It'll be pursuing us the whole time.”

The gnome's face went red.

“I see,” he growled.

Meleko and Rosemary glanced at each other.

“How much did Rithmound tell you?” Rosemary asked.

There came a wretched scream from below. Crewmembers were being taken into the infirmary now, their wounds being seen to. Some had been hit worse than others.

“Only,” Orvisan said, “That you needed to get to that dead plane pronto. Didn't realize this was an inter-House spat.”

Rosemary wilted a bit.

“I understand,” she said.

But the Captain rolled his eyes.

“Relax,” he said, “I ain't gonna drop you three off in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. I'm just going to demand a much higher pay to Rithmound. This isn't my first rodeo against Busciver, I'll tell you that.”

He let out a harsh laugh.

“Let me attend to my crew and ship,” he said, “Then we'll discuss options. It'll be a while before the Elven ship finds us.”

***

Isaac found his father just after supper, fresh off of a meeting with House Meandring. He was following up on a visitation by one of their representatives to the Blacksmith's Association, a union which House Rithmound often spoke for. It had been mostly business, though the representative had hinted of a more stable relation with Rithmound...

At this point, Isaac was willing to take anything to peel Meandring away from Busciver's caucus. It was the steps that they should have taken months ago, to be honest. But if they were willing to extend an olive branch…

He sighed.

Lord Rithmound was in a room Isaac didn't expect, after searching around the Bronze-Hued Keep. He was in Mother's study. The Lady Rithmound was a fuzzy recollection, to Isaac. Memories of bright, young mornings, the air cool and crisp, her smelling like peach-infused perfume, a bright smile on her face, soft laughter at her son's antics. His heart swelled at the thought of her.

Her study was just as he remembered it – Father was insistent on keeping everything in place, as though he could freeze time in a moment, keep it sterile, clean, and lovely. Like he could preserve Mother here.

Like he could preserve her love.

A shelf was put off to one side, a gift from Lord Rithmound during their courting. The desk held a few books, an inkwell, a quill. All of these things were basic and professional, but they were still hers. The end of the quill had been clipped. The books were on archaeological digs up near Hermit, ancient metahuman and Elven civilizations that dotted that region. There was a series of scratches on the desk's surface, a heart that Isaac, as a child, had carefully etched in with his first knife.

Father sat at the desk now, hands clasped, his brow furrowed.

Isaac knocked on the door. Lord Rithmound came to, and for a moment Isaac saw a flash of anger on his face, disturbed that someone had come in here.

But no, it was his son. His heir.

He was not to show anger at Isaac, not for good reason.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“All business,” Isaac said, “But they dropped a few hints. I'm going to formally request a meeting with Lord Meandring tomorrow, see if we can't work out a deal.”

“Be careful, now,” Lord Rithmound said, “Meet in a public space.”

“A public space means I won't be able to clinch a deal,” Isaac said, “We don't have time. The vote could end tomorrow.”

Lord Rithmound was quiet for a moment.

“I don't think it will,” he said.

Isaac raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“I'm remembering what Gordudus said to me,” Lord Rithmound said, “After the first vote. To remember the time in Otria's Wood.”

Otria's Wood. A forest to the south, that crested the in-between slice of Inner and Outer Moadma.

“We were hunting there, for a time,” Lord Rithmound said, “In our youth, around when I began courting your mother. We were chasing a bear, but no matter what we tried, it was a wily thing, and escaped us. Outran us.”

Isaac nodded, leaning against the doorframe.

“Eventually, Gordusus and I commissioned a third friend to help us. She went ahead to a specific clearing in the woods, and began preparing a trap for the bear. Then, Gordusus and I funneled the bear into the clearing. It took three of us.”

“What do you think he meant?” Isaac said.

Lord Rithmound sighed.

“The House Korgan is playing an interesting game,” he said, “But they're still allies to us. At least, that's what I hope. But I will say, his elevating Lady Deirdre to candidacy cuts Busciver deep. Meandring, Mur, and Callistopa heavily supported her during the last election. One of them turned coat already. But she has no chance of winning, not with Sunala on Busciver's side, and Eilonwy with ours.”

“She's been bribed into trying,” Isaac said.

“It delays the votes,” Lord Rithmound said, “You said it yourself, didn't you? The multiverse is Sunala's. That dead plane of hers is swaying the Minor Tribunal quite a bit. But if the investigation finishes, and the Federation wrests control of the plane from Sunala...”

“...I see,” Isaac said, “A trap.”

“A trap that takes three,” Rithmound said, “Ourselves, Korgan, and Deirdre. It's to delay the votes until the investigation is complete. We just have to be sure that we build enough support on our end for them to come to us...”

He was quiet.

“A marital alliance, perhaps,” he said. Carefully, Isaac noted.

And Isaac's heart fell.

“I thought, the Lady Suella,” Isaac said.

“No, they're too minor, not at this point,” Lord Rithmound said, “Would need to be someone from Mur, or Callistopa. I don't want to touch Meandring, not now. But we must promise them something if we're to win.”

“...I see,” Isaac said.

“I'll have someone else represent us to the Meandrings tomorrow,” Lord Rithmound said, “I want you to look at a list of potential suitors for Mur or Callistopa. Choose wisely, my son, for marriage is no small thing.”

“I know,” Isaac said. More than you realize, he wanted to add.

Buscie's face appeared in his head. His heart skipped, nearly broke.

But he merely smiled.

Nodded.

And took his leave.

***

Yuradal was a demonic place. Urya Orna had been forced to serve a tour of duty here, at the height of the Wonderous Wars, early on in her time with the White Feathers. She and her guildmates had been forced to settle in, trudging through steamy jungle, facing off against natives, a guild known as the Suits, and a family of rogue metahumans. They had been bitten by mosquitoes, preyed upon by massive chameleons, become stuck in the sludge. She still woke up with nightmares, at times, but because she was an elf she was not allowed to reveal such things.

Nonetheless, as she watched the plane roil before her below, she gripped the Gil-Galad's rail. Even high above, she could make out the silhouette of trees, could hear dominating, primordial calls. Her heart hammered with the onset of those darker memories.

Someone drew beside her. Draz, the twin blades at his side glowing faintly in the moonlight. The sea elf's look was dour.

“We lost them,” he said.

Urya turned her attention to him.

“How?” she asked, “It's a clear night.”

“I don't know,” Draz said, grimacing, “They must have cast some spell, triggered something when they planeshifted here.”

“Keep searching,” Urya said, “Get elementals out there. I don't care if they disturb the mountains. Got it?”

Draz grimaced.

Nodded.

Left.

Leaving Urya alone once more. Her mind was swimming. What to do in this situation? What to do, when you knew where your enemy was going, the exact route?

Was this to be a race? It would be for sure one they would lose. The little Scuttler ship they had been chasing certainly could scrap, that was for sure – one of the Gil-Galad's sails had been torn to shreds, and the sides of her hull had been grazed and smashed through with cannonfire. Not enough to sink her, though.

There was a screech below, sharp enough to shock her from her ruminations. Gods, how she hated this place.

***

The Gil-Galad had been expecting the Guttersnipe to still be airborne, as they sent out their scouts to scour the sky. But the small airship had gone down to the treeline below, mooring to one of the trees. They had also gone off the beaten path, entirely forgoing the straight pathway to the Traveling Point that led to Entheos. They went far east, leaving the Gil-Galad as a vague speck.

“Won't be be picked up on scanner?” Ora asked.

“The Gil-Galad doesn't have scanners,” Rosemary said, “They use magic, and what they use is tied to the air. They won't find us.”

“Dangerous, though,” Meleko said, “There's more than just trees on Yuradal.”

They could hear buzzing in the distance, warnings of the God-Mosquitoes that dominated the plane. But nothing came for them, for the apex predators usually hunted in the day.

“As long as we're in the air by then, we'll be fine,” Captain Orvisan said, “But I think it's time we had a little talk.”

They had set up a crate on the deck of the ship as a makeshift table, along with a few stools. Orvisan was standing on his, one leg on the crate like some sort of Captain Morgan, eyeing each of them in turn.

“We're heading to the dead plane,” he said, “With the elves on our tail. You said the ship was the Gil-Galad?”

Rosemary nodded. Orvisan grinned.

“A galleon,” he said, “Good. We can run circles around those. And the Gil-Galad sticks out like a sore thumb. Sunala traded in good boating for gaudiness. What's the route, exactly?”

“Entheos is next,” Rosemary said, “We'll need to negotiate or avoid the ruler there, a Dragon named Skarnorex.”

“I see,” Orvisan said, “And what did they take from you last time?”

“A song,” Rosemary said, recalling G-Wiz's account. She and Heyma had gone together, “I don't know if they'll give us the same treatment, though.”

“Best we avoid them,” Orvisan said, “The next plane?”

“Redenia,” Rosemary said, “Across the sea. If we're lucky, we'll avoid Elzan Chi – I don't know her migration patterns, but...”

But the gnome swore.

“Only been to Redenia once,” he said, “Never liked the place. Elzan Chi, eh?”

“Eh,” Rosemary said.

“We fed her a lot,” Meleko added, “The entirety of the Gil-Galad's hold was full of salted meat to give to her.”

“A tribute, then,” Orvisan said. He was running a small hand through his long beard, “Interesting.”

Meleko caught what the Captain was pondering. He leaned in.

“You're thinking what I am, right?”

“Oho, you're a smart one, alien,” Orvisan said, “It's risky. We'll be chased by the Gil-Galad the entire trip. We won't be able to give them the slip.”

“What are you talking about?” Ora asked, “Can someone fill me in?”

“A running firefight might just keep Skarnorex off our backs, though,” Meleko said, “But if we don’t sink the Gil-Galad, then we certainly have our incentive.”

“Incentive?” Rosemary said.

The Jugdran nodded. He wore a devious smile.

“We need to make sure the Gil-Galad doesn't arrive on Chliofrond,” he said, “And we also have to make sure we pay tribute to Elzan Chi.”

Rosemary's blood went cold.

“I... I see,” she said, “That's... well... it works, but...”

She gripped the hem of her cloak. She remembered the Gil-Galad's crew. Had eaten with them, spoken with them many times. They were kind people.

But they also worked with Sunala. Were members of the Verdant Reclamation. They had bayed for blood at InterGuild's rally.

Coupling those two images was paradoxical, for Rosemary. She was quiet as Ora spoke up.

“I don't understand,” the Nelnuthan said, “Who is Elzan Chi?”

“The Queen of the Monsters,” Meleko said, “And she despises travelers over her waters.”

Ora was putting two and two together. He glanced over at Rosemary, who gave a grim nod.

“Oh,” he said, “O-Oh. Well, that certainly gets the job done.”

“It does,” Orvisan said, “Crew's almost done repairing most of the damage here. Once we're airborne, we'll get the Gil-Galad's attention, fly out to Entheos. Most of the fighting will take place there. Be prepared.”

The gnome got up from his seat, began shrilling out orders. Meleko glanced at Rosemary. “You going to be okay?” he asked.

“Y-Yeah,” she replied, “Just... realizing how far we're going to need to go.”

“Sorry it's come to this,” Meleko said, “But you know that they'll kill you if they catch you.”

“Yeah,” Rosemary said, “I know. Excuse me.”

She got up, and walked downstairs. She made her way to the small room, and lied down on the cot.

She laid there for hours, lost in thought.