I winced as Sentelemeth clapped her ring-laden hands and the servants scurried to do my bidding. I hadn’t been thinking that bit through. I was tempted to make some grand gesture, get up and follow them to help them carry the things – but I knew I was just as likely to get them in trouble as myself. That was how the highborn operated. It didn’t have to make sense; it just had to be wrong.
I carefully kept my eyes from meeting theirs.
Flood Boy took the glasses in turn and filled them to the brim before passing them back to the servants.
“Fascinating,” the First Lady said, raising her glass and smelling it. “I can’t say I’ve ever partaken of extra-planar alcohol before.”
“Is it quite safe?” Lord Haid was holding his a little higher, staring into it at eye-level.
“Don’t be a dunce, Gathel,” Lord Wenlyworth wheezed. He’d already taken a long swig. “Father used to swear by such stuff. A lovely drop – reminds me of the sherry my wife used to drink – can’t for the life of me remember the name of it…”
Gathel Haid, then, was it? I could tell from the frog-man’s increasingly-bulging eyes that he didn’t like this continued tone of familiarity here in front of us, a bunch of ruffian-champions.
In any case, after Sentelemeth sipped at the stuff Haid had to have some too – Stormsword and Timesnatcher joined them, and Killstop surprised the rulers of Mund by drinking her strawberry-juice seemingly without lifting her mask or even moving the glass from its coaster on the table’s surface; we heard her smacking her lips, saw the pinkish froth around the rim and the little bit of residue at the bottom sloshing, but she was still sitting back in her chair, elbows on its arms, swinging her feet.
Now that the pleasantries were over and everyone had settled into their seats, a look of shrewdness, circumspection, came over First Lady Sentelemeth’s face.
“So, champions, I will keep this as brief as I may. I – we – wish to discuss Dreamlaughter. I am unsure as to whether Timesnatcher has advised you of the details – you are aware of the slaughter?”
“Pretty much,” Killstop said.
“Speaking for those who don’t know everything that happens, whenever it happens,” Sunspring said, “I don’t know much about it.”
“A lot of highborn died,” Spirit said.
“That is quite right, young man,” the First Lady said, glancing down at the wine-glass in her hands. “Perhaps it would be best if – Icaron?”
Lord Wenlyworth responded, the impeccably-dressed hundred-year-old body, wizened and shrivelled like a sun-dried prune, stirring slowly under his willpower. He gripped the arms of his chair, drew himself up a few degrees.
“Certainly. Yes. Just after sunset yesterday, Westrise was attacked. More accurately, a number of specific households. Their security teams were disabled – including two archmages – and, before local magistry or champions could respond, twelve of the richest families in Mund had lost their heirs apparent.” He took another gulp of his wine, drew a wheezing breath, and looked around at us again. “Twelve firstborn sons and daughters, hurled from the cliff to land in Sticktown. They said the laughter echoed for half a mile.” His rheumy old eyes focussed on Timesnatcher. “Rumour has it you’re the best people to ask why this happened.”
I, for one, had heard the sound from my apartment, but that was due to Zel’s cursed abilities, not proximity.
How many hundreds has she killed? I pondered. How many hundreds? But twelve highborn is enough for three of the supposedly-busiest people in the Realm to shut up and take notice.
“With all due respect, m’lady, m’lords,” Timesnatcher said, “we are doing our best with an increasingly-difficult situation. Duskdown murdered Lightblind – I do hope my missive and its Magisterium corroboration reached your desk, Lady Sentelemeth?” She inclined her head politely, and he continued, “We’re being assaulted on all fronts, and, as your Magisterium representative should’ve informed you, we anticipate a heretic attack within a matter of hours. Dreamlaughter is our top priority, I understand this, but we have numerous obligations. The magisters’ own eff-”
“I’m afraid not one of us specialised in divination in our school days.” Gathel Haid dismissively waved his pudgy fingers as though he were casting a spell. “Can’t you just, you know, see where Dreamlaughter is?”
“Gosh, why didn’t we think of that?” Killstop muttered.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Spirit reached across from his adjacent chair to put his hand on hers but she snatched it away before he could.
I sensed the enchanter’s confusion, hurt, as he slowly withdrew his hand.
“Killstop, please.” Irimar sounded tired, more tired than I’d ever heard him. “We know for certain that Bladesedge and Bookwyrm, the champion-diviners who disappeared four years ago, were divested of their enchantment-blocking artefacts and taken by her.”
I remembered being surprised by that, when Timesnatcher had told us all. There was no surprise on the faces of the three officials – I suppose they’d been kept in the loop.
He continued, “She may have access to any number of arch-diviners…”
Why didn’t we think she’d taken Nighteye? I asked Zel curiously.
“We did, didn’t we?”
Did we? Well… why did we think she didn’t take him?
“It was what Lovebright said – it’s too much of a coincidence, and Dreamlaughter has no need for a druid. She assured everyone Nighteye was a top priority and all of you bought it, not just you. I know I’ve said it a million times, but taking the advice of an enchanter whose amulet…”
The memory arose before my mind, filmy and thin, like a shadow, a water-painting with the ink running. It must have just been that I’d had my thoughts on something else when we went over that topic in our meetings.
Yes, I could remember it now. Jo’s vehemence that Dream had nothing to do with Nighteye’s disappearance. The strange intensity in her voice.
Oh, yeah.
I tuned back in to what Timesnatcher was saying.
“… powers, shielding her plans from our closest inspection, even if we can get a general bead on her. For instance – we know she intended for this meeting to take place. I even warned against playing into her hands, remember?”
Lady Sentelemeth frowned, looking across to the faces of her advisors – they seemed as befuddled as her.
Timesnatcher rose from his seat, suddenly trembling violently.
“Oh, dearie.” Lovebright sighed. “It’s all getting away from me.”
Killstop threw off her mask and threw up, keeping her head down so that the strawberry mess went straight down onto the floor. Her hands went to her throat; she started tugging at the neck of her robe, as if she felt her windpipe was swelling –
I couldn’t move.
Joceine Tamaflower was just behind Killstop’s chair, love-heart mask smiling down at everyone. She helped the diviner adjust her robe, and the odour of something sweet and revolting vanished from the air.
Then the enchantress replaced Tanra’s mask; the seeress sat back and put her elbows on the arms of the chair, regarding us as if nothing had happened.
Had something happened? Why had everyone gone quiet?
I looked at Timesnatcher. He was sitting there with his head in his hands, and I caught him shaking, as though something had momentarily shocked him. It was passing, now.
Lovebright was on her feet out of nowhere, adjusting his mask.
“There we are, there we are now,” the enchantress said gently. “Well – shall we crack on with it? There’s a bit more to cover. You said you were going to make it brief?”
I hadn’t been listening, but I heard the last sentence, and, whoever had been speaking, Gathel Haid seemed to take their question as a challenge. The frog straightened up, the back of his shapeless velvet hat swinging precariously around to the other side of his head and almost tugging the whole thing off.
“What we’re really asking is, why is she targeting highborn now? Why us?”
Lord Justice to the First Chair. Lord Justice Haid.
How did such a creature have the word Justice in his title?
I glared at him.
Timesnatcher didn’t reply – he looked like he was shivering.
“So – that – we’d – come – here –“ Killstop grated as if her jaws were clenched firmly shut, fingers gripping the arms of the chair.
And when Spirit broke the silence the sound was measured, his voice taut, the anger submerged but only barely.
“Wait, everyone. Wait. You – you let us put ourselves through hell, chasing, finding and fighting people like Dream – while you sit here, thinkin’ we’re just wagglin’ our fingers – I mean, come on, you are a mage, right? – clappin’ your hands and summonin’ your servants and wearing the value of half a street around your neck…”
“Champions are well-reimbursed,” Sentelemeth said softly.
“That is not his point,” I said.
“Feychilde…” Storm hissed, barely moving her lips.
“No – no, Spirit is right,” I carried on. “Frankly I’m incredulous at this. Yeah, you heard me, froggy – incredulous. Look it up if you don’t know it. Being brought here, answering your summons, as though we serve you! You own the land – you don’t own us. We serve the people. The people you have forgotten. But we can’t forget. We’re in the middle of it, every day, every one of us. Did you find the bodies of these dead kids? Did you see the remains?”
Did you feel the urge to bring them back, answer your questions, give you a dropping – clue – as to where the hell-spawned arch-enchantress was, what she was doing, what she was going to do next –
I was leaning forwards, elbow on the table, jabbing my finger at the rulers of the Realm, and my anger seemed to have rattled them.
“You weren’t there. You’re never there! It’s always words on a piece of paper to you, or a report coming at you in a bored emissary’s voice. You – you’re supposed to stand for the people of the Realm, the vast majority of whom probably can’t even read. You’re supposed to stand for the people of Mund – and here you sit, but only when it’s highborn – only when it’s your lot who’s losing their –“
I looked aside, swallowed. “We are supposed to be out there now, getting ready to save hundreds, maybe thousands of lives. We are supposed to be trying to catch Dream. To catch Duskdown… To find a lost friend…”
Em put her hand on mine, and I let her do it, let my tongue still on my conclusion:
“If you want us to catch Dream, end the meeting here, and permit us to go do what you pay us for.”
Lovebright was nodding reassuringly. The First Lady and her advisors regarded me and I stared back, Em’s hand in my own, awaiting my sentence.
Men had been killed for less than that, I knew.
It was only then that the poison in Olbru’s wine started to display its effects.