The moonlight was clear, piercing cloud and smog to shed a thick mercury radiance across the streets and yards. I kept low to the ground, maintaining a relatively slow speed; my stomach was still rolling over whenever I went too high, at least without Em there to back me up.

It was okay, though. Tolerable. I had the mask and robe in place. A few people below looked up at me, from time to time – the fey wings didn’t glow brightly but they did glow, so I wasn’t exactly surreptitious as I made my way over Sticktown, barely skirting twenty feet above the highest rooftops.

Then the frosty moon was spilling its metallic pallor across the trees, the little paths, the reeds, the gravestones… the Blind Eye of Kaile, as it was known, its shining silver lens marred where the god’s mother clawed out its light: a warning, and a reminder of the purity, the glory which could still persist in a misshapen form. Midnight dew twinkled in the grass, myriad rainbow hues constantly shifting, as though the Lord of Light had taken down a star from the sky and ground it to dust above the shrine.

It was, all in all, a lovely evening to be out; the rains had stopped, and the night air was crisp and dry.

A lovely evening for a hunt.

The almost-full Moon, the Eye nearly open – it a reminder of what was to come. Today was the first of Illost and it was going into the second. The Gathering was just a couple of days away, and my anticipation was now heightened to new levels by the conversation I’d had with Em a few hours back. What would she do? Her enigmatic choice of words had left it all up in the air.

If she became a champion, we could duo any number of darkmage threats – yes, we would have to split the prizes, but we’d be splitting the workload too… If I could persuade her to sit tight within my shields, or even hang back and just help out with transporting the captives… whatever it took to convince Atar and Linn that I wasn’t leading her astray…

I didn’t quite settle to the ground; I descended, and used my lower pair of wings to hover above Morsus’s grave. I was in control of my emotions now, when it came to the necromancy at least – I wasn’t feeling any urges to start bringing revenants up out of the earth.

We’d buried him on Fullday, and the graveyard had been so busy that his death had been put into uncomfortable perspective. There were whole families of victims of the Incursion being interred – such a scythe of death had fallen upon certain neighbourhoods that no one remained to witness the burials. The half-sized coffins were too numerous to belong purely to gnomish corpses, and so many children had to have passed on that Xantaire spent half the ceremony clutching Xastur and staring off at the nearby activity, seeming to barely hear a word the junior minister said about her brother.

In other times and places, death might’ve been a stranger, grief a thing to take with you to the grave. But here in Mund we didn’t have that luxury. Death came swift, it came regularly, and you had to learn to let go of grief before the next time it came around – or it’d bury you along with them.

So I didn’t weep, or moan, or even frown. I smiled instead, and remembered Morsus the way he’d want to be remembered. The never-ending enthusiastic handshakes, the unceasing gratitude that we’d let him and his family into our home. The jokes, the way he’d looked after the twins… Trustworthy. Keen to please. Overly so.

I felt a touch of the sorrow returning to me, then, so I shrugged away my thoughts and spoke to him softly.

“I’m here, Morsus. It’s me. I just came to let you know, I’m going to look after them. Your sister, your grandfather, your nephew. You can count on me, Morsus. You can rest easy… I hope they deal you a hand full of Divinities, up there in Celestium, and you win more platinum than you know what to do with. If you’re allowed to gamble, up there. I hope you’re allowed to gamble… you should be, if Brondor’s people are right, but then it’s not like you’re going to need money in the Twelve Heavens, is it…”

“Kas; it’s almost time, you realise.”

I sighed.

I know, Zel. I know.

“Stop procrastinating, bring out Feychilde, and tell him to stay out of sight while he gets his backside two hundred yards north.”

Bring out Feychilde. Stop being Kas.

She was right – I had to get myself in the right frame of mind.

I fixed my grin, and that did it.

Time to take down Shadowcrafter.

* * *

I almost managed to pull off a smooth landing, dropping down out of the sky about twenty yards from them. Four tatty-looking gravediggers. Four velvet-robed sorcerers.

I kept my wings out, just in case I needed them. I wouldn’t, if things went to plan.

“Evening, gentlemen,” I called, stepping into the vacant space between the two groups and facing the magic-users. “Nice night to sorcerise, eh?”

Shafts of moonlight illuminated me in my dark-yet-colourful robe, all the better to make me a clear target, draw the eye – while they stood in the shadows under the branches wearing their black cowls and cloaks.

Still, I could make them out perfectly as their heads swung in my direction, as if to stare at me. I was aware of the gravediggers halting their work. I fixed all their locations in my mind, ready to lose my augmented senses.

I’m putting a lot of trust in you here, Zel.

“It’s going to be a piece of cake. Don’t worry about my bit. Focus on your shields, and buy me as much time as you can.”

I sighed, raised my hand to my face, and whispered in an inhuman voice: “You bear my enemies no ill will.”

One of the sorcerers stepped forwards, but the shields surrounding the group didn’t budge an inch. Either this one wasn’t Shadowcrafter, or the shields were locked in place. That didn’t necessarily mean there wouldn’t be other shields, however.

It didn’t sound as though the gravediggers were coming closer – the noises of their footfalls were decreasing in volume steadily. They were backing away.

Good.

“Who challenges the Shadowcrafters?” the mage at the front cried in a querulous voice.

“Who said anything about challenging you?” I asked, all innocent-sounding. “Truth is, I’m your biggest fan.” I put my hand up, using the motion and a touch of illusion to cover Zel’s flight. “Massive zombie enthusiast, me. Loved your work last night. Five awesome-looking revenants.” I cocked my head. “What do you do with them? Sell them? Use them as your house-slaves? I’d be interested in making a purchase.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“How do you know about last night, druid? You’ve been watching us!”

He actually thinks these wings are druidry-things. Oh my.

“Well, hello! ‘I’m your biggest fan’… I thought you’d be pleased!” I injected just enough consternation, disappointment into my voice that he jerked his head to one side, looking back at his companions in perplexity.

“Enough,” said one of the sorcerers at the back as he stepped forwards, shoving the other speaker behind him.

This one’s voice wasn’t prickly – he sounded amused. Rich, too. You couldn’t buy your way into an accent like that – you had to be born with it.

And the shield moved with him.

He looked back over his shoulder, continuing smoothly, “You have the singular honour of addressing the latest sorcerer-champion of Mund. Trust me: if this boy wanted zombies, they’d be all over him… So…”

He turned back to face me, his visage inscrutable beneath the hood, behind the mask I thought I saw glinting there. “The late Feychilde.” He slowly raised an arm, as if to indicate his brethren. “The boy believes he is arresting the Shadowcrafters. He is sorely mistaken.”

“I can see your shields, man,” I said plainly. “You’re not fooling anyone, archmage.”

Shadowcrafter was still for a moment – then he bowed floridly, keeping his head upright, his eyes fixed onto me with a palpable intensity.

The sense of doom in the air was growing.

“As you say, Feychilde. You came to duel me, then?”

“I think you had it right before. I came to arrest you.” I grinned. “You. Not the three poor fools standing behind you.”

I noticed the discomfort in his stance at this, the way his arm shook as he lowered it.

“What do you do, Shadowcrafter? Train them up, but not so much they can wrap their heads around what you’re really getting them to do? Then you have them perform the undeath ritual? Just so that they turn into liches when you kill them, so you can bind them, then move onto the next group of patsies?”

He expanded his shields and they met my pentagon, crackling, each of our barriers pressing on the other’s, shapes distending as they bent under the inexorable, invisible strain.

Going off Redgate and Dustbringer, Shadowcrafter was probably at his limit for a basic shield.

“I don’t quite understand how it all works, of course,” I went on. “I’m just throwing ideas out there. The notion of passing as just one more mage in a group of mages is pretty damn genius, though, I must admit.”

I cocked my head the other way, as if to look around him at his would-be minions.

“I’d run, if I were you. And don’t play this game anymore. Not if you don’t fancy a few decades staring at the bars of a prison-cell.”

I half-spun, casting a glance in the direction of the gravediggers only to find that they’d already fled the field of battle. When I turned back to face my enemy the three ‘Shadowcrafters’ behind him had also abandoned their posts, sprinting away through the trees at top, terrified speed.

He didn’t need to bring any bodies up out of their coffins; he’d brought his own to the party. We were in the graveyard, so when he started summoning his undead eldritches the gates to Nethernum yawned wide open – and they poured through in droves.

As expected.

The fast-moving zombies – ghouls, and wights? – came first. Pale, purple-eyed people in all manner of garments, some without coverings whatsoever. There was a dwarf, his beard glowing white, arrayed in the grey funeral-robes of his people. All of them surged against my shield, clawing, thrusting against the barrier, their faces distorted into scowls of hatred.

Behind them came the walking dead, skeletons and zombies, some clad in armour, weapons in their grips –

And spread throughout their ranks lurked the true threats, gaunt creatures in their own black robes. Amethyst flames coalesced in the bony hands of some, while others began to spread their own defences – the ribbons of their wards glimmered a faint magenta on the air, rather than the azure of mortal sorcerers or the crimson of infernal shielding.

These were no spectres; they walked upon the earth of Materium. Undead sorcerers, capable of channelling the nether-energies into our world. These were his former pupils, his cadre of liches. Zel’s intelligence had been spot-on.

The less-advanced skeletons started adding their own pressure against my shields, flailing at my fortifications with mindless abandon. At the same time, the darkmage started adding his own touches – blades of force, spinning into my shield, slicing away at my protections.

“You’re a foolish boy,” Shadowcrafter said, laughter pouring from beneath the black cowl. “You have no idea, the mistake you’re making.“

The first bound lich had gathered the purple fire into a fully-formed bolt of energy and launched it – the spell flickered across the pentagon’s swell and died away.

It took way more out of Shield Four than I expected.

Never mind.

“A fool?” I called above the gibbering of ghouls and the clanking of skeletons. “Oh, of that I’m well aware. It’s great. Somehow all these old wise guys keep saying the same thing – I’m a fool, I’m a stupid little baby, I’m making the worst mistake of my life – and then they go ahead and drastically underestimate me. Thus allowing me to neatly kick – their – asses.”

He didn’t reply, and kept summoning more. An uncountable number of ghosts. Two vampires. Five banshees.

Yune’s fingers…

Their insubstantial forms couldn’t get through, and their sonic attacks didn’t penetrate – they couldn’t hypnotise me with their words or kill me with their screams, but it was only a matter of time. They’d already had almost thirty seconds.

The lich-fire was coming thicker and faster too.

My rotating pentagon wobbled, wavered –

I hope you’ve done it, Zel.

“Like, they never expect me to summon demons in their faces! That must suck for them, when they find out I can do that.”

He flinched as I brought the red flames of an infernal portal into existence just behind him, well within striking range.

Shadowcrafter turned, raked his hand through the fire, snarling, “Illusions –“

I took the opportunity to create two force-spears of my own, send them out and then rebounding back, striking at his barriers from opposite sides – pinning his shield in place, as if to pop it, like Dustbringer had pinned mine when we first met.

He turned back to me and spoke sneeringly, holding his shield firm.

“You’re going to need to do better than that, Feychilde. Where are your hordes of fey? I’m looking forward to claiming the allegiance of some of them once their bonds to you are broken – once your body, your will is broken. Once you are my plaything.”

“Ewwwww…” I let my revulsion out in the blandest, most irritating voice I could muster. “Seriously, do you guys know how disgusting you sound? Fine – fine.”

He seemed to stare at me. I rolled my shoulders. Shield Four was about to go down.

“Let’s do battle. Tell you what, I’m going to say two words, and you’re going to get rid of all your eldritches, okay?”

“You filthy lowborn drop. You will pay for your temerity!”

At least I was getting to him, finally.

I could see the way his shields were slowly bending under the influence of my unmoving blades of force. If only I could have kept it up I would’ve pierced his shield, I was sure, but mine would go down first just from the sheer amount of attacks falling upon it.

I felt it as Zel rejoined me – she must’ve been flitting through the grass, using her danger-sense to get through the army of undead assailing my defences, because she entered my body at the ankle beneath the robe.

“She’s ready, Feychilde. No idea what’s going on, of course, but she’s in place.”

Lovely, dear. Are you ready?

“Let’s do it.”

And you, Avaelar?

“Indeed, Feychilde.”

“You’ll understand me, right?” I called. “You’re like me, you speak Infernal. So if I say: ‘Grow, Feast!’ I think you’ll follow when –“

The eldritches and their shields all vanished, winking away in a storm of lilac and plum-coloured lights.

I stared into dinner-plate-sized eyes, glowing ruby red.

The huge yithandreng gazed coolly back at me from the spot in which Shadowcrafter had been standing, and rasped, “Zi kasond grel oroz, Dwazisen?”

“Very well done indeed, Fe. Assassin-class, undeniably. Now be a good girl, get off him.” As she scampered aside on her many massive legs I shrugged Avaelar out of my shell, then pointed at the half-squashed darkmage. “I think you’ve got your work cut out for you here, my friend.”

The sylph crouched by Shadowcrafter, peeling back the hood and shattered mask to reveal a bald-headed, full-featured man with a massive nose and a week’s growth of a wispy grey beard.

His jaw was broken, blood ran from his ears and his eyes were closed – but after just a few moments of blowing in his face, Avaelar turned and gave me a nod of confirmation.

“He is, as Zelurra disclosed, bearing within himself a number of nethernal essences. Though he would have survived without my help, I have placed him in stasis. He is safe to transport.”

“Fellow should’ve included more ghosts in his mix, I suppose.” I glanced over at the yithandreng. “Come on then, let’s be having you…”

I put Fe back in my pocket, and let Avvie carry the comatose form of Shadowcrafter. Fe’s mistress wasn’t expecting me for half an hour and it was, after all, a rather lovely evening to be taking a stroll.

* * *