PLATINUM 1.5: TO THE GOLDEN LEAVES

“I always thought I could be a force for good… in spite of all my powers I never knew I had the capacity for such evil. Yet in the end, the scales balance. That’s all anyone can ask. To go to their death, uncertain of their destination. And that’s all I ask from you. What she took in my stead. What I deserve.”

– from Zandrina and the Vampire in ‘Elturiel’s Collected Fairytales’

The dream receded swiftly as I awoke. The first thought on my mind was horror at the thought of waking up past noon and missing my appointment with Emrelet. A quick glance out the window at the pre-dawn darkness quickly relieved that particular fear; I guessed I’d not overslept. I was even going to be able to keep my appointment with Belexor, although I had to admit I was looking forward to that particular meeting even less than I had when I’d suggested it, given the tension that’d resurfaced last night after we’d already made the deal. Thanks to Ciraya it’d become obvious he… had a thing for Emrelet too, and that couldn’t bode well for my relationship with the druid-magister.

My local, night-shift druid-magister. Probably the one single guy in all the city most likely to be there if I got in trouble, the one guy who could heal me if I was on my way out – and odds were good he hated my guts.

Yeah.

I checked my injuries from last night in the gloomy light, verifying that the bruises on my upper body were healing nicely. They didn’t even feel tender anymore, and my knees and shins all looked fine. All thanks to my irrepressible little passenger.

Everyone else seemed to be asleep. I could pick out Jaid and Jar’s breathing without any hassle, but Orstrum and Morsus were trickier, especially given that Xantaire was snoring her head off, easily drowning out Xastur. Ordinarily, of course, I wouldn’t have been able to discern most of the sounds outside my bedroom, but Zel’s gift gave me the hearing of an animal when I focussed.

It was a two-edged sword, as I discovered when I retrieved the book I’d secreted beneath my mattress and tried to extract some meaning from its arcane texts. Zel had told me off for not keeping up with my studies, but it was so difficult. I could hardly read a book like this one in the main room, or where someone else would see me – even if I removed the ghastly-looking covers, the very script used in the thin pamphlet would draw the eye. It was inked in a deep, dark crimson on yellowed pages, and the style of the handwriting was itself an enigma, rendering each word almost indecipherable without proper care and attention. I did do my best, but things had been so hectic – perhaps once everything settled down again, I’d really be able to get into this whole sorcery-thing. I’d have to find somewhere either properly silent, or loud enough not to distract me, though. Listening to a chorus of predictable light snoring, punctuated by what felt like a blast from a trombone every six seconds, was not going to cut it.

At least I could skip all the incantations and reagents; that was half or more of each section rendered totally obsolete by my archmagery, praise be to Locus.

I did manage to glean some useful lore. It seemed the shields could be reinforced by drawing stars inside them. The difficult part would lie in ensuring that the lines comprising these inner stars were perfectly straight, didn’t bend or clip the other lines. Each star would improve each shield, and each shield could hold multiple stars, each with five, seven or nine points… reinforcing the innermost wards would be the easiest and most-effective, in comparison with the outer shields, at least until a critical mass of stars was reached…

But it couldn’t just say that. Oh no, it had to be all ‘only upon the completion of the primary conjuration may you apply and affix any secondary fortification-factors’ (once you’ve started making a shield, finish it before starting the star inside it?) and ‘ascertain all vertices comprising the self-intersecting equilateral and equiangular polygons intersect the delineation set by the primary conjuration without extrusion’ (don’t make the stars so big they stick through the shields, but make sure their points do stick to the shields?)… Twelve Hells, this material got more and more dense, less and less comprehensible every paragraph. The diagrams – mercifully hook-free – were rather helpful, as silly as it made me feel to admit it to myself.

Sunrise wasn’t some beautiful thing with reds and pinks – not here in the cloying air of Sticktown, where a hundred other buildings blocked your sight no matter where you were. No, sunrise was the black sky slowly becoming a drab grey, then a slightly less drab grey, until if you were lucky it was a nice-looking shade of grey by noon. In the height of summer, you’d see the sun without clouds for a few hours. But it was well into autumn and heading for winter – it was the twenty-third of Orovost, the tenth month, today. Those heady summer afternoons were long gone already, and not soon to return.

All that said, I was on watch for that telling drab greyness, and as soon as it hit dawn I got up. Xastur had awoken a little bit ago, so Xantaire, Xastur and I spent the next minutes traipsing between the wash-room and the front door, getting fresh water from the well, getting cleaned-up and properly dressed. We picked the route between Morsus and Orstrum’s sleeping forms with practised ease and our customary quietness. We’d been doing this so long now that it’d become an art-form; Morsus and Orstrum were always the last to rise, and we did our best to avoid disturbing them. It was in our best interests to be careful, anyway. No one wanted a repeat of the dropped toilet-bucket incident.

I struck a dwarf-match and lit the candle in the bedroom, then opened the curtains and woke Jaroan and Jaid by pressing a piece of crusty bread into their hands. I finished my bit as they came around, realised what they were holding, and shoved it into their mouths almost simultaneously.

I grinned as I saw that. Undoubtedly there were a hundred things they were dying to say, but food filled you up better than attention.

“I’ve got to go out again,” I said immediately, taking advantage of the relative silence of two children destroying dry bread. I saw the crestfallen looks that instantly swept across their faces, the pause in the chewing, and I held out my empty hands, palms towards them and fingers splayed. I knew it was a bit brutal, but I had to get on my way if I was going to keep my word. “I’m sorry, but this is it. I’ve got to get the money, you understand? And there’s some real prospects for me – maybe some steady income. Today’s a big deal for us.”

Jaroan swallowed his bread. “I get it,” he said.

It made me sad, to hear a nine year old speaking like that, but there was a part of me that was glad too; I wished he’d sounded less meek, less upset when he said it, but he’d really tried to do the grown-up thing.

Jaid just looked upset. As I glanced across at her she continued to munch her bread, and I could virtually see the optimism leaking out of her.

I spread my arms, hands still out. “Come here,” I said, and crouched a little as they both came into my embrace.

I held them close for a minute, my eyes shut. I couldn’t see their faces, couldn’t check whether this was a reassuring or worrying thing for me to do. To a degree, I didn’t care. I needed the hug as much or more than they did.

“We’ll do everything you were looking forward to later on,” I promised, pulling back a little so I could see them but still keeping them close. “I bet you guys wanted to have a battle, didn’t you?”

Jaid’s eyes lit up. “You’ll play?”

“I want you on my side,” Jar insisted immediately.

“No way!” Jaid screeched, punching him in the arm.

Her twin bristled, stiffening up.

How they’d gone from placidness to such clamour in the matter of a few seconds was beyond me.

“Woah!” I cried. “We’ve got people sleeping in the next room, you clods.” That got their attention, and they both looked back at me. “I’ll play against both of you. You’ve got till this afternoon to come up with a plan of attack, because anything I overhear you saying while we fight I will use against you.”

Within a few sentences I’d turned them from bitter enemies into co-conspirators. I saw Jaid looking up at the ceiling, doubtless already formulating some devious assault. Jaroan started grinning.

I was going to have to let them win, I knew already: lose the battle to win the war and keep the peace. If I won they’d only blame each other, and this would’ve all been for nothing.

“Xantaire’s going to feed you, okay?” Again, I took advantage of the reprieve they’d granted me. “See you later.” I messed up their hair by way of parting with a quick flurry of my hands, grabbed my satchel and turned to leave.

“Beat you later!” Jaroan retorted.

As I went out through the bedroom door I glanced at them, and Jaid’s sudden quietude was both encouraging and alarming. Much more alarming than Jaroan’s bravado. He was good at the game, but she was better. Maybe I wouldn’t get a choice as to whether I won or lost, this time… which was long past due. The battle would be more fun if it was more challenging, anyway.

I waved to Xantaire and Xastur and left the apartment. I was wearing my other set of clothes, the colours inverted – a green tunic and blue trousers. The ones from last night were now under my bed, too soiled for me to wear, and I hadn’t had time to do a wash. But after what had happened last night, I felt naked without my robe. The hooded robe, the scarf… these simple things that were in themselves nothing – thin layers of cloth, not even as thick as furs – but when they let me go about with a shield floating invisibly around me, they were better than any armour money could buy.

Last night. I had been stupid, last night. If I was going to do this, I had to take the risk of death seriously.

And I could really do with a replacement explosive dagger, for those times when even archmagery wouldn’t cut it.

The sky gave me half an hour or so until I needed to be at the Giltergrove. I wanted to change, but it couldn’t be here. I set off, down the stairs towards the ground.

Zel?

“Well hello there.”

We’re on the way to meet our favourite druid.

“To the Giltergrove?”

That’s what he said. The Autumn Door shrine itself, I suppose he meant.

“I’ve been before.”

Me too, two or three times. It used to look massive when I was little.

“That might have something to do with it being a hundred feet tall, you know.”

I suppose. Have you been to the others?

“Of course.”

Zel, how old are you?

“You should know better than to ask a lady her age,” she chided with a laughing tone.

The Mud Laners had partied hard last night, like any Fullday night, and it was Starday now, the first day of the weekend, so there was hardly anyone moving around here. They’d need to sleep in to ensure they were fighting fit for tonight’s revelries, after all. A gang of scrawny kids playing fivestones against a wall and yelling. A few drunkards trying to slumber on the edge of the street’s slop. That was all.

I headed out of the lane the same way I’d come home last night, itching to change. It was a normal overcast day and a bit chilly, but it would soon warm up. Just moving kept me from feeling the cold.

What is the Door, anyway? I asked to pass the time while I walked.

“You seriously don’t know?”

No, I mean – I know they used to be portals and everything. But what’s the Door actually made of?

“It’s made from eldritch energy, obviously; it’s not green in its natural form. I could tell you about its frequency and planar clock, but if you aren’t doing your reading anyway –”

Hey now! I do my work while you sleep. I’ve learned some more-advanced shield techniques this morning… hopefully.

“So long as it doesn’t backfire like the first advanced technique you tried.”

You promised you weren’t going to talk about that!

“I’m sorry, but Olbru didn’t really appreciate that trip to Infernum, however momentary. You aren’t even supposed to be able to do that.”

I was so new to this back then. Trust me, I’m going to get a handle on it.

The scent in the alley behind Hontor and Sons was overpowering at this time of day. I was supposed to have the senses of an animal, not the drool-generating capacity of an animal, but the fresh bread smell was a wave of warmth and comfort that made my stomach develop vocal chords.

“Stuff it,” I growled aloud with my actual vocal chords, and despite the relative openness of this alleyway I reached into my satchel for my robe. Everything was tied together. The smell of the bread and the meeting with Belexor. Becoming a champion and keeping my promises to the magistry would end up earning me money, which would give me food. Never mind clothing and other fanciful things, I had to keep my eyes on the real prize. Food.

With a little shudder of satisfaction, I became Feychilde.

I walked slowly down the remainder of the alleyway, practising at persuading a five-pointed star to sit securely within my circle. The glowing lines only I could see were wavering too much, and it was hard to get them dead-on when it came to the points meeting the edge of the shield without going through it. Twice I had to stop waving my arms and start walking purposefully, mage-like, as people opened gates from their yards into the alley, moving rubbish or emptying their buckets. Only one of them actually seemed to look at me, and one glance was enough to send them scurrying back inside with their bin at best half-emptied, gate slamming and locking behind them.

Mages weren’t precisely colour-coded, but you could take a good guess at some, and anyone with a dark-ish robe was probably one of the ones you’d want to avoid if you were invested in living a nice, uninteresting life. It seemed I might need a bit of a change of wardrobe once I came into some cash. It wasn’t that I minded intimidating people, but it’d probably be better if I had a choice about it. The last thing I wanted was a reputation for being a thug. Green would go with the whole fey-shtick, but it was typically a druid-colour. Which could confuse my opponents in battle…

I exited the alley, and for the first time in my life I walked as a mage through the streets in broad daylight.

The sun shone a dim but harsh light on the streets of Lord’s Knuckle. As much as one might expect night-time to draw out a certain… class of person, they were mostly still here now, some still drinking, and they’d been reinforced by the morning drunkards. No, the darkness had only served to hide the worst of the city’s grime from view.

But the effect of the mage’s attire was even more noticeable than at night. I drew looks – but only one look apiece. Most people turned their heads away once they saw me, those with companions coming up with things to talk about, those alone suddenly finding their footing or the things they carried very interesting and worthy of detailed observation. Acting how I’d always acted around mages, basically.

I tried not to enjoy this feeling, but it was really difficult.

Trains of wagons went past me, pulled by four horses apiece, bringing hundreds of hard-labourers up towards the forges and furnaces in Hilltown and Hightown; the drivers were dwarves, short and stocky chaps with beards that covered their knees, dressed in leather smithing aprons and colourful caps. Guildsmen in equally-garish colours stood talking while apprentice woodworkers carried stacks of planks from the back of a cart into a shop. Traders were beginning to make noises about their products: cries of “come get yer fish, so fresh, this fella’s still gawping!” and “get yer mint here ladies, gents, fresh breath all day, guaranteed!” rang out into the air. My nose picked out stable-boys carrying pails of dung, and sanitation crews of sullen-eyed prisoners chained at the ankle being directed by officials in fine red-and-black livery. Someone had let their pigs get loose, and a river of them poured right up the thoroughfare against the flow of the traffic, more pigs in ten seconds than I’d seen people since leaving my front door. Although I pitied whoever was responsible, I couldn’t help but smile in a moment of smugness – their day was going to be fun.

I brought my arm inside my sleeve to access my satchel, then approached the boy with the crate of mint and offered him one of the copper pieces of the five I’d brought with me – a fair chunk of my stash. He looked up at me in silence, mouth open. His hand moved as if automatically to take the money but his arm stayed there afterwards, hanging in the air, and his eyes didn’t leave my scarf-shrouded face.

I waited a moment, but he was still staring, unblinking.

“It’s not charity, lad,” I said, trying to affect the gruff voice of an older man.

He jolted, and shoved twice as much mint as I needed into my hand. “Sorry, mister – I mean, m’lord,” he mumbled.

Being thought of as highborn – that made it easier to not enjoy this feeling. I frowned beneath my scarf.

“You’re not a charity either, you know,” I said, shoving most of what he’d given me back into the crate.

If anything he just looked more shocked.

Chewing on a bit of mint, I checked the time on the clock in a square, then made my way southwards on the straight, wide Lowtown Road. The Giltergrove was located in Sticktown, but it was near North Lowtown, and despite the gigantic trees and portal I never really got to see the place, even though it was no more than three-quarters of a mile from Mud Lane. Many of the buildings between home and the Giltergrove approached it in height, so we only got to see it accidentally from a distance when we were wandering up in Hilltown or Hightown, where the upper classes commanded a clear view of the poor districts.

I couldn’t even remember for sure if we’d taken Jaid and Jaroan. I knew I’d pointed it out once or twice from Anvil Row on the hill, the Door rising out of the smog like a distant green smear ringed with gold, but there’d been no right time to actually visit the place since that we became I. I had no skills except those of any gutter-lurker, and even though I knew my letters and numbers, that was common-enough these days that it wasn’t going to get me work as a scribe or whatever, especially given my lowborn status. I had to spend every day scrounging up every morsel of money or food I could. My main form of employment completely sucked – I sorted veg, primarily potatoes and carrots, for a living – one of those ‘turn up and get paid’ deals. They even let me bring the twins, which was a bonus as far as the pay was concerned; though they only got the child-rate, two pennies a day. But at least it was regular. It was just a relief to not be going today. Building this champion thing up into a career took precedence now – a way to get the money to protect my brother and sister’s futures.

And maybe soon I’d get chance to bring them down here. Money gave you leisure time, right? Perhaps we could even visit the Spring Door, and see Habburat at last.

I’d probably not been so far from here last night, hunting the cannibals. I could hear the river again as I made my approach, but it was only due to Zel’s influence that I could discern its soft roar through the noise of the morning traffic. This road was much like all the others by now, already thick with people and animals making their way somewhere or other. But going about as a mage had another benefit – people tried to give me a wide berth, allowing me to walk an almost direct path in the otherwise-tangled streets. And I had the reassurance of knowing that anyone who wished me harm wouldn’t get closer than a couple of feet away – the little circle, complete with an almost perfectly-formed star, rotated happily around me, bobbing up and down as I mounted and dismounted the kerbs.

“’Scoose me, mistah,” came a squeaky voice from beside me. I was aware of my sleeve being snagged, but there was no one there –

No, there was. I looked down to see the mud-covered, red-haired girl whose little fist held my sleeve, looking up at me with an unafraid, imploring expression. She was just five or six years old, face covered in freckles, wearing an overlarge cotton dress with woolly leggings beneath.

“Ah – yes?” I didn’t really know how to respond to this.

She didn’t reply at first; she half-turned away from me, and, keeping the one hand on my sleeve, pointed with a grubby little finger.

The road was beginning to broaden – I’d gotten close to my destination, and there were trees standing here and there within patches of dirt. The tree the girl indicated was pretty big – thirty feet or so – and I saw immediately that it contained one extremely-scrawny black and white cat.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Missymoo got stuck,” the girl explained, more a plea than a statement.

It wasn’t that I was annoyed at the thought of rescuing a cat from a tree; it wasn’t that it was beneath me, or anything like that. It was more that I was a magician of one of those sorts which were completely unsuited to the task – well, if I had some kind of flying fey that was big enough… But I didn’t.

I started with Flood Boy. He tried creating arcs of ice, like slides joining the branch near the cat to the ground; his target merely switched branches.

Face grim, he prepared to climb.

He was an excellent jumper, and though his hooves provided no grip on the bark his impressive upper-body strength gave him the leverage he needed to climb to the right branch, slide out to the cat.

The cat reacted, lashing out and drawing blood.

The faun feinted to the left but Missymoo retreated, her reflexes letting her put a few wounds on his forearm in retaliation.

Flood Boy got his breath back and went in again, using his knees to grip the branch as he moved, left-right, left-right.

It was what the cat had been waiting for.

She leapt on his face, and it was a full five seconds before he managed to get free of her claws, shredding his skin in the process.

After four attempts and at least ten times that many lacerations, I allowed Flood Boy to retreat to the otherworld and mend himself with, in his own words, copious amounts of beverage.

I should have given up already. The onlookers were already getting rowdy, more and more passers-by becoming not-passers-by every instant. But I couldn’t help myself.

I gave the goblins a go.

Their parchment wouldn’t work with the sun out, so they set to climbing. They too were apt to the task in the opposite fashion, their spidery fingers giving them an easy time gripping the nooks and creases in the tree’s trunk. They made their way quickly to the cat’s branch.

“Hey! Hey, what’re you doing to that cat?”

Someone behind me had started shouting, and things rapidly worsened from there.

I had to admit, it didn’t look good. I was standing here, all high-and-mighty-looking, clearly directing two very filthy, menacing goblins in what must’ve looked like the kidnap of an innocent animal. An old woman yelled, “Don’t eat ‘im, yer lordship, ’e’s naught but skin ‘n’ bones!” This prompted a middle-aged man on the other side of the street to come to a stop and shout, “Bloody mages!”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“I love how much this is going to plan,” Zel observed.

I sent my eldritches away, but the little girl wouldn’t even speak in my favour, just staring at me nonplussed as over a dozen people came to a standstill to berate me. A pair of watchmen were standing by, eyeing me warily. At least the girl didn’t contradict me when I explained the situation.

Of course, the cat chose the moment when I was at my most frustrated, my back to the tree and my voice shaking as I protested my innocence, to descend all of its own accord.

“Missymoo!” the girl squealed, running forward and hugging her cat. Missymoo replied with a half-bored, half-irritated meow, licking the blood from her claws.

The little crowd dispersed almost instantly as I approached the girl, people suddenly realising either that I was right all along, or at least that they had better things to be doing than watching a rookie mage embarrass himself working with animals. The watchmen were the last to depart, their glares only fading slightly before they turned their heads and went on their way.

I supposed I was just hoping for a brief thank you or something, but the last thing I expected as I stepped forwards was for the cat to get pushed right out of the girl’s hands, my shield shoving it inexorably away from me, over her shoulder and onto the dirt behind her.

“Moo!” she admonished her pet, wagging the grubby finger. Missymoo looked back up at the girl in astonishment; for once the cat wasn’t to blame, but she wasn’t going to escape her telling-off.

Wow. I hadn’t expected a hostile cat to register on the shield’s senses. Ill-will, really? Dogs, horses, pigs – no problem. But cats? Cats could be evil.

I didn’t stick around for a thank-you or even a glance of gratitude. The people around me had better things to be doing and I did too. If I didn’t hurry I’d be running late, now. Just getting to the Door once I’d reached the Giltergrove would be a matter of several more minutes.

Zel was right – this had all backfired terribly, and I was thankful that I wasn’t wearing the robes I’d ultimately be known for wearing as Feychilde. I hoped over the coming weeks no one would draw a link between the appearance of a new arch-sorcerer and the failed cat-wrangler.

I was content when I saw my destination coming into view over the nearby houses and shops, after just a minute more of walking. A looming golden presence, behind the buildings. The smog was less bad here, less noticeable.

The Giltergrove had a ring of neatly-trimmed grass around it, fifty feet wide, allowing the immensity of these magnificent creations to truly dwarf the man (or gnome the dwarf, I supposed) who happened to pass by. It was like the Giltergrove had a circle-shield akin to my own; it certainly looked as though something stopped the locals from infringing on this ring of grass. Though there was no visible barrier or guard, it was plain to the eye when you could turn slightly and see the road not ten feet from the edge of the grass, already clogged with the stalls and booths of loud-voiced street-salesmen.

It was probably just one of those unspoken, known-of things around here: flaunt your wares on the grass and get to have a lovely little chat with a druid and his pet pack of barely-restrained wolves… or just get flooded out by bird-droppings, lovingly deposited by a flock assigned by spell to fly above your head until you leave.

The trees weren’t natural; they had been a gift from the high elves, grown from seeds taken from Etherium. The bark itself looked like solid gold, without even the textures and imperfections of ordinary bark. Each tree differed slightly in shape, the number and placement of the branches and so on, but this didn’t stop me getting the impression each of the trees had come out of a mould, sublimely wrought by meticulous craftsmen rather than simply grown. The golden leaves never fell, never bent to the whims of seasons or storm-winds. It gave an aura of permanence, of faultless eternity.

And these trees hid the Autumn Door, which, if the stories were true, was the gateway to one of the long-lost realms… Chadoath, Shirion; the sources didn’t agree which, and I was probably getting them mixed up in my head. The Doors were all mysterious – except, I supposed, the Spring Door which still regularly transported people to and from Habburat, Mund’s sister-city – but there were plenty of other mysteries to go round. It wasn’t easy to keep the esoteric lore straight, especially when you picked up half of what you knew from word-of-mouth.

I made my way around the ring, following the road. It would take a quarter of an hour to walk right around the Giltergrove, but I didn’t have to go that far. The traders here were hawking all sorts of goods aimed at rich tourists and pilgrims alike: little fake-gold trees, cuddly toy druids and animals of woven wool… It wasn’t long until I saw the path, a neat dirt track cutting through the fifty feet of grass into the strange shadows of the trees.

Where the path met the pavement there stood an archway, shaped from the entwined branches of two small, non-gold trees. Beneath it there were two druids of the Shining Circle. The nearest was an elf-woman who’d have been in her thirties had she been human (who knew how old she actually was) with curly brown hair tucked behind her pointy ears. The other was a human chap about twice her apparent age and nearly a foot shorter than her, his grey hair and beard so thick and so mingled it looked more like a silvery mane. They both wore green and brown robes, nothing too remarkable; their belts, though, were coiled ropes of brilliant golden material – they couldn’t have been cheap.

I approached, and I saw the druidess straighten at her post.

“Don’t stuff this up.”

I smiled beneath the scarf.

Nothing’s ever easy.

“How may I assist you?” the elf asked, the phrase perfunctory but with no boredom in her tone. She looked at me as if she could pierce my disguise with her mere gaze. “We aren’t accepting visitors until noon today.”

She has to know I’m not a simple visitor, right?

“I’m here to meet Belexor,” I said brightly; “he’s a magister and he said he’d expect me at the Autumn Door.”

I looked across at the man, and he was just looking out at the road, either affecting complete disinterest or just tired – his eyes looked a bit red. Perhaps it’d been a heavy night. I’d heard stories about druid parties; they had a reputation for taking it too far, maybe because they were uniquely, magically equipped to deal with the repercussions. I wondered if he might’ve prepared the wrong spells and was now having to face the consequences.

“Belexor?” the woman repeated, as if confused, but then went on, “Ah yes. The young Master Ishemen; he’s been here all night. You are expected, sorcerer. Your name?”

I hesitated. To what lengths would Belexor go to betray me? Would he have given them my real name? Surely not. These druids weren’t actually part of the Magisterium.

“Feychilde.”

“Excellent,” she said at once. “Congratulations on the Cannibal Six capture.” She spoke so unenthusiastically, I would’ve preferred her not to say anything at all.

Still, it was interesting. The news has spread already, on the formal channels.

The elf stepped aside, gesturing to the path behind her leading straight into the trees. “Can you make your own way, or…?”

She left it hanging, making her personal preference obvious.

“Of course,” I said, nodding. “I am indebted to you, honourable druidess.”

She smiled stiffly as I passed her, then stepped back in to block the way behind me once more as I continued up the path.

“Did you have to do that?”

It’s no fun if I can’t wind them up a little bit.

“They already won’t like you because of the sorcery, and being a lowborn archmage just makes you unpredictable, uncontrollable, in their eyes. Do we really need to make it worse?”

I laughed aloud.

My dear, don’t you know me?

“Laughing to yourself like that, when a worm in earshot could be a druid exercising their abilities? And you told the Cannibal Six they gave sorcerers a bad reputation. Look at you, contributing to the sorcerers-are-all-crazy ideation.”

Hey! Don’t equate talking to yourself with being crazy – with eating people. Seeing druids in the grass? Now that’s just paranoid.

The path was unblemished, a section of dirt five feet wide that was free of any presence of weed or grass, not encroached-on in the slightest as it cut like an arrow, pointing me at the gap between two of the massive, gold-pillar-like trees.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a few. Some of these worms aren’t behaving like worms.”

You’re a little bit scary, you know that?

As soon as the path took me within the bounds of the trees, everything changed.

It wasn’t exactly that there was music on the breeze, but it felt like that. The breeze was conspicuously warm, and hadn’t been present just a moment or two earlier, like it was permanently trapped within this golden web formed by the trees, carrying the noises of the rushing wings of birds, their playful chirps and caws. The air even smelt different, as though the noxious fumes of the city had been purged right out of it, replaced with the delicate aromas of musty loam, fragrant roses, and something almost buttery I couldn’t place.

There were the usual bushes knotting the areas between the trees. Although the foliage was mundane, it still glimmered faintly under the reflected light of its gigantic gold guardians. I caught sight of the odd deer, and heard rabbits hopping in the undergrowth. Though this place looked like it would surely be a playground for them I saw no signs of any fey beasties. Here and there, I did spot a few ponds, well-maintained and iridescent with the darting shapes of fish beneath their surfaces; frogs dined freely on an abundance of insect life as they lounged on the large, mossy stones around the edges of the pools.

What do you think she meant, he’s been here all night?

“Well gosh, you see night ends when the sun rises, and –”

You’re in a good mood today, aren’t you? Pleasant dreams?

“We don’t dream like you; we go home, remember.”

Well… things going smoothly in your otherworld?

Zel went quiet for a moment, then, “Not particularly, Kas. I’m just glad to be back.”

Is… is that anything you want to talk about?

Again it took her a moment to respond, then –

“Not particularly,” she repeated.

O-kay… So, as for Belexor – do you think it might’ve taken him all night to prepare for something he pretended was simple? I sensed her general disapproval and immediately qualified: Not that I’d, you know, use it against him or anything…

She didn’t deign to reply. I didn’t suppose I deserved one, really.

It was only a couple of minutes before we emerged into the meadow, and I beheld this sacred place armed with an all-encompassing perception I never would’ve dreamed to possess when I last visited, as a naive child. Vague memories became something else entirely: a kind of dreamlike reality, everything too distinct to be unreal yet unreal by its very nature.

The golden trees stood in a perfect circle like vast shining walls, each area of the broad swathe of land they protected devoted to the cultivation of different grasses and flowers, bushes and shrubs, even crops and lichens. No hedges or fences were needed; things grew only where they were told, I supposed. I saw no animals, here, except the spider-silk tracing lines like threads of gold between the rushes, webs fat with dragonflies, dangling jewels shifting colours as they swayed in that same enthralling breeze.

And facing me in the centre, dead ahead of me, was the Autumn Door.

The base of the immense portal was obscured by the shrine itself: a two-storey structure moulded from living trees around the Door’s foot, pale bark similar to that of a silver birch, grown into a temple of delicate domes and gently-shaped pillars. But the Door soared out of its centre, eclipsing the beauty of the temple with the awesome presence of a perfectly-formed rectangle bursting up into the sky like a wall of living green fire, a sea of crashing emerald waves suspended vertically in a single scintillating curtain.

Enclosing the green eldritch energy was a thick structure like a white door-frame, defining the rectangular shape, wrought from the same marble-like material that made up the walls of Mund. The faces of this massive door-frame would have seemed impeccably smooth, except that they were etched with symbols – designs similar to ones I’d seen in my sorcerous tome – of such gargantuan size they were recognisable even from here.

I’m stupid.

“Keep telling yourself. One day it’ll sink in.”

I should’ve brought the twins down here already. I forgot how cool it was. It’ll take longer to get here later in the day… we’ll have to queue up with everyone else… but it’ll be worth it.

“I think they’d love that. Just hope you don’t run into Belexor. He’d give you a hard time, what with the secret identity and all.”

You never know. We might turn out to be best buddies.

“Remember what you said a minute ago?”

I sighed inwardly.

As I got closer and closer to the Autumn Door I lowered my gaze, trying to take in all the myriad scents of the vegetation, the crackling hum I felt more than heard, resonating in the air; something I suspected that was due to my proximity to the Door itself. An uncomfortable impression anyone would receive, perhaps? Or just maybe it was reserved for mages – or sorcerers, or archmages. An interaction between powers.

Or maybe this was why I’d seen no fey here – I was getting something from my faerie queen’s side, some feedback from her powers, sensing a disturbance from the interaction of her presence and the Door…?

Zel sighed.

What is it? I asked at once.

“Keep telling yourself. One day it’ll sink in.”

So I’m wrong? It’s not because of you?

“You were right until you were wrong. Just because the druids tolerate fey in comparison with other eldritches doesn’t mean they like fey, and their animal friends are great at pointing us out, so it’s hard to hide in a place like this. That’s all there is to the lack of us here.”

Druids don’t like fey? Sure, demons and undead, I get it. But you guys? Sheesh.

“Druids can’t control fey, remember? There’s a reason my kind has a reputation as tricksters, never mind some of the yet-more unsavoury characters – like your goblins. Do you think the druids would appreciate their presence? Anyway, this isn’t an interaction with fey, or even sorcerers or archmages. It’s just arch-sorcerers, I think.”

Litenwelt Kordaine made the Doors, so the legends go – or at least directed their construction… You think that’s it?

Maybe she took that as a given, as she didn’t reply directly – and then a second later:

“You’ve got company.”

I focussed, realising that Belexor was right there in front of me.

He’d replaced the tattered robe bearing the magister’s sigil with a Shining Circle one matching the druids I’d seen at the archway, complete with gold-rope belt. His red hair hung in bleary eyes, his aristocratic features lined with fatigue.

The nearest opening of the shrine was a broad, curved gap in the living silver birch, flanked by a stone pedestal on either side, each topped with a radiant white lamp – this was the main entrance, I supposed – and Belexor was walking out of the opening towards me, smiling despite his worn demeanour.

“Morning, champion,” he called, voice weary but warm.

“I hope I’m in time,” I responded.

“I was just going to come looking for you,” he said, still smiling, close enough now that he reached out a hand to shake mine.

He couldn’t get close, though. The shield stopped him in his tracks.

The magister looked up and down and around, before settling his eyes on me, a vaguely-hurt expression on his face.

Ill-will. He still harbours it.

“I – I understand,” he stammered, letting his arm fall lamely.

I shook my head, dismissing the shield and its star with the briefest motion of a single finger. I had to put my best foot forward; how else was I going to get the trust I needed?

I stepped closer, holding out my own hand, and after an instant of surprise his smile returned. He shook mine gladly.

“Welcome to the Giltergrove. I can tell you’ve not been in awhile.” He released my hand.

“Not since getting my abilities, no. It’s a little overwhelming,” I admitted.

Belexor laughed, but not in a mocking way. Good-naturedly. “Yes, I’ve heard that doesn’t ever truly go away, you know.” He clapped his hands together softly. “Well, shall we get to it? I know you’ve got other things to be doing today.”

He looked away from me, towards his right and my left, where a path zig-zagged away into a field of wheat.

He’s even trying to hide his jealousy. He means I’m off to meet the girl he’s tied up in knots over, but he’s still doing his best to keep things civil.

I nodded to him, and followed him towards the wheat, a pace behind him and to his side.

“Well, maybe I was wrong –”

Again.

“– again, fine, but I still don’t like these magisters.”

Me neither, but we’re going to have to work with them, long-term. You know that, right?

“I guess. Let’s see where this goes.”

We walked through the thigh-high wheat for thirty seconds, before it exposed a sward of the greenest grass I’d ever seen. Belexor stopped at the edge, gesturing at the open space.

“If you’d like to put your, ah,” his smile faltered a little, “Bone Brigade here, we will ensure they are consumed in a timely fashion.”

It’s Body Brigade.

I frowned slightly behind my scarf, but tried to keep the confusion from my voice. “I thought you needed a special spell prepared?”

“Summoning the required amount of creatures to consume your army, to that street, would have necessitated skills beyond mine,” he said, a note of self-deprecation there at the end. “Things work differently here. If you please?”

There was the twang of superiority, in that last word, as if he couldn’t help himself when having to be polite to a Mud Lane-type.

I shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for.”

I turned, using my right hand to open the curtain beyond us, so that the forty-nine and a half zombies filled the centre of the grassy area. For the druid’s benefit I had brought them through facing away from us.

“Could you lie them down?”

A single dismissive flick of my hand was enough to switch them off, dropping into the grass, de-animated.

“Are you sure about this?”

Why not?

“Come with me to get some more fey, then.”

She just wouldn’t let up on this line of reasoning. Soon.

“When?”

I didn’t answer; I was watching closely.

Belexor brought his arms up to chest-level, elbows bent like he held a giant melon between his hands in front of him. Then, muttering words I couldn’t quite fathom in a snapping, growling, rustling voice, he slowly closed his hands, face twisted as though he really were squeezing against some invisible pressure.

His hands met, with a shudder of exertion, and he fell silent.

Beetles. Thousands of beetles. They burst into sight in every direction, swarming through the air towards me and Belexor. While I reflexively recoiled, ducking, he merely buzzed at them, pointing at the pile of corpses. The carrion beetles gathered, more and more each second, forming a cloud against the luminous surroundings. They descended on their unmoving prey with abandon.

I stood back up straight. I didn’t much like insects, but I wouldn’t begrudge them this huge meal – Hells, I wished some god looking down would give me a meal of relative size, something in poultry maybe…

I’d tried to make light of them, but the Body Brigade had been a sad thing. I hadn’t been lying when I’d said I didn’t know what to do with them, and I was glad of this opportunity. I didn’t bother saying goodbye; they weren’t people like the fey were – like maybe even demons. They were just puppets, that were once people, and they deserved better than we could give them.

If it’d been our mum and dad’s corpses standing here, half-rotten in their dark grave clothes, perhaps it would’ve been different. That’s what they’d been after – the Bone Ring had been looking for more soldiers for their army. If I hadn’t happened along when I did…

Zombies only had a trace of the old person inside, anyway. The soul fled to the shadowland swiftly, according to the ministers, leaving only enough residue to animate a corpse or pile of bones – not enough to endow the eldritch with intellect, speech.

“Well,” I said.

“Is this the part where you expect me to praise you for your sacrifice?” Belexor asked. His voice was even-tempered: not angry – just a bit sarcastic. “You got one over on me with this stunt, Feychilde.”

“You got me back, right now, though, didn’t you? That was the whole point of this. We both lose, we both win.”

The magister laughed, a brittle sound. “I suppose you’re right. That’s the whole point. Come on, I’ll escort you out.”

He reached out a hand for my upper arm, hitting me with his palm awkwardly – too hard for a pat, not heavy enough to be a blow – again, good-natured. I would’ve had to flash him an awkward smile in response, but thankfully I had the scarf to protect me; I just inclined my head instead.

Belexor led the way back, again a pace ahead and to the side, keeping to a brisk pace. I took a good look over my shoulder at the massive green portal as the strange, unchanging hum began to fade away, the resonance growing dimmer to eye and ear stride by stride.

“Other than getting your money, do you have plans? It must be exciting, to come out as a champion. One day, a lowborn nobody, and the next…”

A lowborn somebody. That’s how he wanted to finish that sentence. But it meant something that he’d stopped himself, right? That he’d left it hanging there like that?

Maybe I was reading too much into this, transplanting too much of myself into the concept I’d built up of him. What if he’d meant to end with ‘hero of the people’ but realised he couldn’t quite bring himself to be that nice to me? Maybe he really was inviting me in.

“Honestly? It’s a bit of a mind-trip. I’m lying to everyone about everything, putting myself in danger… But it did feel good to wear my robe out and about this morning. Until the cat.”

“The cat?”

“You’d have got it down from the tree in moments, I’m sure. I… had problems.”

“I bet,” he replied, voice tight.

I offended him with the shield, I crystallised the thought for the first time, a very belated reaction.

“Yes, but he’s not being forthcoming. He’s a walking paradox. Warmth and coldness. I don’t like it, Kastyr. Put the shield back up.”

“I’ll have to apologise to my faun once he’s healed up,” I commented, ignoring her. “He can handle fifth-rank fiends no problem, but an irritated cat? Five save him.”

“Cursing now? That’ll work.”

But Belexor did flash me a smile, albeit a tense one.

See! He didn’t even have a go at me for being snarky!

“Fine. Ignore my advice; make friends with him. But I reserve the right to dislike him for as long as I see fit.”

We crossed the boundary, leaving the meadow and stepping into the corridor formed by the rows of golden trees on either side. Still I saw no one else. Zel must’ve been right about the other druids here, about them taking animal forms – other than Belexor and the archway guards I hadn’t seen a single person in the whole Giltergrove. It was a very different impression from that I’d taken away as a child, coming during opening hours like anyone else, when the place teemed with visitors from all over the city, maybe even all over the Realm.

I wasn’t going to start telling him about the visit Peltos and his boys had planned for dusk, but I wanted to keep the conversation open.

“As to my plans, I’m just having a game of fortify with my little brother and sister this afternoon, and –”

“You play fortify?” He couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice.

I smiled at his reaction. Fortify was a game played almost exclusively by nobles, due in large part to the expense of the game-board and components. I’d seen it played once when one of the traders in Knuckle Market got out a set he’d just procured to show it off – and had immediately set about recreating it. So what if mine used counters of scrap wood I’d ineptly carved myself, instead of master-crafted figurines? So what if cards were paper, if my board was half of an abandoned wardrobe door? The zones of my board were painted directly onto the surface, as opposed to the finely-modelled terrain features and detailed miniature buildings that Belexor would be used to using.

But the strategies remained the same. Rules were the easiest part to replicate. I bet I could’ve beat him.

“Perhaps we could have a game some time?” I suggested. I could always let him win if I judged I needed to. And, who knew, maybe he’d actually be good.

Maybe I’d get to battle with real figures for once.

He actually grinned at me, though it didn’t seem to light up his eyes.

“Look, Belexor, I’m sorry about earlier…”

He stopped, looking aside into the trees, then back at me as I stepped up level with him.

“With the shield…”

“Oh!” He smiled, and this time he looked happy. “Don’t worry about it, dear Feychilde.” Again, another awkward half-pat half-blow on the upper arm. “Tell you what, I think you can do me a favour here, actually. I’d owe you one?”

I made a face, and I think it carried into my voice. “A favour?”

He just laughed, and stepped between two of the golden trees, into the undergrowth. I followed, a few paces behind.

The trees were quite closely-spaced, and the bushes were thick, but Belexor seemed to pick the perfect route to avoid getting trapped and having to back-track. We soon reached a small, cleared area, tangled with thorns on three sides.

“You better hope he doesn’t tie you up for four hours. Then you’ll be late and everything will have been for nothing.”

Come on, Zel.

The druid was chirping, tweeting softly, looking around at the branches above without stepping into the clearing. I stayed behind him and studied the area under the golden ambiance – there were no weeds on the ground in this single spot, just soil.

Curiously, in the centre about ten feet from me, there was a bunch of white twigs standing in a spiral-like formation, buried in the soil so that each twig stood at equal height. It was like they’d been taken in two hands and carefully twisted into a meticulous hourglass-shape.

Belexor chattered something, gnawed, looking down at the ground.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

On the ‘top’ of the hourglass of twigs, something was embedded, winding about the sticks in a complicated pattern, not unlike a spider’s web. Zel drew my eye there, staring.

“Danger!”

The druid clapped me on the upper arm, his eyes still darting around, mouth still chattering.

Is he summoning something to fight me? Do I really need shields?

Finally, he stood back, drew a breath.

Zel still hadn’t taken her eyes – my eyes – off the twig-thing.

“He’s finished the spell?”

“How can I render my assistance, magister?” I asked, more forcefully. I didn’t want to give in to Zel’s paranoia, but I was wavering on the verge of setting up a new shield anyway.

“I’m all done,” he said with his smarmiest smirk. “You are too. Little rat.”

His fortify-face had crumbled into that of an obvious challenger.

“Attack!” Zel screamed. “Attack him!”

But it was too late. He was right. I was done.

As the greyness overwhelmed me, I connected the pieces.

Rat’s tails. Dozens of the things, entwined around the idol he’d spent all night creating.

Waiting for this. Waiting for me.

I had expected pain, but I hadn’t quite anticipated this. Bones, organs, other things inside me that I didn’t really want to think about very much – these shuffled themselves within me like cards in a deck, bones all crunching up, organs pulped into gel.

It hurt.

Once the greyness faded and I could see once more, the agony suddenly lifting away like a great weight, I knew for certain what had happened.

He’d shapeshifted me, against my will, without even a struggle.

And as he picked me up by my tail, strange instincts and emotions flooded through my mind. Panic. Escape. Urgency. There were a million sensory items demanding my attention, scents, sounds, images, but I didn’t have time to process it. Having the last couple of weeks with Zel inside me probably helped prepare me for the overload, but it was still staggering. My vision blurred, the floor rotating above me. Sunlight was like a splinter in my eyes.

So I squealed, swinging from his hand.

Slowly, he lifted me in front of his face.

“I won’t kill you,” he murmured gently, all the tiredness gone from his voice and face, “but that doesn’t mean I should let you go around in this human skin you’ve been wearing, does it, little rat?”

I spun in a circle. He was too far away for my claws.

“I wonder what your wretched brother and sister will think happened to you,” he went on. “Do they know about you? No. I don’t think they know, yet, do they? Do they know about the money? Will they think you ran away with it? And they were expecting a game with you today, too. How dare you run away on them on their special day?” He feigned admonishing me, then laughed softly for a couple of seconds at his own hilarity.

I’d been trying to stop squealing, and finally managed it, so I panted, my tiny ribcage trembling as I stilled.

“I’ve checked thoroughly: there’s none of my brothers or sisters watching, and no reason anyone will think to ask the trees or soil right here. Oh, poor Emrelet, too! I’ll do my best to console her tonight. She really did seem to like you, somehow. I don’t know how you vanishing until sunset will be received, but I can guess.”

Until sunset. Sunset!

Vague images of Jaid and Jaroan and everyone else being hurled out into the mud by Peltos and his hired thugs flashed through my little rat-mind.

I reared up, curling in on myself as I swung side to side, and teeth found finger-flesh.

“Damn it!” he snarled. He flicked me back to the painful position, dangling from the tip of my tail, then switched hands, holding me more carefully. “Did I hit a nerve? We’ll be having none of that. You’re going to sit in my pocket like a good pet sorcerer, and I’m going to show you off to my friends.”

A quick incantation and the blood spurting from the side of his index finger stopped instantaneously. A wipe on his robe made it clear the wound was mended.

“And don’t think you’ll be planning any revenge. We’ll wipe your memories at the end of the day. But we’ll have our memories, all at your expense.”

I struggled as he put me in one of his pockets, kicking and screaming.

Zel? Zel! I need you!

But there was nothing. Was she even still in here? If she wasn’t why hadn’t I seen her emerge?

After a few seconds of my resistance the druid raised me up out of his pocket again, wiggling the fingers on his other hand right at me. He spoke, and – though I could hear him chittering, though I couldn’t hear the words in the sound – the rat-tongue now came as second-nature. The ideas he expressed came through clearly to me.

“Be still, be silent and cold. Be still, be silent and cold. Be still, be silent and cold…”

After the third repetition I felt joints stiffen. He curled me up almost gently, adeptly. After the fifth repetition I was frozen, my tail coiled and limbs numb. Only my little rodent eyes still bulged, shifting furiously, my eyelids flickering involuntarily. My nose was still, but my whiskers continued twitching themselves.

This time when he plunged me into his pocket the rat instincts overcame me, and I welcomed the blissful darkness, the coarse predictability of the cloth against my whiskers, my fur.

He had taken me, wreaked havoc on my life he couldn’t even begin to understand.

Jaid… Jar…

He carefully took apart the spell-craft, scattering the twigs and tails, then headed out of the Giltergrove. And I was his passenger, helpless and petrified.

‘Wipe your memories.’

‘Show you off to my friends.’

Belexor’s words resounded in my tiny head. I couldn’t move to cringe, and either rat eyes were not made to cry or he’d paralysed that function too. I couldn’t even squeak.

There was no escaping it. Zel’s lesson. I was a fool. And now I was about to pay the price.