Eje sips from her glass – cherry juice, but nobody can distinguish it from wine at a glance. She exchanges a nod with Kater – a friend of the family, and tries to catch her cousin Erita's eye. Not an easy task in the crowd. Every partygoer tells a different story at a glance: the local countess in a white velvet hat stands the corner bored and counting the minutes until she can leave without causing offence. Her husband is as far away from her as the grand hall will permit, splitting his time between fawning over some overdressed marquis and examining the noblewomen who have themselves set up camp nearby with gossip in their hearts and knives on their tongues. The fresh young baron of Hillside is nearly ready to take cover in the lavatory, beaten down by level upon level of etiquette and decorum. His hat has fallen to an unflattering tilt and he doesn't have the wherewithal to straighten it. Eje gives it a month before he's demoted back to nobleman. She passes the Duke of Muritaginus, a man too important to even wear a hat, with a deep bow; fortunately her lowly status obviates the necessity of any further obsequiousness. He doesn't acknowledge her, of course. It's admirable: here's a man who thrives in every bow and curtsy, understands every nod and tilt of the head. He neither expends excessive energy flattering his superiors, of whom there are few, nor wears himself thin interacting with his inferiors, of whom there are many. Not a second of his time is wasted. He sips wine, eschews the canapes, and weighs in on matters of state all in a single breath. By the end of the night, he'll have achieved work than in a fortnight of regular affairs. However, one person in particular catches her eye. The only person here with the temerity to enjoy herself. “A moment of your time, miss.” Eje puts a gentle hand on Salaya's shoulder and guides her away from a beleaguered Mage Guild official.

“Ow, Eje, that hurts. You shouldn't interrupt people like that. I was having the most wonderful time swapping tales with Oloson. Do you know he was made an official after only a year in the Mage Guild?”

“Salaya, these people are at a party. That means they can't run away or tell you to get lost. They can't explain how they'd rather be getting dunked into a pot of boiling oil than listening to your tales or considering your suggestions. Even if you were pitching them your enchanted dog-breeding business they would have to pretend to care, and they don't like to pretend to care. The more they have to pretend to care, the more they resent you, and the more they resent you, the more likely you are to find your ambitions silently thwarted in five years' time.”

“Don't be so gloomy. Aren't you supposed to be in your element here? I think it's marvellous. This dress is gorgeous, my hat compliments it perfectly, and I was just offered a tray of snacks from a nobleman. Can you believe it?” She drops her voice to a whisper. “I've never gotten to talk to a nobleman before, and now they're making me food!”

“They're only serving it. Do you honestly think they'd allow servants up here? They're all downstairs in the kitchens and cellars. I've been to a thousand fancy parties, and there's not a single difference between them. Even the people all look the same.” But Salaya is giving her that look that straddles the border between pleading and warmth. A look that begs her to for a brief moment see the world as Salaya does, as a place of wonder where any challenge is surmountable and any person a potential friend. A look that says 'I'm having fun. Why can't you?' She relents. “This is your first party, so it's ok to have some fun. Just be careful. These people assume you're one of them, and it's frightfully easy to prove you aren't.”

“Don't worry. I'm on my best behaviour.” Salaya winks and snatches another cream puff of an astonished noble's tray. “By the way, where are your parents? I've already met so many Muritaginite aristocrats. I'd love to meet them too.”

“Do you honestly think I'd let you in the same room as my parents? Give me some credit, Salaya. They're back home. I got us in all by myself.”

Salaya sticks her tongue out at Eje then hastily looks around to see if anyone noticed. “Speaking of familiar people, you'll never guess who I saw speaking with some noble in an important hat.”

“Who?” Eje looks around but spies nobody Salaya might have recognized.

“Lady Tal. I wonder if this is the time to impress her with my application-in-progress to the guild.”

“Figures she'd be here. I'd rather avoid her if possible. She makes my uncomfortable in my own skin.”

Salaya shrugs and takes another glass of wine off a passing tray. Her eyes sweep the room in search of her next victim. “Any luck with the firegems? I admit it's slipped my mind thus far. I meet someone and I get too caught up in formalities and greetings, and proper conduct during a conversation. We might need to find a second party after this.”

“It's not the sort of thing you can just bring up. It takes subtlety. If you're not sure how to do it, follow my lead.” She approaches the countess. Or more specifically, she approaches the stand beside her and examines the hats on display. A large round one with peacock feathers sits beside a small jet-black cap with a sharp brim which itself jostles for attention alongside a pink floral. A set of three acorn hats sit on the opposite end, each a different shade of green. This is the hard part: Eje detests hats. They're floppy, look stupid, and threaten to fall off if one moves too rapidly. After some consideration, she trades her blue broad-brimmed hat for the black cap. She takes Salaya's flowery tribute and swaps it for a soft purple one with a brim shaped like an orchid. Her eyes grow wide with anticipation as she sets it on her head and examines herself in the mirror.

“Gorgeous, Eje. It really compliments my hair.”

“Choosing the right hat is such a harrowing business.” says Eje, not toward Salaya but more as a general remark to the vicinity.

“I've always said that one's style of hat belies one's appearance and shows true personality.” Eje turns a little too fast to see her mark, the countess, striding through the gathering toward her witless husband, now seated amongst the assorted noblewomen. Someone else has taken her place. Someone tall with waist-length crimson hair and a broad hat with a tilted brim the colour of blood. “Then again,” says Tal, “that would imply that personalities can be changed with a careless swap.”

“Lady Tal!” says Salaya brightly, “Are you here representing the Mage Guild? I was just talking to one of your officials.” She cuts herself off at a glare from Eje.

“Oh no. I'm avoiding guild business. Do you see that Duke over there? The one who thinks he's too special for a hat? He's been working his way toward me all night, but I intend to evade his reach.”

“You don't want to talk to the Duke of Muritaginus?” Salaya sounds sceptical that anyone could say such a thing.

“He wants to ask me a favour. They all do. I'm not interested in discussing policy right now.” Tal reaches out her fingertips to take a glass of wine from a passing tray while Salaya stifles herself.

“What sort of personality eschews a hat?” asks Eje, all too aware of the pressure she's under to deliver the right melange of dignity and casual conversation.

“The sort that thinks it's better than all the other personalities.” Tal takes a measured drink. “What do you make of those two over there?” Eje and Salaya follow her gaze to a couple in matching black hats and masks talking to each other. “And there's another one in that corner. And a fourth in the near corner.”

“Are they together?”

“I suspect so.”

“Eje, look at that one.” A fifth, hidden in the same hat and mask, pushes through the party with an unbecoming sense of urgency. Several nobles utter subdued exclamations as he leaps onto a table, knocking over wine and cake.

“I regret to inform you that on authority from the Kingdom of Gaskaback, festivities have been called to an end.”

“What's the meaning of this?” demands an onlooker. In response, the masked man raises his arms. Lightning shoots from his fingers, drawn to the other masked people, who also stand in the four corners of the room with their arms raised. Each raised pair of arms amplifies the lightning until its tendrils arc around the room in an overhead cage of electricity. The crackling is drowned out in screams of pain and the crashes of falling bodies. Eje, miraculously unharmed, uncovers her face to see doors bursting open. Dark figures in simple garb rush in, swords drawn. The cry of 'Gaskaback remembers!' fills the air alongside the foul miasma of singed hair and clothing. They do not fall on the congregation with their blades but instead subdue them, striking with their iron pommels and kicking those trying to rise. Eje's hand drops to her side only to remember she left her sword at the inn. Salaya raises her hands to defend herself as bodies fall around them. Someone rushes them, blade drawn. Eje prepares for a counter, the magic beating over the din before her eyes, but her blow never lands. The masked assailant turns at the last moment and instead hammers a woman in a silver dress and chapeau with the blunt end of his sword. She wails and curls into a ball. Then she's being pulled by the shoulder, dragged away.

“Over here.” They slip through the crack in a door behind their would-be opponent.

“Let go. Are you really going to –” Eje whirls to see who pulled her to safety then freezes. It wasn't Salaya: she was dragged in too. Tal shuts the door behind them with a soft snap.

“Take cover.” The authority in Tal's voice cannot be defied. Behind the door is a short set of stairs, then a servant's cellar minus the servants. Oil lamps burn on the walls and unopened bottles of wine sit on a table next to a rack of fresh hats.

“Gather them. Let nobody in or out.” The command bellows out above and they instinctively duck behind the hat rack. It's not enough to drown out the cries of pain and indignant demands. Eje hears the duke's stern voice rising above it all, ordering the attackers to leave this instant. “Silence! Or we start killing. We are the hunters of Gaskaback. Our patience is limited.” The complaints cease.

“What's going on?” asks Salaya, head swaying between her hands. “Gaskaback attack us here? It's impossible.”

“Tal,” says Eje, “what are your branches of magic? If you lead the attack we'll back you in any way we can.” The sudden panic is dying down and she feels the surge of adrenaline kick in. Why did she run in the first place? She's disarmed but ready nonetheless.

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“Let's not be hasty.” says Tal. She walks, still with a limp, to the table and examines the wine on offer. “We need to come up with a plan first.” She selects a bottle and inserts a corkscrew into the top. A twist of her wrist and the wooden cork pops out.

“We don't have time for a plan.” insists Eje. “Just listen.” The speaker upstairs is still yelling, condemning the decadence of the Upper Realms. With each declaration, the responding cries of his followers grow louder. “He's working them into a frenzy. They're going to start killing soon.”

“It's an act. Just wait.”

But Eje is out of patience. There's no time for this, and no matter how intimidating Tal might be, she's clueless. “Why are you standing here? People are going to die and you're drinking wine? I bet you've never been in a proper fight before. Put that away and get your hands dirty for once.” She grabs Tal by the arm and pulls her toward the stairs. Just another pampered official who's built a career on letting more capable people do her nasty work. “Let's see what the best of the Mage Guild can do.” There's a popping sound like someone has uncorked another bottle and Salaya gasps. Something is wrong. Either Tal is hurrying along beside her or – at the foot of the stairs she stops to look down and nearly jumps out of her skin. Tal's disembodied arm, still holding the corkscrew, falls from her hands to the ground.

Tal hisses between her teeth. She looks down at where her arm used to be, then back at Eje. When she steps forward, fury blazes from her eyes like a dragon of old. Even with one arm, she towers over Eje as a giantess would a rabbit. Eje quivers; her legs tremble. She tries to take a step back but her feet are rooted to the ground. Everything is alone, drifting in black nothingness. The only point of reference to stabilize her, to prevent her from disappearing into the void is Tal, and when their eyes meet, Eje forgets everything she has ever known. Did she even have a life before this or has she always been here? All that exists looms before her. All that matters stares her down with a silent fury that burns into her very soul. She cowers before a judgment that renders her alone and naked for the rest of eternity.

Then a moment passes and it's gone. She remembers her childhood, tea with Trila. Memories of her team, battles against orcs, and Ogostinia's mission flood back. She stands very much clothed and with Salaya in the cellar, where lit lamps illuminate wooden walls lined with empty shelves, dusty plates, and old books. Tal frowns at her as a parent would a misbehaving child and stoops to reclaim her dropped limb.

“Lady Tal!” exclaims Salaya as Eje drops into a creaking old chair, unsure of her legs. “What...happened? Are you ok?”

Tal does not answer. She plops her arm on the table and faces them down, remaining hand on hip. “I didn't bring you down here to pester me. Be still and listen.” She enunciates each word softly and pointedly, like a dagger wrapped in silk. “I am not in the mood to repeat myself to a pair of whinging little curs.” Salaya winces as though struck across the face. “Gaskaback hunters work efficiently, not loudly. They do not wave swords over their heads, they have need for neither threats nor theatrics, and they do not cast cooperative lightning magic developed by the Upper Realms Mage Guild. Just ask about one of your fellow teams that got wiped out by them. Died a month or two back, but their bodies only discovered a few days ago.” She takes a long slow swig of wine from the open bottle. “With tensions rising between Gaskaback and the Upper Realms, some more vocal parties have been petitioning the throne urging for war. I came to this event to keep an eye out for some of those parties, but it seems they struck first. An attack of this audacity will make difficult for even the king to avoid retaliating, triggering an even greater wave of indignation when Gaskaback retaliates in turn.”

“So they're...”

“So they're trying to force a war.”

“I didn't know relations were that bad.” says Salaya after a long pause. Eje tries to speak, but her heart is still beating so fast she's worried it might slip out her mouth if she opens it.

“They're better than they seem. That could change after tonight, depending on what we do.”

“But, what about your arm?”

Tal's lips curl in a flash of annoyance, then she shrugs. “I'll reattach it later. It was getting loose anyway.” Her gaze meet Eje's again. “Stand up. And don't look so mortified. I was born mutilated. It's why I can't walk straight.” Eje stares up at her dumbly and she sighs. The eyes that once seared Eje's cast downward. No crimson, no passion. Just sad and brown. “If this will set your mind at ease.” She pulls her sleeve up to reveal the arm that ends in a stump at the elbow, then picks at the corner of her face. Eje again recoils in horror as it peels off from her temple to her nose, leaving angry scarred skin around her eye. “It's been said that my lineage is cursed. There are days I laugh and days I believe it. Nothing can fix my broken body, so I cover myself with the finest magical accessories. Now.” She snaps back to attention. Her eyes harden and rise again. “I don't work in the open. I have a reputation to uphold. You two nobodies suffer from no such restrictions. I need to you abduct one of the attackers. Subdue him, bring him to me. I'll take care of the rest.”

“How do we go up there without being seen?” asks Salaya.

“There's a door in the back.” says Eje, standing up with an effort. She's stable now, though her heart still thumps in her chest. “It should lead around to the other side of the hall. Cellars in noble houses are always connected.” Salaya looks as though she wants to complain or ask another question, but Eje shakes her head. She leads Salaya out the back door. When she looks over her shoulder, Tal is taking another slow draught from the bottle, no longer measuring. Her arm still lies on the table clutching the corkscrew.

The hall connecting the cellars is unlit, so Salaya conjures a small flame to guide them, illuminating the worry on her face. “Are you ok, Eje? You look like you're about to be sick.”

“It's nothing.” They crack open the door to the next room, peering through to ensure it's empty before slipping in.

“When her arm came off, I nearly screamed. It's fortunate I didn't, but it was close. Strange...I've seen orcs hacked and incinerated. But seeing a person's arm just come off like that was terrifying in a way I'd never imagined before. I really thought you'd broken her with that.”

“What did she do after?” asks Eje. “When she stepped toward me but before she picked her arm up again. Did you see anything strange happen?”

Salaya looks up at the dusty ceiling as she thinks back. “Nothing particularly, no. You sort of froze up, but I might freeze too if I were in your position. She just stared at you, and you stared back at her. Nothing else.”

“I thought so.”

“Why?”

“Nothing.”

They cross this room, remarkably similar to the last except without the hats or wine. Eje opens the door to the next corridor. “When she mentioned that team of ours that was wiped out.” Salaya hesitates. “Do you think she was talking about Esthen?”

“I don't know. Maybe. They haven't been heard from, and we were near the border when we parted.”

“That's so sad, whoever it was.” says Salaya. “Sometimes I forget how fragile a life is.” Eje's mind flashes back to Esthen, bent over tracks, giving instructions, setting out after the orcs. Did he catch them before he was killed? Did he put up a fight as they could not? She shakes her head. It's pointless to speculate. “What do you think? Are these people really hired to trick people into thinking Gaskaback is raiding us?”

“It seems unlikely that Gaskaback would send its hunters into the heart of the Upper Realms. Not impossible though. I suppose Tal's explanation makes more sense. How did we avoid their lightning spell? Did you deflect it?”

“No. There was no way I could react in time. But now that you mention it, the lightning did arc away from us, almost as though someone was deflecting it. And that man who rushed us with the sword just turned away at the last second. We got lucky.”

“Luck isn't real, Salaya. When I said Tal makes me uncomfortable, well, it's not because of her attitude.” They both fall silent in contemplation.

Through the corridor into yet another cellar, and they must be close. This room also has bottles of wine laid out on the table, though without the hats. Again there are stairs. Eje creeps up, Salaya tiptoeing behind. She can't hear anything. Surely if the guests were being slaughtered there would be noise. She puts her hand on the doorknob and g-e-n-t-l-y turns it. She cracks the door, thankfully it opens inward, so that just a sliver of light shines through, and puts an eye to the crack.

“What do you see?”

Eje nudges the door back into place before releasing the knob. “The prisoners are ringed in the centre of the room. That lightning spell is still over them, but it's getting fainter. I don't think we can do much. Those armed fighters look pretty tough, and there are at least a score of them pacing the room, plus their leaders.”

“There are no servants down here.” says Salaya. “They must have been replaced by the attackers, waiting down in the cellars for the signal.”

“That would mean that whoever is responsible has power over hiring in this manor.”

“Yes, and it also means we can keep going. How far do you think the network of cellars runs?”

Eje leans against the wall. “I'd guess it goes clear around the manor. Lets the servants access any of the rooms to clean or deliver food.”

“So that means there's a kitchen down here too, right? We might be able to catch a few of them off guard there.”

“Lots of people, many of them bound to be hungry. It's worth a shot.”

Passage, cellar, another passage, and there they are. An iron pot bubbles over an open flame, plates sit in neat stacks on a battered old table, pots and cleavers line the shelves. “A bit grubby for such a fancy manor.” says Salaya. “I wonder if the revellers upstairs know where their venison tartlets and honey custards are prepared.” Nonetheless she grabs a strip of beef off a tray to snack on.

“Quit stuffing your face and focus on what we need to do.” Eje inspects the room for entrances. There are no stairs, only the door they entered through and a door on the far end of the room, about fifteen paces.

“Why are we taking orders from Tal anyway?” asks Salaya, her mouth half full.

“Because...” Eje hesitates. A moment ago she couldn't imagine disobeying Tal. Now she isn't sure why.

“She really scared you, didn't she? No wonder Octave warned us about her.”

“She is persuasive.” admits Eje. “But she's also the only ally we've got here, and she seems to understand the situation.” Salaya gives her a searching look that conveys more than words ever could.

Footsteps and voices approach and there's no time to justify herself. Eje drags Salaya away from the food and into a small pantry and shuts the doors behind them just as the doors to the kitchen open. Fortunately the stairs connecting them to the party above lead down into another passage and then to the kitchen, not directly. They crouch over sacks of barley and flour, peering through the doors but not daring to open them enough for a good look at who came in.

“Damn. I'm sick of being on food duty. How many portions is that?”

“Seven.” It's hard to hear over the clatter of a bowls and ladle, but Eje is confident there are only two people.

“Not enough. Spread 'em thinner. Here, start to take these up.” More footsteps and the door opens.

“This is our chance.” whispers Eje. “He's alone.” Whatever effect Tal had on her, they're under attack and she knows she must act. She hurls open the pantry doors and rushes out. Then she realises her mistake. The door has opened, yes, but not to let anyone out. A third has entered. The three of them, two men and a woman stare dumbfounded as Eje and Salaya leap from the pantry, dusted white with flour. One of them yells, more in surprise than as a call for help. Eje hits him in the face at five paces, knocking him flat. The smoke of dusk swirls around her as she rushes the one at the door before she can escape. Instead she grabs at her waist and draws a sword. Its gleaming blade dances and cuts through the smoke to no avail; Eje catches her clean on the jaw and down she goes. Light flashes behind her and she turns to see Salaya bring down the third with a burst of red light. He crashes against the wall then to the ground under a cascade of copper pots.

“Move. Don't stand, just crawl on your bellies.” Eje snatches the fallen sword off the ground to reinforce her orders. They're just finishing disarming the prisoners and gathering them together when the sound of another set of footsteps patters down the stairs. Eje hides behind the door, then stands in front of it. No reason to hide, especially when the adrenaline is coursing through her almost as loudly as the magic itself. The door opens and an annoyed-looking woman steps in.

“What's the commotion down here? Can't you idiots do anything competently?” She freezes as she looks into Eje's face. Eje hits her. The first blow is to the stomach and doubles her over. The next is a looping punch that overshoots and strikes her across the temple. As she staggers, Eje channels her frustration and fury at the night's proceedings and brings a shadowed fist down onto her pate.

“That was a bit much.” says Salaya looking at the woman's motionless body.

“Just get Tal and bring her over here as fast as you can. I'll keep watch.” Eje grabs the stunned woman and drags her to the others, her offhand still holding the sword in case they've forgotten who's in charge. As Salaya hurries off, Eje pulls a chair out sits over her charges.