Everyone in the amphiteatre muttered amongst themselves. A few seconds passed, and hesitant conversations erupted. The partygoers glanced around, clearing their throats and shrugging.

“Kinfild?” Jace asked. The Wielder’s face had gone pale, and for once, he seemed at a loss for words.

“Are you alright?” Lessa asked.

Kinfild tilted his head towards the Archduke. “This…was no mere gathering. The Archduke of Koedor is here, son of the Koedor-Terginian Emperor, and”—he pointed to a man in a long green robe with his thumb—“I see the Chief Minister of Phélae.” Then, he pointed to the other side of the room. “That dwarf is Lord Ironfleet, and you’ll see Tsar Novroghy beside him.”

Jace wanted to ask, So what? but he knew exactly what the answer was. Everybody was considering Stenol’s proposition, and it made Jace’s stomach swirl. A sickness ran deep into his fingertips.

Stenol wanted a war.

They needed to leave. They were surrounded by soldiers, who might still be a threat, and Jace didn’t need to wait around to find out.

But Kinfild had other ideas. He stood up and walked down the steps of the amphitheatre—straight towards Elder Stenol. Jace let his arms hang in frustration. He couldn’t leave without Kinfild, his guide to power and his life here. He ran after the Wielder, and Lessa followed close behind.

When Jace reached Kinfild’s side, the Wielder asked, “Do you feel that? The aura emanating out from Stenol? The pressure exerted by his spirit?”

Jace nodded. He had felt it as soon as he had seen Stenol.

But Stenol was only a few levels higher than Kinfild—at least, according to the Split. Jace didn’t feel such a pressure from Kinfild. There was something else at play.

“Lessa likely feels it even more intensely, being a candlefolk,” Kinfild said (to which Lessa nodded). “The Split abhors Stenol. Something is incredibly wrong. I need to speak with him.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jace warned. He glanced up at the edge of the amphitheatre, and for a moment, locked eyes with one of the soldiers. The soldier laid his finger on the trigger of his rifle. Jace gulped.

“Stenol is a friend,” Kinfild hissed. “If something has happened to him, I need to know.”

They passed the podium at the center of the amphitheatre. Kinfild increased his pace, storming toward Stenol. Before they reached Stenol, the Elder turned around, his arms wide. “Ah, Kinfild the Gentle. I was…surprised to see you here, at this gala. Hence, my summons.”

Kinfild stopped where he was. He leaned on his staff, bent over, and an additional decade of age suddenly marred his face. “Surprised?”

“Indeed.” Stenol turned away and paced along the edge of the amphitheatre. “So, Kinfild, what have you come here for? Counsel? Advice? Perhaps you wished that I would take over the training of your worldjumper?”

At the cruel coldness in Stenol’s voice, Jace laid a hand on the hilt of the Whistling Blade. He made sure to stand within striking distance of Stenol, so that, if he needed, he could draw and attack with a moment’s notice.

Kinfild replied, “The worldjumper was assigned to me. I will guide him.” He laid a hand on Stenol’s shoulder, pulling the Elder to a halt. “One will soon be assigned to you, too. But—”

“So you have come for my counsel?” Stenol whirled around, his ivory robe fluttering.

“Initially, yes.”

“About the darklings?”

Kinfild paused, then sighed. “Yes, about the darklings.”

“There is nothing absurd about it,” Stenol said. “No meddling, for certain. It is a symptom of the times.”

“Which I have come to expect,” said Kinfild. “We looked for you at the Hanging House. But…” He glanced nervously at the soldiers standing guard. “...we were attacked by Koedor-Terginian Soldiers.”

“I am aware.” He turned, pushing Kinfild’s hand away. “You are blind, Kinfild. You spend your days on Lyvarion, meddling in the affairs of the candlefolk.” As he spoke those words, he sneered at Lessa. “You’re blind, you’re blind…”

Jace crossed his arms. He had nothing to say, but Stenol still stared at him, eyes drilling a hole into the bridge of his nose.

“And the worldjumper is a man, of all things.”

Jace tilted his head. “Should I have been...a woman?”

“A man, from the race of men,” Stenol sneered. “The most average, inconsequential, yet most populous race. Never won or lost any great wars, never achieved great feats or built great monuments. Yet you seem hell-bent on flaunting whatever self-satisfaction you have.” He motioned towards the gathered guests, with their fancy gowns and suits and holographic hat-plumes.

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“Stenol, what is this?” Kinfild asked. “Please, friend—my old teacher—help me understand.”

“As soon as you landed on Aisèn Secundus, you were spotted. I did not know who you were, only that you sought to meet me, and a fear overtook me—that you might interrupt my plans, and the plans of my master.” Stenol provided an icy smirk. “The Koedor-Terginian Emperor is a slave to my wisdom, now, and his soldiers obeyed without question.”

“You…you tried to kill us?” Kinfild stepped back, mouth wide.

“Indeed.”

“But—”

“And you survived, with the help of your worldjumper—and it was only then that I learned your identity. I knew I would meet you here, and for a moment, I thought I could bring reason into my old student’s life. I summoned you down here.” Stenol wrapped both of his hands tight around his staff. “Will you listen to me?”

Lessa tapped Jace’s shoulder. She inched closer and whispered, “Jace, be careful.” He bent his knees to be closer to her—so he could hear better. “He’s powerful. You’re no match, not right now.”

“How do I stack up?”

“All things considered? You’ve got an effective strength of level ten, when we add in your weapons and such.”

Jace sucked in a breath, but there was nothing he could do. Kinfild seemed intent on continuing the conversation rather than leaving—if they still could.

“What are you planning, Stenol?” Kinfild demanded.

“Very good, very good.” Stenol smiled. “The Starrealm must be annihilated, but the Koedor-Terginian Empire is a shadow of its former self. It will need allies to defeat the Starrealm.” He glanced around the amphitheater at the seated diplomats and leaders. “They will not join unless the incompetence of the Starrealm is shown to their faces.” He chuckled softly. “For that, I have been raising an army of kobolds outside the Wall. As we speak, my men are smuggling them through the Wall’s gates. In three days, an advanced team will launch an assault on the Celanos System.”

“The Celanos—”

“It’s an old and inconsequential system, but it will prove my point well enough,” Stenol spat. “Star-nations will rally against the Starrealm, and we will replace them with a powerful, unified empire, capable of holding back even the strongest of foes and defeating the Enemy Beyond the Wall.”

“You’re insane!” Kinfild hissed. “War will weaken the galaxy, not strengthen it!”

“Change is only made by those insane enough to try,” said Stenol. “Will you side with me, or against me?”

Kinfild stepped back. Jace watched his face contort into disgust. “What about the worldjumper?” Kinfild inquired. “What about Mr. Baldwin, what would you do with him?”

Stenol glared at Jace. His sharp fingernails scraped along his staff, peeling white paint off the wood. “I’d use him. I’m sure my master could break his will, and he’d become a valuable tool.”

“Your master?” Kinfild exclaimed.

“Not the Enemy; do not worry.” Stenol stepped closer. Jace gripped the hilt of the Whistling Blade and slid it a half-inch from its sheath. “The Generous Hand in the Shadows.”

“Enough,” Kinfild snapped. “We’re leaving.”

“I would not be certain about that. I may not be willing to kill you or your companions, but if you thought—”

Kinfild swung his staff through the air. Its tip collided with Stenol’s chest and flung him back across the amphitheatre with a boom, like a hundred doors slamming at once. Jace ripped the Whistling Blade from its sheath.

All of the guards raised their rifles. The weapons clattered as they released their safety catches, followed by a short, electric whine with a rising pitch. They ran closer, all demanding the immediate surrender of Jace, Lessa, and Kinfild.

For a moment, Jace hoped that Kinfild would use the same trick—that the Wielder would create a blinding flash of light and distract the soldiers. However, when Jace glanced at Kinfild’s face, he saw nothing but blank shock.

“I’ll grab a gun,” Lessa whispered, eyeing the nearest soldier’s sidearm—a pistol holstered at his hip.

“I’ll cover you,” Jace whispered back. A hyperspace jump would do the trick. He wouldn’t plow through the soldier, not without his vambraces, but he made sure to target the space directly between two of them—in a flash, he could appear behind the man and drive his sword through his back.

Jace and Lessa both raised their arms as the soldiers approached. A soldier marched up behind Lessa. She dropped down and grabbed his pistol. Jace planted his feet down and sent a pulse of Aes through his core. His technique card appeared, and he snatched it out of the air.

He flashed through the air and appeared a foot behind the soldier. Before the soldier could turn, he stabbed the Whistling Blade through the soldier’s back.

Lessa fired a barrage of plasma-Aes from the small weapon. Brass casings tumbled onto the floor, magenta smoke swirling out of them. Four soldiers fell, and there were four survivors. Jace hacked the barrel off a rifle, then, as the soldiers adjusted their aim, he ducked behind the man and dragged the Whistling Blade up his back.

Lessa smashed a soldier’s visor with the handle of the stolen pistol, and Jace stabbed him through the neck as he reeled. He pulled the limp body in front of him and Lessa, and used it to shield them from the remaining two soldiers’ blasts.

“I’m out of shots,” Lessa said. The soldiers pulled their rifles’ bolts back, readying another shot each. Jace had hoped they’d surrender, but it didn’t seem likely.

He pushed the corpse aside. As the soldiers raised their rifles, he lunged and stabbed one of them with the Whistling Blade. The other soldier clubbed Jace with the stock of his rifle, then took aim. Before the soldier could fire, though, Lessa punched him. Her fist collided with his shiny silver cuirass. He barely flinched, but it was enough to distract him. Jace slashed him through the gut, then cut his head off.

Panting, Jace turned in a circle, scanning the room. Golden dust flooded into his gut. He searched for more soldiers, but there were none. Slowly, the cacophony of the panicked guests filtered into his ears. They scrambled in all directions, trying to flee from the fight.

Stenol prowled through the throngs, marching against the current. He held his head down.

“Not good,” Lessa muttered. She bent down and picked up a plasma rifle. “Uh, Jace, we need to go.”

And where would they go? Even if they could figure out how to make the elevator work, they didn’t have a starship nearby.

Stenol raised his staff as he walked. He seemed in no hurry, and why should he have been? His quarry had nowhere to go.

“Kinfild!” Lessa hissed. “Come on, we need to get out!”

The Wielder’s lips parted. He stared directly at Stenol.

“I gave you a chance! To help me, to help save the galaxy!” Stenol yelled. “But you chose this foolishness, and now, you will regret it!”