Trito fastened the gate shut behind them. Once it was barred again, the blindfolded elf led them down a corridor into the tower.

It was huge. Not a tower at all, not like the Tower of Keraz, but an entire facility bult story after story on a long way up. Sconces along the wall flickered within otherwise impenetrable darkness; not a single arcane light appeared anywhere.

There was no magic here.

Mother limped. Though she was uninjured, she seemed weak and sickly as she moved.

Her arcane focus atop her staff toppled from its place, where it always hovered magically. She had to pick it back up and carry it.

“I have seen this spell before,” she said softly. “In the Dungeons of Pyrthos.”

“Whose voice is this I hear?” the blindfolded elf said. His voice was pointed and severe, precisely enunciated and fast. “Is that a woman?”

“A human woman,” said the elf girl into the man’s ear. “She has a staff. She’s a witch.”

“And who else?”

“Another woman. And an old man. And a little boy.”

“And Trito?”

“And Trito,” Trito said. To Mother he continued, “You have seen this before. It is a mana suppression field, of a sort. It keeps us secure from demons.”

“But that’s magic,” Aletheia said. “I thought you couldn’t—that you wouldn’t do that?”

“It is magic,” Trito said. “But there was magic in this world before the age of the Magisters, and there still will be after the Aether is gone. That is not the tool we object to. We may use one and not the other.”

“Quite right,” said the blindfolded elf.

“The demon drained me,” Mother said. “But there is so much magic in Seneria, I thought I could endure it. Yet this place is different. I cannot feel anything.”

“Me neither,” Aletheia said. “I feel… normal.”

“A side effect of the wards,” the blindfolded elf said. “The blessings ensure no harm comes to elves who venture over our threshold. Magicians are not within our priorities. Nor have they ever needed to be. It is not dangerous, yet there may be… side effects. Tell me now, Trito: are these allies? Or prisoners?”

“They are allies, for now,” Trito said.

The blindfolded elf turned a corner and led them to a dining hall. It was clean, and here a light came from a hole in the ceiling, where the red maelstrom shone through like a skylight. It gave the table a sanguine look.

“Sit,” the blindfolded elf said. He looked to Trito, like he could see him without seeing him.

“I have many questions.”

“So do we,” Aletheia said.

“No doubt.” He regarded them. “Then let us talk.

Trito narrated the story, telling of everything since the Shadow Man’s first appearance. The blindfolded elf listened in silence. Corvo was overwhelmed and frightened, but he glanced sometimes to the girl, and always she smiled back to him. Once she waved.

He never met children on his travels. He was always the youngest. He was desperate to seize the opportunity and play with her. He was certain she would be amazed by his glass rider.

When the tale was told, the blindfolded man returned the favor.

“You know we are the Mortalists already, no doubt,” he said. He had a condescending tone. “My name is Neiaz. This is Pherenike.”

“Where are the others?” Mother asked.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Kallipateira is in Darom, is she not?” Neiaz said.

“I believe she is,” Trito said.

“And there is Aiaz in the city also, whom you may or may not meet.” Neiaz made a gesture with his hands, to make clear he thought this was all that needed to be said. “There you have it.”

Mother and the others stared gravely at him, then to Trito.

“Four,” Mother said. “Four of you in total.”

“Five in total,” Neiaz said. “Yet four here now. Correct.”

“I thought the Mortalists were a faction in the city,” Aletheia said. “I thought there would be hundreds of you.”

“I never said that,” Trito said.

“That’s how you made it sound.”

“This was also the impression I received,” Mother said. Her normal tone was calm and sing-song, but she was serious now—angry, yet resolved not to show it.

“Do not be disappointed,” Neiaz said. “There is much knowledge within those who you have found.”

Mother stood suddenly. Her anger slipped. “You are telling us we have come a thousand miles, through the deadliest land on Earth, fought goblins, evaded elves, slain an ilethian, and narrowly escaped a true demon, for the aid of a single blind elf?”

She turned to Trito.

“This is your master, whom you were certain would aid us in killing the Shadow Man? An elf with no eyes?”

“Yes,” Trito replied. “There were more of us, once. Hundreds. But we are all who remain.”

“How long ago?”

“Not long. Five hundred years, perhaps.”

Mother clenched her fists. She shook her head. She looked like she was about to scream.

Then she sat back down in her chair, slumped and defeated.

“A blind elf,” she whispered. “And a dead order.”

“Are you really blind?” Aletheia asked.

“His eyes are gone!” Pherenike, the child, said. “He can’t see anything. Not even dark.”

“Would you like to verify?” Neiaz said derisively.

“A little bit,” Aletheia said. “I thought—you should be able to regenerate them. Right?”

“I could,” Neiaz said. “Yet to do so would be to use my magic, and to use my magic would be a grave crime.”

“In whose eyes? Who would notice?”

Neiaz smiled. “The Lioness, of course.”

The party had more questions than could be answered. But Trito and Neiaz tried their best together, making clear what had happened on the journey through Ewsos.

“The demon was drawn to the scent of the goblin’s spells,” Trito said. “But goblins are vile creatures, arcane though they might be. For it, the sorcerer was nothing more than smoke to draw it toward better meals. Magicians are more delectable.”

“So there was no point in abstaining from magic,” Mother said. “We risked ourselves for nothing.”

Trito shrugged. “Yes, I suppose so.”

She sighed.

Corvo’s stomach growled.

“Master Neiaz,” he said. “Where’s the dinner?”

Dining halls in keeps like this always had dinner, and sweets, and as much food as Corvo could want. But this tower was different. No matter how hungry he grew, they still didn’t eat.

Mother grabbed him, startled that he had dared to say anything. But she said nothing and let his question stand.

Neiaz seemed to glare through his blindfold.

“There is no dinner,” he said. “You can appreciate that it is not easy, growing crops without the aid of magic in this place.”

Corvo shook his head. He didn’t know what response he was supposed to give.

“We can appreciate this,” Mother said. “Yet we also must eat. Corvo is correct. We are also injured; our wounds need tending to. There is—still much to discuss. But these matters are more pressing.”

She glanced to Dorian, who looked half dead in his seat.

“So be it. Pherenike will show you to your… quarters.”

“Thank you,” Aletheia said.

They helped Dorian up and followed the girl. “This way,” she said, smiling and bouncing on her feet.

She took them to a room on the third story of the tower that smelled like mold and must and had a dozen beds. They were each made, but they would have been better had they not been; the fabric of the sheets and pillows was foul.

Light crept in through a paneless window. The rest of the brightness came from sconces that Pherenike lit as she entered the room.

Then she left. Triage began.

Aletheia looked her wounds over. She stripped naked and poked at her burns. They were serious injuries, but she barely winced at the pain.

“I would have to go outside to cast a spell,” she said.

“The potions will still work,” Mother said. “Drink it, and I will wrap the wounds. Rest for now.”

Then it was on to Dorian.

“My head feels like it was smashed open by a troll,” he said. “Don’t touch me, Eris. Where’s Aletheia? I don’t—don’t touch me!”

His protests were weak and not abided by.

“Be still,” Mother said. “Aletheia is hurt. I will tend to you.”

“I don’t want your tending,” Dorian said.

“You have been moaning for hours. You will take what you can get.”

“Watch out,” he growled. “Your magic won’t work here. You’re just a woman now.”

She rolled her eyes. “I would feel more threatened at this circumstance were you not comatose. Do not irritate me; you will find it unprofitable for your comfort.”

There was little left of their healing potions, but Mother fed a few sips of each to them both, then wrapped their wounds.

Corvo had nothing to do but wait. Wait, and do nothing. Like usual.

That was when he saw Pherenike standing in the doorway.

She watched him do nothing.

He watched her back.

It took a long time to work up the courage. But when Mother wasn’t looking, he climbed to his feet and sneaked toward her.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said with a smile. They spoke Regal to each other.

“Do you want to play?” he said.

Pherenike put her finger to her mouth for a moment as she thought this question over. But then she nodded. “Okay. Come on. Here!”

She ran into the corridor beyond the barracks.

Corvo hesitated. But only for a moment. He was so desperate to play, and very bored—he would have braved another demon for a chance to be Pherenike’s friend.

So he grabbed his pack with his own toys inside, and he followed after her into the dark.