“Consider all players when caught in a story, not only the obvious ones. A blade unseen cuts twice as deep as a sword swung from the light.”

– A Stranger’s Guide to Names in Calernia, Author Unknown

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I spent most of the trip towards Aisne focusing on only one task. Roadwork maintenance. Turning dirt roads into proper cobbled brick and expanding the size of them. It wasn’t fun to do, but it was fulfilling. We moved much faster on the roads with such a small party. Fast enough that I couldn’t keep up the work without the use of my Grace.

I had wanted to put time in and learn how to build watchtowers. Klaus Papenheim had dissuaded me from that course of action. The people in this part of the Principate didn’t make use of them. My efforts would go unappreciated. It was a pity. Watchtowers would arguably be rendered obsolete the moment Procer developed proper scrying methods, but I suspected they had utility regardless. There were probably not enough wizards to go around the entire of Procer. Furthermore, scrying could fail. Either as a result of a wizard being unavailable at one of the two points of connection, or because of an over-abundance of desolation.

But building infrastructure that would go unused because nobody could staff it made no sense.

I had stopped what I was doing shortly before we reached Aisne itself.

As for my new travelling companion. Well… That turned out to be Songbird. I wasn’t entirely certain what she did. That made me wary of her. She was charismatic and good at talking with people. I had some misgivings about her, but not enough to turn her away. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t be cautious. Despite no longer being formally a part of Princess Mathilda’s retinue, she still had some degree of authority with the Neustrian information network. That meant she was trusted to act in Princess Mathilda’s best interest despite being cut loose.

We would be making use of that resource when we arrived.

“Repeat that again, Yvette.” I stated from the back of my mount.

“Well I was wondering if you would let me study what you do like if you change things and then I see if I can do the same with magic Jacquinite magic is good at copying miracles and this seems kind of the same right I mean you’re not an Angel but you’re the next best thing aren’t you?”

She bobbed her head from side to side like some sort of excited rodent while talking. Between the harsh glare of the late afternoon sun and her movements, it made it difficult to keep track of the road ahead.

“Are you asking to dissect me?” Her request amused me.

“No, no, no goodness no I just wanted to see if I can do what you do I don’t want to cut you up I promise I’m not like those wizards to the East I’ll leave it alone if it bothers you.”

It was far too easy to set her off.

“It’s fine Yvie. We can see about setting up controlled experiments later.”

“That sounds oh look there’s Aisne on the horizon I wonder what the city is like we didn’t stop here when we travelled north do you think the food tastes good oh look over there that cart looks like its about to break down.”

“Y’sure you don’t want to just walk into the palace and start telling people what to do?” Songbird rode up next to me on her mount. It was a dappled white and brown mare which looked just as dainty as she was.

“Absolutely. I don’t want to make a mess of things before I find out what’s going on.”

“If you waste too much time thinking, the problem’ll only get worse.”

“I know. I want to be careful. There were rumours. Travelling merchants complained about a villain.”

“I heard them as well. S’pose if the talk about the Revolutionary is true, then you’re playing it smart.”

“You don’t think there are?”

She let out a dainty snort.

“There’s always talk of new villains. Doesn’t mean they’re all true. ‘Sides, what’re they going to do to you? Talk you to death?”

“Can you find some books for me?”

I wasn’t sure how much she could help me here. I expected she was better at finding different kinds of information. That wouldn’t stop me from asking.

“S’pose I could, ‘pending on what you want.”

“Stories and historical records. About the crusades. I want to get some idea of what a crusade really is.”

Cordelia’s request had been bothering me for a while now. It made more sense for me to ask for advice on what they were than to keep chewing on it alone.

Hopefully I would be able to learn enough. I didn’t want to give my seal of approval to a crusade without knowing exactly what one was. I had to know both sides of the story. What a crusade meant in terms of politics and what it meant in terms of the story. I wasn’t willing to condemn thousands of people to die without doing my own due diligence on the subject.

“You worried about a crusade?”

“Not soon. I still want to know more about them.”

“I can try,” she grimaced. “S’pose when we arrive, I’ll ask some people and see what they can dig up.”

I let the conversation die there.

The trip itself had been beautiful. Golden plains of wheat and orchards spread out along the road as far as the eye could see. The fields were worked by farmers living in homesteads that littered the side of the road. The homesteads would apparently be abandoned during the winter. It didn’t come as a surprise. Cordelia had mentioned Salia doing something similar. I was told the view was even better along Julienne’s Highway. That wasn’t the route we were taking. That road was well maintained enough that it didn’t need any help from me.

People had looked on but not dared approach as I repaved the roads. It turned out that mass construction work on the scale I could do it was intimidating. We were stopped once or twice by guards patrolling the roads. It hadn’t been difficult to convince them that our intentions were pure. That, or they didn’t fancy their chances if it came to a fight.

I was betting on the latter, but chose to believe the former. I wanted to be more positive.

Aisne had looked majestic from a distance. A walled island of red brick buildings jutting out amidst a sea of gold. Some buildings rose several stories up into the sky, their sloped slate roofs looking like fingertips reaching for the clouds.

Which made the reality all the more tragic.

Muttered whispers about the state of Aisne caused my stomach to clench. It was more road weary travellers passing us by. They were leaving rather than arriving. Most of them wore more extravagant clothing. Merchants and nobles, by the looks of things. People that could afford to move.

Arriving in Aisne was like walking into a room filled to the brim with gunpowder on a dry, sunny day. Even the slightest hint of fire would set the place ablaze.

I had veiled the three of us in a perception field. It was a temporary measure. Announcing my arrival was an option. I might have been met with fanfare if I had done it as well. Although after seeing the state of the place, I doubted it. Regardless, I considered that to be unwise.

By entering quietly, it was possible for me to assess the situation before settling on what to do. People likely knew that I was here. That was okay. I wasn’t trying to prevent them from knowing I was in the city. I was only trying to stop them from knowing exactly where I was. It allowed me to make my mind up about how I wanted to resolve this without every royal asshole shoving their polished posterior in front of my face and asking for a kiss.

If I was any other hero, I’d bet they wouldn’t even give walk on the same street as them. When it was blatantly obvious how much I could do for them though… It was easier to just avoid attention in the first place.

Yvette, Songbird and I passed through the city gates onto an open avenue. Large pines stood to attention on either side as we rode towards a fountain up ahead. Taking a right, we made our way along a dirty paved road towards a nearby stable. After freeing ourselves of our two horses, we started making our way to a place called the Fated Connections. Apparently it was an establishment frequented by people like Songbird. I didn’t know where it was, but she did.

Fear hung in the air. It was cloying, inescapable. There were guards on the corner of every important thoroughfare. They loomed over anyone who dared show their head, alert and watchful. The guard’s hands never left their weapons, and they twitched at the slightest hint of movement.

The streets were all but deserted. It was unnerving being the only ones visible on the road. A light breeze whispered gently through the path ahead of us. It was the only voice we could hear.

The rumours we heard before arriving described a nightmare.

It was alleged that nobody would risk going outside if they didn’t need to. Aisne had been embroiled in a local squabble for years now. Princess Clotilde was the supposed heir to be. She hadn’t managed to take charge. There had been infighting within the family. She had been warring with the others for control over the place. Then, only weeks ago, she had disappeared from the public eye and one of her brothers by the name of Quentin had seized control of over half of the guard.

It was likely that she was dead.

There were other members of the family embroiled in the conflict. Lesser players, but still making their voices heard.

In addition, a new sort of conflict had started to appear. It had been continuing for a few months now and was brutal in its execution. Armed resistance of a different kind. There were no soldiers in this force. It seemed to be some sort of civilian movement. They hadn’t even declared for a ruler. Instead, signs of their actions could be seen through how they acted.

Two members of the nobility had been killed, their corpses left as bloody eagles in their homes. Three granaries had been burned down. Guards had been caught and crucified. Nobody knew what the supposed villain actually looked like. They only knew that the villain went by the Name of the Revolutionary.

And then, there were the messages on the walls. Pictures of a crown stomped under a boot. Beneath them, writing.

All becomes dust.

I wasn’t sure who the writing was aimed at. It certainly wasn’t the peasantry. I hadn’t seen the darker signs yet. I didn’t expect that to last.

“You sure this is the right way?”

We were stepping off the main road into a side alley on our left. The place didn’t look entirely safe. The space between buildings was so narrow that at best two skinny people could scrape through side by side. It felt like walking between the gaps in rotten teeth.

“Yeah I want to know that as well I don’t like the look of this place everything is so grim and you can’t see the sky properly with all those clothes hanging between-.” Yvette cut off, her emerald eyes trailing after something.

It took me a moment to work out what it was. A shaggy grey cat with white paws. The animal was darting across the narrow alleyway up ahead. I suspected it was after a rat. Following its movements was hard. It kept moving from shadow to shadow. It didn’t help that the light of the sun was slowly petering out as the day drew to a close.

“No, Yvie.”

“What?” she asked, puzzled. “Can you check it to see if it's injured my mother always used to say we should take better care of cats than peasants because they protect granaries from pests and the cats ran away if you didn’t care for them but peasants always came back this part of the city isn’t the nicest so the cat probably needs a little help.”

Leave it, Taylor. Now is not the time.

Yvette didn’t say things like that often. She was usually sweet. Fortunately, she was still young and there was time for me to teach her better.

“Sure. I thought you wanted a pet.”

Yvette flicked a strand of golden hair and pouted at me. “I’m not stupid we travel all the time on the road and even if we can afford it it would be a lot of work and it would get in the way of my studies and I certainly wouldn’t be able to summarize documents for you while caring for one.”

She paused for a moment and inhaled, then continued.

“Why do you have so many books on politics anyhow it's not like you’re going to rule over anything Faith in Crowns was boring to read and On Rule was even worse they were both written by stuffy old people who use long words to sound clever.”

Ideally, I would have the time to read over them fully myself. Unfortunately, I didn’t. Trusting in summarized text wasn’t ideal, but I did have to prioritize.

“I have them because I want to know more about the Principate.”

I took a moment to stop the cat with a bundle of air. It yowled at me as I did so. After bringing it over and checking it for injuries, I released it back onto the street.

“S’pose this path does look a little dangerous. Not to worry, it's a shortcut. I promise.” Songbird butted in. She chuckled with mirth as she spoke.

We started to make our way towards our destination. Aisne took on an entirely different atmosphere in the back alleys. People moved around furtively in the shadows. Everyone carried weapons and eyed each other mistrustfully as they moved. Despite not being abandoned, the atmosphere was no less hostile.

We were skirting through one of the poorer sections of the city. I had my doubts about the safety of this shortcut. Not for my sake, but for the other two. I chose to trust Songbird. If I wanted to truly put my hand on the pulse of the city, then I needed to take the risk. I couldn’t afford to be blind. That didn’t mean I hadn’t quietly added a layer of protection to the both of them.

The roofs here were flat topped and only a single story high. The walls were unwashed and everything stank like a fish market.

Then, I came to a stop. Before me was a sight so gruesome that it forced me to look around. There was nobody else in sight.

I turned back to the scene.

It was the corpse of a girl who looked only a few summers younger than me. She had been stripped naked. Her innards had been spilled all over the ground. It didn’t end there. Her hands had been nailed to the walls and ribs splayed out like open fingers. The look of pure agony on the corpse’s face suggested that it had been done to her while she was still alive. I felt bile rise up at the back of my throat. I averted my eyes. Beside her, there was text on the walls.

“Look away, Yvie.”

I stopped to examine the writing. Sloppy, broad crimson strokes of text that had been painted in the girl’s blood. It looked like it had been copied from somewhere else. The calligraphy lacked confidence.

I suspected the person who wrote them couldn’t properly read or write.

It reminded me of the Nine again. It was horrid and needlessly cruel. Even if the nobles did deserve to die, they didn’t deserve something like this. I felt the angels tightening their embrace in response. I stepped in close then touched it. The lettering was still wet.

Must have been done recently.

“What do you think it means?” I asked Songbird. It took effort to keep my emotions out of my voice.

“I dunno,” she glibly replied. “Don’t think it matters.”

“It does.” I denied, “If there really is a villain inside Aisne and this is their work, then it must be a part of their story.”

She snorted, but drew in closer, eying it more critically.

“I’d guess it’s some sort of revolutionary claptrap. Woe is me, everyone dies, so why dontcha rise up and stab the people in charge,” Songbird emoted, raising the back of her gauntleted dainty hand to her forehead theatrically. “Bet she was dying to join up.”

I swear I’ve been saddled with two kids rather than only one.

“Wrong time,” I told her flatly.

Usually I enjoyed a bit of dark humour. It didn’t seem appropriate while we were standing over the corpse.

“S’never the wrong time,” she replied, unashamedly. “Y’should see the jokes people tell when some stupid fuck tries to kill a lord and gets boiled alive in oil.”

I breathed in slowly, then said nothing in response. If she ended up attached to me in the long term, I’d definitely talk to her about this. I doubted I would be able to change her mind. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t try. It didn’t matter if this was the world we lived in. There were limits to what was acceptable.

Songbird alternated between several personalities. She frequently acted like a melodramatic teenager that never grew up. However, it was not the only face she wore. Less frequently, she took on a more serious façade. There were others as well, although I hadn’t seen enough of them to form a proper impression. I didn’t know which one was really her. Probably none of them. She seemed like the kind of person who wore many masks and never showed her true face.

I turned back to the poor girl’s corpse. Whoever she was, she deserved a better ending. I walked beside her, then gently closed her eyes. I took a moment to say a brief prayer, then turned the corpse into white smoke.

“Y’really praying for her?” Songbird sounded incredulous at the idea.

“Why not?”

“She probably did something real shit. Nobody nice dies this way.”

“It’s possible,” I admitted. “But she could just be a victim. We don’t know. Praying only takes a moment of my time, and well…” I trailed off.

There was some equivalent to heaven in this world. I didn’t know if the soul of the corpse deserved to go there or not. I wasn’t the one judging. All I knew was that praying definitely served a practical purpose here, and it didn’t cost me anything to do it.

I wouldn’t have the time on a battlefield. But in moments like this… It was the least I could do.

“M’travelling with a fucking saint,” she muttered. “You always do the right thing?”

“No. I did a lot of wrong things. Realized I hated it. I’m trying to do the right thing now. Praying costs me nothing. If I had to choose between this and something important, that’s when it truly has meaning.”

Yvette remained quiet during our dialogue. For a moment, I thought she was bothered by the corpse. I turned her way to comfort her. Dressed in green, she was standing still and staring off into the distance. I followed her eyes and saw she was watching a flock of birds on the rooftop.

Right…

It was like every person I’d met in northern Procer was a walking tragedy. They were broken so badly, they couldn’t even see where the pieces fit together any more. I knew I was the odd one out but… Becoming so used to tragedy that you were inured to it wasn’t something to be proud of. I’d been there before, and I didn’t want to go back there.

I wished Roland was around again. He added a bit of normal to my otherwise not so normal life.

The three of us kept moving.

The maze of narrow passages was confusing. I didn’t have the faintest clue how Songbird was navigating the place. Apparently there was a route out of these dilapidated buildings into the wealthier part of the city. I was dubious.

“Anyhow. We’re almost there. Just a few more turns-” Songbird was interrupted by a wail.

It sounded like it came from a nearby alley. If I took the state of the city into consideration, it was likely someone was being hurt.

Jerking into motion, I sprinted around the corner and ran head first into a wiry man who was missing one eye.

Both of us tumbled to the ground.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t see you,” the figure stammered out quickly in a squeaky voice as they climbed to their feet.

“I wasn’t paying attention either…” I trailed off.

The person had climbed to their feet and left before I had finished talking.

Odd.

Songbird leaned down. Her jerkin rustled as she did so. She reached towards the ground and picked something up. She examined it for a moment, then her eyes narrowed.

“Seems we're up for a spot of trouble,” Songbird sang, turning my way. Her voice was laced with a hint of mischief, and sparks twinkled in her eyes.

I had spent enough time with her on the road by now to know that meant something was about to go wrong. Normally it meant something small. I didn’t think that would be the case now.

Great.

“What did you find?”

She raised her hand my way and showed me what she had picked up. It was a letter sealed with wax. A symbol was painted on it near the top. It looked to have been done in a hurry. Despite how rough the work was, I could still make out what it was. The traced outline of a white crown under the heel of a black boot.

The sign of the rebellion.

It could have meant nothing. It might have only been a coincidence. I doubted it. I had suspected from the moment I stepped into the city that I would be stepping into a story. There would be no coincidences if this was a running narrative. That made this letter our first clue. The person we had stumbled into would be a member of this villain’s movement. Probably someone important as well. And there was a villain involved here. I had no evidence to support that, but I was still certain of it.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

I opened it.

“Wait Taylor don’t do that it’s going to-” the entire thing immediately went up in smoke.

As the letter combusted, I realized that it had been laced with a spell. I hadn’t even bothered to check.

“S’funny how you managed to burn our first clue,” Songbird chortled.

“Shut up,” I mumbled irritably in response.

I guess they have a wizard helping them.

Arms pistoning from side to side, I started running again.

Panning my gaze around, I looked for the man we had bumped into. I spotted a mother holding a child that was wailing in her arms as we went.

That explains the noise.

The others followed behind as I ran. I turned another corner. The streets suddenly opened out in the distance. There was a wide open circular space at the far end of the alleyway. A crowd was congregating within it.

It was difficult to make out what they were looking at. The street we were in was narrow and the walls of the nearby buildings occluded the view of the late afternoon sun. Clothes lines hung overhead between rooftops. Everything was steeped in darkness.

I squinted, then closed in some more. Most of the crowd was shorter than me, but not short enough to see over. Eventually, I found an elevated place to look from. I was standing on the front step of a run-down building. It was some way away from the rest of the crowd. We hadn’t left the refuge of our alleyway, but we were still close enough to see.

I started scanning the crowd, hoping to find our crook. It was probably hopeless. That didn’t stop me from making the effort.

In the middle of the crowd there was an open space with only a few people within. It was a troupe of street performers that were putting on some kind of show. A temporary stage had been built in the middle of the dusty road. To one side, one of the members had cut holes into a cloth suspended from some poles and placed a lantern behind it. The flickering light of the lantern cast eerie shadows. The figure behind the sheet moved his hands one way and another near the flame, constructing a shadowy scene with their hands.

Three more actors pantomimed fighting the shadows. Considering the fact that putting on an act like this depended a great deal on the environmental circumstances, it was well done. I didn’t have the right cultural background to understand what they were displaying. The audience clearly did. They were riveted.

I frowned.

If this was a story, then what kind of story was it? There was an extremist underground resistance movement fighting against the lawful authority. We had just stumbled into one of their members who had been in a hurry to reach somewhere. Following, we had ended up in front of a crowd featuring some kind of stage performance. Was this a part of it? Possibly. If it was a part of the narrative then…

Now was the time for the dramatic reveal. There would be some kind of attack or declaration made here.

“Tell me if either of you notice anything odd,” I stated.

Neither of them spoke. It didn’t matter. I could sense their agreement.

I started to look around. The problem was that I wasn’t convinced that the lawful authority didn’t deserve to die. I didn’t necessarily disagree with the movement itself. Their methods were the issue. And not just the bloody executions. I suspected that the rebels were deliberately inviting attacks onto innocents.

They were approaching this with the mindset that other people were expendable. All that mattered was achieving success. Follow that line of philosophy far enough, and you ended up in the same place I had been in the past. It was also exactly the same line of thought espoused by the nobility.

I felt Yvette tugging on my arm. I looked down at her. Wordlessly, she pointed towards the troupe member managing the shadows. I didn’t see what she was pointing at. It struck me a moment later.

Magic. There was something enchanted behind the shaded cloth. It didn’t take me long to work out what I thought it was. I assessed the working to be non-threatening. This presented a teaching opportunity.

“Without raising your voice, tell me what you think that does.”

Yvette frowned, biting her bottom lip. Her nose scrunched up for a moment, then she sneezed.

Glaring like an upset rabbit, she began to talk. “Well looking at the components used it's hard to tell it feels like something is missing the line work is a mess you keep complaining about mine but if that’s a finished spell then why can’t I be more messy?”

“Just because this wizard is bad at magic doesn’t mean you can be,” I replied. Her pout almost elicited a laugh. “You forgot to answer the question.”

Max would have castigated me for attempting whatever it was they were trying to do. That didn’t change the fact that whoever this group was, they had magic. This had the potential to become ugly.

“I think it's an illusion of some kind the lantern is used as a catalyst to fuel the effect it won’t do anything big until the flame is snuffed out but where are most of the components it seems like half the items required are missing.”

“I think it's set up to be cast remotely,” I explained. “The components are missing because the wizard isn’t here. He or she is somewhere else. Probably somewhere over there,” I pointed to a building with a good view of the scene in the distance. “Did you notice anything else?”

Biting her lip, her eyes darted back and forth. “Well I don’t think there is any High Arcana what does High Arcana look like anyhow you’ve mentioned it a few times but never shown it to me otherwise I can’t see anything else should I try sabotaging the spell?”

“Don’t do anything yet,” I declared. “And you’re right, there isn’t any. I haven’t shown you any because I can’t. I don’t know enough to teach about it. It’s also very dangerous. I wouldn’t show you any even if I could until we’re sure you have the basics sorted. We don’t know if you can use it at all. Not everyone can. If there was any in use here, we would have a much bigger problem.”

High Arcana was much higher order than regular magic. Allegedly, only a few sorcerers could even read it without forgetting what they saw. We had only seen it once or twice while in Callow. Half formed images in books about summoning creatures better left alone. I was a part of the lucky few. That didn’t make it any easier for me to understand. Parsing it was a nightmare, since it was almost entirely symbolic and personalized. It was just that I could if I wanted to.

Roland and Max had both sulked for over a week and called me the biggest waste of a sorcerer when they had found out. They speculated my nature was preventing me from being able to perform any magic. It was likely true. I wasn’t about to complain about it. If I had to choose between being able to perform sorcery and being able to rewrite reality as I wished, then I would always choose the latter.

That didn’t stop me from learning whatever I could about magic in case one day it became relevant.

“S’pose I should mention that trouble just arrived?” Songbird butted in. She pointed past the crowd. I followed the direction of her finger.

A city guard patrol was approaching in the distance.

There was a moment of tenseness as the guards and the crowd seemed to assess each other.

The person making the shadows snuffed out the lantern light.

The illusion started to take hold. I debated whether I should intervene. The effect didn’t look hostile. I decided against stepping in. I knew enough to judge this spell wouldn’t hurt anyone. Seeing what the villain was trying to do in a low stakes environment would give me a better idea of how he fought.

The shadows all around us began to writhe, grasping towards the troupe. They looked like the hands of corpses if you didn’t try to make out the details. Bloody hands that were crawling forward on their fingertips. The moment you focused on them, it became obvious that it wasn’t real.

“This spell is really messy there’s so much waste and the illusion isn’t that believable I mean look at the fingers they smudge together a bit and the crawling is kind of blending into the ground whoever taught this wizard didn’t do a good job maybe you should teach them Taylor.”

“I think one student is enough for now.”

If I could actually perform sorcery, I was certain I could do better. But it didn’t matter if you weren’t paying attention to detail. I took a look around the crowd. They were enraptured. There were understated mutterings. People sounded angry and afraid. They started to back away.

The hands started to climb on top of each other as they drew together. Gradually, they reshaped into a face that looked over the crowd.

“All becomes dust,” it hissed.

The face dissolved into shadows. A new image was formed from the remaining gloom. It was an image of a crown. There was a boot hovering above it. The tenebrous heel came down and the crown shattered. The shadows faded away.

The illusion was awful. I could certainly do a much better approximation of the same effect. But I was willing to admit that this villain did have an understanding of spectacle.

The citizens and the guards assessed each other for a tense moment. I subtly dosed everyone with calmness in order to hopefully prevent the situation from escalating. Perhaps we could resolve this peacefully.

“By the order of the rightful ruler of Aisne Prince Quentin, informal gatherings such as these are a sign of sedition and are punishable by death. Bare your blades, men.” A whiney voice called out from the patrol. It was a man wearing an elaborate uniform. Probably a noble of some kind.

Fuck.

It was at that moment I realized what was going to happen if I didn’t step in. The guards were going to attack the crowd. It didn’t matter if they were calm. This was calculated, deliberate. I wasn’t about to allow a fight like this to occur. It would be bloody and nobody would be happy with the aftermath. I started to reach out.

I considered using an emotional attack, but decided against it. For them to be truly effective, they also had to be debilitating for extended periods of time. I would have to stick around for another patrol to show up if I did. There was a chance someone would wander past and take advantage of their vulnerable state if I didn’t wait. I didn’t want to have to explain my attack against the current “lawful” authority to anyone. It would complicate everything.

The guards drew their short swords while I deliberated. What else could I do? Disarming them might halt the fight. So I heated the handles of their weapons. The wood caught fire. I couldn’t see it, but I knew that the metal beneath had turned white.

Yelping, the guards dropped the blades.

Serves you right.

I turned back to the burgeoning conflict. The patrol seemed determined to continue with the attack despite having been disarmed. Members of the crowd had drawn weapons of their own. They were angry, shouting wildly. Even after I had tried to calm them, they were appraising the guards like lambs for the slaughter.

How do I stop this?

I could try to talk them down. I doubted it would work. Without outright controlling them, the hatred was just too deep.

For a moment, I considered co-opting this movement’s symbology. Using shadows to trick everyone into thinking this was the work of the rebellion. Put on a scary enough show, and I could just frighten everyone away. I decided against it. Doing so might see me mistaken for them, and I didn’t like the way that they fought.

It wasn’t just that.

Image mattered. More than it did on Earth Bet. If I played into the wrong stories, they might actually come back to bite me later. I was a heroine and would appear like one. Using dark colours and themes was the first step to falling for every hero in a traditional story. I was committing to doing the opposite.

What represents me?

I was about doing better. Making the right decisions and not the wrong ones, then helping other people do the same. Redemption. I didn’t have a catchy phrase like this rebellion clearly did, but I could come up with a symbol.

… There was no way I was ever going to be able to hide in a crowd this way without influencing their perception of me.

An illusory wall of incandescent light fell between the civilians and the now disarmed guards. It blocked off the alley the patrol was in. The effect was blinding, almost impossible to look at. An image was emblazoned in the middle of either side.

A round badge with a silver ring encircling it.

Inside the circle was the image of a golden staircase leading up into puffy white clouds. A silver handrail adorned the right-hand side of the staircase. There was nothing on the left. At the bottom was a field of blood and fire.

Unfortunately, it made it difficult for me to assess the conflict as well. I needed a bird’s eye view. I surrounded myself in a mostly transparent sphere with an opaque base, then levitated it up into the air. It was easier than trying to fly myself. It took some nimble manoeuvring to pass between clothes lines without disrupting them. I managed. Eventually, I had a good look over the battlefield.

I looked down.

Both the civilians and the guards stopped and gawked. Many shaded their eyes and flinched. They were so distracted by the scene that none of them had bothered to look up. A dule of doves coed softly and started flying off from the roof of one of the buildings. The moment of stillness broke.

The crowd charged towards the wall of light. It looked as if they were planning to attack the guards. Were they actually insane? They might have numbers, but that didn’t count for much against proper armour. Even with the advantage of weapons, it still wasn’t worth the cost.

I hardened my construct. They beat against it for a few heartbeats angrily before realizing that their efforts were futile.

Utter madness.

Once the situation set in, the crowd started to make their escape. It was a disorganized mess. People running and pushing against each other. Grimacing, I hit them with another dose of calmness. The last hadn’t been especially strong. It didn’t take much longer for the crowd to make themselves scarce.

The guards were mulling around on the opposite side of my barrier. Their weapons were still strewn on the floor. I was tempted to melt them down to slag.

No, don’t do that.

It would be satisfying. They would need to explain to their superiors what happened to their equipment on their own. But it would put me on bad terms with the nobility from the outset. This could still be explained away.

I lowered myself back to the ground.

“S’pose that was fun to watch,” Songbird sang.

“It wasn’t fun to do.”

“Y’should have just blissed ‘em all.”

“I was tempted to.”

“Y’really shit at this keeping your head low thing.”

“I can be,” I replied, frustrated. “I’m just not willing to just stand aside.”

“Well, you pretty much announced you’re here.”

“It’s going to complicate everything.”

“Plan one takes an arrow through the heart,” Songbird mimed the action of an arrow striking her theatrically.

“Think you can lie our way out of this?”

“S’pose I could. What do you want me to say?”

“Convince them we only just arrived. I saw they were in danger and moved to help.”

“Can do. Drop the barrier for me, will you?”

I allowed the wall of light and my sphere to disappear. Then the three of us moved towards the guards.

“Salutations,” Songbird spread her arms wide. “The three of us couldn’t help but notice y’were in a spot of trouble. Hope you don’t mind us helping out?”

The leader turned our way. The surface of his armour had been painted over with red ornamentation. It stood out and was impractical.

“Good day to you,” the man said. He looked at Songbird quizzically. “Would you care to-”

“Y’see, skinny over here is all cosied up with the Angels,” she pointed my way. “Crowd looked like they were about to gut you. Bleeding heart that she is, she couldn’t have that.”

The man turned his attention to me.

“The aegis that held off the agitators was formed by your hand?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have my thanks. Would that you had restrained them, then they could have faced justice.”

“Taylor here is a gentle soul. She wouldn’t hurt anyone. Sworn to Compassion, y’know.” Songbird grinned my way as she spoke.

I swear I am going to make her pay for this.

“Would it trouble you to soothe the burns on our hands? Some foul miscreant from among the rebel’s flock set our blades alight.”

“Sure,” I replied.

I wasn’t happy about healing them, but now that Songbird had started talking, I had an act to sell.

Killing everyone and putting myself in charge would be so much easier than this.

It took only a little while longer of Songbird shmoozing the patrol before they chose to depart. It was amusing watching them gingerly hold their blades by the wrong ends. The remains of the handles were still far too hot.

It was only then I realized something important.

The street actors were gone.

I had been so focused on resolving the conflict that I hadn’t even seen them escape.

“Did either of you see where the actors went?” I asked hopefully.

“No I was too busy watching what you were doing I think I can make illusions like that if I try but not as quickly actually maybe if I-”

“They slipped away with the crowd.” Songbird interjected.

“Well, let’s check that building.”

The building itself was deserted. Our footprints were the first to disturb the dust. It seemed that my guess had been off. It was frustrating. This was an opportunity to find out more about the villain. An opportunity that it seemed we had lost.

I sighed, “We should continue on then.”

Songbird grinned. Then, she leaned in close, placing a hand on my shoulder. “This way,” she whispered, winking at me, and started to walk away.

The two of us followed behind. She went down another alley to our left that was shrouded behind a grey cloth. A couple of turns later, and we were back on the main road. We came face to face with an opulent four-storey building that purported to be a rest house. It had white walls and stone tables set out around the tiled front porch. Each floor had balconies extending outwards, with green and gold banners draped from beneath.

The soft, lilting notes of a harp could be heard from inside.

“Come on in,” Songbird said cheerfully. She set her palm on the oak door handle and proceeded to throw open the double doors. Her ill-fitting leather tunic swayed from side to side as she sauntered in.

Except for the owner, the place was almost entirely empty. It was jarring. Especially considering how well maintained the building was. There were a bunch of empty tables with chairs placed on top of them, legs facing towards the ceiling. The shutters were open, and the place was well lit.

On the right-hand side, there was a stage with a musician in a lavender dress on it. She was playing the harp.

Were it not for the tension out on the streets, I would call the Fated Connections welcoming.

The civil war had clearly hit the place hard.

Songbird had immediately made her way towards the proprietor. She was a short elderly lady who looked to be in her late sixties, with a face shrivelled like a prune.

“Back again, Song? Didn’t I tell you not to darken my door for another year?” The proprietor’s voice was shrill.

“Don’tcha know it,” Songbird said jovially, seizing her in a hug.

“Get off me, you unruly barbarian. Your jerkin is all dirty and carries the stench of a horse,” the old lady groused.

“Awww, I know you love me,” Songbird teased, finally letting her go.

“They with you?” The woman pointed at us accusingly. Her voice sounded as if it was a crime.

“You bet,” beamed Songbird.

The woman’s face soured at that and her shoulders seemed to slump. “Fine, all of you come on in, but don’t track any mud in here, you hear me!” she declared.

“How do you manage? This place is huge.” I asked.

“Lots of people used to work here,” she grumbled. “Then those shits started fighting. Still have a few helpers. Why, looking for work?”

“No, I’m fine.”

She went back to polishing a table, ignoring us.

Shutting the door behind us, we followed behind Songbird. She led us up a varnished wooden staircase on the left-hand side of the room. Songbird moved directly towards a table on a balcony once we had finished ascending to the second floor. We all pulled down the chairs and sat.

“Is it safe to talk?” I whispered to Songbird.

“S’fine, Maude is one of Big M’s people.” Then she bellowed, “Isn’t that right, Aunt Maude?”

“You’re a pest, Song!” Maude shouted back from down below.

I decided not to question those two’s relationship. It seemed wiser than the alternative.

“Aisne looks even worse than I expected.”

“You really made a mess. Everyone prob’ly knows where you are.”

“I messed up,” I admitted. “We’ll work with what we have.”

“S’now that we’re here, what’s the plan?”

“You’re allowed to make use of Princess Mathilda’s spies, right?”

“Hands,” she interrupted.

“What?” I inquired, befuddled.

“They’re called Hands, not spies.”

“What’s the difference?” I was genuinely curious. Was it just a meaningless distinction, or did they serve some other function?

“We’re not doing anything shady under the table. Whoever is in charge of this dump would usually know we’re here. The situation being what it is right now, we’re making a bit of an exception. The Hands are a quiet way for Mathilda to gab with the other Princes, all unofficial. We do look into stuff, but if the person up top here tells us to back off, we leave things alone,” she explained.

That did sound more like diplomatic ambassadors than spies.

“Hands, then,” I corrected. “Aisne looks even worse than we were told. It seems there is a villain trying to stage a full on rebellion. We need to find out more about them. I also need you to look into the nobility. Anyone who can claim the title of Prince. I want to know everything about them.”

“Got it,” she said cheerfully. “We’re looking into the boot and the Princes. What next?”

I took a moment to compose my thoughts. I remembered the question I had asked myself before. If this was a story, what kind of story was it? The Principate had been locked in a state of civil war for years. There was no clear winner. A villain rises up. Unhappy with how events are playing out, they stage a rebellion. What do they want to do? I wasn’t sure, but I doubted that they planned for a peaceful resolution at the end of it.

Either they want to put themselves in charge, or burn it all to the ground.

The former was an acceptable outcome if they were more reasonable than every other Calernian villain I had met. But that would be asking too much of them. Painting the walls with people’s intestines was not something a reasonable revolutionary did. A villain wanting to set themselves up as in charge needed order. At the end of the story, something would need to remain for them to be able to call it a win. They couldn’t just tear everything down because you couldn’t rule over ruins.

“The villain’s called the Revolutionary, right?”

“S’right,” Songbird replied, tapping her fingernails on the table.

All becomes dust.

I didn’t think the villain wanted to take over. Everything we had seen so far pointed towards burning everything to the ground.

Their win condition was to make people so angry that it became impossible to restore order. Kill the reasonable people and then fan the flames between everyone else.

“We need to do a few things. First: I want you to arrange a talk for me with some people at the bottom levels of authority. Not the peasants, the ones directly above. Still low enough in the hierarchy that they know what people want.”

“You’re planning to have them pass on a message?”

“Yeah. It’s the best way to talk to the people being hurt.”

“I’ll see what I can do. S’not gonna be easy though. I don’t exactly have that kind of authority. We’ll need to grease the wheels.”

“Fine,” I allowed. “Second: I want you to find out who people would tolerate leading,” I declared. “Not the extremists. The voices of reason.”

“Why’s that?” Songbird asked.

“Because if they aren’t already dead, then the Revolutionary will kill them.”

“And third?”

I frowned. “Haven’t thought of one yet.”

“You’re not trying to kill the villain?”

“I have to find the villain first. Someone who fights like this… Finding them won’t be easy. It’s easier to try denying them their objectives. Keep the reasonable people alive. Remove the extremists from power. Then force the Revolutionary to come to us.”

“How ‘bout your books?”

“I almost forgot. If you have the time, please look into them.”

“Y’know you’re going to have to deal with the nobles?”

“I know. They’re probably going to send me invites anyhow. I’ll talk to them.”

She hummed to herself for a moment. “Don’t think your plan’s gonna work.”

“Why’s that?”

If she had any advice, I’d take it.

“People don’t gab if they don’t want to gab. You want them to negotiate, but that isn’t happening. Both sides want blood. They don’t need to talk for blood.”

“I need to give them a reason to negotiate?”

“S’right.”

“How can I fix that?”

“Give them a bigger threat to worry about. Something they hate more than each other.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Doesn’t need to be a real threat. They just need to think it is.”

“Like what?”

“Fake an attack from Praes. You’re scary enough. Make an illusion of the Warlock.”

“Tell me something that doesn’t involve threatening people,” I stated, exasperated. “I know how to do that. I’m trying not to.”

“S’pose if you killed the right people, the problem would go away. Not gonna be easy.”

We’ve graduated from threats to murder.

“Any ideas that involve negotiating?”

“Nothing that I think you’ll like.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Conversation continued for a while. I thought about what Songbird said. We passed a few more suggestions back and forth. I didn’t like them.

I stared out over the city, watching the sun finally set. The Revolutionary had me worried. More worried than facing the Warlock. The Warlock was an enemy I could face. I knew what to prepare for, even if the thought of fighting him was daunting. This…

The Revolutionary wasn’t an enemy who fought with swords and spells. If I tried to prepare for some major confrontation against them, I would be setting myself up to lose. Actually, I wasn’t fighting against people at all. The peasants were being mistreated. They deserved better. It was just the answer they came to was wrong. I needed a way to convince them that there was a better way to get what they wanted. I had to persuade them that tearing down everything wouldn’t fix anything in the long term.

It bothered me. I wasn’t fighting against people. I was fighting against an idea.