Only Villains Do That

“Here’s the thing, though,” Biribo continued, weaving back and forth in the air as if slightly worked up, “these are gwynnek feathers.”

“These are our gwynnek feathers!” Mimi exclaimed in outrage, pointing. “Look, Naz! Melon blonde with red striations and black tips, those are from Blanci!”

“Wait, are you saying dark elves plucked one of your gwynneks?” I demanded.

“No, no,” said Nazralind, frowning up at the totem. She also looked unhappy, though less agitated than Mimi. “It’s molting season. Their winter undercoats are coming in and they’re losing some of the bigger wing and tail feathers, those come in annually. We’ve been really careful to pick them up so we don’t leave obvious trails everywhere, but…I guess we missed some.”

“Some, yeah, but you’ve done a better job than this,” Biribo chimed in. “I’ve taken notice, boss, they’ve grabbed most of the dropped feathers. Someone could probably make one totem from what they missed, but not enough from one single bird to match this way, and definitely not enough to make totems to encircle the whole fortress.”

“What are you saying?” I asked.

“Whoever made and hung this thing has been inside North Watch,” Biribo said gravely. “They’ve been in the gwynnek pen itself. This person picked up dropped feathers from around the birds, without being seen, heard, or smelled, at a time when the birds in question are tense and uneasy about being in a new home. Naz or any of the girls can explain how freakin’ difficult that would be.”

“I’d frankly scoff at the idea if this thing weren’t hanging right in front of me,” Nazralind agreed. “Sneaking up on nervous roosting gwynneks is a terrible idea. We should have found the half-stripped skeleton of anyone who tried it.”

“Which fits the evidence,” said Biribo. “A Savindar shadow scout could do that; presumably a Shylverrael equivalent is just as good. Lady Grey couldn’t have pulled it off even with that dagger of hers. And they’ve done all this since yesterday morning, when we moved the birds in.”

Ever since getting home to North Watch from our last triumphantly disastrous trip to Gwyllthean, I’d lived with a constant prickling on the back of my neck that came from the knowledge that an invisible assassin might spring out at me at any moment. That had suddenly intensified tenfold.

“Excellent,” I muttered. “This is precisely what I don’t fucking need.”

“I told you,” Sato muttered back.

“Boss, I haven’t explained the important part yet,” Biribo said, zipping back and forth in agitation. “This thing is incorrect. These totems are supposed to be made with harpy and naga feathers!”

“Wait, naga have feathers?” Aster exclaimed. It was a relief not to be the dummy asking ignorant questions for once. Finally, someone else’s turn over the isekai barrel.

“Instead of hair, yeah. But that’s the point, it’s a declaration of power. The beast tribes make decorative and communicative art like this using shells and feathers and whatnot from animals they hunt, so the dark elves make them from the sapient races they control just to flex on ‘em. It does the trick, the local tribes do not fuck with the dark elves.”

“Nobody does,” Sato agreed, nodding fervently.

I squinted up at the hanging totem. “Then…what’s the significance of making this with junk scavenged from the fortress? Doesn’t that undermine their point? Or are they making a statement about how they can get in there?”

“It wouldn’t have the same import, there are gwynneks all over Dlemathlys,” said Sakin. “Even wild ones, on Dount. I dunno if there are any flocks close to here, but beast tribes can undoubtedly get feathers like this from hunting.”

I turned to look thoughtfully at Sato, who immediately flattened his ears.

“I didn’t know that,” he said defensively. “I didn’t! I only know a little bit about…tribe stuff. The important things. My mom warned me about totems like this, to stay away from anything guarded by them. You don’t take risks with dark elves.”

“I believe you,” I said. “The question is whether the cat tribe will recognize the difference, and what they’ll make of it.”

“I…” He seemed to shrink in on himself. “Maybe? I…don’t know…what the cats know. Probably their shaman would…”

“They can tell,” said Biribo. “We know this was made by a real shadow scout, because we know where those feathers came from, but they might think they’re fake. It’s hard to say what they’ll do in that case. Speaking of which, boss, two important points about the dark elves: first, Shylverrael has been developing in total isolation for a century and a half, so nobody knows what they’re actually like, and second, the Savin culture they’re descended from was prone to elaborate intrigues and scheming. So literally the only thing we can assume about the Shylver is they plot in complicated patterns. I think it’d be a big mistake to make any assumptions about their plans or mindset.”

“Let’s put that on hold for a second,” I said. “All right, Sato, a deal’s a deal. We’re square. You sure you’re not interested in joining us?”

He backed up a step, eyes flicking up to the totem, and shook his head. “I don’t… Maybe if you, uh…make some kind of…arrangement with the dark elves, we can talk. I’m not gonna be in there when they storm the fortress. You don’t even have your gates up.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed. “My offer still stands, though. Find me anything interesting or useful and I’ll trade fairly for it. And I don’t mind putting a hot meal in you in the process, if you’re willing to visit long enough. So don’t be a stranger.”

Sato glanced rapidly around, at the armed people surrounding him and the dark forest beyond. “I can go?”

“I won’t stop you,” I said, nodding. “Just keep in mind what I said.”

He carefully slipped away, Adelly and Mimi making room for him, and paused at the edge of the circle to look back at us and self-consciously run his hands over his new coat.

“…thanks.”

Then he was gone, bounding away into the night.

“Bye, cutie!” Keffin hollered after him, waving. Kastrin groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Biribo?” I murmured.

“Boy’s making tracks, boss,” my familiar reported. “He’s a lot more interested in getting far from us than snooping, clearly.”

Sakin coughed. “So, no offense, Lord Seiji, but what was the point of all that? We know these have only been here a couple days at the most. Kasser’s cutting teams would’ve found ‘em, they’re not far from the fortress. And now that kid’s out there loose, knowing who and where we are.”

“Well, it’s not as if we could have imprisoned or killed him just for knowing that,” Nazralind said belligerently.

He gave her an exceedingly bland smile. “It is, in fact, precisely like that, my lady.”

“Button it,” I ordered, seeing Naz swelling up and Sakin beginning to grin more widely. “Neither of you are qualified to be my conscience. That was a calculated risk, Sakin, and it was worth paying him off with a coat. Our entire strategy hinges on our willingness to offer people a better deal than they’ll get under the Clans. I’m not going to abuse anyone just because I have the power to, that would undermine the whole campaign.” I turned to face him directly. “Or do you feel I have been insufficiently ruthless toward my enemies?”

“I don’t think anyone would make that claim,” said Aster.

Sakin folded down his hands at me, grinning hugely now. “Quite right, Lord Seiji, that makes sense. I do feel the need to mention…alternatives…but if your strategy is proceeding as planned, that’s what matters.”

“Good. All right then: analysis. What can we conclude about this?”

“Well, it seems the dark elves aren’t hostile,” Sakin said, still grinning as if this were all a delightful puzzle for us to solve. “Whether or not they know who you are, Lord Seiji, assassinating you and your whole inner circle while we all slept would’ve been a lot easier and less risky than this business.”

“That’s reassuring,” Aster said sourly.

“Sarcasm aside, yeah it is,” said Biribo. “Up to a point, at least. Just cos the dark elves don’t want us dead doesn’t mean this isn’t going to be serious trouble, boss. It would be very much in character for Savin and presumably Shylver elves to watch carefully and gain an understanding of you before they make whatever move they’re going to—unless they wanted you dead, in which case they’d’ve just done that. Right away the main issue I see is that the elf or elves who did this clearly don’t have access to the official resources they’d need to make the totems properly. Which suggests…”

“A renegade,” I finished, turning back to frown up at the totem.

“Again, dark elves are prone to complicated schemes and we don’t know what they’re thinking, so assumptions are dangerous. With that said… Yeah, I think the likeliest explanation is that this is the work of a rogue individual or faction not authorized by Shyverrael itself.”

“If they’re renegades, that could be why they’re out here in the forest when dark elves love to keep to themselves,” Adelly suggested. “Shyverrael might still not know we’re here, Lord Seiji.”

“Assumptions,” Biribo warned.

“So,” I growled, ire rising to drown out the unease, “not only do I get my long-awaited introduction to an actual Viryan culture right when I’m busy and don’t have time for their shit, but they’ve decided to introduce me by plunging me neck-deep into their fucking politics.”

“Boss, I dunno how to break this to you,” Biribo said hesitantly, “but that is pretty much the only introduction anybody gets to Viryan cultures. Especially dark elves.”

“I mean, they’re still Viryan,” Sakin pointed out. “If you introduce yourself by Immolating the ones who annoy you, the rest will fall in line. Unlike Sanorites, they’ll probably be positively impressed by it.”

“That’s a pretty sweeping oversimplification, but there’s a kernel of truth in it,” Biribo admitted. “Also, boss, this isn’t without an immediate upside. The intelligence operatives of a culture where everybody can go invisible are stealth experts by default and counter-stealth experts by specialization. If there are Shylver shadow scouts enforcing our hands-off status, Lady Gray isn’t getting within bowshot of the walls alive. Trust me, I’ve seen that woman in action; dagger or no dagger, she’s not a match for them.”

I had to draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly to steady myself against the surge of emotions that brought. It would be a relief not to have that ax—or dagger—looming over our heads, but the thought of someone else getting the kill made me start twitching. I wanted that woman dead, by my hand. I wanted to hold up her severed head so I could watch the stupid look on her face while the last oxygen dripped from her brain.

I also wanted that fucking dagger. Oh, the havoc I could cause with that… And also that anti-spell-targeting artifact, that would spare me having to worry about half the Blessed who might come after me.

All of it I laboriously pushed aside. Feelings weren’t important right now—in fact they pretty much never were, in my experience. What I needed now was to plan.

“All right,” I said aloud after an expectant pause in which everyone stared at me. “I’m moving up our timetable. Let’s head back inside. Naz, Mimi, you two need to get a good night’s sleep; tomorrow I need all of you heading out on that planned hunting trip.”

“Tomorrow?” Nazralind asked, raising her eyebrows.

I nodded. “Sorry to put you right to work like that, but we can’t afford to wait around.”

“It’s the opposite of a problem, Lord Seiji.” She shook her head. “We came here to do our share, not to hang out and relax.”

“Glad to hear it. We need fresh meat—especially if we’re gonna keep those gwynneks, they’ve already eaten most of what we had stored. Scout the territories we’ve taken over, gather meat, and above all move fast. I’m sending you in particular because Lady Gray cannot catch up with you on those mounts, and I’m betting even the dark elves can’t, no matter how sneaky they are. You have one week, then I need everyone back here. We are going to spend that week buckling down on training. Then, before the dark elves or Clan Olumnach or whoever fucking else can steal another march on us, we’re moving in force.”

Easier said than done, because everything is.

The next week was, in a word, tense. I was pleased and proud of how well my growing army handled it. I had immediately decided to be straight with them; when I addressed everyone at breakfast the day after finding the totems, I did emphasize that the dark elven presence meant we had a measure of protection, but I didn’t try to mislead anyone about the seriousness of this. I needed these people to trust me, which meant I could not afford to deceive them because I wasn’t a good enough liar to pull it off and also too many people had already seen the totem and heard the explanation.

It was a strange constant of my life on Ephemera that I kept getting railroaded into doing the right thing just by exercising basic sense and not acting like Darth Vader on cocaine, which seemed to be the baseline for the ruling class here.

So it was tense, knowing that an unknown number of dark elves of uncertain motivations were apparently prowling through our own fortress with impunity. I instituted security procedures requiring people to be in groups of at least two at all times, and report anything out of place (which we immediately had to walk back to reporting anything from public resources out of place because the less neat among us were accidentally terrorizing their roommates by moving dirty clothes). The only real resistance came from the Rats when I decreed that children had to stay inside the walls and be accompanied when out of public areas; I mollified them by putting them in charge of hunting elf tracks and instructing anyone tasked with chaperoning them not to obstruct this extremely critical duty.

For my part, I kept Junko with me at all times. If the dark elves could sneak under the collective noses of the gwynneks, the dog probably wouldn’t be able to sniff them out either, but hell, it made me feel better and she loved the attention.

If anything, the intensified training regime helped. Minifrit explained to me that people would cope with stress much better if they felt like they were doing something productive about it, which sounded like an old housewife superstition to me but damn if it didn’t work. Everybody buckled down to their combat practice and the improvements were noticeable. I had to say I personally enjoyed having Goose back and resuming my personal training routine, even if I had an artifact sword that practically did my fighting for me now. It seemed wise to know how to do it the old-fashioned way, and the process helped occupy my mind.

There was no recognizable sign of Lady Gray all week, and no further hint of dark elven presence that we discovered. Biribo said their inherent stealth ability varied in both type and strength; he claimed to be able to see through some, but figured a professional spy would either be able to defeat his senses or recognize what a familiar was and stay out of his range. The only traces of anything out of the ordinary that turned up before the gwynnek riders came back were clusters of large pawprints in the forest outside. The catfolk had clearly grown curious about the totems and though we didn’t see them in person, they were investigating our borders. So far, at least, they didn’t dare come inside the circle the elves had marked off.

Tense.

Right on time, Nazralind and the ladies returned, carrying scouting reports and saddlebags full of meat both familiar to me and not. There were apparently deer and goats around here, plus huge lizards and arthropods that I was pretty sure should be too big to survive in this atmosphere, but considering we were on an island in the sky it seemed pointless to complain about the goddesses violating the square cube law. Well, meat was meat, and we weren’t in a position to be picky. Tasted kind of like crab.

I gave them the night after their return to rest up from the trip, designating the bathhouse for their exclusive use, and the next day we moved out for our first major strike.

It was time to bring the fight to the Clans. So to speak.

Caer Yviredh was a laughable excuse for a castle, fortunately for us.

Nazralind explained the politics involved during the trip, in far more detail than I needed; I heard enough to understand that Clan Aelthwyn didn’t stand for its nearby vassals having significant defenses and then just let the sound of her voice wash over me like rain on windows. We arrived just after nightfall to find basically a sizable manor house, with some decorative crenelations around its steep tiled roof but little in the way of actual defenses. The manor’s grounds—which in total were smaller than North Watch—were surrounded by a garden wall short enough that we could have scaled it by having someone stand on someone else’s shoulders, if I were willing to take that long. It was also crenelated, and those were also an empty architectural frill as it didn’t even have a walkway on top and according to Naz wasn’t thick enough to support one. The only actual defenses were the gatehouse which encompassed the main entrance, on the road leading straight up from Clan Yviredh’s nearby village, and watchtowers at two corners of the estate, one of which had a small exterior door which could only be opened from the inside.

Since fucking around with the gatehouse would risk our being spotted from the village, the rear tower was our in.

“You’re up, Adelly,” I murmured when our thirty-strong strike force was gathered in the nearest available cover, a stand of khora between two farms some thirty paces—meters, dammit—from the wall.

She handed the Lightning Staff to Nazralind and, grinning eagerly, pulled the Featherweight Tunic on over her head. “All right. Wish me luck!”

“Don’t be lucky,” I advised, “be good.”

“You got it, Lord Seiji!”

“There’s one man inside the tower,” said Biribo, “currently not near a window or the roof ladder. He’s sitting down. Whatever he’s doing, this is your opening.”

Adelly took the stinger Aster handed her, already loaded with a tranquilizer dart, and flashed us all a wide grin. “Ittekimasu!”

Then she was off, bounding across the slope toward the walls and leaving me blinking.

“Wh—when—did she just—”

“Means basically ‘I’m off,’ right?” Aster murmured. “You say it when you leave the fortress. A lot of the girls are making a deliberate effort to pick up your little phrases, Lord Seiji.”

“That’s…not exactly how you use that,” I muttered. I guess it wasn’t wrong, but this situation… Aster just smiled and patted my shoulder.

The way Adelly was moving reminded me of an astronaut on the moon, and also reminded me why I hated using that damn tunic. It was the artifact which got the least use among us, since the Featherweight enchantment was incompatible with the Surestep and Mastery enchantments. As the name implied, it reduced the wearer’s weight by something like four fifths without reducing their strength or sturdiness, enabling them to jump incredibly high and fall huge distances without getting hurt.

That meant it played poorly with enchantments that corrected your body’s movement as they didn’t account for the magically diminished weight. Using the Mastery enchantments on Aster’s or my swords, or the Surestep on my boots, would cause our bodies to automatically move in ways which would send us flailing to the ground if our weight were so hugely reduced, probably with a dislocated limb in the process. All three of us had trained with it, but since Aster and I liked our artifacts, actually putting on the Featherweight Tunic during operations fell to Adelly, our only other Blessed with Might.

She was a former member of the King’s Guild, a registered adventurer who’d achieved the Blessing but never managed to get her hands on an artifact before her career stalled out and she couldn’t make Guild dues, or then rent and food, and had ended up in Cat Alley. The way Adelly beamed at the chance to use artifacts on an actual job was as pure and touching as the Rats the first time they got hot meals, new clothes and their own beds.

Adelly vaulted over the wall effortlessly, leaving us nothing but to watch the manor in tense silence.

“Biribo?” I muttered.

“We’re still clear, boss. This position isn’t visible from the village and I’d warn you if anybody was coming.”

“I meant how is Adelly doing?”

“What, you want a move-by-move narration? Girl knows what she’s about, boss, by the time I finished describing it she’d be done. There, see? No need to be a mother goose.”

The tower door swung open and Adelly leaned out, beckoning to us.

“That’s our cue,” I said, stepping out from behind the khora. “Advance team on me. The rest of you know your jobs.”

At the somewhat jumbled chorus of affirmations, I silently reflected that Adelly might have the right idea. There was something to be said for a short, concise “hai” in response to orders.

I dashed up the slope, which was pleasantly effortless after all the physical training I’d endured on this planet, both deliberate and incidental. My coat and cloak flared dramatically, which no doubt looked impressive but was a tad inconvenient; I hadn’t done a lot of running when in my Healer garb. With the advance crew of fifteen tailing me, I made it to the tower in seconds and slipped inside, immediately making for the door to the inner grounds and noting the unconscious guard with a dart still stuck in his cheek.

That made me wince. Well, at least she hadn’t hit his eye. I’d have felt obligated to Heal that, and then we’d have to re-dart him. Guy could live with a swollen cheek.

“Nice work, Adelly,” I said in passing. I needed to push straight through into the grounds, just because there wasn’t room in the dinky little tower for the whole team.

“Thanks, Lord Seiji!” Adelly had already shrugged out of the Featherweight Tunic so she could walk normally again, and now collected the Lightning Staff from Nazralind.

The grounds were pleasantly landscaped, complete with well-trimmed grass and some of the ground-hugging Ephemeral bushes which lacked woody parts that crawns would devour. Feathery vines climbed the walls and there were some statues, but apparently small decorative khora weren’t a thing. Made sense; I thought I remembered someone telling me they spread from underground root systems, which was why the plantations could only exist on an island that already had wild khora.

“Biribo?”

“We’re still clear, boss. There are seven men in the front gatehouse, all but one asleep—that’s gotta be most of the Clansguard. The shrine with the Spirit is over there by the other tower. Eleven people in the manor house, the biggest concentrations are six in what I think is a dining room and three the kitchen where the rear entrance is. One individual upstairs and one over by the front door.”

“Kitchen’s where the servants will be,” I said aloud for the benefit of my followers spilling out of the tower behind me. “We need to subdue them and get information. Everybody remember to pull your punches, we’re not here to spill blood and we definitely don’t want to harm working class folks just surviving in this place. Aster, take the rear and watch for any guards. Kastrin, Ismreth, you’re on point. Don’t let anyone raise an alarm but don’t fire if you don’t have to.”

“Right!”

“Understood, Lord Seiji.”

Kastrin and Lady Ismreth were our best shots with the little stingers, and also were both cool-headed enough that I trusted them to act appropriately and not do unnecessary harm. Kastrin was a tad trigger-happy but not malicious.

We hustled across the grounds to the kitchen door under Biribo’s direction, the three of us in the lead. I grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, stepping aside to make room for Kastrin and Ismreth to insert themselves into the kitchen doorway, weapons first.

From within there came one half-shriek, aborted by the twang of a stinger firing. I rushed in after them, the rest of the crew on my heels.

Three servants were in the kitchen: a middle-aged woman in a splattered apron, looking shocked and furious as she backed against the counter, a visibly terrified young man already cowering in the corner, and an unfortunate maid unconscious on the floor with a sleeping dart protruding from her chest. Ismreth was the one with a dart still loaded, and she had wisely trained it on the woman whom I took to be the cook. I suspected that was the only thing keeping the woman under control; she looked mad enough to charge us, though her eyes were on the miniature crossbow in Ismreth’s hands.

“Where is Rhaem Fladdurd?” I demanded.

“Flaerdwyd,” Nazralind corrected from behind me.

“I just said that!”

“Oh, no you don’t,” the cook snarled, snatching up a rolling pin and brandishing it at me. “I don’t care who you are, you plundering bastard, you leave that boy alone! He’s been through enough without…whatever in the Goddess’s name this is!”

“Protective of the young,” I mused, stepping fully into the kitchen and letting the rest of my followers crowd in behind, weapons up. “Defiant in the face of overwhelming force. I very much approve. Madam, you have my sincere respect.”

I slowly turned to face the corner, where the poor lad huddled there flinched at my mere gaze.

“You, though,” I said thoughtfully. “Something tells me I’ll respect you…less. Kastrin, aim for his nuts.”

She had just finished slotting a new dart into her weapon and now turned on command, leveling it at his midsection.

“The dining room!” the unfortunate young servant blurted, hunching forward and protectively covering his crotch with both hands. “He’s eating with the family!”

“Oh, Kesper,” the cook said in clear disgust.

“Don’t judge the boy too harshly,” I said. “I have that effect on people. So, Clan Yviredh inspires loyalty in their servants and invites indentured lowborn to their table. I’m beginning to like them just a little bit.”

“They’re not terrible people, as aristocrats go,” said Nazralind.

“They had indentured farm laborers until very recently,” Aster snorted. “This guy Flaerdwyd still is.”

“Yes, that’s among the things I will now discuss with them,” I said. “Four of you, secure this room and keep the—”

The cook roared in sheer fury and charged at me with the rolling pin upraised, making it all of two steps before Ismreth shot her and she went down like a sack of potatoes.

“You know, I like her,” I said. “A house just doesn’t feel like a home without an irascible cook. Anyway. Four of you secure the room. Make sure that kid doesn’t do anything particularly stupid, keep these two poor ladies comfortable, and hold the entrances. The rest, with me. Biribo?”

“This way, boss!” My familiar buzzed ahead and I followed, my fellow invaders close behind.

It was extremely considerate of the Yviredhs to keep my secondary target with them. I’d been expecting to have to trawl all over the mansion, tranquilizing servants and guards, to retrieve a recalcitrant Blessed and have to bring him to the rest of them. This was going to save me a lot of time and aggravation.

In a hushed voice, Biribo directed us to the dining room, which was sensibly right near the kitchen. It had no less than three entrances, one serving door from the kitchen corridor and two from the front areas of the house from which the highborn would enter. I diverted our forces, stationing three under Nazralind’s command at the servant’s entrance with orders to move in as soon as they heard the rest of us do so. We navigated as quietly as possible to the public halls under Biribo’s directions, dividing the remaining group in half with Aster taking one door and me the other.

I wasted no more time; the very second both were in place, I yanked open the door and the four crossbow-wielding women surrounding me streamed through, followed immediately by those posted at the other entrances.

It must have been a terrifying experience, to have your dinner interrupted by an entire gang of masked women in black cloaks. Going for dramatic effect rather than stealth, we had borrowed the cloak gimmick from Naz’s group, augmented with long strips of black fabric wrapped around everything but the eyes. This made an impressive showing, if I said so myself, and served the additional purpose of concealing the identities of the highborn among us.

There were shouts, two female screams, and a man’s angry demands as the women took positions around the perimeter of the dining room with weapons up. I unhurriedly followed suit only when the stomping of feet ceased. Calm and collected, moving only when I was good and ready, emphasizing my control of the situation.

Because it was showtime, and every little touch mattered.

My troops had positioned themselves carefully around only two thirds of the perimeter, forming an inescapable killbox without risking hitting each other in a crossfire. I was explicitly not planning on there being any killing and they knew that, but I was still pleased that Sakin’s drills had borne fruit.

One lowborn man in servant’s livery was pressed back in a corner, holding a serving tray in front of his chest as a makeshift shield, while the four living members of Clan Yviredh were seated around the dining table, along with Rhaem Flaerdwyd. Yep, that was him. I had only seen him from a distance, previously, but I recognized his face nonetheless. You don’t quickly forget the man responsible for dunking you in a shit river with a brand new collection of crossbow bolts.

Even though I’d glazed over during Nazralind’s detailed rundown, I could see Clan Yviredh’s situation just by looking at them. The Highlord was a blonde human, his wife brown-haired; they had a brunet son in his mid-teens and a dirty blonde daughter a few years younger than that. Their gambit to leverage Flaerdwyd for riches and status wasn’t so much greedy as desperate. Under the absurd laws of Fflyr Dlemathlys, if their Clan didn’t have a blond male able to take over as Highlord and continue the name, the lack of yellow hair would be taken as a sign of insufficient elven blood and thus, the loss of the Goddess’s favor. Noble status would then be stripped from them, along with any hereditary fiefdom, which would probably include this estate and the Spirit. That had happened to the Auldmaer family and, I suspected, the Norovenas.

It was hard to be sympathetic to the highborn, the way they acted, but it had to be said that this country’s stupid, crooked and broken situation wasn’t even good for them.

“It’s him!” blurted Flaerdwyd, rising from his chair. “My lord, run! I’ll hold him off! Null!”

He held out both hands toward me, invoking the spell that stifled all my powers. This close in a well-lit room, I could see that Null caused a visible distortion effect in the air which had not been apparent during the nocturnal kerfuffle in the Gutters.

Silence hung in the dining room for three beats, the power of that spell shimmering in the space between us, and then there came a muffled snort as one of my armed followers snickered.

The Rapier of Mastery whispered hungrily as I drew it from the sheath, taking two measured steps forward and raising the weapon. I calmly extended the blade right between Flaerdwyd’s outstretched hands, bringing the point to rest against his clavicle, and invoked my counterspell.

“Sword.”

Highlord Yviredh covered his eyes with a hand and his young daughter closed hers, groaning; at least three more of my bandits began to giggle behind their masks. Flaerdwyd’s expression was a treasure for the eyes which I happily memorized. That sight would bring me comfort in whatever dark days lay ahead.

“Sit down, boy,” I said, not unkindly.

And now, finally, I got to have some proper fun. I did so love playing to a captive audience.