A Practical Guide to Evil

If it was a distraction, then it was a good one – not that I’d expected any less from Malicia. Boots scraping against the faded stone, I crouched at the edge of the pyramid’s slope and studied the silhouettes below. Twenty-one, all in all. Ten faceless and genderless soldiers in steel with masks of black wrought iron, the Tower’s own personal guard. The Sentinels, I’d been taught was their name. I was unsure of how hard a fight they’d be able to give me, but they were not a young Praesi institution. If even half the the hundred Tyrants who’d once commanded them had bothered to teach them a nasty trick or two, they would not be easy meat. The silent guard formed a ring of steel, broad tower shields up as they protected the remaining delegates. Those, I thought, would be the source of the real trouble if there was trouble to be had. Of the eleven remaining strangers only two wore armour and it was clearly ceremonial. Not unlike the colourful scales I’d known Diabolist to wear before she claimed that very Name. Those two were Soninke, men and too flawless to look upon to be anything but Wasteland highborn.

I dismissed them anyway. The warlocks would be the real threat here, not swordsmen no matter their skill. And there were mages among the delegates, I could tell as much at a glance. None of the other Praesi wore a weapon heavier than a long dagger, and though their robes were an ornate riot of vivid silks the colours were not enough to hide the discreet shimmer of runes woven into the fabric. Defensive enchantments, though without Masego around I had no real way to know of their purpose. What I did know was that while silk was one of the fabrics most apt to imbibe magic without spoiling, there was only so much sorcery any fabric could take. Against another sorcerer, defensive enchantments were a significant advantage. Against me, it’d be trying to hold back the sea with a wooden bucket. I’ll still have to hit them hard, I thought. Smaller wisps of Winter will just be ignored, if I’m to strike at them it’ll have to be by surprise and with overwhelming force. Admittedly my favourite kind of fights, on the rare occasions I managed to have them.

One person stood out from the rest, and the sight of her had me tightening my grip on the pommel of my sword. The woman was Soninke and young. No more than twenty, by the looks of her, and though she was of plain appearance every other delegate around her behaved like sunflowers turning towards the sun. Her dress was tastefully understated, as was the silver jewellery adorning her neck and wrists, but there was no mistaking who that was. I wasn’t Malicia in the flesh, or more accurately it was but not her flesh. A simulacrum, then. I felt a sharp edge of relief at the confirmation of what I’d always believed to be the most likely reality. And yet part of me was disappointed as well. There would have been chaos, in slaying the true Malicia, but opportunity as well. If I’d been able to force a war of succession on the Empire without getting embroiled myself… No point in whining about it. It was what it was, and in this case the presence of a mere flesh puppet might be a blessing. Said puppet was awake and alert, I saw, and with good reason.

It had just almost died.

I’d arrived too late to see it happen, but just from the lay of the Praesi I could get an idea of what had taken place. Just as they’d left the Threefold Reflection through the nearest gate and taken the avenue into the tall colonnade they now occupied, someone had taken a shot at the Empress. The shimmering panes of light around the flesh puppet told me exactly why it’d failed, and pointed at the most likely suspect for the attempt: Thief. It couldn’t be Archer. She had arrows that’d go right through most sorceries, and even if she’d failed to make a kill at a distance she would have closed in and carved away at the Sentinels. Adjutant had not aspect that would work for a quiet ambush, and I’d just left behind the remaining two. No, it had to be Thief. The Skein had hinted, back in his lair, that she might try to kill Malicia with the same blade of moonlight she’d stolen from the Spellblade. That was my guess: she’d approached under cover of her aspect, placed her shot and immediately retreated when it failed to breach the Empress’ protections. I couldn’t be sure whether that failure was because the Praesi wards were particularly strong or because the tool employed had not been a good fit, and that was worrying.

They hadn’t seen me, at least for now. I’d not woven glamour over myself yet, afraid some of the mages would be sensitive enough to such powers it would effectively announced my presence even if they couldn’t see through it. The moment the delegation caught scent of me, my bet was that they’d turtle up behind heavy wards and make enough of a racket that the Dead King’s people would have to come and take a look. If that was allowed to happen, the game was done. Pushing any further would break the unspoken boundaries Neshamah had placed on this little lark of ours. Was Thief still around? My guts said yes, but I couldn’t count on it. She might still be acting according to a plan I didn’t know. Which was the point of all this, I supposed. We’d filled the Skein’s sight with so many of those there’d been no telling where the rest of the Woe were or what they were up to. At the unfortunate cost of my being kept in the dark concerning those matters as well. I set aside the thoughts for now, eyes one the Praesi delegates. They were on the defensive for now, the Sentinels using the cover of the colonnade to form a decent holding position while the mages layered enchantments, but they’d get moving soon.

If I were in Malicia’s shoes, right now, I’d be worrying more about Archer than Thief. The longer she remained in the open, the higher the risks she got an unexpected arrow through the throat. If I wanted to have a decent swing at the Empress, I needed to be close by the time they set out. Which left me with the task of moving unseen next to a cluster of highly-trained, professionally paranoid and recently ambushed Wastelanders. While wearing armour. In broad daylight. With no real cover to speak of the moment I left the upper reaches of the pyramid. This was not a recipe for success no matter how you looked at it, but at least I was wearing mail instead of plate. Pretty weak, as far as silver linings went, but I’d take what I could get.

Pulling the Mantle of Woe tight around me, since it was colourful but at least not actively shining under the sun, I began to make my way down. Obliquely, or as close to that as was possible. There were open grounds between the colonnade and the end of the Threefold Reflection proper, and crossing those unseen was a fool’s errand. No, the longer I thought about it the more obvious it got I’d have to roll the dice on my ability to predict where the Praesi would be headed and lay my ambush there.

There were only so many places they could go, I mused as I moved from stone to stone. There was another palace up ahead, but I wouldn’t put my money on them going for it. There’d be another Revenant inside, certainly, but it didn’t look like the most… hospitable of places. The fluid obsidian structures were unpleasant to look at in some primal way, though it was the outlying decorations that would give the Praesi pause. Small channels had been dug into the stone in arcane symbols, lit up by what appeared to be liquid flame. The palace flicked with shifting shadows even under sunlight. If they went through there, I’d kill them all. They’d be forced to take narrow fire-walled paths with plenty of cover for me to ambush from. Unless the Revenant was already in place and ready to intervene, the outlying parts of that palace would be a perfect killing floor for me. Malicia herself wasn’t a military tactician of any renown, but she was hardly a fool. It’d be one of the other two paths she took.

The first would be a gambit on her part. The colonnade and almost temple-like promenade surrounding the pyramid did have a path going around towards the open plaza where the Hall of the Dead and a horde of minions would be awaiting. If the Empress made it there safely, she was out of the woods. I couldn’t snatch her out of the Dead King’s grasp without screwing all of this up. On the other hand, I was rather hoping that was the option she’d take. I was already near to the last third of the pyramid, and all it’d take was dipping out of the sight around the corner for me to slip ahead of her party in the colonnade. I’d already begun angling my descent to be a step ahead if that was the choice she made. Malicia had to know, however, that it was a mostly open space and most the Woe were still on the prowl. Forget Thief, but if Archer came across her there’d be blood on the floor. Quickest path to safety, but arguably the most dangerous.

The second path was a retreat. Not back into the Threefold Reflection – though that was possible, if exceedingly foolish – but towards the lower rungs of Keter. We were all in the highest ring at the moment, surrounded by the same rampart Athal had taken me to earlier through the secret passage. The Empress could head for those walls, and from there either count on the Dead King’s soldiers being there and providing protection or journey further down and away from the area she knew the Woe was roaming. I’d had the advantage of height over her earlier, so I already knew there were no undead on the ramparts at the moment. Indeed, their absence was quite glaring. Neshamah was quite pointedly looking away, in a manner of speaking. Malicia wouldn’t necessarily know that, though. The Crown of the Dead screwed badly with scrying rituals, so it wasn’t like she could have a look through a bowl. If she went with that choice, she was keeping the game afoot. As long as she wasn’t surrounded by undead soldiers, she remained a target no matter how far down she fled. I wasn’t all that familiar with the rest of the city, though, so we’d both be going into that blind.

I’d reached one of the pyramid’s four spines when the Praesi moved out. Peeking around the corner, I grinned nastily as I watched the delegation head towards the central plaza at a brisk pace. She’d bet it all on a quick resolution, then. I could work with that. I picked up the pace as well, dropping down on the ground long before they were in sight of the turn. Fingers drumming against my sheath, I eyed the spot where the ambush would have to take place: right after the turn, with a clear line of sight to the path leading to the plaza. The columns were but a few feet apart and joined by a low wall on the outer half of the colonnade, though the half facing the pyramid was without. The turn was angled too circular for me to be able to hide in the bend, sadly, but there was another detail to this construction: a ceiling. Barded with criss-crossing beams of copper, the angular stone roof was held up by the columns. The ceiling itself was filled, but there was room between the long stretch of stone supported by those same columns and the roof itself. Not much, but then for once my size might come in as actually useful. A few years ago, the notion of hanging from a ceiling like a fucking bat to swoop down on my enemies would have struck me as absurd, especially if I was wearing armour. Now, though? It wasn’t like my arms could get tired anymore.

It’d have to be around the turn, otherwise the moment the enemy approached they’d just see me hanging there. That’d turn awkward real quick, leading to questions like ‘why did you think that would work?’ or even worse, small talk. I wasn’t emotionally prepared to make polite conversation with the Empress while murder-hanging from a ceiling. I hoisted myself up the low wall and frowned up at the column. There was distinct lack of good handholds, but using Winter would be tipping my hand and I needed to hurry before the enemy arrived. With all the grace of a one-legged squirrel, I hugged the column and shimmied my way up. It was easier up there: I caught one of the copper beams and left the column, effortlessly dragging my hole body up and spreading my legs to gain more traction from other beams. My free hand went into collection my cloak, which was now hanging like a shitty tapestry, and just kind of bunching it up over my stomach before I pulled myself close to the ceiling. There, that should do. I was kind of hoping Thief wasn’t around, because if she saw me I’d never live this down. I heard the footsteps, then their words.

“The Dead King’s enchantments make it impossible to use proper sensory spells,” a woman’s voice sighed in Mtethwa. “My apologies, Your Dread Majesty. My abilities are lacking.”

“I hardly expected you to be the Hidden Horror’s superior in matters of spellcraft, Lady Olinga,” the flesh puppet replied. “Already your wards proved your worth by sparing me the Thief’s ambush.”

“She may well still be lurking about,” a man warned. “And the Adjutant will have found a way out of the illusions by now. We must hurry.”

“Any faster will disrupt the wards,” Lady Olinga peevishly replied. “It already took me decades to train them to be able to maintain it while moving.”

“The Warlock can-“

“I am not the Warlock,” the Soninke cut through. “Nor even the Hierophant. Do ask miracles of me, Galadan, when you can barely use High Arcana yourself.”

“We will proceed at the current pace,” Not-Malicia said, and I could almost hear the soothing smile. “Peace, my friends. This interlude soon comes at an end.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong about that. More worryingly, I was hearing the Empress and the highborn moving but not a single Sentinel footstep. Spelled gear, had to be. And there was no telling what calibre either. Enchanted artefacts weren’t as rare in Praes as they were in Callow, but even in the Wasteland it was the petty stuff that wasn’t kept within powerful families. Magic made into enchantment waned over time, so for anything to last for more than a few years it had to be an extremely powerful mage – or ritual – that had first made the artefact. The lesser stuff had to be empowered anew pretty regularly, and most mages saw that kind of repeat labour as beneath them. Which meant finding another practitioner to take care of it, certainly easier in Praes than my homeland, but artefacts only worked perfectly for the mages who’d first made them. After that, every set of hands they passed through made them a little shoddier until they broke down. Of course, then you got the stuff out of myth. Which tended to be either like the Lone Swordsman’s, a feather from an angel that’d made intense eye contact with Creational laws until they backed away uncomfortably, or your average legendary stuff. Which had both been crafted by the kind of sorcerer or Named that came around once a century and been made out of materials with inherent magical properties that kept the enchantments going indefinitely. All stuff that was rare, difficult to obtain and horribly, horribly expensive. Archer’s longbow was probably worth a pair of large palaces in Procer, if she ever tried to pawn it in Mercantis, and it wasn’t even quite up to snuff compared to some of the stuff out there.

Now, if they were from anywhere else, I’d dismiss the thought of the Sentinels having even one piece of such gear out of hand. Personal guards or not, they wouldn’t rank that kind of ridiculous expense. They were, unfortunately, from the Dread Empire of Praes. When a nation got a line of three emperors that picked Profligate as a reigning name, terrible monetary decisions were only to be expected. And that was without thinking of the gaggle of practitioner Tyrants that’d held the Tower with just as many Warlocks serving beneath them, few of which had ever held qualms about a little mass murder and assorted bankruptcy if it got in the way of their latest idea. Even then, there couldn’t be too many of it. Enough to equip ten guards, though. Would Malicia risk that kind of precious equipment by bringing it to Keter? My guts said yes. She wasn’t a mage herself, and like the Calamities she’d never shown a great deal of respect for artefacts that were relevant only on the tactical level. I could easily see her kitting out her handpicked Sentinels in the good stuff both as a show of force for the Dead King and for that little additional sliver of safety abroad.

Which meant I couldn’t just ignore the soldiers, as I’d intended to previously. They might have stuff that could hurt fae – no, knowing Malicia they definitely had stuff that hurt fae. Still, the sorcerers remained the greater threat. Fighters, even dangerous ones, I could kill my way through. If I got stuck behind a ward, there was no getting out. I held my breath, lips thinning when I realized my lungs never began to burn. Yet another comforting illusion that would not withstand scrutiny. Eyes wide open I waited for the Praesi to approach. Artefact-bearers or not, the Sentinels still wore those fucking stupid masks. They couldn’t easily look up, and their peripheral vision was shit. I’d let them pass me before dropping down and take out as many mages as I could in the first strike. Without a sound a pair of steel-clad soldiers passed under me, and then – shit.

I dropped down before the streak of lightning could tear through my belly. Had that come out of an opal? Did I have to start worrying about the jewellery on people’s clothes now? The Sentinels were on me before the others could so much as exclaim in surprise, swords swinging. Sorcery flared behind them, the mages taking action, and I knew without a doubt that if I got stuck in a brawl with the soldiers this was headed downhill. Never give mages time to cast. I breathed out, and ripped away another illusion. I stepped through the sword blows, the mist that was now my torso billowing as their blades went through. One step, two, three and then I was among the mages. Solid, I ordered my body. My blade ripped through a Taghreb’s throat and the panes of light around Malicia dimmed, her eyes widening in fear and surprise. I tugged out a string of my domain, shaped it and let it loose with a flick of the wrist. The javelin of night-stuff flew perfectly, puncturing the sorcerous protection and…

Breaking an illusion.

Fuck. A ward closed around me a heartbeat later and I found myself surrounded by very displeased Praesi. With a sigh I rose from my half-crouch, adjusted my cloak and offered the delegation a winning smile. I did not get a single one in response, which might have something to do with the man bleeding out on the ground a mere foot behind me.

“Well,” I muttered. “This is a little awkward.”

I reached for Winter but found my will couldn’t quite make it. That, I mused, was not a promising start to these negotiations.