by TR Cameron
After several moments, he finished his wine and raised the glass for a refill. Gwyn was there in an instant, refreshed his drink, and turned her back to him to fill the Empress’ cup. Her seneschal cut her gaze to the side of the room as if to ask for permission to have him shot, but she replied with a small headshake. Not yet but maybe soon. He’s altogether too full of himself.
When the woman had resumed her position at the back wall, Styrris said, “I have no wish to be the power behind the throne, Empress. But I would ask that you consider elevating house Malniet to the top of the hierarchy in a contest for the throne should one occur.”
“Are you suggesting I’m in danger, Patriarch?” She looked at him over the rim of her glass as she sipped the wine.
“Always, Empress. Such is the burden of the monarch, is it not?”
She laughed. “Indeed, Styrris, it is. So, I will do this much. I will put your house second, after Rivette. If you get rid of the girl.” And only until I replace House Leblanc with someone truly loyal and elevate them above you.
He nodded. “That’s acceptable. So, to the question of the Leblanc child. She has trapped herself inside the rules of ritual combat. We are not so hampered, and our reach is long indeed. She will be eliminated in short order.”
“And once you do, I will be happy to announce your impending nuptials to the remainder of the Nine. Those who are left, that is, after our game comes to its end.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall that being one of the conditions, Empress.”
“As you said, Styrris, the rewards can be great but only when the tasks are complete. But, to sweeten the pot as it were, I will throw you the biggest wedding party New Atlantis has ever seen so all may envy your prowess.”
He nodded. “Very well, Empress.” He could do little else once she echoed his own words to him. She was under no illusion that he would keep all his commitments. Fortunately, that released her from any concern with fulfilling her own. Now, Styrris, let the real games begin.
Chapter Four
Zeb looked over the packed common room and shook his head. There wasn’t ever a particularly good time for him to leave the tavern in Janice’s hands—or any hands other than his own— but he would have preferred a less crowded day. The atmosphere was uneasy and seemed ready to break into anger. Or maybe that’s simply me.
He wiped the bar with a rag and hopped off the platform that ran behind it. The seconds ticked away in his head—the ability to unconsciously track time to the second had been drilled into him through countless training sessions and reinforced on an even larger number of adventures. Sometimes, calculating exactly how many moments it would take an enemy to nock an arrow was the difference between marching home victorious or riding home on a funeral cart. Now, his brain told him he needed to get ready for the arrival of the magical council.
The dwarf returned Janice’s wave as he strode down the stairs. After a little telekinesis to move boxes out of the way and an incantation to release the wards, he pressed on the bricks that opened the secret door. None of those actions managed to improve his mood in the least. He paused and took a deep breath, seeking within for calm. When he was settled and ready again, he lit the fire in the hearth hurriedly and retrieved glasses for his guests.
They arrived one by one, as always, and each looked as concerned as he felt. The normal pre-meeting chatter was absent, and more than half the new arrivals drained their first glass and poured a second before the session had even begun. He took his seat last, as he usually did, in the only empty chair remaining. Vizidus was on his left and Delia on his right. The wizard seemed fully healed after his adventure against the traitorous magical who served the Zatoras, and the witch was her usual pleasantly abrasive self. The fury that blazed in her eyes, however, burned hotter today unless his vision failed him.
The white-haired leader of the council cleared his throat. Okay, he sounds a little raspy still. Maybe he’s not fully healed. “Thank you for coming and thanks to Zeb, as always.” The old man chuckled. “I have come to the inescapable conclusion that we need to stop dithering and act lest the sky fall upon us while we natter impotently.”
Delia laughed loudly. She wore a long sweater dress, a rare departure from her normal jeans and sweatshirt look. It was a slightly darker black than her hair, which was braided and fell on either side of her neck like a schoolgirl’s. “Or a ceiling is dropped on us, you mean?”
His laugh was darker but still held humor. “Or that, yes. We, as a group, may have been somewhat in denial about how directly this situation might affect us. I, at least, have been wholly disabused of that notion.” Nods accompanied the statement from almost everyone in the room.
The Kilomea was the next to speak. Brukirot’s arms were folded over his massive chest but his expression was neutral. He seemed no more or less affronted than on any other day. “So, can we finally all agree that it’s time to act?” The warlike giant had been in favor of intervention from the moment they’d discovered the rising danger in New Orleans.
Scoppic, the gnome librarian, was in his traditional light-colored suit. His round glasses were slightly askew. “I’ve received an invitation to visit New Atlantis and assist Caliste’s great-aunt with her research. I plan to go as soon as I can arrange things with my colleagues at the library.”
Zeb grinned. “Cali will appreciate that.” The normal boundaries of taking turns to speak based on their position at the table seemed unnecessary given the clear need for the council’s involvement. Their focus was now more on deciding how to do it than arguing over whether they should.
Invel, the Drow, replied, “I believe I shall join you, my friend. We three can doubtless make a significant difference in the situation from there.” The dwarf smothered his smile, reluctant to reveal his friend’s romantic interest in Emalia to anyone who didn’t already know it. Somehow, I thought you’d wind up there before too much time had passed.
Which was not to say that the Dark Elf wouldn’t be an invaluable asset. He absolutely would and that was the best place for his particular set of skills. But for people like Zeb, whose talents ran in a more decidedly martial direction, the picture was not quite as clear.
Malonne, in many ways the opposite of Invel with his light skin and elegant features, asked, “And what should the rest of us do? Is it open war, magical against magical, for the prize of the city? And if we win, what then? Simply let the humans continue as always?” He shook his head. “It does not seem to me that they have done an effective job thus far. Perhaps we should be the ones in charge henceforth.”
It had been a long time since the Light Elf had last made that argument. It had not garnered much support then but now, the expressions around the table were interested rather than dismissive.
Zeb frowned. “Maybe we should deal with the situation in front of us instead of trying to jump forward a dozen steps.”
The other man raised a long-fingered hand in a conciliatory gesture. Vizidus wore a frown as he asked, “Is there anyone present who believes we should not act at this time?” When no responses followed, he continued. “Excellent. Now, we must decide what form that intervention should take. Scoppic and Invel have chosen their paths. I will coordinate our activities and reach out to allies in other cities. Delia, what are your plans?”
The dark-haired witch leaned back in her chair. “First off, I’ll take care of my people. We’re working together to ward our homes and businesses. Once that’s done, count me in for whatever kind of havoc we want to wreak on the Zatoras, the Atlanteans, or whoever else is causing trouble. But I’m not interested in a stand-up fight. They don’t play fair and I won’t either. If that’s a problem for anyone, I’ll fly solo.”
Brukirot shrugged. “I will take the battle any way it comes but my best role is the hunter. Find me the right targets and this situation will be ended quickly.”
Malonne laughed. “As if the right targets haven’t been obvious all along. The leadership of the gangs. Surely
you don’t need assistance to find them.” His mocking tone made Zeb’s hands clench involuntarily. “And perhaps add the human leaders of the city to that list, given their clear inability to manage the protection of their citizens.”
The dwarf shook his head. “Rhazdon’s atrocities showed the error of thinking ourselves superior simply because we possess magic. We need to partner with those around us, not look for opportunities to knock them down.” The scowl he received from the Light Elf at the mention of the ancient Oriceran villain soothed him. “I will continue to run the tavern and welcome clients of every kind. I can also act as the connection between the council and Cali and thus to the happenings in New Atlantis.”
Vizidus knocked on the table to draw their attention. “Very well. It seems we all have our immediate tasks to perform. Malonne, perhaps you could take the same precautions as Delia for your people. In fact, we all should.” He shook his head. “It would be easy to think that this isn’t our problem but it is. Either gang taking power over the other would be bad for everyone in the city. The best plan is to try to eliminate both and do the same to anyone else who thinks they’re in a position to rule over those who have no wish to be ruled.”
More nods followed. Zeb’s anxiety faded into a certainty that the group was on the right path and would stay on that route as long as the old wizard was in charge. “Okay, so we have a plan,” he said. “That’s good. Use the tavern as an escape whenever you need to. I’ll be here twenty-four-seven until the situation is resolved. There will always be food, drink, and medical supplies for whoever needs it.” He swiveled his head to regard the Dark Elf. “Invel, will you set us up with extra potions before you leave?”
“Of course. You can have anything you might think useful. I won’t do any trading while I’m in New Atlantis. That I know of.” The thoughtful look on his face suggested that he had some hopes in that area and Zeb stifled a chuckle. You always have an angle, my friend, and we’re all the better for it.
The witch rose and stretched. “Good. The plans are good. Our best guess is that it’ll take us a couple of days to get all our responsibilities locked down. After that, I’ll be ready for other tasks and can probably convince a few friends to come along as well. But remember, we need to be a scalpel, not a hammer.”
Brukirot grinned. “But hammers are so much more effective.”
She rolled her eyes and gave him a slap on the shoulder as she headed to the back of the room to portal away. The Kilomea followed her as he stated, “I’m ready now. When you choose a target, let me know.” Malonne and Scoppic departed next, the former with an air of hostility and the latter with a decided aura of excitement. Zeb stood and collected the remaining members’ glasses, refilled them, and returned to the table.
“So,” he said. “Maybe we waited too long.”
Vizidus sighed. “There’s no way to be sure, even in hindsight, that we could have made a difference before now. The Zatoras and the Atlanteans have created risks for themselves—and an opportunity for us—by focusing so completely on one another. The smarter move would have been to agree to share the city.”
Invel chuckled. “Even we at this table are not all good at sharing. It is no surprise that the others are no better.”
The dwarf pulled his pipe out, lit it, and smoked thoughtfully for a moment. “The key here, like Delia says, is to be surgical. We certainly don’t want to garner any more attention. Let them both think we’ve been driven into hiding by the attack on one of our own. Then, we can watch and wait for an opportunity to shift the balance.”
“In which direction, though?” the Dark Elf asked. “Is one better than the other?”
Vizidus shook his head. “No. If we’re to turn our efforts to repulsing the encroachment from New Atlantis, they both have to go. But we must be wary. Eliminating the weaker may allow the stronger to stabilize. No, we need to keep them both active until the very last moment, when we can wipe both of them from the board.”
Invel pushed to his feet and limped toward the rear of the room. “I will be in New Atlantis, but I stand ready to assist in any way necessary. Just let me know. Zeb, in say two hours, I’ll portal back and we can move things out of my shop?”
Zeb nodded, and his friend stepped through the rift in space and vanished. He sighed. “Well, Vizidus, I wouldn’t want your job but I’m glad you’re the one doing it.”
The wizard laughed. “I already feel a decade younger. Who knows? By the end of this, I might agree with Malonne. What do you think? Would I make a good mayor?” He struck a noble pose and his friend snorted.
“Brukirot would get more votes.”
He scowled in response. “I’d be offended, but you’re no doubt right. Troubling times are ahead. Still, we’ll meet them and come out the other side stronger for the trial.”
The dwarf nodded and lifted his glass to drain it. Here’s hoping all of us make it through, but if only one gets to, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it’s Cali.
Chapter Five
Ozahl stepped through the portal from a neutral location into the lobby of the Zatora gang’s new headquarters. Unknown to most of the city, the gang had acquired several small hotels in the French Quarter through shell companies and had evicted all the guests from one of them after the events at the mansion. The building was now locked to the outside world and secured by guards at every entrance.
The Zatora leader had taken the top of the three floors for himself and the mage was required to pass through three different groups of armed guards to reach him, even though he was expected.
He’s decided not to take any more chances. It’s a good choice, but it won’t save him unless he makes the most difficult decision of all and cancels the funeral.
That was highly unlikely except in extreme circumstances, and if he began to lean in that direction, it would be up to him to nudge him back on track. To bring the gang together out in the open was the culmination of a long series of events and he wasn’t about to let that much effort go to waste.
Besides, if there’s any human who deserves to have his time in this life shortened, it’s Rion Grisham.
He found the boss in a room that had seen the removal of its beds and the addition of a table and chairs to turn it into a meeting space. The shades were drawn to block the afternoon sunlight. The only illumination was from a chandelier that had to be at least a half-century old and probably more, which was entirely inadequate to fill the area. Shadows gathered in the corners of the room and under the eyes of the two men who awaited him inside it.
At the far end of the table, farthest from the door, Rion Grisham’s face was flat and expressionless. In Ozahl’s experience, the less emotion he showed, the more dangerous he was. His hair was perfectly slicked back and his suit immaculate.
Clearly, he’s seeking to control everything he can, which honestly isn’t all that much.
To his left, Jack Strang glowered. His bald head shined like he’d oiled it, but his face held the stubble of at least a day without shaving. His countenance was as volatile as Grisham’s was passive. The man likely had doubts about how his friend Colin Todd had met his demise but, given the lack of proof, the risk that his involvement could be confirmed was minimal.
Ozahl sat and gave the lieutenant a nod before he faced the boss. “The streets are quiet and there is no evidence that the magical gang or council is causing trouble. Our people are going about their business without opposition.”
Grisham growled belligerently. “Which is as suspicious as hell.”
Strang nodded. “Entirely. Why wouldn’t someone take advantage of this moment?”
The mage shrugged. “Maybe they fear a trap. They don’t know how resilient we might be.” It always feels weird saying “we” to these people. “It’s not like we haven’t delivered both Leblanc and the Atlanteans some seriously unexpected blows in the recent past.”
The Zatora leader shook his head. “No, they’re waiting for us to show ourselves so they can str
ike. Well, at least those of us who don’t have magical disguises to rely upon.” Anger bubbled through his words but Ozahl didn’t think it was directed at him.
Strang coughed and said, “Which is why we shouldn’t go through with it, boss. Colin wouldn’t care.”
“No. It’s not for him. It’s for our people. They need to see that we won’t be cowed. Our enemies attacked us in our place.” He shouted the last two words as his outrage exploded from him but made an obvious effort to control himself. “So, we won’t let fear stop us from doing what needs to be done. We’ll have the funeral but we’ll plan for the worst.”
Ozahl shook his head. “Strang’s right, Rion. This isn’t smart.” That should counter any suspicion of me somewhat.
“Smart or not, we’re doing it. Now, we have to decide how to do it properly.” He pointed at the other man in the room. “Jack, you’re in charge of dealing with physical security. What do you think we’ll need?”
The big man sighed. “Where will we have it?”
Grisham’s grin was like a knife slash. “St. Louis.”
Strang’s eyes widened, and even Ozahl was taken aback by the audacity of the choice. The security lieutenant said, “Are you serious? That’s a nightmare when it comes to controlling the space.”
“I’ve never been more serious. We have to make it a show. For our people, sure, but for the Atlanteans and every person in New Orleans as well. And that includes the bloody magical council. Not only are we undeterred, we’re rushing back stronger than ever.”
The mage shook his head. “That’s definitely bold. We’ll need more people. A lot more people.”
Grisham nodded. “They are already on their way. Our numbers will be doubled by Saturday and more will arrive in time for the event on Sunday night.”
