Risen

4

I woke next morning to the sun streaming through my window. I lay on my futon for a little while, listening to the birdsong, then sat up and looked down at my right arm.

From the tips of my fingers all the way up to my shoulder, my arm was smooth, too white and pale to be living flesh. It flexed and moved like a normal arm, but without wrinkles or tendons or veins. It looked like an animated statue. Only at the curve of the shoulder did the material meld into normal skin, but white tendrils were already reaching into my shoulder blade and collarbone.

Klara, the life mage who’d studied me after I’d replaced my hand, had told me that the fateweaver was going to continue transmuting my body until one of three things happened: it reached a stable equilibrium, it reached my brain, or it reached my heart. She’d been fairly confident that the last one would happen first, probably within a few months. Right now, that estimate was looking very optimistic.

I’ve made a lot of enemies in my life. Light mages, Dark mages, magical creatures. Over the years, as that list had got longer and longer, I’d had a growing feeling at the back of my mind that it was more than I could handle. Sooner or later one of the people I’d pissed off was going to catch me at the wrong time, and I’d be too slow or too outmatched or just unlucky. One of them would get me – the only question was which.

But over the last couple of weeks, I’d changed my mind. My enemies weren’t going to kill me; this would. I didn’t have any evidence and I hadn’t seen it in any of my divinations, but the feeling didn’t go away.

I did a short workout. I’ve had to change my exercises over the past month, as the fateweaver spread to transmute more and more of my arm. Push-ups don’t work any more: my right arm is too strong. Barbell lifts had the same problem. Instead I did dumbbell exercises on my left side, then some leg and abdominal work. Once I was done, I washed and shaved and walked out.

The air of the Hollow was fresh and clean. A glance through the futures told me that Karyos wouldn’t be up until the afternoon, so instead I reached out through the dreamstone to Luna.

Luna responded instantly to my mental touch, with no trace of drowsiness. You’re up early, I told her.

Couldn’t sleep. Anything?

On Vari? No. I need your help with something.

Okay.

The invasion’s going to launch this evening, I said. Between then and now, find out what you can about what Richard’s adepts are up to. Preparations, mobilisations.

Richard? Luna said. Not the Council?

The Council are going to be coming to me.

And what about when they get Vari in their sights and decide he’s acceptable losses?

Then they’ll start being a problem again, yes. Until then, my bigger worry’s Richard.

Luna was silent for a moment. All right, she sent. I’ll handle it.

Thanks. I’ll be in touch.

I broke the connection and started reaching out through the futures. It was time to look up an old friend.

A cold breeze hit me as I stepped out of Elsewhere and let the gate close behind me. I was standing on a mountaintop, granite and close-cropped grass dropping off around me down and down into the valleys below. The sea glittered in the distance, and the sky above was bright and blue.

A few hundred feet north of me was an old hut, hidden by the rocks. If I followed the ridge around the boulders, the hut would appear, and it would be empty and deserted. Door hanging open, cold burnt sticks in the fireplace. Someone had been there, perhaps recently, but they were gone.

I terminated the path-walk and explored a different future where I left the ridgeline and approached the hut from the other side. This time I’d see the fireplace first. Once again, there’d be nothing there. My future self entered the hut, searching nooks and crannies. Empty.

New future. I circled all the way around and crept up from the back. Once the future Alex had reached the hut’s back wall, he moved swiftly around to the door.

Empty.

I paused, then started walking. I kept a very close eye on the futures of the empty hut. For a moment, I thought I saw them quiver.

I came around the boulders, still watching the futures. My divination told me I’d see a cold fireplace, an empty hut with an open door . . .

The hut’s door was closed, the rock in front of it neatly swept. A small campfire was burning, the flames licking at the bottom of a pot. And sitting on a flat stone was an old man with bleached-white hair, dressed lightly despite the cold, glaring right at me.

‘Goddammit,’ Helikaon said in a tone of pure disgust.

I used to believe that my divination always told the truth. When it failed, I’d assume that it was my fault, that I’d made some kind of mistake. But gradually, over the years, I’d noticed that those mistakes seemed to happen a lot more often around certain people. Specifically, other diviners.

I’d finally figured it out last month. Master diviners could project illusionary futures, make other seers think that something was going to happen when it wouldn’t. That was how Richard had been able to trick me in the past, and how Helikaon had tried to trick me today.

‘I’d say it was good to see you,’ I said, ‘but apparently the feeling’s not mutual.’

‘What gave you that idea?’ Helikaon jabbed his thumb back at the hut. ‘Long as you’re here, make yourself useful and get some cups.’

I walked forward. ‘Not this time.’

Helikaon looked up at me as I stopped on the other side of the fire. His eyes were sharp, calculating. The short-sword at his side shifted as he adjusted his position.

I looked down at my old teacher and he looked back up at me. Then with a sigh I sat down on a rock, and the moment was gone. ‘I was hoping you could give me some help.’

Helikaon grunted, the tension leaving him. ‘Been trying to do that for fifteen years.’

I nodded. ‘Your way was never going to work for me.’

‘Of course it bloody works,’ Helikaon said. ‘Can’t hurt someone if they’re not there.’

‘You can still hurt everyone else.’

Helikaon shrugged.

‘I know, you don’t care,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not here to change your mind.’

‘Like to see you try.’ Helikaon pulled himself upright and disappeared back into the hut, reappearing a few seconds later with a single mug.

‘So you’re not here for advice,’ Helikaon said, leaning over to check the water in the pot. ‘Then what?’

‘That false vision you put up to pretend you weren’t here,’ I said. ‘How many times have you done that?’

Helikaon poked at the fire with a stick, held a leathery hand near the water to test the heat.

‘I’ll be more specific,’ I said. ‘The times I’ve been in trouble and I’ve come looking for you for help. How many times did you see me coming and avoid me?’

‘Couple.’

‘A couple?’

‘What d’you want, an apology? I’m not your mother.’

‘What I want is for you to teach me the trick.’

Helikaon didn’t answer. He checked the water temperature again, then put some more sticks on the fire. Then he checked the water a third time. Only then did he sit back.

‘Both how to do it and how to counter it,’ I added.

Helikaon nodded, then looked me right in the eyes. ‘You want to kill Drakh.’

I was silent.

‘You can stop pretending, boy,’ Helikaon said. ‘That spell’s damn near useless. Only thing it’s good for – the only thing – is against another diviner. Well, you’re not after me, or you wouldn’t be sitting there. Who’s that leave?’

‘Killing Richard is not my primary objective,’ I told him.

Helikaon snorted.

‘Believe me or don’t,’ I said. ‘Are you going to help?’

‘And if I say no?’

‘I would prefer that you didn’t.’

‘Prefer,’ Helikaon said cynically. ‘What happened to that nice mild-mannered apprentice I used to have?’

‘Turns out he was never all that nice.’

Helikaon grunted. ‘Took you long enough to figure that out.’

‘Look,’ I said. ‘I know you don’t like getting involved in these things. But right now, if you want me to go away and leave you in peace, the easiest way to do it is to teach me what I need to know.’

Helikaon waved a hand. ‘All right, all right. Shut up and I’ll tell you what you want to hear. But I’m warning you, you won’t like it.’

I nodded and settled back onto the stone.

‘All right,’ Helikaon said again. ‘You’ll need a channelling focus. Doesn’t matter much what kind, long as it’s material-effective. Anything that’s not divination or sensory.’

I thought of the fateweaver replacing my hand. ‘I’ve got something that’ll work.’

‘Next step. Look at the futures you’re going to be replacing. Pick a set. Once you’re ready, channel through that focus, but do it in your future sight.’

I tried doing as Helikaon said. It was difficult. I’ve spent my life seeing the futures ahead of me as a passive thing, something to watch, not something to change. But my use of the fateweaver had already shifted my ways of thinking. I tried again . . .

Huh. Blurry light, connected to my thoughts, spread over the glowing lines of the futures. I studied it with interest.

‘Not over the futures,’ Helikaon said. ‘If you’re sculpting an optasia, do it over a null area, then transpose it.’

I switched my view to null futures. That was better. Now anything I did stood out clearly against the void.

I’d already decided what I’d try. For a first attempt, I’d project a future of a man arriving here on the mountaintop. I channelled through the fateweaver and light spread through the void, like sparkling paint squeezed from tubes. I tried to sculpt it.

It was harder than I’d expected. Actually, much harder. The threads of magic responded to my thoughts, and I could make them take the form of a ghost-future, shadowy and ethereal, with no more effort than it took to think. But what I was trying to create wasn’t a two-dimensional image, or even a three-dimensional one. It was four-dimensional, sight and sound shifting through time, and as I tried to adjust some parts others would fuzz and fade. Over and over again I’d try to perfect the image, and each time my own clumsy efforts would disrupt it. At last I gave up on my original plan and cut out most of the movement and branching futures, leaving only the image of a man standing there. Even then, actually transposing it caused its own problems – when I tried to layer it over the existing futures they didn’t mesh, and I had to make more corrections. At last I decided it was as good as it was going to get. I looked up at Helikaon. ‘Like that?’

Helikaon had sat patiently the whole time. ‘You’ve got the idea,’ he said.

‘Is it good enough to pass muster?’ I said. ‘Not much point me putting up a false vision if you can tell it’s fake.’

Helikaon nodded agreeably.

‘So what does it look like?’

‘Well, let’s see,’ Helikaon said. ‘Hard to really describe these things, you know?’

‘Just tell me.’

‘I know,’ Helikaon said as if the idea had just struck him. ‘How about a visual aid?’ He poked around on the ground before picking out a flat-sided rock. ‘Optasia is like art, you know? A really good one, that’s like the work of an Old Master. Every detail perfect.’ He took a sharp-edged pebble and began to scratch at the rock in his hand. ‘One-of-a-kind. Won’t even be seen most times, but that doesn’t matter. All about the craft.’

‘Richard Drakh’s one of your Old Masters, then.’

Helikaon nodded. ‘Been a while since I saw his work. That image you were going for, man coming up behind me? Drakh was doing it, you could pick out the hairs on his head. Man’d look so familiar, it’d be like you’d seen him before.’

‘So what does mine look like?’

In answer, Helikaon turned the rock around. Scratched onto the flat surface was a crude stick figure with a circle for the head. He raised his eyebrows at me.

‘So I’m guessing it’s not going to fool anyone.’

‘Oh, I dunno, let’s ask him.’ Helikaon waggled the rock in his hand, talking at me out of the side of his mouth in a high-pitched squeaky voice. ‘“Sure thing, Master Helikaon, sir! I’m a real boy! Just look at me!”’

‘Going to take that as a “no”.’

Helikaon waved the rock. ‘“Why howdy, Mister Verus! You sure are a big shot to make something like me! Why, I bet no one’s gonna notice a thing!”’

‘Okay, how do I improve it?’

‘“Improve? Why gosh darnit, there’s nothing to improve! Just look at how—” ’

‘Please stop.’

Helikaon tossed the rock to the ground with a clatter. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘It sucks. How do I make it not suck?’

‘Six months’ practice,’ Helikaon said, thankfully going back to his normal voice. ‘Year if you want to get good.’

‘That’s a little more time than I have.’

‘How long do you have?’

‘About half a day.’

‘Then you’re going to suck,’ Helikaon said with finality.

I grimaced.

‘Told you you weren’t going to like it.’

The realistic part of me wasn’t surprised. Learning new spells is a slow business. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘How do I spot fake futures?’

‘Same way you spot a forgery,’ Helikaon said. ‘Know what to look for and practise a lot.’

‘And is that also going to take months?’

Helikaon grinned at me with a certain sadism. ‘Few weeks.’

I sighed, then rubbed the bridge of my nose.

‘And that’s why doing this shit is dumb,’ Helikaon said. ‘How many years you think Drakh’s been doing this? Hm? How many other mages he’s gone up against? ’Course he’s going to be better than you. Yeah, you can dance around, look for an angle. Wait for him to make a mistake. And maybe he will. Or maybe it’ll be you.’ Helikaon spread his hands. ‘Why risk it?’

I started to answer, then paused. ‘Why did you take me on?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘When I came to you after running away from Richard,’ I said. ‘I was a failed apprentice on the outs with my master and the Council. Not exactly a safe investment.’

Helikaon shrugged.

‘You always said not to take sides. The only winning move is not to play, right? So why’d you get involved?’

‘I don’t bloody know,’ Helikaon said. ‘Because I’m old and stupid. Or maybe you reminded me of myself a bit. Young and clueless and thinking divination would fix your problems. Who the hell knows?’

‘Never knew you had a soft-hearted side.’

Helikaon scowled. ‘None of your lip.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’m never going to learn to project false futures – what you call optasia – well enough to fool someone like Drakh. What if I didn’t try?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Project wide-spectrum futures across his cone,’ I said. ‘I’ve got enough power to do it. Just random images and noise.’

Helikaon frowned. ‘He’d push past it.’

‘I could keep adding layers. Anyway, when it comes to something like this, it’s a lot easier to make a mess than clean it up, right?’

‘Suppose it is,’ Helikaon admitted. ‘Pretty obvious catch, though.’

I nodded. ‘It’d mess up my own divination as well.’

‘Only way for you to do it with your level of finesse, have to be right on top of him. Which means your cone’ll overlap his.’

‘If what you’re saying is true, I can’t beat Richard in a divination duel anyway,’ I said. ‘I can’t fool him, but he can fool me. I have to second-guess every future I see, while he gets perfect information.’ I looked at Helikaon. ‘So I blind us both. Even the scales.’

Helikaon grunted. ‘You know the thing about even scales? They’re not tilted your way.’ He threw up his hands. ‘All right, all right. It’s not a completely stupid idea. We’ll give it a shot.’

Despite his complaints, Helikaon worked with me for the rest of the morning. I threw myself into the practice, pushing as hard as I could. I had far to go, and little time to do it in.

By the time we were done, I could project a fuzz of images and random noise that should screw up both short- and long-term divinations over all possible futures. Helikaon could still see through it, but only with time and effort, and he admitted he probably wouldn’t be able to manage that under pressure. The big problem was range. According to Helikaon, an optasia master could project false futures anywhere, as long as they had a clear enough image of what they wanted the target to see. My own crude technique could only affect the area around me, and it was about as subtle as a fire alarm. The instant I used it, Richard would know exactly what I was doing, and why.

This would probably only work once. I’d have to make it count.

By eleven o’clock, I decided I’d practised enough. I said my goodbyes to Helikaon and left.

Talisid had left me a message while I’d been gone. Actually, several messages. I got in touch and after a minimum of pleasantries Talisid suggested a public place where we couldn’t easily be overheard.

I reached Stratford Olympic Park a little before noon. The sun was shining through breaks in the cloud, and the grass and concrete were wet from the morning’s rain. The Greenway across the Olympic Park gives an amazing view: from the embankment you can see all the way to south London and to the skyscrapers of the City. The last time I’d met Talisid here I’d turned down off the Greenway to the canal path, where we could walk without being seen. This time I stopped on the bridge over the canal, leant against the railings and waited.

A few minutes passed. People trickled by. Dog walkers, cyclists, locals. Not many children. The new school term had just started; most kids would be sitting in a classroom right now. Maybe they were staring out of the windows, watching the clouds move on the wind that was ruffling my hair right now, and wishing they were outside. I used to do that once.

A cyclist whirred past, and I turned to look at him, seeing him clearly in the second and a half that he sped by. Late thirties, English looks, thinning hair escaping in wisps from under a white cycle helmet. Light blue button-down shirt, cream-coloured trousers, dark shoes. From behind round glasses, a pair of blue eyes stared out at the path ahead with the absent-minded concentration of the practised cyclist. He looked like a civil servant, maybe a bank manager. Reasonably fit but with a sag to his cheeks that wouldn’t have been there five years ago. I knew the type. He’d have grown up here in London, six years in primary school, seven in secondary. Then the round of UCAS admissions, carefully researched. A gap year to show a little independence. Thailand, maybe Australia. Then three or four years at university and out onto the career track, nine to five and a starting salary and a commute that’d become so regular he’d know the journey by heart. A flat, a shared house, eventually a house of his own. Other people, more shadowy; a wife, children? And maybe one Saturday or bank holiday he’d happen to be wandering through Camden and he’d see a shop with a funny sign and he’d go in just out of curiosity. Ten minutes staring at the things on the shelves and he’d be off again, ready with some stories for the next Friday evening drinks: so did I tell you guys about the time I went to a real magic shop? No, not stage magic, supposed to be real. No, I didn’t buy a magic wand, ha ha, missed a trick there . . .

The bike sped away, pedals going up and down, its rider shrinking into the distance. I stared after him, trying to imagine what a life like that would be like. I couldn’t do it. He hadn’t looked much older than I was; if I’d been born into his place, maybe that could have been me. But I couldn’t see myself there. I used to have points of connection to the normal world: my shop, my flat, buying food at the supermarket, walking in the park. I didn’t have them any more. I was as far removed from that man on his bike as the Council was.

The thought left me tired. Maybe it really was time to end things.

Talisid appeared a couple of minutes after the cyclist, climbing up from the canal walk below. ‘Verus,’ he said, crossing the path to meet me.

I nodded.

Talisid glanced at the long sightlines around us, the Greenway stretching in both directions with the Olympic Stadium to one side and the view over London to the other. ‘A little exposed.’

‘Hiding isn’t really an option for me these days,’ I said. ‘How can I help you?’

Our relationship had changed, and I could feel it in the way Talisid addressed me. For all the years I’d been meeting like this with Talisid, he’d always been the more powerful. He’d never used it to threaten me; he was too courteous for that, in his well-bred way. But always, in our dealings, Talisid had been the one to set the terms. Not any more.

‘The Council has a proposal,’ Talisid said. ‘Actually two proposals.’

‘And you got tapped to do it,’ I said. ‘They weren’t worried that our little encounter in Hyperborea might have soured our relationship?’

Talisid looked back at me steadily. ‘Has it?’

‘Not really,’ I said with a shrug. ‘I’ve never had any illusions about you, Talisid. Your loyalty’s to the Council. I think you do sort of like me, as much as you like anyone. But if the Council orders me betrayed and killed, you’ll do it without a second thought. Or try to.’

‘I . . . regret the events of our previous meeting.’ Talisid was choosing his words carefully, and watching me more carefully still. ‘I would have preferred to have handled things differently.’

‘Really.’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t get much of a sense of regret. You’d been getting frustrated with me for a while because I kept refusing to play the game. I think when they finally made the decision to have me removed, you were probably relieved. A way to close the book on a messy relationship and move on to something new.’

‘I wouldn’t put it that way.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t.’ My voice hardened slightly. ‘But that wasn’t what I asked. Are you going to tell me I’m wrong?’

Talisid held my gaze but didn’t speak.

I let the moment stretch out, then looked away, breaking the tension. ‘Relax.’ My voice was easy again. ‘I’m not going to take it out on you. If you vanished, the Council would just send someone else.’

Another couple of cyclists buzzed past, their wheels whirring on their axles. ‘I always wondered what you’d be like if you came to understand politics,’ Talisid said.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘So what does the Council want from me?’

‘Firstly, the Council wishes to appoint you as its liaison to Mage Drakh for the duration of this operation,’ Talisid said. ‘With your approval, of course.’

‘Why not pick someone they trust?’

‘While you and the Council have had differences, we do recognise that you have a history of upholding your commitments,’ Talisid said. ‘Also, it was suggested that someone with a more personal relationship with Drakh might be a wiser choice.’

‘What’s the second proposal?’

In answer, Talisid dug into his pocket and pulled out a small grey and black focus. Looking down, I saw that a small blue light was glowing at its centre.

‘A comms focus?’ I asked.

‘This concerns the second proposal,’ Talisid said.

I tilted my head. ‘You were good enough to deliver the first message. Why not the second?’

‘I believe, once you hear it, you will understand why.’

There were really only a handful of people Talisid could be talking about. I’d already been checking the futures, and after an extra look just to be safe, I took the focus from Talisid’s hand and channelled a thread of magic into the centre. The light switched from blue to green. ‘Alma,’ I said.

‘Verus,’ Councillor Alma said. She sounded exactly as she had when I’d met her yesterday in Concordia.

‘Are you representing the Council, or is this a personal call?’

‘The Council,’ Alma said. ‘I understand you plan to lead a team of your own into Sagash’s shadow realm. Is this correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ Alma said. ‘We want you to kill Drakh.’

I leant back against the bridge railings. ‘So you’ve finally decided to stop dancing around.’

‘We have not been “dancing”, as you put it, for some time.’

‘So why come to me instead of your other mages?’ I said. ‘Hoping to keep your hands clean?’

‘Every mage going on tonight’s operation has exactly the same orders as you.’

‘You are taking this seriously.’

‘Our primary objective remains as discussed,’ Alma said. ‘Prevent the jinn from completing its ritual, and bind or banish it to ensure that it cannot try again. Our secondary objective is Drakh’s death.’

‘When and how?’

‘We don’t care.’

‘You’re not concerned about people finding out?’

‘Verus, you can shoot him in broad daylight in the middle of Trafalgar Square as far as I’m concerned. You can even hold up your Keeper signet and shout that you did it on Council orders, just as long as he’s dead.’

‘Well, that certainly simplifies things,’ I said. ‘So I take it you aren’t buying Drakh’s story?’

‘I trust Drakh’s story completely,’ Alma said. ‘All the parts of it that we can verify. Everything else is empty talk. And quite frankly, it doesn’t make a difference. Richard Drakh has declared war on the Light Council of Great Britain. He is the greatest challenge to our authority that we are likely to face this century. The war must be ended, and for that to happen, Drakh must die.’

I glanced around. Talisid had withdrawn to the other side of the bridge and was studying his fingernails. A pair of middle-aged women were walking by, a chocolate Labrador panting happily between them.

‘Well?’ Alma said.

‘Two caveats,’ I said. ‘First, Drakh is going to be expecting this.’

‘Of course.’

‘He’ll have protection, and there’s a good chance he’ll move first,’ I said. ‘This will not be a surgical strike. It will be messy and there will be casualties.’

Alma’s voice was cold. ‘Casualties are acceptable.’

‘Second, if I do this, you’re paying for results,’ I said. ‘As in, Drakh’s death. You don’t get to complain about who pulls the trigger.’

‘You expect to be paid for other people’s work?’

‘I’m a diviner, Alma,’ I said. ‘If I want someone dead, most of the time it’s just going to look like a very unfortunate accident.’

‘We found Levistus’s body stabbed through the heart with your bloody fingerprints on his robes.’

‘Yes, well, I already tried the subtle approach with you guys and you didn’t listen, so I decided to make the message a bit clearer the second time round. Given that we’re having this conversation, it apparently worked.’

‘Apparently,’ Alma said. ‘Are you in or out?’

‘In,’ I said. ‘Let’s talk price.’

Alma snorted. ‘Of course.’

‘Don’t worry, I think you’ll find my terms quite reasonable,’ I said. ‘First, I need some equipment. Standard Keeper issue. A bullet ward, a set of armour, that sort of thing.’

‘Arrange it with Talisid.’

‘I’m not finished. Second, I want a full pardon for Anne.’

‘The entire point of this operation is—’

‘To stop the jinn possessing her. If I can get it banished, I want Anne to go free of all charges.’

‘This is ridiculous.’ Alma sounded exasperated. ‘We’re trying to preserve the country, not the life of one criminal. Besides, banishing a possessing entity usually kills the host anyway.’

‘In which case, any charges against her won’t matter, will they?’

I heard Alma sigh. I had the feeling she was pinching the bridge of her nose.

‘Look, Alma,’ I said. ‘You really aren’t giving up very much here. If I banish the jinn and Anne dies, then any charges against her are a moot point. If I banish the jinn and she lives, then she’s not a threat any more. Besides, given that she was under the jinn’s influence while she did the things she was charged with, I’d argue that she shouldn’t be held responsible.’

‘Of course you would,’ Alma said sarcastically. ‘Very well. But I want you to understand very clearly that our primary objective is to stop the jinn, not conduct a rescue. The Keeper teams will not compromise their mission in order to save your . . . companion.’

‘I’m not expecting them to. Oh, one more thing. The Council really needs to get back up to full strength, so I think my Junior Council place should be transferred to some other Dark mage. I’d like to retain the right to sit in on meetings, though. You can come up with a title to give me, whatever you think’s appropriate. “Minister without Portfolio” or something.’

I felt Talisid start slightly. The communicator was silent. ‘What are you playing at, Verus?’ Alma said at last.

‘I’m planning ahead,’ I said. ‘It’s a habit I’ve been getting into lately. You see, once all this is over and the jinn’s gone and Richard’s dealt with, I think most of your Light mages are going to want to draw a line under this whole thing and go back to normal. Most of them. But there’ll be a few – not naming any names – who are going to see this as an opportunity to tie up loose ends.’

‘We have already made a truce with you.’

‘Which I’m perfectly happy with,’ I said. ‘But at some point I’m sure it’s going to occur to someone on the Senior Council that they could just pass a new resolution and overrule that truce. I mean, let’s be frank, you guys do have a bit of a track record of sentencing me to death while I’m not there. Consider this an extra safeguard.’

I could feel Alma weighing her decision. ‘You ask for a great deal.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s the problem with downsizing, isn’t it? It gets awkward when you have to hire the same people back.’ I paused. ‘With hindsight, it would have saved everyone an awful lot of trouble if you’d just convinced Levistus to leave me alone.’

‘Levistus did not make a habit of taking advice,’ Alma said. I felt the futures settle. ‘All right, Verus. You’ll get what you ask for. But only if Drakh doesn’t leave that shadow realm alive.’

‘Fair enough. I imagine you won’t be taking part in the attack?’

‘Of course not.’

‘In that case, I doubt we’ll be seeing much more of each other.’

‘No. We won’t.’

I deactivated the focus and walked over to Talisid. ‘Did you get all that?’ I asked. ‘The armour’s for Luna; the bullet ward’s for me. We’ll need them for tonight.’

‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Good.’

Talisid turned to go.

‘Oh, and Talisid?’

Talisid looked back.

‘When I set that trap for your team in Hyperborea, I picked a deep shadow realm that would leave you all unavailable for a few hours,’ I said. ‘I could just as easily have picked one that would have erased you from existence. I chose not to. Call it professional courtesy.’ I paused. ‘Try anything like that again, and I won’t extend the same courtesy. It’s nothing personal. It’s just, well, I can’t keep letting people off with a warning. You understand?’

‘Yes,’ Talisid said. ‘I do.’ He gave me a nod. ‘Verus.’

Talisid left. I watched him go.