Author’s Preface
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For the sake of clarity, the author would like to note a few things before you commence reading this text. It will become quickly apparent to those reading that the following novel is based upon the game of Vengeance. In Glomdoring, the game of Vengeance is set in the Age of Wyrden Supremacy, a futuristic version of the Wyrden forest an unknown number of years down the line. This novel represents one potential play out of this scenario, wherein all of the characters from the Glomdoring’s game are present.

This disclaimer is here with the intention of warning you that the following may not wholly adhere to the rules of vengeance as you know them – nor are those subject to the game aware of the usual way in which it transpires, since none of them have endured it previously. Whilst the author has endeavoured where possible to make sure the game plays out as a game could, some artistic license has been taken and the numbers may not be wholly accurate.

Nonetheless the author hopes you enjoy. Much credit is also owed to those who have joined the author in Vengeance games of the past, and will be given in full at the end of this text; wherein you will also find several appendices detaililng the various ‘behind the scenes’ actions, as well as a detailed list of the characters found herein.

Chapter 1
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‘I’m really not sure about this,’ the diminutive figure said in soft tones rapt with uncertainty, casting a steady gaze at her companion. Cloaked in shadow, the two of them hovered either side of the altar with a soft hum of wings.

The other faeling spread his lips in a wide grin that revealed rows of glistening white teeth, the fangs razor sharp. ‘No one ever is,’ he said simply, and held his athame out handle first. Trembling, the first faeling took it, and placed the cold steel against the palm of her hand.

‘There are so many things that could go wrong,’ she protested weakly, eyes pinching as the blade dug into her skin. ‘So many things we could have miscalculated.’

Her companion shrugged lightly, his ebon hair shaking in the light wind. ‘There are always things that could go wrong,’ he said enigmatically. ‘Are you going to let it stop you from trying? Are you going to linger here, never to succeed, stuck always in unknowing? We are the only two who are loyal. With this cloaking, they shall never find us – never stop us. With this blessing, we shall be free to do as the Wyrd demands.’

She inhaled deeply then, and nodded. With a sharp jerk of her hand, royal blood spilt forth onto the altar, anointing it with the power of centuries of lineage and strength. About them the shadows waxed, a sibilant hissing calling to them through the wind as the darkness settled on them like a shroud. Tears fell from the first faeling’s eyes as she let her blood run forth; not for pain, but for the solitary lives they had just undertaken, for the deception they would have to play – and for the death that would be caused, before the day was out.

Nothing mattered but Glomdoring.

--

Miara Wyrmglow prided herself on always being pristine of appearance, even when in the heat of battle. Never was a single mahogany hair on her head out of place; never was her armour without a perfect sheen, buffed to perfection. Nearly seven feet tall, she towered over the miniature faeling who comprised the majority of the commune, her hands alone nearly the span of some of their heights. A human herself, Miara had lineage that ran through several races, though she favoured most the elfen with her pointed ears and dark skin. Though her fellows in the Ebonguard moved with much nimbler precision, Miara considered herself to possess a more effortless grace, wrought of both strength and dexterity.

The night found her hunting in the forest, preparing the ritual to summon Mother Night. Deep within the tunnels, her cousin Dakuni worked to gather the bat corpses for Ulthaed, whilst Miara herself dodged the webs of the widows to snag their spinnerets. Several of them were already clutched in her hands, pilfered from the silk spiders of Tolborolla, ready to be passed to Ulthaed for binding into the sacred tiaras of Night.

/I’ve all of them now, cousin. Shall I bring them to Ulthaed?/ came the quiet tell of Dakuni, caressing the corners of her mind.

Slicing her twin blades cleanly through the final widow and clutching its bloody spinneret in her hand, Miara nodded into the darkness. /I’ll meet you there. This should be enough for the first round, until the beetles return./

In silence she strode through the forest, winding to the northwest back through the larder, and was at Ulthaed’s side some moments before Dakuni. Flashing her cousin a smug smile, Miara tossed the spinnerets, feathers and beetle carapaces into Ulthaed’s hands.

‘Kwaray was asking after you again,’ she purred with an amused look. ‘Are you ever going to pay that girl any heed? She’s been chasing you for years.’

Dakuni’s red eyes glinted with displeasure at the teasing as he passed bat corpses and a dozen or so roses to Ulthaed. ‘You know she’s not my type.’

Miara let out a low cackle. ‘I might, but she doesn’t. Poor thing, pining after the Ambassador. Whatever shall become of her?’

‘I don’t care,’ snapped Dakuni, flaring his feathered wings in frustration. ‘All she ever does is charge headfirst into Serenwilde, looking for trouble.’

Miara tilted her swords and plunged them into the sheaths at her belt, cocking her head in interest. ‘Perhaps,’ she mused idly. ‘Yet what is wrong with seeking blood? You can hardly expect one of the pack to be...docile.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with hunting,’ Dakuni said with a sigh, grimacing as he shook blood from his mandolin and robes (he, unlike Miara, had never quite gotten the hang of keeping clean in battle). ‘It’s the mindless nature of it that I hate; the unnecessary riling. How are we ever going to convince the heathens of their folly if we spend all night charging in and crushing their skulls?’

Laughing once more, Miara tilted her hand and brushed the back of her knuckles along Dakuni’s cheek, caressing the downy feathers there. ‘That, my dear cousin, is why you are one of Mahalla’s lot and not of the ‘guard. Always with words, rather than deeds.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with words!’ harrumphed Dakuni.

‘And even littler wrong with a blade or two,’ replied Miara succinctly, patting the hilts of her swords lovingly. ‘Now, what shall we do whilst we wait?’

Dakuni shrugged, doing his best to unruffle his agitated feathers. ‘We could go bother Rawoka at the Master. It’s not like he ever stands anywhere else.’

Beckoning to her cousin, Miara sliced herself cleanly with the fingerblade on her left hand, thrusting them into the realm of shadows to descend to the Master Ravenwood below. As predicted, Rawoka Llaewell stood there with several dozen vials clutched in his paws. He was engaged in a heated debate with one of the Oakvines, and it looked as if they did not want to be disturbed.

/I’ve never understood why people have private discussions here,/ Dakuni’s voice echoed in her mind. /Is that not what manses are for? Guildhalls, even. Or nests. Just somewhere other than the commune’s main gathering point./

Miara smirked. /But then we would not be able to observe and mock,/ she replied in an amused tone.

Dakuni shot her a look of exasperation, and she continued to smile at him, stretching out and settling down on the ground next to several familiars that slithered about on the floor. After a moment her cousin followed suit, flying up to sit on a low branch of a young sapling and tuning his mandolin idly.

As she listened, Miara noted that the heated debate going on next to them was – rather unsurprisingly – a matter of politics. She could see Dakuni getting agitated at the mere reminder of having to clean up other peoples’ political messes, and wondered if he had ever realised just what he was getting into when he had been elected ambassador. Politics was something she had always stayed out of; tending to the guild in her capacity as its administrator was quite sufficient, thank you very much. Novices always had a much more interesting outlook on life than seasoned (and more importantly fatigued) elders. Turning her attention more fully on the debate, Miara began to listen as Ferrue threw her hands up exasperation.

‘My brother would never do anything like that!’ the druidess exclaimed, staring at Rawoka as if he had grown a third head. ‘You know as well as I do that he hates Magnagora, and the very notion of an alliance -‘

‘But relations with Hallifax are strained,’ replied Rawoka as he shuffled on the spot, the chink of vials resounding about him. ‘It is only a matter of time before the political map of the basin shifts once more, and what then? Our status with New Celest has never recovered; for all that it refuses to descend into outright war. Though they may be Tainted, Magnagora is stronger than it has been for decades. It would be folly not to consider it.’

‘I tell you,’ urged Ferrue with a pointed shake of her cudgel, the wind swirling up around her in empathy, ‘Laesh would never agree to such a thing.’

Rawoka’s muzzle twisted as he snorted in derision. ‘Then he is foolish,’ he snarled contemptuously. ‘And I do not think it will be long before his regency is challenged, should he maintain that position. There is considerable support for an alliance with Magnagora. Is there not, Ambassador?’

Dakuni’s eyes widened as attention turned to him. ‘There – well, there is, but then there always is,’ he said, covering his initial stammer with a small cough. ‘I cannot say that it is a majority, however. There are some prominent and influential members of the commune who have long-standing grudges against the Tainted city, and many who are invested in seeing relations with Hallifax maintained.’

‘But if the Magistrate will continue to be so arrogant –‘

‘Then they shall not last terribly long as a Magistrate,’ interrupted Dakuni smoothly, the bard getting back into his stride. ‘Hallifax does not suffer fools gladly, even particularly eloquent ones. It is only a matter of time, if you’ll pardon the pun, before they are summarily ejected. Of that I am quite certain.’

Flicking his tail in agitation, Rawoka let out a huff of anger and flounced out of the Ravenwood, seemingly unwilling to continue the argument...or rather, to accept that he might have lost it. Dakuni’s lips twisted into a smug smile at this, and Miara flashed her cousin a wry grin. It was often forgotten just how skilled a debater he was, and that it was this skill that had seen him voted in as Ambassador some nine years previously. The position had only enhanced his abilities, sending him as it did to deal with outsiders whom he would never usually had met – many of whom had different styles and means of debating.

With a grateful look, Ferrue turned to Dakuni. ‘Thank you, Ambassador,’ she demurred, letting her cudgel fall back to her side. ‘That was becoming...infuriating.’

‘Quite alright,’ laughed Dakuni, returning his attention to tuning his mandolin. ‘Rawoka can tend to get stuck in his mindset when he’s of a like to argue.’

The three of them exchanged knowing glances. Rawoka had once been on the Shadow Court as the King of the Night, but that had lasted a very short time – his tendency to get stuck on repeat in an argument was not one that the Regent had taken to very well. It was not that Laesh had organised a coup to have him replaced – but no one was particularly surprised when Lady Grayley had replaced Rawoka not too long after the Regent expressed his displeasure. The fact that Laesh and Grayley were quite so...close...was not mentioned in polite company.

Of which the Glomdoring, of course, always was.

As they rested there in the day that it took for the animals of the forest to grow in sufficient number to be hunted once more, Miara and Dakuni watched several novices trundle in and out, stepping dazed from the portals to take their first lessons from Brennan. One was a Wyrm who Miara spent some hours guiding through the initial lessons. They seemed promising, but Miara had very early in her term as Keeper of the Blackened Bones learned that it was only once a novice graduated not only the Shadowmaze but the guild’s novicehood that you could truly tell what sort of warrior they were going to be.

It was not long after the Wyrm had departed to explore the Shadowmaze that Dakuni’s wings perked up to attention.

‘The beetles are back,’ he explained, the large tarantula he had bonded to twitching beside him in agreement. ‘Shall we?’

Miara got to her feet in one graceful leap as Dakuni flew down from his perch, and she led him towards the northwest where the beetles lingered. Collecting the last few pieces, they hurried to Ulthaed, becoming increasingly aware of Father Sun’s descent towards the horizon. Accepting the final ingredients, Ulthaed passed over the last of the tokens to Dakuni, who ran to quickly gather the final participants in the ritual. Whilst he did, Miara stepped to the north to tug at the brambles where the Crown of Gloriana was contained. As it landed in her hands, she smiled fondly, remembering how her wife had cradled the same crown in her hands quite so reverently during their wedding.

Dakuni rejoined her at Ulthaed’s side, and with a proud f’ai Glomdoring Miara called Ulthaed to begin summoning the vest and gown. As the hallowed vestements appeared before them, Miara and Dakuni stepped into them with reverent pride – Miara the gown, and Dakuni the vest.

‘Are you ever going to let me wear the dress, dear cousin?’ asked the bard in a mock whine.

Miara smirked. ‘Not until Mother Night forsakes me and severs all of Her gifts from my form,’ she replied curtly. ‘Which – I can assure you – shall never occur. Shall we?’

Passing the crown to Ulthaed, the two of them began the ritual. Miara made her vow with her usual succinct reverence, but when it came time for Dakuni to speak an oddly focused look came over his face. The trill’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he spoke, and Miara could feel the shadows around them shivering in response.

‘This do I swear; that Nothing Matters but Glomdoring. That we all must give of ourselves and make the greatest Sacrifice to see it meet its full Glory – that I stand now willing and able to do so, valuing nothing of my own person, seeking only the blessings of the Wyrd to be showered upon the heathen basin until the cities crumble and only the shadowed forest remains. I am Crow, and I am the Wyrd. The betrayal shall not be mine.’

His words rang in Miara’s ears as she slipped the fingerblade onto her hand and slashed at her cousin, watching it drink of his blood. His eyes glowed with pleasure, which made her lips curl in amused response. It was well known that the Ambassador had a penchant for pain that extended beyond the norm, and Miara could not fault him for it. There was a purity in violence that could not be denied.

The fingerblade sated, Dakuni unbound himself from the ritual and the two of them went north to hand it to Ulthaed. The Ebonglom Crown in her hands, a contented feeling settled over Miara’s heart. It felt good to be reunited with it, to be one step closer to summoning the Mother’s presence. Glancing at her watch, she hummed under her breath.

‘Only an hour left,’ she remarked. ‘Would you get the child? I’ll take this to Rowena for her blessing.’

Dakuni nodded, and brushed his fingertips against the Medallion around his neck. As he disappeared in a swirl of notes, Miara sliced at her wrist with her own fingerblade and rushed down to see Rowena. Brennan called out to her for the crown as she passed and Miara barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

‘It’s in my hands, old man,’ she grumbled under her breath as she entered the tunnels to find Rowena. The elfen woman shot her an amused, yet possessive glance as Miara spoke. ‘Yes, yes. I know you agree really.’

Rowena smirked. ‘The Crown?’

Miara nodded and handed it over, glancing askance as Rowena’s eyes lit up and memories flooded back into her vision. It had always seemed strange to her that the commune intruded quite so much on what was clearly a difficult history between Rowena and Brennan – yet, she supposed, with two quite so prominent figures it was difficult to avoid such prominence. The Regent and Queen had the same issue nowadays – everyone was all too aware of the affair that they had been having for decades.

Midnight fell as Rowena returned the Ebonglom Crown, now blessed in the Wyrd, and Miara rushed back up to join Dakuni at Brennan’s side. ‘Ready?’ she asked her cousin, who was struggling to hold the squirming infant. He nodded, and Miara passed the crown to Brennan.

Unsheathing her blades, Miara coated them skilfully in oil of sharpness before preparing to make the sacrifice. It would not do to miss at such a time. About them gathered several other members of the commune, all come to witness Mother Night’s coming – Rawoka had returned from his sulking, and Ferrue was still present. Even Helegana Stormcrow was there, her knitting clutched in her ancient hands, and besides her stood her niece Beria. To one side hovered the Prince of Shadows, head ducked in quiet conversation with the Queen of the Night.

Icy focus settled over Miara as she gazed down at the squirming infant, waiting for Rowena’s command. When it came she slashed her twin blades before her in a single fell swoop, slicing the child’s neck clean open and killing it instantly. Crimson lightning flashed about the Glomdoring and she kneeled, awaiting the presence of her Mother. Besides her she felt the Coven fall silent and follow suit, several others adopting their own reverent poses. Frosty wind rushed through the room and Miara raised her eyes to gaze into her Mother’s blessed face.

‘I have come in answer to the summons,’ stated Mother Night in a voice so perfect that Miara’s chest tightened. A hush fell over the entire forest in anticipation of Her next words, and where they gripped her blades Miara’s hands trembled. Then, to her horror, Mother Night frowned.

‘My Lady?’ asked Miara in a soft tone.

Raising Her arms, Night looked at the assembled gathered before her and spoke. ‘Death do I see! Wanton and murderous, the slaying of brethren and family, allies and communemates. Breath snuffed out and skulls crushed, a war within the forest. Not all that is devoted is innocent; not all that is loyal is without betrayal. Only the pure of heart will triumph for the Glomdoring. Only the pure of soul will survive.’

With that Her great form shuddered, and Rowena stood before them crouched and howling. Miara felt the hush about them end with a sudden rush of chatter, but she could not bring herself to stand.

Something was terribly wrong.

Chapter 2
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‘That is quite enough!’ called the Regent in a tone that brokered no argument, one hand ghosting over the hilt of his nekai where they rested in his belt. ‘We will not descend into bickering like the savages in Gaudiguch or the pedants of Hallifax. We are the Glomdoring, and we shall endure this.’

‘But nothing has even -happened- yet,’ pointed out Dyss Ysav’rai in a sarcastic tone, earning him a sharp look from some of his elders. The young Ebonguard was a handful, though one of Miara’s best students; he certainly took after the volatile nature of his family.

To his credit, Laesh did not rise to the baiting. ‘Quite,’ he said cooly. ‘And that is precisely why we shall not panic. Go about your duties, your lives. Be watchful, but do not be paranoid. I am sure it will become clear with time what the revered Mother wished to warn us of. Until then, the cult shall seek the guidance of Grandmother Scorpion –‘ he looked to Helegana, who nodded from behind her knitting (the Steward was rarely seen without it) ‘- and that is all. No panic, no rash actions. You are dismissed.’

The Shadow Court descended into muttering amongst themselves as the Regent strode out, the Queen of the Night at his side as ever. Next to Miara, the Chieftain gave a sharp glance to them as they left, and she felt a brief spark of pity which she quickly quashed. If Vuuak wanted to continue to live in semi-denial, then it was his own bed to lie in. She certainly wasn’t going to bother herself with the politics of affairs.

A soft touch on the shoulder of her plate alerted Miara to a presence at her side. Glancing down, her cerulean eyes lighted on the delicate features of her wife, whose red eyes were sparkling with amusement.

‘All this fuss over what could be nothing,’ Llain murmured, lacing her fingers through Miara’s. ‘My sister is just about fit to burst over the prophecy.’

Miara frowned. ‘I sincerely doubt it is nothing,’ she pointed out, ‘seeing as Mother Night saw fit to tell us about it.’

A small smile crossed the faeling’s lips as she shrugged, her ethereal wings rising and falling so that their viridian hues shifted and changed. ‘The Regent is right, though,’ replied Llain in a diplomatic tone. ‘Panic could simply bring about the very events that the Mother alluded to.’

Sighing, Miara could not help but nod in agreement. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘The sun is rising soon. Let’s just go to bed.’

Her red eyes glinting again, Llain tilted up to stand on the tips of her toes and whispered into Miara’s ear with a rush of warm breath. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

Glancing about to make sure that none of the rest of the Court were watching, Miara scooped her wife around the waist and dragged her off to their manse, the faeling batting at her platemail in insufficient – and not terribly realistic – protest. Halfway through the tunnels, Miara felt the sleeve of her armour sag slightly and she grabbed at Llain’s chin, tilting it towards her.

‘I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t attempt to remove my armour whilst I’m walking,’ Miara said with an amused grin. ‘It may become very quickly difficult to move, and then we would never actually make it to bed.’

An entirely unconvincing innocent expression passed over the faeling’s face. ‘I was just trying to hold on!’ exclaimed Llain. ‘You might have dropped me.’

As they entered their manse and passed through the main pathway of the glade that was their home, Miara rolled her eyes. ‘I never dropped you before you were this size, and you haven’t expanded quite so much that I can’t now.’

To test this theory, Llain narrowed her eyes in concentration and expanded two feet taller, causing Miara to buckle under the sudden weight – but true to her word, not to drop the now eight feet tall faeling. Laughing, Miara hurled her wife into their nest within the willow grove and watched with amusement as she reduced herself to her usual six feet. Pausing, she shrugged out of the now loose sleeve of her armour as she stood waiting. As she had expected, Llain’s face contorted as her stomach began to rumble with hunger, and Miara let out another belt of melodic laughter.

‘Stupid woman,’ she said fondly, shrugging out of her pack and tossing a platter of sweet meats over to the hungry faeling. ‘Now hurry up and eat. You need your strength.’

Llain’s eyes lit up again and she scoffed the platter hungrily, before proceeding to make up for all of her jesting by proving just precisely what other things she was hungry for. As dawn rose, the two of them fell into a deep and contented sleep, Miara’s arms wrapped possessively and watchfully around her wife’s waist.

When Miara awoke, it was to Vuuak’s voice in her mind, his tone rushed in the manner of someone who does not panic, but is doing so regardless.

/Keeper. Keeper, wake up. Something terrible has happened./

Disentangling herself from Llain’s still snoozing form, Miara swung her legs out of the nest and began buckling her armour back on. What is it?, she asked in what she hoped was a reassuring tone, though in the back of her mind Mother Night’s warning was ringing with eerie clarity.

/It’s Dyss. He’s – dead. Ilatrea found him curled up next to the Wyrdling. Someone had smothered him in his sleep./

Miara couldn’t help but raise a sceptical eyebrow. /So immolate him. Tell him to phoenix. Nil, get Eliaei to soul res him./

Vuuak’s reply was slow and dripping with disbelief. /We’ve tried. His body just falls out of the Ravenwood, and the Warden says that he can’t resurrect him for some reason. As to telling him anything...there’s nothing there to talk to. He’s dead, Miara. Really and truly./

Halfway through buckling her swordbelt, the Keeper froze. /I’ll be right there./

‘Miara? What’s going on?’ asked Llain sleepily, twisting in the covers and stretching.

Unable to summon the words to reply, Miara merely shook her head and sheathed her swords, running for the portals. Behind her she could hear Llain scrambling to her feet and pulling her robes on, still calling after her. Miara was out of the portals and sprinting through the tunnels before she knew it, and there was a crowd gathered at the Ravenwood when she arrived. Everyone was there, clustered around the small form of her ward, pale and lifeless.

‘Keeper...’ murmured the Regent as she entered, placing a hand comfortingly on her shoulder.

Miara shrugged him off, feeling a cold fury rising in her heart. Pushing through the crowd so fiercely that several people stumbled and fell to the floor, she knelt down next to Dyss’s body and brushed his sable hair out of his eyes. There were no death wounds on his body, but scratches covered his armour as if he had struggled considerably before the end. Bruises covered his mouth and cheeks in the shape of gripping hands, though they were not distinct enough to identify the size or race of his killer.

‘Did the Wyrdling see anything?’ Miara found herself asking in a voice that was considerably more stable than she felt.

Nearby, she felt Kwaray shake her head, the Mistress’s armour clattering as she moved. ‘Nay,’ she replied with a snarl. ‘He was sleeping, as usual.’

Sighing, Miara placed one hand on her ward’s heart, feeling the cool steel of the armour she had crafted for him against her gloves. ‘He was one of Mother Night’s chosen,’ she said coldly to the commune. ‘He would have wanted the Coven to conduct his death rites.’

Stepping forward, the Queen of the Night inclined her head. ‘It will be done, Keeper,’ Grayley said with polite indifference, though her eyes lingered on her nephew’s body with a sadness not present in her tone. ‘Has anyone seen his steed?’

Miara glanced up at Vuuak, who shook his head. ‘We’ll need a tracker to find him,’ the Chieftain said. ‘Kwaray?’

The Mistress of the Bloodhunt nodded and turned away, Dyssolving into a pool of blood as she left the room. Silence fell over the Ravenwood again, and Miara became aware of her wife’s presence nearby – not interfering, but with a comforting, lingering presence that made her strength recover. Casting aside memories of crafting Dyss his first bardiche, and watching as he bonded with his beloved worg, Miara got to her feet and stared levelly at Laesh.

‘So, Regent,’ she said in her most demanding tone. ‘Still so dismissive of Mother Night’s warning?’

To his credit, Laesh sighed and gave her a regretful look. ‘I stand by my decision at the time,’ he said slowly. ‘We could not have forseen this. Now, however, things have changed – especially since the Mistress of the Bloodhunt tells me that no one outside of the commune entered the forest’s boundaries this day gone. I will gather the Shadow Court –‘

‘No,’ interjected Tabmili Llaewell, folding her paws over her chest. ‘There will be no more of the Shadow Court’s secrecy. There are ever those of us present who are not privy to its discussions, and this is something that affects all of us. He might have been a twit, but Dyss Ysav’rai was one of the Glomdoring. The crime of his death must be answered for, and it must be done so publically.’

There was a rising murmur of agreement with the Alpha’s impassioned speech, and Miara could even see Helegena Stormcrow nodding, her knitting abandoned for the moment – Miara could not recall the last time something had caught the ancient aslaran’s attention enough to cause her to abandon her beloved knitting, and it pleased her to see the commune so riled up at her protege’s death.

Standing, she looked at the gathered and folded her arms over her chest. ‘Alright then,’ she said, ‘let’s see if we can’t work this out.’ Rounding on Ilatrea Nightshade, she raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow imperiously. ‘You found him, I believe.’

Ilatrea nodded, the shroud around her shoulders shifting, and stepped forward. ‘I did, Keeper,’ she replied in a soft voice that was almost drowned out by the humming of her wings. ‘I came to influence the guards, and found him lying there.’

‘Was anyone else nearby?’ asked Dakuni, speaking up for the first time. He had stepped to stand at Miara’s side, as had Vuuak.

Furrowing her brow in thought, Ilatrea shook her head. ‘I do not believe so,’ she said with apologetic sadness. ‘I came from the Ravenwood, where Rawoka, Wuttif and Jemdir were – and I believe the Prince was teaching a novice next to Rowena. I did not, however, see anyone in the tunnels as I walked through.’

Examining the Harbinger carefully, Miara nodded, and turned to Ultdir. ‘Did you see anything, your highness?’

Pursing his lips in thought, Ultdir Shee-Slaugh considered this for a moment. ‘I was as Ilatrea says teaching a Shadowbound. I had not been there long, but several people did pass through in that time. Wuttif was one of them, and I believe he went up to the Ravenwood – which would tie in with what my fellow Sage has said. Beyond that I also saw the Keeper – ah, the other Keeper – and the Fang of Tongues.’

In accordance with his words, Wuttif, Daindam and Haloia all nodded, each of them giving perfectly acceptable reasons for their presence and none of them having gone near the Wyrdling at all. Sighing, Miara rubbed at her temples. This was getting them nowhere.

‘Alright,’ said the Regent, stepping forwards and taking over. ‘So no one saw anything of use at all?’

The assembled shook their heads, and Laesh chewed thoughtfully on his lip. Seeing that he was not continuing his train of thought, the commune Dyssolved into quiet discussion. Vuuak got Miara’s attention and pulled her to one side, ducking his dark head alongside hers.

‘We cannot stand for this, Keeper. One of the guard being murdered on our watch,’ he said with furrowed brow. ‘But I do not know what we can do about it.’

Tapping her finger thoughtfully against her lips, Miara inhaled deeply and succeeded in banishing the last of the incandescent fury that had settled on her upon seeing Dyss’s body for the first time. ‘There is not enough information,’ she replied in a low voice. ‘Not for us to know, or do anything decisive.’

Nodding in agreement, Vuuak placed a hand on her shoulder, the mail on his gloves clattering against her plate. ‘Then we will simply have to get more information,’ he said cooly, and locked eyes with hers. Miara saw the same fury that had settled in her heart reflected in the Chieftain’s eyes, and she clapped her hand over his in solidarity.

‘He was my most successful ward,’ Miara said simply. ‘His death will not go unavenged. Let’s see if Kwaray’s had any luck.’

Vuuak began to follow her, and Miara quietly sought the Regent’s permission to leave and go after Kwaray. It was given without any trouble – the meeting seeming to have been adjourned for the moment – so Miara called upon the spirit wolf to help her sniff out the Mistress’s tracks. Finding her somewhere to the far east of the forest, she led the Chieftain over to where the tae’dae was standing.

The Mistress of the Bloodhunt raised one hand to halt them as they entered, her bardiche clutched in her other hand. ‘A moment,’ she growled in a low voice, eyes locked with Dyss’s rage worg. The two of them seemed to be entrenched in some sort of intense battle of wills. Though neither of them were cavaliers, both Vuuak and Miara could see that the beast was exceptionally distraught, which was only to be expected when its bonded master had been slain quite so viciously. At length, Kwaray managed to convince the worg to come out of the hole where it had cowed itself.

Her own steed, a direwolf named Deera, sat patiently at her side for much of this – though when the rage worg emerged from its hiding place, shadows trailing about it on the ground as it stepped, she crept forward and bumped noses with the other beast as if to commiserate with its sorrow.

‘I’ve never seen one of them like this,’ Kwaray said, face contorted into an angry grimace. ‘It’s like the fight has gone out of it.’

Miara reached down and held her hand out to the worg, whom she had known since it was a small pup in stasis. Though it sniffed at her, there was none of the same affection that would have been there a matter of days ago. It was as if someone had taken all of the energy and zeal from the beast, rendering it a lifeless shadow of its previous strength.

‘Let’s put her in the guildhall if we can,’ Vuuak suggested. ‘We should talk there, anyway.’

Nodding, the three of them gradually coaxed the broken worg through the tunnels to the Wyrdling. It balked at the initial entry, clearly recognising what had occurred there – but with the help of Deera, they managed to get him to step through into the guildhall. Kwaray suggested that they leave it to rest for some time, and left Deera to keep him company whilst they went to speak.

‘The Regent’s right,’ began Vuuak with a pained expression. ‘We cannot do anything now whilst we have no information. So how can we get it?’

‘Whoever did this may well do so again,’ pointed out Kwaray, leaning on her bardiche and shaking out the shaggy fur around her face. ‘Dyss was annoying, but no one would have murdered him just for being him. There’s something bigger at work here.’

‘So we work on the assumption that the killer will strike again,’ said the Chieftain with a nod of agreement, ‘and see if we can’t find some more clues as to who’s been doing it.’

Miara folded her arms over her chest and considered this for a long moment. ‘Alright,’ she said, once she realised that the two of them were looking to her to speak. ‘Let’s do it. I’ll see if I can keep an eye on people’s movements.’

Kwaray nodded. ‘I might be able to rile the forest up a bit, help keep people from sneaking around too much.’

Pacing back and forth, Vuuak seemed agitated by their suggestions somewhat. ‘It’s dangerous,’ he said when the women looked at him expectantly. ‘But necessary. I’ll see if I can get anything out of the rest of the seated Court. People often know more than they’re letting on. Now let’s get back to – to seeing about Dyss’s death rites. The Coven should conduct it, you’re right. But he was one of ours.’

Clapping a hand on Vuuak’s shoulder, Kwaray gave him a nod. ‘We will fix this,’ she stated, and the three of them went back to the Ravenwood together.

Llain was waiting there when Miara returned, deep in conversation with her sister Beria. Leaving them to it, Miara settled next to Helegena in her usual spot, her graceful movement preventing any clattering of her platemail.

‘You’d best keep an eye out, young lady,’ murmured Helegena over the clicking of her knitting needles. ‘Who knows what filth are lurking in the daytimes. Those who look out for you may not be around forever – you may not have much time.’

It was more than her aunt-in-law had said to her in decades, and Miara stared at her intently for a long moment. ‘Thank you,’ she replied in an uncertain voice, but Helegena had already returned to her knitting as if nothing had ever passed between them. Taking this as a hint, Miara turned her attention back to Llain just in time to see her wife coming towards her.

/This is why you left in such a hurry, isn’t it,/ came Llain’s soft voice in her mind. Miara nodded stiffly, looking off into the distance. She did not trust herself to meet Llain’s eyes, with so much swirling about in her mind and churning in her gut. /It’s alright, love. I’m here./

Though she still did not look at her, Miara brushed the back of her hand against Llain’s, the brief touch grounding her and alleviating some of the fury that had begun to bubble up once more. Slowly, she began to concoct a plan – a series of signs, like traps perhaps, to help her see whether anyone had come close to a person during the daytimes. There was not too much time, however, and she would need to do it without anyone seeing – as such it was likely that she’d only be able to watch one person each day.

But who to watch? It meant trying to pre-empt the murderer’s movements, and this seemed impossible to do with so little information. It hinged on the murderer’s reasons for killing, and with only one victim there were a dozen possible patterns. It could be an attack against his family, in which case it would be best to watch one of the Ysav’rai – or against the Ebonguard, or the Predator’s Order. All of these seemed unlikely, but Kwaray was certain that it was someone within the Glomdoring. There was no one good enough at stealth to bypass the Mistress’s traps, and that left only one option – the worst option, in fact.

Someone within the commune was a murderer, a killer of their own.

Mother Night had warned them, and they had not heeded it; yet Miara did not think that they could have stopped this murderer, even if they had taken all possible provisions. Whoever it was seemed far too skilled to have been Dyssuaded. It was this level of skill involved that made Miara seriously consider the Shee-Slaugh family as an option. Though they had long ago thrown off the shackles of their liege lords, there was still some animosity between some of them – though not all, and the heads of each family bore no obvious loathing of one another. However, she could not quite bring herself to consider that the families of the Glomdoring would turn wholly on one another, and so Miara dismissed the idea that it was a vendetta against the Ysav’rai.

Which left that it could be an assault on Lord Shikari’s pack, or on the Ebonguard. It seemed unlikely that if it were the latter, Dyss would be targeted – Vuuak, Kwaray or even Miara herself would be far more likely candidates. Therefore she came by way of some vague logic – for it was very vague, and her guesswork pained her – to the Pack as a potential group of victims, for Dyss had been influential indeed amongst them. Pursing her lips, she decided that the Fang would be the best person to watch.

Haloia Llaewell was like many of her family one of the Nekotai. Of the Oakvine family by birth, she was married to Tabmili Llaewell – the Alpha of that family. As the Regent’s elder sister she carried considerable weight within the commune as an individual, let alone as the Hidden Messiah of the cult. Alongside her wife, who served as Tenebrous Wrath, and Helegena Stormcrow – who had for as long as anyone could remember been the Mother of Nightmares – Haloia led a cult in the height of their power.

As far as Miara was aware – and it had to be said that she did not keep track of their movements as a matter of course – the Llaewells slept in the guildhall more often than not. It would not be too difficult to prepare the area around the entrance – for it was unlikely that she would be able to get into the guildhall herself without arousing suspicion, and Helegena’s warning echoed in her head at the notion of being caught.

/I need to go for a walk,/ Miara told Llain. /Get some of this...out of my head./

Llain nodded, and glancing around to make sure no one was looking, brushed her lips against Miara’s before the warrior could place her helm back on. /I’ll be here. We could go hunting later?/

Miara managed a small smile and a nod. /I would like that. I won’t be too long./

Getting gracefully to her feet, Miara went down into the tunnels. Collecting some commodities from the shop, she wandered around the entrance to the Nekotai guildhall, laying about some crude traps that – if disturbed – would not alert those who set them off, but would be obvious to her when she returned the following night. For now she did not arm them; that would need to be done at the last minute, once the Llaewells themselves were asleep – but the bulk of the work was done, for now.

Trusting in herself that this was the best course of action, Miara drew her swords and went to join Llain in hunting. There was little else to do now but wait, and bury the dead.

Chapter 3
---------

When they woke, neither Llain nor Miara really wanted to leave the manse – not quite wishing to face the world outside, and what might have happened in the day whilst they slumbered. They left together, and Miara walked them casually around the tunnels in a much more roundabout direction. As she passed her traps she noted that none had been disturbed, and there were no obvious tracks to be followed. Nodding to herself, she made a point of visiting the Wyrdling to offer a small prayer to Mother Night over the spot where Dyss drew his last breath, before returning to the Ravenwood.

To her dismay, there was a large group gathered again. Several others arrived as she and Llain did, each surveying the situation with a nervous eye and searching for the body that they felt was inevitable. There was none, but it was clear to Miara that something had happened nonetheless.

When everyone had gathered, Laesh passed his hands over his face and made the announcement.

‘Ilatrea Nightshade is dead,’ he stated in a grave tone, and the absence of all of the regency suddenly became apparent to Miara. ‘She was stabbed as she slept in the rooms behind the stage. Her family are with her.’

Tilting his head in thought and tugging at his beard, Daindam An’Ryshe pointed out, ‘This is a different method to the first attack.’

Murmurs of agreement and nods rippled through the assembled as they digested this statement. ‘Perhaps there’s more than one killer?’ piped up Beria nervously, clutching at her aunt’s hand in anxiety.

Wuttif scoffed at this, waving his cudgel dismissively. ‘Not necesserially,’ he countered. ‘There’s no law saying that a murderer has to use the same weapon every time.’

‘Yet it does make it possible that we could have two different killers on our hands,’ said Ferrue diplomatically, breaking up the stern looks that her guildmembers were giving one another. ‘We should not discount the notion.’

The Regent gave the Eye of Crow a grave nod, acknowledging her point to be true. He had opened his mouth to say something when Grayley interrupted him.

‘Ilatrea was the one who found Dyss,’ she pointed out with a demure frown. ‘Perhaps the assassin feared someone was onto him – or her.’

‘The Queen is right,’ stated Ultdir with a nod. ‘I consider it more likely that the assassin, in his or her fury at potentially being caught, killed Ilatrea in a violent and angry response.’

Frowning, Laesh turned to the gathered and asked, ‘Did Ilatrea speak to any of you about anything she had seen? I found her explanation of what she saw to be truthful, but it is possible that she concealed a greater knowledge.’

‘She was a very good actress,’ Dakuni murmured, looking distressed at the death of one of his guildmembers. ‘It’s possible, though she didn’t tell me about it. Lord Song?’

Speaking for the first time, Sanshaj folded his arms across his chest and shook his head, his thin white hair drifting in the breeze created by the movement. ‘I’m afraid she did not speak to me of it. Perhaps she could have told her family?’

Murmuring softly, Lalvani An’Ryshe volunteered, ‘I can speak to them, if you want? I may not be a Nightshade in name anymore, but I was born one.’

Laesh smiled gratefully at Lalvani. ‘That would be much appreciated, Talons. Please pass on the Shadow Court’s considerable sympathy for your family’s loss – and our prayers.’

The Talons of Crow curtseyed gracefully and her wings hummed, carrying her aloft. She exchanged a glance with her husband, Daindam, before departing to carry the message to her family. The Keeper furrowed his brow in concern as his wife drifted away, before turning his attention back to the gathered.

‘Regent, I think we need to treat this as if both options are possible. Whilst the Queen makes an astute observation, it is also possible that someone wished to murder Ilatrea and has taken advantage of the chaotic situation – and the potential reason for the same murderer to be suspected as the Queen outlined – to do so,’ Daindam suggested, furrowing his brow in thoughtful concern. ‘I do not know of a reason that this might be the case myself, but...’

‘Well, she did steal Jemdir’s job,’ pointed out Tabmili, flicking her tail in agitation. A few hesitant glances went in her direction from the Silent Lord’s followers.

Not being one of them, Haloia looked at her wife in confusion. ‘What?’ she asked curiously, echoing the thoughts of many others in the room.

Tabmili sighed. ‘Jemdir was the Twilit Auspex before Ilatrea was,’ she explained with the air of someone who was dredging up a past argument that did not really want rehashing. ‘There was a little while, maybe a year or two, where Jemdir was dormant. No one saw very much of him at all. Ilatrea went to the Silent Lord and asked to replace Jemdir, claiming that she knew he wasn’t coming back. She was the best candidate, to be fair, but – well...’

Sighing, Eliaei saw this as his moment to chime in. ‘She was lying,’ he said softly, one hand brushing the shroud around his neck. ‘Please understand, Ilatrea is an excellent Sage. Perhaps even better than Lord Nightshade was. Still, the Alpha is right. The means by which she came to that position were not wholly above board.’

The Silent Order nodded amongst themselves, and Miara frowned. There were networks of grudges below the surface of the forest that she had not – and indeed could not, if she was not privy to them – consider. To work out the murderer...or, now, murderers...she would have to familiarise herself with as many of them as she could. Only then would she be able to consider all of the possible options for motive.

It occurred to her also that she should not only be considering motives but studying the reactions of those around her. Many were silent, and she could not blame them for it – the commune had never faced an incident like this previously, and there was no precedent for behaviour. It was impossible to know how to act, or think. Not to mention that silence was hardly an unusual behaviour for people of the Glomdoring. If she wanted to spot anyone suspicious, she would have to look for someone who was acting out of character – and that meant calling on all of her knowledge of her communemates. It was easier with those she knew well, Miara considered, and none of them had been especially out of place...

Save, she thought with a pained breath, for Dakuni...and his oddly devout vow when they conducted the nai’Dorin. It seemed like much longer ago than it truly was, but the memory of it played in Miara’s mind as vividly as if her cousin was saying the words in front of her now. Still, Miara was certain that Dakuni would not have killed Ilatrea – and even more certain that he would not have killed Dyss. Not to mention that the method of death was hardly one that Dakuni would choose – but then, how many people in the commune practiced death by stabbing, or smothering?

Pursing her lips, she considered this. It was possible that the killer, or killers, were using these particular methods to disguise their identity. Both were methods that anyone could have used. This could perhaps lend weight to the idea that there was only one killer; they might go for whatever method was best for the situation and concealed who they truly were. It was perhaps also unlikely that two people would have the idea to conceal their identity through their method of killing, but given that the murders had not happened in quick succession it was also possible that one had copied the other.

Thinking about it gave Miara a headache, and she rubbed at her temples. This drew the attention of Vuuak, who nodded towards the tunnels. Getting his meaning, she pressed a kiss to Llain’s cheek before turning to follow him.

/Guild business. I’ll be back shortly./

Llain nodded, and Miara followed Vuuak down into the tunnels. Like the previous month they went through to the guildhall, finding it better as a place to sit than the middle of the commune where anyone could walk in.

‘Any luck?’ he asked her once they were alone, and Miara shook her head. ‘Damnit,’ the Chieftain cursed, bashing his fist against the wall.

‘You?’

‘Nothing,’ he replied, glancing away. ‘Either no one knows anything, or they’re all too afraid to speak. I’m not sure which one I think is worse.’

Wryly, Miara chuckled and remarked, ‘I doubt anyone would ever admit to the latter even if it were true.’

Vuuak grimaced. ‘Fear is nothing to be ashamed of,’ he said in the tone of someone who had explained this many times over, expected to explain it many times more, and begrudged every time that he had to do so. ‘Fear is natural; it powers us, urges us on. It gives us caution in the greatest dangers and spurs us away from inactivity – but only if we acknowledge it.’

It was a lecture Miara herself had heard before – indeed, the Chieftain had given her this precise lesson many times over when she was a novice. For much of her life Miara had attempted to close her emotions off, seeing them as only detrimental to her service to the Wyrd and her training as a blademaster. She saw cool calculation as the only viable method. It was Vuuak, her mentor and warden, who had shown her that this was not the best course of action. Many were under the misconception that Miara had simply ‘softened up’ as a result of her relationship with Llain – but those in the Ebonguard knew better. It was Vuuak, not Llain, who had helped demonstrate to Miara the weaknesses in her approach to life; ironically through showing her the ways in which he dealt with his own jealousy and anger.

It was the fact that despite that he continued to ignore the way that his wife carried on with the Regent that truly confused Miara – but every time she had attempted to call him on it, the Chieftain had shut down – and if that was how he chose to live his life, as an occasional hypocrite but otherwise staunchly loyal friend, then who was Miara to challenge it?

As she drifted back out of her musings, Vuuak pushed his unruly curls back from his face with a heavy sigh.

‘One murderer or two, it could be any of us next. We need to work out where they are going to strike,’ he said in a gravelly voice.

Miara nodded. ‘I attempted to guess their next move,’ she said with a frown. ‘I did not consider that Ilatrea might have known more than she was letting on. That seems the most likely reason for her death, to my mind.’

‘We can’t be sure of that,’ Vuuak replied with displeasure, ‘unless she told someone what she knew. Otherwise we are just guessing at knowledge that we can never confirm, since she’s dead.’

‘I didn’t even think to ask!’ exclaimed Miara, clapping a hand to her cheek. ‘Did they try to resurrect Ilatrea?’

‘They did. Eliaei tried but to no avail. When that failed they decided not to attempt to immolate her. She was...brutalised, I understand. Her body was torn apart by the assassin’s knife, and it would not have been easy to move her.’

Grimacing, Miara tapped her fingers thoughtfully against her lips. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Let’s get more people in on this. The few of us alone aren’t going to be able to work things out.’ Her mind drifted to Helegena’s warning, but something in her gut suggested that she didn’t want to reveal that warning just yet. ‘Let’s speak to Lalvani. She’s close enough to the Nightshades still that she’ll be invested in wanting to do something about all this, moreso than most.’

‘Haloia too,’ suggested Vuuak, tugging at his chin. ‘She might also have an idea of what the Regent is thinking, or if he knows more than he’s letting on.’

Miara smirked. ‘Careful, Chieftain. Your true feelings about the Regent were showing a bit in your tone there.’

Vuuak shot her a glare and sighed in exasperation. ‘Keeper...’

‘I know, I know,’ chuckled Miara, waving her hand dismissively. ‘But it’s true. And that’s why you’re probably right that she would be a good person to speak to. I doubt Laesh is going to speak to you himself, or even to me.’

‘He might tell Grayley,’ suggested Vuuak with considerable reticence, conflicting emotions passing across his face at the mention of his wife. ‘I could ask...’

‘Not unless you have to,’ said Miara succinctly, not wanting to send Vuuak into another spiralling descent of mood about his wife’s practically public affair. The last time it had happened he had started threatening to resign, and that had raised all sorts of potential problems that Miara simply did not want to think about.

To her great relief Vuuak nodded. ‘Right, then,’ he said, making for the exit. ‘Let’s go crash the Nightshades’ grief party.’

With an expression halfway between a grimace and a smirk – Miara wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to make light of the situation, but she could understand the need to – she turned on her heel and strode out of the guildhall, armour clinking imposingly as she walked. Several Shades scuttled quickly out of their way as they walked through the tunnels, making their way through towards the stage. Several people were hovering near to the Drums of the Dead, wanting to be near to the events but lingering back out of respect for the family.

Dakuni was there, and shot her a grave look as she passed.

/You’re investigating things?/ he asked with a tilt of his head.

/Someone has to,/ she replied. /The rest of the commune is doing nothing but panicking./

He glanced at her sharply. /Perhaps people are simply not working out in the open,/ he pointed out. Miara nodded, and continued on down to the stage, Vuuak at her side.

When they stepped behind the scrim, the two of them were faced with a gruesome spectacle. Seregmor Nightshade, the Maestro of the Lament raised his head to regard them as they entered. Vuuak ducked his head in greeting, and Miara guessed that a telepathic conversation ensued between them. At length the Maestro nodded, a pained look crossing his face.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured. ‘Please come and let us know what you can...find.’

He stepped to one side, and Miara could see Ilatrea’s body more clearly than she had ever wished to. The faeling’s diminutive body had been brutally slashed and stabbed, the crimson evidence of her death splashed liberally about the stage. Her viola had fallen to one side, the yew wood split into several pieces and strings curled up into spirals. Stepping closer, Miara knelt down next to Ilatrea’s head and examined the worst of the stab wounds, which had gone so deep into her tiny neck as to nigh on sever it from her body.

Frowning, she stated with conviction, ‘These wounds were applied frantically, and from behind. Whoever it was reached round her and plunged the knife towards them. It was either done by someone without skill, or someone overcome with passion; perhaps both.’ Tilting her head, she ran her eyes down Ilatrea’s body to examine the further gashes on her stomach and back. ‘I suspect the neck wound was first. It looks like she had the strength to turn round, and attempt to defend herself – if you look where her instrument has fallen, it would fit with a turn here – only to be slashed again in the stomach. At this point she likely no longer had the strength to fly, and landed, where the killer put the final strokes into her back.’

As Miara fell silent, she saw the Nightshade men cluster together, drawing on the strength of unity. ‘Thank you, Keeper,’ said Spinner Cannrin in a soft voice. ‘It helps, I think, to know how – that she tried to defend herself.’

Offering a small nod, Miara glanced over at Vuuak as she said, ‘Lady Nightshade was a formidable combatant and often overlooked in that capacity. I do not doubt that she put up some fight; yet still, there is only so much one can do against this sort of surprise attack.’

‘Are you able to track the killer’s retreat?’ asked Seregmor, glancing over at where his sister’s blood had pooled. ‘I do not see any footsteps here.’

Miara shook her head. ‘That is because there are none,’ she said apologetically. ‘I suspect the killer escaped through some means other than walking. The monolith sigil here appears to have decayed, so many things would have worked.’

‘Would they not have stepped in the blood during the...struggle?’ Cannrin said, his soft voice filled with hesitancy.

‘Not with the first blows,’ replied Vuuak, following Miara’s retracing of the murder. ‘But perhaps the ensuing ones. A gash to the stomach would have spurted out a considerable amount of blood. Sadly, it looks like Lady Nightshade fell in the place where we might have been able to see a...silhouette, of sorts, where the blood hit the killer.’

Shifting to look over the spot where Vuuak was pointing, Miara nodded her head in agreement. ‘He’s right, I’m afraid,’ she said with a frown. ‘I don’t think there’s any way we can track them. Though...’ Reaching forward towards the body, she hesitated slightly. ‘Ah...I can work out what sort of weapon it was, but only if I can see how deep the wounds go.’

Lalvani cottoned on to what Miara intended quickly, and placed her hands on the shoulders of her cousins to turn them away. All three Nightshades turned at her gentle suggestion, but Lalvani levelled her gaze on Miara, nodding.

/I have to watch. Please...go ahead,/ she murmured softly in Miara’s mind, and the Keeper nodded.

Placing her palm against the cleanest stab wound on Ilatrea’s abdomen, Miara pursed her lips in thought briefly before measuring the depth of the blade with her fingers. The wound made an obscene gulping sound as she did so, and Miara could hear the sudden intake of breath from the family. Pushing on until she could feel the end of the hole in Ilatrea’s belly, Miara frowned and withdrew her hand. Holding it up to the dim light, she measured how much of her gloves were covered in the faeling’s blood.

‘It wasn’t an athame,’ she stated with conviction, narrowing her eyes in concentration. ‘The wound isn’t deep enough, and there’s bruising around the entry point – which suggests that the killer did use the whole length of the knife, and she was bashed by the hilt.’

‘Who produces knives like the one that did this? Who uses them?’ asked Cannrin, turning round as Miara wiped her hands clean on her cloak.

Vuuak hummed under his breath. ‘Any forger,’ he mused aloud, ‘and I’m afraid it makes it rather anonymous in nature. We could see if any of the commune forgers have made this sort of dagger recently, but they could have easily imported it. I doubt it will be a very profitable line of investigation, but we’ll do it nonetheless.’

‘I’ve pondered,’ said Miara thoughtfully, ‘that the killer might be using these methods to disguise their identity. We would easily recognise someone who had been killed by a nightkiss, or by manabarbs. But stabbing, with a knife? Strangulation? Whoever is committing these crimes knows what they are doing.’

‘You’re saying it’s premeditated?’ asked Lalvani, tilting her head in thought.

‘Before this I thought so,’ explained Vuuak, stepping forward, ‘but this...looks much more like a crime of passion. In all honesty I am leaning towards the idea that we have two murderers on our hands.’

Lalvani frowned in thought. ‘Two murderers...’ she murmured, shaking her head. ‘It’s not something I want to consider, really, but I suppose we have to. You think the second killer is taking advantage of the chaos that the first created?’

Miara nodded. ‘Precisely. Or perhaps even reacting to it.’

‘What if the second killer was trying to avenge Dyss?’ suggested Seregmor, tapping his fingers against his lips thoughtfully. Miara turned her attention to him with dawning realisation. ‘Ilatrea found him, after all...’

‘They might have assumed she was the killer,’ she said, finishing his train of thought. The Maestro nodded, and Miara coughed awkwardly. ‘Forgive me, but are you certain that she was not?’

Cannrin looked taken aback, and started trying to defend Ilatrea’s honour with some vehemence. He was quickly silenced by Lord Jemdir’s raised hand. ‘Now, cousin,’ the druid said smoothly, ‘it is quite possible that she was, though unlikely. The Keeper is not trying to insult Ilatrea’s memory, merely to solve the mystery of what has happened here.’ Turning to Miara, he suggested, ‘Perhaps we could find out where Ilatrea was the day before last, and see if anyone can vouch for her? Provide an alibi?’

‘That would be an excellent idea,’ agreed Miara, glancing over at Vuuak to look for his approval. She also passed her eyes over Jemdir’s face as she glanced about, looking for any trace of anger or even vindication. He seemed to be very much himself, however; there was concern, and some anger but only as much as one would expect from someone who had just lost a close relative. Satisfied that he was unlikely to be guilty of something this violent, she turned back to the Nightshades. ‘Many other people are gathered at the Drums. Is there anyone that you think is likely to know where Ilatrea was?’

Exchanging a glance with his cousins, Cannrin nodded. ‘She was – well.’

‘Ask Sanshaj,’ said Lalvani with a sigh. ‘The two of them are nigh on inseparable. Or...were.’

At Vuaak’s raised eyebrow, Cannrin continued, ‘They were very private about it. She didn’t want anyone to know, and he – well, he was worried it would affect his work. He didn’t want people in the guild to think that he was biased towards her, at all.’

It was an understandable concern. Vuuak nodded, and Miara glanced around. ‘I think you can clear up the body now,’ she said gently, ‘though I’d check with the Regent first. He might have someone else who wants to examine it. I don’t think there’s much more to find, though.’

‘Thank you, Keeper,’ said Seregmor with a weak smile. ‘You’ll speak to Sanshaj? I know we’d all like to be assured of Ilatrea’s innocence, but – well, we all ought to be tending to her funeral rites.’

‘Of course,’ assured Miara, with a half bow that made her armour clink. Turning to Lalvani, she added, ‘We also wanted to ask your advice regarding investigating the murders at large – when you are available.’

A frown passed over Lalvani’s face but she nodded slowly. ‘Of course,’ she murmured with some uncertainty. ‘I’ll come and find you when we are done here.’

More thanks and goodbyes were exchanged, plus some advice in getting bloodstains out of the stage curtains, and Miara and Vuuak stepped back through the scrim and climbed up to the Drums of the Dead. The Lord Song was indeed amongst those gathered there, a blank look on his face. Miara found herself feeling a brief burst of empathy for him; it was hard enough to mourn the loss of a lover, harder still to feel that you could not allow anyone else to see it.

A virulent argument was going on when they entered, and unsurprisingly they found Rawoka Llaewell at the centre of it. In an unusual turn of affairs however the target of his anger was Rymiel, who was usually much more placid in his demeanour. Glancing over at Dakuni as they entered, Miara raised an eyebrow in question, nodding towards her brother.

/People have started demanding to know where everyone was yesterday,/ he explained with a mental whisper. /Rawoka was first to turn on people. Rymiel objected to the interrogation./

Pursing her lips, Miara stood next to her brother in silent solidarity – though she did not join in the argument straight away. /Who do you think is right?/ she asked Dakuni, pondering it at length.

/I honestly don’t know. On the one hand I think knowing where people were could help – but equally, it might just cause infighting like this and that is not going to help anyone./

‘Turning on ourselves is of no benefit,’ urged Rymiel, unknowingly following Dakuni’s train of thought. ‘Our unity has ever been our strength.’

Eyebrows arched so high that they looked as if they were trying to jump through her hairline, Rawoka replied, ‘What unity do we have left now, when our fellows are being murdered in their sleep? By people too cowardly to show themselves or their true purpose?’

‘We cannot dissolve into chaos,’ interjected the Regent smoothly, stepping forward for what looked to be the first time – given by how the onlookers quickly fell into a hushed silence. ‘But nor can we ignore the fact that this needs to be looked into. I think it is time that we all start doing whatever we can to help find this killer, or killers – and that includes answering questions, within reason, if they are asked of you. I am not going to go as far as requiring everyone to produce an alibi for each day but it will help assuage suspicion if you are able to prove where you were and when.’

Narrowing her eyes, Rawoka nodded stiffly. ‘As long as we are doing -something-,’ she snarled, before taking her usual spot in front of the Ravenwood with a clink of vials.

/The Nightshades suggested that finding out where Ilatrea was when Dyss died might help work out whether she could have been killed in revenge for his death,/ Miara told Laesh. The Regent’s eyes fell on her as she spoke, looking thoughtful.

/You think she could have been responsible for his death?/

Miara shook her head almost imperceptibly. /No,/ she said slowly, /but I think it will help us rule out one cause of death. Whoever killed her was...impassioned. She was brutalised./

/Any leads?/ Laesh asked, tugging thoughtfully at his chin.

/They suggested that Sanshaj might know where she was. We just came to ask him./

The Regent nodded to her, and with a polite inclination of his head stepped towards the tunnels. As he left, Miara spotted his hand brushing against the small of Grayley’s back. Next to her Vuuak tensed – he had clearly noticed it too. The Regent leant forward to whisper into the Queen’s ear, and Miara placed a cautionary hand on Vuuak’s shoulder. She could feel his whole body quaking, and the secretive smile that his wife flashed the Regent certainly did not help matters.

‘Lord Song?’ Miara called loudly, snapping Vuuak back into the present and gaining the distracted faeling’s attention. ‘Could I have a word?’

Almost dragging Vuuak with her, Miara led Sanshaj out into the forest, away from the gathered crowd. Vuuak relaxed very slightly as they got further away from the nexus, and the Lord Song too looked significantly more relaxed.

‘We were wondering,’ began Miara gently, glancing over at the Chieftain, ‘If you happened to know where Ilatrea was the day that Dyss died.’

A mixture of emotions flashed over Sanshaj’s face, and he landed on a low branch, bringing his viridian wings close around himself. Finally his eyes settled on a guarded expression, a small frown creasing at the lines around his eyes and brow. ‘Why?’ he asked in a quiet, blunt tone.

‘I do not think she killed him,’ Miara stated clearly, and the Lord Song relaxed slightly, the lines around his eyes softening. ‘But it is possible that the person who killed her did. She found Dyss’s body – they might have assumed that she was not there by chance.’

Sanshaj shook his head in disbelief. ‘She would never – but I can understand the logic,’ he added after a moment’s pause, sighing. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, though. She was with me during the night; we spent some time working on her play together. I assume that she was working on it yesterday as well, hence falling asleep at the stage and...’

‘Otherwise she might have been somewhere safer,’ observed Vuuak with a grimace. ‘I am sorry for your loss, Lord Song.’

The faeling examined Vuuak levelly, as if looking for some sign of insincerity. His pale blue eyes gleamed and he nodded, gravely. ‘Thank you,’ he said, offering a weak smile to his warrior counterpart. ‘And thank you for looking into her death. I assume that is how you have come to this, at least?’

Miara nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you know...anything else?’ he asked, wringing his hands together.

With an apologetic grimace, Miara shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said. ‘Save that whoever killed her did so with...considerable anger. There was no finesse to it; it was quite brutal.’ Seeing Sanshaj’s grimace, she continued, ‘Ilatrea put up a fight, a good one, but it was quick. She had little chance against an assailant with that sort of advantage. Whoever killed her...they were without any hesitation.’

‘Is there anyone that you know of,’ asked Vuuak in a level voice, ‘who could possibly have hated her enough to do that?’

The Lord Song sighed. ‘I don’t know. There was that business with the order but I thought it was all sorted, though who knows what sort of grudge Jemdir might have held for it. They had words a few times, though, and I know that the family believed it resolved. They didn’t want infighting, you see.’

‘Understandable,’ Vuuak replied. ‘You do not think it likely that Jemdir could have done it, then? In revenge?’

‘I do not.’

Returning to the original subject, Miara tilted her head and asked, ‘Did Ilatrea mention where she was sleeping on the day that Dyss died?’

‘She usually sleeps in her manse, if she’s not –‘ the Lord Song stumbled, and swallowed awkwardly. ‘...elsewhere,’ he finished with difficulty, glancing out into the forest.

The real meaning was clear, but both Miara and Vuuak were too polite to point it out. Instead they glanced at one another. Satisfied? Vuaak asked, and Miara nodded.

/It would’ve been nice to know for sure – but it was always unlikely. We’ll keep looking. There are still other people we were going to talk to./

Vuaak glanced up at the sky. /It’s close to dawn, though. We should get to...safety, I suppose./

‘It’s getting late,’ Sanshaj said, following Vuuak’s gaze. ‘I should make sure the rest of the guild are securing themselves.’

Excusing herself, Miara made for the nexus again, leaving the two guildmasters behind. There were a scant few hours left in the night, and she needed to set up her traps before the sun rose – which meant deciding who to try and keep an eye on. After some consideration she had decided that at this point it was unlikely that she would be able to guess the true intentions of the killer, or killers. It was better to try and get whatever information she could – even if it wasn’t to catch a murderer in the act.

She decided in the end that it was best to watch over Jemdir. Whilst it was a random selection on the one hand, he was also potentially a suspect in Ilatrea’s murder, for those who did not know that their argument had been resolved – and if the killings were intended to incite chaos, then the murderer might well choose to go after him in order to throw yet more confusion into the ring. Miara set her traps carefully, creating seemingly uninteresting patterns in the soil and plants that she would notice if disturbed, and made sure that the ground was clear of any footprints so that she could trace those that were added during the day.

Finally done, she rushed back to Llain and the manse just as Father Sun was beginning to peer over the horizon.