August 7, 9 ATC

Town of Sarissa, Governorship of Liberis, Military Republic of Arkos

The town was abuzz with activity: soldiers mulled to and fro, moving what they had captured from the Arkosian fleet into storage. The half of the fleet Austin sent toward Sarissa had failed miserably, just as she intended. The fleet was horribly outnumbered, those that managed to get on shore were slaughtered to a man, and the rest of the fleet opted to surrender rather than face Arkos' navy. Whatever their naval losses at Fort Jaunerrha, they had just acquired half a fleet and all the supplies on it; more than enough to compensate. And Austin knew exactly what to do with them.

Austin walked into the mayoral manor, which had been placed under heavy guard. The guardsmen eyed Austin cautiously, but kept their peace. Nitesco hadn't had the chance to announce Austin's defection, and when asked where Austin had been, simply stated that she had been away on the Rubian front. Nobody cared enough to question it.

The conference room was dusty and dry, but it was good to be back with her friends. Although, it was a bit early for that: no one was in the conference room except one.

"Austin," Gwydion said, looking up from his papers. He had warmed significantly since the assault on the fort, despite his initial suspicions. Seeing the schematics he had scrawled on his papers, Austin raised an eyebrow.

"What's that you've got there?" she asked. Gwydion shuffled his papers and put them aside before pulling the hand cannon out of his cloak.

"It's a new project I'm working on," Gwydion said. "More ambitious than any other I've planned. You see, I'm very fond of the hand cannon. It's effective, powerful… but only against one target, and it's a pain to reload. All fine and good for officers to get in a quick shot, but not for regular troops." He picked up a case sitting next to him and placed it on the table.

"So I made a new weapon," he said. He opened the case, pulling out a massive gun. It resembled the hand cannon in terms of mechanism, but it was large and bulky, with a gaping mouth and a heavy stock. Gwydion eyed it with pride. "The blunderbuss. This baby can blast anything within ten feet of it into bloody shrapnel."

"That's… impressive?" Austin said. She had forgotten how eager Gwydion could be over his works. He ignored her, running his hands over the rough wood.

"For sure," he said, "but I'm afraid I made it too powerful. The first time I used it, it blew the front end off the barrel, though I suppose it did the same to King Dat."

"You shot the King of Freezerburn with that?" Austin asked. She chuckled and put a hand on her head. "I've missed way too much."

"I'd be happy to catch you up," Nitesco said. Austin turned around and smiled.

"Ever the sneaky one," Austin said. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Maybe I'm just that good," Nitesco replied. "Or maybe you're out of practice." He smiled and gestured to her seat, just to the left of the head of the table.

"My old spot," she said. Nitesco chuckled.

"It's only fitting," he said. "Where else would you go?" Austin, unsure of what to say, merely smiled and sat down. Nitesco took his seat as well.

"Nitesco," she whispered. "About what I did. About McDouggal…"

"Don't worry about it," Nitesco said. His voice was soothing, but underneath, Austin could tell he was still sorrowful. "I understand. I didn't like it, but I know that you had to do it. Better he died to you than to that brute Faker." His expression lightened, and he took her hand. "And now, with what you've gathered, we can avenge him. We can avenge Coronam, and Kazehh, and Jelo. We can make it all right."

Austin's eyes felt warm. "Thank you," she whispered. "I didn't expect you to be so… forgiving."

"I would just like to say," Vulpix said, entering the room, "that I called it." Austin looked up and saw that the rest of their allies had begun filing in. Vulpix took his seat, and behind him, Contramundi and the Mask filed in.

"You certainly never forgot how to make an entrance," Nitesco said. He folded his hands in front of him. The Mask sat down in between Austin and Gwydion, and even underneath the drab wood mask, Austin knew he was grinning.

"Sorry, Nitesco," the Mask said in his gravelly baritone. "Were you having a moment?"

Gwydion stacked his papers and chuckled. "He wishes."

"I will bury you," Nitesco said, smiling, but flustered. Gwydion rasped with laughter. Contramundi chuckled and sat down as well.

"Gentlemen, please," he said, his hands wide in a placating gesture. "There is no need for hostilities. This should be a time for celebration! Zissman lies exposed, and more importantly, Faker is dead. I only wish that I had been there to see it." He turned to Austin and gave a small bow. "Fine shooting, by the way. And fine gameplay."

"Indeed," said Opifexa, the last to arrive. She sat down in the seat to Nitesco's right, Coronam's old seat. "And though I commend your sacrifices, I would've appreciated being informed of what happened before it resolved itself!" She punctuated this statement with a sharp glare at Nitesco, who shrunk in his seat a little. Austin had also forgotten how acrid Renorans could be.

"I apologize," Nitesco said. "But circumstances demanded that I keep it as quiet as possible. Imagine if that had leaked to the men! What a horrible blow to morale that would've been!"

"Then you're lucky the situation solved itself," Contramundi said, his tone less jovial. "Communication is key, even if Opifexa and I were busy running our nations."

"We can have this discussion later," Gwydion said. "Right now, we should be focusing on the opportunity we have. Zissman doesn't know Austin is a traitor, or that she's still alive. We can end the war within a month if we play our cards right."

All eyes turned to Austin. "Austin," Opifexa said. "What have you learned?"

Austin straightened up. "Zissman has overextended himself," she said. "He is distracted by the war. His puppets can hold the war in Heroa, but he knows that the League is a major threat in Rubia, Junipera, and Villainia. That's why he tried to neutralize the leadership here, to disorganize us. He has too many fronts and not enough troops; too many schemes and not enough agents. If we take him and Jannis out, the Church here will be headless, and his war will fall apart without him."

"Where is he now?" Nitesco asked.

"He has chosen to supervise the war in Bumblebee," Austin said. "He says it is the key to holding Rubia. Last I heard, he planned to move to Fort Bombus to meet me and Strike upon our return."

Vulpix's expression soured upon hearing Strike's name, but the Mask leaned forward in surprise. "I'm sorry," he said. "Did you say Fort Bombus?"

"I did," said Austin. "Is there something significant about that?"

"Indeed," the Mask said. "And it is most fortuitous. One of my spies reported that several high-profile League captives were being transported to Fort Bombus. Among them were Kazehh, and possibly even Coronam."

A moment of silence descended on them. There was a chance they could get Coronam back.

"Coronam." Opifexa said his name with a mix of eagerness and fear. "We must retrieve him."

"Kazehh too," Austin said. She knew Zissman would've kept him alive out of respect for her, but to have him back would mean so much.

"Then it is even more imperative that our plan goes off without a hitch," Nitesco said. "We cannot allow the Church an opportunity to recover, nor can we let slip these opportunities. Austin," he said. "We cannot fail."

"And we won't," Austin said. "I have an idea."

"Don't keep us in suspense," Contramundi grumbled, though he, like the rest of them, hung on her words.

"Fort Bombus is slightly inland of a small river," Austin said. "That river forks in the middle. One half flows north, to a town called Cera, a holdout for the legitimate government of Bumblebee. Zissman wanted to be there when they conquered the town."

"He reminds me of Celtic," Vulpix said. Nitesco and Gwydion nodded.

"The other fork," Austin continued, "travels east, toward the town of Honig. It's loyal to the Church, and it's where I'll make landfall to infiltrate the fort."

"Infiltrate the fort?" Nitesco cocked his head. "And how will you do that?"

"I already have a story to explain my absence to Zissman," Austin explained. "I will say that I was forced to retreat inland after Strike retreated. I'll say that, with the few men left to me, I hijacked an Arkosian schooner at port. Zissman may be suspicious, but he'll take it for granted. And then we'll strike."

"And what of Coronam?" Opifexa asked.

"Will this be just an assassination?" The Mask asked. "That won't do enough damage. We must do more!"

"And we will," Austin assuaged him. "I have a plan for that too. One of you will lead the forces we have to Cera, and there you will counterattack the Church's siege."

"Counterattack the siege?" Gwydion asked. "That's a tall order."

"Not quite," Austin said. "Zissman is just trying to starve them out; he can't afford a real siege. He's set up a skeleton crew there, to fool them into staying inside the town. It shouldn't be hard to break out. And you'll know exactly when to do it."

"And when will that be?" Nitesco asked.

"That's where the second part of my plan comes into play," Austin said. "The "crew" I'm taking with me on the Arkosian schooner will be made up of my men. I'll split them into two teams: one of them will go down to the jails and liberate the prisoners, hopefully retrieving Kazehh and Coronam. Second, another team will go down to the armory and detonate the gunpowder there. The resulting explosion will blow up the wall, and as the forces at Cera break the siege, you'll have an opening to storm in and take the fort."

"And you know that the Bumblebeeans keep their gunpowder so close to the walls?" Vulpix asked. "That seems like a gamble."

"The whole thing's a gamble," Austin said. "But I'm certain of that. All Bumblebeean forts have a similar layout, and I know exactly where the armory is and what's in it. Foolish, yes, but I wasn't about to correct them."

The other commanders looked around, nodding slowly. Austin knew, they all knew, that they had little choice in the matter. They had won at Jaunerrha, but they were still on the ropes. This was their chance to take back their leverage. They couldn't afford to be picky.

"It's bold," Contramundi observed.

"We have to be," Gwydion said. "But I like this plan. If we catch them flatfooted, then our odds of victory are good." Murmurs of agreement. They were in accord.

"Who will lead the attack on the field?" The Mask asked. Vulpix raised his hand.

"I will do it," he said. "I haven't had a chance, a real chance, to be on the field in a long time. It's been too long, I think."

"Do you mind if I join you?" Gwydion asked. "It's been too long since I've taken the field as a commander, rather than a combatant."

Vulpix was taken aback, but smiled. "I know better than to stop you when you've got your mind on something. Nitesco, will you be joining us as well?"

Nitesco drummed his fingers, thinking, but shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "I want to be there to see Austin lop off Zissman's head." He turned to Austin, his eyes alight with a youthful earnest. "Would you mind if I joined you in your infiltration?"

"Are you sure?" Austin asked. "Every man and woman in the Church's service knows your face. And the leg is a dead giveaway."

"I'll wear a helmet," Nitesco said. "And I'll just slap some chainmail over the leg. Nobody will know the difference."

Austin sighed, but kept a smile. "Very well," she said. "You can lead the attack on the armory. Sound good?"

"Sounds fantastic," he said. Austin's smile became even wider.

"If I may," Opifexa said, "I would also like to join the attack. If Nitesco attacks the armory, I can liberate the prisons!"

Nitesco and Austin exchanged looks. "I don't doubt your conviction," Austin said. "But do you know how to fight?"

"Yes!" Opifexa said, unusually eager. "I learned from Coronam. I can handle myself, and I'll have men with me." She sighed. "Please," she said. "I owe him this."

Austin looked to Nitesco, who shrugged. "Very well," Austin said. "You will accompany us." Opifexa nodded slowly and returned to silence.

"And what can I do?" Contramundi asked.

"You can join us on the field," Gwydion said. "Vulpix can lead the center. I usually take the left flank. Can you handle the right?"

"As best I can," Contramundi said. "I'm a little rusty with a sword, but I can tell others what to do just fine."

"I will travel to Enabler," the Mask said. "If the battle goes awry, I have a fortress in the mountains on the border with Bumblebee. We can recoup there if we need to."

"I hope we don't have to," Vulpix said.

"I hope we won't have to too," Austin said. "But I'm confident we'll succeed. And if we do, then the Subreddit will be free once again."

Nitesco raised his fist in the air and shouted: "For the League!"

"For the League!" the rest of them chanted, and Austin joined in. It felt good to be where she belonged.

August 8, 9 ATC

Town of Honig, Province of Hiven, Oligarchy of Bumblebee

Strike wrung his hands together as he walked up the acropolis of Honig in the light of the setting sun. The river fleet he had brought to the battle was reduced to a quarter of its original size. Almost all the men they had brought on the expedition were certainly dead, or at least captured. And to top it all off, not one but two high-ranking commanders were left behind. Austin didn't matter; he had never liked her and Zissman had kept her defection relatively quiet, to ensure the League wouldn't try to patch up any weaknesses she might've known about. Few soldiers would miss her. But Faker was another matter entirely. As Zissman's foremost military ally, news of his loss would spread like wildfire. Better he break the news to Zissman himself.

Finally, Strike reached the summit of the acropolis and came face-to-face with the massive cathedral Zissman had commissioned. After occupying the town and razing the previous mayor's manor, Zissman had begun building a cathedral, the first of his own design rather than seized from other religions in the name of the Goddess. And even though it was only half-finished, and even though Strike had never much cared for the Church's religion, the cathedral was a sight to behold. Strike began circling around the back to enter through the priest's entrance.

The guards at the back recognized him and let him through, worried by his panicked expression. The room was small, and only had a few tables and chairs for the many priests that officiated a Church mass. There was nobody else there, but he could hear the sounds of the mass from the door, which led out into the cathedral altar. Strike crept over to the doorway, to see if he could wave Zissman over.

Strike poked his head out the doorway and saw Zissman standing over a large plate on the altar, surrounded by several priests. As the priests cast incense into the fire, Zissman stared up into the smoke, his arms spread out, and recited the liturgy.

"Loyal followers," he said in a booming voice, "when you entered this holy hall, you anointed yourselves with the waters and the holy oil. You have been affirmed in the Goddess' sight, but you are yet to be forgiven. You must affirm your faith as well as your soul, in order to be truly absolved!"

"As it once was, so shall it be." The crowd responded as one, and the people buzzed with fervor. Zissman's missionaries had clearly done their jobs well.

"Do you affirm that the Red Maiden was uplifted by and unified with the Goddess?" Zissman asked the crowd.

"I do!" The crowd responded as one.

"Do you affirm that the Red Maiden preached the Goddess' message, so that we may know the truth of the world and the path to salvation?"

"I do!" The crowd responded again.

"Do you affirm that the Red Maiden suffered and died so that the Goddess would know our human pain and grant us mercy?"

"I do!"

"Do you accept the authority of her teachings, the veracity of the Scripture, and the succession of her mission by the Three Maidens?"

"I do!"

"Do you accept the authority of the Church, the veracity of its doctrines, and the succession of the Maiden's Scion and his Exemplars?"

"I do!"

"Do you promise to resist temptation, to combat heresy, to break wicked vows and to avoid all sin, both of commission and omission?"

"I do!"

"And when you inevitably break that vow, do you promise to return to our mass, so that you may be absolved and have your vows affirmed once more?"

"I do!"

At this, Zissman turned around to retrieve a pitcher of water from the small table behind him. As he turned, he saw Strike, and his placid, superior expression gave way to indignation and concern. Perturbed, he fetched the pitcher and poured it over the flaming plate, dousing the incense and creating a large, smelly cloud.

"Then approach, my brothers and sisters, and receive these holy ashes, so like the followers of the Red Maiden, absolved by her painful intercession, you too may be saved from the fires, by the fires."

The priests scooped up the ashes from the still-smoking remnants of the plate, but Zissman broke off and went over to Strike. Grabbing him by the wrist, he dragged him into the waiting room, and gave him a harsh glare.

"I assume you have news of the Jaunerrha operation," Zissman said, his anger restrained, but clear. "Deliver it."

Strike swallowed uneasily, trying to think of how he would deliver the news. Zissman at once knew what was wrong.

"You failed," he said, his voice now a whisper. Strike, suddenly unable to speak, nodded.

"The assault did not go as planned," he said. "We have lost much."

"How much?" Zissman asked through gritted teeth. Strike swallowed again.

"Only a quarter of the fleet we sent survived," he said. "We split it in two to attack the fort and stop reinforcements at the same time. The half we sent to stop the reinforcements never returned."

Zissman abandoned his facade of civility and grabbed Strike by the shoulder. Zissman was not too much taller than Strike, but tall enough to look down on him. Strike felt his heart quicken.

"And the men?" he asked. "How many return?"

"Perhaps ten percent," Strike said, keeping his composure. Zissman's face contorted in anger, but he exhaled and rubbed his temples.

"A resounding failure," Zissman said. "Even if we killed Nitesco and the other two, that cost is too high. Do you know if we did?"

"I do not, Scion," Strike said, much calmer now. Zissman had acted with more restraint than he expected him to. "I was at sea. Faker and Austin were the ones who went on land."

Zissman groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Then I will speak with them on why the assault failed. Splitting your navy was a stupid move, but if the attack on land fell to them, then so did responsibility for killing the commanders."

Strike clenched in unease, even more unsure how to explain that. Zissman sensed his unease and, slowly, he looked up at Strike.

"General," he said. "They did return, didn't they?"

Strike swallowed. His sweat was cool on his forehead. Zissman's face twitched with rage. Zissman already knew the answer, Strike knew. He just wanted to hear him say it. "Didn't they?" Zissman asked again.

"I'm afraid," Strike said, "that I was forced to retreat without them."

Zissman, in lieu of a response, throttled Strike against the wall.

"How did this happen?" Zissman asked. "This was supposed to be my triumph!" Strike stood firm and stared Zissman in the eye.

"Let go of me," he demanded.

"Dozens of riverships," Zissman growled. "Thousands of men. Two of my best commanders. Wasted!"

"Let go!" Strike said, more forcefully. Zissman's stare bored into his head.

"And you have the nerve to drag your incompetent carcass back here with nothing to say for yourself!" Zissman exclaimed. "Well, now's your chance. Make it good!"

"The plan wasn't mine!" Strike said. "It was Austin's. And Faker's. I will not accept punishment for a failure that wasn't mine! If I hadn't retreated, we would've lost everybody, and you would've had nobody to blame. Does that sound better to you?"

Zissman relented, letting Strike down from the wall. The general stumbled forward, coughing quietly, but Zissman merely stared straight ahead, livid.

"You are right," he said. "I should hold them accountable too. But you," he said, turning again toward Strike, "ought not to take that tone with me. Understand?"

"Of course, sir," Strike rasped. Zissman sighed and fixed his hair.

"You will speak of this to nobody," he said. "I will break the news. Until then, you stay in your quarters at Fort Bombus, and you talk to no one but me, Jannis, and Anti. Am I clear?"

"As crystal," Strike said. "Though some of the men with me may have already spread rumors."

"Then I will deal with them if the issue arises," Zissman said. He flattened out his now-wrinkled robes. "One more thing: do not ever interrupt a mass again. The Goddess does not look kindly on it, and more importantly, I don't look kindly on it."

"As you command," Strike said, his voice now cool and professional. He exchanged one last glance with Zissman before they both left the room.

August 9, 9 ATC

Fort Bombus, Province of Hiven, Oligarchy of Bumblebee

Jannis laid on the couch in the fort's office, staring at the grandfather clock. It was just about two minutes past midnight, he observed. And still, Zissman had not returned from Honig.

"Something bothering you?" Anti said. She was poring over expense reports by candlelight, and her furious scribbling was the only thing keeping Jannis awake. Jannis grunted and shifted upright.

"Zissman hasn't returned yet," he said. "Usually, he's back by ten-thirty, because he stays to do evening mass on Saturdays. But it's midnight now, and the only people who have come from Honig are Colonel, sorry, General Strike, and a wiry little Enablerish trooper."

Anti furrowed her brow, but her eyes did not move from the papers. "Intriguing," she said. "He's probably just doing work. Believe me, he's spending enough to heap plenty on me."

Jannis chuckled. "I'm sure. All the better to keep you in practice, right?"

Anti grinned tiredly, her gaze still unwavering. "I suppose. But if you saw how many digits I'm dealing with, you'd be a little less cavalier about it."

"Ah, go whine to Faker about it," Jannis jokingly said. "Or Austin," he added suggestively. Anti broke her concentration just long enough to frown at him before returning to her scribblings.

Finally, the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floors announced that someone was coming. Into the dark room strode Zissman, hair unkempt, robes hastily tossed over one shoulder, and his face as grim as a gravedigger. Both Jannis and Anti tensed upon seeing Zissman without his trademark composure.

"What is wrong?" Jannis asked. Zissman waved him aside.

"Come with me, Jannis," he demanded. "We have to go see someone."

"What's going on?" Jannis asked.

"I'll tell you on the way," Zissman said. "Just come."

"Wait," Anti said, standing up. "Why can't you tell me? What's going on?"

"We need to know," Jannis said. Zissman groaned and whirled around, pointing an accusing finger at Jannis.

"The assault failed!" he exclaimed. "The attack force was decimated. Three-fourths of the navy, almost all our men! And for nothing!"

"But what about Faker?" Anti asked. "And Austin? Are they…"

Zissman paused, finally calming down, and he took a deep breath. "They were left behind," he said. "We can only assume."

Anti's voice cracked, a sharp, high-pitched noise, and she covered her mouth. Even Jannis was taken aback. His expression softened.

"Both of them?" he asked. Anti sank into her chair and started crying softly. Jannis felt a heavy weight in his head, but he steeled himself. Zissman would not appreciate vulnerability.

"So it seems," Zissman said. "Which is why you and I must go. They know our intentions, and possibly our location, and now we are vulnerable. We must learn what their plans, if any, are."

Zissman sped out of the room, leaving Jannis behind with Anti. Jannis glanced at the door Zissman left from, and then to Anti. Anti sniffled and wiped her eyes, trying to compose herself. Jannis felt guilty leaving his friend in such a state, but he obediently set out after Zissman.

Jannis and Zissman were silent as they paced across the fort grounds, down the dirt path that led to the jails. Their haste alarmed the guards, who parted to let them through. All the while, Jannis found himself preoccupied. He had not known Austin long, but she was earnest, at least, and valorous. And Faker, though he could be abrasive, was staunch and clever, and dare he say it, a good friend. Their loss stung, though it felt numb to him. He felt this was a long time coming, though he dare not say it.

As he and Zissman descended the stairwell into the underground cell block, which was reserved for the most dangerous prisoners, they heard a strange noise. As they got further down, they figured out what it was: it was singing.

Zissman's expression changed from one of anger to confusion as they walked out into the cell block. Jannis was just as perplexed when he saw what was happening: the entire cell block had broken out into song. The guards and Draco, who had been assigned as overseer, were frantically trying to shut the prisoners up, grabbing them one by one and delivering savage beatings, but it did nothing to stop the cruel melody:

"Faker the Gilded was heard to have said, that his blood was the purest around! Had a quick wit for words, but a poor sport with swords, and he left all that blood on the ground!"

The stanza was met with cruel laughter from the prisoners. The guards finally stopped and turned to see, to their dread, that Jannis and Zissman were there.

"Faker the Greedy," they continued, "he fought for his gold! He fought until his dying breath!"

"Draco!" Zissman shouted. "What is this?"

"But he wasted his gains on brothels and plays, and his pockets were empty at death!"

"I'm sorry, my liege," Draco said. "They haven't stopped singing since the Enablerish soldier came through here!"

"They say he was beautiful, Faker the Fair: A strong jaw and long flowing locks!"

"What did the soldier do?" Jannis demanded. "What did he tell you?"

"But they mangled his face; he was such a disgrace, that he had to come home in a box!"

Draco shook his head. "He said the attack on Arkos failed; that Lord Faker had died! And when they caught wind of that, the prisoners broke out into song! We tried everything, but they won't stop!"

"He fought for Enabler: Faker the Patriot! For his nation, he'd persist!"

"Who started this?" Zissman demanded. Draco pointed to the two cells at the end of the block.

"But none at home cried when they heard he had died. Poor Faker; he will not be missed!"

Zissman stormed to the end of the cell block, Jannis following close behind. Two voices sang higher than the rest of them: one was eager, but off-key, the other was deep and resonant. Jannis knew instantly who they were.

"The Gilded, the Greedy, the Patriot Fair; by these titles he was known well!"

Zissman finally came face-to-face with them, and Jannis could see he was unsurprised as well. Since they had been captured, Kazehh and Coronam had given their captors nothing but trouble.

"But these names were all given while Faker was living,"

Their tempo slowed for dramatic effect:

"Who knows what he's called down in hell?"

"Coronam," Zissman sneered. "Kazehh. Why am I not surprised?"

"Oh, Scion!" Kazehh said. "You should've told us you were coming. We would've had a dress rehearsal!"

"We hope you liked it," Coronam said, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his cell. "I regret that there is no musical accompaniment. We would've used our chains, but the guards took them after our practice sessions got too loud for them."

"I did not come here to be mocked by you, scum," Zissman said. "I came here for information. And if you're smart, you'll give it to me."

"I don't think you're in much of a position to make demands," Coronam said. "Very interesting report, your man gave us. Well, not purposefully. But believe me, when I heard that old Faker had kicked the bucket, it damn near shattered my heart."

"Not mine," Kazehh said. "I wrote that song after I got captured. I've been waiting to sing it ever since. And I think the practice has done me some good."

"Enough!" Zissman said. "I have no patience for you buffoonery. Guards, beat Kazehh. I would like to talk to Coronam without his interruption."

The guards complied. Two of them opened the cell and held Kazehh down while Draco mounted and beat him. Kazehh provided no resistance. It gave Jannis little joy.

"Now," Zissman said. "As I was saying. I know, Coronam, that you are accustomed to some manner of decency, being royalty. I also know that you are very sentimental when it comes to your allies. I can transfer you to house arrest, along with this insipid mongrel you call a friend." Kazehh grunted in offense, but Draco continued beating him.

Jannis could see that Coronam already knew what the question would be, and that he already knew how he would answer. He knew better than to interrupt Zissman, though.

"And what do you ask of me?" Coronam said. Jannis hated that he looked so smug. How could he act so superior, even though he lived in squalor? He was the epitome of an arrogant noble.

"I ask only for knowledge in return," Zissman said. "I want to know what the League's endgame is. I know Nitesco and Zealander had contingencies. I know they prepared against the Church. I want to know what it was! What were their plans?"

Jannis expected some contemptuous remark from Coronam, but instead, he merely smiled. "I really can't recall," Coronam said. "I think your henchman—Draco, is it?—might've beaten it out of me."

Finally, Draco ceased beating Kazehh, and guards exited his cell. As they shut the door behind him, Kazehh spit up blood and extended a hand toward Coronam. "Don't," he rasped. "Don't… give them… the satisfaction!"

"Shut up, mongrel!" Zissman shouted. "Unless you'd like to go through that again!" Kazehh, wisely, did not respond.

"Now," Zissman said, returning his attention to Coronam, "I will ask again: what are the League's plans? This is your last chance to stop that—" he punctuated his statement by pointing at a barely-breathing Kazehh— "from happening."

Coronam just shook his head. "Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell," he said. "But if you wanted me to know, you should've let me go when you first attacked me in Crosshares. Isn't that right, Jannis?"

Jannis grimaced. "You may have been a king," he retorted, "but now you're just a prison rat. If you want any of what you had back, you'll take the offer."

"We're wasting our time," Zissman interjected. "But know this, Coronam. Defy me, and you defy the Goddess."

"Then let her strike me down," Coronam said, raising his hands to the ceiling. "Goddess? Are you there? You have your chance!"

Kazehh, despite his condition began gurgling in laughter, and soon the rest of the cell block, which had been intimidated into silence, burst into laughter too. Zissman, livid, turned to Draco and jabbed a finger at him.

"I will not tolerate this arrogance from prison scum!" he announced. "Tomorrow morning, I want everybody but Coronam and Kazehh transported to the nearest quarry. It will only be you and these two down here, am I understood?"

"All of them?" Draco asked. Jannis was surprised; it was unusual for Draco to question Zissman. "That seems like a waste, sir. Many of these men have good information, and are too weak to last at—"

"Perhaps I need to craft you a new helmet," Zissman said. "It seems to have muffled your hearing, because I thought I was very clear."

Draco shifted uneasily, but he nodded. "Very well," he said. "I'll begin gathering an escort."

"I also want these two lashed publicly," Zissman said. "Every morning, once for every insult they pay you. And I want the soldier who told these fools of Faker's death sent far away from here!"

"We can deal with this in the morning," Jannis said. "Please. You need rest."

Zissman sighed and turned toward the exit. "I suppose you are right. But we need to deal with these problems. And I will not tolerate insolence from these beasts." He waved at Draco. "You have your orders. I expect them to be carried out by this morning. This must change."

"Yes, Scion," Draco said, but he sounded uneasy. As Zissman and Jannis turned to leave, Coronam began to cackle again.

"Yes, Zissman," he crooned. "Rest now, for my friends will give you hell later!" A resounding cry of support came from the prisoners, though they were already resigned to their fate. Zissman ignored them.

As they walked up the stairs and into the courtyard, Jannis knew that Zissman was right. Things had to change. And if they didn't soon, Jannis thought, then he might have to create change himself.