Chapter 17: The True King

Lilith was halfway through the Abbey courtyard when Mhenlo stopped her. “Lilith!” he called out, and she sighed and turned to confront him. The Abbey had felt like home not too long ago. Now it felt more like enemy territory. Wouldn't they seek to evict her as quickly as Kasha had evicted Paulus? She wasn't on their side anymore. She had left them for the grave watchers. “We need to talk,” Mhenlo said.

“Make it quick,” Lilith responded, gesturing with Kasha's book, “this manuscript is important and I must get it down to the safety of the chapel immediately.”

“You saved Paulus,” Mhenlo said.

“And I consider my debt to him and the Abbey repaid,” Lilith said, “if you disagree, you should take it up with Munne, as I've quite made up my mind already.”

“Lilith, you have been a creature of the catacomb for a month,” Mhenlo said, “do you not think that perhaps you are deciding your allegiances too quickly?”

“Abbot,” Lilith said, irritated, but then her expression softened with surprise beneath her mask. “Abbot, why do you care?” Lilith asked, “I'm an apprentice. Paulus is worth two of me, and ten times that if your trouble has enough dark magic to be smitten.”

“Why do fathers love their newborn children?” Mhenlo asked, “of what use is an infant?”

“I'm not your child,” Lilith said.

“But you are a child,” Mhenlo said, “and someday you will grow up and be more than what you are, and when you do, I want you on my side.”

“There are hundreds of thousands of children in the kingdom,” Lilith said, “trust me, I've seen the census.”

“How many of them could read that census?” Mhenlo asked. “Lilith, it is good that you do not overestimate yourself, but it is worse that you so thoroughly underestimate yourself. There are very few nobles.”

“My family supported Adelbern and sold me for being a disgrace to the bloodline,” Lilith said, “and Rurik himself said that if my family were Adelbern supporters than clearly the bloodline had run thin among the de Magi line. Everyone agrees I'm not a noble.”

Mhenlo sighed. “Lilith, will you accompany me to the catacombs?” he asked.

“What?” Lilith asked.

“I want to show you something. I will owe you a favor, if only a small one,” Mhenlo said, “and it won't take more than half an hour.”

“...Alright, sure,” Lilith said.

Mhenlo led her down into the catacomb, to a reliquary past the Temple Corridor in the Halls of Memory. “Do you know what this place is?” Mhenlo asked when they arrived in the small room, the walls of which were packed with tiny alcoves, each only a few inches across and containing a single stone cylinder.

“Of course,” Lilith said, “it's the Lost Vault. Or the Vault of the Lost, more accurately.”

“That is its name,” Mhenlo said, “do you know it's function?”

“Yes,” Lilith said, “it's where the preserved blood of the founders of a noble family are brought when that family is exterminated, in the hopes that some day someone will take the blood and mix it with their own and restart the bloodline.” She scanned the labels on the alcoves, wishing that she would find one labeled de Magi, but knowing she wouldn't.

“Is it your belief that if you drank from one of these cylinders, you would become noble again?” Mhenlo asked.

“Yes,” Lilith said.

“But you haven't,” Mhenlo said.

“What would I say? 'Yes, I was sold into slavery, but it's okay because I broke into a reliquary and consumed an ancient artifact, so give me an estate?'” Lilith asked.

“You would not have to say anything,” Mhenlo said, “if you really believe that there is power in the bloodlines, mixing your blood would make you a noble on its own. Wouldn't it?”

Lilith paused and thought. “I guess,” she said.

“You're uncertain,” Mhenlo said, “you suspect that what you believe is not actually true. You suspect being of noble blood would make no difference at all.”

“Of course it makes a difference!” Lilith said. She gaped for a few moments, searching for the words to explain. It was such an elementary mistake that even putting into words how it was wrong was difficult. “The nobles are far more powerful than the common people,” Lilith said, “you said so yourself. The reason you're interested in me is because you think I'm a noble. And I'm not. I'm just a witch, and I'm glad I'm that much.”

“Being content is truly the most formidable enemy of greatness,” Mhenlo said, “if you wish to prove your point to me, you must first agree to something.”

“I am not joining your conspiracy or counter-conspiracy or whatever it is you're running,” Lilith said.

“Nothing like that,” Mhenlo said, “we simply need to lay some groundwork. Establish some assumptions that both of us agree to. Do you want power?”

“Wanting it won't-” Lilith started.

“I don't care what you have,” Mhenlo said, “would you rather have more power or less?”

“More, of course,” Lilith said, “everyone wants more.”

“And do you agree that truth is power and delusion is weakness?” Mhenlo said.

“Yes,” Lilith said.

“And therefore you agree that you always wish to side with the truth?” Mhenlo said.

“Of course,” Lilith said, “believing fake things leads to mistakes, no one likes making mistakes.”

“Then you will be entirely willing to tell me that if it is true that bloodlines make no difference, you want to believe that bloodlines make no difference,” Mhenlo said.

“It isn't true-” Lilith started.

“But if it was you would want to believe it?” Mhenlo said.

“Yes,” Lilith said, “but it isn't. This is elementary principles. I don't know if defying them is more blasphemous than it is just stupid.”

“I'll ignore that,” Mhenlo said, almost monotone, “I'm not going to waste your time or mine if all you plan on doing is repeating yourself, so please repeat after me so we can get started: 'If it is true that bloodlines make a difference, I want to believe that bloodlines make a difference. If it is true that bloodlines make no difference, I want to believe that bloodlines make no difference.'”

It felt like a trick somehow. Certainly Mhenlo was laying a trap, and all this 'groundwork' of his was part of it. But he was trying to persuade her, not some audience. If he suddenly sprung a trap on her, she wouldn't seem uninformed to herself while trying to untangle what had happened. Lilith smiled beneath her mask, an arrogant smirk. Was Mhenlo so used to debating for an audience that he had forgotten how to persuade individuals? "If it is true that bloodlines make a difference, I want to believe that bloodlines make a difference," Lilith said, "if it is true that bloodlines make no difference, I want to believe that bloodlines make no difference. Can we get going now?"

"I said it wouldn't take more than half an hour, it's been five minutes. Have patience," Mhenlo said. "I think we can both agree that you must prove something is true, otherwise it shall be considered false, rather than the other way around. So, the burden of proof lies first with you to demonstrate that noble blood makes one more competent."

"Okay," Lilith said, "well, do I really need to demonstrate that? I mean, isn't it obvious? Nobles are spectacularly more powerful than peasants."

"They have wealth and land, yes," Mhenlo said, "but that was given to them by the law, and the law could be anything if the king wanted it. If the king woke up tomorrow and took the estates from every noble family and gave them all to peasant families, would the peasants not have the nobles' power?”

“No,” Lilith said, “they wouldn't know how to manage the estates. Peasants are weaker, stupider, slower, worse in basically every way than a noble. They're good people when you give them good laws to follow, but that's all they are.”

“You were a slave, Lilith,” Mhenlo said, “tell me, when you were first taken, did you immediately know how to wash dishes, scrub floors, peel potatoes?”

“No,” Lilith said, tone dark, “I had to learn. Peasants can't learn. The reason we don't teach them to read isn't because we don't want them to know how, it's because it'd be wasted effort.”

“You can read,” Mhenlo said.

“Yeah, well, I don't know what I am. I just know I can't be a noble. Burghers can read. Maybe I'm one of them,” Lilith said, “would make a lot of sense, actually. I come from a greedy and shortsighted family.”

“And yet you see that they are shortsighted,” Mhenlo said, “you went to Nolani Academy. It was filled with nobles. And did you read slower than them? Was your aptitude for magic any lesser? Were you much weaker or slower?”

“I was weaker than a lot of people,” Lilith said, “I was terrible with a shortsword.”

“How much weaker than average were you when compared only to other girls?” Mhenlo asked.

Lilith's shoulders shrank back a bit. “I was still under the average,” she said.

“As are fully half of all the nobles, that's what an average is,” Mhenlo said, “what about your magical abilities? Even if they were weak at the Academy, surely you do not deny you make impressive progress now? Munne would never admit it to you, but you are the most promising student she has ever had.”

This Lilith couldn't deny. Kasha had said as much, and she had no incentive to be colluding with Mhenlo. The idea that she and Mhenlo had set all of this up in advance was too insane to be true, they would have to have control over practically the entire kingdom already to pull it off across such distance. “There's more to nobility than just the power and the education,” Lilith said, “there's leadership, too.”

“According to Paulus you've demonstrated initiative and resourcefulness, and this very moment you are demonstrating a capability for logical argument,” Mhenlo said, “even if I think you're wrong, you're clearly intelligent enough to make a case and defend it using evidence and not obfuscation. That's most of leadership on its own.”

“Yeah, all except for the part where people actually follow you,” Lilith said, “which is kind of the foundation of the concept.”

“It's true, the peasants do not follow you,” Mhenlo said, “and yet you are aware that there have been peasant revolutions? Were they not led by peasants?”

“Yeah, and look how those turned out,” Lilith said, “brilliant leadership on display there.”

“Oh, yes, but haven't we already established that you are no less capable than any noble, and indeed more capable than their average, despite your apparent lack of noble bloodline?” Mhenlo said, “you said yourself that the peasants are good people only when they are given good laws to follow. How do you know it is not the law that keeps them from following you as they would any noble?”

“No matter how many laws you changed, they wouldn't follow me,” Lilith said, “that's who I am. Burgher, I guess. It's not so bad.”

“How do you know?” Mhenlo said, “and if you don't, do you have the courage to admit it?”

“I...Don't,” Lilith said, “I don't know that the reason they don't follow me, specifically, is because of the law, but you don't know the reason they don't follow me is because I can't lead.”

“This is true,” Mhenlo said, “how do we find out?"

Lilith tilted her head to the side. "What?" she asked.

"You don't know," Mhenlo said, "I would venture so far that you have never examined alternative possibilities to the importance of bloodlines at all. Certainly you've done nothing but repeat dogma in this conversation."

"A second ago you said my arguments were intelligently constructed," Lilith said.

"Intelligently constructed, yes," Mhenlo said, "it is what they are constructed from that is depressingly stupid."

"So I guess you're done pretending to be nice," Lilith said.

"You aren't stupid, Lilith," Mhenlo said, "that's what makes it depressing to hear you repeat stupidity. Because everything you've said is a mindless repetition of facts you have accepted without ever comparing them to reality. Peasants lead one another all the time in militias and fire brigades. Certain nobles are clearly imbeciles."

"So the blood grows thin," Lilith said.

"So Rurik says," Mhenlo said, "you are still repeating what others have told you."

"And you'd rather I repeat what you tell me?" Lilith said.

"No," Mhenlo responded, "if you were to agree with me now you would have failed to learn what I am trying to teach you."

"What are you trying to teach me?" Lilith asked, wondering whether or not he had anything worth teaching her.

"What I am trying to teach you is that truth filtered through human perception is always incomplete," Mhenlo said, "my perceptions are more accurate than most. If you take your truth directly from me it will be less inaccurate than if you took it from, say, Prince Rurik. But it will still be inaccurate. No matter how much you, me, or anyone hones their perceptions, we will always make mistakes."

"Yes, and?" Lilith asked, "so humans are flawed. I knew that already."

"But what you do not yet know is how to learn from reality itself," Mhenlo said, "how to learn the truth of things from the things themselves. So: How do you find out for sure, for yourself, whether you are correct?"

Lilith stopped. Thought. And could think of nothing. "I dunno," she said, "I guess it'll always be a mystery."

"I rather doubt that," Mhenlo said, "the process for learning from reality is relatively straightforward. First, come up with as many possible explanations as you can for whatever it is you are investigating. Don't stop as soon as you reach one explanation, and don't shy away from explanations that make you uncomfortable. Truth is power, delusion is weakness, better to be uncomfortable for a moment and strong forever than to stay comfortable and weak until it kills you."

"Okay," Lilith said, "so explanation one is that blood is power. Explanation two is..." For the first time she tried to put Mhenlo's argument into words that were not dismissive. "That training, equipment, and law are the only difference between nobles and peasants." That actually sounded very plausible now that she said it out loud. "So, now what, guru?" Lilith asked.

"You're quite certain that's all you can think of?" Mhenlo said, "all you've done is list what you and I have already argued. There is always more."

"Okay," Lilith said, closing her eyes beneath her mask to think. "Maybe noble lines are protected by ancient Lunatic Courtiers, and they lose their power when they lose favor with them."

“An interesting theory,” Mhenlo said, “any others?”

Lilith thought for a while longer, and then said “well, all I can think of is that nobles are just whoever happens to be born most capable, except that's clearly not true or else there'd be a new family in charge of an estate every time anyone died, and that's obviously not true.”

“And you've stumbled across the next step,” Mhenlo said, “or close to it, at least. Imagine that there are three worlds. In one world, the noble families of Ascalon have inherent power because of the purity of their blood. In another, they have power because they are watched over by Lunatic Courtiers. In the third world, they have power because their ancestors seized it through their own capability, and then rewrote society to favor their descendants, whether they were powerful geniuses or pathetic imbeciles. Besides these differences, each of these three worlds is identical. Imagine that all three of these worlds are real, and you know you live on one of them, but you do not know which. How can you determine which world you live on?”

“Well, by finding out where nobles' power comes from,” Lilith said, “you aren't seriously going to try to convince me you're right because there's an alternate reality where nobles are powerful for the reasons you say they are?”

“It's a metaphor, and I shall revoke my favor owed you if you continue to assume my stupidity,” Mhenlo said, his voice low and dry, “and you have simply wrapped your mind upon itself. You are already trying to find out where nobles' power comes from, and finding the answer cannot be a step in the process of finding the answer.”

Lilith sighed and said “yes, alright. I don't know. Tell me.”

“Think,” Mhenlo said.

Lilith closed her eyes. She could compare two different worlds against each other for differences, and see which theory was supported by those differences, except that she could only actually observe one of the three worlds because the other two were hypothetical. Except...Since they only existed in her head, couldn't she just make them however she wanted? Well, no. That wasn't how hypotheticals worked. She could imagine what the worlds would look like, or more accurately make an educated guess, and then compare the hypotheticals against each other. “If I compare all three realities against one another hypothetically, I'll find differences,” Lilith said, “or if I don't, then obviously it doesn't matter anyway. Except it has to matter, because obviously it makes a difference whether or not some peasant could be a noble if you sent him to the academy, and...That's it, isn't it. We take a newborn peasant, somehow convince a noble that the peasant baby is actually theirs, or at least some noble's child, and then see how they turn out. Except how the Hell would we pull that off? Wait, did you actually do that?”

“You're very close,” Mhenlo said, “the only trouble is you've skipped a step. No, not skipped. You performed it without recognizing it. Back up. See if you can find what you didn't notice.”

Lilith was seriously considering making Mhenlo do some really trivial, menial task just to spite him for being so difficult, but nevertheless backed herself up and thought about it. “There's differences between the hypothetical realities,” Lilith said, “so you look at places where they would be different, and you check to see which of the three possibilities they support.”

“Or at least,” Mhenlo said, “whether or not they can rule out one of the three possibilities. Or more, if you are investigating a phenomenon for which there are more than three explanations available. Do beware of the process of elimination, though. There is always the chance that the real solution is some other possibility you never thought of and have not tested. Now, can you think of some faster way to test which of the three worlds we live in, something that doesn't require eighteen years and a gullible knight?”

Lilith closed her eyes and racked her mind. “Look,” she said after several minutes, “you're not my teacher and I'm sick of playing this game. If you have some grand test, why don't you just tell me?”

“Curious?” Mhenlo asked.

Lilith looked to the floor. “Okay, yes,” she admitted, “maybe all the smartest and best educated people in the kingdom have gotten it wrong for a thousand years. I mean, not everything they've built on the concept is true. There are exceptions, at least. But either way, I'm tired of this.”

“Unfortunately for you,” Mhenlo said, “I can't just tell you the answer. I don't know the answer. I just know how to find it.”

“What?” Lilith said, “you don't know?”

“Bloodlines have never been my problem before today,” Mhenlo said, “does it matter to me whether nobles receive training because they are the only ones who can learn, or whether they are the only ones who can learn because only they are legally allowed the proper training? Either way, nobles are the strongest pieces on the board and no one else matters. Until now. You have the upbringing. Evidently you do not have the blood. So do you have the power? The observable reality is that yes, of course you do, you are Munne's most promising student...Well, ever. Don't let it go to your head. But I know you won't believe it on my word alone. And you shouldn't. So where can you look to see for yourself whether it's true?”

“Archaic histories,” Lilith said after a while, “primary sources from the early centuries of Ascalon. Before the blood would have had much chance to thin, but after the founders were all dead and their descendants had enough time to botch things up. If bloodlines really are all that important, they won't. All the noble families will be more or less keeping things together. But if there's lots of infighting, lots of nobles making stupid or shortsighted moves, if the peasant rebellions are no less frequent then than they are now...It means that misrule was as common then as it is now, even though the blood obviously has to be a lot thinner.”

“Yes, although that doesn't say anything about the favor of Lunatics theory,” Mhenlo said.

"No, but the same sources will tell me whether the noble families gradually got less and less competent or if they suddenly went from reliably competent to random at a certain, obvious breakpoint," Lilith said, "and that will tell me whether it's bloodlines or Lunatic favor."

"The Abbey keeps extensive archives," Mhenlo said, "some of the most extensive in the kingdom, in fact. We have the sources you need. And as an added bonus, because you came to this conclusion yourself, I could not have fabricated the answers in advance."

"Where am I going to find the time to go digging through the archives?" Lilith asked.

"Where are you going to find the time to determine whether the foundation of the political philosophy that got you sold into slavery is a complete fiction?" Mhenlo said, heading for the exit, "if you can't find the time for that, I'm most definitely wasting my time."

Lilith did not go to the Abbey's archives that night, nor did she the night after, nor the night after that. Instead, she spent her time burning midnight oil and engrossed with Kasha's tome. Blood magic relied on the inherent vitality and magical potential stored in human blood. Lilith dutifully read the chapters on simple consumption and blood spoiling to see if there was anything contained within that she did not know, but this proved to be wasted time. Kasha had, after all, probably learned the trick from the same person who taught Munne and Verata, or perhaps Kasha was the one who had taught Munne and Verata in the first place.

Regardless, it was the later chapters that proved more intriguing. There were dark powers who valued the power of blood, especially human blood, and would grant abilities both terrible and incredible to those who sacrificed it. Many required virgin blood. Other secrets of blood involved channeling the power oneself through witch glyphs inscribed upon the skin, secrets that fueled many necromantic arts already. The line between necromancy, hemalurgy, and curses seemed thinner the more Lilith studied them.

Lilith's first pass of the book was, despite the intensity with which she devoured it, barely more than a skim. When she did not fully understand a concept, she moved past it. As the book progressed into ever more complicated concepts, the diagrams became impossible to follow and keeping the jargon straight was similarly daunting. After a week of trying and failing to make further progress, she returned to the first spell she had studied but not yet cast. A simple trick of blood renewal, whereby the user's blood was infused with vital power by a dark spirit, sacrificing some of it to have the rest empowered. The result, according to the book, was resistance to fatigue and disease as well as generally improved health.

The chapel was calm and empty. Munne had left to visit Verata to discuss something, which was apparently important enough to make the trip to Wizard's Folly for, but not important enough to bother telling Lilith about. Lilith stood in the center, her left arm uncovered from the elbow down, her right clutching her razor-sharp ritual dagger. She had removed her mask to make sure she could be heard by the lurking spirits. “Degothuau,” she intoned, “accept this my sacrifice,” her blade bit into her own wrist, blood trickled from the glyph she carved into herself, just big enough for her hand to cover it entirely, “and when next I pay tribute to you and speak thy name, grant me vitality.”

Her blood began to evaporate, flowing into a red mist. Lilith sucked in a breath between her teeth, listening to her heart pound in her chest, until finally she began to grow weak. Then she clutched her hand around the wound on her wrist and the flow stopped. Unsteady on her feet, Lilith staggered to the cage where she kept rats to feed on when Munne had finished feeding on her, which had a similar effect. She unlatched the cage, snatched one up, and bit into it, having long ago learned to ignore the filthy taste of the rat's pelt in her mouth. She had developed immunity to most diseases by now, some from her necromantic studies and others because she was constantly getting infected. Helped build up her body's resistance, and Mhenlo purged them whenever they proved to be something life-threatening.

Sighing with relief as the weakness began to lift, a hungry Lilith dropped the drained rat and reached into the cage to grab a rat attempting escape and bit into it as well, closing the hatch at the top of the cage with her spare hand. Lilith looked at the glyph she had carved on her wrist. Degothuau, giver of vitality. According to Kasha's book, a hemalurgist's body would in time come to be covered in these glyphs, whether their purpose was to summon dark spirits or channel the power contained within a witch's blood.

“Blood is power,” Lilith said, her head tilting to the side. She got to her feet, walked to the spare room where Kasha's book was kept safe and, wrapping her wound up in some spare cloth to make sure she did not bleed on it (or, for that matter, lose consciousness and bleed out entirely while reading), she examined the chapters on sacrifice again. Different spirits have different tastes in blood, the book read, sub-par offerings are likely to displease them. If you have only lamb's blood, do not attempt to summon Ha-il, who favors the blood of human men, and hope lamb's blood will do, no matter how generous you have been in the past. Instead, summon Icyatha, who favors lamb's blood, and make do with the power she grants. Learn to work with what you have available, and do not risk the wrath of dark spirits because you lack the creativity to solve a problem without the perfect tool.

Lilith was quite positive it was good advice. But it was not what you would expect to see in a world where noble blood was inherently superior to common. Kasha had made a list of the dark spirits and their favored blood. Many of them were mercifully not very picky, simply preferring any human blood, but some came with warnings: Do not sacrifice blood of someone that is ill, starving, or otherwise weak. Of those who had a preference, many had preference for a child's blood, for the blood of men or women, or for the blood of a specific animal, sometimes with stipulations as to whether it also be male, female, or a child. Curiously, none of them seemed to want adult blood only. And more curiously, none of them favored the blood of nobles, though some came with notes like Only accepts sacrifice from those of healthy upbringing, who rarely fall ill, are strong in body. Do not attempt sacrifice without exceptional specimen. Would that effectively mean nobles only? Or would burghers work? Lilith wished Kasha were close enough to make asking her reasonable. Maybe she could have a message sent. Of course, she wasn't paid at all, so paying the messenger to carry it would be troublesome.

But there were other sources of information available to Lilith now. She flipped a few pages further, to the section on summoning Zachath. “Okay,” Lilith muttered, pulling out her dagger, and a thin brush with it. Technically she was not supposed to be bleeding herself in the same room as the book, but she didn't trust herself to draw the diagram properly without a reference. “Zachath likes them young, never more than eighteen,” Lilith said, cutting her wrist open, “no problem. Zachath likes variety, alternate between males and females, and always younger than the last,” she shrugged, it was her first time, she was sixteen, that was fairly close to Zachath's limit anyway. It wasn't wise to push boundaries with a spirit this powerful an ancient. “Zachath is...Extremely anal about precision diagramming. Okay, then.”

Lilith spent two hours inscribing the diagram on the floor. Three times she drew it incorrectly, drawing a large red X over it to disrupt the lines and make sure she didn't accidentally draw some other diagram by leaving Zachath's unfinished. Fortunately there were no witch glyphs or seals that included a large X.

Finally, on her fourth attempt and after sucking another rat dry to restock her blood, she had finished the diagram. Lines at harsh and exacting angles danced around the edge of an octagon of empty space. Ellipses just above the empty space suddenly shot open; Eyes inscribed in blood looked about the room, then focused on her. Lilith dabbed the brush in her blood and began to write.

Zachath, keeper of knowledge, I beseech you for answers and offer in exchange young blood.

She finished the sentence, the eyes stared at her a moment and then, satisfied she was finished, the words dissolved into the stone floor, replaced immediately by the response.

Your gift is accepted. Ask three questions. I shall grant thee three answers.

Lilith sighed with relief, and then took a deep breath. Zachath was noted for being exceptionally patient so long as he was summoned properly and treated with respect, so the hard part was out of the way. She dabbed the brush at her bleeding wrist and began to write again.

Why do the dark spirits require different blood as tribute, instead of demanding the highest quality there is?

In a moment, the words faded. The response was again instantaneous.

Why does one man prefer apples and another grapes? All blood is life. Whether young or old, male or female, the only difference is taste. That is one.

'That is one' meant the first of the three answers, or so the book said. It was a trick Zachath used to convince first-time summoners to waste a question asking for clarification.

It wasn't much of a surprise that the dark spirits fed off of all blood equally. Witches worked the same way, as Munne had taught her that while human blood tasted better by far, a diet of all rats worked just as well as all humans. And if Munne wanted to keep her apprentice on a terrible diet, she wouldn't bother lying about it, she'd just do it. She hadn't made any bones about sucking the life out of Lilith three times a day in the first place. It was weird that several of the spirits actually preferred animal blood over human, but strange spirits might have strange tastes.

But that didn't mean blood didn't have power in it, just that the power didn't provide any more nutrition. The best meats were pig and cow, not bear and wolf. Would Zachath know whether being born with the right blood could make you stronger? Zachath hated being asked questions he didn't know the answer to. But Kasha's book had said that Zachath knew all the secrets of blood, and also that he gave vague answers that required follow-up questions, and Lilith did not have time to track down a fifteen-year old boy and borrow a pint of his blood to contact Zachath again. This seemed a worse and worse idea every moment.

What bloodlines will make a human live longer or stronger?

This time, the response from Zachath was not immediate after her words dissolved in the stone. Zachath's eyes shut. Lilith waited a moment. Was this how his wrath began? “Z-zachath?” she asked aloud.

Wait.

The words appeared in the octagon and vanished immediately. Lilith waited a while longer.

In every creature born of fornication there is a father's and a mother's blood. The bloodlines struggle and fight a hundred and a hundred thousand battles to assert themselves. Abilities which have lain dormant for generations may, by chance, resurge. Some traits are stronger than others in the blood, and will push out other traits, but traits strong in the blood are not always strong in the world. So it is that a bloodline must be strong in the blood and strong in the world, or else both mother and father must have blood that is strong in the world such that blood that is weak in the world cannot drown out that which is strong, or else the child must simply get lucky, and the traits weak in the blood triumph by chance. That is two.

The words lingered for several minutes for Lilith to digest, and then dissolved. What exactly did that mean? Bloodlines seemed important, but it was all far more complicated than simple purity. Some traits were strong in the blood but weak in the world, so bad bloodlines crowded out good. That made sense.

Is the de Magi bloodline pure?

It was only a few moments after the words dissolved that Zachath replaced them.

There is no de Magi bloodline. With every marriage the blood of the first de Magi mixes and mingles with other families, diluting its original essence, which was itself a chaos. Who now can say they are the heir to the de Magi bloodline, when it has mixed with so many other families that it is now a chaos again? Family names are immortal. Bloodlines die after four generations. That is three.

The words lingered for a minute while Lilith read them, then again. What did that mean? He said 'bloodlines die after four generations,' but did that mean all bloodlines? It certainly didn't seem to specify hers. But he did seem to be referring to specific bloodlines. So while the de Magi bloodline may not have been literally pure after four generations, having mixed only with other nobles it would still be strong.

The blood was dissolving away, not just the writing in the octagon but the entire diagram, and Lilith was still trying to process what exactly she had just learned. Zachath said that a child might be born strong purely by accident, because he happened to get really lucky and have lots of traits weak in the blood but strong in the world win out anyway. But his kids would have his same blood, and they probably wouldn't be so lucky. And if there was even one of those people on the continent, and he didn't happen to get killed by plain bad luck during Thorn's rise to power, he would end up a noble. That's how Thorn identified the pure families in his day, he found the people who were already strong, but if they were strong by chance then their kids would probably be weak. Is that what happened to the de Magi? But then what had happened to Rurik? Adelbern was still a noble, and Thorn's line had been marrying nobles long enough that it wouldn't have made any difference. Thorn's blood would've thinned out to nothing in four generations, eight hundred years ago minimum, according to Zachath.

  

According to what Zachath had told her, the nobles were probably much stronger on average because their blood would have been much stronger on average. Nobles intermarried all the time, which means the weak blood would've been mixed in with the strong, but the majority of nobles would probably be people who had lots of traits that were strong both in the blood and in the world. Those with traits weak in the blood would be rare to begin with because of that weakness, and those with traits weak in the world would not have been able to establish themselves as nobles at all.

But if the blood was all equally mixed, like it must have been, that means that even if the de Magi had originally been the result of a single strong fluke whose blood typically produced strong children, that blood would have been thinned to irrelevancy within those four generations, like Zachath had said. That was why bloodlines didn't last. The specific traits common to a particular family intermingled with other families through marriage, and were slowly drowned out. All that would be left would be the general ratio of good and bad traits. With a thousand years and at least twenty generations, every noble's bloodline, and every royal's bloodline, would have averaged out. Unless the de Magi's had secretly been intermingling with peasants or burghers, their blood should be strong as anyone's.

“So,” Lilith thought aloud, “since all the nobles are of roughly equally pure blood...” Something in her did not dare to say it out loud. She flinched away. Dreams like these were never fulfilled, only destroyed. But just because she had believed something for false reasons didn't mean it couldn't be true. That was a logical fallacy. The fallacy fallacy, in fact. “If all nobles are of roughly equally pure blood, then I am a noble,” Lilith said, “Hell, I could be queen. My blood's as pure as Rurik's. So is Adelbern's, for that matter. I don't have the estate, but I deserve it. I'm smart and probably stronger than peasant girls anyway.”

But how had the average noble fallen so far since Thorn's day? Perhaps there were more exceptional specimens, more lucky winners, than Lilith thought. Maybe the difference in blood strength between nobles and burghers was much slighter than she had been led to believe, it's just the families that became noble happened to have an exceptional progenitor. They wouldn't have to get very lucky to just rise above the average, and considering noble families were outnumbered by burgher families ten to one, it entirely made sense that if you took a group of people with completely equal blood strength and shaved off the ten percent who were most capable by happenstance, you wouldn't actually increase the purity of the blood at all, you'd just enshrine a couple of them as having access to the weapons and training they'd need to keep the others one rung down forever.

“I'm a noble,” Lilith said again. But...What did that change? She might deserve an estate, but she didn't have one. What was she going to do, walk up to her parents, summon Zachath, and tell them they had to let her back in because it was logically impossible for her blood to be impure? Even if they wanted to, it wasn't actually legal. There was never any getting out of slavery. It's why slaves were killed so often, it was the only way to keep the population low.

“I guess I should see what the Hell Mhenlo wanted,” Lilith said, and then kicked herself for having gotten in the habit of talking to herself. She had only been alone a couple of days.

Mhenlo was within the Abbey's large clerical hall. The one entirely devoid of light except for the one place where the sun shone through. It had to be some magical effect, or perhaps some clever mechanical contraption, because it was much later in the day than when she had first come here. The cruelty of the Ascalonian monks was legendary. But Mhenlo had never done worse than be impatient with her. The de Roblis family and Prince Rurik de Rex had both done worse. “Abbot Mhenlo,” Lilith said.

“Yes?” Mhenlo asked. He did not look up from his paperwork.

“Neither of us were entirely correct about bloodlines,” Lilith said.

“Is that so?” Mhenlo responded. He still did not look up.

“I contacted the dark spirit Zachath and asked him how blood worked,” she said, “there's traits that are strong in the blood but weak in the world, and vice-versa, and some traits which are strong in both or weak in both, and...” she trailed off. If Mhenlo wasn't tuning her out, he should be. “Well, the short version is that there's more to it than just blood. There's also luck. And that element of luck means that nobles and burghers are probably from more or less the same stock, and the ones lucky enough to be born stronger than people of the same blood when Thorn was around, they became the nobles. And even if certain families had stronger or weaker blood, they've been mixing together for so long that it's all averaged out anyway. Blood does make a difference, but all the noble bloodlines are dead. So is the royal bloodline. All of them. No survivors. Have been for centuries."

"Interesting," Mhenlo said.

"Yes, so...What do you want from me?" Lilith asked, "I'm a noble, I have the education, turns out I have as much blood as there is to have and Rurik and my parents can both go to Hell. Now what?"

"Well that depends," Mhenlo said, looking up from his work, "who do you want to see wearing the crown?"

"Myself," Lilith said.

Mhenlo smiled. "Between Rurik and Adelbern," he said.

"Neither. Or either one," Lilith said, "I really don't care. Both of them seem perfectly happy to keep me property of the de Roblis estate for the rest of my life."

"And what if one of them could be persuaded to promote you to a worthier station?" Mhenlo asked.

"Then I'll support whichever one will make me a duchess," Lilith said, "are you noticing a theme here?"

"I just wanted to make sure your thirst for revenge did not overshadow your ambition. I will not pretend that you haven't been wronged by both sides," Mhenlo said.

"Then let's make one thing clear," Lilith said, "on the off-chance it's Adelbern you're shilling for, he gets me or my parents. Not both."

"It is convenient that I am shilling for Rurik, then," Mhenlo said.

"And Rurik will make me a noble again?" Lilith asked, "legally?"

"Replacing the de Magi family with a more sympathetic scion will be much easier than exterminating them," Mhenlo said, "elevating a slave to nobility is a risky move, but it would be riskier to annihilate an entire bloodline outright."

 "Okay," Lilith said, "what's the catch? What's my end of the deal?"

"What makes you think we need something more than a sympathetic de Magi heir?" Mhenlo asked.

"Are you trying to get me on your side or not?" Lilith asked, "don't try and lie to me. Of course you wouldn't go through all the trouble of convincing me I can murder with the best of them if you didn't expect me to go out and do it for you. You told me what you're offering, I like it, you're getting somewhere. So tell me what you want in exchange."

“I didn't intend to deceive you,” Mhenlo said, “I only wanted to see if you could determine for yourself that we needed more than just an heir. I'm pleased to see you were.”

“Oh, so it was all just a test?” Lilith said, “well, if you say so. Next time you withhold information for me I'm just going to assume you're trying to stab me in the back.”

“And do what in retaliation?” Mhenlo asked.

“Well, stop doing whatever it is you want me to do, mostly,” Lilith said, “look, I know you can have me killed basically at-will. But you want my help, and I hope you're smart enough to realize that you never put people who hate you on your front line.”

“Indeed I am,” Mhenlo said, “I find your lack of trust concerning. As it is, however, we can use every competent soldier we can get, and you're worth a small handful of guardsmen on your own. The catch, Lilith, is that we need your assistance now and it is dangerous work. You are not fully trained. You do not have time to be. If this is an issue, I'm sure you have a decent enough life ahead of you as a grave watcher.”

Lilith glanced aside. Beneath her mask, she bit her lip, then spoke. “I still don't trust you.”

“I can hardly blame you,” Mhenlo said, getting up from his desk and walking towards her, entering the gloom of the Abbey. “I am a conspirator, after all. There are many things I will not tell you, because I cannot risk Adelbern's supporters getting them out of you if you should be captured. You will often be expected to complete your missions using only the information relevant to doing so, which in some cases may not even include the ultimate goal of the operation.” Mhenlo stopped in front of her. Lilith could see him only because he was silhouetted against the light behind him, his features obscured. “You have ultimately only one strong reason to suspect I am being honest, and that is that I would gain little from deceiving you. Why go through all the trouble to bring you into the fray only to take you out of it? It's not like you'd end up fighting for Adelbern if I just left you in the catacombs. And even if there were some hidden reason why you would, I could always just have you killed. You're a slave. It wouldn't be hard.”

“Thanks for rubbing it in,” Lilith said. “Okay, you're right. There's not really any way you benefit from tricking a third party to join a war just to remove me from it immediately afterward. And since the de Magi estate is going to be emptied anyway, you would only undermine your trustworthiness among your own underlings if you didn't follow through. So what exactly do you want me to do?”

“It is obvious that Green Hills County will not swing our way,” Mhenlo said, “even with the duchess de Barradin betrothed to Rurik, the Duke himself is an ardent supporter of the King.”

“She's also firstborn, though,” Lilith said, “can't you just have him killed?”

“No,” Mhenlo said, “I cannot go into details as to why, but suffice it to say that killing him is either impractical or unwise.” Lilith shrugged. Mhenlo continued. “It is no secret that Ascalon City supports the Prince and Rin the King, so it is likewise no secret that Regent Valley and Fort Ranik are therefore vital to securing our flank in the event of open warfare. Lord Darrin is reclusive and has not declared for Rurik or Adelbern. We'd like to get him on the Prince's side, if only in secret. Your job will be to feel out his loyalties.”

“So what, I walk up and ask him if he's considered insurrection lately?” Lilith asked. “Unless he happens to be a ghost, I'm not really trained to persuade him to do anything.”

“Lilith, we wouldn't send a sixteen-year old as an emissary,” Mhenlo said, “if we were that desperate, making any kind of move against the King would clearly be impossible. Your job is reconnaissance, and you do it by asking questions of his underlings. Help them with something and they will come to trust you just enough to spread some gossip. Ask them about politics. Let them talk. Contribute nothing, no matter how stupid and internally contradictory their opinions are. If they do not criticize the opinions of their peers, ask them. When you've asked around enough, you will know who is rumored to support Rurik, and you can use them to feel out the position of Lord Darrin, without ever speaking with someone who can have your head cut off at-will.”

“Okay,” Lilith said, “then what?”

“Then you report back here and tell me what was said and by whom,” Mhenlo said, “as I said, your only job is reconnaissance.”

“Okay, one problem,” Lilith said, “specifically, this is going to take like a week and it's all going to happen in Regent Valley, which is past the edge of the catacombs, which is where I live and work.”

“Do you intend to continue living and working there?” Mhenlo said.

“Munne spends as much time teaching me as I save her doing actual grave watcher work,” Lilith said, “and that's being generous. I haven't even begun to repay her for all the time she spent teaching me when I hardly knew enough to help with anything, plus, the catacombs are calmer than they've been in decades.”

“That sounds like the perfect time to leave them understaffed,” Mhenlo said.

“Yeah, except that the grave watchers are supposed to be honoring the dead, not fighting them,” Lilith said, “there's hundreds of thousands of ghosts down there, and half of them are part of the maelstrom. They never feel anything anymore except anger and spite and bitterness and they deserve better. Now could be the last chance we get for another hundred years to actually calm that maelstrom. Permanently.”

“Unfortunate,” Mhenlo said, “because now is also the last chance we will ever have to get Ascalon in the hands of someone who will run it someplace other than the ground. Adelbern only ever plans one season ahead and his repeated catastrophic failures are catching up to us.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Lilith asked.

“Choose,” Mhenlo said, “between the living and the dead.”

“Ascalon won't last another year? Won't last two?” Lilith asked, “I've walked into the endgame of this thing with the catacombs. We don't know what Oberan's up to, but it's our window of opportunity and we're taking it. It won't take long to resolve one way or another.”

“And our window of opportunity is likely to be only days long,” Mhenlo said, "quite possibly less. If we are not prepared to act immediately when it comes, we will fail. It could happen tomorrow. It could be too late already. If you aren't with us when we need you, you aren't with us."

Lilith sighed. “I'm sick of people asking me to choose,” she said.

“That's your problem,” Mhenlo said, “whatever your choice is, hurry up and make up. One way or another I'll need to deal with the consequences.”

“How long will it take?” Lilith asked.

“The mission to Regent Valley?” Mhenlo asked, “a day to get there, two or three to get a general read on how the county in general and Lord Darrin in particular feel about the King, and a day back. If we wanted longterm infiltration, we'd be sending a mesmer. Call it a week, to be safe.”

“Munne will be back from her trip to Verata in Wizard's Folly in four days,” Lilith said, “if I hurry I can get done what you need done and be back here before Munne returns.”

“It's no good if you do a slapdash job,” Mhenlo said, “we need information we can rely on.”

“I'll get it to you,” Lilith said, “I just need to find a way to keep the ghosts in the catacombs tended to while I'm gone.” She'd been left in charge of maintaining the peace in the Sect War Corridor and the foothold they'd carved in the Black Corridor in addition to her usual duties in the Labyrinth and the Temple Corridor. It was reasonably possible to quickly train up some peasant to perform the basic rites while she was gone, but not overnight. And really, overnight wasn't fast enough. She needed a replacement now. Worse, the trickiest duties were also the ones that were most vital. Losing the Sect War Corridor or the Black Corridor would quite possibly mean that the opportunity that Munne and the other grave watchers planned on pouncing upon would evaporate. “Where's Paulus?” Lilith asked.

“Paulus? In hiding. I won't even confirm that I know exactly where he is. I won't even confirm that I knew he was also a member of the conspiracy at all, or that he is a member of the conspiracy,” Mhenlo said.

“He can tend the spirits while I'm gone,” Lilith said, “or at least, most of them. The ones in the Sect War Corridor are mostly in plague water that he isn't immune to, but they actually like me rather a lot and I think I can leverage that to get them to hold down the fort on their own while I'm gone. He knows the catacombs and he can read, which means I can leave written instructions for him and he should be good.”

“Leave those instructions with me,” Mhenlo said, “I will see that he gets them. But do not rush your work in Regent Valley. Take as long as is required, and not a moment shorter. And if you breathe a word of any of this to Munne by way of explanation, I shall have little choice but to arrange an accident for her. And see your head cut off.”

“No point in leaving loose ends,” Lilith said, “I get it. If it takes me longer, I'll think of some explanation. Or I just won't explain, and hope Munne sees too much promise in me to kill me out of spite. Or I just won't go back to the catacombs at all. Or something, I'll figure that out when I have to, if I have to.”

“Fine,” Mhenlo said, heading for the door, “write your instructions for Paulus and be off immediately. I shall fetch a horse for you, try to bring it back alive this time.” Lilith helped herself to some blank parchment and the quill.

Chapter 16: The Power of Blood

“You're proposing that I care for someone who is not a witch and therefore cannot subsist off of blood for the weeks it will take the bones in his leg heal,” Kasha said, “and all the while keep him hidden from the forces of the kingdom which I am sworn to protect from the wrath of the dead because he is a fugitive from justice?”

“His story is that he was framed,” Lilith said, “that Thom is the conspirator and he's the one who discovered his secret, not the other way around.”

“And you believe him?” Kasha asked.

“Honestly, I don't care,” Lilith said, “I wanted an explanation, I got one, I don't know if he's telling the truth or not.” This was a bald-faced lie. Paulus had explained to her on the way that the real purpose of the mission was to sound out the Green Hills County for sympathy to the prince over the king. Unfortunately for Paulus, it turned out that Thom didn't take kindly to people even implying a lack of support for the king. Paulus maintained that legally speaking, he'd done nothing wrong that Thom could prove. Unfortunately if Thom had the ear of the Duke as thoroughly as he said he did, it wouldn't really matter. Duke Barradin was powerful enough to order executions of anyone he liked, and only the defense of someone similarly powerful would save him. The prince wasn't going to speak up for someone with as little influence as Paulus.

“Why do you care so little?” Kasha asked, “did you sign up to be a grave watcher for the fame and fortune?”

“Well, compared to cleaning bloodstains out of the Abbey's infirmary wing, the grave watcher lifestyle is pretty glamorous,” Lilith said.

“And that's it?” Kasha asked.

“No,” Lilith said, “I think the dead deserve better than what they're getting. A lot of them were good people. Did everything right. Some of them never got what they deserved for it, and they're supposed to. That was the point of the catacomb, wasn't it? The Marutuk rewarded their followers, and Thorn would too. But they never really got it since the Sect Wars started and we were never able to win. If I can fix that for even one ghost, that'll be worth it.”

Kasha scrutinized Lilith. “Interesting,” she said.

“Yes, that sounds kind of like a prepared speech," Lilith said, "it's not like I never thought about this before. Much fun as this interrogation is,” Lilith said, “aren't we a little off-track? Are you turning Paulus in or not?”

“What do you want me to do with him?” Kasha asked.

Lilith was quiet a moment. “I don't know or care about his politics,” she said, “but he's the reason I'm a grave watcher. I don't want him to end up tortured to death in some big public spectacle. I don't want to see his head on a spike. For whatever my opinion is worth, I think Paulus deserves to live.”

"Then I'll keep him alive," Kasha said with a sigh, "this time. Don't expect me to make a habit of harboring fugitives for you, though."

“Thank you,” Lilith said.

“Of course,” Kasha said as she walked away, “it helps that if I keep him alive I can suck at least a meal a day out of him even if he can't restock.”

Lilith licked her lips, thinking of the pair of fang scars on her own wrist. It was irritating having to eat for two, but she didn't blame them for it. Nothing tasted better than human blood.

Despite the gargoyle infestation, the Old Shrines were still Kasha's home. Kasha had left to go wait for the Duke and summon him for reinforcements, so Lilith spent the first few days lugging around a massive tome in which was written the rites for all those honored at the shrines. There were no bones down here, only thousands upon thousands of urns. At each shrine, Lilith would simply list off all of the dozens of names honored there, and light a candle for each of them, and then honor some great event that had occurred to the entire group, before reading the specific rite of a half-dozen or so specific individuals, according to a certain schedule. With so many laid to rest here, it was impossible to honor more than a tiny fraction of them. And the air was thick with wisps and spirits. Fortunately they clustered around their shrines and were polite enough to clear the way to the altar when Lilith entered, otherwise she would be unable to see through the haze of ethereal bodies. When Paulus commented on how empty and lonely the catacombs were, Lilith actually laughed. Empty, no. Lonely, perhaps. She was alone in the crowd, being the only living person there.

Munne had told her via ghost messenger to stay with Kasha until Kasha was satisfied that the latest crisis the northern section of the catacombs had been averted, unless Munne sent specific instruction to the contrary. Kasha, however, had not returned for four days. Paulus' recovery was painfully slow. Even after four days he was still bedridden, and for the first three days Lilith worried what might happen if a gargoyle should stumble across him. Lilith bumped into one at least once an hour since she'd arrived. Having arrived without minions, and having nothing but urns to work with, Lilith had to kill them with her staff and knife early on, but while their rocky hide required incredible effort to split open, they made for incredible minions once properly torn up and stitched back together. War horrors made from gargoyles were far more resilient than the normal kind, and Lilith had hardly had to replace any since she arrived despite the incessant battles.

The only genuinely terrifying fights were when a pack of gargoyles ambushed her. Often enough, the sight of one gargoyle meant others would be nearby. When she saw the one, Lilith would draw her pack of minions around herself, forming a barrier on all sides between herself and whatever other gargoyles may be lurking in the darkness. The first time one had dropped on her from above, she had nearly panicked, but fortunately their durability did not grant them much strength, and she was able to escape its grasp and direct her minions to stab it to death before it managed to do much more than smack her around a bit. Its dull claws had little luck in piercing her armor, fortunately.

Lilith's concerns for Paulus' safety proved to be unfounded, however. Whenever she inquired, Paulus insisted he would be fine if he were attacked. One day, Lilith came back to the shrine that Kasha had made her home in (it was falling into disrepair, and the urns had been relocated to better maintained shrines) to find the smoking husk of a gargoyle in one corner. The charred remains were barely recognizable. There wasn't even enough left to make a minion out of. “Told you I'd be fine,” Paulus said. Lilith hadn't even known the gargoyles had enough dark magic in their system to be vulnerable to smites. Paulus said he didn't either, until he met one. Monks could smell dark magic the way witches could see ghosts.

It was the fifth day when Kasha came back, and not alone. Another monk followed her, along with a squad of eight armed guardsmen. Kasha led them across the vast underground chamber towards the shrine where Lilith and Paulus lived. Lilith grabbed her helmet and put it on before leaving to meet them, four war horrors with the stony flesh and reverse-joint legs of gargoyles marching behind her. Here in the catacombs she did not wear the mask as often as up above, but she didn't want anyone seeing the brand behind her ear. “Here to help flush out the cultists?” Lilith asked Kasha, nodding her head towards the guards.

"They are," Kasha said, "and they'd like to be back on the surface before nightfall. Are you ready to move out with them?"

"I am," Lilith said. Even if she wasn't, Paulus was in the shrine, and every second these guardsmen were down here was a second that he might be discovered.

"Good," Kasha said, "everyone follow me! The Mausoleum isn't far."

Lilith walked just behind Kasha. Her minions mingled with Kasha's ahead, forming a massive shield over a dozen strong. Overhead, two eight-legged catacomb prowler minions crawled across the ceiling. The guardsmen took up the flanks, and Grazden walked in the middle, muttering under his breath to maintain various protective enchantments. The gargoyles gave them a wide berth. “Don't drink the blood of the cultists,” Kasha said, “they've stolen one of my books of blood magic, and if they've learned its secrets they can turn their blood to acid. It'd kill you.” Lilith nodded her understanding.

At the far end of the massive chamber that contained the Old Shrine was the Crusades Corridor. It ran for half a mile to the Crusaders' Mausoleum, lined with thousands of the dead. They gathered in droves to watch the small army marching through, their armor archaic. Hundreds of them gathered to block their passage forward, an ethereal legion whose misty forms stretched as far as Lilith could see, given her suboptimal vantage point. Lilith could see the guardsmen shrinking back from the sides of the corridors where the ghostly legion stood, even though the guards could not see the ghosts.

“Crusaders of ages past!” Kasha announced when the war party entered the corridor, “centuries ago you gave your lives to tame the eastern frontier and subjugate those who worshiped small gods and uncivilized spirits, and here were you buried, within the great afterlife of Thorn! And yet, for weeks, your rites have been disturbed by the cult of Grenth worshipers who defile your final resting place. We, your descendants in Ascalon above, have come to correct this injustice, and restore to you the honor you earned with your deaths!”

For several seconds, nothing happened. The ghosts stared, and Kasha stared back. Then the ghost at their head, a high-ranking officer of some sort, nodded his head and stepped aside. The ghostly sea parted. The war party moved forward again.

The ghosts of the mausoleum were in a sorrier state. Each of them seemed to Lilith to be an officer of some kind. Their armor was a primitive sort of plate, beautifully embellished despite the centuries of decay, and each of them carried a shield with the sigil of a house on it. Lilith could recognize most of them. In fact, she could recognize one as a de Magi. But despite the splendor of their armor, the ghosts stared, drifted about, said nothing as the war party passed through. The Grenth cult must've done something to them to prevent them from harassing them through the night.

The Mausoleum's door was barred shut, but the massive facade of the underground structure had begun to crumble. Kasha directed her prowlers inside. They scraped, fumbled a moment, and then the bar shifted, lifted, was cast aside, and the doors pulled open from within. Three dozen war horrors rushed out to confront them immediately.

Kasha and Lilith's own horrors braced themselves for the impact of the charge, shielding the rest of the war party from the initial attack. The enemy horrors' blades found themselves turned aside by the protective spells of Grazden, while the guardsmen swung around from both sides, shouting battle cries and hacking into the flanks of the minion army.

“Heartbeats,” Lilith said to herself, kneeling down to make herself a smaller target and feeling for anything living within the Mausoleum, “the cultists are alive, they've got to have heartbeats, no matter how much they've poisoned their blood.” Though they were distant and faint, it wasn't too difficult to pinpoint those beating hearts. They were slower than the adrenaline-fueled pumping of the guardsmen, slower than the furious thumping in her own chest as the battle raged only five feet away, and they were distant, a solid three hundred feet away, on the other side of the Mausoleum. Six of them.

Lilith pulled off her helmet and opened her mouth. The swarm welled up inside her and burst forth from her orifices as usual. Less usual was the primal scream from her throat. She sucked in a deep breath and replaced her helmet as the swarm flew out across the Mausoleum towards the cultists. She just hoped they weren't wearing much armor. It would take the plague locusts half their lifespan just to reach them at this distance.

The minion army was thinning in front of them on both sides. In the chaos of battle, the guardsmen could hardly tell friendly minions from foe, with the exception of Kasha's prowlers, which had been smashed and hacked to pieces within seconds of the battle's start. They were nimble, not durable. Only one of Lilith's own minions had survived the fray. “Come on,” she said, “just once, let a single war horror pull through the battle.”

Her minion was hacking away at the chest of what she hoped was an enemy minion and not Kasha's, but the guardsmen were charging ahead now, towards the cultists in the back of the Mausoleum. What enemy minions remained chased after them, their fortunately more concerned with their own defense than with picking off fragile enemy casters while they had the chance. Kasha raced after them, slitting her wrists to fuel her blood magic. Names aside, Lilith noted while dashing into the Mausoleum to take cover behind a pillar, Kasha's blood was still red.

Lilith counted the five cultist heartbeats as they quickened, spasmed, and then ceased, one by one. The pounding in her own chest slowly stilled. Lilith poked her head around the corner to see if there were any remnant horrors. Without their masters guiding them, they would kill any living thing they could see, and the guardsmen smashed away at a pair of horrors still walking. Grazden knelt by wounded guardsmen at the entrance to the Mausoleum, his hands glowing with healing light as he sealed up their injuries.

“Well,” Lilith said, approaching Kasha, who was rounding up her own remaining minions, “I guess it's a good thing these guys showed up to do my job for me. I don't know what else Munne might have been expecting.”

“You sell yourself short,” Kasha said, “your swarm killed one of the cultists at the battle's start. A fair chunk of the enemy horrors began attacking friend and foe alike. We would have managed without you, but the battle would've been that much bloodier.”

“Oh,” Lilith said, “I guess I didn't notice in the fray.”

“Don't notice, know,” Kasha said, “learn to know by instinct the shape of the battle and your place in it. Who needs reinforcing, where the enemy is weak and where they are strong, when the battle is going poorly and it is time to retreat and regroup rather than waste more lives on a meatgrinder. You are a minion master, a commander. You don't have time to think or notice, and you can't afford to fight blind. Don't notice. Be aware. All the time.” She took a small hatchet and hacked off the lock on a cheap wooden chest. It looked out of place in the Mausoleum, probably something the cult had brought with them, along with the bedrolls and other litter that came from the crypt having been lived in for a month.

"Okay, but, how can I know things without first noticing them?" Lilith asked.

"Awareness will come with practice and experience," Kasha said, opening the chest, "focus on knowing the tide of battle and in time it will become second nature. You aren't ready to fight on your own until it is."

"Alright," Lilith said.

Kasha removed a leatherbound book and handed it to Lilith. It had no title, but opening it up revealed that the author was Kasha herself. "The book I wrote on blood magic," Kasha explained, "I want you to borrow it."

“Oh,” Lilith said, smiling as she leafed through the pages. The book was only about two-thirds full, every page crammed with Kasha's tiny but neat handwriting, along with diagrams, including what looked like a massive index of witch glyphs. Lilith didn't think she recognized even half of them. “Thank you.”

“You can only have it under a few conditions, however,” Kasha said, “first of all, you never take it out of the chapel. I don't care if your favorite reading spot is ten feet outside it, this book is my life's work and you don't take it anywhere that it could get damaged or lost. It stays in the chapel, and if something unfortunate happens to you, Munne will see that it gets back to me. For the same reason, it's never to so much as share a room with any kind of food or drink.”

“Okay,” Lilith said, “there's plenty of spare rooms in the chapel where I can keep it safe. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Kasha said, “the next time you consider giving shelter to a fugitive just so you can weasel an explanation out of him, don't.”

“I'm sorry, but what does that have to do with-” Lilith started, but Kasha cut her off.

“If I were your teacher I would simply command you not to do something that stupid again,” Kasha said, “but since I'm not, I'm offering you a trade instead. Every secret of blood magic known to the kingdom of Ascalon, and in exchange all you have to do is not jeopardize your entire career as a grave watcher. With our numbers as thin as they are and the training process as dangerous as it is, the very last thing we need is a promising apprentice getting herself killed in a moment of idiocy.” Lilith opened her mouth, closed it again, looked down to the book in her hands. “I would rather you take time to think about the implications than answer immediately,” Kasha said, taking the book from Lilith and tucking it under her arm. “We need to return to the shrines, think about it on the way.”

“Are you going to...” Lilith trailed off. There were plenty of guardsmen within earshot. Details would be excessively unwise. But if Kasha did turn Paulus in...Well, Paulus was her friend. Sort of. Certainly he had been kind to her, and for no other reason except that he thought she deserved it.

“No,” Kasha said, “you're part of the catacombs. You're a grave watcher. We look out for one another. So despite how stupid the whole idea was, I'm not going to stab you in the back. You haven't told me why, and I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume it's because you're not sure yourself, but clearly this is important to you, which makes it important to me. But do not make a habit of it.”

“Thank you,” Lilith said, breathing a sigh of relief. Lilith felt like she should say something more. The words did not come. Kasha nodded her head to Lilith and then turned towards the exit, where Grazden was putting the last of the wounded guardsman into a shape that would be able to walk back to the surface without ripping something open.

Despite the dramatic reduction in minion forces, the war party was still bigger than anything the gargoyles wanted to deal with. Lilith was left alone with her thoughts. Certainly Kasha had a point. Bringing Paulus to the catacombs, asking Kasha to shelter him, it was a risk. If they were found out, this war party would've been sent to kill them. Granted, it might not have worked very well with Kasha on the other side, depending on how able a healer Grazden was, but sooner or later the warband up north would be defeated, the troops would come home, and then the Duke would have plenty of soldiers with which to clean house. And in any case, the Grenth cult would still be operating out of that Mausoleum. Bringing Paulus here had been a risk, and for what?

But what would have happened if she hadn't helped him? He might have been caught. Certainly he would've been much easier to track in daylight, he still had a broken leg, and he'd said himself that he didn't know where he could go for safety. Maybe his head would've ended up piked on the wall of the Barradin Estate. Lilith had gotten a friend murdered once, but everyone made mistakes. A terrible mistake it was, but it had only happened once. It wasn't who she was. She had been a noble. She'd kept her word, been loyal to her friends and the true king, at least back when she thought there was a true king. And whatever she was now, it wasn't a lying, cheating, thieving slave. Paulus was a friend.

Lilith was supposed to be a grave watcher. And Kasha, nearly two decades her senior, had told her quite explicitly that what she had done was not good for the grave watchers. Maybe Paulus couldn't be her friend anymore. The catacombs and the Abbey were different places. Lilith knew that, had known it when she was on the other side of the fence. They didn't watch out for each other. They did favors for one another and repaid those favors and always kept score. They were allies. But they weren't friends.

The guards and Grazden headed for the surface immediately when they reached the stairs. Kasha turned to Lilith when they had left and said “you should begin your return trip to Munne immediately. Have you made a decision?”

Lilith nodded. “This won't happen again,” she said, “I never really thought about it before, but I wouldn't do it again even if you weren't offering me the book. You're right. It isn't smart, and I wasn't thinking.”

“Fortunately for you, I wasn't lying when I said I want you to borrow the book,” Kasha said, handing it back to Lilith. “Tell Paulus he can't rely on you for help in the future. It's only fair.”

Lilith nodded, and entered the shrine. Paulus was still lying in the pile of blankets where he'd been recovering for close to a week now. His head and leg were the only parts of him visible beneath the blankets, the leg in a splint and a makeshift harness Lilith had thrown together. She wasn't sure what keeping the leg off the ground was supposed to do and neither did Paulus, but she knew it was something people did when mending bones the long way. "Paulus," Lilith said, "need to talk to you about the whole...Fugitive thing."

"Would it sound sycophantic if I thanked you again for finding a safe place for me to recover?" Paulus asked.

"No, but you probably won't want to by the time we finish talking," Lilith said.

"What is it?" Paulus asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I didn't turn you in," Lilith said, and Paulus visibly relaxed, "but this isn't happening again. You saved my life. Now I've saved yours. Once that leg of yours heals, you're not my problem anymore."

Paulus glanced away. "I understand," he said.

Kasha had been leaning against the entrance to the door, and now pushed herself off to walk towards the two of them. "And as it happens, healing that leg of yours should only take about ten minutes," she said, "I picked you up a present while I was in town." Kasha tossed a healing signet to Paulus. Powerful healing magic, not fast enough to be usable in combat time, but very valuable to those who expected to be mauled regularly. "I take it you know how to use it?" Kasha asked. Lilith wondered if she should bother learning. It was a complicated glyph, but she seemed to end up wounded somewhat regularly.

"Yes," Paulus said, "with all the time I spend on the frontlines, it was a worthwhile investment of my time." He clasped the ring in his hand and focused, and there was a sickening snapping noise and Paulus grimaced with pain as the bones mended themselves. He stood, limping slightly, but soon steadying as he grew used to his newly mended leg, and offered the signet back to Kasha.

"Keep it," Kasha said, "I can't use it. In any case, I am rarely on the front lines myself."

"Thank you," Paulus said, looking from Kasha to Lilith, "both of you."

"Where will you go?" Lilith asked, stepping out of the shrine and into the main chamber with Paulus.

"I don't know," Paulus said, "but I had better get going there. It seems as though I've worn out my welcome here."

"Be careful," Lilith said, stopping as she reached the stairs to the surface.

"Do you still care?" Paulus asked, stopping a few steps above.

"Yes," Lilith said, "I can't stick my neck out for you again. But I haven't forgotten what you've done for me. Good luck."

"Thanks," Paulus said, "you too." He turned, and ascended the stairs to the surface.