I Swear I'm Not A Dark Lord!

Montage

Hannah — Bostkirk

"It's done, Lady Augburg. Blodwin d'Mourne is at home, nursing her bruises. Otis is in Midway. He's visiting his old crew."

"Do you think he knows?"

"That he's being pushed? I don't see how. I barely touched him, and his whole body of restraint toppled over. He's wanted to do this for a long time." Sometimes it paid to be generous in victory. "I can't take much credit for it."

"If he was that fragile, then you were wise to restrain yourself," the old woman nodded approvingly. "Now, we only need to ensure he is found out."

"That might not be an issue, my lady. The paladin squire who guarded Blodwin that night was the same woman involved in the Cadmius affair. This afternoon, I learned she's 'on leave' and that she bought a ticket for Wokehaad."

"That was a lucky draw!"

"Not especially. With Cadmius gone, the paladins are overworked, and there's only one woman in training right now."

"What do you think the odds are that Bilius and Otis will kill each other?"

"Poor, my lady. He's effectively a third-tier magician." She winced at the memory of being at his mercy. Once he was alert to her touching his mind, she was helpless against him. "If Cadmius couldn't take him, I don't see how a mob of second-tier classes will do better, even if they are IEF. And he knows Otis is coming." Giving a magician time to prepare was a classic strategic blunder.

Otis — Midway

A woman opened the door, an infant under one arm like a sack of barley, and frowned at him. "Frank!" she shouted over her shoulder. "It's him again!"

Frank replaced her at the door. "Colonel!" Frank was glad to see him, but glanced over his shoulder at his wife, deeper in the house. A second child screamed complaints from within. "Please tell me it's another hunt."

"A human target this time," he told Frank, "a real menace to the empire, but he can't be touched officially. The money's good."

"Who else is in?"

"William, Redvers, Charles B., Nate, and Constance so far. But I need your help to convince Amos."

Taylor and Hermes

Somehow, the ghost butler was able to drink tea. It took Taylor five minutes of arguing to convince Hermes to sit down with him instead of standing up for the meeting, but it was worth it to discover he could hold cups and drink liquid. Where did it go, if his form was insubstantial?

"Two items, if I may? The Praxium Brigade is fully formed and is eager to take part in the next cleansing. Since the new brigade was mustered primarily from the Silvain territory, Wen-Silvain requests you blood them in the volcano region."

"Lady Silvain and I do not have a good relationship. The last time we met, she tried to kidnap me."

Hermes's smile, ever so slight, was impossible to parse. It could mean anything. "She spoke of that incident with great fondness. She says she knew then you would become a great magician."

"The memory is not a fond one to me. She and the ancient hairball owe me for the trouble they put me through."

"May I observe that you are not one to complain without a purpose? What does Dux Twilight require? A mighty weapon? Jewels?"

"Nothing so crass as that, Hermes. A midwife from Rossignol attended my birth. If she's alive, I want to know where she is so I can meet her. Since Lady Silvain's summoner is a powerful and well-connected wizard, she should be able to prevail on him to find the woman." He slid a piece of paper across the table. "Even mops have their uses."

"It sounds like a small request. I will do what can be done." The ghost glanced at the paper long enough to read the name written on it. "The second matter is equipment. With so many spirits entering the field, Twilight can't manufacture enough weaponry for everyone."

They called Taylor a general, but Proctors did most of the commanding. His biggest job was moving spirits and material between the two worlds. Occasionally, he helped strategize.

Summoned spirits couldn't take items from the mortal world with them when they were dismissed. To keep something, they needed someone to carry it into Twilight through a gate. Either that, or Taylor had to keep the equipment in his bag, hand it out when spirits were summoned, and store it again when they left – that's what most summoners went through to equip their spirits with anything special.

"I'll need to see a prioritized list before I can even think about planning."

Hermes pushed a report at him across the table. It would disappear when Hermes did, so Taylor started copying the pages using magic, reading as he went. Calling it "a lot" was a dire understatement. It wasn't a purchase. It was a large, ongoing project to supply the Twilight Realm with weapons and armor for years. Twilight artisans could make magical, high-quality, specialist items like Taylor's Battlesage robes, so it was a waste to put them to work churning out baseline gear. But baseline gear was in high demand.

"This is a huge undertaking. Nobody is going to let me buy this much of anything. Even the empire's largest merchants would attract attention if they tried to move this much steel."

"I told the Great Spirits it might be impossible, but they insisted I ask."

"Nothing is impossible," said Taylor on reflex. He drummed his fingers on the table for a while. "Not if you're willing to change the starting conditions."

Otis — Midway

"You can't come in." Chambers stood in his way, blocking the door, her face twisted in dislike. "You'll disturb our boarders."

Otis tried his best ingratiating smile. "Have a little respect for your old master, and let him in for tea. I just want to check up on you and see how you're doing." The air smelled of a coming snowstorm. Everyone should want tea right now.

"You abandoned us for ten years. Ten. Years. You left us with that monster to take care of, and the minute you came home, you fired us. Not even a token 'thank you for your service'."

"I was a little hasty moving you all along, wasn't I? But a new legate has to establish himself firmly, and I was gone a long time." He took out a bag of small gold pieces and shook it. "If you hate the little bastard so much, then you won't mind telling me about him in exchange for a retirement bonus, will you?"

Chambers looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching and closed the door, leaving herself and Otis on the stoep. She spoke furtively, the steam of her breath touching Otis's cheek.

"He moved out partway through Summer. Kasper had one letter from him, saying he'd be out of touch for a while, but that was the only one we had."

"So where is he now?"

"No idea! I know he had some kind of business up in Wokehaad for the winter. He blathered on about that town like he thought it was something special just because it's in Blaxland. Who cares about Blaxland?"

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"I heard he doted on the beastkin. Where is he?"

"Kasper? He's gone! The Blakes love that little hellion, but he's too much for them to handle. They can't keep up. They found him a family in Rossignol, and Blake's riding a train with him. Cook's a mess over it. Gods bless that woman, but she's got the heart of a dinner roll. I won't miss finding wet fur in the washbin."

Taylor and Nelis — Outside Wokehaad

"And you're sure it's okay for me to use all this land?" Taylor motioned at the dry gulch, crowded with trees and underbrush, pressed between two steep hills. The boundaries were marked out in yellow ribbon tied to trees, outlining a long rectangle centered on the gulch. The town turned over thirty acres for use by an anonymous benefactor who promised to make a tourist attraction out of it.

"Are you sure you can turn the space into something other than a fire hazard?"

"Fire hazards are on a different course," quipped Taylor. "This is all about spatial madness."

He started summoning spirits of earth and wood. His recent studies let him make his desires known to spirits without speaking them aloud. All he had to do was imagine the way he wanted the land improved, and the spirits mostly organized themselves and took care of it. Doing that while listening for questions or signs of trouble was more challenging.

While the spirits worked, Nelis's people brought out heaps of food and started cooking up a storm. The spirits preferred to be hunting, but any kind of summoning was welcome because they got a healthy serving of mana in return. And, they were promised they could be the first players on the new Dark Lord's Discourse.

As long as Otis was in Midway recruiting, they had time to prepare.

Legate Marco a.k.a. BlueMarco — Midway

"What are you doing here, Otis?" Marco was getting impatient with the retired colonel. He couldn't prove that Otis was doing anything wrong, but he could feel it. Some of that man's business was dirty, he was sure of it. But he couldn't prove anything, and that was a long way from what he needed to detain a fellow legate.

Marco had known Otis in school. The two of them were from traditional legate families, descended from pre-empire nobility, and went to all the same schools. Otis had always been a borderline personality: good enough to keep from falling, bad enough to keep from rising. For a while, he was a very decent fellow while his wife was alive. After she was gone, well, he dabbled in illegal schemes and used his IEF connections to stay out of any trouble serious enough to get him demoted or jailed.

"I'm putting together a hunt."

"What's the quarry?"

"Not really your business, Marco. I don't need other hunters stealing my kills."

"I hope you're hunting animals or monsters, and not that son of yours. I heard about Blodwin." Marco enjoyed the look of shame on Otis's face. The women who ended up with him deserved better.

"He's not my son!"

"Right. Well, if he were my son, I'd load him up with gold and send him to the capital. An heir like that could set a family up for generations to come."

"Piss off, Marco. Stay out of my business."

Chambers and Cook — Midway

The two women crowded around a circular, compact mirror in a clamshell case. Taylor's mask appeared in it.

"I think he bought it," said Chambers. "He even bribed me. Cheapskate paid with copper enchanted to sound like gold."

"Definitely not someone you can trust," added Cook. "What should we do with the money?"

"Keep it! Spend it on drinks or something! I feel bad about making you lie for me."

"We keep our master's secrets," Chambers said seriously, "even if we must lie."

"Especially when we're bribed to tell the lies!" The two women cackled, a sound Taylor had never heard them make before.

Cook put her face close to the mirror. "Now, where's my Kasper? I miss him!"

Taylor's mask moved aside, to be replaced by pointed ears and a wolfy smile. Someone's hand, probably Taylor's, ruffled the fur on top of his head. "Here I am, mama!"

Mister Blake was heard in the background, complaining about being less important to his wife than their adopted child.

"Hush, Blake!" scolded his wife. "Kasper is growing up so fast, I don't want to miss a day. You're just growing old!"

Blodwin — Mourne

She was in that minute of peace when she was empty. Nothing bothered her, she had no needs, and she wasn't worried. The man next to her leaned on his elbow to admire her naked body.

"You don't need this, you know." He fingered her hair, glamoured to a sunny blonde. "Unless you like it. I know who you are."

She stiffened. Her minute was gone.

"You don't have to worry," he hurried to reassure her, "I would never tell. That's just the way it is with my family."

"Your family?"

The barman chuckled, like Otis on his best days when he wasn't a grieving wreck or a manic sledgehammer. "We're the unofficially designated surrogates for the d'Mournes. Do you know how many legates' wives have come to us for an heir? I'd say every second or third generation. And nearly every legate leaves at least one illegitimate child in town. Once, the family adopted one of us because they didn't have any sons who could inherit. We've been doing this for a long time. So, telling would be a stain on the family honor."

"You make this sound so noble, instead of what it is."

"You wouldn't be here if the situation wasn't serious, right?" She was about to deny it when he put a finger to her lips. "I don't need to know. Once you have what you need, I'll move away, and someone else will take over the bar. By the time your son is old enough to run around town, people will forget my face. They'll never make the connection."

Blodwin rolled over to face the man who was so much like her husband on the surface, but so very different. He made her wonder what Otis could have been like without his grief and greed. "You sound suspiciously organized about this."

"Back in the days of nobility, we were the baron's branch family. This was our job. If you know how to look, you can find others like us, all over Estfold."

"And you're willing to give up your place here, just to make good on some old family obligation?"

"Ancient family obligation, according to my dear ma." He sighed. "I like Mourne. It's a nice place. But I'm ready for a change of pace."

He ran fingers through her hair. "So you don't have to hide from me. You can go back to purple if you want. Or, stick with the blonde. Whatever you like."

She kissed him lightly on the lips. "It's nice, being someone else for a minute." She kissed him again. "I'll change it again tomorrow." And again. "And the day after."

Briallen — Tanglewood

"You're building a maze without walls." Briallen had gotten so lost that she had to give up on her first attempt to navigate Tanglewood. Tanya, the bear spirit, had to hold her hand to guide her out. "Nothing goes where you think it should. I don't know if I should be scared or impressed."

"The word you're looking for is 'awe'," suggested Taylor.

"Modesty is a form of courtesy." Her admonishment was rote, a phrase often repeated to squires and then forgotten the moment they received their coveted Paladin classes.

"Sure, but it's just us and the spirits here. And you have to admit it's one heck of a territorial advantage. He could bring fifty men, and the battle would be in our favor. What's the latest from Midway?"

"He's still there, recruiting. Marco says the team is small." She checked the tablet she carried, a prohibitively expensive model that let her talk to church and civic officials in two provinces. "He'll let us know when they board a coach or if Otis doesn't show up at his lodgings."

Taylor planted a series of wooden rods in the ground, each one engraved with Spellscript symbols Briallen didn't recognize. He did something, she couldn't understand what, and the world lurched sideways. Instead of looking along the gorge, like she had been, she was suddenly facing one of the flanking slopes, but she couldn't tell which one.

"You can't kill him."

The mask looked back at her, while the poles floated into his bag.

"I'm not exactly itching to kill somebody." He threw pebbles into the twisted space around him and watched them shoot off in strange directions, or spin in wide circles, or shoot wildly into the air before landing somewhere unexpected. Light traveled one way, while matter traveled another. Nearby things could be invisible, while short walks could take one far astray. She didn't see how anyone was supposed to find their way through thirty acres of such convoluted space.

"If he's incapacitated or surrenders, let me take him in."

"And then what?" He kept tossing pebbles. The scariest part about it was that it wasn't an illusion. Taylor bent space and then left it there, permanently bent. "He's a legate from an old noble family and an IEF officer. A judge won't give him the same sentence as anyone else. And remember, he's bringing people. How are you going to control them all? Because I only see one paladin squire here."

Briallen pulled a box from her personal inventory and opened it to display a dozen sets of mana-sealing shackles. "I came prepared for that. Taylor, please trust me. Killing someone changes you. You don't want that kind of weight. Not at your age. He's your father. And I have the law to consider."

Taylor stopped what he was doing and looked toward the sky. He was like that for a while before he answered. "I appreciate your position, but I can't go through life leaving hostile pieces on the board. Future me will have to deal with him."

"He could still change. Some people do."

The boy's voice went soft. Cautious. "He's had eleven years to change. If he was ever going to be a father, he would have done it by now."