“No,” Cecelia said. “I know my grandfather. He hates the Crown, but he won’t end the world. He’s a good man, just deluded. If he’s shown himself to the cult, it’s only to save people. Which means that he’ll try to intervene to stop the old one from being summoned, as soon as everyone’s safe.”

  “Your grandfather committed treason against the Crown,” Anise said. “The King’s commands are clear when it comes to traitors. Can you face him and fulfill your duty, Dame Ragandor?”

  Cecelia narrowed her eyes, as she gazed at the thing wearing her mother’s face. “I have not forgotten my father’s lessons on the weakness of mercy. But my father’s promise to me stands firm, and we shall both honor it. If he is here I will capture him. You shall not hurt him and you shall assist me in this task to the best of your ability.”

  “I know full well my place in things, Cecelia,” Anise said, bowing her head. “If I promise to do everything in my power to avoid harming your Grandfather through action or inaction, will you allow me to fulfill my promise to you? You do you remember that one?”

  “That you would help me become who I needed to be,” Cecelia said. “And I accept your bargain. Now go, and tell the unit commanders to make ready for the assault. Renick, go with her and sort in the details. It’s going to be frontal, as soon as the night’s fully upon us.”

  The two departed. Graves remained, looking at their retreating backs, then over at the town. “Why? If your grandfather’s going to backstab the cult in the end…” One gauntlet rose to rub his beard. “But we don’t know that for sure, do we?” He answered his own question. “No. It’s possible he was driven mad by cultists, or they’ve managed to trick him.”

  “Grandfather was smart but gullible.” Cecelia sighed. “I realize that now. We can’t take the chance they’re stalling us, and this cult is sacrificing kids. It’s pretty clear-cut who the villains are. It’ll be painful but we need to assault them head on, now, and blitz through the town so we can get to the dolmens to stop the ritual.”

  “And the uninvolved townsfolk? The ones fleeing into the hills?”

  “Not our priority,” Cecelia said, feeling a great weight shift from her. “If they’re not fighting us and they’re clearly not the cult, then they’re not traitors. We’ll inform the general and she might send someone to hunt them down. Eventually.” And their blood won’t be on MY hands.

  “Even if there are cultists among them secretly? Old one cults are insidious,” Graves pointed out, with his quiet logic.

  “We know where their old one’s summoning site is now. What are the odds there are two of those in this valley? We just lock it down or destroy it and render their religion a moot point. Between you and the wizards I’m pretty sure we can figure out something.”

  Graves nodded. “All right. To tell the truth that sits better with me anyway.” He rubbed his beard.

  He really was a good man, Celia reflected. And only about five years older than me, maybe, she thought and banished the notion with confusion. Now wasn’t the time to fantasize. But still… “What’s your first name?” She asked, suddenly. “You came in just after I did, and nobody ever used it. I don’t think we really properly knew it.”

  “Oh, uh,” Graves said, lowering his gauntlet. “That’s because I don’t use it very much. Herbert. I’m Herbert Graves. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re going to have my back tonight, and we’re going to kill our way through a lot of people who really, really deserve it.” Cecelia smiled. “It only seems polite.”

  Graves nodded, eyes glittering as he studied her smile. “Listen. If we get separated… try to keep me in view, okay?”

  “Well, yes. Steam Knights need support to guard their flanks and rear, that’s the first lesson we learned.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Graves said, shifting. “I mean if the worst happens, you won’t have long to get to the soulstone. Spirits last the longest around their bodies, but we’re talking minutes, here. It’s tied to Will, so you should be good, but uh… You can travel a bit as a newly-dead spirit, but that cuts it down by a lot, the farther you go. I’m sorry. I’m sorry to ruin the moment, this is morbid, and—”

  “Herbert,” She smiled, and he shut up. “It’s all right. Come on, let’s get the army straightened out, we’ve got a battle to win. We can talk more after that.”

  His smile was genuine, and he thumped his breastplate with enthusiasm. “Yes Ma’am!”

  “And keep that Deathsight spell of yours up. We know they have a necromancer, and I expect more surprises from that quarter…”

  *****

  They came for the cult in the night. They came with torches held high, with shields up in the first few ranks, and with the more adept crossbowmen behind them, raining down rapid shots from their crossbows, sending the heavy bolts flying in ways that anyone without the archer job couldn’t match.

  The cultists returned fire from the walls, their own bows weaker but better ranged, even if their accuracy wasn’t as good. They had volume, and they punished the first ranks.

  Cecelia strode forward slowly in Reason, the darkspawn-enchantment on her inner helm letting her see despite the uncertain light. Well, as best she could with Reason’s forearm held up to shield her visor’s slit. Peripheral vision she had. Forward view? Nah. But she only had to keep pace with her front lines, keep going forward until she got to the gate. Even as an animi, she was pretty certain it wasn’t going anywhere.

  Arrows thumped and rattled off Reason’s hide, and she swallowed. Occasionally one hit with enough force to do one or two points, but overall she wasn’t worried. Was happy, even. The more that came for her, the less that went for her troops. No, the gorge churning in her belly was from the fact that she was going up against people who actually wanted to kill her. She’d felt that feeling when they cut down Baron Comfort’s bandits, and she was feeling it again, here. It was bad. This wasn’t monsters, or beasts, or a situation where she was up against a thing following its nature. These people had made the active decision that they needed a Cecelia-shaped hole in their lives and were doing their best to make it reality.

  Well. She had a thing or two to say about that. “Mend,” she snapped as the damage started to mount.

  “To the flank! Right flank!” Renick bellowed, and she shifted.

  THINGS were coming out of the lake.

  “Right flank shields!” She screamed through the magic mouth. “We planned for this, people!”

  You don’t go up against old ones without keeping eyes on the nearby body of murky water. That was just asking to get tentacle.

  “Rally Troops!” Renick shouted. “Let’s send these eldritch fuckers back where they came from!”

  She heard the right flank roar with approval, as their moxie got a decent buff.

  Oh yeah, I can do that too. She risked an unshielded glance at the walls, found them near, and snapped her arbelest arm back up as arrows clattered off Reason’s helm. “Rally Troops! The gate’s right there, let’s go knock that fumper down!”

  Then her men were cheering, or screaming, and she didn’t know because she was lifting her sword up, and charging.

  “Now now dispel now!” She yelled.

  “Dispel magic!” She heard over the yelling, from just behind her. Then something that could have also been a dispel magic, from further back, where the other wizard was. She’d spread them out in the battle, to make sure at least one of them survived to get within range.

  At least one of them got through, because when she hit the gate, that had been augmented animated wood but was now disenchanted, it broke. Ordinary, somewhat rotted mossy wood splintered into fragments as she brought the sword through it in a single ponderous thrust. Then the bulk of Reason slammed into it, and it burst into fragments.

  Screams from above her, and the splash of liquid, and the smell filled her nose as she backed off, hastily.

  Oil!

  Her mentors had briefed her on this. Fire, sticky fire like Geek’s fire from alchemists or oil or tar from sieges, could roast a steam knight alive in their suit.

  Which is why, like most problems she’d come to, Cecelia had given a lot of thought and experimentation to finding a good solution. And in this case, the solution involved the outer layers of quilted cloth she’d sewn around Reason’s helm and front. “Clean and Press!” Cecelia shouted, and sighed in relief as the first few flaming arrows clattered off of her, seconds too late.

  Relief that lasted until something inhuman roared from above her. “Burninate!”

  Her world became fire, and she shrieked as red numbers rolled up from Reason’s components. She backed off further, hunkered down, and started hissing the spells of her backup plan. “Distant Animus blanket! Invite Blanket!”

  Rustling from below her, as the fire-quenching blanket she’d commissioned from the royal enchanters wormed its way out of the cork-stoppered compartment she’d put it in, and crawled up Reason to smother the flames. “Mend, mend, mend,” she chanted, once the fires started going out. Distant animus was a good ace to play, but it had a range limitation of about one foot per level. Which was more than enough to land the spell on the blanket five feet from her.

  “Ricochet shot!” She heard someone call, then whipped her cheek to the side, as a lucky crit hit Reason’s visor slit, bounced toward her, and collided with her helm instead of her face. Close! Too Close! She wanted to turn, to flee, to retreat. Instead she slammed the burning arbelest up to cover Reason’s visor, gritted her teeth as the heat roiled around her, and waited.

  She’d done her part here. She’d shattered the gate, and she could hear the bellowing of the troops around her as they surged to and through the wall, and the shouts and cries of combat once they were past the gate. Cecelia and reason had given them their shot, and now it was on them to make it count.

  So she knelt, letting the blanket do it work, breathing as shallowly as she could, mending the damaged parts of reason as the flames died, falling to the fireproof blanket’s embrace. If I hadn’t cleaned the oil, I’d be dead, Cecelia knew. There would have been no way to escape Reason quickly enough.

  The minutes passed, the fire died, and when Cecelia lowered her the arbelest arm, an imp crawled through the visor. “Kayin has entered the village. Everything’s chaos. The dolls are in charge, cult says follow their orders. Dreadbear’s a teddy bear in a voodoo outfit. They have a dragon golem and Kayin wants to know if you want it dead.”

  A dragon golem! Cecelia’s eyes widened. She’d only ever heard about dragonfire. Never seen it in action.

  Now I have, she supposed, shuddering at how close that last call had been. “Gods dammit grandfather, you nearly killed me,” she croaked.

  “What? What what? What?” The imp jumped up and down, boggling at her. They were generally dim, she knew, their own intelligence a reflection of the creator’s own. And the imp handler hadn’t impressed her overmuch in that regard.

  Cecelia cleared her throat. “Tell Kayin to take out the dragon if she can. Leave Dreadbare to me.” Gods, if Dreadbear was what she thought it was, she wasn’t sure she could kill it. She really, really hoped she could take him alive. Get him away from grandfather, to a safe place where she could break the little golem away from the rebel lies the old man had been teaching it.

  But first things first. “Return to her with those words. Do you understand?”

  “Yes yes I go!” The imp screeched and departed.

  She’d heard that the higher-level officers had access to better imps, ones her father had personally made. Ones that were suited to skilled recon and intelligent enough to operate independently.

  They still creeped her out.

  Finally, the arrows against her slackened, and she stood, to see the shattered gates before her, and most of her army fighting inside the town. No good place for her there, so she waited, observing, for the bodies to move so she could squeeze in without trampling her own people.

  And then the level-up flashed across her field of view, and she sighed. She’d hit level five steam knight, finally. “Status, help,” she said, and settled in to read and best think how to synergize her new tricks into her tactics.

  “Ma’am!” Graves rode up, an entourage of skeletons following him. “The things from the lake were animated boats with wooden wheels nailed on. They were full of skeletons. There was something in the water croaking eldritch song supporting them, but we drove it off with concentrated fire. Renick thinks it was some kind of bard.”

  “Bard?” Cecelia blinked. “Seriously.”

  “Yes. Also, uh…” he rode in closer. “I seem to have unlocked a Tier 2 job I’ve never heard of.”

  “Really?” Academic interest fired up… then faded, as she looked to the battle raging in the town. There was a time and place to discuss this in depth, and it wasn’t here. “What is it? Make it short.”

  “It’s called Death Knight. Big on necromancy and buffing undead. And plagues and frost for no reason I can tell.”

  “Gods.” Cecelia rubbed her face. “You’re one of the few people I trust with something like this. Look, will it help you survive this battle?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Take it. As your current commanding officer I authorize it.”

  “Thank you ma’am! Yes!” he stood there for a second, helm elevated as he read the details. “Intelligence and Con? Okay, works for me. Good news is the plague stuff is only plague resistance at this level. Everything else seems manageable, nothing that the inquisitor would kill me over. Oooh, this’ll help. Bony Armor!” Half the skeletons shivered and fell apart, wrapping around him, until his pauldrons were jawless skulls and the rest of his plate was laced in ribs.

  “Cute,” Cecelia sighed. “All right. Get Renick and the wizards and let’s go get this over with.”

  *****

  Midway through the town, as they fought the fifth batch of cultists in the burning remnants of a block of houses, Graves stiffened up. “Shit! I just got Kayin!”

  What was he… oh. Oh!

  “Ask her where!” Cecelia shouted, rage filling her. “We’ll fumping make them pay!”

  “Speak with Dead.” He chanted, and Kayin’s voice echoed through their minds.

  “Hey Cecelia. Got the dragon, fucked up the escape. Bad assassin, no cookie.”

  “Where!” Cecelia said, shaking, feeling the tears burst from her eyes. “Show us where!”

  “Southwest, by the church. They’ve got a rallying point there.”

  “ON ME!” Cecelia bellowed, and surged ahead, breaking Steam Knight protocol. Her friend was dead, and by the gods she’d make her killers pay.

  They found her by the church, windows shattered, cultists inside firing arrows desperately at the approaching knight.

  “TALK TO THE HAND!” Cecelia roared, and her arm, no longer needing to be in front of her visor, intercepted arrow crits as she charged the building. “STEAM SCREAM!” she bellowed, and Reason sent a shuddering howl to the skies, trembling the stars within their firmaments. She had the hot satisfaction of seeing green numbers, big ones streak from the cultists at the windows as they shrieked, and then she was crunching through the wall, sword raised high. “Oh yeah!” She yelled, sword chopping down as blood sprayed red, red on the busted bricks.

  At some point in there she unlocked the berserker class.

  “Undead!”Graves called. “I’m on it… what the hell?”

  “That’s it! That’s the thing that got me, the dragon rider!”

  A squeaky voice yelled in desperation. “Call Faiah! Least Elemental! Shape Faiah-shit!”

  “Bitch please!” Renick roared, and then came the sound of heavy metal boots stomping through wood. “Dolorous Strike! Dolorous Strike!”

  “An Emberling? Seriously?” Graves said. “Oh. Oh shit, Kayin. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, that’s my body. The little shit got my throat,” Kayin said. “It was pretty messy. You might not want to see this, Cecelia.”

  Finally, there was silence. Cecelia snorted snot from her nose, and blinked away tears. The fury drained from her, leaving her feeling hollow.

  She wasn’t sure what kind of people were insane enough to take rage as a job feature.

  Then stillness. A change in the air, nothing she could put her finger on. It was like reality shuddered.

  She backed Reason out of the church, wheeled around, gasped as she saw Renick and Graves off their horses, kneeling next to Kayin’s charred corpse. Her darkspawn helm showed her the pool of blood her friend had died in, in agonizing full color. It pooled around the rent stuffing and green fur of a little dragon, torn and fragmented from Kayin’s successful work.

  Cecelia swallowed, hard. “We need to get her to the corpse cart. And make sure their necromancer gets nowhere near her.”

  “Well, her spirit’s with me. They won’t lock her soul into a corpse, that’s the important thing,” Graves promised. Then he glanced west, to the shore, and frowned. “The little puppet thing had a spirit. It was like an undead sealed into a toy body.”

  “What? You can do that?”

  “No shit?” Kayin sounded interested.

  “I’ve heard rumors,” Graves said, muttering. “They can go into animi, but they pass on once the animi expired. Or if you’re really evil you can enchant weapons and armor, make hauntblades or wraith armor.”

  “I could maybe stand being a dagger for all eternity,” Kayin mused.

  But Graves was still talking. “That… that puppet was a fire elementalist, though, and I’ve never heard of jobs carrying through. And it was a girl’s spirit that ran by me, right into the lake.” He turned, surveyed the town. “And there goes another! On the edge of the shore. The dead cultists, their spirits are running into the lake.”

  “Soulstones,” Cecelia whispered. “Soulstones don’t need to breathe. They’re under there somewhere.” She sighed. “It would probably take days to find them. And something capable of operating underwater.”

  “The way is clear,” Anise announced, stepping out of the shadows. “We need to stop the rite.”

  “Yes, of course,” Cecelia was drained, so drained. The battle had been long and hard, and now she understood why the cultists hadn’t feared death. “Grandfather, what have you done?” She whispered.