“Who are ye talking to, dunderhead? Ye’re home already.” The cheerful voice made him jump.
Then a hand smacked the back of his head, and he jumped again. Waresh whirled. A mop of curly brown hair framed an oval face with dancing sapphire eyes that regarded him with amusement.
“Jumpy, ain’t ye? Well come on, already, are ye gonna escort me to the tavern or not?”
“Tarni?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Aye, who’s it look like? Did ye get an anvil dropped on yer noggin?”
“Reiktir’s beard! Are ye really here?”
Tarni frowned and was about to reply when Waresh swept her into a massive bear hug.
“Oh, gods, I thought I’d lost ye forever!” Tears streamed from his eyes, but he hardly noticed.
“Oi! Unhand me, ye great oaf,” she wheezed, smacking him on the back of the head again for good measure.
Tarni was warm and soft, and he didn’t want to let go, but he finally did after a long moment. If this is a dream, then may I never waken.
Despite her gruffness, Tarni grinned at his reaction. She grabbed his hand and tugged him along.
“C’mon, then. The lads are waitin’—they’re likely piss-drunk already.”
Waresh barely heard her. He tried to focus on the very real sensation of her warm hand, fingers intertwined with his own.
Then out of the darkness ahead, he saw the merry light through the stained-glass windows of The Notched Axe, a tavern notorious as a den of vagabonds and adventurers. That was just the way he liked it—unlike many of his people, who merely tolerated the other races, he loved mingling and hearing tales from across the land of Easilon from the mixed crowd of roaming adventurers.
The door swung open at their approach. A familiar figure stood within, his broad back holding the door ajar. Merry sounds of a lute being strummed and the strains of a bawdy ballad drifted out of the warm tavern.
“Waresh! Good to see ye, friend!” Kalder grinned at him and pressed a mug of ale into his hand and another into Tarni’s. “Yer late, ye know. We got some catchin’ up to do!”
“Welcome home, me love,” Tarni spoke softly in his ear. “Rest yer weary head. Ye are among friends. We’ve missed ye.”
Home, he thought. Home never sounded so good.
He stepped inside, Tarni and Kalder accompanying him, and the door swung slowly shut behind them.
***
Nera stared at the head-sized silver orb suspended in midair. Golden energy blazed around the sphere and streamed into the grasping metallic fingers of the device surrounding it. The fount of magic issuing from the sphere blazed like the sun of many Prime worlds she had visited. The mana flowed into conduits leading underground and, eventually, to the incomplete foundry.
I can see as Malek did now, she thought with a tinge of sadness as she studied the flow of mana. The mental image of the bright sun made her think of Malek’s home. I wish I could’ve seen it sometime, perhaps walked hand in hand with him along one of those quiet country lanes… but alas, that is not to be. She sighed aloud.
“Is there anything not to your liking, milady?” Flurbinger Flent gazed up at her with a nervous expression on his lined face. “Just say the word, and I will make it so—however you wish.”
The gnome bowed, but she could sense his anticipation at being given another challenge like the one that was before her. Being imbued with the Engineer’s knowledge had rejuvenated the old caretaker of the Machine.
“Master Flent, you have performed splendidly,” she told him with all honesty.
She looked around the cavernous room, formerly the mana factory, which had once held scores of humanoids drugged and imprisoned, bleeding them of mana. Nera herself had torn out the offensive iron chairs and the majority of the conduits with her power, crushing them into cubes to be melted down in the new foundry, which was under construction, and repurposed for some benevolent use. The leftover conduits had been rebuilt and configured for the Source, as she thought of it now. She wondered what was going on inside of Zar Jurrik’s pocket dimension, the silver orb before her.
“How is the power output now that we switched to a different Source?”
“It’s about on par with what we were using before, milady. I’ve identified some areas where inefficiencies are causing power losses—the old foundry was horribly inefficient, I must say! I believe once the new foundry is completed and we get those other inefficiencies rectified, we will actually be above where we were before! The mages inform me that this output should be sustainable.”
Nera smiled patiently as the gnome prattled on. “Very good. I’d like to tap into some of that extra energy to strengthen the wards so that this facility cannot be breached. If something were to happen to the Source, the results could be disastrous.”
“Aye, milady,” Flurbinger replied with another bow. “I shall consult with the mages and determine how to make it so.”
“Thank you, Master Flent. You may return to your duties.”
A relieved Flurbinger bowed again and scurried off, eager to get to work on solving another puzzle.
Nera was fairly pleased with herself at thinking up the idea for the Source. She especially loved the irony of using the Architect and Engineer’s twisted ideas against them. The two brothers were imprisoned in Zar Jurrik’s pocket dimension, created specially for that unique application. The pair provided for all of Nexus’s mana needs by having their own considerable reserves of mana siphoned off. They were safely locked away, kept weak by the persistent mana drain, which in turn was put to a good use. She still didn’t know if the former prisoners of the mana factory could be rehabilitated, but she had turned them over to the clerics of the city to aid them however best they could.
She caught her own reflection in the silver skin of the Source before her. She was in her natural form, resembling her mother, tall and beautiful with long black hair, pale skin, and smoldering eyes. The horns she had always hated were gone.
“I have an event to get to… It’s time for Nera the Rogue to make an appearance.” She smiled at that thought. These days she relished the opportunity to put on her old skin. As much as she had always thought she despised it before, now it felt like a comfortable set of old clothes.
Nera teleported herself to a dark alley in the city outside with a thought. She shapechanged into her plane-cursed form as she reappeared in the alleyway. For all official matters of state and appearances requiring the ruler of the city, she took her natural form as the Lady of Nexus or Lady of Twilight, both of which the citizens had dubbed her. The Lady of Twilight, which she preferred, had a fearsome reputation to uphold. Nera barely recognized this Lady of Twilight as described by citizens on the street. They talked in hushed tones of a strict and vengeful bitch, one who upheld the Balance with an iron fist and would smite down any enemy without batting an eye. She sounded nearly as bad as the Pale Lord, according to the talk, but then Nera rather fancied having a fearsome reputation.
For all unofficial matters, she always chose her plane-cursed form. One reason was to disassociate the two personas. By doing so, she could keep her friends out of danger and safe from being used as leverage against her—Arron’s idea, and a good one at that. She considered herself blessed to have such a loyal companion.
Nera slipped out of the alley and strolled the streets. The chroniker mast showed the time to be early evening yet. She was weary from the earlier exertions of her magic but was excited to surprise her friends, and the entire city, with what she had done.
She enjoyed the anonymity her old form provided her. In spite of all her newfound powers to monitor the city for threats, she found it hard to gauge the actual mood on the streets. A lifetime on those streets had taught her to trust her eyes and ears and learn from them rather than magic and psionic talents.
She strolled through the Magelight Market. Workers she had put on the payroll had swiftly cleared the destruction left behind. Freshly constructed stalls had gone up, with more on the way. Trade
had resumed, with the portals reopened. Merchants hawked their wares. Shoppers browsed and haggled for the best prices. The stench of smoke and death had been swept clean from the air, and pure water flowed in the Molten Canal once again.
Her keen eyes spotted a young towheaded pickpocket pilfer the purse from an unwary man who looked green to Nexus. The young pickpocket froze, eyes wide as she spotted Nera’s knowing gaze. She wasn’t surprised to see the face of a scrappy young girl regard her impudently for a moment before turning and scampering away through the crowds.
Life returns to normal, she thought with a small grin. Stability in the city and the restoration of available resources worked wonders in curing the self-destructive appetite. A few public demonstrations of the Lady of Twilight’s power and a number of high-profile arrests hadn’t hurt either.
Turning from her path, she cut through the slums. A significant portion of the buildings deeper in the slums remained charred ruins. A few fresh buildings were going up, a mix of clay and more expensive stone, wood, and quoploy shells. Progress was slow—not surprising, considering the locale.
Nera frowned and decided the Lady of Twilight might have to make an appearance and expedite matters. She might even use her powers to speed things along. Her mere presence would likely help motivate the workers.
Not a bad idea. Perhaps a good way to get more of the common folk’s support.
“Nera! Won’t you come inside for a cup of tea and a sweet cake?”
She turned to find Mathilda, the old woman who had befriended her as an orphan, waving to her from her doorway. With her mind on the cleanup effort, she had nearly walked past the woman’s home without stopping to say hello.
“Of course—I’ve got a few moments,” she told Mathilda with a smile. That wasn’t entirely true. She was late already for her meeting, but she knew they would wait.
Who’s gonna argue with the cruel Lady of Twilight? Her eyes twinkled in amusement.
Mathilda wrapped her up in a big hug and tugged at her arm. “Come, come. Wilford went out to the market. He should be back anytime, but with his bad leg, it could take the poor man some time. Tea?”
Nera gently declined. “I don’t have much time right now, but I promise I’ll stop by another time when Wilford is here too. Just wanted to check up on you and see how you are faring.”
She looked around the small hovel the elderly couple called home. It was much as she remembered: small, tidy, and homey, smelling of baked bread and cedar. Wilford had been a carpenter before retiring. The cedar furniture was sturdy and well crafted.
Mathilda looked disappointed she couldn’t stay. “How about a sweet cake, at least?”
Nera laughed. “I could never resist a sweet cake.” The buttery cinnamon taste melted in her mouth at the first bite.
She joined Mathilda at the table. The old woman coughed into a handkerchief. Her breath rattled in her chest worryingly. When she had recovered, she took a long sip of her own cup of tea. She watched Nera eat, looking pleased.
“My, you’re all grown up now. You’re almost like a daughter to me. If only your mother could see you—I’m sure she’d be so proud. So strong and confident.”
Nera returned Mathilda’s smile. “I feel she’s looking down on me right now. I hope I do make her proud,” she said honestly.
“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. Of course she is.”
She took another big bite of the gooey treat. “How are things in the city now that everything is returned to normal?”
“I’ve got to say, things are getting better. Another month or two, and they’ll be right as rain. This Lady of Twilight is making some much-needed improvements.”
Just wait till you wake up tomorrow, Nera thought, pleased at the old woman’s opinions.
Mathilda broke into another coughing fit, and Nera became concerned.
“Can I see that?” Without waiting for an answer, she took the teacup from Mathilda’s unresisting hand.
Nera made a show of sniffing the tea. Concentrating briefly, she changed the properties of the herbal tea. “Mmm… smells good. I reckon you should drink all of that—will do wonders for that cough.”
Mathilda nodded slowly. “Of course, dear.”
“One other thing.” She picked up the kettle from the hearth and focused on the water within. Again, she changed its properties. “Make Wilford drink a cup when he gets back. Should help with his bad knee.”
“Don’t be silly. His knee’s been bad for decades. Only way it’ll get better is in the next life.” She chuckled.
Nera held her gaze and pushed subtly with her thoughts, planting a suggestion. “Please, just have him drink it. Tell him it’d make me happy.” Her psionic abilities were nowhere near as refined as Endira’s, but with the elf’s training, she was making some progress.
Mathilda blinked as if snapping out of a trance. “Oh, sure I will. You can count on that.”
Nera smiled and squeezed her hand. She slipped a handful of gold crowns from her pocket. “Why don’t you take these and move up near your sister in the Merchant District? I worry about you here.”
The old woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Where’d you get all that… It’s a fortune. I could never…”
“Sure you can.” She held out the coin. “I owe you for all the years of kindness—it’s the least I can do for you two.”
“But this is our home,” Mathilda protested. “Besides, my sister and I would just fight the whole time like we did during the troubles, and the men would get drunk every night. This is where we belong, dear, and you’re always welcome here.”
The thought of pushing another suggestion crossed Nera’s mind, but she knew that would be wrong. They were happy in their own home since the streets were relatively safe again. With a shrug, she pocketed the clink.
“It was worth a try. I’d best be going. Give my regards to Wilford, won’t you?” She gave the old woman a departing hug.
“Don’t be a stranger, dear,” Mathilda called out as she waved and walked away.
I won’t. I’m going to need all the sanity that friends can provide me in the years ahead.
Within a few minutes, she neared her destination. She could sense within the tavern those she sought. Their auras were all distinct, as were all of those within the city. When she sat on the throne and focused her thoughts, the effect was magnified—she could count and distinguish each of the tens of thousands of unique auras of her people. They all shone distinctly, as stars in the sky amongst the dull backdrop of Nexus itself.
“You can join me now,” Nera called softly, looking toward the sky.
Within moments, she heard the telltale flutter of wings. A small crow sailed down out of the sky and landed on her left horn.
She cleared her throat, pointedly.
Taking the hint, the newly repaired construct hopped down to her shoulder and watched her with its glittering dark eyes.
Nera grinned at the bird, briefly stroked its head, then turned her attention to the Zombie, before her. Light glowed warmly from the tavern’s windows, and the music of a mandolin floated out the door as a couple of people stepped outside. The two men, whom she knew to be merchants by their auras, glanced at her and nodded in greeting as they passed by.
Nera had figured out how to disguise her own aura, for she had learned early on its effects on those around her if she wasn’t careful. She didn’t want to disrupt the festivities in the Zombie as if some bungler had dropped an armload of copper pots on the floor, for in such a way could her aura draw attention.
Realizing she was nervous at reuniting with her friends, Nera chided herself. Matters of state weren’t as daunting anymore, yet she balked at meeting her friends.
What will they think? Will they treat me differently, or will I still be a friend to them?
Casting aside her nervous thoughts, she took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The smells of Sven’s famous stew, tobacco smoke, and spilled ale all brought her back to reality. This was her past, y
et it could also be in her future, she hoped.
She nodded to the half-orc bouncer, who returned the greeting, and waved to Sven the barkeep as she walked in.
“Nera! It’s been so long! Welcome back, lass,” Sven shouted from behind the bar. “We’d been afeard you were killed in the battle, had it not been for Arron and Wyat reassuring us that weren’t the case.”
“Nay, my friend, I’ve been caught up in some other matters that have kept me away. I sure hope you have a full cask of ale prepared, for it will take a definite beating tonight, I assure you!” She grinned at the barkeep.
“Aye, lass, have no worries on that account! I’ll have one sent back just for your table. I suspect yer friends’ll need a refill ere too long.”
“Keep them coming, Sven.”
Nera saw an unfamiliar bard—known as Angus the Adverse, she noted from the thoughts of those around her—was playing the mandolin and singing a new ballad about the battle of Nexus. She frowned briefly, recognizing his true nature. So long as he made no trouble, she would have no issue with him.
Angus was skilled at his trade—most of the tavern sat in rapt attention, nearly spellbound by the performance. He was singing of the heroic deeds of the Golden Priestess and the Steel Commander, and how together they’d defeated the Abyssal horde. She smirked at that.
And there in the back of the tavern, at their old table, she saw them. Arron waved to her, and the others looked up.
She glanced at the crow perched on her shoulder, which had sat motionless as a statue. The bird looked over and met her gaze.
“Well, go on—return to your master.”
The crow bobbed its head as if in agreement and took to wing, gliding smoothly over the crowd and landing before Yosrick, coming to rest on the lip of his tankard of ale. The gnome’s face lit up with delight, and the crow squawked happily.
“Nera!” boomed Wyat. The big man was on her in three strides, picking her up and crushing her in a hug.
They both laughed, and she smacked him on the back.
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