The Empire was a great lumbering thing, and though Peleus ruled it with an iron fist, no one man could hope to hold all the nd between Far Trabakond and the sea without assistance. Thus, from the body of the Emperor himself extended a vast and shambling bureaucracy, through which his power flowed like rivulet channels carved into a bed of unbreakable stone.

  But, of course, in entrusting the carrying-out of the Emperor’s will, an issue arose. Long in the history of men, a story had repeated itself: a great king would rise, and finding that his power and wealth exceeded his capacity to manage it, he would entrust his wealth to courtiers. But inevitably, the courtiers would take the power they had been so graciously lent and fritter it away, turning it to the enrichment of their own nds and their own dynasties. The potential of the great king was squandered in favor of the elevation of yet more squabbling, useless aristocrats. To solve this problem, a new sort of creature had to be invented: the eunuch.

  A eunuch has all the faculties of a man, his brilliance and his dedication, without any of the attendant concerns of flesh and perpetuation. A eunuch is not a sve, for a sve is good only for grunt work, and sves have families besides; but a eunuch has the loyalty of a sve, made stronger by the fact that a eunuch chooses his lot in life. In other words, a eunuch can think of logic without distraction, thus making a eunuch a perfect bureaucrat.

  Late that autumn evening, the very same day that the Emperor returned from campaign in Far Trabakond, one such eunuch worked long into the night, eyes squinting through the light of a candebra as they scratched away at the final lines of a collimated report. This person, so dedicated to their work that they forsook even such basic necessities as sleep in exchange for the satisfaction of a job well-done, was named Hesperos.

  Hesperos dipped their quill one st time in the pot of ink, then scratched out the final few lines. Their handwriting left much to be desired, written as it was by a hand cramping with exertion, but the information was accurately transcribed. They carefully set the quill in its allotted container and started to think about food. There was, Hesperos was fairly sure, a couple of loaves of ftbread and a bit of that excellent olive spread still left over, a wholesome and temperate meal.

  And then they heard a sound, a soft rustling or shuffling, as though an animal were leaping across the branches of the tree outside Hesperos’s window. Except there was no tree; Hesperos’s chamber was on the third floor, and overlooked a garden of flowers. Worried, slightly confused, Hesperos turned to find the source of the sound.

  There was a tall, dark figure, swathed in cloth, standing over their shoulder. Hesperos opened their mouth to scream, but the intruder made a gesture with one pale hand, and no sound emerged. Was this death, Hesperos wondered? Had Morthan the Inevitable come to take them, at their all-too-early hour? They staggered back, nearly colpsing until arrested by the side wall of the small chamber. For a moment they were frozen, gasping for breath, waiting for the moment when with his shears of gold Morthan would reach out and pluck the life from Hesperos’s body. The stranger made another gesture, and spoke.

  “My apologies, Hesperos. I did not mean to frighten you.”

  The voice which emerged from the cloaked figure was that of a woman, albeit hard-edged. She drew back her hood ever so slightly, revealing angled features, no older than forty but still possessed of a weariness brought on by experience. A simple charm hung from a cord about her neck.

  “How do you know my name?” Hesperos said, still worried, though the friendly tone to her voice somewhat assuaged their fears.

  “Because I know you,” she said. “Though you do not know me. I am Shirrin.”

  Hesperos’s brow furrowed. “The Witch-Queen? The Emperor’s sve?”

  Shirrin nodded, though her face twitched with disdain at the title. “Indeed, and you will soon come to learn how deep the truth of that title is. But never mind that; I have come to reward you.”

  Hesperos straightened themself, though they remained cautious in the face of this strange offer. “What, and for what, do you offer reward?”

  “You are kind, Hesperos, even towards those against whom the tide of Chrysopolis has turned. When the people decreed the Pale Prince a weakling and unmanned, you offered him kindness. So I offer you kindness in return. I shall free you from your bonds of servitude, and grant you all you have ever wanted: beauty, humanity, and grace. But you must make me a promise in return. For I have need, not merely of your kindness, but of your keen insight and a loyalty stronger than steel. I have many pns to carry out, and only with your aid can I bring them to completion.”

  Hesperos heard the offer well, and considered it. Shirrin knew, somehow, their deepest desire: it was not just any person to whom she would offer, amongst other things, “beauty.” The invocation of the Pale Prince was also deliberate. He had been a good friend of Hesperos’s before his deposal, and the reminder of his life and death made their heart quiver.

  “Are you a friend of the Pale Prince’s, then?” said Hesperos.

  “One might say that,” said Shirrin. “For his sake, then, will you strike this bargain?”

  Hesperos frowned, hesitating a while longer. Then they outthrust their hand. “I shall. But if I find your motives cking, know that I will turn against you. My trust is not so easily earned.”

  “Of course not,” said Shirrin, taking Hesperos’s hand in hers. “I hope I shall earn that trust in time.”

  Then there was a flourish of fabric, and a rush of air, and all at once the office grew cold and shadowy. A moment ter, it was empty, both of its inhabitants vanished altogether.

  ...

  Senator Mygdon was a man of many virtues. He was hard-working, honest, patient, and most of all he put little weight upon superstition and falcious cims of supernatural power. Oh, certainly, he would pray to the Golden Lord every night before bed, but the cimed power of impious alchemists and soothsayers meant nothing to him.

  But the Witch-Queen was no idle soothsayer. Her power was real, terrifically real, and he had seen it. Only a night before he had seen her turn invisible, conjure up illusions of gold and scintilting jewels, hover above the ground with arms outspread. There was nothing foolhardy about treating with the supernatural when it had proven itself. If it were possible to solve his problem through prayer, or health, or rational means, would any man bme him for doing so? But such cures had proven fruitless, and the Witch-Queen’s power made her offer genuine. So he took it.

  Such excuses frothed against the banks of Senator Mygdon’s mind as he paced back and forth through his chamber at night. The moon, half-full, was almost at the peak of its arc, which meant the Witch-Queen’s arrival was imminent. Yet no matter how much he scratched at his beard or rubbed at his brow, Mygdon could not help but feel guilt gnaw at his heels.

  Then there was a fluttering sound of wings, and a rush of chill wind. The Witch-Queen had arrived.

  “You have done well to answer my instructions, Mygdon,” said she.

  “Indeed I have. And you have brought the potion?”

  There was a strange flicker of the Witch-Queen’s hand, reminiscent of a juggler working his craft, and the copper vial appeared. “Consume this, and make love to your wife as soon as you can. From this union, she shall bear you a son.”

  Mygdon extended his hand in eager impatience to hold the potion in his hand. But the Witch-Queen recoiled, as did he, suddenly ashamed of his greed. “I assume there is a matter of payment to be settled, yes? I can have a note of credit drawn up in just a moment, with my own seal, if it so pleases you.”

  “No, it is not that which bothers me,” said the Witch-Queen. “But you shall not touch this vial until such time as the first fingers of dawn creep across the rooftops of Chrysopolis. Then I shall give you the potion, and depart.”

  Mygdon frowned, stroking his beard. “Then you expect no payment?”

  “I never said that.” The Witch-Queen drifted across the chamber, finding a couch upon which to stretch herself. She leaned forward, and with another odd gesture produced a clear crystal, which glowed brightly as she set it upon a nearby table. “Let us fill the time.”

  Mygdon, following the Witch-Queen’s gesture, sat down across from her. The enchanted light of the crystal cast odd shadows across the Witch-Queen’s face, making her smile unnaturally broad, her cheeks unnaturally sharp. “My sves are asleep,” said Mygdon. “How shall we pass the time?”

  “Speak of your contemporaries. The rich of the city, the powerful, the connected. And spare no secret, no backroom deal, no scandal, if you would be so kind.”

  Mygdon hesitated a moment; but so long as he avoided speaking of his own secrets, he assumed, he would be safe. He rexed into the couch, folding his hands across his stomach. Then he spoke. And when dawn did at st break upon the City of Gold, Shirrin was quite well-informed indeed.

  ...

  Frasalu dashed into the hideout, throwing open the door with a heavy sm and casting her gaze about the room. It was te at night, well after sunset but not yet midnight, and although the members of her gang had greatly enjoyed the affairs of the evening, they were nonetheless all either asleep or coming close to it, scattered in piles about the room. The pce stank of wine, opium, and the crude aftereffects of hurried lovemaking. Damn them all.

  Thinking quickly, Frasalu did the only thing she could think of, and taking up an empty jug, banged it against the knife she kept at her belt, all while shouting at the top of her lungs.

  “City guard’s on the way! Everybody get up and get out, the damned city guard is on the way!”

  One by one, the other members of the gang roused, squint-eyed and sniffling. Frasalu dashed forward, seizing the arm of Sothvam, her second-in-command, and dragged him to his feet. Sothvam promptly proved why he had been given that position, banishing his sluggishness in only a few moments, and with only the briefest exchange of words, he set about rousing the others and preparing for an escape.

  As Frasalu rushed about, grabbing the most valuable things from the hideout, her attention kept turning back to the singur question of how this had happened. The obvious answer was that they had been informed on, but if that was the case, then the informant either pnned to go down with the rest of them or trusted the Chrysopolitan guard to remember their face and spare them. There must have been some other evidence of the location of their hideout that had been left behind for the guard to discover, but no matter how long she thought, Frasalu could not think of when that might have happened.

  The young, slender Komshirn was the first person to leave the hideout, even as others remained behind to grab important things, wake the others, or pn a fruitless st stand. He was also the first one to race back in, terror written deep across his face.

  “The alley’s sealed off!” he screamed, remembering to do so in Trabakondai so that the guard wouldn’t be able to understand. “They’re already at the entrance and moving in!”

  Frasalu swore. That was their easiest escape, already lost. There was a backup pn, crossing the roofs, but that would take even more time. She gnced to old Diorda: she was their best forger, but she was nearly five decades of age, and while she was spry, her bad leg would make crossing the rooftops a slow process.

  Sothvam must have come to the same conclusion. He gave Frasalu a meaningful look, and gestured to the long Trabakondai sword held in the sash at his waist. “I’m the better warrior, and you’re the glue holding us all together,” he said. “The guard can only pass through the doorway one at a time, so I should be able to hold them a while before my luck runs out.”

  Frasalu swore again. Her soft instincts demanded she make some appeal, but she suppressed that urge: sometimes, people died. And if Sothvam was going to make that sacrifice, then so be it.

  “I’ll cover the shrines in gold for you,” she said.

  Sothvam nodded, drawing his bde as he moved to the doorway. Frasalu returned to the work of getting everyone up. One member of the gang, drunk on wine, still y half-conscious in the corner. She took him, spping him lightly across the face, and he did rouse. But he did not rouse in the way of a drunkard, with lidded eyes and sluggish movement. Rather, his eyes jolted open, and he stared up at Frasalu with a smirk of glee.

  Then, all of a sudden, the man rose to his feet and his flesh began to dissolve. It was a horrible, fascinating transformation, fat and muscle subsiding as though they were salt under the influence of a great deluge of invisible water. His clothing warped and drifted about him like smoke, bck locks of hair poured from his scalp. In a matter of moments, Frasalu stood before a tall, unfamiliar woman.

  “Kreth! What have you done with Kreth?”

  “Your friend is unharmed,” said the stranger, raising her palm in a pacifying gesture. “The working girls will no doubt wake him in the morning. But I thought it wise to pce myself here, knowing as I did of your impending trouble.”

  At Frasalu’s cry of arm, the other members of the gang turned. Many of them drew bdes, offering prayers and oaths as they retreated from the stranger. “Who are you?” said Sothvam.

  “My name is Shirrin, and I am here to help you. I can ensure that none of you will face harm at the hands of the city guard, or any others. But know that I will require a favor in return.”

  The sound of heavy armored figures could be heard through the door. Frasalu grimaced. “What sort of favor?”

  “I find myself in need of help. Paid help, to be clear. Messengers and so on.”

  Young Komshirn’s eyes went wide. “Are you saying we’ll have jobs?”

  Diorda grinned. “It’s been a long time since I saw good silver. And Shirrin’s a Trabakondai name, isn’t it?”

  Frasalu didn’t like this, and judging by his expression, neither did Sothvam. But she was tired of having to run, and perhaps if she could get a roof over her head it would be worth it. And she certainly preferred a loss of pride to losing Sothvam, or more.

  “Fine. We’ll do it,” she said. “But how are you going to get us out of here?”

  “I’ll require your verbal assent,” said Shirrin. “All of you.”

  Rapidly, a chorus of “aye”s rang out across the room. Once they were all accounted for, Shirrin threw back the sleeves of her dress and extended her hands. “You have all seen how I was able to infiltrate your hideout. We shall exfiltrate using the same technique. A word of advice: no matter your discomfort, do not forget to breathe.”

  A wave of magic spread across the room. Frasalu’s clothes melted like so much mist, and an awful vertiginous sensation trembled across her skin. Her muscles shifted, her skin flexed. Across the hideout, cries rang out through swiftly-morphing vocal cords. As Frasalu colpsed to the floor, she did the only thing she could, and kept breathing.

  SaffronDragon