Adarin had cleaned himself as well as he could and joined the huddle of necromancers around Rüdiger and Liora. Most wrinkled their noses; few dared take a step back. Liora’s eyes were wide with panic, and Adarin saw her chest rising and falling quickly. She clasped her wrist.

  “Honored Margrave,” she said, her voice trembling.

  Rüdiger made an expansive gesture. “Please, please, my dear disciple, do call me Rüdiger.”

  “Marg…” Liora swallowed hard. “Rüdiger. I know nothing of affairs of state. I cannot lead a diplomatic delegation.”

  Rüdiger shook his head. “Nonsense, nonsense. Diplomacy is just words, Liora—words until the other side gives up or makes a mistake.”

  “But what if… something goes wrong?” Her voice trailed off. She looked down, face flushed.

  “Well.” Rüdiger spread his hands as if addressing an invisible crowd. “That is why our dear Sir Adarin—”

  He paused, studying Adarin, sniffed dramatically, and then a vicious smile spread across his face.

  “—who should perhaps wash off the stench of his latest experiment… Will accompany you.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Ja, ja. Your tactical acumen should be sufficient for that. Don’t kill their leader, Adarin. That would lead to more problems. The rest of their people are fair game.”

  Liora’s eyes widened.

  Adarin groaned internally. What is this madman doing now? Is he really expecting me to negotiate with them in the name of the Order? Fucking hell! I’ve seen decentralized command, but this is something else.

  Suddenly, Rüdiger blurred from his perception. Fucking distraction spell!

  Adarin scuttled forward in the direction where the man had been, but it was no use. He had vanished.

  Down the hill, a delegation was walking up toward them under a white flag. Beside them stood an elven zombie, also holding something white—well, a shirt. Stained with a bit of blood, torn like someone had ripped it from a corpse.

  Adarin sighed. It will have to do.

  Adarin walked up to Liora, but she recoiled with a disgusted face and took a step back. “What is wrong?” Then he remembered his earlier accident. Right. Forgot about that little olfactory mishap.

  He turned his attention to the delegation approaching them.

  Three knights—marked by scaled armor threaded with metallic greens and blues. The one in the middle was on foot, while the others rode reptilian beasts the size of horses. Wingless, low-slung, with thick necks and heavy musculature.

  Adarin’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the beasts. Tough hide. Likely carnivorous. Ugly. But the eyes… With my current means, it seems unlikely I can go for a quick kill against them. And those sacks at the throats? Do they spew fire?

  Liora noticed his look and answered the unspoken question. “They are drakken. Not dragons or wyverns. They spew acid potent enough to eat through steel.”

  Amazing. Living chemical warfare weapons.

  Adarin looked from Liora to the blood-stained shirt flapping in the zombie’s hand, then down at himself. “So, just to reiterate. We have no objectives. And we are to talk to them.”

  “Yes,” Liora said, hesitantly. Then she started speaking—fast, clipped, like trying to rid herself of something sticky and foul. “I will just stand there. Behind you.”

  Adarin chuckled. The wooden clattering sound cut through her nervousness. “No, no, Liora. I think Rüdiger was right. It would do you good to manage this. And it will be interesting. Go ahead.”

  She swallowed hard, clearly about to protest—when a drakken snarled, loud and guttural, cutting through her thoughts.

  The dragon-blooded mercenary delegation was waiting.

  Adarin checked the wind by tossing up a few blades of grass. They fluttered back toward him. We are standing downwind of them. So my stink will not give anything away. Good.

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  Hesitantly, Liora began walking. The zombie trotted after her. Adarin fell in beside them. Let’s have some fun then.

  As they approached the delegation, Adarin leaned slightly toward Liora and whispered, “Let me announce you. It’s important to set the right tone to begin with.”

  They stopped ten paces from the delegation. Well—only Liora and Adarin stopped.

  With dawning horror, Adarin watched as the zombie kept marching forward.

  The burgundy-scaled drakkenrider instinctively took a step back. His drakken snapped at the oncoming undead until Liora flung out her hand, and the creature halted—abruptly, awkwardly, far too close.

  Great start.

  Adarin chuckled in the privacy of his mindspace. Then he ramped up the volume, speaking loud and clear. “I present to you Priestess Liora Iskara of the Temple of the Holy Mother Ishna, disciple of Rüdiger von Erlenwald, Archmagister of Necromancy, Professor of Economics, and Margrave of the Order of the Invisible Hand. Whom does she have the honor of addressing?”

  The blue-clad drakkenrider on the left cleared his throat. His voice cracked as he answered—but to Adarin’s satisfaction, it was still softer than his own. “You have the honor of addressing Lady Leora Rakav, Major of the Order of the Dragon-Blooded. We have come to demand your surrender—and your submission to the Crusade.”

  Liora turned to Adarin, eyes wide with disbelief.

  He gave her a subtle motion with his manipulator. Go on. Maybe I’ll have to intervene. This is already off to a bad start.

  He tensed, hidden behind calm posture, two rootwhips forming at the ready. Watchful. Two whips. Maybe if I go for the beasts’ eyes… Still.

  Silence stretched like a prisoner on a torture rack.

  Liora stared at the ground. Her fist clenched. Then she exhaled sharply. “No, that is—” she looked sideways at Adarin, then back up, jaw tightening. “Unacceptable.”

  Silence again. Suddenly, the burgundy drakkenrider’s mount snapped at the zombie.

  The undead didn’t react in time—or at all. With a wet crunch, the drakken clamped its jaws around the zombie’s arm. It froze, as if surprised by the ease of the bite.

  Apparently, it wasn’t used to its prey falling apart in its mouth like soggy paper.

  Lady Rakav cleared her throat. “Would you care to elaborate on why it is unacceptable?”

  “Well, your people—” Liora faltered, then shook her head.

  The mercenary leader pounced. “The people in whose company you are, Priestess, have defiled a mass grave to profligate themselves. They have committed crimes worthy of the Demiurges. Surely you cannot defend such actions.”

  She turned toward the one-armed zombie and the drakken now gnawing happily on its prize, while the rider awkwardly tried to wrench the limb free from its jaws.

  Adarin caught the tiny twitch of a suppressed smirk on the Major’s face. At least she kept a straight face. Maybe confusion is the tactic here—throw them off balance until they hesitate.

  Liora spoke up again, voice steadier now. “I cannot make such decisions, but I will inform my master of your demands.”

  She fell silent, her head dipping—then she forced it back up, jaw clenched, gaze steady.

  Good. She’s showing some presence. But it’s time I intervene.

  Adarin waved a tentacle at the knights, catching the eye of their verdant-clad leader. “You will have our answer by noon tomorrow. We are done here.”

  He turned and began walking away. Liora looked between him and the delegation, swallowed hard, then scrambled to follow.

  Behind them, the blue-clad knight who had announced the lady muttered a curse—something about dark mages and Demiurges.

  Adarin didn’t even glance back.

  As they reached the crown of the hill again, Rüdiger appeared at their side as if stepping from smoke. “Well done, well done. Ja, ja!” He clapped a flinching Liora on the shoulder—hard.

  “So, Rüdiger,” Adarin began, wooden voice flat, “what was the point of that?”

  Rüdiger grinned and stroked his goatee. “Beyond what you have… shall I reiterate what you’ve already guessed? Or do you expect there to be a deeper agenda?”

  Adarin groaned. The sound came out as a wooden rasp. Yes, of course I expect there to be something behind this. Anything else would be madness. Adarin paused and reconsidered who he was dealing with. Oh fuck. He groaned again.

  But Rüdiger had already begun pacing, hands clasped behind his back. “Time. It’s all a matter of time and timing now. I have my plans.”

  He turned, gesturing broadly. “Adarin, what do you say we need now?”

  Adarin considered. We are deep in enemy lands. Our allies are turning hostile. We need a safe base. Logistics. Supplies.

  He looked around at the corpses being excavated and raised. Supplies.

  A dry chuckle escaped him. I guess that’s why he’s risking offending the others.

  He looked at Rüdiger. “You intend to carve out a base for us. But first, we survive tonight.”

  “Ja. And it is on you to plan the night attack. Be mindful of the wind. I would prefer not to face the dragon-blooded. Many of them have minor magics. The Marholians—their new war consul is green and desperate. Press hard, and they’ll shatter.”

  Adarin nodded, his mind already racing. A night attack with chemical weapons. This will be fun.

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