The Office of Shadow

The Bel Zheret knelt over Pact and began delivering efficient, evenly timed blows to Pact's spine, then turned him over and dealt equally with Pact's face. Pact felt his nose crack, his lower jaw split in two. Teeth rolled loose on his tongue; he swallowed one. He felt ribs crack, first one, then two more. Something popped in his chest and suddenly he could no longer breathe. There was no sound except the dull rush of blood in his ears. The world spun; the beating, the pounding receded, then faded altogether.

A few minutes later Tract, the Seelie ambassador, followed by a pair of clerks lugging baggage and valises thick with papers, literally stumbled over Pact's body.

"Oh, dear!" Tract cried. "How awful!"

"Is he alive?" asked one of the clerks, kneeling.

"We don't have time for that," Tract muttered, walking past. "There will be casualties."

"Sir, it's Pact!"

The ambassador quickly turned, his eyes wide. "Gather him up, then! Quickly!"

The kneeling clerk felt for a pulse. "He's dead, sir. Perhaps we oughtn't to bother......

"Don't be a fool," said Tract. "Hand me your bags and take him. Now!"

Neither the clerks nor Tract noticed the cloth bag that had fallen from Pact's hand, now resting in a clump of bushes just outside the gate.

Once the ambassador's party was safely through the lock, the Master of the Gates opened a small door on the side of the massive portal. He adjusted the ancient machinery, and a loud hum joined the cacophony of flames and the percussion of war from across the city. While a sextet of extremely fiercelooking members of the Seelie Royal Guard held back the small knot of would-be refugees that had surrounded the lock, the Master closed the door, carrying a heavy part of the lock's inner workings with him. He stepped through and beckoned the guardsmen to follow. They backed slowly into the silken portal, not so much disappearing as gliding out of existence. The tips of their swords were the last things to vanish. The instant the last of them was through, the portal went dark, revealing behind it only a veneer of highly polished black stone. The desperate crowd banged their fists against it, some weeping, others shouting.

Just before dawn a tocsin sounded in the city and the Unseelie flag was raised upon the obelisk. All was quiet. The crowd at the Port-Herion Lock hesitantly turned away from the dead portal and went their separate wayssome back into the city, their heads hung low; some out into the pampas, not looking back.

Titania is the land and the land isTitania. She reads the song of birds and feels the brush of the plow upon her skin.

Anonymous, "Ode to Titania"

Today

egina Titania, Fae Queen of the Seelie Lands, Purest Blood of Pure Elves, sat upon her stone chair, chin in hand, swinging her feet. The lights were dim in the throne room, and the sound of her heels clicking against the floor echoed in the gloom.

She looked at her husband, King Auberon, the son of Aba himself, who slouched insensate in his own seat. He had not spoken in centuries, not since she had stolen his power and his mind on the day of their marriage.

"A change approaches, husband," she said softly. "Long ago you warned me this day would come, and I scoffed. Now I stand chastened."

Auberon's head lolled to the side, and he sobbed quietly.

All Gifts are Gifts of Aba, who is God beyond gods.To him who sees clearly, this is not a matter of faith; it is axiomatic.

-Alpaurle, The Magus, translated by Feven IV of the City Emerald

ilverdun sat in the antechamber to the abbot's office, shivering. Tebrit had forced the novice robes over Silverdun's head without giving him the opportunity to dry off first. He was dripping onto the floor.

After a few minutes, Abbot Estiane opened the door to his office and ushered Silverdun in, groaning at the sight of him. The office was cramped, but warm-the abbot was allowed a small brazier in his office, due to his rheumatism. Or, at least, that's what he told everyone. Silverdun knew, however, that Estiane simply didn't like to be cold, and had, in his words, "spent enough years as a coenobite freezing my ass off for no reason."

Estiane said nothing for a minute or two, busying himself with digging through the dozens of scrolls and books littering his desk for something in particular, then giving up and reaching beneath the desk for a metal flask, which he unstoppered and handed to Silverdun.

"Here," he said. "This'll take the edge off."

Silverdun took a pull from the flask and was rewarded with a swallow of some of the best brandy he'd ever tasted. "The queen's tits, Father, where did you get this?"

Estiane smiled. "We all have our little secrets, Silverdun. Do you think I'd still be running this place after all these years if I didn't have a few strings to pull?"

Silverdun nodded and took another sip.

"You've pissed off Tebrit again, I see," said Estiane.

"Not a difficult task."

"Missed morning prayers, did you?"

"I think it was the hangover in particular that got me sent up to you." Silverdun shrugged. "Just between you and me, I don't think Tebrit likes me much."

Estiane waved the thought away. "Nonsense. Tebrit is simply fulfilling his obligations as Prior to ensure that your novitiate is a period of cleansing, separating you from the things of the world in as complete a fashion as possible."

He took the flask back from Silverdun and had a nip from it himself before returning it to the desk. "Oh, who am I kidding? The man despises you. And with good reason."

"I don't think it's very holy of him to take such pleasure in it." Silverdun sniffed.

"Allow the man his small comforts. He has a very difficult and thankless job. Believe it or not, you're far from the least holy novice that's ever passed through this temple."

"Oh, really?"

"I was much worse. Why, during my novitiate I actually snuck a pair of twin sisters into the sacristy and got them drunk on the holy wine."

Silverdun slapped the desk. "You cad! And they still ordained you?"

"They never found out."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Silverdun said. "Well, I suppose you've got to punish me. Garderobes for a month, is it?"

"Two, actually. One for missing morning prayers and one for drinking in the presence of your abbot." Estiane smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Ha! Didn't see that one coming, did you?"

"You old bastard. How you ever got to be a religious leader is beyond me."

"It's simple, really," said Estiane, leaning forward, the smile fading. "Look around you. Do you see any parishioners? Any lost souls other than your own coming to me for spiritual guidance? I'm a civil servant. If I was any good at being religious then I'd be out there practicing religion." Estiane sighed. "Being promoted to abbot isn't a reward; it's more of a punishment, really."

Silverdun felt his body finally beginning to warm in the lovely heat of the brazier. "Ah, so you say. But I knew Vestar at the Temple Aba-E in Sylvan. A more holy man I've never met in my life!"

What remained of Estiane's smile vanished and he looked down. "Oh, you had to bring the old man into it, didn't you, Silverdun? Just when I was having such a lark with you.

"Sometimes we in this business put on a bit of a blasphemous face when we can in order to fend off the ills of the world with good humor. We're all corrupt in the eyes of Aba, who sees all. But some of us hew very, very close to the ideal. Some of us are so strong that they don't need any robe betwixt them and the wind. Vestar was one of those."

"So you admit you're a lousy abbot," said Silverdun, smirking.

"I admit no such thing!" said Estiane. "Vestar was a saint. It's just that there are more churches than there are saints, that's all. We do the best we can with the gifts we're given. Most of us are forced to make compromises in order to maintain our sanity. The fact that Vestar never did so is a testament to his unique virtue."