Page 65 of The Malevolent Seven

I kept staring at the dirt at my feet. Corrigan was right; weweren’tfarmers. We certainly weren’t lawmen. What did we care if a bunch of robe-wearing weirdos wanted to take over an inhospitable, unfarmable. . .

Oh, shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

‘What is it?’ Aradeus asked.

I bent down to get some of the dust, rubbed it between my hands and let it drift back down to the ground until all that was left was a palmful of sparkling crimson flecks left behind by a mages’ war centuries ago: matter that neither Alice nor Shame could tolerate, yet both agreed shared characteristics of the fundamental matter of their respective planes.

‘I know why the Seven Brothers picked this place,’ I said. ‘And I know why both the Auroralsandthe Infernals have been manipulating bands of wonderists into coming here!’

Corrigan spun on his heel. ‘Oh, no,’ he warned, holding up his fist so I couldn’t miss the sparks erupting from between his clenched fingers. ‘Don’t youdaretry and convince me– or any of these other poor saps– that we should do anything other than get the hell out of the Blastlands as fast as possible.’

‘Think about it,’ I urged him. ‘What could possibly motivate the Lords Celestineandthe Lords Devilish into working together to get the six of us here?’

‘Nothing,’ Shame and Alice answered at once, and both looked unhappy when they realised they’d simultaneously expressed the same opinion.

‘The Devilish and the Celestines despise each other far beyond anything you can imagine,’ Alice said. ‘There is no one they would rather see obliterated than each other. They would happily watch the entire Mortal plane being wiped out if it allowed them to pursue their “Great Crusade” against one another.’

‘More than that,’ Shame added, less stridently, but with equal conviction, ‘in Celestine prophecy, the Mortal demesne will be the battlefield upon which the Auroral armies at last vanquish the Infernals.’

‘Except neither of them has figured out a way to be able to live here,’ Corrigan pointed out, his fist still sparking menacingly. ‘Come on, Cade, I’m not kidding here. Either come with me, or—’

‘But what if somebody else has?’ I asked him. ‘Somebody who terrifies both the Celestinesandthe Devilish? What if. . .’ I glanced around at the town, at this place that felt so unnatural to all of us, at these people who seemed barely human any more. That’s the thing about us Mortals: we’re good at adapting to change. Push us into inhospitable climates, take away the foods we’re accustomed to, somehow we always survive. It’s the one thing that gives us an edge over the beings whose realms we breach to steal their magic. Other than angelics, none of them could ever survive on the Mortal plane. ‘I think somebody’s figured out that the Blastlands, filled with its endless breaches into other planes, has become a kind of no-man’s land where other beingscouldsurvive.’

‘You’re saying these Seven Brothers were sent here by the rulers of some other realm to become farmers?’ Corrigan let out a bitter laugh. ‘Man, and here I thought we got all the shitty jobs.’

Me, I wasn’t laughing.

‘Farming is exactly what they have in mind,’ I said. ‘Want to know why I’m so sure?’

‘Why?’

I turned and set off up the road that led to the fortress. ‘Because you can’t host an army of invaders from another plane of reality unless you’ve got something to feed them when they get here.’

Chapter 34

Parlay

Nothing good ever comes from talking to your enemies before a battle. I don’t know why people waste the time and effort. Tradition, I suppose. As one of the few relatively presentable wonderists who can sit through a formal dinner without getting so twitchy I accidentally blast the hosts and set off a diplomatic catastrophe, I’ve had occasion to witness several high-stakes negotiations. I’ve attended princes and generals as they faced one another across a sumptuous table set upon the field, praising each other’s virtues and sharing gifts, waxing poetic on the horrors of war and swearing oaths to their own immense desire for peace.

Soon enough– usually right before the dessert– the forces that brought these new-found friends to the precipice of bloodshed are blamed on historical misunderstandings or to the devious schemes of third parties. As the stars twinkle down their blessings, unbreakable bonds of brotherhood are forged and all that’s left is to pat each other on the back and bid each other a fond farewell.

By morning, soldiers will be busy slaughtering and being slaughtered on that same field where hours before their commanders had shared wine, until at last only one army is left standing.

Why go to all the trouble of meeting with the adversary when conflict is inevitable? Same reason they agreed to meet with us: the chance to gather intelligence.

We knew nothing about these so-called Seven Brothers– not their attunements, not their plans, not even which plane of existence they came from– and they probably didn’t know much more about us. So the only reasonable thing to do was to knock on their door and play the game of talking in circles while gauging each other’s weaknesses.

‘Beneath a morning sky, I greet you,’ said the figure on the other side of the wrought-iron gate. He bore a silver tray in each hand. The one on the left contained an assortment of six pastries– scones, maybe– laden with berries. The tray on the right, my nostrils informed me even before my eyes confirmed it, contained six dollops of shit, each in its own little porcelain bowl.

Isn’t it nice when you get to experience the diplomatic traditions of other cultures?

Oh, and the guy bearing these two offerings? He was a goat.

He stood on two legs and was wearing a long grey wool robe, the hem of which didn’t quite reach to his hooves. He was bigger than your average goat, with a broad chest and thick-fingered hands that looked like he was wearing gloves made of fur. The curved horns with their wickedly sharp points would be threatening if his head were lowered.

‘I am Madrigal,’ said the goat, holding out the trays to offer us our choice of scones or shit, or possibly both. ‘And you are welcome to this place.’

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