Last Stand of Dead Men

“To us, yes,” said Illori. “There are members of the Supreme Council who view you as dangerous and reckless and they continually call for action against you. Every mage paying attention is expecting war to break out at any moment. Why would you risk hostilities if the situation can be resolved amicably?”

“There’s not going to be a supporting Council, Elder Reticent.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Supreme Council does not tell us what to do.”

Illori shook her head. “Is that what this is? A matter of pride? You won’t accept our terms because you don’t like being told what to do? Pride is wasted breath, Grand Mage Ravel. Pride is you putting your own petty concerns over the well-being of every sorcerer in your Sanctuary. More than that, it’s putting your petty concerns over the well-being of every mortal around the world. If war breaks out, it’s going to be so much harder to keep our activities off the news channels. If that happens, it’s on your heads. But we can avoid it all if you’d just listen to reason.”

“The Supreme Council has no right to dictate to other Sanctuaries how to conduct their business,” said Mist. “In fact, the Supreme Council itself may even be an illegal organisation.”

“Ridiculous.”

“We have our people looking into it,” Mist said.

“Don’t bother,” said Illori. “We’ve already had our own experts combing through the literature. There is no ancient rule or obscure law that says Sanctuaries cannot join forces to combat a significant threat. It’s what we did against Mevolent, after all.”

“We are a significant threat, are we?” asked Ravel.

“You might be,” Illori answered, then shook her head. “Listen, I didn’t come here to threaten you. We are standing on the precipice and the Supreme Council isn’t going to back away. They’re angry and they’re frightened, and the more they think about this, the more angry and frightened they become. They’re hurtling towards war and you’re the only ones who can stop them.”

“By agreeing to their demands.”

“Yes.”

“We’re not going to do that, Illori.”

“Do you want war, Erskine? Do you actually want to fight? How many of us do you want to kill?”

“If you’re looking to calm things down, calm down those making all the noise. We will not be intimidated and we will not be bullied.”

Illori laughed without humour. “You keep painting yourselves as the aggrieved, like you were just minding your own business and then the Supreme Council came along and tried to steal your lunch money. You are at fault, Erskine. Your Sanctuary is weak. You’ve made mistakes. We are not the bad guys here. We have gone out of our way to treat you with respect. We released Dexter Vex and his little group of thieves, didn’t we?”

“What does that have to do with us?” asked Ghastly. “Vex’s little group of thieves, as you call it, consisted of three Irishmen, an Englishman, an American and an African. It was an international group affiliated with no particular Sanctuary, who sought approval from no one before embarking on their mission.”

“An international group that was led by Dexter Vex and Saracen Rue,” Illori said, “two of your fellow Dead Men. They may not have told you what they were planning, but where would they have brought the God-Killer weapons had they succeeded in stealing them, except back to you?”

“Vex wanted them stockpiled in order to fight Darquesse.”

“A more suspicious mind than mine might wonder if Darquesse was merely the excuse he needed.”

“All of this is a moot point,” Ravel said. “Tanith Low and her band of criminals got to the God-Killers before Vex and she had them destroyed.”

“And you had her,” said Mist. “Briefly.”

“What was that?” Illori asked.

“You arrested her,” said Mist. “The woman who assassinated Grand Mage Strom. You arrested her, chained her up, and she escaped.”

“What’s your point?”

“There are those who say Strom’s assassination was the breaking point,” said Mist. “It was his death that has propelled us to the verge of war. He was assassinated here, of course, in this very building. For this, you blame us, even though Tanith Low is a Londoner. But when you finally arrest Miss Low, when you have the chance to punish the killer herself for the crime she committed … she mysteriously escapes.”

“Are you saying we let that happen?”

“It has allowed you to refocus your blame on us, has it not?”

“I haven’t heard anything so stupid in a long time,” said Illori, “and I’ve heard a lot of stupid things lately. We don’t know how she escaped or who helped her. The investigation is ongoing. There are those in the Supreme Council, by the way, who think this Sanctuary had something to do with it.”

“Of course they do,” Ravel said, sounding tired.

“They believe both Vex’s group and Tanith Low’s gang were taking orders from you,” Illori said. “Two teams going after the same prizes, independent of each other – doubling the chances of success.”

“Well,” said Ghastly, “it’s nice to see the Supreme Council thinks we’re so badly co-ordinated as to organise something as incredibly inept as that.”

“Illori, go home,” Ravel said gently. “Tell them you approached us with this proposal and we politely declined. Tell the Supreme Council that, before he died, Grand Mage Strom agreed that their interference was not necessary. He would have recommended no further action if Tanith Low hadn’t killed him. You and your colleagues have nothing to fear from us.”

“But that’s not strictly true, is it?” Illori asked. “You have the Accelerator. We’ve heard what it can do. Bernard Sult witnessed its potential. He saw the levels to which it can boost a sorcerer’s power. If you so wanted, you could boost the magic of every one of your mages and you could send them against us. Our superior numbers would mean nothing against power like that.”

“That’s not something we’re planning on doing.”

“Then dismantle it. I’m sure that would go a long way to placating the Supreme Council.”

Ravel shook his head. “The Accelerator is powering a specially-built prison cell – the only cell in existence capable of holding someone of Darquesse’s strength. We need it active.”

“Then give it to us as a gesture of good faith.”

“As a gesture of naivety, you mean. We’re not giving you the Accelerator. We’re not dismantling it. We’re not turning it off. We’re not even sure if it can be turned off. If that makes the Supreme Council nervous, then that is unfortunate. Please make it clear to your colleagues that we do not intend to use the Accelerator against them as part of any pre-emptive strike.” Ravel sat forward. “If, however, the Supreme Council launches any kind of attack against us or our operatives, and if we feel significantly threatened, then using the Accelerator to even the odds is always an option.”

“They’re not going to be pleased to hear that.”

“Illori, at this point? I really don’t give a damn.”

(#ulink_33d3cf68-13e7-59c1-bdab-3a6658e1f2da)

esmond Edgley threw back his head and sang, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, you look like a monkey, and you smell like one, too!” and laughed like a drain as Valkyrie blew out her candles. It had been the same lyrics every year since she was old enough to know what a monkey was. She had grown up and matured. Her father had not.

Her mum and baby sister clapped and Valkyrie sat back down, grinning. Faint trails of smoke rose, twisting, from eighteen candles, and were quickly dispersed by her mother’s waving hand.

“Did you make a wish?” her dad asked.

She nodded. “World peace.”

He made a face. “Really? World peace? Not a jetpack? I would have wished for a jetpack.”

“You always wish for a jetpack,” her mum said, cutting the cake. “Have you got one yet?”

“No,” he said, “but you need to use up a lot of wishes to get something like a jetpack. On my next birthday, I’ll have wished for it forty times. Forty. I’ll have to get one then. Imagine it, Steph – I’ll be the only dad in town with his own jetpack …”