Deep beneath the temple of Ravenna the Everwise, hidden from ordinary sight, lay a chamber that had become the quiet heart of an unfolding infiltration. From the outside, the temple was modest in both size and ornament, but its true structure reached far below and high above, linked by concealed doorways, spatial folds, and layers of protective enchantment.

  The chamber itself was spare, its cold stone walls flickering in torchlight. It had served as command post ever since the day Finist the Bright Falcon, the god of winds and Ravenna’s mate, was taken by the Crone.

  At the centre stood a broad table where Ravenna maintained a living map of the Crone’s domain. It shimmered faintly, the fog veiling its surface thinning as new intelligence arrived.

  Ravenna stood at the head of the table, appearing no more than a plain woman in her middle years, though divine light edged her form and her heterochromatic eyes caught the torchlight in unsettling hues. Her silver-streaked braid hung loosely, her worn grey cloak draped over a practical, dark-grey traveling suit.

  Across from her stood Koshay the Deathless, the Old Man of the Mountain. He appeared ancient, white-haired, robed in silver, features traced with time, but it was all pretence. His posture was relaxed, his slanted black eyes were keen, his movements unhurried. He wore age like a costume: deliberate, venerable, faintly theatrical. Beneath it, the man was hale, sharp, and very much alive.

  Between them stood Idris, the temple’s high priestess, a woman of composed beauty and quiet force. Her gaze was precise, reflective, the kind that measured both means and motive.

  Ravenna remembered when she first took Idris on one of her visits of Koshay more than fifty years ago. Idris hadn’t liked him much back then. She felt he was lazy and irresponsible. She had grown older since then, and Koshay got younger, and the two of them now got along suspiciously well. Ravenna made a mental note to persuade Idris into a deal for immortality before Koshay offered it to her for free.

  "Please summarize what we have so far," Ravenna said, her voice steady.

  Idris inclined her head. "We succeeded in placing a queen bee inside the Crone's territory. She has established a hive. The drones now pass freely. Communication is still limited, we only get coherent reports when the main gate opens for the Crone herself. But the information is considerable."

  She cast a look at Koshay, who folded his hands behind his back, and continued where she left off.

  "We confirmed that Finist the Bright Falcon is alive," he said, theatrical.

  From the corner, two younger figures looked up from their books, startled by the declaration. Mona and Sol, Ravenna's latest foundlings, watched Koshay with curiosity; his tone suggested important news.

  Ravenna refrained from snorting with considerable effort. Of course Fin was alive. His phylactery was intact; he was basically indestructible. There was no point saying so to Koshay, though. He would tell it his own way.

  "But his powers are stripped," Koshay continued. "His voice is gone. He's… detached."

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Ravenna's expression barely shifted. She had felt the disturbance in their bond. No surprise there either.

  Koshay's voice remained calm. "Hermes the Trickster is also alive. He's been imprisoned and forced into feline form, but he retains a portion of his power."

  Silence settled. The implications rippled outward like vibrations along taut wire. This was the first piece of bee-intelligence that was actually new.

  Idris spoke first. "Could we reach him? If his powers are intact…"

  "It's possible," Koshay said, "but unwise. Any attempt risks detection and the rectification of the few cracks we found in the defences."

  Ravenna nodded slowly. "Koshay is right. But more important, I don't trust him. I've long suspected he led the Welcome party into the Crone's trap on purpose. Now that I hear he's alive and well while all others perished, I have no more doubts." She shook her head, dismissing bad memories. Then she turned to the priestess and asked, "Anything else?"

  Idris gave a small nod. "We have reports from birds flying over the grounds. If they stay high, they're unimpeded. Their eyes are sharp enough to bring useful information from that distance. They report that any outsider is discovered almost immediately, but the servants move freely. It seems tied to that horrid brand they all carry. Only those born and raised within the domain can move without hindrance."

  "Raised may be enough," Ravenna said, eyes narrowing.

  Koshay tilted his head. "Sounds like you have a plan."

  "Not yet. An idea. Keep the bees watching. I want every detail before we act."

  She paused, the memory of her failed parley with the Crone tugging at her. She had come offering courtesy, a chance for the Crone to climb down with dignity, and had been treated like a beggar. Hadn't her own recent victory shown that brute force wasn't the only route to power?

  Her voice dropped to a mutter. "Let's try placing a magical item inside the castle."

  "My lady, " the priestess began.

  Ravenna waved a hand. "Yes, the barrier. Only the Crone herself can bring magic through it. Which is why she will bring it in for us."

  Her gaze sharpened. "The jar of pickled will-o-wisps, storage 213a. Can you see it ends up in Grimcity?"

  "Grimcity is at war with the Crone," the priestess said, hesitant.

  "Exactly. The city will fall. She'll raid it, seize what catches her eye, and carry our little gift through the gates."

  "And the people in Grimcity?" Mona asked, almost accusing. "We're just letting them fall?"

  Ravenna's voice did not waver. "They were going to fall either way."

  "Might as well get something from the wreckage," Koshay added with a dry smile.

  "Shouldn't we help them?" Mona pressed, drawing a sharp glance from Idris.

  "Why should we?" Ravenna replied, unbothered. "They're no better than she is. The enemy of my enemy is not always my friend."

  Koshay tapped a finger against the table, considering. "It's a stretch," he said, "but not a large one. It's worth a try."

  "If it fails, the jar is harmless," Ravenna said.

  A pause followed. The air held possibility.

  "Why don't you just crush her to dust?" Sol asked, striking his palm for emphasis.

  Ravenna swept the room with a measured look, as if leaving the answer as classwork.

  Mona answered first. "It is not wise to barge into a fight on the enemy's home turf. The Crone has already defeated ten attackers that way, and she was much weaker then."

  Ravenna nodded in agreement, and Idris cleared her throat. "A direct confrontation would send ripples from one end of the world to the other. It will attract many vultures looking for a weakened immortal. Even if we manage them, they'll be a bother."

  Koshay chuckled into his beard. "I, for one," he said, "would love to keep the castle intact, to study that time trap of hers. It sounds innovative."

  Ravenna inclined her head. They gave good considerations. There were other reasons to avoid the pyrotechnics, but those would do.

  She lifted her hand, fingers poised as if weighing the air. "It is said small hands move the wheels of the world when the eyes of the great are elsewhere." Her hand closed slowly, deliberately. "Let us keep the eyes of the great elsewhere, until the wheels turn and crush them."