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The early spring sky was thick with smoke, dark clouds swirling in the ominous patterns of an incipient vortex. The land below had been ravaged: fires burned black and green and red across sand turned to glass, and the earth flowed with rivers of molten rock. What young vegetation had poked its way through the dirt now lay dead and scattered, crushed and burned to the point that the species were no longer identifiable.
Through it all, two figures flitted through the barren landscape, paying no mind to the devastation left in their wake. One carried a staff fully as long as he was tall. The other’s weapons seemed to change shape every time one looked, but currently took the form of a pair of bladed rings.
As another explosion resounded, sending rocks and trees flying, Hythlodaeus sighed. He propped his chin up on one hand, squinting through the cloud of dust and debris to make sense of what was happening within.
“What are they doing?” came a voice from behind him.
Hythlodaeus did not start. He had seen Mitron coming. “I should think that was obvious.”
He shifted position, patting the empty space beside him on the boulder. Mitron sat obligingly, staring in open-mouthed astonishment at the fight unfolding before them. “Wasn’t this one of Halmarut’s forests?”
“I mentioned to Azem that we were in need of new outdoor testing grounds for large-form concepts. He may have taken that as a request.”
Azem tossed the bladed circles at Emet-Selch, following by a blast of biting cold wind that dissipated the smoke. Emet-Selch responded instantly with a shield of light, stopping both chakrams and wind; then the shield collapsed forward and fell to the ground. Azem barely managed to avoid being squashed flat, dodging out of the way with an indignant yelp.
“Somehow I don’t think that’s why they’re fighting,” Mitron said, after a moment in which Azem expressed his feelings by sending a flurry of rather rude flying runes at Emet-Selch.
Hythlodaeus did not bother to look at him. He maintained an expression of utmost boredom as he said, “They’re not fighting because of whatever disagreement they had within the closed doors of the Convocation. That was little more than an excuse.”
“Ah.”
“You should be glad Emet-Selch was willing to offer himself as scapegoat,” he said helpfully. “It would have been much worse if Azem lost patience within the Capitol and instead tried to fight one of you. Emet-Selch, at least, is able to contain him.”
As he anticipated, Mitron shrunk back guiltily. “Who do you think will win?” he said.
“Emet-Selch, of course,” Hythlodaeus said. His tone was certain, matter-of-fact: There was no other outcome than that Emet-Selch would emerge the victor. “You’ve sealed away the greater part of Azem’s power as per the most recent censure. He cannot fight at his full strength.”
“And yet he challenged Emet-Selch anyway.”
Hythlodaeus shrugged one shoulder, a slow rise and fall. “He’s restless. He’s not permitted to leave the city. It’s the only way he knows to work off some of his frustration.”
He slanted a meaningful glance at Mitron. Mitron’s mouth twisted and he shook his head. “You know it had to be done. Azem far overstepped his bounds. Regardless of his reasons or the results, he cannot be allowed to flout every one of our laws. On that, the Convocation is in unanimous agreement.”
“Well, unanimous except for one,” Hythlodaeus said. He shifted his attention back to the fight, where Azem had turned the ground to ice in an attempt to make Emet-Selch fall flat on his face. “I’m not blaming you. I wasn’t entirely pleased with him either. But, well, being confined to the city does mean he returns home every night. For that, at least, I am grateful.”
“Making up for time lost on his long journeys, I see,” Mitron said unabashedly, though he winced a moment later as Emet-Selch sent Azem flying with a well-timed blast.
“You cannot keep him here for long,” Hythlodaeus said conversationally. “You may consider it a deserved punishment, but at some point the damage done exceeds what you stand to gain. His duties are mainly outside of the city. By keeping him here, you are keeping him from the bulk of his work and denying voice to the people who need him most.”
Perhaps Mitron’s presence had been noted. Azem flipped in midair, his momentum coming to a stop, and lifted a hand, summoning a swarm of sharks to chase Emet-Selch. Mitron narrowed his eyes, unamused.
“I’m very well aware of that. But what else can we do? We can hardly allow him to go unpunished. It sets a bad precedent. If we don’t follow our own laws, who will?”
“If you don’t break your own laws when it will do good, who will?” Hythlodaeus countered.
Mitron grimaced. The sharks had fallen to the ground, their pathetic flopping propelling them ilm by ilm along the ice. He took pity on them and waved his hand; they vanished, presumably to a more hospitable locale. Azem did not so much as glance in their direction but instead summoned a host of floating aurelia to impede Emet-Selch’s movements.
“I thought you were displeased with him,” Mitron said.
“I was. But attempting to cage Azem is an exercise in frustration for us all. I would really rather he go free and afford me some peace.”
“It does seem that our current attempts at censure do little to rectify his behavior.”
Hythlodaeus chuckled, his eyes still firmly fixed on the fight. “Punishment has no effect on one who believes themself fully justified. What is the point of a lesson that the student will never take to heart?”
“Well. It’s enough if he reconsiders before he does anything he knows would meet with Pashtarot’s disapproval.”
“Pashtarot’s, not yours?”
“Oh, I find Azem amusing, all told. There’s no one better to break up the monotony of our usual sessions.”
It had begun to storm, the fluctuating air pressure of the battleground giving rise to lashing rain and lightning. Mitron ran his hand through his wet hair, frowning as he tried to locate the combatants through the fog and the darkness. Hythlodaeus lifted one hand, pointing out twin flashes of silver and black, weapons augmented with magick smashing against each other and throwing off sparks of aether. It seemed they had moved on to close combat now; Emet-Selch had swapped out his staff for a broadsword, but still he was hard-pressed to defend against the swiftness of Azem’s knives.
“You’re right, though,” Mitron said after a while. “Restricting him to Amaurot may do more harm than good in the end, both to him and to the people he serves. Mayhap I’ll suggest a different punishment for the next time.”
Mitron was assuming there would be a next time. Hythlodaeus was wise enough not to argue.
“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do that would sway Azem’s justice,” he said.
“I think he could be persuaded to listen if the alternative was not being permitted to see you.”
Hythlodaeus lowered his hand, tearing his attention away from the battle at last to fix Mitron with a gimlet-eyed stare. “…I don’t see why I should have to suffer for Azem’s indiscretions.”
Mitron’s smile was implacable. “Then perhaps you should consider exerting more pressure on your lover.”
Hythlodaeus did not deign to answer.
Giving in to his frustration, Emet-Selch swung his sword down heavily. It should have been enough to cleave Azem in two—save that the Traveler had already retreated out of range. He’d taken to the air above Emet-Selch, the knives in his hands melding together into a spear even as Hythlodaeus watched. A wild grin creased his features as he somersaulted and swung the point down—
Only to clash with Emet-Selch’s sword, as some instinct drove the Third Seat to defend just in time.
Mitron whistled between his teeth. “I don’t think I could have done that. Any of that.”
“They are both monsters, of a sort,” Hythlodaeus said.
“Who do you think would win if Azem wasn’t sealed?” he asked. “Still Emet-Selch?”
“That’s something of a harder question to answer.”
Hythlodaeus placed his hands on the boulder, his fingers curling against the wet, smooth surface. The rain sluiced down his hair and across his face; he shook his head, shaking droplets out of his eyes. “Most of the time it would be Azem, I think.”
Mitron turned his full attention to Hythlodaeus, ignoring the two now engaged in trying to break through each other’s defenses. “He’s that powerful?”
“It’s not a matter of power. It would be their conviction that would determine if they could bring their full strength to bear. Azem is stubborn and unrelenting. More often, he would be the one to commit to a decision and decide to see it through.” Hythlodaeus smiled wryly, ducking his head. “Emet-Selch would defer to his judgment. That is why Azem would win: because Emet-Selch does not often find a stance he believes in so strongly that he would choose to fight against Azem.”
“Ah,” Mitron said, and considered that. “And if both were convinced of their righteousness and set against each other?”
“Then the star would cower and the heavens would quake with the force of their battle,” Hythlodaeus said softly.
Another clash of metal, the sound of steel against steel as swords met. The shockwave was enough to send sheets of water flying in all directions and almost blew them from the rock on which they sat. Both Hythlodaeus and Mitron flinched back, shielding their eyes against the wave, but Azem and Emet-Selch did not waver. Azem disengaged, his sword already morphing and wrapping around his fists, but Emet-Selch was quick to follow. They moved almost too swiftly to be seen, weaving about in patterns long grown familiar to each other.
“Oh,” Hythlodaeus said.
It wasn’t immediately clear to Mitron what Hythlodaeus had noticed. Azem was still dancing circles round Emet-Selch, on occasion throwing punches or octopodes as if to test his defenses. Emet-Selch was for the most part still, not moving any more than was necessary to fend off the attacks. True to form, Azem’s impatience soon won out and he closed in, ducking past Emet-Selch’s sword and into his guard. He drew back one shining fist—
—And Emet-Selch sighed and snapped his fingers.
A circle of shadows erupted from the ground beneath them. Azem stumbled back, breaking off his assault a moment too late. The shadows boosted him off the ground and twined up his legs like crawling vines. In the space of a breath he was perfectly ensnared in Emet-Selch’s trap.
Emet-Selch lowered his sword, knowing when the battle had been won. “Yield.”
Azem threw a turtle at him.
Emet-Selch evaded easily, lip curling at the insult. At a silent command, the shadows crept on, securing Azem’s arms and extinguishing the light of his gauntlets. Emet-Selch stepped forward, flicking Azem in the forehead. Azem winced, as if the pain was at all comparable to the injuries he’d suffered during their bout.
Emet-Selch ordered, “You’re being childish. Stop this at once.”
Azem stuck out his tongue in answer.
As always, it was entirely too easy to get a rise out of Emet-Selch. “You—!”
He scowled, leaning closer in. Azem scoffed and turned up his nose, stubbornly refusing to meet those furious golden eyes.
Not three fulms away, Hythlodaeus clapped his hands sharply. Emet-Selch started; Azem was too tied up to move, but his eyes too widened with surprise.
“Now, now, that’s enough.” Hythlodaeus’s smile did not reach his eyes. “I think the outcome is clear. No need to continue.”
Another moment passed before Emet-Selch nodded tightly. He did not bother to hide his irritation as he snapped again. The bindings fell away from Azem and he dropped to the ground, settling his weight back on his feet. He made no move to attack again, but neither did he look at Emet-Selch.
Hythlodaeus went to his side immediately. There was a bruise already forming on his right cheek; Hythlodaeus reached up and laid his fingers against it, the glow of aether drifting from his hand to Azem’s skin. As the healing magick took effect, he leaned forward, whispering something in Azem’s ear that no one else could hear. Azem bit his lip and darted one sulky glance at Emet-Selch.
“Sorry,” he said, the single word mulish.
Emet-Selch nodded stiffly, and Hythlodaeus sighed. “Well, I tried,” he said. “Come along, then.”
At Hythlodaeus’s urging, Azem reluctantly opened a portal behind them, through which the familiar scene of Hythlodaeus’s living room was visible. Hythlodaeus ushered Azem through with one hand on the small of his back. Azem went willingly, head held high and without a single look back. Hythlodaeus said nothing more but gave Emet-Selch one last glance as he stepped through, and then the portal was closing shut and they were gone.
Into the quiet left in their wake, Mitron said, “If you wanted to accompany them, you should have said so.”
Emet-Selch growled. Even now they were being drenched by the wind and rain of the storm. He directed his glare to the skies above, silently willing the clouds to disperse, and they drifted apart with reluctance. Mitron ran a hand across his hair, shaking some of the water out, and turned his attention to tending the myriad marine creatures lying abandoned on the ground.
“You think I would be welcome after all this?” Emet-Selch said at last.
Mitron smiled. He just couldn’t let it go.
He bent to gather the turtle into his arms. Without looking up, he said, “How many long years have we worked together? How many years of watching you give them long, lingering glances when their backs are turned?”
“You misunderstand the nature of our relationship,” Emet-Selch said stiffly.
“I misunderstand nothing.”
Emet-Selch only snorted and waved his hand expressively, clearing away the lingering traces of volatile aetheric residue from their fight. Mitron squinted at the crabs scuttling across the bare glass and rock and decided that they looked perfectly happy as they were.
“Hythlodaeus took offense at the idea of being forcibly separated from Azem,” he mused aloud. “I wonder if Azem would find it as much a punishment to be kept from away from you.”
If Emet-Selch heard his words, he did not answer.