Niamh stood over a large wooden table, one she’d had intricately carved to display a map of the region known as the Gentle Tundras. It had been an expensive pursuit, but coin was no object when you worked with Amira, Queen of the Goldmarch, and future Empress of the Golden Empire. Upon the table, too, were small cast iron sculpture of the castles in each town and city that boasted significant nearby land part of their domain. And, finally, small statuettes of Goldmarch soldiers were dotted around the map, largely in cities or in their vicinities.

  ‘This is up to date?’ Niamh asked her chief aide. She nodded at the army on the western coast. ‘I thought we were projected to capture Garnokk last week?’

  Sulla licked her lips. ‘Is correct. Chancellor Orjkan put up more resistance than we think. But think she flee now.’

  Niamh nodded to the orc. ‘Increase the pressure. Shift some of our “bandits” from Aptleed—any remaining government in Garnokk should surrender within the week. Understand?’

  ‘It take five days to—’ Sulla started, but a sharp glare from Niamh cut her off. ‘Within week. Yes. Understand.’

  ‘Good.’ Still, Niamh stood over the table, hands clasped at its side. She took in every possible piece of information until she knew it intuitively; as with all things, she did not know when and how information would prove useful, just that it would. Her System-assigned class considered her an Expert Trapper, and she was, in a way—though she considered her greatest skill not to be the traps she laid with her hands, but those she laid with her mind.

  Though Tana and Amira had since forgotten, the Tundran venture had been her plan initially. That they had gifted oversight of the project to Jacob had hurt at first, but the experiments in the eastern Goldmarch had proven intriguing in their own right. Still, she was happy that Jacob had not succeeded in delivering upon this plan, so that she might now see it to fruition. Amira would get her reward, the Council’s terms of the arrangement would be fulfilled, and then Niamh would be once more involved with their own grandest of schemes.

  Her mind might have been Niamh’s greatest asset, but that was no excuse to forsake training her other skills—that had been an oversight of late. ‘Walk with me,’ she told Sulla, and began walking down the corridors of her makeshift fort on the coast near Aptleed.

  ‘There is other thing,’ Sulla said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, so Niamh knew it could be about only one thing.

  The Player turned off from her planned route into a small room, where four of her commanders were discussing troop placements. ‘Out,’ Niamh said, pointing to the door, and the soldiers hopped to obey her order.

  Only when they were alone in the room did Sulla speak. ‘Ascendency Cult not happy.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  Sulla sighed. ‘Their spies say Jacob killers are back in Tundras. Say you should have killed them now.’

  ‘They do know we have larger concerns right now? I am not going to go out of my way to deal with a band of peasants who happen to have ideas of godslaying. Either Jacob was a one-off, in which case we have little need to worry, or he wasn’t, in which case they are coming for me. If that should prove to be the case, I’ll deal with them then, but not before.’

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  ‘Will not make happy.’

  Niamh resisted the urge to huff; so many of her colleagues not being to operate on her level was so often a source of frustration. ‘Then please remind their dear leader that I know his identity. I could reveal it to the world in a matter of minutes, and then his life would be forever changed. Remind him of that, and then let’s see if the pressure stops.’

  Of course, Niamh didn’t just have documentation on Yusef, leader of the Cult of Ascendency. This cult were a group of devout Player-worshippers who believed that with enough devotion, the Players might take them to the so-called Ascended World. Of course, none of them knew that the “Ascended World” was broken, that even Niamh and her fellow Players couldn’t return there for any period of time without risking harm, or death. But none of the Players were going to tell them that, for the cultists were so often a useful resource.

  Stored away in her quarters, Niamh also had documentation on every member of the Council, whether they had intentionally revealed their identities or not. They may have kept their faces hidden, but there were always clues: their handwriting, their gait, their dominant hand, the topics that interested them, and the timbre of their voice, to name but a few.

  Should the need arise, Niamh would have no hesitation but to blackmail. She did it for a noble cause; nobody wanted more than her for their plans to be successful, though other members of the Council did so often pose obstacles. Yusef was no exception—far from it—and the day was growing steadily closer that Niamh would have to make use of his file.

  Niamh continued down the corridors to the training room she’d had built for her, complete with a range of bows, targets, mana potions and trap equipment. While Sulla continued her update, Niamh set about disarming and dismantling the traps from her last training session, which had been under the last moon.

  ‘Timber,’ Sulla said. ‘Up twenty-two percent.’

  ‘We need it up at least forty,’ Niamh replied as she delicately unbinded the enchantment on one of the traps.

  ‘I know this. This is Garnokk. Lot of forest near Garnokk.’

  ‘Within the week,’ Niamh reminded her.

  ‘Within week, yes.’

  ‘And logistics?’

  ‘We paying farmers now to use their carts. Is working. Up more than thought. Even with no Garnokk, target should be hit in eleven days.’

  Niamh nodded to herself, taking this on board as she disarmed a bear trap by touch, the process so familiar to her by now. ‘Our lost leaders?’ she asked, and Sulla began leafing through the papers she carried. ‘Did we ever track down Duke Cambelny, or the Duchess of Lenktra… Duchess Yar, was it?’

  ‘Yua.’

  Niamh cursed herself silently. Perhaps there was too much on her plate; she should not have forgotten a name. Who knew what that error might have brought, down the line? ‘Yua. Yes. Did we retrieve her? Execute her?’

  Sulla shook her head. ‘No sign. We think she move north. To Aptleed.’

  ‘Then she doesn’t know Aptleed has fallen too?’

  ‘Looks like this, yes.’

  The Player sighed. ‘No matter. What harm could a few fallen crowns truly reap? They are nothing without their cities.’

  Niamh extrapolated from all this information. They were nearly there; this was almost enough, and the Great Golden Canal project had reached its completion. Soon, this part of the plan would need to be put in action. The trap—her trap—would spring.

  She took no joy from the fact that so many would die.

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