A Year and a Day in Old Theradane

by Scott Lynch

The gods-damned wizards were at it again. Well, she had a thirst, and an appointment, and odd rain wasn’t even close to the worst thing that had ever fallen on her from the skies over Theradane.

“That’s one advantage of living in our prosperous thaumatocracy,” sighed Amarelle. “Always something interesting exploding nearby.

Now, do I have to go through the sham of pulling my cards out and dealing them, or would you all prefer to just pile your money neatly in the center of the table for me?”

What the hell did I just drink, anyway?” “A little something I call the Amoral Instrument,” said Sophara. Her eyes were shining. “I’m not allowed to make it for customers. Kind of curious to see what happens to you, in fact.”

“And that’s a moot point now, so what have you got to lose?” “An eternity not spent as a street lamp.” “Admirable long-term thinking,” said Ivovandas. “But I do believe if you scrutinize your situation you’ll see that you’re up a certain proverbial creek, and I am the only provisioner of paddles willing to sell you one.”