“And this is?” I asked, holding up yet another spear. It was slender with a wedge-shaped head, cast from some silvery metal that glinted as if it had just been oiled. The armoury was brightly lit, as was everywhere in this bloody temple. You’d think there’d be some shadowy spot, somewhere that wasn’t a swirling, mesmeric lightshow, but nope. Every nook and cranny glowed.

  “That is the Hofstedter Spear of Piercing Illumination,” Bertrand enthused. Despite his rather limited range of interests, the old priest knew the Armoury of Light inside and out. Unfortunately, thus far, it had largely consisted of various spears of various types of light.

  “And it does?” I growled.

  “Ah, the artefact was crafted by a rare alliance of dwarves and elves, blending the best of stunty crafting skills with the subtle, yet potent, enchantments of the long ears. Harkon the Hairless and Bjorn Highchin were the masters behind its construction. Jerketh the Prolific took it to battle at Lonelytime Gulch and used it to slay Abbastain the Unchokeable, a Shadow-Chicken with a really long neck–”

  “What does it do, Bertrand?” I enunciated slowly. It had been a long hour for me in the priest's company. An hour rich in lore and Helstatian history, granted, but I was getting annoyed, and my tummy kept rumbling ominously. I needed more gherkins.

  “It shoots beams of light, Bob. You would think the champion of Bulb would be a bit more appreciative of the greatest storehouse of Light-aligned artefacts on the planet!”

  “Same as the rest, then. I’ll take it, but it’s bugger all use. Do you have anything here that isn’t some form of stick that shoots lasers?” I added the incredibly valuable spear to my possum pouch, joining its brethren.

  “Why wouldn’t you want a stick that can shoot lasers?” Bertrand asked in confusion, his bushy eyebrows dropped and pinched together in the middle to form a grey face-caterpillar as he frowned at my irreverence. Surrounded by the filament-and-bulb headgear the old priest wore, it made him look rather silly.

  “Because, not sure if Bulb mentioned this, I’m a bloody dragon. I don’t really fight with pointy sticks.”

  “A dragon called Bob?”

  “Bertrand, that’s getting old, mate. I need something that can be… incorporated into my physical form when I transform back into my real body, like this.” I held up my right hand and flashed my ring of virile enhancement at him.

  “That isn’t meant to go on your finger, Bob. Did you wash it before you put it on?”

  “I’m aware of that, Bertrand, and yes, I did. So, do you have any rings of laser-beam-deployment, or necklaces of sparkly-pew-pew? I’m guessing they’re all just going to be glorified magnifying glasses.”

  “Our Lord of the Bright Lights has many items in the Armoury of Light that do more than blast light at things.” Bertrand sounded wounded at my growing disappointment. “Perhaps we should move to the armour section?”

  He led me down a glowing corridor, into an equally illuminated room lined with breastplates, shields, vambraces, helms with garish crests, all of which were silvery and sparkled.

  “I don’t think armour works when I transform. Besides, that prick Tesla reforged my scales with his automata and I’m reliably informed I can face tank a small nuke now. I’ll take them anyway. They’re good for the minions.”

  “Bob! My lord said you could help yourself, not that you could take everything!” Bertand protested as I began walking down the aisles and putting everything on display into my storage space.

  “What’s this?” I asked, holding up a helmet that had wide cheek guards and a metal face plate that was cast in the form of an angelic face, smiling serenely. “It would be weird to get stabbed with a glowing spear by some dude wearing a face mask that looks like you’re handing out alms to the poor,” I muttered.

  “That is the Helm of the Divine Progenital. Hartsworn Warthater wore it for protection against the foul magics of Syphilot the Cockrot, the divine prophylaxis of the helm guarded Hartsworn from–”

  “It shoots laser beams, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. Among other things,” Bertrand grumped, crossing his arms. I could tell he was about to get a proper sulk on. Into the possum pouch went the helm.

  I cleared out the armour, dozens of incredibly valuable pieces just getting dumped into the jumble of my pocket dimension, a space that I was happy to note appeared to have an infinite capacity for junk. I’d give the best bits to the minions, and find an auction house next time I was in Ankmapak to flog the rest.

  “I must protest, Champion!” Bertrand spluttered.

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  “What were Bulb’s exact words?” I asked sweetly.

  “He said you can take what you like from the Armoury,” the priest grumbled.

  “Yep. Now, jewellery?”

  “This way, Bob.”

  “You should get some security windows and cameras in here,” I said as I surveyed the trays and counters displaying the sparkly loot. Shiny, very shiny. I approved. “Let’s cut to the chase, what in here is any good? And by good, I mean more useful than a suped-up laser pointer.”

  “I’m sure this is against the spirit of what Bulb said, if not the letter.”

  “Has he appeared and bitched me out? Has he sent a divine message to you, his most devout priest, that I can’t do what I’m doing?”

  “No.”

  “So which ones are the best?”

  “Follow me.”

  Bertrand went down the counters, picking up a necklace here, a ring there, the odd tiara. Anything he didn’t pick up, I “requisitioned”. Bulb had given me permission, after all. The old man stopped at the last counter. As he reached out to move the items on it aside, I swept a hand over them, and they disappeared. He glared, I grinned, and all was right with the world.

  “This is The Nardshire Stone,” he said, showing me a ring with a large, clear crystal mounted on it.

  “Bertrand, you’ve made me the happiest dragon in the world!” I took the ring and examined it from all sides. Golden band, big shiny rock. “Is it a knuckleduster?” It would likely do some serious damage if you punched someone while wearing it.

  “It grants immunity from shadow magic, allows you to summon an angel of light once per day, and–”

  “And shoots beams of light?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll take it!” This time, I slipped the item onto my finger, holding my hand out to examine the two-centimetre-wide diamond as it sat on my middle finger like a translucent quail's egg.

  “This is the Tiara of Tantilising Taunting, crafted by Egotrix the Evoker over a thousand years ago, during the first Republic. It allows you to draw the ire of any shadow-fiend from your allies onto yourself, looks rather snazzy in a lady's hair and–”

  “Laser beams. Got it. Maybe Salnia will like this one.” Into the possum pouch it went. “Do all the gods have one of these armouries?” I asked.

  “Not all, but most. Many items are crafted by devotees of this and that god, but the ones that are worthy of being included in a god’s personal vaults are few and far between.”

  “Is there, by any chance, a god of wealth?”

  “Denarios is not a friend to my Lord, Bob. He is your enemy,” Bertrand said sternly.

  “So robbing him blind would, in fact, be a noble deed. Noted. What’s that? It looks weird.” I was starting to warm up to the nature of theological disagreements on Helstat.

  “This is… this is something special. The Bracelet of the Avenging Photon. The nature of light is that it reveals that which was hidden, but is itself unknowable. It’s both solid and intangible, a particle and a wave. This item was made for Bulb himself by his divine brother Artificer. It encapsulates the divine contradiction of Bulb’s power.” Bertrand's voice had dropped to almost a whisper, awe and piety in every word.

  “Lovely. Wow. Much impressed. If that sadist Artificer made it, it must be good, right? Let me guess. More bloody laser beams?”

  “No, Champion. This allows the wearer to phase out of existence for a short time. Other than Bulb, it can only ever be worn by a single mortal; it will bind itself to their soul and can never be removed. It is our most hallowed artefact, worn by the God himself in battle against Umbra.”

  “And shoots laser beams?”

  “No. That’s it. I mean, if temporary invulnerability isn’t good enough for you, I can always put it back.”

  “So, one previous owner who only drove it at weekends, and it makes you invincible for a while, looks pretty sparkly. I’ll take it.” I plucked it from his reverent fingers and slapped it closed over my left wrist. I looked at it for a moment and then started cursing.

  “You didn’t fucking mention this!” I snarled. Every time I moved, sparkles of light drifted from my limbs. I pressed my hands onto the countertop, briefly distracted by the shininess of the rock on my finger, and looked down at my reflection. “You’ve turned me into a sunlit paedophilic vampire!” I snarled.

  I glittered. I sparkled. And I could never take the fucking bracelet off.

  “I have not! You’re now a living weapon against such foul creatures! They’ll attack you on sight!” Bertrand protested.

  God. Damn. Twilight.

  Vanity was preening in my mind, and Greed had passed out after I cleared out the spears and he had worked out the resale value. To a dragon, anything shiny was good. We’re like magpies with scales. Now I was the living embodiment of shininess. And I had to admit, as the shock passed, I did look rather spiffing. But Twilight, dude. Fuck’s sake.

  “Is there anything else in this place that will do well at aucti– help me in my epic struggle against the forces of the dark gods?” I hurriedly corrected myself.

  “No, Champion. You’ve taken every artefact that we have accumulated over five thousand years for our lord. I pray that Bulb has not misplaced his trust,” Bertrand said in a slightly surly voice.

  “Groovy. Let’s go find Jenny, then I’ll see about lifting this siege for you all.”

  As we emerged into the cathedral proper, the crowd fell silent, prayers sputtering to a stop, and hymns grinding to a halt. All eyes looked at me in awe and borderline worship. Bertrand moved back to his place at the pulpit after giving me a searching look and resumed his sermon, but no one was paying any attention to the old man. All eyes were on my sparkly glory.

  Jenny had found her dad; the old man had been off to one side of the nave, a polite distance around him in deference to the smell that still lingered about his person. I approached quietly and stood behind her for a moment, suddenly nervous about how she’d react to my latest transformation.

  “–we need to get you back to the Mill, dad. There’s no point staying here so close to the city with a war on. Out in the sticks, miles from all the armies and protected by a dragon. I know you don’t want to leave the house. It reminds you of Ma. But dad… Dad? What the hell?” Jenny spluttered to a stop and turned to follow her father's gaze, which was, naturally, focused on yours truly.

  She looked up and paused, her moustache writhing as she fought to control her expression. “I was always team Jacob, by the way!” she snorted, and like a dam breaking, she burst into cackling laughter. “Do we need to get restraining orders to keep you away from teenage girls now?”

  “Piss off, Jenny.” Glittering sparkles drifted from my face as I spoke. I grimaced, and a waterfall of motes of light drifted down in front of my eyes. “Is the old man coming? I need to go and kick the shit out of that army before we head home.”