The clones were a problem.

He was, for all intents and purposes, the only winner in this chaos, surely.

The Nords had barely held their ground, the Dweghom, predictably, had turned on each other and were leaving, the W’adrhŭn had been kept comfortably far from Nepenthe and anything else of any significance and Fredrik would probably not last the coming winter. In contrast, he had allowed for all four of them to weaken each other, he had established a relationship with a potentially useful tool in the guise of a northern witch and he had amassed an amazing number of data, while quietly reestablishing a network in the city of Angengrad, ready to help… nudge events in the direction of his choosing in the future.

But, he admitted, the clones were a problem.

Fredrik had escaped and even managed a partial victory. He had failed to take the city but his response to his Vanguard Clones was as swift as it was efficient. And, like it or not, this would not be well received. Clones were expendable only in the way that their lives did not matter. They still cost, however. And cost was something not taken lightly. Amends would need to be made.

The Directorate would welcome the data he collected from the battle, even more so if he expanded on it with his insightful research. They, he knew, would shield him from the petty vengeance of his envious peers. They, he also knew, would not forget this. On the other hand, his license was as valid as it was revocable. Displaying his capacity to replenish all lost clones – at his own expense of course – would prove that he could still be trusted with his practice.

He despised this. But he needed to buy time. Time enough for his investment in that witch to pay off, to gain insight into a power even the Sovereign would envy. Time enough to cut all unseen strings.