by Glen Cook
She had the dream again, of whipping through a vast darkness surrounded by uncountable numbers of stars. It wakened her. She was angry, knowing it to be false. She would not walk the stars.
Asleep again, she dreamed once more. And this time the dream was a true nightmare, a littermate of the one she had had soon after fleeing the overrun Degnan packstead. But in this dream a terrible shadow hunted her. It raced across the world like something out of myth, howling, slavering, tireless, faceless, murderous. It hunted her. It would devour her. It drew closer and closer, and she could not run fast enough to get away.
This time she wakened shaken, wondering if it were a true dream. Wondering what the shadow could represent. Not Bestrei. There had been a definite male odor to it. An almost familiar odor.
Warlock! something said in the back of her mind. Certainly it was a presentiment of sorts.
The rogue problem, which had seemed close to solution, took a dramatic turn for the worse. In places, outlying cloisters were surprised and suffered severe damage. It almost seemed her return from TelleRai signaled a new and more bitter phase in the struggle, one in which the rogue leadership was willing to sacrifice whatever strength it had left.
For a month it made no sense whatever. And nothing illuminating came off the signal networks of the Serke or brethren. Then the most senior returned to Maksche, making one of her ever more infrequent and brief visits.
“Think, Marika. Do not be so provincial, so narrow. You visited the Redoriad,” Gradwohl said. “There are times you are so naive it surpasses belief. The Redoriad are in harsh competition with the Serke among the starworlds. The competition would become fiercer if there were a champion capable of challenging Bestrei. Your visit was no secret. Your strength is no secret. You have slain two of their best. It is no secret that the Reugge have no access to the void, and only slightly less well known that we covet an opportunity out there. If you were Serke, unable to see what transpired within the Redoriad cloister, had suffered several embarrassing setbacks at the paw of a Marika, what would you suspect?”
“You really believe the Redoriad want to train me?” It was a revelation, truly.
“Just as the Serke suspect.”
Much of what Kiljar had said without saying it in so many words, and much of the attitude of the silth during her TelleRai excursion, became concrete with that reply. “They all thought — ‘
“And they were right. As you suggested, I got in touch with Kiljar. And that is exactly what she had in mind. An alliance between Reugge and Redoriad. Marika, you have to think. You have become an important factor in this world. Your every move is subject to endless interpretation.”
“But an alliance...”
“It is not unprecedented. It makes sense on several levels. In fact, it is an obvious stratagem. So obvious that the Serke — yes, all right, and the brethren, too — must make some effort to counter or prevent it. Thus rogues who will devour your time while they hatch something more grim. Be very careful, Marika. I expect you will be spending a great deal of time in TelleRai soon. TelleRai will be far more dangerous than Maksche.”
“And you?”
“I am fading away, am I not?” Gradwohl seemed amused.
“If you are trying to slip me the functions of most senior without having to rejoin the All, I want you to know that I do not want them. I have no intention of assuming that burden ever. I do not have the patience for the trivial.”
“True. But patience is something you are going to have to learn anyway, pup.” No one else called her “pup” these days. No one dared.
“Mistress?
“Consider a Reugge sisterhood without a Most Senior Gradwohl. It would not much benefit you without your being in charge. Would it?”
“Mistress...”
“I am not immortal. Neither am I all-powerful. And there are strong elements within the sisterhood who would not scruple to hasten my replacement, if only to prevent your becoming most senior. That danger is partly why I have made myself increasingly inaccessible.”
“I thought you were spending all your time with the sisters trying to build us darkships of our own.”
“I have been. In a place completely isolated. My bath are the only meth outside who know where it is. And there are times when I do not trust them to remain silent.”
The bond between Gradwohl and her bath was legendary.
Marika said, “I did get the feeling that the TelleRai council are disturbed by your lack of visibility. One sister went so far as to hint that I might have done away with you.”
“Ah?” Again Gradwohl was amused. “I should show myself, then. Lest someone get silly notions. I could adopt your approach. Go armed to the jaw.”
Now Marika was amused. “They would accuse me of having acquired an unholy influence over you.”
“They do that already.” Gradwohl rose, went to a window, slipped a curtain aside. It was getting dark. Marika could see one of the smaller moons past the most senior’s shoulder. “I believe it is time, “Gradwohl mused. “Yes. Definitely. It is time. Come with me, pup.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my darkship manufactory.”
Marika followed the most senior through the cloister, to the courtyard where the darkships landed. She felt uneasy. Grauel and Barlog were not with her.
Gradwohl’s bath were waiting. Her darkship was ready for flight. Marika’s uneasiness grew. Now it surrounded the most senior. Gradwohl had made this project her own. Her revealing it implied that she feared she might not be around much longer.
Had she had an intuition? Sometimes silth of high talent caught flashes of tomorrow.
Gradwohl said, “We are doing this on the sly, pup. No one is to know we are leaving the cloister. They may wonder why we do not appear for ceremonies, but I do not think our failure will make anyone suspicious. If we hurry. Come. Step aboard.”
“I could use a coat.”
“I will stay low. If the wind is too much for you, I will slow down.”
“Yes, mistress.”
In moments they were airborne, over the wall, heading across the snowbound plain.
Gradwohl became another person while flying, a Mistress of immense vigor and joy. She flew with the verve of a Marika at her wildest, shoving the darkship through the night at the greatest speed she dared. The countryside whipped away below, much of it speckled silvery with patches of snow-reflected moonlight.
The flight covered three hundred miles by Marika’s estimate. She had the cold shakes when they arrived at their destination. She had not yielded to weakness and touched the most senior with a request that she slacken the pace.
Gradwohl’s goal proved to be an abandoned packfast well north of the permanent snowline, far to the west, on the edge of Reugge territory. Even from quite close it appeared empty of life. Marika could detect no meth presence with her touch. She could smell no smoke.
But thirty sisters turned out for the most senior’s arrival. Marika recognized none of them. None were from Maksche. Too, some wore the garb of other Communities, all minor orders like the Reugge. She was surprised.
She said nothing, but Gradwohl read her easily enough. “Yes. We do have allies.” Amused, “You have been my chosen, but there is much that I have not told you. Come. Let me show you the progress we have made here.”
They went down deep into the guts of the old fortress, to a level that had been dug out after its abandonment, to a vast open area lighted electrically. Scattered about were the frames of a score of partially assembled darkships.
“They are wooden!” Marika exclaimed. “I thought —”
“We discovered that while sisters could extract titanium as you suggested, the process was slow and difficult. With modern woodworking machinery, we could produce a wooden darkship faster. Not elegant ships like those of the high period before the brethren introduced their imitations, but functional and just as useful as anything they produce. Over here are the four craft we have completed so f
ar. We are learning all the time. Using assembly-line techniques, we expect to produce a new ship each week once we are into production. That means that soon no sisterhood will be dependent upon the brethren for darkships. We expect to produce a large reserve before circumstances force us to reveal ourselves. Come over here.”
Gradwohl led Marika to a large area separate from the remainder. It was empty except for a complex series of frameworks. “What is this?” Marika asked.
“This is where we will build our voidship. Our Reugge voidship.”
“A wooden one?”
“Why not?”
“No reason, I guess.”
“None whatsoever. And it would not be a first. Over here. Not exactly a darkship, but something I had put together for you. I thought it might prove useful.”
“A saddleship.”
“Yes.”
“It is gorgeous, mistress.”
“Thank you. I thought you would appreciate it. Want to try it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I thought you might take it back to Maksche.”
“But mistress...”
“I will follow you in case you have trouble managing it. It is not difficult, though. I learned in minutes. You just have to get used to not having bath backing you.”
“How do we get it out of here?”
“It disassembles. All these ships come apart into modules. We thought it would be useful to be able to take them inside, where they would be safer.”
Marika thought of the brethren’s airships and nodded. “Yes. All right. Let us do it.”
Half an hour later she was riding the wooden steed through the night a thousand feet up, racing the north wind toward Maksche. She found the saddleship far more maneuverable and speedy than the conventional darkship, though more tiring.
The experience filled her with elation. Gradwohl had to press her to take the saddleship down before the cloister began rising for the day. The most senior wanted her to keep its existence secret. “Use it only when you are certain you will not be seen. It is for emergencies. For times when you have to go somewhere swiftly and secretly. Which I will be talking to you about more later.”
Chapter Twenty-five
I
Most Senior Gradwohl’s “later” came just two weeks after she gifted Marika with the saddleship.
Those two weeks saw rogue pressure rise markedly. Marika sent three hundred prisoners to the Reugge mines. The sisters responsible for managing them protested they could feed no more, had work for no more. And still the rogue movement found villains willing to risk silth wrath.
They came from everywhere, and though few recalled how they had come to Reugge territory, it was obvious they had been transported. They spoke openly, almost bragging, of the great wehrlen who was their champion. But Marika could learn nothing about him. Could not even gain concrete evidence of his existence as more than a legend being used to motivate the criminals.
The rogues succeeded in killing a number of silth. They overran one small, remote cloister and slaughtered everyone within. Marika was distressed. She could not understand how those attackers could have been so successful. Unless they had been led by this wehrlen himself.
The rogues were active elsewhere, too, for the first time, though to a lesser degree. But whomever they struck, wherever, friends of the Reugge Community were hurt.
Even the Redoriad suffered.
There was one assassination right in TelleRai.
The Serke hardly pretended noninvolvement anymore. Marika intercepted a message in which a rumor was quoted. It claimed a senior sister of the Serke had said in public that anyone who stood with the Reugge could expect to suffer as much as did they.
Marika remained baffled by the Serke determination. And angry. She had to ask Grauel to keep reminding her to control her temper. At one point she nearly flew off on a one-meth mission to destroy a Serke cloister in retaliation.
Two weeks after receiving her saddleship, she began to get less sleep.
Gradwohl visited her. She was direct. “I have spoken with Kiljar, Marika. An arrangement has been made. Each third night you will fly to TelleRai, directly to the Redoriad cloister, where you will meet Kiljar. Your first few visits will be devoted to teaching you to pass as a Redoriad sister. When she is satisfied that you can do that, you will be introduced to the voidships.”
Marika had seen it coming, Her furtive late night flights aboard her saddleship, which she could assemble and slip out the largest window of her quarters, had shown her it was capable of velocities far beyond those of a standard darkship. If she used the saddle straps, and lay out upon the saddleship’s neck, and bundled herself against the chill of passing air, she could reach TelleRai in two hours. Obviously, the most senior had had something in mind when she had the saddleship built.
“To the world’s eye you will remain here, pursuing your normal routine. Only the most reliable silth on either end will be aware of what is happening. We hope the Serke and brethren will be lulled.”
“I do not believe they will be, mistress. That is, they may not see what we are doing, but they already see the possibility. Otherwise they would not have resumed pressing so hard.”
“That will come up at the convention. The Serke are trying to avoid one, but they will not be able to stall for long. They have made themselves immensely unpopular. Their behavior is no longer a matter of strictly parochial interest.”
Marika went into TelleRai that night undetected, and joined Kiljar in her private quarters. She discovered that the Redoriad seniors lived very well, indeed. She did not learn much else that trip, except that she had limits. She barely had the strength to keep the saddleship aloft long enough to return to Maksche. She slept half the following day.
She returned to her work groggy of mind and aching in her joints. That she did not understand, for there had been nothing physical in her night.
The experience repeated itself each time Marika flew south, though each trip became easier. Developing endurance for flying was easier than developing it for running.
She had let her morning gym sessions lapse once Dorteka was no longer there to press her. She resumed those now.
Grauel caught on during Marika’s third absence. Marika returned to her quarters to find her packmates awake and waiting. They eyed the saddleship without surprise. Marika disassembled it and concealed the sections. Still they said nothing.
“Does anyone else know? Or guess?” Marika asked.
“No,” Grauel replied. “Even we do not know anything certain. It just seemed strange that you should be so tired each third day. Each time you looked like you had not had much sleep.”
“I should learn to bar my door.”
“That might be wise. Or you might have someone guard it from within. If there was anyone you could trust to do so.”
Marika considered the huntresses. “I suppose I do owe you an explanation. Though the most senior would not approve.”
Grauel and Barlog waited.
“I have been flying down to TelleRai. To train with the Redoriad silth. As soon as I can pass as a Redoriad sister I will begin learning the ways of their voidships.”
“It is what you wanted,” Barlog said.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am still a Ponath huntress at heart, Marika. Still Degnan. I was too old when I came to the silth. All this flying, this feuding, this witchcraft, this conspiring and maneuvering, they are foreign to me. I am as frightened now as I was when we arrived at Akard. I would as soon be back at the packstead, for all the wonders I have seen.”
“I know. But we have been touched by the All. The three of us. We have no choice of our own.”
“Touched how?” Grauel asked. “There are mornings when I rise wondering if it might not have been better had the nomads taken us all at the beginning.”
“Why?”
“Things are happening, Marika. The world is changing. Too much of that change centers upon you, and you never se
em fully aware of it. There are times when I believe those sisters who feared you as a Jiana sensed a truth.”
“Grauel! Don’t go superstitious on me.”
“We will stand by you as long as we survive, Marika. We have no choice. But do not expect us to give unquestioning approval to everything you do.”
“All right. Accepted. I never expected that. Did anything interesting happen while I was away?”
“It was a quiet night. I suspect you were right when you predicted the rogues would give up on Maksche. You’d better rest now. If you still plan to go flying with Bagnel this afternoon.”
“I forgot all about that.”
“You want to cancel?”
“No. I see him so seldom as it is.”
Despite all else, she maintained her relationship with Bagnel. He maintained his end as well, despite hints that it was no longer fashionable with his superiors. He was, she felt, her one true friend. More so than Braydic, for he asked only that she be his friend in return. He stayed as close as Grauel and Barlog, in his way, without being compelled by their sense of obligation.
“Yes. Definitely. I’ll be going. I wish I could show him the saddleship. Maybe someday. Waken me when it’s time.”
Thenceforth Grauel and Barlog watched her quarters while she was away.
II
Marika had just come to the end of her seventh visit. She asked, “How much longer do you think, mistress? I am getting impatient.”
“I know. Gradwohl warned me you would be. Next time we will go aloft. The Mistress of the Ship and her bath will be preoccupied with the ascent. They should not notice your peculiarities. What they do note can be explained by telling them that you are from the wilderness. We will pass you off as a junior relative of mine. I come from a rural background myself, though I went into cloister younger than you did. We Redoriad keep a better watch on our dependents.”
“Three days, then.”
“No. Five this time. And find a reason for being out of sight longer. We will not be able to make an ascent and return in time to get you home in one night.”