Darkwar

by Glen Cook

  “From the Serke, I suppose. I do not know. And I do not care.” Dorteka surveyed the valley, which Marika thought excitingly beautiful. “I do not see why we bother fighting them for this wasteland. If they want it so badly, let them have it.”

  She was in a mood. Marika moved away, joined Barlog and Grauel, who were helping the workers unload supplies and equipment.

  “We will need some sort of barrier right away,” Grauel said. “I hear there are still a few kagbeasts in these parts. If so, they would be hungry enough to attack meth.”

  “I saw some snarltooth vines just west of here as we were coming in,” Marika said. “Drive stakes and string some of those with some briars from the riverbank down there. That will do till we get a real palisade up.”

  “Grauel and I will work out a watch rotation. We will need big fires at night. Do we have permission to harvest live wood if there is not enough dead?”

  “If necessary. But I think you will find plenty of deadwood. The winters are killing some of the less hardy trees already.”

  The outpost had to be built from the ground up. The task took a month. That month passed without incident, though on a couple of occasions Marika sensed the presence of strange meth on the far side of the valley. When she grabbed a ghost and went to examine them, she found that they were nomad scouts. She did not bother them. Let them prime themselves for falling into a trap.

  Marika was unconcerned for her own safety, so unconcerned she sometimes wandered off alone, to the distress of Grauel and Barlog, who tracked her down each time.

  Marika often joined in the physical work, too. She found it a good way to work out the frustrations she had accumulated during her months in Maksche. And in labor she found temporary surcease from concerns of the past and future.

  This close to the Degnan packstead she could not help thinking often of the Mourning she owed. But there were no nightmares. Could that be because of the work? That did not seem reasonable.

  After a time most of the southern huntresses joined the work, too, for all of Dorteka’s disapproving scowls. There was nothing else to do but be bored.

  The workers appreciated the help, but did not know what to make of it. Especially of a silth who actually dirtied her paws. Marika suspected they began to think well of her despite all the rumors they had heard. By summer’s end she had most of them talking to her. And by summer’s end she had begun consciously trying to cultivate their affection.

  Dorteka refused to do anything but tutor Marika. That assignment she pursued doggedly, as if motivated mainly by an increasing desire to get the job over with. Their relationship deteriorated as the summer progressed, and Marika steadfastly refused to be molded into traditional silth shape.

  Though the summer gave Marika a respite from her concerns and fears, she did spend a lot of time thinking about the future. She approached it with a pragmatic attitude suitable for the most cynical silth.

  The only attack came soon after the blockhouse was complete. It was not a strong one, though the savages thought it strong enough. They cut through the snarltooth vine fencing and evaded the pit traps and booby traps. They used explosives to breach the palisade. Distressed, Dorteka reached out to Akard with the touch and asked for darkship support.

  Marika obliterated the attackers long before the one ship sent arrived.

  She deflected and destroyed the attackers almost casually, using a ghost drawn from high in the atmosphere. She had learned that the higher one could reach, the more monstrous a ghost one could find.

  Afterward, Dorteka shied away from her the way she might from a dangerous animal, and never did get over being nervous when Marika was close.

  Marika did not understand. She was even pained. She did not need Dorteka’s friendship, but she did not want her fear.

  Was her talent for the dark side that terrible? Did she exceed the abilities of other silth by so much? She could not believe that.

  Soon after the first snowflakes flew, a darkship arrived bearing winter stores and a replacement silth. Marika and Dorteka received orders to return to the Maksche cloister.

  “I am not going,” Marika told Dorteka.

  “Pup! I have had about all of your insubordination that I am going to stand. Get your coat on and get aboard that ship.” Dorteka was so angry she ignored Grauel and Barlog.

  “This is the last darkship that will come here till spring, barring a need for major support if the blockhouse comes under attack. Not so?”

  “Yes. So what? Do you love these All-forsaken woods so much that you want to stay here forever?”

  “Not at all. I want to go home. And so do these workers.”

  That caught Dorteka from the blind side. She could do nothing but look at Marika askance. Finally, she croaked, “What are you talking about? So what?”

  “These meth were hired for the season. They were promised they would return home in time for the Festival of Kifkha. The festival comes up in four days. And no transportation has been provided them yet. You go ahead. You go south. You report to the most senior. And when she asks why I did not come back with you, you tell her why. Because once again the Reugge Community is failing to live up to a pledge to its dependents.”

  Dorteka became so angry Marika feared she would have a stroke. But she stood there facing her teacher in a stance so adamant it was clear she would not be moved. Dorteka went inside herself and performed calming rituals till she was settled enough to touch someone at Akard.

  The workers went out next morning. From all over the upper Ponath they went, with an alacrity that said that Gradwohl herself must have intervened. Before they left, two workers very quietly told Marika where they could be reached in Maksche if ever she needed them to repay the debt. Marika memorized that information carefully. She had Grauel and Barlog commit it to memory too, protecting it through redundance.

  She meant to use those workers someday.

  She had plans. During that summer she had begun to look forward in more than a simpleminded, pup-obsessed-with-flying sort of way. But she was careful to mask that from everyone. Even Grauel and Barlog remained outside.

  “Will your holiness board her darkship now?” Dorteka demanded. “Is the order of the world arranged to your satisfaction?”

  “Indeed. Thank you, Dorteka. I wish you understood. Those meth may be of no consequence to you. Nor are they to me, really. But a Community can only be as good as its honor. If our own dependents cannot trust our word, who else will?”

  “Thank the All,” Dorteka muttered as Marika began strapping herself to the cold darkship frame.

  “Such indifference may well be the reason the cloister is having so much trouble keeping order in Maksche. Paustch is determined not to do right and Zertan is too lazy or too timid.”

  “You will seal your mouth, pup. You will not speak ill of your seniors again. I still have a great deal of control over how happy or miserable your life can be. Do I make myself understood?”

  “Perfectly, mistress. Though your attitude does not alter the truth a bit.”

  Dorteka was furious with her again.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I

  In most respects Marika had attained the knowledge levels expected of silth of her age. In many she had exceeded those. As she surpassed levels expected, she found herself with more and more free time. That she spent studying aircraft, aerodynamics, astronomy, and space, when she could obtain any information. The Reugge did not possess much. The brethren and dark-faring sisterhoods clung to their knowledge jealously.

  Marika had a thousand questions, and suspected the only way to get the answers was to steal them.

  How did the silth take their darkships across the void? The distances were incredible. And space was cold and airless. Yet darkships went out there and returned in a matter of weeks.

  She ached because she would never know. Because she was stuck in a sisterhood unable to reach the stars, a sisterhood that might not survive much longer.

  To drea
m dreams that could not be attained, that was a horror. Almost as bad as the dreams that came by night.

  The nightmares resumed immediately upon her return to Maksche. They were more explicit now. Often her littermate Kublin appeared in them, reaching, face tormented, as if crying for help. She hurt. She and Kublin had been very close, for all he was male.

  Most Senior Gradwohl had shifted from TelleRai to Maksche in fact as well as name while Marika was in the north. Four days after Marika’s return, the wise ones of Maksche, and many others from farflung cloisters of the Community, gathered in the ritual hall. Marika was there at Gradwohl’s command, though she had not as yet seen the most senior.

  After a few rituals had been completed, Gradwohl herself took the floor. Meth who had accompanied her from TelleRai began setting up something electrical, much to the distress of Zertan. They tried to argue that such should not be permitted within the holy place of Maksche.

  Gradwohl silenced them with a scowl. It was well-known that the most senior was not pleased with them. Though she remained outside the mainstream of cloister life, Marika had heard many rumors. Most made the futures of the Maksche senior and her second sound bleak.

  The device set up projected a map upon a white screen. Gradwohl said, “This is what the north looked like at its low ebb, last winter. The darker areas are those that were completely overrun by savages.

  “Our counterattack seems to have caught them unprepared. I would account the summer’s efforts a complete success. We have placed a line of small but stout fortresses up the line of the Hainlin, running from here to Akard. A second line was gone in crosswise, here, roughly a hundred miles north of Maksche. It runs from our western boundary to the sea. Each fastness lies within easy touch of its neighbors. Any southward movement can be detected from these, and interdicted with support from here in Maksche.

  “Akard is partially restored. It now forms the anchor for a network of fastnesses in the Ponath. They will allow us to maintain our claim there without dispute. A small fleet of darkships based there will thwart any effort to reduce the fastnesses. Work on Akard should be completed next summer.

  “Next summer also, I hope to begin squeezing the savage packs from the north, south, and east, giving them no choice but to flee west into the territories of our beloved friends the Serke. Where they may do more evil than they have done. The Serke raised them up like demons. May they suffer as a witch whose demon breaks the ties that bind.”

  Gradwohl scanned the assembly. Nearly a hundred of the most important members of the Reugge Community were present. No one seemed inclined to comment, though Marika sensed that many disapproved of Gradwohl and her plans.

  “As strength goes,” Marika murmured. Gradwohl was getting her way only because she was the strongest of Reugge silth.

  “Also next spring we will begin restoring several brethren strongholds that will be of use to us. Especially the fortress Mahede. From Mahede it will be possible to mount year-round darkship patrols and up the pressure on the savages even more.”

  Gradwohl tapped the screen with a finger. Mahede lay halfway between Maksche and Akard. She used a claw to draw a circle around Mahede. It was obvious that circles of the same size centered upon Akard and Maksche would overlap, covering the entire Hainlin rivercourse north of the city. The Hainlin was the main artery of the northern provinces.

  “Meantime, this winter we will continue hunting the savages the best we can, with all the resources we can bring to bear. We must keep the pressure on. It is the only way to beat the Serke at their own game.”

  Several senior silth disagreed. A murmur of discontent ran through the audience. Marika scanned faces carefully, memorizing those of her mentor’s opponents. They would be her enemies, too.

  In the course of the discussion that followed, it began to appear that those who opposed Gradwohl’s scheme did so principally because it interfered with their comfort and their abilities to exploit their own particular demesnes. Several seniors of cloisters complained because they had been stripped of their best silth and, as a result, were having trouble maintaining order among their workers. Especially among the males.

  The pestilence of rebellion was spreading.

  “I suspect our problems with workers are the shadows of the next Serke move against us,” Gradwohl said. “It is unlikely that they expected me to collapse under pressure from the savages. The northern packs were expendable counters in their game. So will our workers be. But we will deal with that in its turn. The most critical task facing us is to make sure the northern provinces are secure no matter what troubles plague us elsewhere.”

  “Why?” someone demanded. The shout was anonymous, but Marika thought the voice sounded like that of Paustch.

  “Because the Serke want them so desperately.”

  Once the grumbling faded, Gradwohl expanded somewhat. “I see it this way, sisters. The Serke appear willing to spend a great deal, and to risk even more, in order to wrest the north from our paws. They must have very powerful reasons for their behavior. If they have reasons, then we have reasons for taking every measure to retain our territories. Even though we do not know what they are.

  “But I will find out what they are. And when I do, you will be informed immediately.”

  More grumbling.

  “While I am most senior none of this is subject to debate. It will be done as I have decreed. In coming days I will speak to each of you individually and have more to say at that time. Meantime, this assembly is adjourned. Senior Zertan. Paustch. I wish to speak to you immediately. Marika. I want you to remain here. I will call upon the rest of you as I have the opportunity.”

  That was a dismissal. Silth rose from stools and began drifting out. Marika studied the groups they formed, identifying alliances of interest. She heard several seniors grumbling about being tied down at Maksche when they had problems at home demanding immediate attention.

  Paustch and Zertan left their stools and moved forward to face Gradwohl. Marika remained upon her stool in the shadows, well away. The Maksche senior and her second did not need to be reminded of her presence.

  Gradwohl said, “Mildly stated, I am not pleased with you two. Zertan. You are walking close to the line. Your problem is plain laziness compounded by indifference and maybe a dollop of malice. I will be here for some time now, watching over your shoulder. I trust my presence will lend you some incentive to become more ambitious.

  “Paustch. For a number of years you have been the true moving spirit here in Maksche. You have been responsible for getting done most of what has gotten done. It is my sorrow that most of that has been negative. I have in mind several directives that you carried out to the letter but managed to sabotage in spirit. I cannot shake the feeling that I have clung too close to TelleRai since becoming most senior. My paw should have been more evident in the outlying cloisters.

  “I will no longer tolerate undermining and backstabbing by subordinates. To that end, you will be transferred to TelleRai immediately. A courier darkship will be leaving at dawn. You will be aboard. When you reach TelleRai, you will report to Keraitis for assignment to duties there. Understood?”

  Her entire frame shaking with rage, Paustch bowed her head. “Yes, mistress.”

  “You may leave us.”

  Paustch drew herself up, turned, marched out of the hall. Marika thought she might become trouble unless Gradwohl made further moves to neutralize her malice. Unless by its very nature her new assignment placed her where she could do no harm.

  Gradwohl turned to Zertan once Paustch was outside. “Do you feel a spark or two of wakening ambition, Zertan? Do you feel you can become more productive?”

  “I believe I do, mistress.”

  “I thought you might. You may go, too.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Only the sounds of Zertan’s slippers disturbed the silence of the hall. Then she was gone, and Marika was alone with the most senior. Silence reigned. Lamplight set shadows dancing. Marika waited
without fear, without movement.

  Finally, Gradwohl said, “Come forward.”

  Marika left her stool and approached the most senior.

  “Come. Come. Not to be frightened.”

  “Yes, mistress.” Marika slipped into the role she assumed with every superior, that of simplicity.

  “Marika, I know you, pup. Do not play that game with me. I am on your side.”

  “My side, mistress?”

  “Yes. Very well. If you insist. How was your summer?”

  “A pleasant break, mistress. Though the Ponath is colder now.”

  “And going to get a lot colder in years to come. Tell me about your day on the town.”

  “Mistress?” The debacle in the tradermale enclave had slipped her mind completely.

  “You visited the brethren enclave, did you not?”

  “Yes, mistress.” Now she was disturbed.

  Her reaction was not well concealed. Gradwohl was amused. “You had quite an adventure, I gather. No. No need to be concerned. The protest was an embarrassment, but a minor one, and a blessing as well. Am I right in assuming that the male Bagnel is the male we brought out of Akard?”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “And you are on friendly terms? He kept the fuss to a minimum.”

  “He thinks I saved his life, mistress. I did not. I was saving myself. That the others were saved was incidental.”

  “The fact is seldom as important as the perception, Marika. Illusion is the ruling form. Shadow signifies more than substance. Silth always have been more fancy than fact.”

  “Mistress?”

  “It is not important whether or not you made an effort to save this male. What signifies is his belief that you saved him. Which in fact you did.”

  Marika was puzzled. Why the interest in Bagnel?