The Cycle of Galand Box Set

by Edward W. Robertson

  "In that case, my name is Lenna. And yours isn't necessary."

  "This is my friend." He gestured to Blays. "I don't think you need his name, either."

  "I don't. I must say it's surprising to see you here in Bressel. Unless you have business here. In that case, the surprise would be if you weren't here."

  A pause ensued. One of the seated norren resumed whittling, a steady scrape of iron on wood. Dante said, "What clan are you from?"

  "Wandering Bear," Lenna said. She kept her gaze steady on him. "The ancestral enemy of the Broken Herons."

  Dante nodded, touching his chin. Years ago, to earn the support of the norren during the Chainbreakers' War, he and Blays had become official members of the Herons. The norren penchant for inter-clan squabbles had decreased since winning their independence from Gask, but as the war had receded on the seas of time, some of the old grudges had been re-exposed.

  "Well," Blays said. "Then it sounds like we're in a unique position to begin to mend that rift."

  Lenna laughed, but it didn't necessarily sound like she was amused. "What do you want from me?"

  Dante nodded to the north. "Do your people come and go from the Norren Territories?"

  "I'm not currently in the Territories, so I can't be sure. If you're asking whether the Wandering Bears in Bressel sometimes return to the Territories, the answer is yes."

  "I need something delivered to Narashtovik. The object in question is quite small." He produced one of the loons from his pocket, holding it up to the moonlight. "It's a long way to deliver an earring, I know. But it would be a great comfort to know Olivander had this in hand."

  This time, Lenna's laughter was more jovial. "We could try to find room in our luggage. What do you offer for this service?"

  "I thought you'd undertake it free of charge. In recognition of our shared interests."

  "You mean I should do you this favor because you helped us win the Chainbreakers' War."

  Blays chuckled. "Norren precision is as bracing as parting your hair with a bowshot."

  "That's right," Dante said to Lenna. "You should help me for winning the Chainbreakers' War."

  She eyed him. "I would say that war was won by many thousands of norren, including hundreds and hundreds of dead ones."

  "I would never imply otherwise."

  "You just did." She waved a thick hand, cutting off his objections. "This argument isn't worth its words. You may think you're famous for winning the Chainbreakers' War. You're right to think that. But that's not where I first heard of you."

  "Really? Then how do you know me?"

  "From Dollendun. Where you were the first human player to master Nulladoon."

  At the very sound of the word, Dante's heart lifted. Nulladoon was without doubt the most engrossing game he'd ever played. It resembled a pitched battle in miniature form, complete with tiny landscapes for your toy-sized soldiers to maneuver through. However, these soldiers weren't mere men and women. They included sorcerers, giants, dragons, and countless other creatures of legend. Combined with the fiendishly complicated strategies involved in deploying, moving, and engaging them, Nulladoon made chess look as complicated as a coin flip. Since its play exposed so much about the two opponents' mindsets, norren sometimes used it as a measuring stick for the people playing it.

  "I love the game," Dante said. "It's been way too long since I played. But what about it?"

  "The 'about it' is simple." Lenna gestured to a yurt. "Play me. And I'll do you your favor."

  "I don't have time."

  "Then I don't have time to deliver your loon."

  "I'm not exaggerating," Dante said. "I have critical business that must be taken care of tonight."

  She folded her arms, rocking on her feet. Fearing she'd topple and crush him, Dante had to restrain himself from stepping back.

  "We're here to sell our nulla," she said. "This makes the Wandering Bears grow stronger. In asking me to send one of my people away, you ask me to weaken my clan."

  "But it's for the good of Narashtovik. If my city stays strong, we'll be stronger together."

  "The clans don't need your city. When great trouble comes, a city has to stand and face it. But a clan can walk away."

  This argument had the flaw of implying that her clan was already strong enough to withstand whatever ills came its way, but Dante didn't think that would sway her. He gritted his teeth, casting about for answers. He could offer money, but he had no real cash on hand, and anyway, the norren didn't always care about silver. He could offer to play her on a later date, but if he killed Gladdic, he needed to get out of Bressel before the body went cold. The relationship between Narashtovik and norren had been his trump card, yet Lenna had brushed it aside like a cobweb.

  "You don't really want to play Nulladoon here in Bressel," Blays said.

  "Yes," Lenna said. "I do."

  "The Nulladoon we learned wasn't a game between two players. It was a sport with an audience. If you want a real match, you can't play it here, where the nearest norren are five hundred miles away on the wrong side of the mountains. You two should play in Dollendun."

  "That sounds like a good deal for you. Largely because the game will take place so far in the future it may never happen at all."

  Blays laughed heartily. "Trust me, if we weren't in the middle of some very nasty business, Dante would be setting up the playing field as we speak. I'm surprised he hasn't decreed it a part of Narashtovik's weekly church services."

  She thrust out her jaw, mouth pursed. "Promise me we'll play by year's end."

  "I swear it," Dante said. "So start thinking what your wager's going to be."

  Lenna smiled, fox-like. "I'll have your loon in Narashtovik within one month."

  He handed over one of the two loons. She inspected it, then wrapped it in a piece of soft leather. After a quick goodbye, Dante and company were back on their way to the inn.

  "I've sailed two thousand miles in all directions," Naran said with a glance over his shoulder. "And the norren are easily the strangest people I've ever met."

  "Lenna's one of the more reasonable ones." Blays stepped over the jutting legs of a man sleeping in the middle of the road. "I've met norren who wouldn't even talk for fear of saying something untrue."

  The nine o'clock bells rang minutes later. By the time they got back to the inn, it was nearly ten.

  Naran cleared his throat. "So. Is tonight the night?"

  Dante paced across the room. "I'm going to confirm he's still inside. If so, I see no reason to wait."

  "What do we do after?"

  "Run as fast as we can," Blays said. "When the powers that be find a body, they tend to pin it on whoever's closest."

  "And what about the shaden?"

  Dante peered out the window at the blackened streets. "From what I can tell, Gladdic's in charge of the shells. We're not talking about a crop of potatoes here. The shaden are extremely valuable. If Gladdic dies, the scramble to secure them will be so obvious we could see it from the Collen Basin."

  Blays thumbed his nose. "I say we light out to the woods for a few days. Leave Jona and Fenk here to keep their ear to the street while you watch with your scouts."

  "That works for me. The question for Naran is this: does your involvement end with Gladdic? Or will you continue to help us hunt down the shaden once he's dead?"

  Naran moved beside Dante at the unshuttered window. "My gut tells me I should sail away. For the good of my crew."

  "But?"

  "But the Sword of the South has profited so much from the Plagued Islands. Twill might not have had the ship without them. They lost hundreds of lives defending themselves against Mallon. I feel like I owe them a debt."

  "You're a good man," Blays said. "That makes it harder. If you don't find a way to shuck off the weight, it'll crush you forever."

  Hands planted on the windowsill, Naran bowed his head. "We'll help you find the shaden. And destroy them."

  Dante said nothing. Command, be it o
f a ship or a city, came with many burdens. Heaviest of all was the choice to do what your heart commanded, at risk to your people, or to walk away and keep those people safe. Those who never had to make that choice were always fastest to judge.

  For himself, he had come to believe that, in the end, every choice was wrong.

  He seated himself. "I'm going in."

  He delved into the mind of the moth that remained in flight above the temple. The insect landed on the outside wall and crawled toward the window. This was glass, but it had been left open to let the night breeze do its best to cool the structure. Dante stopped the moth on the sill. Inside, a tall, sepulchral man sat at a desk reading a thick tome, his back bent like a fishing pole with a whopper on the line. There was little light, but there was no mistaking Gladdic.

  "He's still there," Dante said. "He's alone in a small temple. You'll be able to walk right through the walls. I say we move now. Before he has the chance to relocate somewhere more secure."

  "Sounds like a plan." Blays raised a hopeful eyebrow. "Swords?"

  "Too risky. Besides, I don't intend for you to come in contact with him."

  "Then how exactly do you mean for me to kill him? Pray for a spate of indoor lightning?"

  "You're there to get me inside. And watch my back while I take care of him."

  "In that case, I hope he's got a stuffed chair I can kick back in."

  "You're not insulted?" Dante said. "That I want to handle this myself?"

  "He's an ethermancer, right?"

  "Right."

  "And some sort of covert nethermancer?"

  "Also right."

  Blays held up a palm. "So he has not one, but two eerie powers capable of tearing me to shreds. If you want to take that on yourself, be my guest."

  Dante turned to Naran. "It shouldn't take us more than three hours. If we're not back by the three o'clock bells, you should leave the city."

  Naran tensed his jaw. "My vendetta against Gladdic doesn't end if you die."

  "Yes, but it will end after he tortures us into revealing your location, then burns you on a pyre. If we fail, you can return in a few months after things have quieted down."

  Dante killed a third moth and sent it three hundred feet above the rooftops for a clear view of the streets between their inn and Gladdic's temple. With assistance from Naran, who knew the city fairly well, he worked out a route and committed it to memory.

  This done, Dante and Blays descended to the street. The night was warm, smelling of the river and its muddy banks. They walked to the bridge, a stone structure whose middle was raised high enough for sailing vessels to pass through its arches. Its center sported a cluster of homes and shops. Dante skirted around these, laughter and the clank of pottery drifting on the air.

  Out in the open streets with the goal of murdering one of the capital's highest-ranked priests, it felt as though a sign was hanging over their heads. Yet to the observer, there would be no clue as to the dark intent of their hearts. How many others were walking about at that very moment with malicious plans of their own? The thought was enough to make Dante want to retire to the highest and remotest tower he could find.

  Past the other side of the bridge, a pair of watchmen glanced their way, but paid them no special mind. Dante played out the possibilities in his head. Blays would shadowalk through the wall and unlatch the door. With the moth watching over Gladdic, Dante would know if the man became aware of their entrance. If Gladdic remained oblivious, Dante would sneak up behind him and put a bolt of shadows through his brain. If he got up to check on the disturbance, Dante would ambush him from the darkness.

  Whatever course the killing took, it would have to be as swift as a flood. While Dante had finally learned to touch the ether in the Plagued Islands, he remained a rank amateur. Gladdic, meanwhile, would be as skilled with the light as Dante's Council members were with the shadows. And the priest knew the nether as well. If it came to a toe-to-toe fight, Dante's money wouldn't be on himself.

  A brisk walk took them through the quiet neighborhood around the temple. Soon enough, they stood outside its grounds. A wrought iron fence surrounded swaths of raked gravel and small topiary gardens. In the center, a modest edifice looked over the neat surroundings. Its walls were round and stone, its main building three stories high, topped by a short spire just large enough to contain a stairwell.

  "So," Dante said softly. "Got an idea on the fence?"

  "I was thinking we might climb it."

  "Any ideas where we're not witnessed by everyone who glances in our general direction?"

  Blays peered up at the row houses around the temple. "Most of them appear to be asleep. I say we find the darkest spot, climb on up, and get inside before anyone has the chance to raise an alarm."

  Dante had been considering conjuring a shadowsphere to cover their entry, but the patch of pure darkness would be more conspicuous than two silhouettes. When you had powers that reflected those of the gods, it was always tempting to use them. But often, the down and dirty route was more effective than any magic.

  They retreated from the pavement around the temple, circling through the back streets to approach from the north, where few lights shined in the row house windows. After a minute of silent observation, they crossed to the fence. Blays grabbed hold of two pickets and hauled himself up, latching onto the upper rail. He hooked an elbow around it and reached down. Dante grabbed his hand and pulled himself up, catching the rail. The pickets were topped by spikes, but with some careful maneuvering, the two of them dropped to the other side of the fence without injury.

  Dante moved behind a square of shrubs trimmed to resemble hourglasses, then stopped and shifted his vision into the moth just inside the window of the temple's third floor. There, Gladdic remained hunched over his desk, eyes scanning the pages of his book.

  "We're looking good," Dante murmured. "Care to step inside?"

  A plain wooden door sat in the building's north face. Dante checked to see if it was unlocked, but it held fast. The two of them retreated to another growth of shrubs.

  "What happens if something goes wrong up there?" Blays whispered. "Are you expecting me to run away?"

  Dante eyed him. "How long have we known each other?"

  "Just checking. In that case, if he starts to wallop you, try to stay clear of his neck, belly, and groin."

  "Why?"

  "Because that's where I'm going to be stabbing him."

  Nether rushed to Blays' form. Fast as a blink, he vanished. As he moved toward the temple, he left a ripple in the shadows that Dante was able to follow as long as he concentrated. He watched closely, hoping that this would be the time he witnessed the key to teaching himself to shadowalk, but by the time Blays passed through the stone wall of the ground floor, Dante knew no more than ever.

  A minute later, the wooden door opened soundlessly; either they were very lucky, or Gladdic didn't brook disturbances from squeaky hinges. A silhouette moved into the opening and lifted its right hand.

  Dante emerged from the shrubbery and met Blays inside. Blays motioned to the ground floor, gesturing that it was all clear. Dante pointed to Blays, then the ground floor, then himself and the upper floors. Blays nodded and pointed out the stairwell.

  Dante stepped into it, letting his eyes adjust to the near-total darkness. The steps were stone. No chance of creaking. He got out his antler-handled knife and nicked his arm, feeding the blood to the thirsty shadows. He ascended slowly, nether held tight in his hands. He'd been in such situations countless times, but as always, his heart raced in his ears. Though he'd found that you could learn to ignore your body's fears, he no longer believed he'd ever be rid of them.

  Gladdic was on the third floor. Dante paused at the second floor landing to listen, but the chambers beyond were silent and dark. He continued to the third story. Two candles flickered at the far side of the chamber, light and shadow battling for control of the walls. At his desk, back to the stairwell, Gladdic turned a page, reached
for a quill, and jotted a note on the parchment beside him.

  Something rustled below, the sound so faint that, a second later, Dante wasn't sure it had been real. Gladdic showed no sign of having heard it.

  The man was as quick as a snake with both nether and ether. Dante would have to hit him before he knew the shadows were upon him. Inhaling through his nose, Dante called the nether in a rush so thick it threatened to blot out the air around him. The instant it was in his grasp, he launched it forward in two bursts: one aimed for Gladdic's head, the other for the center of his back.

  Both blows struck true. And both dissolved like a pinch of sand cast into a breaking wave.

  Dante yanked the nether from its holds in the crannies in the stone. Gladdic stood stiffly, spinning on his heel to face Dante. Dante launched another volley of black bolts at the priest. Gladdic didn't so much as raise his hand. He summoned no ether or nether in defense. As before, the assault vanished into his body, the shadows swirling into him as if he was drinking them.

  Acting on instinct, Dante drew on what little ether he could command. It coalesced into a pearly ball the size of a marble. He shaped it into a point and jabbed it toward Gladdic.

  The priest jerked backwards, twisting his shoulders. Rather than taking him in the throat, the ether struck him in the right collarbone. With this, all the color faded from him. Not that he went pale—rather, from head to toe, he turned pitch black. Including the glossy claws that now curled from his fingers.

  His eyes, though—these gleamed silver, twinkling with the coldness of the stars. Dante's blood ran even colder.

  4

  Raxa trudged up the stairs behind Gaits. He was always lively, but that night, he had an extra bounce in his step. Under normal circumstances, she would have resented this.

  But tonight was different. Tonight was payday.

  He emerged onto the rooftop. Six stories high, the top of the Marrigan—in a touch of irony, their den was still named after the blue-blood who'd built it—held a commanding view of Narashtovik. To the north, the bay glimmered under the stars. To the west and south, the city spread before them. And to the east, the spire of Ivars and the blunt body of the Sealed Citadel stood as monuments to history.