As the shadowpath closed, Enforcer Ardent beckoned Lark closer. “So you're Shan Cayer's second,” she said, pitch-colored eyes sliding from her face to her robe to the shaky wet pseudopod Ripple was extending from her collar. “Looks like you've had an eventful mission.”
Lark smiled tightly. From the conflict at the Merry Tom to the unraveling of the Palace, she'd seen more of this world than she'd ever expected. “You could say that. Cayer, is he…?”
“Alive. Got caught in some bad magic and lost a few limbs, but he's recovering in one of our company towns now. In Hjaltar, I believe.”
A weight fell from Lark's chest. “Oh. Good. —A few limbs? Void's Teeth...”
The Enforcer gave her a marginal smile, then slid a look toward the men. “You've found some other friends, I see.”
Lark tensed. “Yes. They've helped me since I met them at the Palace, and they're—“
“Fine. We'll have the captain make some space.”
Lark blinked, mouth still open. A glance to the men showed matching confusion—except for Harbett. “S'cuse me, ma'am,” he hazarded, “Captain Sarovy?”
The Enforcer considered him, black eyes and scar-curved lips turning her expression inscrutable. “Do we know you?”
“Yes ma'am. I came from here—from Bahlaer—maybe thirteen, fourteen days ago. I, ah...think your workings bit off my foot.”
“Name?”
“Verner Harbett. Third Section, Flatlands Platoon, Blaze Company.”
“A lancer?”
“Yes ma'am.”
“It sounds familiar,” she allowed. “These others?”
“Sallos Mendras, Bahlaer militia,” Mendras supplied eagerly.
“And…?”
Silence. Lark glanced to Maevor and found him staring not at the lead Enforcer but at the man by the door, the Illanite, who stared back with suspicion—then sudden horror. “Maevor?” he blurted.
Maevor's mouth twisted in distress. “I'm sorry—”
The man lunged before he could get any further, dragging a truncheon from his belt. The darker woman grabbed him from behind but couldn't halt his momentum. Harbett stepped in instinctively to block, and Lark saw white threads swarm under the ex-lancer's sleeve.
Shit, no, we can't fight—
“Enforcer Ticuo!” their leader snapped, and the angry man jerked up short. Before he could do more, the dark woman snatched the truncheon from his hand and stuck it through her own belt, and though the man snarled when she tugged at his shoulder, he reluctantly took a step back.
“What is this?” said Enforcer Ardent.
“Maevor. He was one of our undercover men,” Ticuo grated. “He was sent to infiltrate the Crimson slave camps and never came back.”
“I am not him,” Maevor verified quietly. “I am the thing that consumed him when he was brought to the Palace. I'm sorry.”
“We can't let this thing live, we have to—!”
Another sharp look from the lead Enforcer quieted Ticuo, though it could not wipe the fury from his face. Looking to Maevor, Enforcer Ardent said, “You're one of the bracer-kind?”
Maevor blinked, then nodded slowly, peeling back his left sleeve to show it.
“Then I'll leave you to the captain too. He knows how to manage your kind. As soon as he's—“
She tilted her head then as if listening, black brows crinkling. Something glinted around the curve of her ear, a silver object Lark doubted was meant as jewelry. “Right now,” she amended. “He wants to meet you all. He'll be here shortly.”
*****
Notebook raised, Sarovy halted half-inside the office and blinked, Lieutenants Linciard and Vrallek making questioning sounds at his heels. Beside the expected Shadow Folk, there were two fully unfamiliar men, a lancer he recognized but couldn't instantly name, and a southern woman in a mage's robe who couldn't possibly have been a mage—else she wouldn't have tolerated being dragged cross-country by his half-platoon.
“Lark of Bahlaer,” he said, drifting forward. Then a moment later, as memory kicked in, “Lancer Harbett. You were sent to the Palace.”
“Yessir,” said Harbett. “I came back.”
“Good...good.” The sight of him hurt as much as it helped. It had been perhaps two weeks since he'd let his injured men be sent away for conversion, a failure that had seemed inescapable at the time. “And the others? Marcuson, Valliard, Bramment, Vyslin…?”
The lancer grimaced. “Ah...well, Vyslin's back in Darronwy now, sir. As for the others, we didn't see them.”
Peripherally he saw Linciard brace, relax, then tense again. He had no room to scold; all he could think was: Two. Two out of eleven.
“And who are these others?” he continued as Linciard beckoned Harbett to his side. The other unfamiliar men shifted uncomfortably behind Enforcer Ardent; at a glance, both seemed Illanic, but there was something more.
And the woman, Lark, just stared straight at him, dark eyes flat and hard.
“Two for Vrallek, I suppose,” said Enforcer Ardent, indicating the men. “A bracer type and a thready armor sort of thing, like the White Flames. Maevor, Mendras, this is Captain Sarovy of Blaze Company. He can manage you better than I.”
The Illanites bowed their heads respectfully, though neither looked enthused. Sarovy couldn't blame them. “Welcome,” he said anyway. “We have been integrating a few new men into our ranks, so the transition should not be rough. I would like to speak to you individually later. Lieutenant Vrallek can answer any immediate questions.” He indicated the big ruengriin, who grinned hideously and beckoned the nervous pair over.
“And this is Lark,” said Enforcer Ardent. “It seems you already know each other.”
“Yes,” said the young woman coldly.
Biting back the same ice, Sarovy inclined his head to her. “I had wondered what became of you and Scout Trevere.”
An odd expression crossed her face, followed by a marginal smile. “Well, that's a story.”
“Tell me.”
“Why? What's it matter to you?”
“You attacked us. We took you prisoner. You escaped with Trevere. Why? Where did you go?” He realized he was being sharp, and made an effort to soften his voice. “I ask not for any purpose, only for my own knowledge. Things have been strange for us ever since then.”
Scowling, Lark said, “Does it matter? We ran around, did some things, got in trouble, ended up at the Palace. I walked out through the swamp, and now here I am. The end.”
“You worked together, then? Was he a turncoat? And you had a goblin, I recall—“
She lurched forward and slapped him hard, but he took the impact without moving, his cheek absorbing it like thick clay. With a gasp, she drew back; he stayed stock-still and forced himself to relax. Since beginning to work with Scryer Mako, he had gained some control over his sarisigi self, but it was still awful to feel the stuff of his flesh shifting inside his face and neck.
He reached up absently to touch his winged-light pendant. The template was still weakening, but it comforted him to feel it flare through his limbs and reaffirm his shape.
“Captain,” said Enforcer Ardent, “this is not an interrogation. We will stick to topics she wishes to discuss, preferably ones relevant to the situation at hand.”
Before Sarovy could respond, Lark said, “Any of you Lieutenant Linciard?”
“Yeah,” said Linciard at his side.
“That guy Vyslin wanted me to tell you that he's all right, just not interested in coming back to the army. He's got a fake leg of that White Flame stuff but it doesn't work too well in the dark, drains him something awful, so he's gone home to be with his family. Oh, and he's still human, like Harbett. If your other lost men got out of the Palace before it collapsed, they could be all right too.”
Sarovy wasn't sure whether to be heartened by that news or not. It raised so many questions—the Palace collapsed? the White Flames were human?—but at least it relieved the lingering tension in Linciard's face. The lieute
nant nodded slowly, then said, “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Sure. Now...look, I know you said this isn't an interrogation, Enforcer, but I have a lot to say, and it's not casual stuff. And while I'd love to have a long nap and a bath and a change of clothes first, I know that's not in the cards yet. So how about we have a proper sit-down—you, me and the captain—and talk about the Light and the Dark?”
Sarovy's brows rose. This assertive young woman was a far cry from the angry and bewildered prisoner he recalled. “My lieutenants should get our new men settled in with the company, I suppose,” he said with a glance to Ardent. “I'm sure the Shadow lieutenants have their own business to attend as well.”
Ardent nodded, then moved to shake out one of her folding chairs. “I see you brought your notebook. You can borrow a spare quill.”
He blinked, just now remembering it in his offhand. “Yes, thank you. Linciard, Vrallek, you and your men are dismissed. I expect to read your reports on this soon.”
Ignoring how the men grumbled, he accepted his folding chair and set it across from Ardent's, aimed at Lark as she settled into the third point of their triangle. As the Shadow Folk slipped away and the soldiers closed the door behind them, he said, “Tell me about the Palace.”
*****
Lark laced her hands together in her lap, looking between the two leaders. She was worried about Maevor, but right now making a good impression was all she could do. Ardent was still getting settled; Sarovy stared intently, not even waiting for his promised quill. He'd been like that as her jailor too.
“Well,” she said, “I arrived there on the first or second of Midwinter, I think. It all blends together now.”
“And you were there on Darkness Day?”
“Not in the Palace, but in the city, yes. I was in the Palace before, but I got pulled out.”
“Why?”
“One of the leaders, the High Priest I think, wanted to catch my friend Cob. We were bait, or...hostages, I guess, me and several others.” She grimaced, remembering it: Cob on his knees in the blank white village, their other friends aghast behind him. “He surrendered and they took him into the Palace. Maevor and I broke away from the group—the White Flames let us, because there was no way out of the city then.”
“Cob—Cobrin son of Dernyel?” the captain interjected, uncapping the ink-pot Ardent had passed him.
“Right,” said Lark, “the same guy you were chasing when you dragged me along. He carries the Guardian, this sort of big powerful spirit entity. I guess all the beast spirits are descended from the Guardian and the Ravager, its other half, and the Empire wanted them destroyed.”
“The Guardian—that is what manifested during our conflict in the tavern?”
“Yes.”
“And the Ravager?”
“That's in Archmagus Enkhaelen. Or was, if Cob succeeded in killing him.”
The leaders exchanged a glance, then bent to their respective notes. Lark raised a brow. She didn't know how long they'd been working together, but they acted like old partners.
“And after you left the group?” said Enforcer Ardent, dipping her quill again.
Lark shrugged loosely. “I didn't know what to do, and Maevor was… Well, he's a lost soul, really. I guess bodythieves break down after a while. Anyway, we just wandered. I thought we were done for, what with Cob being captured, but there was still that little hope. And then suddenly the Palace-light went weird, and failed.
“All the city-light started to go too. I guess that was the Portal closing—oh, that's right, the Portal. You see, the Emperor isn't the Emperor but this entity called the Outsider, and Enkhaelen opened the Seals somehow to let him in, same as some idiots did way back during the Great War of Empires. And he pretended to be human and built the Empire and, well, the plan was to shut him back out. Anyway, after the light failed, there was some glow still left in the strands for a while, like it had gotten stuck, but eventually… Nothing.”
For a long moment, the two leaders just stared. Then the captain said, “And this was on Darkness Day.”
“Pretty sure, yes.”
“And the converts, the priests?”
“Collapsed. Maevor just dropped like a stone—had to hook onto me to survive. All the buildings were sagging, shredding… It was horrible. I got us to the main road and there was just panic, chaos, people trying to escape or get up into the Palace or throw themselves into the canals. But we met up with those White Flames and pushed our way out, and then walked down the White Road past all the rotting villages until we got somewhere I could contact the Kheri.”
The captain made a few notes, then looked up with narrowed eyes. “These villages...”
“They weren't really,” said Lark. “They felt more like holding-pens, or...or a really weird brothel. All the buildings were actually pods, like cocoons, with people all wrapped up inside—women. Desiccated, dead. I guess the Palace had been keeping them alive. Supposedly the men from the city visited them and did...men things...”
Captain Sarovy made a sound either of denial or distaste, it was hard to tell. The Enforcer glanced at him but he was scribbling notes again, expression tight.
“Oh,” said Lark, “and while we were leaving, one of the wraith spires flew in. Hlacaasteia. It settled itself somewhere in the city—possibly the Palace, but I can't be sure.”
Enforcer Ardent frowned. “Spires, those huge energetic crystals? Like in the Night Forest? I didn't know they could fly.”
“Apparently.”
“And you didn't see anyone of importance on the road?” said the captain. “Notable individuals like the Prince, or any of the high command...”
Lark shook her head. “We were chased by some monsters for a while, but otherwise it was just soldiers and citizens. Normal people. And there were no commanders in the city when we left, otherwise it wouldn't have been such chaos.”
“So you cannot say whether any of them survived the Palace fall.”
“Not from my own experience. Why?”
The Enforcer looked to the captain again, who sat back from his own writing. “I worry about the Crown Prince. If there was anyone who could take the reins from Rackmar or pick up the pieces from… You are certain the Emperor was not human?”
“I didn't see him, but the Palace was nothing even close to normal. It shifted and fluxed and breathed like a living thing. Anyone who could control that couldn't be human. And I did see the Prince, but it was on the road before everyone else went into the Palace—before the light failed. So I don't know what happened to him. He got into an argument with the Field Marshal and Enkhaelen, and then they split up.”
“What sort of argument?”
“I don't remember specifics. I just gathered that they all hated each other.”
“Did you see any Gold, Sapphire or Crimson personnel in the Palace or the city while you were there? Their surcoats should have made them obvious.”
She thought about it, then shook her head slowly. “No, beside me and Maevor and this one mage fellow, everyone was in pilgrim's gear. Even the Prince and Enkhaelen were in white.”
“Were you thinking of asking the other Imperial armies for assistance?” Enforcer Ardent directed at Sarovy. “I suppose they'd have their own mages, so they could portal themselves here...”
He nodded. “Sapphire General Demathry has always detested Rackmar, and if something has happened to the Emperor and Crown Prince while Rackmar still holds sway over two armies…”
“Would he have the forces to assist, though? The Empire makes war on all fronts.”
“We do, but not so much in winter. I cannot imagine the Garnet Mountain tribes will attack Trivestes like this. Still, even with Sapphire assistance, it would be difficult to take on the siege camp. We would need to breach its magical defenses and then have a force capable of taking it without butchering the uninvolved soldiers and slaves.”
“And that would be difficult for the Sapphires?”
“In a word, yes
.”
“We call on Kanrodi, then. They've ruptured the camp's barrier before, and they have policing constructs that can capture rather than kill. Between their arcane help and our information, we might be able to turn the tide in our favor without actually sending troops in.”
“That might work. Before or after we deal with Seething Brigade?”
“I can put out some feelers immediately, see if Kanrodi is open to it.”
Lark looked between the two, surprised. “You, Imperial guy, are going to work with her, Kheri agent, to ask the Pajhrasthani city of Kanrodi to help conquer your own siege camp?”
“'Imperial guy',” the captain echoed dryly.
“Kanrodi is a Kheri ally,” said Enforcer Ardent, leaning back in her chair. “It's not out of the question that they would assist us if we can infiltrate the camp somehow. I'm told there was an understanding during the Crown Prince's tenure for the siege to stay deadlocked, but if the Field Marshal is now in charge, Kanrodi might as well flex its muscles.”
Lark blinked. “What—the Prince's army was just there for show?”
“I don't know what his thoughts were, but yes. It seems so. My apologies, captain,” she said with a glance to the man, “for not mentioning it before.”
The captain sat poised with his quill over the page, a fixed look on his face. For some reason it made a chill run down Lark's spine; there was no anger in it, no regret, not even resignation, just a kind of emptiness in the colorless panes of his eyes. Then he exhaled slowly, and said, “I am aware that the Prince was keeping it as a refugee camp, to protect the slaves and soldiers from being taken for conversion. But it is false to claim that Kanrodi did not fight us, or vice versa. There was much conflict on the siege line and many arcane attacks, city-to-camp.”
“And yet no teleport-block,” said the Enforcer. “No greater Pajhrasthani armies come to lift the siege.”
“No. ...I suppose we thought of it like Illane, where each city stands alone. In fact, we had a similar deal here until I disrupted it while chasing that runaway.”
The Drowning Dark (The War of Memory Cycle Book 4) Page 52