He watched them march out, the scouts scattering down the main street like so many crows, Magus Regna drawing a veil over herself and her huge construct. Hanging back, Magus Lahngi unhooked one of his kites and attached it to the spine of the coat-rack, then pulled off one for himself; a few words, a few gestures, a tracery of brick-red energy at his back like a pinwheel, and the first kite unfurled huge leathery wings and pumped them hard to lift itself off the ground. As it spiraled upward, Lahngi transformed the second, climbed onto it, and gave Sarovy a grin and an inaccurate salute.
Sarovy nodded in return, then that construct heaved itself off the ground as well, mounting the air quickly with great beats of its wings.
“Showoff,” muttered his Shadow guide.
Smiling faintly, Sarovy cued his earhook. “Homeless and Bloodthirst platoons en route to target. Surveillance status?”
'All still negative,' came Enforcer Zhahri's response. She was holding Ardent's place in the meeting room, which had become the command hub for all reports; Ardent had gone into the Shadow Realm on a few last checks and couldn't send or receive earhook communications from there. ''Though I'm getting a message from— Oh, never mind, it's not relevant to the mission.'
'Presh and Voorkei are at their assigned posts, with the militia,' added Scryer Yrsian. 'Trifolders are just coming out of the woodwork now. Should we send some to you up there?'
“Not yet—I still consider them civilians,” he said. “Only move them in if we begin to see casualties. Mountain Shot and Horseless platoons, abide in place for now.”
'Abiding, sir,' came Lieutenant Linciard's response, echoed by Lieutenant Sengith.
Sarovy released his attention from the hook and took a deep breath, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his heirloom sword to help ground him. This was the worst part: waiting for the initial strike to go off, for the inevitable retaliation. He knew he should return to base—should quit lingering in the street, watching Vrallek's rearguard disappear around the bend—but it felt like as soon as he did, he would lose control.
He had always been a hands-on officer. Stepping back—stepping down, should he have to leave the captaincy… He didn't know how he would live with it.
“Captain?” said his Shadow guide. He glanced to her, brows raised, but she just nodded back the way they'd come—the way they would have to return, due to this self-indulgence of his. He should have stayed at the meeting-room, but he'd needed to see his men off and wouldn't waste Scryer Yrsian's energy on a portal.
Without the armored horde at his heels, the walk would take him far less than a half-mark. He would be back in time for the first reports.
His gaze strayed up the other end of the road to the gap among the buildings: the block-length stretch of air and rubble. Sometimes he saw it behind his eyelids, still full of flame and smoke, still echoing with the screams of the doomed, and felt the eiyetakri between his shock-numbed fingers. Felt the presence of Field Marshal Rackmar laughing at his side, face painted bloody by the light of the wards.
He'd had a choice, then—and he'd chosen to draw his sword on the horrified swarm of Shadow Folk that had emerged. To ignore that there had been children and families in those compacted buildings, or that this conquest was supposed to be about enlightening the people, not annihilating them.
“Captain,” said the agent.
Sarovy nodded and turned. There would be time enough for regrets later.
*****
Ardent grimaced as she crossed the membrane of another shadow-bubble on her way back from detention surveillance. She'd barely slept since the grand scry-meeting, and now even small things were getting on her nerves: the resistance of the umbral wall, the constant chitter of the eiyets in her ears, the fact that she'd surveilled for over a mark and seen nothing. Just the senvraka Rallant sitting in his cell, as still as a statue.
She didn't trust him in the slightest, but Sarovy had set the parameters for his disposal, and she wouldn't go against his word. Rallant had to act first before he could be dropped into the Shadow Realm and shredded by its denizens.
Not into the Dark, no matter how much she privately thought all the Light-clinging fanatics deserved it. Not Sarovy and his ilk; they were reformed—or at least reforming, struggling against their years of conditioning and cultural pressures. No, the crazy ones like this Field Marshal Rackmar and those that clung to his side despite the permanent black sky.
But then, she had always been far more comfortable with the Dark than even most Shadow Folk. Attuned to it, even. She could feel it keenly through the substance of the realm, not below so much as sidestepped—offset, like the spirit realm had been offset from the physical. Shadow was the barrier that stood between it and reality, and it was through breaching the Shadow Realm that she could draw the Dark up to do her dirty work. Not a common talent even among first-generation daughters, and as rare as eiyensuriel among those of third-generation or thinner blood.
It was taboo to use it without a desperate purpose.
Not that she'd ever cared much for taboos. She'd even gone Dark-diving before, when the frenzies of her passions grew too loud in her ears and she had no other way to vent them. The Dark was cool, silent; it drew out such violence like poison from a wound, and in the thin layer of it that existed between Shadow and Void, she would float and just let her anger wash away. Sometimes the black mirror looked back at her, mouthing promises and threats, but it didn't interest her. She had too much work to do.
She wished she could bask in it right now, but for his sake—no. He'd made an effort to respect the Shadows' ways, so she would be remiss if she didn't return the favor. To enter his presence with the scent of the Dark hanging off her would be a betrayal, even if he didn't recognize it, and she'd already assaulted him enough with that power. Equally, the loss of the sun had unsettled the Shadow Realm and its denizens, and they might not react well either.
“No reports?” she said as she crossed into another bubble, this one populated. The agents within were watching the remaining captive Seethers through the wall, set up in their own little complex much like the one Blaze Company had first been jailed in.
“No, Enforcer,” said the lead agent, ultrablack badge marking her as tenth rank. “Some scuffling, some quiet discussions, but nothing out of the ordinary. They're not clever enough to realize that talking in out-of-the-way corners just lets us eavesdrop better.”
“Assume they are clever and that those are just distractions,” she said, and the agent grimaced but nodded. “These are the ones the scryer wouldn't trust, so it's not outside the realm of possibility that they'll try something. You've got someone on the medics with them?”
“Yes ma'am, in the third-right bubble. Always watching.”
“Good. It would be nice if the Trifolders would switch to on-call doctoring instead of being there all the piking time, but...” She trailed off as the agent raised a brow. Cursing wasn't warranted; it was just her nerves acting up again.
“Anyway, keep your eyes open,” she finished, and strode off into the umbral wall.
Her destination was above, so she drifted upward through that murky substance, tiny flickers of rooms and corners passing by along one side of her. On the other, the Shadow Realm was shrouded in gloom, the spiderweb paths just a distant etchwork.
Illusory, that distance. It took only a few marks to cross from one side of the Realm to the other, even if the physical travel that entailed was thousands of miles. From talking to Mako, she figured that the Realm contracted or bent space much like portals did—just in a natural way, not the dangerous and nauseating method mages had concocted to move around. Not so severely either, since there remained some transit time.
Interesting nevertheless. Even though she'd spent a long time in Taradzur, with its mage academy and active arcane social scene, she'd never really talked with a mage until she'd met Mako. Presh had been too drunk when she'd captured him—and then too hung-over—to do anything more than bemoan the situation.
“Shouldn't you be—“ Ardent started, then blinked at the scroll Zhahri offered.
“Just came from your mother,” she said.
Ugh, Ardent thought, but took it. “Anything to report?” she said as she undid the ribbon.
Zhahri shrugged. “No new orders from the Regency, unless that's one. No change in the wards at Old Crown or the Riverwatch garrison. Our cat contacts can't get any closer than us, so that's no help, and the goblins are still digging. Oh, and the half-company just reached the surface. You're right on time.”
Ardent looked to Ticuo, consciously delaying reading of the message. “The other half?”
“Where it's supposed to be,” the Bahlaeran agent grumbled. She'd assigned him to stalk Linciard during the build-up to the operation; they both deserved each other. “No sign of subterfuge or control so far. They left out one man—that festering abomination that killed Maevor—but we have eyes on him. He's just been in the scouts' room, going slowly crazy.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Crazy, like…?”
“Like he doesn't know who he is. The scouts have kept him bottled up in there for a while, but it's not looking good.”
Ardent tilted her head. She would have expected Ticuo to be angry; he'd known the real Maevor back when that man had been a Bahlaeran agent. Instead, he just looked resigned. She knew nothing she could say would make it better, so she just nodded. “Have him watched, but I need you with the held-back platoons in the muster complex. If there's some strike on Rakut or Lakeshore, they'll need to go quickly.”
“Yes ma'am.”
“And me?” said Zhahri.
“Go to the Trifolders, make sure they're assembled too. We might need them.”
Her lieutenants nodded and disappeared into the murk of the wall, leaving her alone for a moment with her scroll. She took a deep breath, then unrolled it.
Daughter,
Your request for leniency toward the Imperial abominations has been discussed, but we have no answer for you at present. Without more evidence, we cannot judge whether they still pose a threat to our operations and the civilians who rely on us. Do continue to send us all information you gather on their creation, purpose and abilities, both before and since the fall of the Palace.
Personally, I am most concerned about your attachment to the abomination-captain. We the Regency assigned you to this situation because of your strong record in crisis management and your historical incorruptibility. If you feel you have been compromised, we ask that you recuse yourself immediately and hand over the operation to your second, Enforcer Zhahri.
With love as always,
Ereshti Anmari, ve salah Rejensiyah
It took her an effort of will not to tear the scroll to bits. Bad enough that someone had leaked her relationship with the captain back to her mother; all agents were always under scrutiny but she'd hoped for some understanding or discretion. But to be called compromised…
The worst part was that she couldn't deny it.
Calm yourself. She asks for evidence, so see this mission through and present her with some. Show her that the abominations— The specialists aren't the monsters we expected them to be. That we can respect them, rely on them—make use of them.
Of him.
Rerolling the scroll, she shoved it through her belt and pushed across the final membrane, stepping down into the shadow of the meeting room's privacy screen. Her chair was there, awaiting her between Sarovy's and Mako's, and as the scryer glanced up with a smile, she felt her earhook reconnect.
“He's on his way back,” said Mako, waving for her to sit. “Shall I dim the lights for you?”
“Please.”
A twitch of her fingers and the wisps along the ceiling darkened, until the eye-slitted lantern on the table provided most of their light. Settling into her seat, Ardent called up the eiyets from the shadows of the room and felt them accrue on her shoulders and back like a cloak. Their titters and whispers held no information yet, but she knew the reports would come soon.
“Everything in order?” said the scryer, tapping idly at one of her mirrors.
Ardent mustered a strained smile—not that it mattered, since Mako wasn't looking. “Good enough for now. But after the mission is done...we should talk.”
Mako quirked a brow, but nodded.
*****
Lark pushed through the curtain that separated the goblin ambassadors' temporary quarters from the rest of the ambassadorial suite and smiled wanly to the metal elementals on guard beyond. She hadn't gotten much sleep, what with her translation duties and Presh's training and the constant buzz of the mage gestalt in her head, and was glad that as just an apprentice she wasn't expected to take part in the military efforts. No matter how much of a crash-course the mages gave her, she couldn't hope to reach competence so soon.
Despite her pain over Rian, it had been a comfort to deal with the goblins again. She'd actually worked with the scholar, Nyanakyeshti, before, and they'd caught up on some of the gossip: who was running the technological research program now, what new designs the engineers had come up with to harness the river, the most recent additions to the explosives blacklist. She couldn't claim to understand the details, but it was nice to chat.
Xiknidai-Sharan, the warrior representative, had been less forthcoming, but she believed she'd made some headway with him too. He seemed to appreciate the captain's interest in goblin military assistance, especially since the Shadow Folk had never let them help much. Shan Cayer had wanted to preserve the division between subterranean and topside cities—why, Lark had never understood, since surely a closer alliance would have been of benefit to both sides and decreased the incidence of goblin thefts.
But Cayer's word had been law here, and she'd always been too uncertain of her standing with him to push. Now, with him gone on possibly-permanent leave, she had much to think about.
So much that she didn't notice the figure that fell in beside her as she exited the suite until Ripple twitched in alarm under her sleeve. That made her halt, look over—
And blink. “Maevor?” she said. “Shouldn't you be with the others?”
The scarred bodythief grimaced. She hadn't seen him much since their arrival, as he'd been immediately dragged off by the scouts for debriefing and then sucked into their ranks, as she'd been sucked in among the mages. He wasn't in the haphazard Blaze Company uniform now, just civilian casuals, though his unkempt and sleepless appearance combined with his truncated ears and missing fingers to make him look quite disreputable.
“I am unfit for duty,” he said, tapping his forehead. “My thoughts are...disordered. It happens with us all eventually, but they think that being near the Palace when it fell...accelerated the process.”
Lark winced in sympathy. “You were in bad shape, yeah. For a while I thought you might just give up and dissolve along with the city. But you made it out, Maevor. The effects might linger, but you can still—“
“I'm not Maevor.” With his dark eyes fixed on her, she realized the pupils had dilated wide. “I am...someone else, but Maevor is blocking the way. They call me his name in anger, spit at me… One of them hit me. She was familiar, but I don't know...”
A shiver ran down her back. Perhaps there was a darker reason she hadn't seen him much. But she was only a few steps from the ambassadors' suite, and the gestalt link still murmured in the back of her mind; if something went awry here, backup would come swiftly. “It's all right. No one's going to hit you now. Was it a Shadow agent or one of the civilians?”
His gaze slid away as if following something through the air, then jerked back to her. “Civilian. Older. Sister, I think… Sister, his sister, not mine. I don't want to be him, but I don't remember me, and the mentalists are bus
y, they don't have time for me. I've been waiting, just waiting. I feel hollow.”
Carefully, she reached out and set her hands on his shoulders. A tremor went through him, but he didn't flinch, didn't do more than drop his gaze, his expression crumpling toward tears. This wasn't a good time for him to have a breakdown, but Lark knew as well as any that such things didn't happen when they were convenient.
“It's all right,” she repeated soothingly. “You're not hollow. You're just a little mixed up. And I know it's scary, but I'm here for you. I brought you out of the city, right? I'm sorry I've been away. I'll see if I can get you assigned as a...an aide or something.”
He shook his head slowly, shaggy dark hair shifting around his face. “I'm not safe. I shouldn't be here. Should have gone with the Light, but I was frightened—I didn't want to fly away. Coward. Coward, afraid of my god. I told them what happened—the city, the Palace—and they said I should have, that they had no chance, far away as they were.”
Lark frowned. “Who told you that? The other scouts?”
Maevor looked up again, abrupt and wide-eyed enough to send a startled flutter through her. “There will be another chance. He said so. Said the Light will return and take us all into its arms again. I want that. But he said I need to help it come back. It can't do that while there are people standing in the way, blocking its radiance with their flesh, their Darkness. I told him no, you're not like that, you're a good person even if you're Dark, but he said it doesn't matter; it's still there in you, hiding in the hollows like it's trying to do with me...”
Um, Mako? she sent through the gestalt, trying to keep her expression calm. I've located a problem.
'What sort of problem?'
In answer, she focused on Maevor's expression and the stream of words that kept coming from his mouth. Beyond him, the steel-folk guard at the ambassadors' door looked indifferent; it likely had little idea of normal human interaction, for which she was grateful. I don't think he's dangerous, she sent, but someone's definitely influenced him. And considering what's going on right now…
The Drowning Dark (The War of Memory Cycle Book 4) Page 77