Bane and Shadow

by Jon Skovron

  During that year, the Council of Biomancery and the Vinchen order watched with increasing alarm as the Dark Mage gathered his horde. When it became clear that his goal was the very crown itself, they knew something must be done. But in the centuries after Burness Vee and Selk the Brave, the relationship between the Vinchen and the biomancers had become strained. Emperor Kelwaton was notoriously cruel to the peasantry, and while the biomancers obeyed his commands, as they obeyed every emperor’s commands, many of the older Vinchen were troubled by His Imperial Majesty’s disregard for his humblest subjects. That the Dark Mage was recruiting so many peasants only added to the tension. The biomancers argued for swift and decisive action against the growing army, while the Vinchen insisted that those under the Dark Mage’s sway were victims rather than traitors and should not simply be slaughtered as if they were voluntary enemies to the crown.

  While the biomancers and Vinchen bickered, the Dark Mage completed his preparations for conquest. Nearly half the islands in the empire were under his command when he began his march on Stonepeak. The loyalty he inspired in his troops—or perhaps forced upon them—was without equal. They landed on the west coast of the island and marched inland on foot, not stopping for food or rest until they reached the city walls. Then, over a dozen men and women gave their lives when the Dark Mage turned them into living bombs that sundered the Rain Gate.

  Once inside the city, any other army might have been slowed by the temptation to rape and pillage the defenseless townsfolk. But the Dark Mage commanded his troops to immediately continue their march through the city to the palace, and so they did. The imperial soldiers put up a fierce resistance, of course. Lines of cannon roared down the wide thoroughfares, killing hundreds in minutes. But the Dark Mage was not concerned with losses, and the imperial soldiers soon realized they faced an enemy who did not fear death. Some soldiers fled. Others buckled to the will of the Dark Mage and turned their cannons on their own comrades. Over a thousand men died in a single afternoon.

  While the Council of Biomancery and the Vinchen order had been locked in furious debate, one biomancer and one Vinchen had decided to take the matter into their own hands. Xunera Ray and Manay the True were not yet the leaders they were destined to become, but they saw the absurdity of their respective orders arguing ideology while the Dark Mage amassed his army. Even though neither was particularly fond of the other, Xunera Ray and Manay the True put aside their animosity for the sake of the empire. They reasoned that if the Dark Mage was slain, those under his sway would be released, and the army would disperse of its own accord. So they began work on a weapon of tremendous power that would be able to counteract the Dark Mage’s power and any biomancery he might use in his defense. Like many Vinchen swordsmen, Manay was a master blacksmith. Xunera Ray specialized in aspects of biomancery that dealt with metallurgy. Together, they forged the sword known as the Song of Sorrows. It took them months to complete. Indeed, the handle had not even been properly wrapped yet when the Dark Mage and his army stormed the Lightning Gate.

  There are countless bards who will sing of how Manay the True slew the Dark Mage. Needless to say, most of their tales are more fancy than fact. In reality, the fight was short and ugly. With the handle still unwrapped, every blow cut into Manay’s hands. Some say he wept as he hewed through the Dark Mage’s guards, though from pain or the grief at killing those under the Mage’s sway, we will probably never know. By the time he reached the Dark Mage, Manay’s hands were a bloody mess, the steel handle sunk down to the bone.

  There is one thing the bards sing of that was apparently true by all witness accounts. The moment the Song of Sorrows entered the Dark Mage’s heart, the Mage’s expression was not of agony, but of relief.

  But the death of the Dark Mage was not the end of the damage his actions caused the empire. Although his army willingly dispersed, Emperor Kelwaton still hungered for reprisal. Xunera Ray was able to convince His Imperial Majesty to pardon any noble-person who had been a victim of the Dark Mage’s power, but that meant the emperor brought his full wrath to bear upon the peasants. A thousand people may have died on the day the Dark Mage stormed the palace gates, but as many as ten thousand died in the weeks that followed.

  The biomancers followed the will of the emperor, as they were sworn to do. The Vinchen, however, spoke out against what they considered to be the needless and unjustified slaughter of innocents. A direct confrontation between the two orders seemed inevitable. But Manay the True realized that such a conflict, especially following the reign of the Dark Mage, would tear the empire apart. So he took his Vinchen into seclusion down in the cold, savage Southern Isles. Xunera Ray generously allowed him to keep the Song of Sorrows as an acknowledgment of the sacrifice the Vinchen order was making for the good of the empire. And there the Vinchen have remained ever since, becoming more out of touch and inconsequential with each passing generation, while the Council of Biomancery has remained steadfastly loyal to every emperor who has come since.

  During my introduction, I proposed that the Dark Mage’s actions, though volatile and treasonous, were for the greater good of the empire. Many historians believe that controlling the will of people was the Dark Mage’s most fearsome power. But that was not so. Over a century later, the great scholarly biomancer Yornel Kiv uncovered the Dark Mage’s writings on the island of Walta. Among the more personal entries, he found a series of prophecies. One of those predictions was his own death at the hands of Manay the True. Since then, several more of his prophecies have come true, and none have yet proved false. Most disturbingly, there is a prophecy that one day, the Empire of Storms will be lost to a conflict incited by a country far across the sea. That country could only be Aukbontar, whose technological advancements far surpass our own. This is why Emperor Martarkis wisely shut our borders to them, and authorized the Council of Biomancery to use any means necessary to develop weapons that will ensure our supremacy in the inevitable war to come.

  I believe that we have a chance to prevail over our enemy. But I cannot help but wonder, if the Dark Mage had taken control of the empire, could he have truly united the hearts of all his subjects? If so, how powerful might we have become? Strong enough to defeat Aukbontar? Perhaps even strong enough to rule the world? This is of course merely idle speculation. What’s done is done. But there may come a time when we find ourselves longing for someone with the unyielding will of the Dark Mage.

  Acknowledgments

  My friend Eve passed away from cancer while I was writing this book. She and I went to college together back in the late ’90s, and remained friends ever since. She was there for me at a difficult time in my life, so when she was diagnosed with lung cancer, I tried to be there for her. Her battle with cancer was long and painful, but through it all, she never gave up. Only months before the end, she and I were still making plans for my sons and me to come visit her and her husband in the mountains. It’s difficult to parse out how something like this affects your writing, but there is no doubt that both the grief I felt at her loss, and the inspiration I found in her courage, were a profound influence on this book.

  I would like to thank Stephanie Perkins, Libba Bray, Diana Peterfreund, Jessica Spotswood, and Holly Black for providing insight and encouragement at times when I desperately needed it. To my editor, Devi Pillai, for always asking the hard questions (although she still hasn’t made me cry). And of course to my agent, Jill Grinberg, and the whole JGLM team for their boundless and steadfast support.

  I did quite a lot of research for this book, mostly in terms of naval culture and tactics. In particular, Master and Commander by Patrick O’Brian and The Sea Rover’s Practice: Pirate Tactics and Techniques by Benerson Little were a tremendous help.

  extras

  meet the author

  JON SKOVRON is the author of Hope and Red, as well as several young adult novels, and his short stories have appeared in publications such as ChiZine and Baen’s Universe. He lives just outside Washington, D.C., with his two sons a
nd two cats. The Empire of Storms is his first adult fantasy series.

  introducing

  If you enjoyed

  BANE AND SHADOW,

  look out for

  THE EMPIRE OF STORMS: BOOK THREE

  by Jon Skovron

  1

  “They say he comes from the blackness of night itself.” Old Turnel the mason put down his tankard of ale and wiped the foam from his bushy mustache. “And that he oozes in and out of the dark like he was part of it.”

  The other three wags at the table nodded into their own tankards. They’d all heard similar things. The Wheelhouse Tavern was especially crowded that night, as it had been nearly every night the last few weeks. Folks in Stonepeak didn’t feel safe lately, so it was natural for them to gather. And yet they couldn’t stop talking about the thing that filled them with such dread.

  “Someone told me that he makes no sounds and has no mouth,” said Mash the ink maker. Most people in his trade could be easily spotted by the dark purple stains on their fingers. But Mash always wore gloves while he worked, so his hands were unusually pale and soft.

  “No, I heard he had three mouths,” disagreed Trina the cobbler. She had short hair for a woman. She said she didn’t like the feel of it when it was tied back, and she couldn’t wear it loose or it would get in her eyes while she hunched over her work. So instead she just cut it off. “One mouth spits acid, one spits poison, and one screams so loud, it makes your ears bleed.”

  “Regardless of whether he’s got three mouths or none at all,” said Old Turnel, “it’s a fact that he’s killed a great many folk in the last month. I seen some of his handiwork myself, and them poor gafs weren’t burned or poisoned or anything like that. Every last one of them had the life choked out of them, but without no finger marks on their necks.”

  The people had given this new killer the nickname Stonepeak Strangler. His victims had been turning up every night, from Artisan Way all the way down to the docks. Not just men, but women and children, too. Unlike the Shadow Demon, who had always targeted dissidents and troublemakers, this Stonepeak Strangler seemed to have no motive or pattern. And he was all the scarier for that. Parents had started keeping their children indoors at night, and even the mildest mollies carried a knife with them when they were about town. Over the last month or so, the capital city of the Empire of Storms had become gripped in a fear that seemed very close to boiling into citywide panic.

  “I heard he can’t abide the sun, though,” said Mash. “That’s something, ain’t it?”

  “If it’s true,” said Trina.

  “My tom heard a funny thing down at the docks,” said Hooper, the dressmaker. He was a quiet wag, but greatly respected by the others as the most successful among them. He’d even made gowns for Archlady Bashim and Lady Hempist, two of the most fashionable noblewomen in the empire. “You know that old warehouse along the west bank of Trader’s Fork?”

  “The one slowly falling in on itself these past ten years?” asked Trina.

  “That’s the one,” said Hooper. “Anyway, my tom was down there bartering with Jacklow the fisherman. You know him?”

  “He’s my cousin!” Mash said, always eager to impress Hooper any way he could.

  Hooper gave the youngest member of their group a steady look, then said, “Be that as it may, my tom and I have known Jacklow to be a truthy wag who always speaks crystal. And he said someone’s been lurking down in that warehouse for the last month or so. Someone who ain’t entirely… natural.”

  “That’s about the same time these killings started,” observed Old Turnel.

  Hooper nodded gravely as he drank from his tankard.

  “How does he know someone unnatural’s been lurking?” asked Trina. “He seen ’em?”

  Hooper shook his head. “He only hears him, just around sunset, crying and moaning like some kind of beastly thing. Happens nearly every night, he said.”

  Mash shuddered. “Like to give me nightmares, we keep talking in this direction.”

  “Don’t be a ponce,” said Hooper.

  Mash turned to Trina with an appealing look. “Don’t you think so, Trin? This one’s even worse than that Shadow Demon we had a while back.”

  Before Trina could reply, a new voice cut in:

  “You think so?”

  The speaker sat at the next table over, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed. He wore the fine jacket and cravat of a lord, which made him a little out of place in the Wheelhouse. But even stranger, he wore glasses that were tinted so dark they hid his eyes. “And who would win in a fight, do you think?”

  The artisans all looked at one another.

  “Between the Strangler and the Shadow Demon?” asked Hooper.

  “Personally, my money would be on the Demon,” said the newcomer.

  “Why would they fight?” asked Mash.

  “Like as not, they’d be in league,” agreed Trina.

  The newcomer shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “But see now,” said Old Turnel, finger and thumb rubbing his mustache thoughtfully. “They could be competing, you know. For territory.”

  “Could be,” said the newcomer. “Or maybe they’d fight because the Shadow Demon has seen the error of his ways and wants to make amends for his past crimes.”

  They all looked at one another again.

  “Ain’t seen you around here, stranger,” said Old Turnel finally. “You got a name?”

  The man grinned. “You can call me Red.”

  Red went down to the docks the next evening. The sky had that peculiar gold color of twilight that made things seem not quite real as he walked past ships being loaded and unloaded. He wore the soft gray clothes the biomancers had given him when they’d forced him to be the Shadow Demon. His lacy clothes would have stood out in the dockyards, and if he ran into trouble, they would have hindered his movement.

  He’d always considered the docks of Paradise Circle big, with over twenty piers, and upward of fifty ships coming and going at any given time. But the docks of Stonepeak stretched all the way down the Burness River from the heart of the city, through the remains of the Thunder Gate, to the coast. There were even piers built up on some of the larger tributaries that fed into the Burness. And where the Burness met the sea, the largest docks in the empire stretched for miles along the southern coast. All told, there were nearly eighty piers and over a hundred warehouses. Red couldn’t even guess the number of ships that came and went.

  Thankfully, Trader’s Fork was one of the smaller, less populated tributaries, mainly used as a trading post between artisans for items unrelated to the needs of the nobility. That meant it wasn’t well policed or nearly as crowded. It was, Red decided, a perfect place for a monster to hide. Red hoped that Jacklow the fisherman had been right about hearing something “unnatural” coming from the abandoned warehouse down there. Lady Hempist had assigned this mission to him weeks ago, and this was his first promising lead.

  He made his way along the riverbank, skirting the people still working on the docks. There were more than he’d expected this close to sunset, and that worried him a little. Merivale had made it crystal that this mission was to be carried out unobtrusively, like a proper spy mission should be. He wasn’t supposed to draw any unnecessary attention or increase the panic of a city already on edge. He also had to hide his identity by wearing a gray scarf over the lower half of his face. Apparently, it wouldn’t do if anyone recognized the lord of Pastinas Manor out hunting monsters. At first it had seemed silly to keep his mouth and nose covered, yet leave his eyes visible. They were by far his most distinguishing trait. But Merivale had pointed out that, as Lord Pastinas, he was hardly ever seen without his tinted glasses, so most people didn’t even know his eyes were red.

  Red finally reached the warehouse around sunset. That cobbler hadn’t been exaggerating when she said the place was collapsing. Most of the roof was gone, and the walls were beginning to cave in on one another. There were two entra
nces. One at the riverbank, where goods had likely once been loaded into the warehouse directly from boats. The other entrance was on the opposite side, where those same items might have been loaded onto wagons for transport into the city. Given the fact that all of the victims had been inland, Red thought it likely his prey was better on land than sea. He decided to approach from the landward entrance, cutting off the easiest escape route.

  As he drew closer to the warehouse, he heard an unsettling keening sound from inside. Somewhere between the cry of a child and the whine of a wounded animal. Red had been trying to formulate an image of what this creature might look like in his mind, but the various descriptions he’d heard had all been so conflicting, and he still had no idea what he would find inside. The only thing he was fairly certain about was that it had been made by a biomancer, with their usual lack of compassion or basic decency.

  He saw a large window above the entrance. The glass had already been broken, and he decided it would be a little better than just walking in through the door. He climbed up the wall, his heightened sense of touch allowing his fingers and soft-shoed toes to find any crack or edge that would help his ascent.

  He perched on the window ledge and surveyed the inside of the warehouse with his red, catlike eyes. It was a large, open space cluttered with rusted boating equipment, coils of rotting rope, and chunks of roofing that had already fallen. There were windows near the ceiling that let in the last faint rays of sun, drenching everything in crimson.

  The painful cries came from beneath an upturned rowboat by the wall. There was enough space under that boat to allow for a fairly large creature, but whatever it was would have to flip the boat over to get out, which would leave it vulnerable for a moment. That’s when Red would strike.