“Your last letter, of course.” Which she supposedly doubted the veracity of, but no matter, no matter. Waits produced a cigar case that was almost as shiny as the medals on her breast, and drawing her even shinier dress dagger, clipped their tips and offered one of the light-skinned chisels to Domingo. “Your assurance that General Ji-hyeon is committed to conducting a lawful war convinced me I could safely parley in the Cobalt camp. That, and we’re finally signing terms with General Ji-hyeon, and at this juncture she can’t afford to jeopardize her one chance out of this mess by doing something as monumentally stupid as taking me hostage.”
“Quite so,” agreed Domingo, too relieved to be annoyed with her malarkey. “It’s an affair I never would have predicted, but a lifetime coordinating joint operations with other regiments has taught me that one must often put aside smaller differences for the greater cause, especially when there’s a greater enemy.”
“How’s that?” Waits asked as she struck a match off Domingo’s bed frame and held it up to light his cigar. “Greater cause? Greater enemy?”
Domingo took his time getting the cigar going, giving his temper time to cool before he snapped something rash at Waits. Fast as satisfaction had settled around his weary bones, it went the way of the smoke rising from the end of the chisel. When he could no longer believably fuss over the stick of tubāq, he quietly asked, “What exactly are the terms you’re signing with the Cobalts?”
“Signed,” corrected Waits, then took damn near eternity getting her own cigar lit.
“Signed?”
“Just before I came here, General Ji-hyeon and I met in her tent and put ink to vellum. We’ll have you back in friendly hands by this time tomorrow, along with the rest of the Imperial hostages, and in exchange we allow the Cobalts safe passage past our lines. Everyone wins.”
It was a classic swap, but a very far cry from what Domingo had expected. Mistaking his confusion for disappointment, Waits leaned so close he could smell the garlic on her breath underneath the leathery smoke.
“Don’t worry, old lion, I’m not about to let the fox escape the yard. I stipulated we’d grant them safe passage past our cordon, but didn’t mention the Second out of Meshugg. Our reinforcements aren’t two days out, and we’ll pin the Cobalts between us—they’ve got nowhere to go, and without a nearby Gate to pull another monster out of they’ll be as quaking bluebells before the scythe. A truce today, a friendly wave as they retreat tomorrow, and on the third day? Total fucking massacre.”
Domingo bit through the end of his cigar, spluttering on crumbling brown tubāq.
Waits furrowed her brows. “I told you not to worry, you’ll get a share in the glory—you helped broker the truce, after a fashion, and if you really insist I can allow any of the Fifteenth we liberate to take part in the slaughter, I just assumed they might not be up to—”
“The terms…” said Domingo, clumsily dabbing the broken wrapper off his tongue and onto the back of his liver-spotted hand. “The terms were you work with the Cobalts to save the Empire from the Chain. The greater threat—”
Now Waits looked as shocked and betrayed as Domingo felt.
“The absolutely ludicrous terms that we rejected? The literally treasonous invitation to launch a joint operation with the Cobalts? To invade Samoth, our mother province, to conquer Diadem, our Imperial capital? To dispose both Crimson Queen and Black Pope, ushering in a golden age of namby-pamby love and unity? You thought we accepted those terms?”
Of course she hadn’t. Domingo wouldn’t have, if he were in her saddle. Had there been any hope at all?
“I know how it looks, Waits, believe me, I do,” said Domingo, aware of how dotty he must sound but needing to convince her, needing her to listen more than he’d ever needed anything in the entire history of his command. “But Pope Y’Homa is in open rebellion against the Crown. She sacrificed my regiment to bring back the Sunken Kingdom, and devils only know what else. If we don’t stop her, and soon, it will be too late.”
“It already is,” said Waits with that damnable pitying frown all of Domingo’s lessers seemed to be adopting of late. “Indsorith is no longer queen. The Black Pope has arrested her.”
“What?” Domingo had never cared much for Indsorith, finding her entirely too much like a watered-down version of her Cobalt predecessor and only allying himself with her because even twenty years ago he had been sharp enough to see what a threat the Burnished Chain posed to the Empire, and knowing it would either be Queen Indsorith or the Black Pope in the throne room. Even when he’d gone behind Her Majesty’s back and worked with Y’Homa to bring down the second Cobalt rebellion and avenge his son he had never dreamed it would come to this. Compared to whatever Chainite reforms Y’Homa’s puppet would inevitably enact, the bank-breaking populist policies Indsorith forced on her provinces would look positively benign. “Who’s the new queen, then? Not even Y’Homa would dare put herself on the Crimson Throne without the approval of the provinces!”
“There’s no queen at all,” said Waits in the resigned voice of a career officer passing on an unpopular order. “I’m sure there was a lot of loyal blood spilled in Diadem during the coup, but whatever resistance those faithful to Indsorith were able to raise has been quickly suppressed. We received official notice that the Crimson Empire is now and forever governed by the will of the Fallen Mother, which is to say, Her Grace.”
“And did you stop to think those letters might be forged?” Domingo cried, desperate for some explanation other than the obvious one—that he had not only fulfilled the prophecies of an insane fundamentalist, but also handed her the keys to the throne room.
“As I said, it’s too late,” said Waits. “But only for enemies of the church, which is to say, the state.”
“We never agreed on much, Waits, but you and I always stood together against the Chain,” said Domingo, recognizing his dead son’s plaintive whine coming out of his mouth. “Every uprising, every civil war, Azgaroth depended on Thao and Thao depended on Azgaroth, and we stopped the Burnished Chain together! And now we have to stop them again! It’s not too late!”
“Domingo,” Waits said patiently. “The people of Thao depend on their regiment to protect them, and as for Azgaroth, well… I hate to bring it up at a time like this, but you seem to have mislaid most of your army.”
“That’s why we work with the Cobalts!” Domingo tossed the cigar away, grabbing the sleeve of Waits’s uniform and pulling her down to his bedside. “Can’t you see that? With Indsorith deposed you have no reason not to! We’re at war with the Chain, and not for the first time! And we can beat them, just like we always do!”
“Release me!” said Waits, jerking her arm away. “How dare you suggest Thao commit mass suicide—did you lose your mind as well as your regiment? I’m sorry to see you crack, Domingo, I really am. But unless you want things to go very, very badly for your now undefended Azgaroth, I strongly suggest you make peace with reality. There is no war—there’s not a city-state or province in the Crimson Empire that’s foolish enough to stand alone against the Chain. It’s over. The Burnished Chain has won, but the only losers will be those mad enough to resist them.”
“We can beat them,” gasped Domingo, collapsing back onto his pillow. “With the Cobalt Company, we can still beat them. They have soldiers, they have the old Villains, and if Zosia overcame King Kaldruut, by all the faithful stewards who came before us she can overcome a punk like Y’Homa.”
“Oh, Domingo,” said Waits sadly. “You’ve really lost it, haven’t you? Cold Zosia’s been dead for over twenty years. Ji-hyeon Bong leads the Cobalt Company. General Ji-hyeon. You know this, you mentioned her in your letters. Zosia’s long gone.”
“You don’t know a devildamn thing,” said Domingo. “I’m sharp as I ever was. Sharper. You’re the one who’s lost it if you think capitulating to the Chain will save you or your people. They’ve brought back Jex Toth, woman, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Yes, yes, so
you said in your letters,” said Waits, standing in that unmistakable way of people who think they’re being subtle but obviously can’t quit the room fast enough. “Assuming I didn’t dismiss your allegations as the ravings of a lunatic, what makes you think they’d convince me to fight the inevitable? If the Chain was able to exterminate the Fifteenth from halfway across the Star and conquer Diadem in a matter of days, why in heaven’s name would I try to tangle with them? Far better to become a feast day Chainite and tithe a little more than we used to than have a Gate open up under our feet. Who knows, maybe they’ll even start calling Thao the Garden of the Star once more, and I know that doesn’t sound like much to a foreigner, but—”
“Coward,” Domingo spit. “Yellow-marrowed, chicken-livered coward.”
“A wise general knows that surrender is sometimes necessary, for that same greater good you were going on about,” said Waits. “Your problem is you never let yourself admit defeat. No wonder you’re falling apart. I strongly advise you to pull your shit together, Domingo, because once we’ve gotten you out of this… this mess of your own making, you’re going to have to make some sacrifices, for the safety of Azgaroth. You can’t keep spouting—”
“What do you know about sacrifice?” snarled Domingo, knowing he should shut up, he should let her go so he could regroup, but finding that even his mouth was betraying his orders. Or maybe it was his heart, it scarcely made a difference. “You’re finished, you hear me? Finished! I won’t let you get away with this, I won’t! If I have to crawl over there and gnaw your legs off I’ll do it, because you know the real difference between us, Waits? I’ve killed more Chainites on my back than you have on your feet, you bloody coward!”
“Oh dear,” said Waits, and the worry on her face told Domingo he’d pushed the overly cautious colonel just a smidge too far. “Oh dear oh dear oh dear. You seemed so lucid at first, I never imagined… well. This is a disappointment, but I want you to listen to me, Domingo, with whatever’s left in that soft skull of yours—this isn’t your fault. It was my mistake. I shouldn’t have spoken so freely with you, and I certainly shouldn’t have given you that cigar, your health being what it is. A coughing fit, and then… a final sacrifice, for the good of the Crimson Empire.”
Waits moved fast, but Domingo moved faster. It was almost like old times. She had acquired the nock in her left ear from a friendly duel with Domingo many years ago, the Thaoan never able to get a point on the Azgarothian, while he was able to rough her up even with a dull fencing steel. Those contests had been on flat parade grounds, however, and now the field was anything but level. So accustomed to dominating his opponent, Domingo didn’t even think to cry out for the guards, and he was only able to weakly hold her off him for a moment before she wrenched the pillow out from under his head and planted it over his face.
He struggled, but there wasn’t much for it—she was far too strong, and he was far too weak, his one good arm losing its grip on the wrist that ground the pillow into his face. And then came what might have been the worst shock of Domingo’s entire life: he was wrong, there was a hell, and he must be fast on his way, for as Waits smothered him he distinctly heard a demonic chuckle rising up from below. He’d kept them waiting long enough, and now it was time for the devils to feast.
The pillow went limp and Waits’s crushing weight fell away from Domingo. Yanking the pillow off his face, he saw what had drawn the colonel away from her victim—a huge, hairless creature was crawling out from under the foot of the raised cot, the left side of its almost-human face pale as clotted cream and the right as dark as blackberry sauce.
Waits opened her mouth to shout for the guards, as Domingo should have done from the first, but then the yellow-robed, piebald thing on the floor raised a bruised, tattooed hand and whispered too softly for Domingo to hear. Instead of a cry for help, Waits’s mouth issued a rapid-fire chain of pops as every single one of her teeth exploded; it was as if each pristine white kernel had been packed full of black powder. Tiny wet shrapnel stung Domingo’s cheeks, landed sweetly in his gaping mouth. Blood began slowly cascading from Waits’s gums, and from there down her chin. She didn’t scream, though, like Domingo would have; instead she just slowly raised a violently shaking hand to her ashen face, making a gasping “uh uh uh uh” sound. Domingo would have preferred screaming, frankly. Then she toppled over without another sound, and the monster at the foot of his bed rose cautiously to a crouch, as though it half expected Waits to get back up for another round like some unstoppable villain in one of Lupitera’s ghastly grand guignols.
When Waits stayed limp on the ground, the hulking figure turned and smiled at Domingo, and he saw its swollen face wasn’t just the color of berries and cream; the skin actually had the same consistency, lumpy and seedy. The cream had evidently gone off, too, and the rich dark sauce was rancid, and then the misshapen grotesque did the worst thing in the entire world: it picked the pillow up off the floor, tucked it under one armpit, planted its large, scab-striped hands on the end of the cot, and slowly crawled up the bed to lie beside Domingo. It was a tight squeeze.
“Hullo, Colonel Cavalera,” said the creature that could only be Hoartrap the Touch, the Witch of Meshugg. “Be a dear and lift your head?”
Domingo did as he was told, drooling out Waits’s tooth crumbs since he didn’t even dare spit without the warlock’s invitation. Once the pillow was beneath his skull he relaxed back into it, and Hoartrap did the same, so they lay side by side looking at the snow-baggy ceiling of the tent. It was like being back in the wagon with Brother Wan, only even worse.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Hoartrap said after they had lain in silence for a time.
“Do you?” asked Domingo, nearly retching on the aftertaste of Waits.
“It’s an obvious question,” said Hoartrap. “How long was he under my bed? Well, don’t you worry, I slipped under just before our visitor arrived—you think I have nothing better to do than play boogeyman for overgrown children? Tut tut tut.”
“Get on with it,” said Domingo, closing his eyes.
“It?” Hoartrap sounded genuinely curious.
“I won’t play your games, monster—kill me like you did Waits, or make it even worse, I don’t care anymore. Just do it.”
“You are just as cheerful as a cherub, aren’t you?” said Hoartrap. “And she’s not dead, though she’ll probably wish she was once she wakes up. And as for you, my boy, you’re the last person in the whole camp I’d want dead, maybe the last person left on the Star.”
“I… what?”
“It came as a surprise to me, too,” said Hoartrap, sitting up on one elbow to gaze down at his trapped quarry, making it so Domingo had no choice but to look at his filmy blue eyes, his discolored, waxen skin, his tattoos that subtly pulsed like veins beneath the few remaining patches of white on his deeply bruised flesh. “I’ll admit it, I came here expecting to catch you collaborating with the Thaoan colonel. But instead of a foe I find a friend, and a fast one at that. Your oration was straight out of a tragedy, so dramatic, so spirited! And so true. Domingo, I—may I call you Domingo?”
Domingo gave the faintest nod. Was the witch toying with him? He had to be.
“No matter how hard I try to tell them, Domingo, nobody listens,” sighed Hoartrap. “I mean, Ji-hyeon kind of understands, but not the way you and I do. All that talk of coming together to stop the Chain, crawling on your tummy if you have to—I got gooseflesh, Domingo, honestly. Here, feel my hand—I’m getting it again just thinking about it!”
Domingo obligingly touched the back of the sorcerer’s massive hand. It was true, where the flesh wasn’t bulging with contusions and rough with thick, crusty scabs it felt as bumpy as a freshly plucked chicken. His mouth dry and his teeth sympathetically aching for those of Waits, Domingo whispered, “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing that you don’t want for yourself,” said Hoartrap, raising his hand to cradle the plum-hued half of his face as he looked dreamily at
his bedridden captive. “You just get me, Domingo, and I swear on all the devils I ever ate and the few who got away, I get you, too. I never would have suspected it before today, but that just goes to show you never really know anybody until you’ve spent some time hiding under their bed, hanging on to their every word. We’re kindred spirits, you and I.”
Kindred spirits? Domingo hoped his horror wasn’t too evident as Hoartrap rambled on. The warlock was either oblivious to his confidant’s discomfort or encouraged by it.
“I just wish you had been there when I called that devil queen down on the Thaoans—I know you would have appreciated the elegance, the irony, and not gotten hung up on a few minor miscalculations. Everyone just wants to whine whine whine, as if I were a line chef who oversalted the soup instead of a savant attempting to re-create miracles undreamt of since the Age of Wonders, and succeeding! Succeeding beyond even my most optimistic predictions! If I’d even considered the possibility I might actually tempt a queen into taking the bait instead of some lesser, middling royalty then you can bet your soul I would have taken more precautions. But next time, oh yes, next time… like Domingo Cava—I’m so sorry, like Domingo Hjortt, Hoartrap the Touch does not fuck the same goat twice!”
Hoartrap was breathing quite heavily, staring at his prisoner, and to his profound disappointment Domingo realized the warlock was waiting for a response. “Erm… Or even the once, if we can help it?”
Hoartrap’s eyes narrowed, and then he brayed with wild laughter, embracing Domingo as he shook with glee. The giant witch smelled a lot better than he looked, like jasmine soap, and discovering in such a fashion what fragrance Hoartrap the Touch washed with Domingo counted as a low point not just in his morning but his whole life.
“Seriously, Domingo, why didn’t we do this years ago?” asked Hoartrap when his giggling subsided. “Don’t answer that; I know, I know, it wasn’t the right time, we both had a lot of growing up to do. But now we’re ready, aren’t we? Because it’s not enough to just know what needs to be done, it’s not enough to want to do it, you have to need to do it—and you can’t need it until you’ve seen firsthand how bad it can get. And we have. I can’t imagine what it was like for you, looking out from the far side of the valley once their ritual really got swinging and you realized just what you’d done to your own people, the forces you’d set loose on the world. I’m sure you lost a lot of friends that day.”
A Blade of Black Steel Page 40