Of Darkness and Dawn (The Elder Empire: Shadow Book 2)

by Will Wight

When the Head of the Magisters drew up his Intent, his staff rippling up its length with flames, she felt both the heat and the weight of his power. His will would descend on her like a hammer, blasting her to pieces or setting her aflame.

  Part of her mind cried out in protest. Why did I start this fight? I didn't want any of this! I want to go home and go to sleep. But another, louder part wondered why it was taking her so long to finish. There were still plenty of Magisters running around, just waiting to be devoured.

  Both parts agreed on one thing: she didn't want to die.

  Shera raised her knife, holding its power out to defend her. Wispy green light met orange fire. The Intent of the Guild Head passed over her in a wash of flame, leaving her feeling scalded and sunburned...but she didn't catch fire herself. The power inside her ebbed and faded, as though she'd been drained.

  And the wisp hung in midair, brighter than ever.

  Somehow, she'd managed to steal the force of his Intent. But instead of moving into her body as usual, it stayed outside. It wouldn't obey her commands, either; she couldn't absorb it, or direct it to move. It floated in the air, like a rich and juicy fruit just out of reach.

  Lucan would have wondered about the specifics of this ability, how to use it to her advantage and add it to her arsenal as another weapon. She was just glad she was still alive. She'd ask questions later, after she got Syphren wrapped again, after she had adjusted to her Soulbound Vessel a little more. Lucan and the Readers among the Architects had thought she would be fine with controlling her powers, so long as Syphren's constant influence was weakened by the bandages. Even Jorin Curse-breaker had seemed to think so, and no one would know about cursed Vessels better than he would.

  They were all wrong. She couldn't control herself, and she knew it.

  But she'd feel better after she drained someone else.

  She lurched toward Maxeus, bringing her dagger up, when she felt something tear into the skin of her shoulder. Shera swung to one side, raising her blade in an instinctive defense, only to come face-to-face with Ayana.

  Her expression was businesslike, focused on the enemy, but she gave Shera a glance. “The fight is over, Gardener,” she said.

  Not yet, Shera thought. There are still plenty of enemies left.

  Darius hurried into view, passing through the smoke. The air was barely breathable even down on the floor, where she and Ayana crouched. The two Pilgrims with him were bent nearly double, hands clapped over their mouths and nose as they coughed. Darius ignored the smoke without a care; an advantage of having a black Elder void for a face, she supposed. “Guild Head!” he called. “Our intentions are peaceful! Would you please follow us outside? It's getting a bit warm for my tastes.”

  A blazing crate fell off a stack of its fellows, and one of the Pilgrims scurried out the door.

  Maxeus was still staring at the green flame Shera had left floating in midair. The smoke seemed to bend away from him, leaving a bubble of clear air around his upper body. His masked face snapped to Shera. “Why are you carrying a weapon of Nakothi, Consultant?”

  Ayana tugged on her arm, trying to pull Shera aside, but Syphren's urging kept her in place. She couldn't leave, not yet. The Guild Head was still here. “This is the blade that pierced her heart.”

  Even under his mask, Maxeus' eyes visibly widened. “This is...you are...”

  Darius' hand rested on the Magister's shoulder, and both his Pilgrims had left him. “Guild Head, please. Let's not make this more of a tragedy than it already is.”

  Maxeus turned to say something to the knight, which meant he broke his eye contact with Shera. She hadn't planned anything. She barely thought of moving. It was like Syphren guided her actions.

  She leaped toward Mekendi Maxeus, stabbing upwards with her Vessel.

  He moved his hand as though to catch the end of the blade, powerful Intent sweeping down to block the blow. Ordinary Readers could never have had any effect on the course of a weapon. The only ones she'd ever met with the sheer power and concentration to do it were Lucan, the Regents, and the Emperor. Apparently Maxeus was on the same tier, because his Intent locked her hands in place.

  For an instant.

  Syphren flared brighter, feeding and growing more powerful the greater the power that opposed it. The Vessel flashed green, ghostly hands pressing against the surface of its glass blade.

  Half a second later, the tip pierced Maxeus' chest.

  A blinding, glorious river of emerald strength flowed down the Vessel, into her arms, and spread throughout her body. Pain and physical exhaustion no longer concerned her; even her thoughts seemed clearer than before. She knelt under the smoke, taking a deep breath of the cleaner air even as the Guild Head's body toppled to the ground.

  The cold grip of ice around her heart had melted completely, leaving her feeling warm and content, as had all sense of discontent. Why had she fought this? It was a beautiful feeling, and she could never have enough.

  In fact, Ayana would be able to provide her with another infusion of power. She wasn't a Reader, but her Imperial Guard heritage made her feel different than other people. An exotic flavor, so to speak. And she was a friend—friends were supposed to share with other friends. That was a lesson she'd learned early on, in Maxwell's house.

  When she looked over to Ayana, the woman was already gone.

  That was all right. There was still someone else here, someone with an even more powerful Intent.

  Darius Allbright stood in the firelight, silvery armor covering his body and a gleaming sword in his right hand. With his left, he pulled away his hood, revealing a featureless black oval in place of his face.

  He tossed the hood aside, replacing it with a helmet strapped to his belt. “Gardener Shera, I've just witnessed you murdering a Guild Head without authorization. I'm going to have to take you into custody.”

  They were official words, polite words, Luminian words. All they meant was that he wanted to fight her, which brightened Shera's day. The smoke tingled and burned in her eyes, but she smiled anyway.

  At the end of a fight, she got to kill someone.

  And her fights usually ended very, very quickly.

  She dashed at him, relying on Syphren's ability to pierce Intent. In order to combat the Handmaiden, Lucan had given the blade the power to turn a target's defenses against itself, a tricky piece of investment that had worked in complete harmony with the knife's own long history of piercing armor and taking lives. The armor of the Luminian knights was legendary, but thanks to its centuries of Intent, Syphren would tear through it even more easily than through ordinary sheet metal.

  He anticipated her, swinging his sword in a blurring arc. Reflected light flashed, and burning timbers tumbled to the ground behind him.

  It hadn't scratched her, but it kept her at bay. A single grain of irritation began to rub at her. It wasn't fair that he could ignore the smoke, while she had to deal with the stinging eyes and persistent urge to cough. And she had to stay low to even catch a breath.

  Now he was trying to stall. He was ruining her fun.

  Syphren agreed; if the Vessel had a face, it would be scowling along with her.

  “Come with me, Shera. I'll beg you if I have to.”

  She hopped up onto a crate, leaping off instantly and driving her blade down at an angle. He slapped her aside with the flat of his blade, which was like slapping her in the shoulder with a hammer. She fell, but managed to sweep a leg at his ankles, toppling him to the floor.

  She rolled on top of him, holding her Vessel in both hands. Her eyes stung and her chest filled with a cough, but the flush of victory washed over her. Now, she'd get to feed on him.

  The point of his sword poked at her stomach, not quite hard enough to pierce the cloth. He stared up at her, his face empty as an endless void. “Don't make me kill you,” he said.

  His voice sounded like Lucan's.

  She couldn't figure out why. They didn't even sound alike, not really, and Lucan had never said
those words to her. But there was something in the actions that accompanied the words, how he went to every extreme to avoid killing her, that shook her.

  What if it was Lucan here, with her? Would she have turned on him too?

  No, that's different. He's an exception. There was nothing wrong here; Lucan was a friend, while Darius was an ally she barely knew. She had no use for him.

  Syphren urged her to sink back into contentment, back to the comfortable haze of combat.

  And it was so comfortable, so tempting, that she rejected it completely. It wasn't hers, it couldn't be hers.

  She was never that happy while she was awake.

  Shera hurled the green knife toward the door, where it skidded to a halt against the wall. She swayed over Darius, the stolen energy tingling inside her skin.

  “I'm getting a little tired,” she said.

  Then she collapsed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Eight years ago

  Shera walked back through the darkness, after yet another secret meeting with Yala, the High Councilor. She hadn't been kidnapped this time, though she had been woken in the earliest hours of the morning, so she'd almost killed the Shepherds sent for her out of sheer grumpiness.

  In the eight months since Silverreach, the Emperor had spent less and less time training them personally. He'd given them over to other Gardeners, to members of the Guilds, even to Jarelys Teach a handful of times. Those lessons were less than helpful—they were essentially guides in how to avoid panicking when confronted with a vastly more powerful force. Now, he'd even sent them back to the Gray Island to do work for the Consultants, with the idea that practical applications of their skills would help them in their ultimate confrontation with him.

  The High Council of Architects had taken the opportunity to grab Shera and pump her for as much information as they could. She wasn't sure why, but Yala seemed impatient. If the Emperor wasn't dead in the next five years, Shera was convinced that Yala would try to get it done herself.

  In the few times she'd seen Kerian over the past year, Shera had tried to gauge how the older Gardener felt about the Emperor's secret assignment, but Kerian practically refused to address it. Kerian was on the Council of Architects, having retired from Gardening years ago, and it was said she was on the path to High Councilor. But she hadn’t made it yet.

  Maybe Kerian wasn’t privy to the same intelligence as the three High Councilors, or maybe she had simply been ordered not to talk about. But she wouldn't explain anything. She only changed the subject when Shera brought it up.

  So Shera walked away from meetings like this one frustrated, tired, and with her thoughts following themselves in circles.

  Besides, there was someone tracking her from the tree branches above, which was irritating. On an island full of Consultants, it wasn't too unusual to have someone stalking you from cover, but Shepherds normally had more grace than to try it on Gardeners. A mistake could get them killed.

  Shera thought about calling out, but there was always the chance the person following her actually meant her harm, or that they'd been spying on the meeting with Yala. If that were the case, she would have to kill them, and she shouldn't give them too much warning.

  But then, if she murdered them, she ran the risk of killing an ally or a friend. So the solution was simple: she had to hurt them.

  Shera didn't raise her gaze to the branches overhead, as that would only tip her hand. She waited until she heard a leaf shaking out of sync with the wind, then she pulled a spade from the pouch at her thigh and whipped it upward.

  The triangle of steel flashed from her hand as she dove to one side, drawing her bronze-bladed shears and looking to confirm her target.

  Meia sat on the branch, blond hair tied up behind her head, veil over her mouth, holding the weapon between two fingers. She had a particularly dissatisfied look on her face.

  Shera sighed, slipping her shears back into her belt and straightening. “You could have walked with me.”

  Meia hurled the spade, which thunked into a tree next to Shera's ear. Without a word, Shera pulled it free and tucked it away. She'd have to sharpen it later.

  “How did you find me?” Meia asked. She sounded upset.

  “Shadow on the rocks off to my left,” Shera said. “Leaves shaking after the wind stopped. Tree branch groaned a little right after I left.”

  Meia hopped off her branch, landing with her knees bent. “So you heard me from the very beginning.”

  “Not the very beginning,” Shera said. “I didn't know anyone was following me on the way out here.”

  “Well, that's something,” Meia said, and she did sound somewhat pleased. “I know they've taken you before. I assume they're questioning you about our...harvesting mission.”

  “Your mother,” Shera said, as Meia fell into step beside her. “I've been instructed not to reveal the details outside of a protected room. So I'm not supposed to tell you anything.”

  Meia said nothing, so Shera continued. “And Kelarac take that. If the Emperor can Read this, he can just as easily Read my thoughts, and it doesn't matter if I say anything or not. I don't know if he really does know everything, or if we're giving him too much credit.”

  “They don't want you to kill him,” Meia said quietly.

  “They want me to kill him right now.”

  Meia stopped walking, though she caught up a second later. “Impossible. Mother is absolutely dedicated to the Empire.”

  “Family is the root of all insanity,” Maxwell had once said. She hadn't understood at the time, but the older she grew, the more true it seemed. She'd never had a family, so she hadn't experienced the thoughtless loyalty that blinded people to the truth about their relatives. But hearing Meia talk about Yala...it was as though she'd never met the woman.

  “I don't know how she feels about the Empire,” Shera said. “But she thinks the Emperor's death will be the best thing for the Guild. She wants me to make sure that it happens soon, so we can exploit it.”

  Meia moved in front of Shera, blocking her off, and crossed her arms. “You told her that's not possible.”

  “I'm not sure it's ever been possible. They want us to kill the Emperor, and for all his training, we still don't know how to do that. At the very least, I think we should all be Soulbound.”

  “If that were true, he would have made sure we were Soulbound,” Meia said confidently. “And don't dodge the question. What did you tell my mother?”

  “I told her about Silverreach,” Shera responded.

  Shera had revealed virtually everything. For one thing, Yala had come with four Readers, who would easily have been able to detect a lie. For another, Shera wanted to tell someone. The Emperor had almost lost himself, she was sure, even if he hadn't gone as dramatically insane as the last time. He'd been under the influence of another Elder, and had spoken of rebirth. That sounded like Nakothi's power.

  “He was in control of himself,” Meia insisted. “He told us so. He left to make us feel better, because we were uncomfortable.”

  Shera sighed, because they'd had this conversation before, and she wasn't looking forward to it again. “We can't accept his word that he's sane. I'm sure he'll feel fine when he starts pulling the heads off corpses.”

  Meia held up a hand. “That's disrespectful. He's still our Emperor.”

  Shera gave her a flat stare.

  “He is. Everything we have, he's given to us, and he deserves the benefit of any doubt. We might not be full Gardeners yet if he hadn't interceded for us, and I certainly wouldn't have my own...gifts.”

  Meia flexed one hand, extending and retracting claws. It was true that Meia was much more effective now that she'd been alchemically enhanced. Her strength seemed to grow every day. But she would never have had to endure the process if the Emperor hadn't deemed it necessary. She could have had a long career as an ordinary Consultant, never having to undergo months of painful surgery.

  But that wasn't the problem. Her biggest probl
em was her trust. She gave it too easily: to the Council of Architects, to the Emperor, to the Empire itself.

  Shera only trusted a handful of people, and they'd all earned it.

  “Yala's right,” Shera said. “We should remove the Emperor soon. If we wait too long, he'll be ready for us. Problem is, I'm not sure we can kill him now. We need time to get better, to come up with a plan...”

  She wasn't sure what else they could do. If only there were a secret Emperor-killing weapon out there somewhere, or if they had the time to invest enough Intent and make one. She was sure it would only take...oh, a thousand years or so.

  “Twenty years,” Meia said stubbornly. “He said he had almost twenty years left. We have to at least give him the time he asked for. And he has other ideas. He'll figure it out. We're only his contingency plan.

  Shera wondered, if he had such faith in his other plans, why she'd never seen evidence of them. As far as she could tell, he was placing all of his bets on their ability to stop him. Other than that, he seemed resigned to his death. Maybe he was waiting for a miracle.

  “He might be able to last twenty years,” Shera said. “But that's twice now that we've seen him come close to losing himself. Maybe more than twice. What happens if the Dead Mother takes over and we don't notice in time? He could kill all three of us, and Nakothi's puppet is sitting on the throne. No one would know.”

  “The High Council would know,” Meia said, refusing to give any ground. “You told them what the Emperor wants us to do. The Consultants would eliminate him together.”

  “That's one Guild against nine.”

  “And now that I think about it, you broke the Emperor's confidence! He told you what he'd do to us if we told his secret. What he'd do to all of us, not just you.”

  Meia was glaring at Shera, and her aspect had become more hostile. She was gripping each arm with the opposite hand, her shoulders were hunched, and her knees bent as though she meant to pounce. She'd bared a few of her teeth in a snarl, and her eyes held a spark of orange light.