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

by Will Wight

  “I was in the room, Tyrfang sitting out and unguarded on a table. And a man walks in.”

  Shera was starting to see where this story was going, but she didn’t understand what it had to do with her. Surely Jarelys Teach knew her well enough not to appeal to her sympathy.

  “I had never seen the Emperor in person, you understand. So when I saw this bald Heartlander man standing there, I assumed he was a Guard. I thought he was wearing a tent’s worth of silk because he wanted to hide his modified limbs.

  “I was going to make up a story, but he spoke first. That was when I knew who he was.”

  When the Emperor spoke, each word carried such Intent that it was impossible to ignore. He sounded like he could talk the world into changing according to his will. It was less about the actual words he used, and more the way he used them: he was direct, compelling, magnetic. Shera could easily see how Teach might recognize him as soon as he opened his mouth.

  “When he told me he’d sensed my Intent, I was certain I was going to be executed. But he said he liked me. That he knew I could be trusted. And that he was going to give me an opportunity.”

  Teach tapped the center of her X-shaped scar. “He didn't hand me the sword, for which I am thankful. If he had, it would have killed me. He told me where to start. On his direction, I hunted down a Bonereaver in the ice fields south of Erin and carved out its heart. It replaced my own.

  “It took me over a year of solid effort, and months after that before I adapted physically, but I had earned my spot in the Imperial Guard. Two years later, I picked up Tyrfang for the first time. Thanks to the power of the Bonereaver, I could withstand the sword's Intent. A year after that, and Tyrfang had become my Vessel. And the Guard was mine.”

  General Teach leaned up against the edge of the bath, looking more relaxed than Shera had ever seen her.

  “Now, here’s where my preference comes in. The Emperor has outlived everyone else in the history of the Empire. I want him to outlive me.”

  Slowly, Shera relaxed her grip on her hidden knife. She didn’t reveal it or release it, there was no need to be foolish, but it was becoming clear that Teach was in full control of herself.

  “We won’t do anything until he goes crazy,” Shera said. “It’s not as though I want to kill him.”

  Teach’s hands tightened, and stone crunched under her fingers. “Hear me, Shera. I have lived through some of the worst times since the founding of the Empire. To rise through the ranks of the Guard, I helped put down a rebellion. That work, killing Imperial citizens in the name of the Empire, haunts me to this day. And I would do it a thousand times over if it meant I never had to see an Empire without the Emperor.”

  This far into the conversation, Shera knew that Teach didn’t mean her any harm, but she still had to physically resist an urge to leave the pool and run for safety. As a result, she squirmed in the water. “Are you asking me to kill you first?”

  “You won’t have to,” Teach said calmly. “If Nakothi finally claims the Emperor’s sanity, I will stand against him myself. My death will be your cue. If he kills me, that means the Emperor is gone, and you can put him to rest with a clean conscience.”

  “My conscience has never concerned me much. But what makes you think we can kill him if you can’t?”

  “The Emperor believes it, and I trust his judgment far more than my own.” She pulled her arms back from the edge, revealing two craters in the stone where her hands had rested. “Even if we set that aside, he could turn Tyrfang’s power against me. I’ve got a better chance of walking to Kelarac.”

  Teach fell silent, waiting for Shera’s promise.

  “I will try,” Shera said, fully aware that she was stacking another obligation onto an already unsteady tower. “I can’t promise anything. I’ll do what I have to. But I’d rather wait for you to fight him, anyway. You might weaken him for us.”

  Jarelys Teach smiled a little. It looked stiff and practiced, as though she’d watched other people smile but had never worked out the trick. “That eases my mind. Thank you. Now, I will help you as best I can.”

  She rose from the pool and seized a towel from a nearby rack, walking from the room while she dried off. Shera hurried to follow.

  When they reached the first room, where their clothes and belongings awaited them in wooden cubbies, Teach walked over to Shera’s cubby first.

  A spike of alarm drove through Shera’s chest. She trusted General Teach as much as she trusted anyone outside of the Consultant’s Guild—Teach was many things, but she was neither a traitor nor a liar—but this was different. Teach was blocking her off from her weapons.

  A second later, Teach pulled the left-hand blade from its sheath. She held the battered bronze up to the light of the nearby quicklamps, turning the blade to admire it.

  “I’m not a Reader,” she said. “So I won’t be able to Awaken your blade or empower it in the way a Magister might. But I’m told that my Intent is relatively focused, and Tyrfang’s power rests in me just as it does in the sword. You should see some benefit.”

  Shera realized what Teach was doing while standing there, holding the shear; she was investing it, as Lucan had done several times before. The easiest way to invest something was to use it for its intended purpose, but Readers often managed it through sheer concentration, and there was nothing saying an ordinary person couldn’t do the same. As far as Shera knew.

  Teach casually drove the knife into the wall with one hand. Tiles cracked, crawling away from the point of impact like a spiderweb. She pulled it out and brushed away plaster like nothing had happened. “If you have to…finish your assignment, there’s only one tip I can give you. Don’t stab the Heart.”

  Shera immediately thought of three places she’d rather stab someone.

  “Nakothi’s Heart, I mean,” Teach corrected.

  “All right.”

  She hadn’t been planning on stabbing Nakothi’s Heart. She had planned on slitting the Emperor’s throat and running as fast as she could.

  “You’ll have to separate the Heart from him immediately, or the Dead Mother’s power will bring the Emperor back to life.” Teach spoke impersonally and with unquestioned authority, a general delivering a briefing. “But do not damage the Heart itself.”

  “What happens if I do?”

  “Nakothi’s Intent will be released, and you will die a horrible death.”

  “Understood.” Irritating as it was to be dealing with added restrictions, this was no worse than a number of other tasks she’d undertaken over the years.

  She was more concerned with the fact that Jarelys was standing in front of her clothes, and she was starting to get cold. And the General was still keeping Shera from her weapons.

  “To destroy the Heart, you can take it to your Council of Architects,” Teach went on. “They should know how to contain it. Otherwise, you can take it to the Head of the Magister’s Guild, the Luminian Order, or the Blackwatch.” She hesitated. “Forget that. Do not take it to the Blackwatch. Their Guild Head can be…unpredictable.”

  Under no circumstances would Shera take the Heart of Nakothi to any Guild but her own, though she nodded anyway.

  Finally, Teach walked over to Tyrfang, tugging it an inch out of its sheath. The black-and-red blade emanated the nauseating sense of dread it always did, and Shera took the opportunity to scurry away from the sword and over to her clothes in the same motion. She pulled her Consultant blacks on almost desperately, as though they would shield her from the sword’s effect.

  The clothes were stiff with dried sweat. Usually servants would take and launder the clothes of those bathing, but Teach’s command had been effective at keeping the bathhouse completely clear.

  Teach scraped the bronze shear along the edge of the ancient executioner’s blade, then sheathed her sword. “A little of that should rub off, but I’m no Reader. Maybe it won’t help at all.”

  She walked back over to the cubby, replacing the first knife and reaching for t
he second.

  The female Guard who had stood watch outside, the one with four arms, came running into the room, head swiveling as she searched for her Guild Head.

  Jarelys Teach and Shera reacted the same way. Shera had her shears bared and in her hands as soon as she heard footsteps, and she left her belt in its place as she spun to face the newcomer. Teach, wrapped in a towel, had rolled across the floor and landed with a hand on Tyrfang’s hilt.

  If the Imperial Guard was startled by the sight of her commander and a Consultant with weapons drawn, she didn’t show it. She saluted with both her right hands and spoke.

  “General, the Capital is under attack.”

  Teach rose to her feet, stripped off her towel, and began dressing with far more efficient motions than she’d shown before. “Where?”

  “Everywhere, General. It’s…it’s the Elders.”

  The Guard’s voice quivered on the last word, but she held herself together.

  Teach nodded, absorbing the information, pulling a layer of padding on over her shoulders. “Has the Emperor been evacuated?”

  “He ordered us to—”

  Teach cut her off. “Abort that. I’ll see to him. I want six Guards with me, and pull everyone else you can reach back to the Imperial Palace. Until the Emperor is safe, we have no other priorities.”

  The Guild Head turned her iron gaze to Shera. “Gather your team, Gardener. You have work to do.”

  Shera was already leaving.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Under Lucan's Intent, the courtyard of the Imperial Palace rippled upward. The three members of The Testament's crew were sent sprawling, even the paralyzed Dalton Foster. They toppled like dolls, even as Lucan stood on a frozen island in the midst of a stone sea.

  When he parted contact with the floor, his head was already beginning to ache. The first sign of Reader burn. If he used his powers much more, he'd be useless.

  Fortunately, this part was easy.

  He attended to Calder Marten first, tying the man's hands behind his back with some cord he'd brought specifically for that purpose. Then he moved onto Andel Petronus, who seemed to be chuckling under his breath even as he struggled against his bonds. Strange man.

  Finally, just to be safe, he tied Dalton Foster's limp hands back. The old man was still paralyzed, but his Intent suggested he was trying to glare.

  Now, the three Navigators were bound and subdued. At any second, the Imperial Guard would return. Lucan had acquired new information, and could reasonably recommend that the Architects should use alchemical charges to blow the Emperor's quarters all the way to Urg'naut. Everything in his experience as a Gardener told him to leave.

  Instead, he sat cross-legged on the floor.

  “That's kind of you,” Calder noted, wriggling like a worm so he could look Lucan in the eye. “Tying us up, I mean. I thought you'd be more likely to slit our throats.”

  Lucan focused on catching his breath. “I like to make sure my victims deserve it.”

  Calder crooked an eyebrow, which looked especially strange on a man whose chin was resting on the ground. “And you thought we didn't deserve it? You're a generous man. Besides, mercy is a quality I never thought I'd see in an assassin.”

  “You know many hired killers, do you?”

  “'The quality of mercy is among the rarest of virtues, and rarest of all in killers and kings,'“ Calder said, with the air of a man quoting. “Sadesthenes. You should read him sometime. Timeless wisdom in the classics.”

  “You're assuming I haven't read him already.”

  “Have you?”

  “No.” Philosophy wasn't a subject the Gardeners encouraged in their curriculum. Lucan rolled his shoulder, stretching a pulled muscle.

  “I can't help but notice you're not making a hasty getaway,” Calder pointed out.

  “And you're chatty for someone with his hands tied. I can still make a gag.”

  “I enjoy getting to know interesting people. A Consultant saboteur who attacks the Imperial Palace, fights three men singlehandedly, and then lingers on the scene of the crime is an interesting man indeed.”

  “Your flattery is indeed the most powerful weapon in your arsenal, sir,” Andel Petronus said. Lucan could only see his white-clad back, but it seemed he was still trying to struggle out of his bonds. “Thank the God we have you to defend us.”

  “Shut up, Andel,” Calder said cheerily.

  “Mmmphmphmmm!”

  “Shut up, Foster. Now, stranger, I'm sure you know my name. I’ve learned to assume the Consultants know everything.”

  “Calder Marten,” Lucan recited. “Twenty-six years old. Tried before the Emperor for counts of sabotage, theft, destruction of Imperial property, instituting a jailbreak, and conspiracy to commit fraud. Sentenced to forced labor in the service of the Navigator's Guild.”

  “That's...not exactly the list I remember, but it's impressively comprehensive nonetheless.”

  Lucan remembered a red-haired boy full of anger in the Imperial throne room. He hadn't remembered Calder at first, but after his multiple run-ins with Shera, a few memories had shaken loose. “You tried to attack the Emperor, and I helped to hold you back. It was a test of our reaction speed.”

  Calder whistled through his teeth. “That was you. I'd thought...you know what? It's not important. Serving the Emperor at such a young age. You must be even better than I thought you were, Lucan.”

  Lucan froze. How had Calder known his name? No one was that good of a Reader, not since the Emperor's death. He must have some knowledge of Consultants, but as far as his file indicated, the only member of the Guild he'd interacted with for any extended period of time was Shera. There was no way she had shared stories about him with her intended target. Where was he getting his intelligence?

  He squelched his curiosity when he realized what Calder was doing: revealing his information but not his source in order to seem powerful and mysterious. The favorite tactic of the Consultant's Guild.

  Lucan wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking any questions. No matter how much he yearned to.

  A second later, Imperial Guard boots pounded the ground as two dozen men and women in uniform jogged into view, led by the blond woman with the orange eyes. Two Guards leveled crossbows at him, one with feathers on the back of her neck and one with a mass of tentacles replacing his left hand.

  The orange-eyed captain knelt behind Calder, sawing at his bonds with a knife. “Are you hurt, sir?”

  “I think Foster's poisoned. Get him to an alchemist as quickly as you can. Any casualties?”

  “No dead.”

  “Admirable restraint.” Free of his bonds, Calder rubbed at his aching wrists. “So, Lucan, would you mind telling me why you decided to linger?”

  Lucan looked up at the Imperial Guards surrounding him, trying to project the least offensive Intent he could. “Curiosity. I thought I'd wait to have a word with the Guild Head in charge.”

  A flash of anger pulsed through Calder's Intent, but was quickly suppressed. “And what makes you think I'm not in charge?”

  “Ex-criminals and Navigators don't get set up as the next Emperor. No offense intended, but I expected the Guild Heads had proposed you as a disposable alternative. Bait for the Elders, and something to keep the common people happy.”

  Calder stood up abruptly, favoring his wounded leg. “That's true enough, but no one holds my leash at the moment.”

  “Trust me,” Andel said, still bound, “it's not a job anyone would want.”

  “You can feel free to leave him tied up a little longer,” Calder said to the Guard captain. “Good for discipline.” He turned back to Lucan. “So you can tell me what was so important that you risked execution or capture for the chance to say it.”

  They might execute him, but they didn't have a prison that could keep him captive. “My life is the least of what's at stake. I've already inspected the Optasia, with every intention to sabotage it so you couldn't use it. Now, I've changed my
mind.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes. You have to destroy it.”

  Calder picked a hat up off the ground, brushed it off, and placed it on his head. “Consultant Lucan, we might have something to discuss after all.”

  ~~~

  Lucan stood inside the Emperor's chambers next to Calder Marten, staring down at the twisted cage of metal that was the Emperor's Optasia. Calder seemed willing to trust Lucan on faith, or perhaps he had gotten a sense of Intent that inclined him to cooperate. Whatever caused it, he didn't insist that Lucan be watched or bound.

  The Imperial Guard, however, did.

  His weapons were confiscated, as well as anything he had in his pockets. The blond, orange-eyed woman in charge knew that he was a Reader, and as such she treated anything on his person as a potentially invested weapon. They even took the shroud from his face, leaving his nose and mouth bare, and the only reason they didn't strip him was Calder's insistence that they hurry. Now, he stood with his wrists bound together behind his back, two Guards behind and two in front, with more ready to rush in from the hallway if they were needed.

  Both Lucan and Calder ignored their presence. Lucan didn't plan on causing any further trouble, and they both knew it. Besides, even if he wanted to, his head still pounded from his exertion earlier, the steady throbbing of Reader burn eating away at his abilities. Unarmed and unable to Read, Lucan would be easy prey for the Guards, much less Calder.

  He'd briefly summarized the history and capabilities of the Emperor's true throne, so far as he understood them. The Emperor had explained the device only once, shortly before his death, but Lucan would never forget his experience with it. The visions haunted him still.

  “He had this device,” Calder gestured to the 'throne' of steel bars, “but he never used it?”

  “One time, that I know of. I gathered that he used it more often when it was built.”

  “Because of the Great Elders?”