The Silvered

by Tanya Huff

  Toward the weapon that had killed Harry.

  A line of pain burned across his shoulder, but the ball was only lead and the wound healed as he ran.

  He pushed off a fallen Imperial, breastplate keeping the body from compacting under his weight, and threw himself up over the heads of the corpse’s company. Heard the Aydori infantry rally behind him and knew that, with them returned to the fight, he needn’t fear a bayonet in the back. Dodged through chaos, still at full speed.

  The impossible range of the new weapon kept it back from the front lines. Far enough back there’d be no reason for a heavy guard.

  Speed and agility and the terror the Pack evoked in the unfamiliar kept him alive as he moved deeper and deeper into the Imperial ranks. The part of him trained to war recognized the Imperials’ fast advance had opened up their lines and that worked to his favor.

  The weapon, up on a small rise, didn’t look like much. A fat tube on a cradle. The men around it smelled of curiosity and excitement, distant from the death they were dealing. Men who fought with heads instead of hearts. They smelled of gunpowder, familiar but a more concentrated scent than he was used to.

  They smelled of silver.

  He had to circle around behind the weapon to approach it.

  Heard a man with a telescope shout, “There, a black beast! Huge bugger! And a gray one! I see four, no, six abominations with them!” And then coordinates. Tomas thought they meant him at first, then realized the big black beast had to be Ryder.

  But Ryder and Jaspyr and the others were safe in among the Imperial cavalry.

  They wouldn’t shoot their own horses, their own men to bring their enemy down.

  He thought that right up until they lit the fuse.

  His teeth crushed the gunner’s wrist a moment too late.

  * * *

  The carriage slowed and slowed again as the ponies struggled up the long, steep hill through Whelan Forest. Not that they’d been moving all that fast since leaving the city. As far as Mirian could see, the biggest difference between those on foot and those on wheels wasn’t speed, but possessions. Lord and Lady forbid the wealthy not take the good dishes and silver and linens when fleeing for their lives.

  Although, in all fairness, the less than wealthy had made a valiant attempt to carry their possessions with them. A wide variety of objects had been discarded by the side of the road even before the road left the city. Pots and pans, bundles of clothing, a bed—Mirian was impressed they’d gotten it as far as they had—a single shoe, a striped stocking, a broken confectioner’s jar still half filled with red-and-white candies. Fortunately, the people no longer moved packed tightly together in a solid line of desperation as they must have through the night. The stragglers didn’t even look up as the carriage passed. Too many carriages had already gone by, and they were still walking. When they passed two women with three small children, the youngest screaming his displeasure to the world, Mirian’s mother had reached past her and pulled the blind down over the carriage window, her action saying as loudly as words that the concerns of the common were no concerns of hers.

  Her concerns were unmistakable and had entirely replaced any panic.

  “When did you meet Jaspyr Hagen?”

  “At the reception.”

  “And it never occurred to you to tell me?”

  Mirian shrugged. “It seemed unimportant.”

  “Don’t shrug, Mirian; you look like a shopkeeper. Tell me, how could meeting Jaspyr Hagen be considered unimportant?”

  “The Imperial army…”

  Her mother cut her off. “Is not as important as attaching Jaspyr Hagen. Do you have an understanding?”

  They had a something. Jaspyr didn’t seem to care she had nothing more than first levels in five disciplines, certainly not enough Mage-craft to bear children to the Pack, but they had nothing as definite as an understanding. An attraction? An acknowledgment? A hope? A dream? A chance? Mirian couldn’t define it, even to herself, so the thought of explaining it to her mother made it simpler to say, “No.”

  Not that her mother listened.

  “He is older than you by at least a decade, but you act like an old woman most of the time…”

  Apparently, only old women could be practical.

  By the time the carriage slowed for the hill, Mirian’s mother had planned the wedding—who she’d invite, who she’d snub, who’d make her dress. She’d wanted Jon to pull over to the side of the road so that Lady Hagen’s carriage could catch up. Her father had refused to give the order, but Mirian wouldn’t have been surprised to discover he’d planned the delay at the bank in order to claim this position. It certainly wouldn’t hurt business if they were close enough to offer any necessary assistance to the Pack.

  When the first shot rang out, and her mother shrieked for Jon to put the whip to the ponies, Mirian wasn’t surprised by that either.

  * * *

  The coachmen were armed. One managed to get a shot off and died a moment later, the other two just died. Tangles released, the men in the trees dropped onto the wolf’s-crest carriages, as Reiter led the rest of his men out onto the road.

  A quick glance to ensure the carriage up ahead continued moving around the curve at the top of the hill, then he yanked open the door of the last of the carriages they’d stopped. As he leaned in, an elderly woman ripped the buttons open down the front of her dress, clawed the fabric down off furry shoulders, and became a huge gray wolf. Had it not tripped over its discarded skirt, he’d have died. Claws scrabbled at his clothes, teeth closed on his shoulder not his neck, and they slammed together down onto the hard-packed dirt of the road.

  Reiter froze, hands gripping the thick fur of the beast’s throat, as three shots slammed into its side. He squeezed his eyes and mouth closed as a fourth shot went in behind its jaw and sprayed hot blood over his face. He’d got his eyes closed in time. His lashes had already started to stick together, so he forced them open and heaved the body off to one side. Rolling up onto his knees he spat, dragged his sleeve over his mouth as he stood, and refused to think of some of the more lurid stories.

  “You okay, Cap?”

  Easy enough to hear what the sergeant meant, even over the screaming.

  Did it break the skin?

  He shoved a hand under his clothes. “Didn’t get through the jacket,” he said, bending to retrieve his bicorn.

  “Good.” Sergeant Black finished reloading his musket with silver shot, and yelled, “Behind you!”

  The creature dove off the top of the carriage, blood on its muzzle, fur gleaming gold in the filtered light.

  They fired together, muskets snapped up to their shoulders, and it crashed to the ground, eyes wild even in death.

  Reloading, Reiter swept his gaze over the road, saw another three dead beasts, a small cluster of sobbing servants, one holding an infant, and five women on the ground at the lieutenant’s feet, hands clutched to their heads, breath coming in pained gasps.

  Reiter hadn’t expected the mages would all be women. Young women. Young, terrified women. Although their sex did provide a simple explanation of how they controlled the beastmen….

  “This one’s had pups,” Sergeant Black grunted, heaving the golden body over with the toe of his boot. The extended teats protruded through the thick fur.

  “Leave her alone!” One of the servants broke from the group and threw herself down beside the beast, cradling its head on her lap and bending to sob against the bloody fur. The woman holding the infant wept against the child’s hair.

  Uncomfortable, and unsure why—he was a soldier, death was his job—Reiter looked away, dragged his gaze across to the old beast who’d attacked him, and realized it wore a pair of gold hoops in its ears.

  Young women. Old women. The rulers of Aydori had always been named beastmen. They were to take their women back to the empire to control them. This wasn’t…

  “Where’s the sixth?” The lieutenant held a tangle in his hand. “We need all six!”


  * * *

  “I forbid it!”

  Mirian rolled her eyes and slipped out of the carriage and into the brush at the side of the road. With her father trying to calm her mother’s hysteria, she’d managed to shout an order to stop that Jon had chosen to obey.

  “Mirian! Do you hear me? Get back in the carriage this instant!”

  “Mirian!” Her father leaned out the open door. “Your mother…”

  “Wants me to join the Pack.” She turned and threw the words at him. “You want me to join the Pack. This is what the Pack does.”

  The words meant nothing in and of themselves; the Pack had no monopoly on doing the right thing, but they were the words her mother needed to hear to stop shrieking and the words her father needed to hear to nod and sit back.

  “I will accompany you, Miss Mirian.” Barrow climbed down from his seat beside the coachman and twitched invisible wrinkles out of his immaculate black coat. “You should not go alone.”

  Barrow had been with them as long as Mirian could remember. Some years older than her father, he’d recently stopped tying back his thinning gray hair and had cropped it short in an old man’s style. Fitting, she acknowledged, given that he was an old man. But Jon had to hold the ponies and her father was clearly not going to leave the safety of the carriage and Barrow was all there was if she was not to go alone.

  There had been shooting. And screaming.

  In all honesty, Mirian didn’t want to go alone. She nodded once and the two of them made their way quickly back to the top of the hill. Slipping off the road and into the trees, she motioned for Barrow to follow as she cut across the arc of the curve until she could see back the way they’d come. Dropping to her knees, she crept forward as far as she could. To her surprise, Barrow dropped to his knees in turn and threw himself down beside her.

  The wolf’s-crest carriages had been stopped and were surrounded by men wearing deep purple jackets over black trousers and boots. They wore black bicorns on their heads and held muskets. Imperial army uniforms. Imperial army weapons. The one gesturing, gold glittering as he waved both hands, was so pompous, even at this distance she knew he had to be an officer. She could see two wolves on the ground, one of the coachmen under guard and all five women of the Mage-pack kneeling in the circle of men, bodies bent and twisted, hands clasped to their heads. They looked to be in pain, but she couldn’t be sure as she couldn’t see their expressions. As she watched, Lady Hagen dropped her hands to the fabric of her skirt and straightened, the effort obvious even to Mirian’s less than perfect eyesight.

  A breeze lifted Mirian’s hair, and she heard Lady Hagen’s voice as clearly as if she were kneeling with her.

  “You have us bound, so kill us and be gone.”

  Bound. Magically bound, or the Mage-pack would not be kneeling there waiting for death.

  The officer waved his hands again. It looked almost as though he was sprinkling gold dust from his fingers. He had to be responding, but Mirian couldn’t hear him. Did he speak Aydori? Lady Hagen was speaking Aydori, but that didn’t necessarily mean she expected the enemy officer to understand her.

  “We are only five.” She sounded angry. Imperious. Not stooping to insult him personally even while her tone insulted his entire nation.

  Mirian strained to hear what the Imperials replied, hoping hearing at distance meant she was finally showing some of the mage-craft everyone seemed to think she had. The breezes refused her command. It must be Lady Hagen then, not bound so tightly as they thought and doing what she could.

  The officer raised a hand as though to strike her. The man beside him, covered in enough blood for it to be visible even at a distance, grabbed his wrist.

  “The emperor? What does Leopald want with us?”

  What did the emperor want? Mirian hoped Lady Hagen was stalling for time because it should be obvious to anyone what the emperor wanted. Control the Pack Leader’s mate. Control the Pack Leader. She had no idea how the emperor’s men had managed to neutralize the Mage-pack—although the gold she could still see glinting in the officer’s hands was so out of place it had to have something to do with it—nor did it matter.

  She leaned in close to Barrow’s ear. “The Pack Leader must be told his mate’s been taken. He has to stop them before they cross the border!”

  Barrow, who was, after all, sensible above all else, nodded and then proved he was after all not as sensible as all that when he said, “Go back to the carriage, Miss Mirian. I will find the Pack Leader and give him this information.”

  “You won’t be able to get near him. I will.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then he nodded. “Jaspyr Hagen.” Seated on the outside of the coach, Barrow’d had a better view of her conversation with the Pack Leader’s cousin than her mother had.

  “Yes.” And a run to the border would probably kill you. She couldn’t say that, but neither could she have it on her conscience. “Tell my parents where I’ve gone and then get them to safety.”

  “They will not…”

  “Tell them I’ve gone to join Jaspyr Hagen.” She struggled to keep the edge from her voice, but didn’t entirely succeed. “That should calm them.”

  After another moment’s scrutiny, he nodded again. “As you wish, Miss Mirian.” His tone had changed and, for the first time, he didn’t seem to be addressing the child she’d been. Rising to his knees, he ignored the leaf litter on his coat and touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Lord and Lady keep you safe.”

  * * *

  “Our orders were to return with six mages. There must be six!”

  Reiter resisted the urge to visibly count their captives again no matter how much he’d enjoy irritating Lieutenant Lord Geurin. Lingering this far behind enemy lines would get them killed. “Five will have to do. Sergeant.”

  “Sir.”

  “Divide the captives among the squads and get ready to move out.”

  “No!”

  Reiter stiffened and turned to face the younger officer. He’d had to accept a certain amount of aristocratic attitude since they’d left the bulk of the army, but this was over the line. “No?”

  The soldiers surrounding them froze, and even the lieutenant had brains enough to flinch although he tried to hide it. He wet his lips, glanced down at the women, and stepped forward. “A word alone, Captain Reiter.”

  Secret orders, as suspected. War was bad enough without Soothsayers getting involved. “Sergeant.”

  “Sir.”

  “As ordered.”

  “Sir.”

  As Reiter followed Geurin behind the carriages, he could hear Black barking orders and the baby screaming. It sounded hungry.

  “This one’s had pups.”

  No. He wasn’t going there.

  Safely out of sight of both their men and the captives, Geurin turned the sixth tangle over in his fingers and said, “Our actions follow the visions of the Imperial Soothsayers.”

  “No shit. We’re ass-deep in enemy territory with ancient weapons, capturing mages,” Reiter continued as Geurin’s eyes narrowed. “Soothsayers are a given. Now, tell me something I don’t know.”

  “There’s a prophecy about the fall of the empire.”

  That was something he didn’t know. “Concerning these women?”

  Geurin straightened and stood as though he were reciting. “When wild and mage together come, one in six or six in one. Empires rise or empires fall, the unborn child begins it all.”

  “Seriously?” Reiter let his musket hang off the strap, lifted his bicorn, and ran his free hand back through his hair, the front sticky with blood. “That’s the reason we’re here? My eight-year-old niece writes better verse.”

  “Is your eight-year-old niece an Imperial Soothsayer?” Geurin’s lip curled. His tone remained respectful enough that Reiter ignored his expression. “Or the Soothsayer’s Voice? Or a Court Analyst? Or His Imperial Majesty Emperor Leopald himself who gave the order to release the tangles from the vaults?
One of these six women…”

  “Five.” Reiter pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and smeared the blood around a bit. He’d need water to get it off.

  Geurin’s nostrils flared dramatically. “One of the six women we have been ordered to capture is pregnant with the child who could bring down the empire!”

  Could. Prophecy hinged just a little too much on could in Reiter’s opinion. However, as the lieutenant had pointed out, he wasn’t a Soothsayer, or a Voice, or a Court Analyst; he was just a soldier, and he had a soldier’s response. He wasn’t proud of it, but he owned it. “If they haven’t had the child yet, why not kill them here? Why drag them back to the capital?”

  “Empires rise or empires fall,” the lieutenant repeated. “If His Imperial Majesty controls the child, he determines what the child sets in motion.”

  That sounded reasonable, as far as anything connected with Soothsayers could be called reasonable. Soothsayers were a remnant of the old ways, still around for the advantage they could give. Where could was, once again, the operative word, referring to men and women who were undeniably crazy, their words translated by political expediency. Still, he had his orders and now they even made a certain amount of sense. Controlling the beastmen through their women implied the Imperial army would fail to take Aydori by more direct means, and the Imperial army had not yet met a defense that could stand against them.

  “You and Sergeant Black escort the women back to the army with squads one to five. I’ll take squad six and find our missing mage.” Reiter held out his hand for the unused tangle. “This is my command. That makes it my responsibility she’s found.”

  And I don’t trust you to find your ass with both hands and a map, he added silently as Geurin hesitated, no doubt weighing the cost of showing up a mage short against the benefit of being the first to report. I definitely don’t trust you to find your way back to the border on your own.