The Guns of Empire

by Django Wexler

  “The Eldest’s first duty is to the Mountain.”

  “I know,” Alex snarled, in the tones of someone who’d had the argument many times. “That’s why I left.”

  “But you came back. You brought them here.”

  “What was I supposed to do? They all would have died.”

  “Some would say, so much the better.”

  “Fuck that.” Alex took a deep breath. “They helped me when they didn’t have any reason to trust me. She helped me.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Winter.”

  “That’s appropriate,” the young man said, with subtle humor. “Her demon is very powerful. Do you know what it does?”

  “I’ve never seen her use it,” Alex said.

  “Has she woken up at all?”

  “She thrashed a little bit, but no.”

  “Her hand needs tending.” The young man sighed. “Go and see Maxwell before he explodes.”

  A pause, and then more footsteps.

  “Alex?”

  She stopped. “What?”

  “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  Alex snorted. “Maybe wait until the Eldest has decided not to cut my head off to say that.”

  The young man crossed the room, soft slippers hissing on the carpet, to stand beside Winter’s bed.

  “Winter?” he said. “Winter, wake up.”

  Winter opened her eyes. He was waiting a few steps away, with his hands crossed behind his back. He looked about twenty years old, with a serious face and short, dark hair. He wore a long, flowing outfit, something like a priest’s robes, but made of rough-spun wool and patterned with intricate, twisting spirals and chains.

  “Do you understand me?” he said, then switched to Murnskai. “Is this easier?”

  “Hamveltai, please,” Winter said, trying to coax her memory to offer up that language.

  “Alex has tried to teach me Vordanai, but she didn’t have the patience for my slow progress,” he said.

  “This is fine,” Winter said. “Where am I?”

  “We call it the Mountain. It’s not far from Elysium.”

  “My soldiers. Bobby and the others. Are they all right?”

  “Yes. You and Bobby are being kept separately, because of your powers. The rest are with the acolytes below.”

  Winter let out a sigh of relief. Then, as what he’d said sank in, she stiffened. Infernivore was pressing at the edges of her mind, as it always did when she was around Alex, but now that the girl had gone she realized it wasn’t only Alex who had provoked the reaction.

  “You have a demon, too,” she said. “Who are you?”

  “I do.” The young man inclined his head. “My name is Abraham.”

  “What are you going to do with us?”

  “Right now I would like to heal your hand. It is badly frostbitten, and the flesh is infected. If we leave it be, you will lose several fingers at least, and possibly the whole thing.”

  Winter looked at the wrappings and grimaced. “You want to take the fingers off to save the rest?”

  “That won’t be necessary. My demon can repair it, if you give me permission to do so.”

  She blinked. “Your demon needs permission?”

  “I need permission.” Abraham gave a sad smile. “It’s a rule I have made for myself.”

  “Well, if you can do something, please go ahead. It hurts like hell already.”

  “One moment.” Abraham positioned her hand palm-up on the bed, every movement sending shooting pain down her arm. He put his own hand on top of hers.

  “Wait,” Winter said. She remembered Bobby, lying wounded in a tent in Khandar, and Feor’s offer. “This isn’t going to . . . change me, is it?”

  “No. Don’t worry. Just relax.”

  Winter closed her eyes. Infernivore was thrashing, eager to surge through the connection and devour Abraham’s demon, but her will held it back. She could feel a cold prickling in her skin, spreading under the bandages, like silver threads slipping painlessly through the inflamed flesh. Almost at once the agony began to fade, replaced by a crawling sensation, as though ants were marching under her skin. She gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to yank her hand away. After a long interval, the feeling faded, along with the last traces of pain. Abraham let out a sigh and lifted his hand.

  “That’s better,” he said. “Wash it well when you take the bandage off. You’ll need to eat something, too. Do you think you can get out of bed?”

  Winter nodded, feeling light-headed. She flexed her fingers and felt them respond without the stabs of agony. Saints and martyrs. “Your demon can . . . heal people? Can it heal anything?”

  “It is limited by my knowledge of the body,” Abraham said. “Some wounds are easier than others. And I can do nothing for those who have already passed on.”

  That’s still a hell of a gift. Winter sat up, fighting a wave of dizziness, and slipped her legs over the edge of the bed. She waited a moment, then tottered to her feet. Abraham came over, holding out a long, loose garment like a fuzzy bathrobe, which Winter gratefully shrugged into. There was a pair of slippers at the foot of the bed, and she shuffled into these as well.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For everything, I mean.”

  “You may wish to wait to thank me until the Eldest has made his decision,” Abraham said. “You and your soldiers represent a serious problem. Alex should not have brought you here.”

  “She saved our lives,” Winter said. “I won’t tell her she was wrong.”

  Abraham sighed. “I know. She is . . . impulsive.”

  “So what is this Eldest likely to do with us?”

  “I will let him explain. For now, come with me.”

  Abraham led the way out of the long room and into a narrow corridor, floored with the same colorful carpets. At a junction, water flowed out of a carved stone pipe into a basin. There was a wooden cup, and at Abraham’s nod Winter filled it and gulped down delicious, bitterly cold water. After she guzzled another few cups, he helped her untangle the bandage on her injured hand. It came away stubbornly at first, the bottom layers crusty with pus and dried blood, and the stench made Winter gag. When they had it off, the skin underneath was a ruin of cracked black and red, and she needed no urging to plunge it into the basin. The cold made her gasp, but she rubbed frantically with her other hand, dead, rotten flesh and dried skin sloughing away to reveal fresh, healthy pink underneath. At last she lifted her hand, as uncalloused as a newborn’s, numb from the chilly water but completely whole.

  “That’s . . . wow.” Winter made a fist and blinked back tears. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so bad.”

  “We are familiar with such injuries in the mountains. The cold numbs pain and hides fever. A man can walk for days with his feet rotting in his boots.” He gave a very slight smile. “You are fortunate I was here to help you.”

  “You’ve seen the others, too? Some of them had injuries.”

  “Of course. Although there was one—Bobby?” When Winter nodded, he went on. “Apologies, we didn’t have much language in common. Her body has been changed by another demon, in a way I’ve never seen, and I didn’t dare interfere with it. She didn’t seem to need my assistance, however.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Winter said. “Where is she? I need to tell the others I’m all right.”

  “You must see the Eldest first,” Abraham said firmly. “Follow me.”

  Winter started to protest, but she bit her tongue. She badly wanted to know what was going on, and this Eldest might have answers. She fell in behind Abraham as he walked down the twisting rock corridors, never hesitating in spite of the mazelike sameness of the halls. They passed several larger rooms with curtain doorways, but no people. Eventually they came to a long spiral stair, each step worn nearly round by the passage of endless feet
. Winter climbed carefully, ascending at least two stories, and found herself in a much larger space.

  It looked like a natural cavern that had been widened and straightened, forming an irregular room with one edge open to the outside. They were a considerable height above the valley floor, and from here Winter could see almost the entirety of it. The near end was farmland, neat plots of vegetables and grain divided by fieldstone fences. The rest was given over to pasture, with several flocks of sheep grazing peacefully, watched by men and dogs.

  The view was so arresting it was a moment before Winter took in the rest of the room. A large fire, tended by a robed boy, burned like a beacon on the lip of the cliff. More carpets covered the floor, strewn with broad, flat pillows. On one of these sat an old man, with a bald skull and a wispy white beard. Off to his left, Alex sat cross-legged on another pillow, with a boy about her age beside her. She radiated frustration, while his expression was one of stolid, serious determination.

  “I have brought the leader of the strangers, Eldest,” Abraham said in Murnskai, bowing low. “Her name is Winter.”

  “Thank you,” the old man said. His eyes, deeply set in his wrinkled face, were lively and bright. “She will be hungry. Antov, something to eat for our guest.”

  A boy who’d been sitting by the stairs scrambled away. Abraham led Winter to another pair of pillows, and Winter sat, uneasily trying to imitate the others.

  “My Murnskai is poor,” Winter said in that language, as best she could. “You will need to speak slowly—”

  “We can speak Vordanai if you prefer,” the old man said, with a heavy accent. “Or Hamveltai. That ought to include everyone, I think.”

  “Thank you,” Winter said. “And thank you for helping us. I am sorry if we’ve caused you any trouble.”

  “I know you do not wish us harm,” the Eldest said. “But I want you to understand the danger you represent. You bear a demon. You know of the Priests of the Black?”

  “Of course she does,” Alex cut in. “I told you—”

  “I would remind you, young Alex, that your punishment is still being considered.” The old man’s friendly tone hid a hint of steel. “Please be silent.”

  “Yes,” Winter said. “I’ve fought the Black Priests many times. They want me dead.”

  “Then without engaging in tedious explanation, it is enough to say that they are just as eager to destroy us. We live in their very shadow, and our only defense is remaining hidden. Only a very few are permitted to find the Mountain, and of those only a handful can be trusted to leave again. An offhand comment in a tavern, a reference in a journal discovered in a hundred years—any of these things could destroy us like a snowflake in a bonfire. You understand this?”

  “I think so.” She couldn’t sense a demon from the old man, though it was hard to tell with both Alex and Abraham so close. “My soldiers and I will swear any oath of secrecy you care to name. But we have to get to Elysium.”

  “Why?”

  Alex opened her mouth, and the Eldest shot her a warning glance. Winter said, “Our leader, Janus bet Vhalnich, has been trying to destroy the Priests of the Black. One of their assassins wounded him, with a magical poison that we believe will only be cured by her death. We have followed her this far.”

  “You risk your lives with a small chance of success. Vhalnich is so important?”

  Winter nodded. “He is . . . a great man who has done a great deal for me. And I have seen the cruelty of the Priests of the Black. I have to save him, if I can.”

  “I see.”

  The boy Antov reappeared, with a tray of fresh-baked, steaming bread and a bowl of thick red soup. Winter hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment; she practically grabbed the food out of his hands, scooping up the red stuff with the bread and wolfing it down. It was thick, with beans and tomatoes, and at that moment it was the best food she’d ever tasted.

  “The healing,” Abraham said apologetically. “It leaves her needing energy.”

  “Sorry,” Winter mumbled, mouth full.

  “It’s nothing,” the Eldest said, a faint smile bringing out the lines in his face. “You truly intend to go to Elysium?”

  Winter nodded as she ripped into the bread. “It’s our only chance to save him.”

  “You’re certain he still lives?”

  “No.” She swallowed and took a deep breath. “I can only hope.”

  “We can do it,” Alex said. “There’s a way—”

  This time it was the boy sitting beside her who elbowed Alex in the ribs. Winter cleared her throat.

  “Alex has been very helpful to us,” she said. “And she only volunteered to bring us here when there was no other way. Please don’t be hard on her.”

  “Alex has some learning to do on the nature of hospitality and responsibility,” the Eldest said. “But that is not your affair. Tell me this. If Vhalnich is saved, do you believe he can win this war against the Priests of the Black?”

  “Yes,” Winter said without hesitation.

  “A great many people have sought to bring them down. Even your Farus the Fourth failed.”

  “Farus the Fourth didn’t know what he was up against,” Winter said. “Janus does. He’s been working toward this from the beginning.”

  Winter was increasingly certain that was the case. It all made sense, when you looked at it from that angle. The expedition to Khandar had given Janus the Thousand Names and popular standing as a war hero. His return to Vordan and the Velt campaign had built up his support to the point where he was named First Consul. Every step of the larger campaign, the supernatural preparations and the military ones, had been planned for this.

  “It has been many years since we dared to dream the Black Priests might be defeated,” the Eldest said. “Many, many years.”

  “It’s dangerous,” the young man said. “If she fails, she might end up in a torture chamber, and she won’t keep our secret for long.”

  “I am aware of that, Maxwell,” the Eldest said. “But as Alex is so fond of telling us, there is a time when one must stop considering and take action.”

  “Finally,” Alex burst out. “I—”

  “This may be that time,” the Eldest cut in. “I wish to hear more of Vhalnich and his fight. Winter, are you willing to tell the story?”

  “Some of it is secret,” Winter said.

  “Naturally. Here is an offer, then. A secret for a secret. You must have questions for me?”

  “Yes,” Winter said. “But—”

  “Eldest!” Maxwell said. “What are you going to tell her?”

  “Whatever she wants to know,” the Eldest said firmly. “Our greatest secret is our very existence, and she already knows that. Anything else is small by comparison. And I suspect we may discover some areas of mutual understanding.”

  “All right,” Winter said. “If that’s what you need to let us go.”

  “That remains to be seen.” The Eldest got to his feet, surprisingly spry considering his frail appearance. “Let me show you the archive.”

  —

  Another stair, at the back of the room, led down into the mountain again. There were no windows here, and the Eldest carried a smoky lantern to light the way. The others remained behind, a furious argument between Alex and Maxwell beginning almost immediately.

  “You have questions,” the Eldest said.

  “I hardly know where to start,” Winter said. “What is this place? Who are you? Why—”

  “It is best to begin at the beginning,” the old man said, chuckling a little. “Do you know anything about the founding of the Karisai Church?”

  “Only what’s in the Wisdoms,” Winter admitted. “Karis obtained the Grace from the Lord and then founded the Church to teach people the right way to live, so that the Beast wouldn’t return.”

  “The Beast of Judgm
ent,” the Eldest intoned. “When you think about it, what do you picture?”

  Winter frowned. At Mrs. Wilmore’s, there had been a painting of Karis banishing the Beast. The monster had been mostly hidden in shadow, but it had looked vaguely like an enormous black wolf, with long fangs and glowing red eyes. But that had always felt allegorical to her, not really real. “I can’t say that I’ve thought much about it.”

  “Never? It is the most important story in the Wisdoms. Surely you learned it practically in the cradle.”

  “Of course. I guess . . .” She groped for words. “I never thought of the Beast as a thing, like a monster. I figured it was more of a concept. Like a representation of God’s wrath.”

  “You are not far from the truth, though not for the reason you think.” The Eldest raised his lantern to illuminate an intersection, then turned left. The tunnels here were dusty and unadorned, with no rooms leading off of them. “The reality is that the Beast of Judgment is a demon, not entirely unlike the one you bear.”

  “A demon? But . . .” Winter trailed off.

  “But?”

  “The Beast was going to destroy the world. Some of the demons I’ve seen have been terrifying, but none of them even come close to that.”

  “It’s not clear that the Beast would have destroyed the world itself. But humanity? Oh, yes. It is the most powerful demon ever to appear, and it differs from the others in two key respects. First, it is not restricted to a single host. It spreads. This is the essence of its power. If it had been left unchecked, every human being would have eventually been brought into its dominion. God chose His tool of destruction well.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Winter said. “I’ve never heard anyone speak of the Beast that way.”

  “I am coming to that.” The Eldest looked over his shoulder and smiled. “The second difference between the Beast and a common demon is that the Beast is intelligent in its own right. Most demons have no more reason than a cat or a wolf, but the Beast is to them as humans are to animals. It remembers, down through the centuries. It learns.”