The Guns of Empire

by Django Wexler

Winter nodded slowly. She’d always thought of Infernivore as a kind of animal, with its own moods and hungers, but no smarter than, say, a dog. A lot like a dog, in fact—eager to attack, but still waiting for its master’s command. She tried to imagine sharing her soul with something that could think, and shivered.

  “The Church has done its best to suppress the truth,” the Eldest went on. “But we remember, though they try to destroy us. Karis was a sorcerer, a man who had studied the art of summoning demons. In an age of great minds, he was one of the greatest. When the Beast first arose, sent by God to destroy mankind, he alone saw what would come. He prayed, and God, impressed by his piety and will, granted him the knowledge and strength to confront the monster. Karis sacrificed himself to the Beast, even as his followers eradicated all the other hosts, leaving it confined to his body alone. His acolytes learned the Beast’s name, the greatest and most powerful of the demon names. You understand the nature of demons and their names?”

  “Not really,” Winter confessed, feeling like she was barely treading water. “Janus has explained a little.”

  “A demon can be summoned from the hells by the incantation of its name. Each name refers to only a single creature, and if it is already in this world, reciting the name is useless. But the demons work ceaselessly to reach our world if they are left to their own devices, and now and again they succeed. Sometimes a child is born with a demon, without any summoning.” He cocked his head. “Is that how it was with you? Or did you speak a name?”

  “I spoke . . . something.” Feor had called it a naath, but Winter guessed it amounted to the same thing. “It hurt so much I thought I would die.”

  “You very well might have. The more powerful the demon, the harder it is for a human soul to bear its weight. An unworthy host dies at once. This also means the more powerful the demon, the more difficult it is for it to be born into the world.

  “What Karis realized was that the Beast, being intelligent, would learn from its failure. If it was loosed again, it would never be so foolish as to allow all its hosts to be hunted down. And if it arose in a corner of the world where there was no one to oppose it, then it would grow out of control before it could be stopped. He understood the nature of the task God had set him, and those who came after him.” The Eldest halted, looking at Winter. “For thirteen hundred years, the Church has held the Beast captive. When one host dies, a search is made for another who can bear the weight of it. As long as it is in this world, it can be kept under lock and key. If it is allowed to return to the hells, it could arise anywhere, and if it finds itself beyond the reach of the Church, then humanity is doomed. This is the nature of the Grace. Only as long as the Church maintains its vigil is God’s instrument of vengeance kept from the world.”

  “Wait. This is still going on?” Winter said. “You’re not serious.” Even after everything she’d seen, things like this—Karis, the Beast, sorcery—felt like they belonged only in ancient history.

  “I am. The Beast of Judgment is interred in a cell under Elysium.”

  “Brass fucking Balls of the—” Winter stopped. “I mean. Damn.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So where do you come in?”

  The Eldest turned and continued walking. “Three hundred years after Karis’ sacrifice, there came to the Church the greatest leader since the Savior’s death.”

  “Saint Elleusis Ligamenti,” Winter said, eager to show she wasn’t entirely ignorant. “He founded Elysium and split the Church into the three orders, and launched the holy wars.”

  “Correct,” the Eldest said. “He also took it upon himself to codify Church doctrine and eliminate sects whose beliefs had been branded as heresy.”

  “People were sacrificing animals and so on, right? Pagan rituals they’d held on to.” There had been a paragraph or so to that effect in one of Winter’s history books. It made her think of Khandar and the endless ranks of their animal-headed gods.

  “There was some of that,” the Eldest agreed. “But the largest split was a philosophical disagreement over the nature of demon-summoning. In the early days of the Church, priests—following in Karis’ footsteps—gathered the names of demons and used them for their own ends. Sorcery was more common then. But as the Church’s power grew, one group, headed by Ligamenti, held that anyone who hosted a demon was condemned to eternal torment, no matter for what purposes the demon was used. That the goal of the Church should be to imprison all demons as they’d imprisoned the Beast, and banish sorcery from the world forever.

  “We called them the Purifiers. At the time my ancestors called themselves the Pragmatists, and they believed that demons were tools to be used for good or evil. Where they refer to us at all, however, the Church now calls us the Mages, and our belief the Mages’ Heresy. It is a useful enough name for our purposes.

  “So there was war between the Church and the Mages. Sorcery had never been popular with the common people, no matter the purpose, and Ligamenti raised them against us. Some of us tried to fight back, taking shelter with the tyrants and kings who ruled much of the continent, but they were eventually destroyed as the domain of the Church expanded. Others fled beyond Ligamenti’s reach. And my own ancestors chose to hide, here on the Mountain, and hope that Ligamenti and his Purifiers would destroy themselves.”

  The Eldest stopped in front of an iron-banded wooden door. He fished under his robe and removed an ancient brass key, which he fitted into a keyhole worked into the banding. The door swung inward on noiseless, well-oiled hinges, and the old man raised his lantern high.

  “Here we are,” he said. “Unless I miss my guess, you’ve seen something like this before?”

  Winter stepped around him into the doorway. The room beyond was small and nearly empty, with only a small fire pit at the other end with a couple of pillows beside it. Lining the walls were huge tablets, taller than she was, that reflected the lantern with the dull gleam of burnished steel. Standing out like dark ink on the surface were row after row of strange characters, deeply incised into the metal, spelling out what Winter now knew to be the names of demons.

  —

  The Eldest kindled the fire pit, and he and Winter sat down between the ancient slabs. In the most detached way she could manage, she told him the story of what had happened in Khandar—Feor, the meeting with Mother and her cult, and the discovery of the Thousand Names—and the conflicts they’d had with the Priests of the Black since her return to Vordan. The old man listened without changing his expression, stirring the fire from time to time with an iron poker and sending sparks whirling toward the ceiling.

  “I had guessed . . . some of this,” he said when she was done. “We are isolated here, but not so completely as it might appear. There had always been a rumor—more of a legend now—that one of the greatest of the Mages fled to Khandar with her archives after the fall of the Demon King. The Priests of the Black have tried several times to reach it without success.”

  “The Thousand Names,” Winter said, looking at the tablets all around them.

  “This is another archive,” the old man said. “A smaller one, though it contains the names of several powerful creatures. The ancient Mages wanted their records to last and to be difficult to steal.”

  “So some of these Mages made it to Khandar, and then the archive fell into the hands of the cultists?”

  “From your story, I would guess that it was more of a transformation of the one into the other. Traditions change as they are passed down, unless you live apart from the world as we do here.” He shook his head. “I would love to meet this Feor.”

  “That can probably be arranged.” The thought snapped Winter back to reality. “If you’re willing to let us go, that is.”

  “I think I have no choice. If Vhalnich has the Thousand Names, he—or his allies, if he dies—might be able to challenge the Church.” He sighed. “My ancestors may have burned for revenge aga
inst Ligamenti and his Purifiers, but all I want is to keep my people safe. We have built a home here. But . . .”

  “But?”

  “The Beast.” He poked the fire. “The vigil must be maintained. One reason my ancestors felt the Purifiers were misguided was that if knowledge of sorcery faded from the world, as Ligamenti claimed it must, then the understanding of the need to keep up the watch might fade as well. The Priests of the Black have banished demons to history and children’s stories, but the Beast of Judgment is real. If they fall, if their order is destroyed, then it will return. Not immediately—the Beast is powerful, and it can enter our world on its own only with great difficulty. But it will come, one year or another, and we will not be able to stop it again.”

  “I don’t know if Janus knows all this,” Winter said. “But I’m certain that he wouldn’t want to release the Beast of Judgment. He doesn’t want to annihilate humanity.”

  “If I offer you our help, this is my price. You must convince him to take on this responsibility. Will you swear to that?”

  “I will,” Winter said. She was surprised at how easily the words came. The Eldest’s sincerity was apparent, and she couldn’t see how lying to her would help him. Besides, if we take Elysium, we’ll get the truth either way. If there was something there that could destroy mankind, she was sure Janus would agree that keeping it locked up was only common sense.

  “Then you will have our aid, such as it is,” the old man said. He stood and stretched, back popping audibly. “There are ways into Elysium that have been forgotten for a thousand years. And I’m sure Alex will wish to come with you.”

  “Is she one of yours?” Winter said. “Did she get her demon from here?”

  “Oh, no.” The Eldest gave a sad smile. “From time to time we take in strays. Wild demon-hosts, those who have fled the Priests of the Black and their Penitent Damned. Alex and Abraham both came to us that way, together.”

  “The Penitent Damned.” That had been bothering Winter. “You said Ligamenti and the Purifiers rejected the use of demons. Why do the Black Priests use them now?”

  “Hypocrisy and hairsplitting.” The old man rolled his eyes. “Ligamenti at least had the courage to reject sorcery outright, in spite of its advantages. Later generations were not so stalwart. They rationalized that while hosting a demon results in unalterable damnation, that sacrifice could be justified—a few souls condemned to eternal torment in exchange for many saved from the endless fires. The Penitent Damned are those who have willingly given up their chance at a reward in the next life in order to help the Church in this one.” He shook his head. “I don’t know whether to laugh at them or take pity on those whose self-loathing rises to such a pitch.”

  “The Mages don’t believe carrying a demon means damnation?”

  “Of course not,” the Eldest said gently. “Some children are born with demons, remember? Can you look at a sleeping infant and honestly tell me that God would condemn that babe to hell for such an accident? No. God judges us for our actions, however we carry them out. A demon can be used for evil, just as a sword can. But it can be used for good, too.”

  Winter, never particularly religious, had always been uncertain whether she really believed in heaven and hell. But with Infernivore wrapped around her soul, it was nice to know that there was more than one opinion on the subject.

  The Eldest led the way back, following a different path. He brought her to a curtained doorway, which led into a large hall on the ground level, open to the outside with more arrow-slit windows. A number of Mountain people were gathered, in their colorful wool robes, surrounding a small knot of Vordanai. Winter’s chest relaxed slightly at the sight of Bobby, Red, and the rest of the Girls’ Own soldiers, who were trying to converse with a number of young Mountain men in a fractured pidgin of three or four different languages.

  “Winter!” Bobby jumped to her feet as they entered, pushing through the crowd. She didn’t bother with a salute, but wrapped Winter in a hug so powerful Winter felt her ribs creak. “Are you all right?”

  “I will be, if you let go of me,” Winter said.

  “I told them I wanted to see you, but none of them seemed to understand,” Bobby said, stepping back. “They haven’t treated us badly, though. There’s food, and . . .” She lowered her voice. “One of them can heal wounds. He brought down Ivers’ fever and closed the arrow cut on Varner’s leg.”

  “I know. He saw to my hand, too.” She held up her fresh pink fingers.

  “Alex keeps telling us to wait. Do you even know where we are? Why is it so warm?”

  Winter glanced at the Eldest. “He hasn’t explained that, actually. But I told him what we’re here to do, and they’re going to help us get into Elysium.”

  Bobby gave a relieved sigh. “Glad to hear it, sir. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to fight our way out. There are a lot of kids here.” She whispered again. “A few other demons, too, I think.”

  “It’ll be all right,” Winter said. “We’re all on the same side. I think.”

  “I was surprised when they told me about your followers,” the Eldest said in Hamveltai, coming up beside Winter. “Are all soldiers in Vordan women?”

  “Not all,” Winter said. “But some. A few.”

  “Among some of the northern tribes, the women fight alongside the men,” the Eldest mused. “And of course the Tyrant’s Legions infamously took anyone willing to serve.” He smiled at Winter. “One advantage of standing apart from the world is that you can see how the wheel of history turns and turns again.”

  “Who’s he?” Bobby said. Her Hamveltai was as weak as her Murnskai. For a moment Winter wished Cyte were here, with her gift for languages. And how she would have loved talking to the Eldest about his wheel of history. She pushed the thought aside. Cyte was—hopefully—safe, back in the Grand Army’s camp. I wouldn’t wish what we went through to get here on anybody.

  “He’s in charge here,” Winter said in Vordanai. “Sort of a head priest, I think.”

  “Oh!” Bobby offered the Eldest an awkward bow, which he returned. “Tell him thanks for the food.”

  “It’s nothing,” the old man said, when Winter translated. “The Mountain is generous with us.”

  The other soldiers had drifted over by now, and Winter found herself pressed into service as a makeshift translator for the next hour, rendering Vordanai into an ugly mix of Murnskai and Hamveltai. These seemed to be the primary and secondary languages of the Mountain, respectively, though their pronunciation of the latter was a little odd compared to the Velt dialect Winter had learned. The Mountain people were eager for news of the world, though Winter was surprised to find they were remarkably up to date in their knowledge of the outside.

  “Eldest!” The curtained door flew open, and a girl in her midteens came in. She wore a long shirt and leather pants instead of the usual robes, and her dark hair was tied in two long pigtails. “Eldest, I have news—” She stopped, eyes widening as she saw the outsiders.

  “As do I,” the Eldest said. “Welcome back, Snowfox.”

  “Who are these people?” The girl’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Winter. Winter concentrated hard in return, but Infernivore showed no interest. She doesn’t have a demon. So why is she picking me out?

  “Let me explain,” the Eldest said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Winter, I will send for you in perhaps an hour. It has been a long day, I realize, but from what you have told me time is of the essence.”

  “Thank you, Eldest,” Winter said.

  With a final suspicious look from the girl, the two of them left the room.

  “What was that about?” Bobby asked.

  “Damned if I know,” Winter said.

  —

  The boy was about five years old, his hair a white blond almost as light as Winter’s. He hid behind his mother, peeking around the edge of her skirts. The wom
an had the pale skin, dark hair, and dark eyes of most Murnskai, which made the boy’s features all the more arresting; in addition to his mop of golden hair, his eyes were a bright, shining yellow, like the eyes of a cat caught in a lantern’s glare.

  “He read the name of a demon?” Winter said. The woman spoke only Murnskai, so the conversation was a slow and inexact affair. “Really?”

  “Yes. The Eldest said that of all the young ones, he was the best—” And then a word Winter didn’t understand. Candidate? Sacrifice? “The Sunbringer prefers children as its hosts.”

  “You weren’t afraid that it would hurt him?” Winter said.

  “Of course I was.” She pulled the boy close with one arm and gave him a squeeze. “But someone must bear the burden if we are to survive. Besides, the Sunbringer is one of the gentlest of demons. And Rimi has always been a bright child. It took him barely a month to learn its name.”

  “Ivn-fa-toth!” the boy said. His mother grinned and ruffled his hair.

  “That kid keeps the whole valley warm?” Bobby said.

  When Winter translated, the Mountain woman nodded. “Rimi visits the wards spread around the edges of the valley once a year and renews their power. He and Snowfox keep us safe and happy here.”

  “Happy,” the boy agreed solemnly.

  There was a rustle in the curtained doorway, and Alex appeared. Rimi gave a happy cry and rushed over to her.

  “Hello, Rimi,” Alex said.

  “Alex! Can we swing?”

  At Winter’s questioning glance, Alex blushed slightly. “The kids like it when I use my power to swing them along the cliffs.” She glared at Winter as though daring her to comment.

  “That sounds like fun,” Winter said, a little awkwardly.

  “Not now, Rimi,” Alex said. “I need to take Winter and Bobby to see the Eldest. Stay here with your mother, and we can swing later, okay?”

  After detaching the child, which took some effort, Alex led Winter and Bobby through the maze of corridors the Mountain people had carved into the rock. They followed the same staircase Winter had taken the last time, to the room where she’d been introduced to the Eldest, which she gathered was some kind of inner sanctuary.