She sat upright in her chair, ramrod straight. She stood that way too. She was tall, with piercing gray eyes and light brown hair. A stranger might think she was aloof. I knew she held herself at attention because if she once let herself bow down, the weight of her responsibilities would overwhelm her.
“I’m sorry about before,” I said. “The bit about you praying harder.”
She nodded, finally letting her shoulders slump and the mental exhaustion show. “It’s hard.”
“For you and me both. At least God’s giving you a direction. All I know is I’m supposed to give you an army that can stop Yoshana, and I don’t have one. It feels like I’m trying to make chicken salad out of chicken sh…” I trailed off. She was a prophet of the Lord, after all.
Tess gave me a strained smile. “Sometimes he shows me what he wants me to do, but usually he’s a little vague on how. A year ago I wouldn’t have guessed I’d have a Select who’d been infected with the Darkness leading God’s army.”
“A year ago I wouldn’t have thought so either. Especially not this Select.” I fingered the circle of roses and thorns embroidered on my jacket. I’d refused to join the Order of Thorns at first, not having been a Universalist at the time. I’d come a long, strange way in twelve months.
I pushed back from the table. “We’d better get moving. If we stay in here alone too much longer they’re going to think we’ve been up to something besides working.”
You don’t hear what you don’t expect. Prophetess spoke softly, and I didn’t quite catch the words.
“What?” I asked.
She shook her head and stood. “Never mind.”
It was only after we’d left the room that my mind processed what she’d said. I couldn’t be completely sure, but I thought it was, “Do you want to give them a reason?”
2. First Move
I spent hours turning those words over in my head. Did I want to change the nature of my relationship with Prophetess to something more than her friend and champion? Of course I did. Was the run-up to Yoshana’s campaign against us the right time for another complication? Not really. I found myself thinking life would be simpler if the Overlord just got on with attacking us.
Be careful what you wish for.
I was playing chess with Kafer, Prophetess’ older brother. He had been promoted to sergeant and led a squad of Our Lady’s militia under Captain Marek. He’d made it clear to me that he felt ready for commissioned rank, but I had no valid reason to elevate him further. Of course, once battle was joined, there would likely be plenty of openings for battlefield promotions. Although they were likely to be short-lived.
In any event, Kafer was one of the few people willing to play chess with me. Prophetess, Dee, Hake, Lago, and Father Juniper didn’t play. Tolf was terrible. I’d heard Father Roric and the Metropolitan were excellent players, but I was still a little bit intimidated by both of them, as was the rest of Our Lady; they only played against each other. Everyone else was a little bit intimidated by me. Except for Tarc, the only other Select in the army. And he was still holding a grudge over my killing of his friend, Lalos. He would play, but he sneered when he beat me. And he always beat me.
“Mate in… two,” I concluded, looking up from the board at Kafer. He considered the pieces, then tipped his king.
He looked at me narrowly. “So… what’s up with you and my little sister, anyway?”
My face heated. That wasn’t a conversation I was prepared to have with anyone just yet, much less Prophetess’ brother. Had she said something to him?
“What do you mean?”
“By my count, you’ve risked your life for her three times. Bringing her here, ditching Yoshana for her, and now leading her army. In my experience, a guy doesn’t do all that for a girl unless he’s got something in mind.”
I didn’t know what to say and put myself to resetting the board, buying time. I was actually relieved - though only briefly - when Tolf came around the corner, puffing and blowing. I frowned up at him. “If I remember right, last time you came running up like that, I wound up infected with the Darkness.”
“I told you. Not to go,” he gasped.
And that was true.
“Okay, so you’re smarter than I am, even if you are a lousy chess player. What is it this time?”
“Sedition,” he wheezed.
“What? What are you talking about?”
Kafer suddenly remembered that Tolf was a superior officer and offered his chair. The older soldier sank into it gratefully and took several deep breaths before continuing.
“There’s talk of surrender in the town. All over the marketplace. Going on about how we’re all going to die if we fight. And all Yoshana wants is for us to shut up and leave her alone. How Prophetess and the Metropolitan are crazy not to agree to those terms. You too.”
“I’m not sure that’s sedition.” I wasn’t even sure it was wrong. I understood the moral imperative to oppose Yoshana, but we truly were picking a fight I didn’t think we could win.
Tolf shook his head violently. “This isn’t like a couple of people having second thoughts, or muttering behind closed doors that it’s nuts to be dragged into war by some lunatic farm girl and an underage blackeye mercenary.”
He looked apologetic, and I was pretty sure that was a direct quote from someone. Maybe several someones.
He went on, “This flamed up too fast. Folks aren’t saying ‘maybe’ or ‘we oughta think about it.’ It’s being told as fact, and it’s everywhere, all of a sudden, all at once.”
Information warfare. Sowing fear before the assault. Breaking the enemy’s will before breaking our bodies. It was basic strategy. I’d done it myself. It stood to reason Yoshana would too, only better.
Mechanically, I finished resetting the pieces on the chessboard.
“She’s just advanced her first pawn.”
“Is he in?”
The chamberlain’s secretary glared at me from her single eye. The other socket was empty, a puckered mass of badly healed scar tissue. Knowing her as well as I did, I assumed she left it uncovered mostly to intimidate people.
Moya didn’t seem to like anybody. As best I could tell, she liked me less than most. Maybe she held me responsible for her injury, because I’d recruited her into the Rockwall quartermaster company where she’d been hurt. Maybe she held me responsible because I hadn’t been there to defend that company, and the fact that I’d avenged her by hunting down and killing half the men who’d attacked it wasn’t good enough. Maybe she didn’t like the Select. Maybe she just didn’t like me.
I’d sometimes wondered whether she’d make a good match for Railes, who had highlighted the loss of one ear by having a skull tattooed on his face. Railes was tough enough to deal with Moya. But I liked Railes, and I wouldn’t wish the one-eyed redhead on anyone.
Father Doreden, the Metropolitan’s chamberlain, employed Moya because she helped keep people away from him. And his job was to keep people away from the Metropolitan.
I found Doreden nearly as disagreeable as Moya, but I had come to understand the need for him. Everyone wanted to see the Metropolitan all the time.
Despite my exalted rank, I didn’t need a chamberlain or a secretary to keep people away from me. My race and generally unpleasant personality were enough. The fact that I’d been infected with the Darkness might have helped too.
Another part of the reason Moya might dislike me was because Doreden couldn’t refuse to see the commander of Our Lady’s armies. She nodded curtly and said, “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
She vanished through a door into the chamberlain’s office. Moya ruled over an outer reception area, richly carpeted and paneled in dark wood. Beyond that was Doreden’s office and beyond that, the Metropolitan’s suite. He had his own bathroom in there, and I could see why - getting out past Doreden and Moya every time he needed to use the facilities would be emotionally exhausting.
I sat in a chair that was beautifully carved b
ut had probably been deliberately selected because it was uncomfortable. And waited.
The redhead emerged. “He’ll see you in a bit.”
I nodded and stayed in my uncomfortable chair. Doreden would make me wait. I highly doubted that he was doing anything important, or indeed that he ever had anything important to do. But if he couldn’t refuse to see me, he could make me cool my heels.
In the old days, before Prophetess had cleansed me, I might have manifested the Darkness in his room to hurry him along. If I’d been in a good mood. If I’d been cranky, I would have just swept secretary and chamberlain aside.
Sometimes I missed the power, but I didn’t miss what it had done to my character. I was obnoxious enough without it.
“Minos, sorry to keep you waiting,” Father Doreden said, with all the warmth and sincerity of a rattlesnake.
He was a man of average height but above average weight, none of it muscle. I didn’t think it could all be fat, though - there had to be room for all the self-importance he was stuffed full of.
“Father. I need to see the Metropolitan.”
“Mmm,” he smiled. “Everyone does.”
“Yeah. Not everyone is trying to stop us from being overrun by a homicidal Overlord leading the armies of darkness.”
A panicked look slid across the fat face. “She’s not here? Not now?”
I considered lying to see if that would get things moving faster, but settled for the truth. “Not yet. But she’s got agents in the town, saying we should surrender.”
“Something to be said for talking rather than fighting, isn’t there, Minos?”
“Last time we decided that, I wound up infected with the Darkness.” I was getting a lot of mileage out of that phrase. Constantly reminding people of what I’d been probably didn’t make me any more popular, but it sometimes got things done.
The chamberlain’s expression soured. “I’ll see if the Metropolitan can see you.”
The basilica at Our Lady never ceased to impress me. Gilded stone columns stretched up to a deep blue ceiling. Angels looked down beatifically from those heights.
The first time I’d been in this grand space, we’d been sent to Stephensburg with a handful of volunteers. I’d wished then for thousands of soldiers to march against Yoshana. Now I had thousands of soldiers and would much rather head in some other direction all by myself.
Be careful what you wish for.
In all that vast hall there were only the Metropolitan, Father Roric, Prophetess, and Fedil Arnage, the mayor of the surrounding town. And me. Every word spoken at a normal volume echoed. It was only natural that our voices sank to near whispers.
“Wouldn’t meeting in the war room make more sense, Your Eminence?” I asked the Metropolitan. He was a trim man of slightly less than middle height, white hair receding on his scalp. There was nothing physically impressive about him, but some force of character always left me a bit awed in his presence.
“I’m more certain we won’t be heard here. It seems to me that whatever response we formulate to the Overlord’s first move, we’ll want to keep it to ourselves until we’re ready.”
“Are you sure we wish to dignify these marketplace rumors with a response?” Roric asked.
I still wasn’t sure exactly where Father Roric fell in the ecclesiastical hierarchy of Our Lady. His title, Advocate for Justice, was impressive, but I didn’t think he was one of the senior members of the clergy. Interesting that he was the only one the Metropolitan had invited. But not surprising. He and I had not always seen eye to eye, but I’d be the first to admit he had a penetrating mind.
He was wrong this time, though. I said, “This won’t blow over. Yoshana’s undermining morale. Weakening support for the battle ahead. And it won’t stay confined to the town. My troops go out there, and that talk will start to infect them. And if they don’t think it’s worth fighting, we’ve lost already.”
“Are we sure it is worth fighting, though?” asked the mayor. On the continuum between Roric’s razor intellect and Doreden’s self-satisfied complacency, Arnage fell a lot closer to the chamberlain’s end. He looked a bit like Doreden, too - big, fat, and soft. He wouldn’t enjoy going on rations during a siege.
He continued, “If it’s true that all Yoshana wants is for us to remain silent and neither act nor speak against her, why wouldn’t we agree to it?”
“All that’s required for evil to triumph is for good men to remain silent,” Prophetess said.
I nodded. “That, and she’d come back for us when she was done with everyone else.”
“You don’t think she’ll keep her word?” Arnage sounded shocked. I rolled my eyes.
“She’s as much a politician as she is a warrior,” I snapped. “Lying is second nature to her.”
The Metropolitan shot me a disapproving look. I had been gratuitously rude to the mayor, although the implied insult seemed to have slid off him like water off a duck. Father Roric wore the tiniest smile. If thinking ill of your fellow man was truly a sin, I wondered how often the Advocate for Justice needed to go to confession. Probably almost as often as I should.
“We will not be staying silent,” the Metropolitan said with great finality. I might be the military leader here, Arnage the civil authority, and Prophetess the voice of God… but the Metropolitan gave the orders in Our Lady. He looked at me. “You seem to understand Yoshana’s strategy. How do we counter it?”
I shrugged. “This is a conventional opening. She undermines morale, we boost it. We’ll make a demonstration.”
It was really just logistics at that point, and the discussion was over soon enough. I found Cat lurking outside the door, waiting for Prophetess.
The paleo girl dipped her head to me. Even after six months of regular eating, she was still the pale, wiry creature she’d been when I first found her. Or technically, when she’d first found me, and tried to kill me.
“Minos,” she said.
“Hey, Cat. You know, I have to admit I kind of liked it when you called me Shadow Warrior.”
“Not shadow warrior now.”
“No. No I’m not.”
It was an impressive spectacle, if I did say so myself. My troops might not be able to coordinate on the field, but they could sure march in step.
Prophetess and the Metropolitan were at the very head of the column, with the Order of Thorns arrayed around and behind them. They both wore heavy robes, cream colored like the bricks of Our Lady’s citadel, elaborately embroidered, and divided down the middle so they could ride. The two of them alone were mounted. The Order of Thorns, Prophetess’ personal guard, wore white tabards embroidered with a circle of roses and thorns picked out in crimson and silver thread.
Behind came rank on rank of our infantry, alternating companies of Rockwall and Monolith troops in blocks five wide and twenty deep. They also bore the rose and thorn badge, but in a more sober gray on white. Fully armored and equipped with shield and spear, it was a formidable array. The rhythmic stamping of their boots as they marched echoed through the cold air. The soldiers’ breath steamed, creating an effect like some sort of enormous, many-legged dragon with steel spears in place of fangs and claws.
It was impressive… and predictable. The remains of the Shadowed Hand and Lago’s rangers were scouting outside the parade route. If Yoshana were to deploy the Darkness we had no direct counter to it, but my old company would be better prepared than anyone else in Our Lady. And the Monolith rangers were formidable, disciplined scouts with some experience of the Darkness - from having me use it on them back when we had been enemies.
The men at each corner of the infantry squares carried long poles with reservoirs of burning oil. It added to the spectacle and, more importantly, the Darkness didn’t like fire.
The column was a mile long. Crowds lined the streets to watch as we made our way to the plaza fronting the town hall, where Arnage had assembled a reviewing stand for the local dignitaries to receive the host of the righteous. It was cold eno
ugh to give the mayor, councilmen, and wealthy citizens assembled there an opportunity to show off expensive cloaks and furs.
The march halted in the plaza. The mounts that the Metropolitan and Prophetess rode gave them an impressive height advantage that matched the mayor’s elevation on the reviewing stand. The horses were large and powerful, although I knew Tess’ at least had been chosen for an absolutely placid temperament. The beast would stand like a statue even in the face of gunfire, which suited her riding ability perfectly.
Nearly seven thousand soldiers grounded their spear butts with a resounding crash. The Metropolitan’s steed took a quick sidestep, but he brought it under control with sure pressure on the reins and stirrups. He must have been fifty years older than Prophetess and I, but he was a much better horseman than either of us. As advertised, Prophetess’ animal remained completely unperturbed.
A deacon with a chest like a bull bellowed into the echoing silence, “His Eminence the Metropolitan of Our Lady, Bishop of the West.”
The Metropolitan stood in his stirrups, which I had never tried but didn’t seem like something I could manage, and graciously inclined his head to the assembled dignitaries.
“Your Honor. Councilors. Citizens. The question has been asked, ‘Why do we fight?’”
He paused and looked around. “It’s a good question. War is never an option to be undertaken lightly. Wouldn’t it be better to sit back, be quiet, and mind our own business?”
A few heads nodded, on the reviewing stand and in the crowd.
“I’ll give you two thoughts. One is from the Psalms. ‘The just man is a light in darkness to the upright.’ And the other is from the Gospel according to Matthew. ‘You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden.’”
He raised his voice. “There’s a reason the scriptures refer so often to the symbol of light, shining in the darkness. We are the people of God, called to illuminate the nations with his truth. We will never abide the Darkness, and the Darkness will never abide a city of light that rebukes its very existence. This task is ours, but God has not set it to us unaided. We are in the presence of God’s prophet on earth.”
Passing Through Darkness- The Complete Cycle Page 58