Darkwar

by Glen Cook

  She extricated Barlog from a difficult situation, scanned the slopes, killing here and there, and by the time she returned to Barlog found the huntress trapped again.

  Only a dozen of her meth made it to the river.

  Only when they assembled before taking up the pursuit in the open did the nomads discover how terribly they had been hurt.

  Marika ravened among them then, and they panicked, scattered.

  She searched for Kublin. She found him starting up the far slope safely downstream from the action. She stayed with him till he reached an operable vehicle, silencing any nomad who came too near. Though he seemed aware of their presence almost as soon as she, and shied away. And as he had said, he knew the land and made use of its masking features.

  Even so, she hovered over him while he transferred fuel to fill one vehicle’s tanks, then got it going. As it began climbing the trail over which the attack had come, Marika hurried back to her proper form.

  When she came out she was more exhausted than she had been the evening before.

  “Marika?” Grauel asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I will be. I need food and rest. Get me something to eat.” The firing had stopped entirely. “Any word from over there?”

  “Not yet. You went?”

  “Yes. It looked awful. There were hundreds of savages. And Dorteka guessed wrong. There were silth with them. Wild silth. Most of our meth are dead, I think. Certainly most of the novices are. I could find no sign of them.”

  Grauel’s lips twitched, but she said nothing. Marika wondered what thoughts lay behind her expressionless eyes.

  Huntresses began to straggle in almost as soon as Grauel had gotten a cookfire going. Only seven showed. Marika turned inward and remained that way, loathing herself. She had fouled up about as bad as it was possible to do. That All-be-damned Kublin. Why did he have to turn up? Why couldn’t he have stayed dead? Why had fate dragged him across her trail just now?

  “Marika? Food.” Grauel gave her of the first to come from the fire. She ate mechanically.

  Dorteka staggered out of the snowfall fifteen minutes after Marika began eating. She settled beside the fire. Grauel gave her food and drink. Like all the rest of them, she ate and stared into the flames. Marika did not wonder what she saw there.

  After a while Dorteka rose and trudged toward where the prisoners had been held. She was gone fifteen minutes. Marika was only marginally aware that she had gone.

  Dorteka returned. She settled beyond the fire, opposite Marika. “The prisoners tried to get away during the fighting?”

  “Yes,” Marika said, without looking up. She accepted another cup of broth from Grauel. The broth was the best thing for a silth who reached this exhausted state.

  “One got away. A trail runs down the slope. I heard an engine over there while I was coming back. Must have been one of the males.”

  “I do not know. I thought I got them all.” She shrugged. “If one got away he will take warning to the rest.”

  “Who was he, Marika?”

  “I do not know.”

  “You helped him. Your touch cannot be disguised. You were directly responsible for the deaths of all of our novices and most of the huntresses. Who was he, Marika? What is this thing you have with males of the brotherhood? Why was the escape of this one so important you destroyed yourself?”

  Was there no end to it?

  Marika clutched Grauel’s revolver beneath her coat. “You believe what you have said. Yes. I see that. What are you going to do about it, Dorteka?”

  “You have left me no choice, Marika.”

  Powder burned Marika’s paw. The bullet struck Dorteka in the forehead, threw her backward. She lay spasming in the snow, her surprise lingering in the air of touch.

  The huntresses yelped and began to rise, to grab for weapons. Grauel and Barlog did the same, but slowed by tangled loyalties.

  This would be the ultimate test of their faith, Marika thought as she slipped through her loophole, grabbed a ghost, and struck at the seven.

  The last fell. Marika waited for the bullet that would tell her Grauel or Barlog had turned against her. It did not come. She returned to flesh, found both huntresses staring at her in horror. As was the bath from the darkship, who had been sleeping for so long Marika had forgotten her.

  She summoned what remained of her strength and energy and rose, collected a rifle, put several bullets into each of the downed huntresses so it would look like nomads had slain them.

  “Marika!” Barlog snarled.

  Grauel laid warning fingers upon her wrist.

  Marika said, “The snow will cover everything. We will report a huge battle with savages. We will be the only survivors. We will be stricken with sorrow. The Reugge do not Mourn their dead. There is no reason anyone should investigate. Now we rest.”

  Her companions radiated the sort of fear huntresses betrayed only in the presence of the mad. Marika ignored them.

  She would pull it off. She was sure she would. Grauel and Barlog would say nothing. Their loyalties had passed the ultimate test. And now their fates were inextricably entwined with hers.

  II

  Just a few minutes more, Marika thought at the All. Just a few more miles. They had to be close.

  The limping darkship was just a hundred feet up, and settling lower all the time. And making but slight headway. Snowflakes swirled around Marika. The north wind pushed at her almost as hard as she was able to push against it. When she risked opening her eyes to glance back, she could barely distinguish the bath at the girder’s far end. Grauel and Barlog, riding the tips of the crossarm, were scarcely more visible.

  The huntresses had little strength she could draw, but she took of them as well as of the bath. She also dredged deep into her own reserves. She knew she was not doing this right, that she was devouring far more energies than needful in her crude effort, but survival was the prize.

  Only savage will kept the darkship aloft and moving.

  Will was not enough. Cold gnawed without mercy. Weariness ravened as Marika rounded the last bend of the Hainlin before it forked around Akard, the ship’s rear grounding strut began to drag in the loose snow concealing the river’s face. Marika sucked one final dollop of strength from the bath and herself, raised the darkship a few yards, and threw it forward.

  The draw was too much for the bath. Her heart exploded.

  The rear of the darkship dropped into the snow. The ship began tilting left. The left arm caught. Grauel and Barlog tumbled off. The flying dagger tried to stand on its point. Marika arced through bitter air and, as snow met her, flung one desperate touch at the shadowy fortress looming above her.

  III

  Marika opened her eyes. She was in a cell walled with damp stone. A single candle provided weak light. She could not distinguish the features of the face above her. Her eyes refused to focus.

  Had she damaged them? A moment of panic. Nothing was so helpless as a blind meth.

  “Marika?”

  “Is that you, Grauel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are we? Did we make it to Akard?”

  “Yes. Most Senior Gradwohl is on comm from Maksche. She wants to talk to you.”

  Marika tried to rise. Her limbs were quicksilver. “I can’t….”

  “I’ll have you carried there.”

  The face disappeared. Darkness and dreams returned. The dreams were grim. Ghosts wandered through them, taunting her. The most prominent was her littermate, Kublin.

  She was lying in a litter when she revived. The smell of soup tempted her. She opened her eyes. Her vision was better this time. Barlog walked beside her, her gait the strained labor of a tired old Wise meth. She carried a steaming stoneware pot. Her face was as empty as that of death. The bitter chill behind her eyes when she met Marika’s gaze had nothing to do with weariness.

  “How did we get here?” Marika croaked.

  “You touched someone. They sent huntresses out after us.” />
  “How long ago?”

  “Three days.”

  “That long?”

  “You went too far into yourself, they say. They say they had trouble keeping you anchored in this world.” Did she sound the slightest disappointed?

  So many times Dorteka had warned her against putting all her trust in those-who-dwell. There were ways less perilous than walking the dark…. So close.

  Barlog said, “They sent huntresses to Critza to find out what happened there. In case you did not make it. Their far-toucher reported by touch this morning. The most senior wanted to know when she did. She wanted you wakened when that happened. Even she was not certain you could be drawn back.”

  Gradwohl had taken a direct interest? Mild trepidation fluttered through Marika. But she hadn’t the energy for real fear. “Give me a cup of that soup.”

  Barlog stopped the stretcher-bearers long enough to dole out a mug of broth. Marika gulped it down. In moments she felt a surge of well-being.

  The soup was drugged. But not with chaphe. That would have propelled her back into the realm of nightmare.

  Barlog said, “The most senior did not think to question simple huntresses such as Grauel and I.”

  Marika understood the unstated message.

  Grauel met them at the comm room door. “I have placed a chair facing the screen, Marika. I will be over here, out of hearing, but watching. If you have trouble, signal me and we will develop technical difficulties.” The huntress chased the technicians out. There would be no outside witnesses.

  “I can handle it,” Marika said, wondering if in fact she could match her show of confidence with actions. The most senior was difficult enough to fool even when Marika had full control of her faculties.

  She kept her eyelids cracked as Grauel and Barlog levered her into the chair.

  The face on the screen was not that of the most senior at all, but of Braydic. Braydic looked as if she had put in some hard hours of worry. Good Braydic. She would have to be remembered in times to come.

  The distant communications technician said something to someone at her end, moved out of view of the pickup.

  Gradwohl replaced her. The most senior appeared concerned but neither suspicious nor angry. Maybe the effort to make it look like the nomads had wiped out the ambush had been successful.

  Marika opened her eyes. “Most senior. I am here.”

  “I see. You look terrible.”

  “They tell me I did stupid things, mistress. I may have. It was a desperate and narrow thing. But I think I will recover.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Marika told the story exactly as it had happened till the moment she had discovered Kublin. She left her littermate out of it. She left her treachery out of it. Of course. “I am not sure why the nomads were following so far behind. Maybe the Serke outdistanced them in their eagerness to reach and silence Akard before help was summoned. Whatever, I was unprepared for the advent of nomads. They surprised us while I was unconscious and my huntresses were scattered, going through the damaged vehicles. They overran everyone and crossed the river before anyone wakened me. Then the prisoners broke away and added to the confusion.

  “Had the snowfall not been so heavy the savages might have been intimidated by their losses. But they could not see those. It came to hand-to-hand fighting in our camp before I managed to slay the last silth protecting them. And then I did not have the strength to finish them. All I could do was lie there while my huntresses died around me.

  “Mistress, I must take responsibility for this disaster. I have betrayed you. Through my inattention I turned victory into defeat.”

  “What defeat, Marika? It was costly, yes. I will miss Dorteka. But you broke the Serke back. You saved the Ponath. They will not try anything like this again.”

  “Mistress, I…”

  “Yes?”

  “I lost my command. I lost Dorteka. I lost many valuable novices. I lost everything. This is not a thing to celebrate.”

  “You won a triumph, pup. You were the only one to stand her ground. Your seniors lost heart and fled before the battle was joined. And I am certain the Serke did not make it easy for you. Or you would not be in the state you are now.”

  “There was one of their great ones with them,” Marika reiterated. “I bested her only through trickery.”

  Gradwohl ignored her remarks. Her voice took on a flint-knife hardness. “Educan is going to rue her male cowardice. The tall tales she told when she reached Maksche will cost her every privilege she has.” A glint of humor appeared in the most senior’s eye. “You would have appreciated her expression when the news came that you had saved Akard. That the garrison she abandoned there never saw hair of the invaders.”

  “Mistress, I fear what might happen if news of this gets out to other Communities.”

  “I am two steps ahead, pup. Let the villains quake and quiver. Let them wonder. What happened is not going to leave the circle of those who know now. We will let the snows devour the evidence.”

  Marika sighed.

  “We are not ready for the upheaval going public would cause. We have years yet to go.”

  Marika was puzzled by what Gradwohl said. She told herself not to underestimate the most senior. That female had a labyrinthine mind. She was but a little animal being run through its maze, hoping she could keep her head well enough to use as much as she was used. “Yes, mistress. I was about to suggest that.” Let the snows devour the evidence.

  “I think we will have less trouble with the Serke now. Do you agree? Yes. They will walk carefully for a while, now. Come back to Maksche, Marika. I need you here.”

  Marika could think of nothing to say. Her mind refused to function efficiently.

  “You flew the darkship blind, untrained, with but one bath to support you. I am impressed and pleased. You give me hope.”

  “Mistress?”

  “It is time your education moved into new, more practical areas.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “That is all for the moment, Marika. We will examine this more closely after you return. When you are more fully recovered. A darkship will come for you soon.”

  “Thank you, mistress.”

  The most senior stepped off pickup. Braydic reappeared for a moment, made an encouraging gesture. Then the screen blanked.

  “You ducked that one, didn’t you?” Grauel asked. When Marika glanced her way, she found the huntress’s back turned.

  The most senior turned out the cloister in Marika’s honor. Because only a very few knew the whole story, the older sisters acclaimed her only grudgingly.

  “What do they want of me?” Marika asked Grauel. “No matter what I accomplish, they resent it.” She was surprised that, after all these years facing the disdain of the Reugge Wise, she could still be hurt by their attitudes.

  “I do not know, Marika.” Grauel’s voice was tired, cold, remote. “You are a heroine now. Your future is assured. Is that not enough?” She would not criticize, but censure choked her body language.

  For a very long time she and Barlog would speak to Marika only when the course of everyday business required it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I

  For a year the Reugge were free from outside pressures. The Serke Community assumed a posture of retrenchment that baffled the silth world. They seemed to be digging in quietly in anticipation of some great fury while overtly shifting more of their energies into offworld ventures. But nothing happened.

  Some who watched the brethren closely noted that they, too, sought a lower profile. Some of the constituent bonds, especially those strongest politically within the brotherhood, also seemed to anticipate some great terror. But nothing happened.

  Except that Most Senior Gradwohl of the Reugge gathered legates of the Communities at the Reugge complex in TelleRai to formally announce a major victory over the savages plaguing the Reugge northern provinces. She declared those territories officially pacified.

&
nbsp; The savages had come to concern several other Communities whose lands bounded the Reugge and would have been threatened had the Reugge campaign been unsuccessful. Those Communities were pleased by Gradwohl’s declaration.

  Gradwohl publicly announced that a young Reugge sister named Marika had engineered the end of the savages’ tale.

  Privately, Marika did not believe the threat to be extinct. She thought it only dormant, a weapon the Serke would unsheathe again if that seemed profitable.

  TelleRai, where many silth Communities maintained their senior cloisters, simmered with speculations. What was the truth behind this bland bit of Reugge folkloring? Who was this deadly Marika, of whom there had been rumors before? Why was Gradwohl taking so little genuine note of what in fact amounted to a withering defeat for Serke intrigues? What was the Reugge game?

  Already Gradwohl was a shadowy, almost sinister figure to the silth of TelleRai, known by reputation rather than by person. Her intensity and determination on behalf of a relatively minor, splinter Community, while she herself remained an enigma, were making of her an intimidating legend, large beyond her actual strength. Her spending most of her time away from TelleRai only strengthened the aura of mystery surrounding her.

  Was the legend striving toward some goal greater than plain Reugge survival? Her plots were intricate, complex, though always woven within the law…. She made more than the Serke ruling council uncomfortable.

  Once a month, on no set day, Marika left the Maksche cloister and walked to the brethren enclave. The only escort she accepted consisted of Grauel and Barlog.

  “I will not be loaded down with a mob of useless meth,” she insisted the first time after her return from the north. “The more I drag along, the more I have to worry about protecting.”

  It had become customary for a silth sister daring the streets to surround herself with a score of armed guards. Invariably there would be at least one sniping incident.