Darkwar

by Glen Cook

  “You are zigging when I am zagging, Marika.” Gradwohl appeared mildly baffled.

  “I want to try to steal the signals of other sisterhoods, mistress. From what Bagnel has said, doing so should not be difficult. Just a matter of altering one of the receivers so it will accept signals other than our own.”

  Gradwohl reflected for a moment. “Perhaps. The males would be most incensed if ever they discovered the fact.” Like mechanized transport, communications equipment came from the brethren on lease. Only minor repairs were permitted the lessees.

  “They will not find out. I will use receivers we took away from the nomads.”

  “All right. You have my permission. But I suspect you will find it more trouble than it is worth. Any messages of importance will be couched in the secret languages of the Communities sending them. And in code besides, if they are critical. Still, much could be learned from the daily chatter between Serke cloisters.”

  Marika was more interested in intercepting data returned from tradermale research satellites, but she could not have interested the most senior in that. Gradwohl was an obsessive, interested only in defeating the Serke and augmenting Reugge power. “We might even find out what is so important about the Ponath,” Marika said. “If we knew that we might become a more powerful Community simply by possessing the knowledge.”

  “That is true.” Gradwohl did not seem much interested in pursuing the thought, though. Something else was on her mind. Marika had a glum suspicion. Gradwohl said, “Let us get to the point, Marika. To the reason I called you here.”

  “Yes, mistress?”

  “Utiel is about to retire.”

  “Mistress?” Marika knew what was coming. Utiel was fourth on the Maksche council. Only first chair, or senior, held more real power.

  “I want to move you to fourth chair, Marika.”

  “Thank you, mistress. Though there will be protests from—”

  “I can quiet the egos of those passed over, Marika. Or I could if I did in fact move you up. I said I want to move you. I cannot. Not the way things stand.”

  Marika slipped into her cautious role. “Mistress?” She controlled her emotions rigidly. Fourth chair she wanted badly. It could become her springboard into the future.

  “Fourth chair is understudy for third as well as being responsible for cloister security, Marika.”

  She knew that well. In the security responsibility she saw opportunities that seemed to have evaded those who had held the chair before.

  Gradwohl continued, “Third chair is liaison with other cloisters, Marika. A coordinating position. A visible, public position. As fourth, understudying, you would be expected to begin making contacts outside the Maksche cloister. As fourth you would become known to the entire sisterhood as my favorite. As fourth you would be seen to have ambitions beyond Maksche.

  “For all those reasons your behavior and record would be subjected to the closest scrutiny by those who hope to place obstacles in your path.

  “From fourth chair, Marika, it is only a step to an auditor’s seat at conventions of the Reugge seven at TelleRai.”

  “I understand, mistress.”

  “I do not think so, Marika.”

  “Mistress?”

  “Never has one so young sat upon the Maksche council. Or any other cloister council, except in legend. But the sisters here accept your age, if grudgingly, because of your demonstrated talent, because of all you have done for the Community, and especially because you have my favor. They can brag about you before sisters from other cloisters. You have helped put a remote cloister upon the map, so to speak. But there are limits to what their pride and my power can force them to swallow.”

  “Mistress?”

  “They would revolt before they permitted you to assume a position in which you would represent this cloister elsewhere, pup.”

  “You have lost me, mistress.”

  “I doubt that. I doubt that very much. You know exactly what I am talking about. Don’t you? I am talking about Toghar, Marika. You have been eligible for the ceremony since you returned from the Ponath. You have put it off repeatedly, calling upon every excuse you can muster.”

  “Mistress….”

  “Listen, Marika. I am speaking of roads to the future opened and closed. If you continue to evade the ceremony you will not only not rise any higher than you are now, you will begin to slide. And there will be nothing I can do. Tradition must be observed.”

  “Mistress, I—”

  “Marika, you have many dreams. Some I know, some I infer, and some must be entirely hidden. You are one moved by dreams.” The most senior stared at her intently. “Listen, pup. Marika. Your dreams all live or die with that ceremony. No Toghar, no stars. And the darkship will go. We cannot invest so much of the Reugge in one who will not invest of herself in the Community.”

  She awaited an answer. None came.

  “Pay the price, Marika. Demonstrate your dedication. So many smaller, weaker, less-dedicated silth have done so before you.”

  Still Marika did not respond.

  She had witnessed the Toghar ceremonies. They were not terrible, just long. But the cost…. The price of acceptance as an adult silth, with full privileges….

  She had no plans to birth pups, ever. She did not wish to be burdened with trivial, homey responsibilities. Yet to surrender the ability to dam them…it seemed too great a price.

  She shook her head. “Mistress, do you have any idea what Grauel would give to possess the ability you are asking me to surrender? What she would do? We came out of the Ponath, mistress. I carry the burden of ten years of living with and accepting those frontier values that—”

  “I know that, pup. The entire cloister knows. That is why I am being pressed to push your ceremonies. There are those who hope you will stumble upon that early training.”

  She had already. When she had released her littermate Kublin. Where was he now? There had been none of the terrible nightmares since that day on the Hainlin. Had she laid some ghosts?

  “Make up your mind, Marika. Will you be silth? Or will you be a Ponath huntress?”

  “How long do I have, mistress?”

  “Not long. There are pressures I cannot resist forever. So make it soon. Very soon.”

  Smug bitch, Marika thought. Gradwohl was sure what the decision would be. She thought she had Marika’s every emotional end tied to a puppet string.

  “But enough of that now, Marika. I also want your thoughts on the rogue situation. Did you hear that there was another factory explosion last night?”

  “At another place belonging to someone friendly to us?”

  “It was at the tool plant. That pushes the brethren down the list of suspects, does it not?” When she spoke in council, Marika always insisted the brethren were connected with the rogues.

  “No.”

  There had been a series of explosions lately, all of which had damaged meth bonded to the Maksche cloister. One bomb had gone off in a farm barracks during sleeping hours, killing twenty-three male field workers. Rumor blamed disaffected males. As yet there had been no captures of those responsible.

  Marika, like everyone else in the cloister, believed the Serke were responsible. But unlike everyone else, she believed the rogues were drawing support from within the tradermale enclave. Were, perhaps, striking from there, and thus remaining unseen.

  “There is no such evidence, Marika,” the most senior argued. “Males are naturally foolish, I admit, but there are few fools among the Brown Paw Bond—with whom we have had an understanding for centuries.”

  “There is no evidence because no one is trying to collect it, mistress. Why is it that Utiel cannot catch the males responsible for these explosions? Is she not trying? Or is she just inept? Or could it be that she still does not believe the rogues to present a threat worth taking seriously? Do they have to start throwing bombs over the cloister wall before we take direct action? I have heard that several of the Communities have begun watching
us here.”

  “Do not lecture me, pup. Utiel has tried. She is old and has her faults, I admit, but she has tried. She has been unable to detect them. It is almost as if the rogues have found a way to hide from the touch.”

  “So must we be so dependent upon our talents? Must we be wholly committed to one method of looking? We cannot assume a reactionary stance and expect to handle this sort of threat.”

  “You have a better idea?”

  “Several. Again, does Utiel take all this seriously enough? I do not believe she does. Old silth grumble about rogues but just go on about their business. They say there are always a few rogues. It is a pestilence that will not quite go away. But this is a disaffection that has been growing for years. As you know. And it is clear that there is organization behind it. Organization and widespread communication. It is worst here in Maksche, but the same shadow falls upon a dozen other Reugge cloisters. I think we would be fools to just try waiting it out. Before long we would be watching the Educans run away when reality closes in.”

  “You will not forgive her, will you?”

  “I lost a lot of meth because of her. If she had not lost her nerve, we could have devoured the nomads and Serke before they knew what hit them.”

  The most senior looked at her hard. Marika was sure Gradwohl had not swallowed her whole story about what had happened at Critza. But she was equally certain that the most senior did not suspect the truth.

  She hoped Kublin had had sense enough to keep his mouth shut.

  “I would have had her shot, mistress. Before the assembled cloister.”

  “Perhaps. You think you can do better with the rogues? You think you can handle the security function of fourth chair? Then take charge.”

  “Mistress?”

  “It is fourth chair’s responsibility.”

  “Will you assign me the powers I will need to get the job done?”

  “Will you take the Toghar rites?”

  “Afterward.”

  Gradwohl eyed her coldly. “This is your watershed, pup. You had better. There will be no more bargaining. Be silth, or be gone. You can have whatever you need. Try not to walk on too many toes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I

  Marika moved quickly, drafting every silth and huntress she respected. Two nights after receiving the most senior’s blessing, she began moving small teams into every site she believed to be a potential rogue target. She followed the dictum of the ancient saw, “The night belongs to the silth.” She moved in the dark of the moons, by low-flying darkship, unseen even by those who managed the places she chose to protect.

  She was certain there would be an attack soon. Some show of strength. She had written Bagnel bragging about her appointment, transparently implying that she suspected his bond of being behind the rogues.

  If he was what she believed, and reported the contents of her letter to his factors, there should be a move made in an effort to show nothing so simple would frighten them off. Or to make it appear the Brown Paw Bond really had no control over the rogue group.

  She hoped.

  Her planted teams kept themselves concealed from those who worked and dwelt in and around the potential targets. Marika herself shifted to a nighttime schedule, remaining aloft on the trainer darkship she had made her own.

  The rogues waited four days. Then they walked into it. It could not have gone better for Marika had she been giving the villains their orders.

  Three were slain and two captured in an action so swift no shots were fired. Marika lifted the captives out quietly and carried them to the cloister aboard her darkship.

  One of those two managed to poison himself. The other faced a truthsaying.

  He yielded names and addresses.

  Marika threw teams out aboard every darkship the cloister possessed, ignoring all protests, invoking the most senior where she had to. By dawn seven more prisoners had been brought into the cloister. Five lived long enough to be questioned.

  A second wave of raids found several rogues forewarned or vanished completely. This time there was some fighting. Few rogues were taken alive.

  Even Marika was surprised at how many rogues Maksche boasted.

  The third wave of raids took no prisoners at all. Few rogues were found. But weapons and explosives enough for an arsenal were captured, along with documentary evidence of rogue connections in TelleRai and most cities where the Reugge maintained cloisters.

  Marika had the captured arms laid out upon the cloister square. The dead rogues joined them.

  “Very good, Marika,” Gradwohl said as she and the Maksche councillors inspected the take. “Very impressive. You were right. We were too passive, and even I underestimated the scale and scope of what was happening. No one could see this and remain convinced that we are dealing with the usual scatter of malcontents. I will order all the Reugge cloisters to—”

  “Excuse me for interrupting, mistress. It would be too late for that. The rogues will have vanished everywhere. Posting rewards might help a few places, if they are large enough. A point that I have to make, over and over till everyone understands, is that for all their broad antisilth sentiments, and all that the evidence shows them established almost everywhere, these rogues are attacking nobody but the Reugge.”

  “Noted,” Gradwohl replied. “And right again. Yes, Marika. The Serke are behind them somewhere, though the rogues themselves would not know that.”

  “They did not when we questioned them.”

  “Where did they go? Those who disappeared?”

  Marika felt certain the most senior knew the answer she was about to give—and did not want to hear it. “Mistress?”

  “You did not collect two-thirds of those you identified. I know this. So where did they go?” Gradwohl seemed resigned to a great unpleasantness.

  “Into the tradermale enclave, mistress. I had the gate watched. As a sort of experiment. Inbound traffic grew rapidly after we began raiding. It peaked before our third round. Almost no one came out.”

  “So they are safe from retribution. Accursed—”

  “Safe? Mistress? Are you certain? What are the legalities? Is there no mechanism for extracting fugitives from convention territories?”

  “We shall see.” Gradwohl flung a curt gesture at the rest of the council. “Come.”

  “If there is no mechanism, I will make one,” Marika said softly.

  The most senior gave her a narrow look. “I believe you would, pup.” A few paces later, “Take care, Marika. Take care. Sometimes this world will show a toughness that is different from that of the Ponath. Sometimes losing can be the better path to winning.”

  “You didn’t let me know you were coming,” Bagnel complained. “How come you’re back already? You usually stall around.” He looked abashed. He also looked as if he was under a strain.

  “Official business this time.” Marika glanced at the clipboard she carried, though she knew the names and numbers by heart. She turned it so he could see the list. “These meth, all fugitives from the law, were seen entering this gate yesterday.”

  His lips peeled back in an unconscious snarl, and she knew the cause of the strain that had him so edgy.

  “I have brought the orders necessary for their removal from the enclave. They have a future in the mines.”

  “There must be some mistake.”

  “None whatsoever, Bagnel. Each of these meth has been convicted in court, on evidence presented by confederates. Sentence has been passed. Each was seen entering here. Would you like photographs of them doing so? I will have to send to the cloister for them.” She ran a spur-of-the-moment, inspired bluff with that remark. Photo surveillance had occurred to her only in retrospect.

  “Holding the job you do, by now you have heard about the ruckus in town. I presume your staff were involved in this behind your back.” Give him a ready-made excuse. “The males on this list fled here. They are here still. No airships have left the enclave. You have two hours to deliver th
em to Grauel and Barlog. If you do not, you will be considered in violation of the conventions and your charter.”

  Bagnel looked aghast.

  Grauel and Barlog waited outside with a dozen armed huntresses.

  “Marika…” Bagnel’s tone was plaintive. “Marika, that sounds like a threat.”

  “No. Here I have a copy of the charter negotiated before your brethren assumed control of this enclave. I have added a map for your personal information.”

  Bagnel examined the map first. “I do not understand.” He couched his speech in the formal mode.

  “You will note that it shows your enclave surrounded entirely by land belonging directly to the Reugge Community. At the time they assumed control, the Brown Paw Bond had no aircraft. Now they do. You must know that the conventions say that no aircraft of any sort may be flown over silth lands without direct permission of the sisterhood involved.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “The Brown Paw Bond have never obtained that permission for the Maksche enclave, Bagnel. They have never applied. The enclave is in violation of the conventions. Overflights will cease immediately. Otherwise sanctions will be applied.”

  “Sanctions? Marika, what in the world is going on here?”

  “Any aircraft or airship attempting to leave this enclave will be destroyed. Come.” She led him to the doorway, showed him three darkships slowly circling the enclave.

  Bagnel opened and closed his mouth several times, said nothing.

  Marika presented a fat envelope. “This contains a formal notice of the Reugge Community’s intent to cancel all Brown Paw Bond charters that now exist within Reugge territories.”

  “Marika….” Bagnel began to get hold of himself. “These fugitives. You really want them that badly?”

  “Not really. Not personally. It would not matter now if you did sneak them out. They are dead. Bounties have been posted on them—very large bounties. As you once noted, the Reugge are a very wealthy Community. No. What is at stake is a principle. And, of course, my future.”

  Bagnel looked puzzled. She had come at him hard, from unexpected directions, and had managed to keep him off balance.