Darkwar

by Glen Cook

  Was she getting beyond herself? Looking too far down the path?

  She went to a window, stared at the stars. “Soon,” she promised them. “Soon Marika will walk among you.”

  She returned to her desk and dug out the file containing outlines of Braydic’s reports.

  The critical notation to date was that Braydic had identified signals from more than one hundred orbital satellites. Though the spacefaring sisterhoods did not announce an orbiting, the available data suggested that they had helped boost no more than half that number into orbit. Which meant that the brethren had somehow put the rest up on their own, trespassing upon silth privilege by doing so. The space codicils to the conventions specifically excluded the brethren from the dark, except as contract employees of the sisterhoods.

  Intriguing possibilities there.

  Braydic entered tentatively. “You sent for me, mistress?”

  “Yes. I want to know what you have intercepted recently. Especially today.”

  “I sent a report not two hours ago, mistress.”

  “I know, Braydic. A very long, thick, dull report that would take forever to get through. It will take less time if you just tell me if there was anything worth overhearing. Especially from our male friends at the enclave.”

  “There has been heavy traffic all day, mistress. Much has been in cant or in the brethren cult language. We have not been able to decipher much of it, but we think they are expecting an important visitor.”

  “That would make sense,” Marika murmured to herself. “That is all?”

  “All we could determine without an interpreter. If you expect me to unravel the content of these messages, you are going to have to give me interpreters or scholars capable of discovering the meaning of the secret languages. Neither I nor any of my team are capable.”

  “I will see what I can do about that, Braydic. It would please me, too, if we could understand everything being said. Thank you for taking time to come up here. And I want you to know I appreciate your efforts.”

  “You are welcome, mistress. Oh. Mistress. The Serke network has also been carrying a heavy traffic load today.”

  “There might be a chance of a connection? Yes? Good. Thank you again. This calls for reflection.” Marika seated herself, closed her eyes, allowed herself to sink into the All. She waited for intuition to fuel her thoughts.

  She came out to find Barlog poised near the doorway, waiting, doing nothing to disturb her. “Barlog?”

  “Is there to be an answer to the message, Marika? The messenger is waiting.”

  “Indeed? Then tell him to tell Bagnel that I will be there an hour after midnight.” She consulted her calendar. “An hour and thirteen minutes after, to be precise.”

  The major moons would attain their closest conjunction of the month at that time. The tides would rise high enough to halt the flow of the Hainlin. The hour would be one considered especially propitious to the silth. Bagnel would understand. She was sure he had been studying everything known about the silth with as much devotion as she studied everything known about flying and space. He might not be wholly aware of the part he was playing in this game, but he was as dedicated as she. A pity he could not become her prime opponent. He would make a good one. The tension of their friendship would add spice.

  From Bagnel she shifted thought to the rumored wehrlen. Was that anything but wishful thinking by rogues? She could catch the odor of nothing even remotely concrete. Her resources were inadequate.

  Ten minutes before she was due at the enclave, Marika assumed her position at the tip of the dagger of her darkship. She had elected to fly to avoid the chance of rogue ambush. She did not fear ambush, but it would be too much of a distraction.

  Grauel and Barlog accompanied her, standing at the axis of the cross. Marika and they carried their weapons. She made the bath go armed. The moment they were airborne Grauel used a portable transceiver to contact the tradermale controller. She followed procedures identical to those Bagnel used on landing approaches.

  Marika thought that amusing. Especially if the brethren were up to some wickedness.

  She brought the darkship down near Bagnel’s headquarters. Barlog and Grauel dismounted quickly and took their places to either paw. One bath went ahead of Marika, two followed. The party bristled with weapons. Marika herself carried a revolver and automatic rifle taken from enemies in the Ponath. She hoped the tradermales would see the symbolism.

  Bagnel handled her irregular arrival well. She wondered if she could surprise him anymore. He greeted her pleasantly. “Right on time. Come into the back.”

  Marika was startled. Never before had he offered her entrance to his private quarters.

  “Is all the hardware necessary?” Bagnel asked.

  “That remains to be seen. We live in strange times. I don’t believe in taking needless chances.”

  “I suppose.” He sounded as though he thought his honesty had been questioned.

  “It’s not personal, Bagnel. I trust you. But not those who use you. I want to be able to shoot back if somebody shoots at me. More sporting than obliterating them with a blow from the touch. Don’t you think?”

  “You’ve developed a bloodthirsty turn, Marika.”

  She wanted to tell him it was calculated. But even with him there were truths best kept close to the heart. So she told him an incomplete truth. “It’s my upbringing. I spent so much time getting away from meth who wanted to eat me. What did you expect anyway? This can’t be social. You’ve never invited me over in the middle of the night. That would be an impropriety.”

  Marika gestured. Grauel, who retained the sensitive nose of a Ponath huntress, stepped up and sniffed the fruit punch Bagnel had begun preparing. The tradermale eyed her with a look of consternation.

  “I didn’t think you’d be fooled,” he said. “Knowing you, you have it half figured out.”

  “You want me to meet someone who is going to try to bribe me or twist my arm. I trust that you were a good enough friend to warn them that their chances of success are slight.”

  “Them?”

  “I expect there will be more than one, and at least one will be female, of exalted rank, representing the Serke.”

  A door opened. Marika glimpsed a sleeping room. Bagnel had spartan tastes in private as well as public. She credited him with a point to his account of positives. He worked to fulfill his tasks, not to acquire a more luxurious life.

  Several meth came out of the sleeping room. None were armed and none were of low status. Their trappings reeked of power and wealth. Marika’s party seemed incongruous in their presence, all of them clad for the field, all armed, the bath and Grauel and Barlog nearly fight-alert against the walls.

  Marika had hit near the mark. There were two silth and two males. The males were so old their fur had a ratty, patchy look. Both exuded a strong presence seldom seen even in females. She recognized neither, but there were few photographic records of those who were masters among the brethren.

  One of the males stared at her in a fashion she found too bold. Too much like a butcher sizing up livestock.

  “Marika,” Bagnel said, stirring the punch, “I want to be on record as having arranged this meeting under orders. I don’t know what it’s about, so don’t blame me personally if you don’t like the way it goes.”

  “I know that, Bagnel. It would be unreasonable to expect thieves to give any consideration to friendship. Few of them are aware that it exists. I’ll bet the word does not occur in the Serke secret tongue, or even in your tradermale cant.” She turned. “Greynes. Natik. Korth. Guard the outside. One of you take the hall doorway. The other two patrol around outside. I doubt you will see anyone, as these bandits will not want it known what they are doing and orders will have been given keeping everyone away from here. But, just in case, shoot first and ask questions later.”

  The moment the door closed behind the bath, she asked, “What are you going to offer?” She brought her gaze ripping across four sets o
f hard but mildly unsettled eyes.

  The silth looked back blankly, careful students of their art. Marika judged them to be high in their order. Almost certainly from the Serke controlling council itself. They would want a close look at the Reugge youngster who had slain two of their number.

  The tradermales remained blank, too.

  None of the four spoke.

  “But surely you have something to offer. Some way of getting me to betray my Community so you can work your wicked wills. Think of the prizes at stake. Our Reugge provinces are floating on oil. Those parts that are not sinking beneath the weight of rare heavy elements.” She revealed her teeth as she tilted her ears in a contrived expression of amusement. “But look at you, crinkling around the corners of your eyes and wondering what is this creature? It is just me. The troublesome savage Marika. The shin-kicker who forestalls the conspiracies of thieves. Trying to drive a wedge between you.”

  Teeth began to show. But for some reason they had made it up to allow her all the initial talking. Perhaps a test?

  “Yes. I am forthright. I tell you right out front that I am going to put you at one another’s throats. No proxies and no lies. Sisters, did your friends here ever tell you about the pitchblende in the western Ponath?”

  One of the tradermales jerked upright, lip peeling back in an unconscious snarl. The silth did not miss that. Grauel and Barlog snapped their rifles down, aimed at his chest.

  “Pitchblende is a source of radioactives, rare and dangerous heavy metals. They have very limited technological applications at the moment—primarily as power sources in satellites. But it takes no imagination to see that major surface installations could be built by an advanced technology. I suspect the brethren could have something operating within ten years. Sisters, do look up radium and uranium when you get back to Ruhaack, or wherever. While you are checking things, see if you can get an accurate count on the number of satellites orbiting our world. Compare that number with the number that the dark-faring Communities have lifted.”

  Marika faced the tradermales. “I am perfectly transparent, am I not? It is your turn. You, of course, have been anticipating Serke treachery from the beginning. That is the way those witches are. You have been preparing for the scramble for the spoils. But suppose we could short-circuit the process? Lovely technical term, short-circuit. Suppose you did not have to deal with the Serke at all? Suppose I offered you a Reugge license allowing you access to all the pitchblende you want? Without your having to sneak through the wilds outside the law, hoping you can survive the malice of your accomplices.”

  The males exchanged looks.

  “There? You see? I have been perfectly obvious, and yet I have given you much on which to think. Why not get what you want the cheaper and safer way? I understand you better than you think. I know what moves you.” She shifted her gaze to the silth. “You, though, remain enigmas. I do not know if I will ever fathom your motives for committing such hideous crimes.”

  She settled into the one chair standing on her side of the room, waiting. A shaken Bagnel hovered in no-meth’s land. He sped Marika a look of appeal.

  “I am waiting,” she said after half a minute of silence.

  They had found their strategy wanting, though they took its failure well. One of the males finally said, “Not long ago you placed the brethren in a tight position. You tied us up so we had no choice but to do something we considered despicable.”

  “That is just beginning, old-timer. If you persist in arming, training, sending out criminals to attack silth, you are going to find yourselves in even tighter places. You will find the Reugge have so many criminals under sentence we will be selling their sentences to Communities that have a shortage of condemned laborers.”

  Her confidence rattled the male for a moment. But he recovered, held unswervingly to what had to be a prepared line of argument. “We have decided to do unto you as you did unto us.”

  “Really? Why do I get the feeling I am about to witness the unfolding of a grand delusion?”

  “We do not delude ourselves!” he snapped. She could almost hear him thinking, You silth bitch.

  “Arrogant silth bitch,” she corrected aloud. “Come ahead, then. Try me.”

  For the first time the Serke looked genuinely uncertain. The appearance of confidence becomes confidence, Marika reminded herself.

  The male who had not yet spoken did so now. From several glances he had thrown Bagnel’s way, Marika inferred that he must somehow be her friend’s superior. He said, “Some time ago you ambushed a joint force in the Ponath. You once threatened to make the circumstances public. We would like it noted that the same event can be used to your detriment. If you refuse to cooperate with us.”

  Marika was not surprised. She had expected that Kublin would come back to haunt her eventually. But she had let the matter float, hoping she could do the right thing intuitively when he did.

  The male suggested, “You might want to send your guards outside.”

  “I might not. There are two Serke of exalted status here. I might not be able to kill both of them quickly enough to keep you from sticking a knife into me. Go ahead with your threats.”

  “As you wish. You allowed a littermate to escape that ambush. Surrounding circumstances suggest that you did more than that to assure his safety. Suppose that were made known?”

  The one thing Marika had done about the matter was to send a group of huntresses, picked by Grauel, to Critza. They were under instructions to lie low and capture any snoopers. So she controlled the physical proofs. “Go ahead. If that is your best.”

  “What we have in mind is presenting the evidence to your most senior. She, I believe, is your principal anchor within the Reugge Community.”

  Marika shook her head, honestly less worried by the moment. “Go with it. See what it gets you. While you are at it, though, why not up the stakes? Why not try to buy me somehow?”

  That caused more consternation.

  “We will present Most Senior Gradwohl with the evidence.”

  “I said go ahead. You will have assembled a fair file on me by now. You know I do not bluff.”

  “We know your bluff has not been called. We know you are young. A characteristic of youth is that it takes long risks, betting that older, more cautious heads will not hazard stakes as dangerous.”

  “Play your stakes,” Marika said. “Grauel, our presence here seems pointless. Tell the bath to ready the darkship.”

  “Wait,” one of the silth said. “You have not heard what we want.”

  “To tell the truth, I do not care what you want. It would not be anything in my interest, or in the interest of the Reugge Community.”

  “You could become most senior of the Reugge if you cooperated.”

  “I have no wish to become most senior. That is a job that would distract me too much from those things that do interest me.”

  “Is there any way to reach you?”

  “Almost certainly. We all want some things so badly we will befoul ourselves to get them. Witness yourselves. But I cannot think of anything that is within your power to offer. At least nothing I cannot take for myself. I suggest you stop trying to steal the Ponath. Accept the fact that the Reugge control it. Deal for the petroleum and pitchblende. Frankly, I find it impossible to comprehend your frenzy for outright control.”

  Marika looked at the tradermales, hoping they would understand that she actually had no trouble at all understanding. “I will go now. You four squabble over the ways you may have planned to stab one another in the back.”

  With Grauel and Barlog covering her, she backed to the doorway. She paused there, added, “The most senior is away this month, as she often is. You will not be able to contact her for some time. However, she will return to Maksche for a two-week period beginning the fifth day of Biter—if you feel compelled to present your evidence. My own proofs are held by a trusted sister at TelleRai, under seal. She is under bond to break the seal in the event of my death or pro
longed disappearance.” She left. But after she had taken a few steps, she turned back to add, “After me, my fine thieves, the end of the world. At least for you and yours.”

  Her feet flew as she dashed to the darkship. She had gotten away with yanking their whiskers. Very nearly with yanking them out by the roots. She had left them completely at a loss.

  It was wonderful.

  It was the sort of thing she had wanted to do to some of her elders almost from the time she had grown old enough to reason.

  She took the darkship up, on a long flight, pursuing the rogue orbit of a small retrograde moon. She pushed hard, glorying in the cold air’s rush through her fur.

  After the crude joy began to fade, she halted, floated high, where the air was thin but cut like knives of ice. She looked southward. Far, far down there were the great cities of the world. Cities like TelleRai, which spawned the Gradwohls and silth like the Serke she had faced tonight. And thousands of miles farther still lay the equator, over which orbited many of the tradermale satellites.

  The ice was advancing because the world had cooled. The world had cooled because not enough solar radiation impinged upon it now that it had entered the interstellar cloud. To halt the ice required only an increase in the amount of solar energy reaching the surface of the planet.

  Someday, and perhaps not that long now, she would begin throwing more coals on the fires of the sun—as it almost had to be said in the dialect of her puphood, naked as it was of technical and scientific terms.

  II

  Marika had won again, apparently. Neither the Serke nor brethren appeared inclined to test her.

  A quiet but busy year passed.

  Three months after the confrontation in Bagnel’s quarters, third chair came open. Gradwohl moved her up. Marika clung to those security functions pertaining to the rogue male problem. She continued to expand them as much and as often as she dared, though she operated with a more delicate paw than had been her custom. With more to lose and more to gain, she invested much thought before making more enemies.