Darkwar

by Glen Cook

  Ordinary meth would direct their anxieties and resentments toward the sisterhoods, not toward the brethren, who were careful to maintain an image as a world-spanning brotherhood of tinkerers.

  The real enemy. Of course. Always it added up when you thought in large enough terms. The brethren pursued the same aim as the rogues. Secretly, they supported and directed the rogues.

  Then they had to be broken. Before this great wehrlen came out of the shadows.

  Her ears tilted in amusement. Great wehrlen? What great wehrlen? Shadow was all he was. And break the brethren? How?

  That was a task that could not be accomplished in a lifetime. It had taken them generations to acquire the position they held. To pry them loose would require as long. Unless the Communities were willing to endure another long rise from savagery.

  The mistake had been made when the brotherhood had been allowed to become a force independent of the Communities. The attitude that made it unacceptable for a sister to work with her paws had become too generalized. The brethren’s secrets had to be cracked open and spread around, so silth-bonded workers could assume those tasks critical to the survival of civilization.

  Her mind flew along random paths, erratically, swiftly curing the world’s ills. And all the while the darkship was driving into the wind. The world rolled below, growing greener and warmer. Ghosts slipped away from the pack bearing the darkship. Others accumulated. Marika touched her bath lightly, drawing upon them, and pushed the darkship higher.

  The Cordillera faded away. A forested land rolled out of the haze upon the horizon, a land mostly island and lake and very sparsely inhabited. The lakes all drained into one fast watercourse which plunged over a rift in a fall a mile wide, sprinkled with rainbows. The fall’s roar could be heard even from that altitude. The river swung away to Marika’s left, then curved back beneath her in a slower, wider stripe that, after another hundred miles, left the wilderness for densely settled country surrounding TelleRai. TelleRai was the most important city on the continent, if not on the meth homeworld.

  The silth called this continent the New Continent. No one knew why. Perhaps it had been settled after the others. None of the written histories went back far enough to recall. Generally, though, the cities on other continents were accepted as older and more storied and decadent. Several were far larger than TelleRai.

  The outskirts of the city came drifting out of the haze, dozens of satellite communities that anchored vast corporate farms or sustained industrial enclaves. Then came TelleRai itself, sometimes called the city of hundreds because its fief bonds were spread among all the sisterhoods and all the brethren bonds as well. It was a great surrealistic game board of cities within the city, looking like randomly dropped pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, with watercourses, parks, and forests lying between the cloisters.

  Marika slowed the darkship and came to rest above the heart of the city, a mile-wide circle of convention ground enfiefed to no Community, open to everyone. She harkened to the map in her mind, trying to locate the skewed arrowhead shape of the Reugge cloister.

  She could not find it.

  She touched her senior bath. Greynes. You have been here before. Where is our cloister?

  Southwest four miles, mistress.

  Marika urged the darkship southwestward at a leisurely pace. She studied the city. It seemed still and lifeless from so high above. Till she spied a dirigible ascending. That must be one of the tradermale fastnesses there.

  Now she saw the Reugge cloister. Even from close up it did not resemble the picture she had had in mind. She took the darkship down.

  From a lower altitude the cloister began to look more as it should. It had tall, lean spires tapering toward the sky. Almost all its structures were built of a white limestone. It was at least three times the size of the Maksche cloister and much more inviting in appearance.

  The city itself looked more pleasant than Maksche. It lacked the northern city’s grim, grimy appearance. It did not suffer from the excessive, planned regularity of Maksche. And the poverty, if it was there, was out of sight. This heart of the city was more beautiful than Marika had imagined could be possible.

  Meth scurried through the visible cloister as the darkship descended. Several startled touches brushed Marika soon after it became obvious her darkship would land. She pushed them aside. They would not panic. They could see the Reugge insignia upon the underframe of the darkship.

  She drew on Greynes for word of the proper landing court, drifted forward a quarter mile, completed her descent as silth and workers rushed into the courtyard.

  The landing braces touched stone. Marika relaxed, released the ghosts with a touch of gratitude. They scattered instantly.

  Grauel and Barlog were there when she was ready to step down. The three bath positioned themselves a step behind. “A beautiful flight, sisters,” she told the bath. They seemed fresher than she was.

  The eldest bowed slightly. “You hardly drew upon us, Mistress. It was a pleasure. It is seldom we get a chance to see much of the country over which we travel. If from ever so high.” She removed her gloves and rubbed her paws together in a manner meant to suggest that Marika might refrain from going up into such chill air.

  Several silth rushed to Marika, bowed according to their apparent status. One said, “Mistress, we were not informed of your coming. Nothing is prepared.”

  “Nothing needs to be prepared,” Marika replied. “It was an impulse. I came to visit the Redoriad museum. You may arrange that.”

  “Mistress, I am not sure—”

  “Arrange it.”

  “As you command, mistress.”

  They knew who she was. She smelled the fear in the courtyard. She sensed a subtle flavor of distaste. She could read their thoughts. Look at the savage. Coming into the mother cloister under arms. With even her bath carrying weapons. Carrying mundane arms herself. What else could be expected of a feral silth come from the northern wilderness?

  “I will view the highlights of the cloister while arrangements are being made.”

  The level of panic did not subside. More silth arrived, including several of the local council. They appeared as distressed as their lesser sisters. One asked, “Is this a surprise inspection, Marika?” The name stuck in the silth’s throat. “If so, you certainly have taken us off our guard. I hope you will forgive us our lack of ceremony.”

  “I am not interested in ceremony. Ceremony is a waste of valuable time. Send these meth back to work. No. This is not an inspection. I came to TelleRai to visit the Redoriad museum.”

  Her insistence on that point baffled everyone. Marika enjoyed their confusion. Even the senior silth did not know what to make of her unannounced arrival. They went out of their way to be polite.

  They knew she had the favor of the most senior, though. And the most senior’s motives were deeply shadowed. They refused to believe this a holiday excursion.

  Let them think what they would. The most senior was not around to set them straight. In fact, she was not around much at all anymore. Marika often wondered if that did not bear closer examination.

  “How is the most senior?” one of the older silth asked. “We have had no contact with her for quite a long time.”

  “Well enough,” Marika replied. “She says she will be ready to begin what she calls the new phase soon.” Marika hoped that sounded sufficiently portentous. “How soon will a vehicle be ready?”

  “The moment we obtain leave from the Redoriad. Come this way, mistress. You should see the pride of the cloister.”

  Marika spent the next hour tagging after various old silth, leaving a wake of staring meth. Her reputation had preceded her. Even the lowliest of workers wanted to see the dangerous youngster from the north.

  A novice came running while Marika’s party was moving through the most senior’s private garden, where fountains chuckled, statues stood frozen in the midst of athletic pursuits, and flowers of the season brightened the soft, dark soil beneath exotic trees.r />
  Marika said, “I cannot see Gradwohl having much taste for this, sisters.”

  The eldest replied, “She does not. But many of her predecessors liked to relax here. Yes, pup?” she snapped at the panting novice.

  “The Redoriad have given permission, mistress. Their gate has been informed. Someone will be waiting.”

  Marika’s companions seemed surprised. She asked, “You did not expect them to allow me to see their museum?”

  “Actually, no,” one of the old silth said. “The museum has been closed to outsiders for the last ten years.”

  “Dorteka did not mention that.”

  “Dorteka?”

  “My instructress when I first came to Maksche. She reminisced fondly of a visit to the Redoriad museum when she was a novice herself.”

  “There was a time, before the troubles began, when the Redoriad opened their doors to everyone. Even bond meth and brethren. But that has not been true since rogue males tried to smuggle a bomb inside. The Redoriad have no wish to risk their treasures, some of which date back six and seven thousand years. After the incident they closed their gates to outsiders.”

  Another silth explained, “The Redoriad take an inordinate interest in the past. They believe they are the oldest Community on the New Continent.”

  “May we go, then?” Marika asked. “Is a car ready?”

  “Yes.” The old silth seemed displeased.

  In a merry tone, Marika said, “If you really want to be inspected, I can come back later. I must become acquainted with this cloister, as I no doubt will be moving here soon.”

  Deep silence answered that remark. The older silth started walking.

  “Why are they this way?” Grauel asked. “Feeling hateful, but being so polite?”

  “They fear that I’m Gradwohl’s chosen heir,” Marika replied. “They don’t like that. I am a savage and just about everything else they don’t like. Also, my being heir apparent would mean that they would have no chance of becoming most senior themselves. Assuming I live a normal life span, I will outlast them all.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing we arrived unannounced, then.”

  “Possibly. But I doubt they would go to violent extremes. Still, be alert when we get into the streets. There has been time for news of our arrival to have gotten out of the cloister.”

  “Rogues?”

  “And the Serke. They aren’t pleased with me either.”

  “What about these Redoriad? They are the other major dark-faring Community. Might not their interests parallel those of the Serke? Getting into their museum so easily….”

  “We’ll find out. Just don’t let them move me out of your sight.”

  “That has not needed saying for years, Marika.” Grauel seemed almost hurt by the reminder.

  Marika reached out and touched her arm lightly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I

  The vehicle selected for Marika’s use proved to be a huge steam-powered carriage capable of carrying twelve meth in extraordinary comfort. Silth began climbing aboard. Marika snapped, “Leave room for my companions. Barlog, you sit with the driver.”

  She hustled the bath and Grauel inside, climbed aboard herself. The coach’s appointments were the richest she had ever seen. She waited indifferently while the silth jockeyed for seats. She intervened only to make certain her TelleRai deputy in the antirogue program found a place. She confined her conversation to business while the coach huffed along TelleRai’s granite-cobbled streets at a pace no faster than a brisk walk. Grauel watched the world outside for signs of any special interest in the coach. Marika occasionally did the same, ducking through her loophole to capture a ghost. She would flutter with it briefly, trying to catch the emotional auras of passersby.

  She detected nothing that warranted excessive caution.

  The Redoriad were the largest of all sisterhoods as well as the oldest upon the New Continent. Their cloister showed it. It was a city in itself in an ornate, tall architectural style similar to that of the Reugge cloister.

  The steam vehicle chugged to a gate thirty feet high and nearly as wide. The gate opened immediately. The vehicle pulled through, halted. Silth in dress slightly different from the Reugge formed an honor guard. An old female with the hard, tough look of the wild greeted Marika as she descended from the coach.

  “They told me you were young. I did not expect you to be this young.”

  “You have a beautiful cloister. Mistress…?”

  “Kiljar.”

  Marika’s local companions made small sounds of surprise.

  “You honor me, mistress.” She was surprised herself. The Kiljar whose name she knew would be second or third of the Redoriad, depending upon one’s information source.

  “You know me, then?”

  “I am familiar with the name, mistress. I did not expect to be snowed under with notables on a simple visit to a museum.”

  “Simple visit?” The Redoriad silth began walking. Marika followed, staying just far enough away to allow Grauel and Barlog room. Kiljar was not pleased but pretended not to notice. “Do you really expect anyone to believe that?”

  “Why not? It is true. I wakened this morning feeling restless, recalled an old instructress’s wonder at the Redoriad museum, decided to come see it for myself. It was sheer impulse. Yet everyone is behaving as though my visit has some sort of apocalyptic portent.”

  “Perhaps it does not, after all. Nevertheless, the name can be the thing. What is expected is what is believed. Recent times have made it seem that the fate of the Reugge Community may revolve around you. Your name has become known and discussed. Always twinned with that of Most Senior Gradwohl, as strange and unorthodox a silth as ever became a most senior.”

  “I will agree with that. A most unusual female.”

  Kiljar ignored that remark. “Young, ambitious silth everywhere are militating for agencies similar to that you created within the Reugge. Old silth who have had brushes with you or yours follow your every move and wonder what each means. Brethren beg the All to render you less a threat than you appear.”

  Marika stopped walking. The column of Reugge and Redoriad halted. She faced Kiljar. “Are you serious?”

  “Extremely. There has not been a day in months when I have not heard your name mentioned in connection with some speculation. Usually it is on the order of, ‘Is Marika the Reugge behind this?’ Or, ‘What is Marika the Reugge’s next move?’ Or, ‘How does Marika the Reugge know things as though she were in the room when they were discussed?’”

  Marika had had some success with her signal intercepts, but not that much. Or so she had thought. Penetrating the various secret languages was very difficult, with the results often unreliable. “I am just one young silth trying to help her Community survive in the face of the most foul conspiracy of the century,” she replied. She awaited a response with both normal and silth senses alert.

  “Yes. To have a future you must have a Community in which to enjoy it. But I have heard whispers that say the Serke made a proposal in that regard.”

  Marika did not miss a step or feel a flicker of off-beat heart, but she was startled. Word of her encounter with the Serke and brethren had gotten out? “That is not quite true. The Serke approached me once, in their usual hammer-fisted way. They tried to compel me to turn upon my sisters. Nevertheless, the Reugge are stronger today, and the Serke are more frightened.”

  “Do they have cause?”

  “Of course. A thief must be ready to pay the price of getting caught.”

  “Yes. So. But these are thieves with considerable resources, not all of which have entered the game yet.”

  “Bestrei?”

  “Especially Bestrei.”

  “Bestrei is getting old, they say.”

  “She can still deal with any two Mistresses of the Ship from any other Community.”

  “Perhaps. Who can tell? But that is moot. The Reugge will not challenge her. And how could the Serke challenge us? Wou
ld that not amount to a public admission that the Reugge have a right to leave the surface of this planet? I would so argue before the convention on behalf of all those sisterhoods denied access to space.” Carefully, Marika admonished herself. This old silth speaks for a Community of dark-farers at least as powerful as the Serke.

  “There is that. This thing you have about rogue males. This campaign you have undertaken in the rural territories. I wish to understand it better. In modern times the Redoriad have concentrated their attention offworld. We have leased our home territories to other sisterhoods and paid little attention to what is happening here.”

  “Are the Redoriad still calling for censure because the Reugge allow such flouting of the law within their provinces?” Marika lifted her upper lip enough to make it clear she was being facetious.

  “Hardly. Today there is a fear that you may be going too far in the opposite direction. That you may be drawing the brethren in. Particularly since several Communities have begun emulating you.”

  “With less success.”

  “To be sure. But that is not the point. Marika, some of the Communities have become very uneasy with this.”

  “Because all paths lead one way?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Because each path through the rogue tangle eventually leads to a brethren enclave?”

  “Exactly.” Kiljar seemed reluctant to admit it.

  “They are trying to destroy the sisterhoods, Mistress Kiljar. Nothing less than that. There is no doubt about it, much as so many would blind themselves to the fact. There is ample evidence. Even this winter that is devouring the world has become a weapon with which they weaken silthdom. They are manipulating the Communities, trying to bring on feuds like the one the Reugge have smoldering with the Serke. They are trying to gain control of natural resources properly belonging to the sisterhoods. They are doing everything within their power, if subtly, to crush us. We would be fools not to push back.”

  “The brethren are—”