Darkwar

by Glen Cook

  “Essential to society as we know it? That is one of their weapons, too. That belief. They think that belief will stay our paws till it is too late for us. Come into the museum with me, Mistress Kiljar. Let me show you what you Redoriad have had here all the time. Nothing less than proof that silth can exist without the brethren.”

  “Marika…”

  “I do not propose that they be destroyed. Not at all. But I believe they should be disarmed and controlled before they destroy us.”

  “Mistress?” Grauel said from behind Marika. “May I speak with you a moment? It is important.”

  Surprised, Marika dropped back. Barlog dropped even farther, to prevent the column from drawing close enough to overhear. “What? Have you seen something?”

  “I have heard something. You are talking too much, Marika. That is not Barlog or myself, or even the most senior. That is the second of the Redoriad, a Community whose interests are not identical to those of the Reugge.”

  “You are right. Thank you for reminding me, Grauel. She’s crafty. She knew just how to goad me. I’ll watch my tongue.” She overtook Kiljar. “My chief voctor reminds me that I did not come here to lay bare the Reugge breast. That we came entirely unofficially, to examine old darkships.”

  “I see.” Kiljar seemed amused.

  “May we proceed, and perhaps save the discussion for a time when I feel more comfortable with the Redoriad?”

  “Certainly. I will remind you, though, that the Redoriad are no friends of the Serke.”

  “Mistress?”

  “The Serke have been the next thing to rogue among silth for centuries. They have gotten away with it because they have always had a strong champion. They have become intolerable since they developed Bestrei. No sisterhood dares challenge them. There are many of us who follow the Reugge struggle with glee. You have embarrassed them many times.”

  “That is because we avoid confronting their strengths. We let them hurt themselves. The most senior is a crafty strategist.”

  “Perhaps she outsmarts herself.”

  “Mistress?”

  “She is preparing a challenger for Bestrei. Buying time till you are ready. Do not argue. What is evident is evident. Certainly, it is possible that when you attain your full strength Bestrei will have aged so much she can no longer best you. It is said you are as strong as she was at your age. Perhaps stronger, because you have a brain and more than one talent. It is whispered that twice you have slain Serke who came from their ruling seven.”

  “Mistress, that is not—”

  “Do not argue. These things are whispered but they are known. Let me tell you a thing I know. You are alive today only because you belong to a sisterhood without access to space. Because, as you mentioned, there would be extensive legal ramifications to a challenge.”

  Marika waited patiently through a long pause while Kiljar ordered her thoughts. They were on the doorstep of the museum. The door was open. She was eager to see what lay beyond, but waited while the old silth found what she wanted to say.

  “You cannot hope to best Bestrei at her most senile without learning the ways of the dark, Marika. Handling a darkship out there is not the same as handling one on-planet. You are Reugge. You have no one to teach you those ways. You dare not teach yourself. The Serke will know if you go out on your own. And they will challenge immediately because you will in effect have challenged the sisterhoods who hold the starworlds. They will make it a challenge for the existence of the Reugge. And Bestrei will devour you.”

  Involuntarily, Marika glanced at the sky. And sensed the truth of what Kiljar said. She had not thought the situation through.

  Had Gradwohl?

  “I have a solution,” Kiljar said. “But we will save that for another time. Today you came here only to look at old darkships.” There was a light touch of mockery in her voice.

  II

  The Redoriad museum was as marvelous as Dorteka had claimed. Marika breezed through most of it, eager to reach the darkships, having saved them for last. She had done that with treats as a pup.

  She did stop once to ask about a set of wooden balls. “What are these?”

  “In primitive times one test for the presence of silth talents was juggling. All female pups were taught. Those who showed exceptional talent early often were managing the balls unconsciously. They were tested further. Today we have more subtle methods.”

  “May I touch them?”

  “They are not breakable.”

  “I was a very good juggler. My littermate Kublin was, too. We would put on shows for the huntresses when they were in a mood to tolerate pups.” She tossed a ball into the air, then a second and a third. Her muscles no longer recalled the rhythms. Her mind stepped in, made the balls float in slowed motion. She kept them moving for half a minute, then fumbled one and immediately lost them all. “I am a little out of practice.” She returned the balls to the display.

  Memories came back. Kublin. Her dam, Skiljan. The Degnan packstead. Juggling. Flute playing. She had been very good with the flute, too. She had not picked one up since fleeing Akard for Maksche. Maybe that deserved some attention. Playing the flute had been as relaxing as flying the darkship or fleeing into the realm of ghosts.

  Enough. Thought could be too painful. In this instance it reminded her that her pack remained unMourned.

  She went for her treat.

  There were a dozen darkships, arranged to show stages of evolution. First a quarter scale model of a darkship similar to the newest flown by the Reugge. Then another, similar yet different. The plaque said it was aluminum. There was only one more metal ship, also of aluminum, incredibly ornate.

  “This one never got off the ground,” Kiljar said. “The brethren created an exact copy of a famous golden-fleet darkship of the period, but it would not fly. It takes more effort to lift metal, even titanium, than it does golden fleet wood. Even though the wood is heavier. There is power in the wood itself. It pleases those-who-dwell. With the metal ships they come only under compulsion.”

  “Then why use brethren darkships? Why use a vessel less effective and made by someone we do not control?”

  “Because building a wooden darkship, even in its most rudimentary, functional form, is a long and difficult process. Because the brethren can produce all we want almost as fast as we want them. Consider the Reugge experience with the nomads. My sources tell me you lost six darkships in the fighting. In the old days you could not have replaced those in two generations. Generations during which other sisterhoods might have devoured you. These days when you lose a darkship you just order another. The brethren take it out of stock.”

  “Sometimes. If you happen to be in favor.”

  “That is right. They would not replace yours. That is on the agenda for the next convention. They will be required to defend that decision.”

  “They could refuse all the Communities.”

  “The convention will sort it out.”

  “If there is one.” It took a majority of sisterhoods agreeing one was needed before a convention could actually convene.

  Marika moved along the line of darkships. The next was wooden, similar in style to the brethren ship that would not fly. It was a work of art, almost grotesque in its ornateness. She noted almost thronelike seats for the Mistress and bath.

  The wooden darkships grew simpler and more primitive, ceased to be crossed. The last three were saddleships, also declining in complexity. The latest looked like an animal with an impossibly elongated neck. The oldest was little more than a pole with fletching at its rear.

  Kiljar indicated the fanciest. “In this period silth imitated life. There was an animal called a redhage which was used as a riding beast. It has become extinct since. Saddleships of the period are stylized imitations with the neck elongated. The longer a saddleship was, the more stable it was in flight. As you can see, the oldest were stabilized the same as an arrow.”

  “But an arrow spins in flight.”

  “So it doe
s. It may have been a clumsy way to travel. We do not know now for certain. The redhage type still gets taken up occasionally, though. Some of our Mistresses enjoy them. And they are much faster than anything in common use. The Mistress can lie on its neck and cut loose. The weakness of the darkship being the obvious: the Mistress is limited by her own endurance.”

  “Bath are that important?”

  “That important. Well? Are you satisfied?”

  “I think so. I have seen what I came to see. I should get back. There is no end to the work that awaits me at Maksche.”

  “Think on what I have said about the Serke, Bestrei, and learning the ways of the void. Mention it to Most Senior Gradwohl. Mention that I am interested in speaking with her.”

  “I will.”

  “There is, by the way, a voidship that belongs to the museum. An early one, now retired, but still far too big to bring inside. Would you like to see it?”

  “Of course.”

  Marika followed Kiljar out a side door, into a large courtyard. Barlog and Grauel followed alertly, shading their eyes against the sudden change in lighting, searching for signs of an ambush. Marika reached through her loophole and checked. She made a gesture telling the huntresses all was well.

  She stopped cold when she saw the void darkship. Her hopes for walking among the stars almost died. Yes. There was no way she was going to challenge a Bestrei anytime in the near future. “That is a small one, you say?” It was three times the size of the largest Reugge darkship.

  “Yes. The voidships the Redoriad use today are twice this size. And the voidship we run in concert with the brethren is bigger still.”

  “If it is so difficult to move metal ships, how…?

  “Out there those-who-dwell are much bigger, too. And much more powerful. That is one thing you would have to learn before you dared face a Bestrei. How to manipulate the stronger ghosts.”

  “Thank you.” Marika closed in upon herself, squeezing a knot of disappointment down into a tiny sphere. “I think I had best be off for Maksche. I have let my duties slide long enough.”

  “Very well. Do not forget to tell Gradwohl that Kiljar of the Redoriad wishes to speak with her.”

  Marika did not respond. With Grauel and Barlog and her train of bath and TelleRai silth keeping pace, she strode back to the steam coach. She climbed aboard, settled into her seat, and closed in upon herself again.

  This required a lot of thinking. And rethinking.

  III

  It was very late when Marika returned to the Reugge cloister. She dismissed her bath with a grunt instead of the usual thank-yous, went straight to her quarters. Grauel and Barlog followed and stayed near, but she did not take advantage of their unspoken offer. She went to bed immediately, exhausted from the day’s flights.

  She had the dream again, of whipping through a vast darkness surrounded by uncountable numbers of stars. It wakened her. She was angry, knowing it to be false. She would not walk the stars.

  Asleep again, she dreamed once more. And this time the dream was a true nightmare, a littermate of the one she had had soon after fleeing the overrun Degnan packstead. But in this dream a terrible shadow hunted her. It raced across the world like something out of myth, howling, slavering, tireless, faceless, murderous. It hunted her. It would devour her. It drew closer and closer, and she could not run fast enough to get away.

  This time she wakened shaken, wondering if it were a true dream. Wondering what the shadow could represent. Not Bestrei. There had been a definite male odor to it. An almost familiar odor.

  Warlock! something said in the back of her mind. Certainly it was a presentiment of sorts.

  The rogue problem, which had seemed close to solution, took a dramatic turn for the worse. In places, outlying cloisters were surprised and suffered severe damage. It almost seemed her return from TelleRai signaled a new and more bitter phase in the struggle, one in which the rogue leadership was willing to sacrifice whatever strength it had left.

  For a month it made no sense whatever. And nothing illuminating came off the signal networks of the Serke or brethren. Then the most senior returned to Maksche, making one of her ever more infrequent and brief visits.

  “Think, Marika. Do not be so provincial, so narrow. You visited the Redoriad,” Gradwohl said. “There are times you are so naive it surpasses belief. The Redoriad are in harsh competition with the Serke among the starworlds. The competition would become fiercer if there were a champion capable of challenging Bestrei. Your visit was no secret. Your strength is no secret. You have slain two of their best. It is no secret that the Reugge have no access to the void, and only slightly less well known that we covet an opportunity out there. If you were Serke, unable to see what transpired within the Redoriad cloister, had suffered several embarrassing setbacks at the paw of a Marika, what would you suspect?”

  “You really believe the Redoriad want to train me?” It was a revelation, truly.

  “Just as the Serke suspect.”

  Much of what Kiljar had said without saying it in so many words, and much of the attitude of the silth during her TelleRai excursion, became concrete with that reply. “They all thought—”

  “And they were right. As you suggested, I got in touch with Kiljar. And that is exactly what she had in mind. An alliance between Reugge and Redoriad. Marika, you have to think. You have become an important factor in this world. Your every move is subject to endless interpretation.”

  “But an alliance….”

  “It is not unprecedented. It makes sense on several levels. In fact, it is an obvious stratagem. So obvious that the Serke—yes, all right, and the brethren, too—must make some effort to counter or prevent it. Thus rogues who will devour your time while they hatch something more grim. Be very careful, Marika. I expect you will be spending a great deal of time in TelleRai soon. TelleRai will be far more dangerous than Maksche.”

  “And you?”

  “I am fading away, am I not?” Gradwohl seemed amused.

  “If you are trying to slip me the functions of most senior without having to rejoin the All, I want you to know that I do not want them. I have no intention of assuming that burden ever. I do not have the patience for the trivial.”

  “True. But patience is something you are going to have to learn anyway, pup.” No one else called her “pup” these days. No one dared.

  “Mistress?

  “Consider a Reugge sisterhood without a Most Senior Gradwohl. It would not much benefit you without your being in charge. Would it?”

  “Mistress….”

  “I am not immortal. Neither am I all-powerful. And there are strong elements within the sisterhood who would not scruple to hasten my replacement, if only to prevent your becoming most senior. That danger is partly why I have made myself increasingly inaccessible.”

  “I thought you were spending all your time with the sisters trying to build us darkships of our own.”

  “I have been. In a place completely isolated. My bath are the only meth outside who know where it is. And there are times when I do not trust them to remain silent.”

  The bond between Gradwohl and her bath was legendary.

  Marika said, “I did get the feeling that the TelleRai council are disturbed by your lack of visibility. One sister went so far as to hint that I might have done away with you.”

  “Ah?” Again Gradwohl was amused. “I should show myself, then. Lest someone get silly notions. I could adopt your approach. Go armed to the jaw.”

  Now Marika was amused. “They would accuse me of having acquired an unholy influence over you.”

  “They do that already.” Gradwohl rose, went to a window, slipped a curtain aside. It was getting dark. Marika could see one of the smaller moons past the most senior’s shoulder. “I believe it is time, “ Gradwohl mused. “Yes. Definitely. It is time. Come with me, pup.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To my darkship manufactory.”

  Marika followed the most sen
ior through the cloister, to the courtyard where the darkships landed. She felt uneasy. Grauel and Barlog were not with her.

  Gradwohl’s bath were waiting. Her darkship was ready for flight. Marika’s uneasiness grew. Now it surrounded the most senior. Gradwohl had made this project her own. Her revealing it implied that she feared she might not be around much longer.

  Had she had an intuition? Sometimes silth of high talent caught flashes of tomorrow.

  Gradwohl said, “We are doing this on the sly, pup. No one is to know we are leaving the cloister. They may wonder why we do not appear for ceremonies, but I do not think our failure will make anyone suspicious. If we hurry. Come. Step aboard.”

  “I could use a coat.”

  “I will stay low. If the wind is too much for you, I will slow down.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  In moments they were airborne, over the wall, heading across the snowbound plain.

  Gradwohl became another person while flying, a Mistress of immense vigor and joy. She flew with the verve of a Marika at her wildest, shoving the darkship through the night at the greatest speed she dared. The countryside whipped away below, much of it speckled silvery with patches of snow-reflected moonlight.

  The flight covered three hundred miles by Marika’s estimate. She had the cold shakes when they arrived at their destination. She had not yielded to weakness and touched the most senior with a request that she slacken the pace.

  Gradwohl’s goal proved to be an abandoned packfast well north of the permanent snowline, far to the west, on the edge of Reugge territory. Even from quite close it appeared empty of life. Marika could detect no meth presence with her touch. She could smell no smoke.

  But thirty sisters turned out for the most senior’s arrival. Marika recognized none of them. None were from Maksche. Too, some wore the garb of other Communities, all minor orders like the Reugge. She was surprised.

  She said nothing, but Gradwohl read her easily enough. “Yes. We do have allies.” Amused, “You have been my chosen, but there is much that I have not told you. Come. Let me show you the progress we have made here.”