Darkwar

by Glen Cook

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I

  Marika’s passage eastward was a slow one. The extra burden of her littermate added geometrically to her labor. And she had been expending her reserves for days.

  Each fifty miles she descended for an hour of rest. One by one, the moons rose. She considered Biter and Chaser and a point that might be the Serke voidship Starstalker. The weather seemed better lately. Did clear skies signal a change for the better? Or just a brief respite?

  It took her a while to recall that it was the tail end of summer. In a month the storm season would arrive. The snows would return. Below, scattered patches threw back silvery glimmers. Despite the season and latitude. It would get no better.

  As Marika neared the Hainlin she sensed something ahead. It was little more than a premonition, but she took the saddleship down. Kublin whimpered as the bottom dropped out.

  Too late. That something had sensed her presence, too. It moved toward her.

  Silth.

  She dropped to the surface, skipped off the saddleship, slithered into the brush, checked her rifle and pistol, ducked through her loophole to examine the ghost population. “Damn,” she whispered without force. “Damn. Why now, when I’m too tired to face a novice?” The All laughed in the secret night.

  She did her best to make herself invisible to silth senses.

  The silth did miss her on her first passage, sliding over slightly to the north. Marika extended no probes, for she did not want to alert the hunting Mistress or her bath.

  She felt the silth halt at the edge of perception, turn back. “Damn it again.” She slipped the safety off her rifle, then collected a strong ghost.

  She would not use the ghost offensively. She was too weak. She would fend attacks only, and use the rifle when she had the chance. Few silth expected rifle fire from other silth.

  Not once did it occur to her that the prowler might be friendly.

  The silth approached cautiously. Marika became more certain her intentions were unfriendly. And she was a strong one, for she masked herself well.

  Almost overhead now. Low. Maybe she could get a killing burst off before… A shape moved in the moonlight, dark, low, slow….

  That was no darkship! That was a saddleship like her own.

  Marika?

  There was no mistaking the odor of that touch. Gradwohl! A flood of relief. Here, mistress. Right below you. She left the brush and walked toward her own saddleship as the most senior descended.

  “What are you doing here, mistress?”

  “Looking for you. What have you been doing?”

  “I went after the raiders. Have you been to Maksche, mistress?”

  “I came from there.”

  “Then you know. I got them, mistress. All of them. And many more besides. Perhaps even their warlock. They have paid the first installment.”

  Gradwohl remained astride her saddleship, a twin of Marika’s. Marika mounted her own. Gradwohl indicated Kublin. “What is that?”

  “A high-ranking prisoner, mistress. Probably one of the leaders of the attack. I have not yet questioned him. I was considering a truthsaying after I have recovered my strength.”

  She felt rested after the few minutes down, despite the tension. She was eager to get back to Grauel and Barlog. She lifted her saddleship. Gradwohl followed, hastened to assume the position of honor. They rose into the moonlight and drifted eastward at a comfortable pace.

  I want you to drink chaphe when we get back, Gradwohl sent. I want you to rest long and well. We have much to discuss.

  Marika considered that thoroughly before she responded. Between them she and Gradwohl had seldom shifted from the formal mode, yet tonight there was an unusually odd, distant aroma to the most senior’s sending. She was distressed about something.

  What is wrong, mistress?

  Later, Marika. After you have rested. I do not want to go into it when you are so exhausted you may not be in control of all your faculties.

  Marika did not like the increased distance implied by the sending’s tone. I think we had best discuss what must be discussed now. In the privacy of the night. I sense a gulf opening between us. This I cannot comprehend. Why, mistress?

  If you insist, then. The Reugge have been crippled, Marika. This is what is wrong. This is what we must discuss. The Reugge have been hurt badly, and you want to make the situation worse.

  Mistress? The Reugge have been hurt, that is true, but we have not been destroyed. I believe the cornerstones of our strength remain intact. We can turn it around on the brethren and—

  We will turn it around, but not in blood. All the world knows what happened. No one believes rogues made the raids on their own, unsupported. Those, and Kiljar’s experience with the Serke voidship, have been enough to cause a general clamor for a convention. Even by some elements within the brethren. The Brown Paw Bond nearly ceased to exist because of the raids. Their enemies within the brotherhood tried to exterminate them along with us. The Redoriad are going to demand dismemberment of the Serke and the banning of all brethren from space for at least a generation. Already some among the brethren are crawling sideways, whimpering as they try to bargain for special consideration for their particular Bonds. They have imprisoned a number of high masters, saying they acted on their own, without approval, in a conspiracy with the Serke. We have won the long struggle, Marika. At great expense, yes, but without resort to challenge or direct bloodletting—other than that in which you have indulged yourself. It is time now to back away and let the convention finish it for us.

  You will accept that? After all these years? After all the Reugge have suffered? You will not extract payment in blood?

  I will not.

  Marika reflected a moment. Mistress, will I be continuing my education with Kiljar?

  Gradwohl seemed reluctant to respond. Finally, she sent, There will be no need, will there? Bestrei will have been disarmed by the dispersal of her Community.

  I see.

  I am not sure you do. Your focus is sometimes too narrow. That is why I want you to rest under the influence of chaphe. To become totally recovered before we examine this in detail. I want you able to see the whole situation and all the options. We will be headed for a period of delicate negotiations.

  What will become of Bestrei? She could not imagine a sisterhood being dismantled. But there were precedents. The Librach had been disbanded by force after a convention four centuries earlier, after considerable bloodshed.

  She will be adopted into another Community. If she wishes.

  And the Serke assets?

  They will be dispersed according to outstanding claims.

  The Reugge will possess the strongest of those. Yes? And because the brethren will pretend to have been used, and to be contrite, and will sacrifice a few factors, they will get off with a wrist slap. And in a generation, before you and I are even gone, they will be back stronger than ever, better prepared, more thoroughly insinuated into the fabric of society.

  Marika. I told you you should rest before we discuss this. You are becoming unreasonably emotional.

  I am sorry, mistress. I remain a Ponath bitch at heart. When I see bloodfeud directed my way, I have difficulty letting the declarer beg off if he sees that he is going to lose. Particularly when he will return as soon as he feels strong enough to try again.

  The brethren were manipulated by the Serke.

  You are a fool if you believe that, mistress. The brethren were the manipulators. You have seen the evidence. They used the Serke, and now I see them starting to use you even before they have shed their previous victims.

  Marika! Do not anger me. You have been brought far in a very short time. You are a member of the ruling council of the Reugge, soon to be one of the major orders.

  At the price of honor?

  Do not harp on honor, pup. Yours remains indicted by the existence of the male lying before you.

  Mistress? Coldness crept into Marika.

  Would you
subject him to a truthsaying? Really? Now?

  It would provide the final proof of the villainy of the brethren.

  Perhaps. And what would it prove about you?

  Mistress?

  You accuse me, Marika. By your tone you accuse me of crimes. Yet I have forgiven you yours. Dorteka was precious to me, pup, yet I forgave even that. For the sake of the Community.

  You know?

  I have known for more than a year. The Serke presented the evidence. You saved a littermate in the Ponath. The result was what has happened these past few days. But even that I can forgive. If you will shed the role of Jiana.

  Jiana? And, You engineered this holocaust? This is where you were headed all along? You had no intention of challenging Bestrei? Of breaking into the void? I was just your distraction?

  I pursued both goals equally, Marika. The success of either would have satisfied me. My mission is to preserve and strengthen the Reugge. I have done that. I will not permit you to diminish or destroy what I have won.

  You called me Jiana. I do not like that.

  There are times when you seem determined to fill the role.

  Mistress?

  Everywhere you go. Maksche is just the latest.

  I had nothing to do with that. I was in TelleRai when—

  You were. Yes. And that is the only reason you survived. The rhythm of your visits altered. The only reason the brethren attacked was to destroy you. You, Marika. The other attacks were diversions meant to keep aid from rushing to Maksche. But you were not there. You went off to TelleRai off schedule. You did not have the decency to perish. Accept, Marika. Do not continue to be a doomstalker.

  I am no doomstalker, mistress.

  Destruction walks in your shadow, pup.

  This is foolishness, mistress.

  First your packstead, Marika. Then your fortress, your packfast, Akard. Now Maksche. What has to happen before you see? The end of the world itself?

  Marika was baffled. Gradwohl had been sound of mind always, spurning such superstitious nonsense. This made no sense. All these things would have happened without me, mistress. The brethren and Serke began their game long before anyone ever heard of Marika.

  The All knew you. And the All moved them.

  Marika gave up. No argument could change a closed, mad mind. She peered down at moonlight reflected off the Hainlin. That was as much of the void as she might see. I want the stars, mistress.

  I know, Marika. Perhaps we can get something for you in the settlement.

  I will not accept perhaps, Most Senior.

  This is not the time to—

  This is the time.

  This is what I feared. This is why I did not want to discuss this with you now. I knew you would be unsettled.

  When will this convention set the silth stamp of approval on the treacheries of the brethren?

  The first session will meet as soon as I reach TelleRai. I will take my saddleship south as soon as I have won your promise to support me.

  I cannot give you that, mistress. My conscience will not permit it. There is bloodfeud involved. You would betray all those sisters who have perished.

  Damned stubborn savage. Put aside your primitive ways. We are not living in the upper Ponath. This is the real world. Allowances and adjustments have to be made.

  Wrong.

  I did not want it to come to this, pup.

  Marika felt the otherworld stir. She was not surprised, nor even much frightened. The moment seemed destined.

  She did not try her loophole. It was too late for that. She did what silth never seemed to expect. She squeezed the trigger of the rifle she had not returned to safety. The entire magazine hammered the air.

  Gradwohl separated from her saddleship and tumbled toward the river.

  Marika! Damn you, Jiana! Then the sensing of Gradwohl vanished into a fog of pain. And then that spark went out.

  Marika circled twice, fixing the spot in her mind. Then she went on, composing herself for Maksche.

  II

  Marika had nothing left when she brought the saddleship down on the airstrip near Bagnel’s quarters, Kublin still limp across its neck. Someone came out, recognized her, shouted back inside. In a moment Grauel limped forth. She reached out feebly, far too slowly, as Marika slipped off and fell to the concrete. “You’re still here,” Marika rasped.

  “Yes.” Grauel tried to lift her to her feet, could not. More meth gathered around. Marika recognized faces she had not seen last visit. Somehow, Grauel had assembled some survivors. “The most senior told us to remain.”

  “Gradwohl. Where is she?”

  “She went looking for you.”

  “Oh. I got them, Grauel. Every one of them.”

  “Take her inside,” Grauel told the others. “Where did you find him?” She indicated Kublin.

  “With them. He may have been one of their commanders.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes.”

  “Give her the chaphe,” Grauel ordered as they entered the building.

  “Grauel….”

  “The most senior’s orders, Marika. You get two days of enforced rest.”

  Marika surrendered. She did not have the strength to resist.

  Several times she wakened, found Grauel nearby. She told the huntress about the brethren base in snatches. Grauel did not seem much interested. Marika allowed the enforced rest to continue, for she had stretched herself more than she had realized. But the third night she refused the drug. “Where is the most senior? Enough is enough. Things are happening and we are out of touch.”

  “She has not returned, Marika. I have become concerned. Sisters from TelleRai were here this morning, seeking her. I had thought she might have gone there.”

  “And?” Time to be cautious. Time to have a care with Grauel, who persisted in using the formal mode.

  “They flew west, seeking some trace. I believe they called for more darkships to join in the search. They were very worried.”

  “Why?”

  “The… You do not know, do you? A convention of the Communities has been called to bring the Serke and brethren to account. The most senior must be there. The Reugge are the principal grievants.”

  Marika struggled up from her cot. “That’s happening? Gradwohl is missing? And you’ve kept me drugged? Grauel, what…?”

  “Her orders, Marika.”

  “Orders or not, that’s over. Bring me food. Bring me fresh clothing. Bring me my weapons and prepare my saddleship.”

  “Marika….”

  “I have to go to TelleRai. Someone has to represent the most senior’s viewpoint. Someone has to be there if the worst has happened. If the brethren have slain her and the wrong sisters hear of it first, her whole dream will die. Get me out of here, Grauel. I’ll send for you as soon as I get there.”

  “As you command.”

  Marika did not like Grauel’s tone. She let it slide. “How is Barlog doing?”

  “Recovering. The most senior was able to save her.”

  There was an accusation behind those words. “I am sorry, Grauel. I was not myself that day.”

  “Are you ever, Marika? Are you now? Have you slaked your blood thirst yet?”

  “I think so.”

  “I hope so. They say this convention is an opportunity to end what has been happening. I would not want to see it fail.”

  “How are Bagnel and Kublin doing?”

  “Bagnel is recovering nicely. The most senior treated him, too, inasmuch as he seems to be the sole surviving Brown Paw Bonder from this enclave. Kublin is in chains. There were those who wanted to do him injury. I have protected him.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have. I’m not sure why I brought him in. When the darkship comes, bring him to TelleRai. He may prove useful during the convention.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What is the matter, Grauel? I feel…”

  “I fear you, Marika. Since you returned from this vengeance, even I can see the look of doom upon
you. And I fear you the more because Gradwohl is not here to temper your ferocity.”

  “Be about your business, Grauel.” Marika stood. Her legs were weak. She ducked through her loophole to check her grasp of the otherworld, fearful she might not be strong enough to get to TelleRai in time.

  She would manage. She was not weak in her grasp of the dark.

  She visited Bagnel briefly. He apologized again. “It was despicable,” she agreed. “But I think we’re about to conclude that era. Keep well, Bagnel.” Outside, as she prepared to mount her saddleship, Marika told Grauel, “Bring Bagnel, too.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Marika looked at Grauel grimly. She did not like it when the huntress took the formal mode. It meant Grauel did not approve.

  Irked, she lifted the saddleship without another word.

  She sped southward, paused briefly where Gradwohl had gone down. She found no trace of the most senior’s body. She did find Gradwohl’s saddleship, broken, in a tree. She dragged it out, dismantled it, threw the pieces into the river. Let them become driftwood, joining other flotsam come down from the dying north.

  The sisters at TelleRai were not pleased with her advent. Many had hoped she had perished in the raid. More feared the most senior had perished sometime afterward. They dreaded the chance the savage northerner would lay claim to the most senior’s mantle.

  As strength goes. They were convinced none could challenge the outlander.

  “I will not replace the most senior,” Marika told anyone who would listen. “It has never been my wish to become most senior. But I will speak for Gradwohl till she returns. Her mind is my mind.”

  Word of what had happened at the enclave in the wilderness had reached TelleRai. Though Marika did not claim responsibility and no one made direct accusations, there were no doubts anywhere who had been responsible for the slaughter. Terror hung around her like a fog. No one would dispute anything she said.