by Sarah Hawke
“If the two of you will come to your senses for a minute,” the Constable went on, “you will recognize that we only have one sensible path forward. The Black Mistress has offered us men and supplies. With her help, we could—”
“I will not hand Highwind over to its most wanted criminal!” Crowe protested.
“Oh, spare us your self-righteous prattle,” Mannick snarled. “No one gives a damn about a few magical baubles being smuggled into the city.”
“Baubles? Are you mad? Weapons, armor, relics that can create illusions or twist people’s minds…for all we know this ‘Black Mistress’ is the one responsible for sabotaging our powers!”
“You are exaggerating, as usual.”
“Am I? Why don’t you just ask the Lecasi Brotherhood to take over while you’re at it!”
“Because the Brotherhood is all but destroyed,” a soft, seductive female voice said from across the room. “Thanks to Constable Mannick and his brave guardsmen, the city no longer has anything to fear from the Lecasi or the Grim Fangs or any of the other old cartels. He has brought order to a city once riddled with chaos.”
Serrane turned as the speaker emerged from the shadows on the other side of the massive council chamber. Her slender figure was sheathed in a flowing white diaphanous dress that revealed nearly as much as it covered, and she moved with the silent, sauntering grace of a feline on the prowl. Her silver hair had a few traces of blonde left in it, but the transformation hadn’t come from age; she couldn’t have been much older than thirty, and thanks to her half-elven blood she could have easily passed for a human ten years younger.
“Who in the bloody hell let you in here?” Crowe said, standing. “The guards had strict orders not allow anyone inside!”
“Anyone except her,” Mannick said, gesturing with his hand towards one of the empty chairs on the opposite side of the table. “This young woman’s name is ‘Silhouette.’ She speaks for the Black Mistress, and I wanted her here.”
“You invited a whore to this meeting? What the hell is the matter with you?”
“I apologize if I am interrupting, Commander,” Silhouette said, a delicate but devious smile on her lips, “but given how often your men frequent the Silken Rose, I didn’t think you would be offended by my presence.”
Mannick snickered while Crowe seethed, but Serrane focused all her attention on the newcomer. She knew this woman by reputation—Silhouette was probably the most famous and coveted courtesan in the city. Even some of the minor nobles struggled to afford her services. She also had a reputation as an information broker of sorts, and it wasn’t particular surprising that she was an operative of the enigmatic Black Mistress.
Relic smuggling was far beyond the purview of the Duskwatch, and Serrane had never spent much time worrying about it. However, she had purchased several of the Black Mistress’s baubles; the illusion gems she and Aluriel had used on their “escapades” had ostensibly come straight from the crime lord’s vault. The Mage’s Guild had outlawed such items years ago, but Serrane had always thought the Archmage and his cohorts were too paranoid. Their irrational fear of enchanted relics in general and sorcerers in particular had always struck her as superstitious and ignorant.
Still, that didn’t mean she was overly fond of the idea of an alliance with Highwind’s most notorious underworld figure…
“I do not wish to waste your time, so I will be brief,” Silhouette said as she paused in front of the table. “My mistress is eager to help in the fight against Vorsalos, and she offers more than just soldiers and weapons. Her knowledge of the old tunnels beneath the city could prove invaluable to the city’s defense.”
“You honestly expect the Knights of the Silver Fist to slither about the warrens of the underworld like drow assassins?” Crowe protested.
“I expect you to do whatever it takes to defend this city, Commander,” Mannick said flatly. “That is your sacred charge, is it not?”
“I will not—”
“Hold on a moment,” Serrane interrupted, her eyes locking onto the half-elf. “Where do these tunnels lead, exactly?”
“Many places,” Silhouette said, the delicate smile returning to her lips. “I’m sure you’re aware that there was once an entire dark elf city in the Underworld beneath us. The old tunnels are more than capable of moving scouts, supplies, troops, or anything else you may require.”
“Which is exactly how your mistress has been smuggling weapons into this city,” Crowe said bitterly. “I can’t believe we’re even considering this…”
Serrane crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how many soldiers are you offering?”
“Almost two thousand,” Silhouette said. “The vast majority are refugees and vagabonds the city drove away after the Winter War. To be perfectly honest, we are all fortunate they haven’t signed up with the Inquisitrix.”
Crowe braced his gauntlet on the table. “Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?”
“Not at all,” Silhouette assured him. “I am merely stating the facts.”
Serrane grunted softly. It was a threat, of course, and everyone here knew it. Whether that threat was genuine or not was difficult to say. Vorsalos wasn’t any more welcoming to “half-breeds” than any other city in the region, though the Inquisitrix had proven herself cagey enough to recruit unlikely allies. The Roskarim barbarians in the north were evidence enough of that.
Regardless, Highwind’s treatment of victims from the Winter War was truly disgraceful. Thousands of women had been raped when the orc tribes had rampaged across the plains, and their children had been treated with scorn and contempt. Many had fled the region entirely, while others had been forced to settle in the mountains to the north. This had all happened some twenty years before Serrane had arrived in the city, of course, but when she had learned the full truth it had been difficult not to view the “heroes” of the war with utter disgust.
In theory, the fact that the Black Mistress had given these people a home spoke well of her; in practice, crime syndicates always found a way to prey upon and exploit outcasts and refugees. She had built herself an army, and now she was trying to leverage that power. She clearly hadn’t done this out of the kindness of her heart.
“Let’s assume for the moment that we accepted your mistress’s generous offer,” Serrane said. “What is her price?”
“She wants your assurances that her people will be given a fair chance to build a life here once the fighting is over,” Silhouette said. “They do not wish to live in the shadows any longer.”
“Okay. And what else?”
“She wants an offer of amnesty for all her supposed ‘crimes’ against the city.” Silhouette smiled. “And she will require a seat on this Council.”
“Impossible!” Crowe scoffed.
“It is a fair offer,” Constable Mannick said. “She is merely asking for a voice in the city, not the throne.”
Crowe’s lip twisted in disgust. “Why don’t we invite the bloody orcs from the mountains to dinner while we’re at it?”
“So you would rather watch this city burn for your pride, is that it? Because that is exactly what will happen without more soldiers. Your paladins have proven they are no longer capable of defending us, and the Guard requires more men. With her help, at least we’ll have a chance!”
“And what happens after we’ve won?” Crowe countered. “What happens after we’ve allowed the filth of this city to dig in their claws?”
“None of that will matter if we can’t win the battle in front of us,” Mannick said. “We can’t afford to speculate about a future that may never come.”
“All of which proves that we need to stall the enemy,” Serrane put in before they could start screaming in earnest. “Give me the men I need, and I can buy the two of you as much time as you need to beat each other to a pulp.”
Both men turned to glare at her, but before they could focus on their new target Silhouette raised her hands diplomatically and smiled. “I merely wis
hed to deliver my mistress’s offer in person,” she said. “Whatever you decide, she eagerly awaits your reply.”
“I’ll bet she does,” Crowe scowled.
The two men were back at each other’s throats before Silhouette had even left the room. Serrane followed and intercepted the half-elf in the adjacent chamber.
“You know, the Constable’s warning applies to your mistress as well,” Serrane said, nudging the door shut to give them some privacy. “If she waits too long to help, there won’t be a city left for her, either.”
Silhouette turned and smiled again. It was every bit as polite and sweet as before, Serrane could see the calculating, veiled menace lurking beneath the surface.
“My mistress has no desire to watch Highwind fall, but she is in a far better position to survive a transition of power than many others,” Silhouette said. “And as I mentioned before, many of the refugees in our care have every reason in the world to despise this city and its current rulers. They would be more than willing to make an arrangement with someone else.”
“That may be true,” Serrane said, crossing her arms over her chest. “But given the Inquisitrix’s views on magic, your mistress and her ‘artifacts’ will be prime targets for the Senosi Huntresses.”
“Perhaps,” Silhouette said, her green eyes twinkling in amusement. “Though unless I am mistaken, you appear to be the tie-breaking vote on the current Council. You have the power to save this city and bring our people together.”
“I also happen to share some of the Knight-Commander’s concerns.”
Silhouette nodded. “Ah, of course. I should have assumed you would be sympathetic to the Silver Fist, given your relationship with Captain Cassel.”
Serrane’s cheek twitched despite her best efforts to control it. Her relationship with Julian still wasn’t common knowledge, and since returning to Highwind they’d barely had a chance to spend any time together. Was this woman guessing, or did she actually know something?
“What are you talking about?” Serrane asked.
“Oh, nothing at all,” Silhouette said, flicking her wrist dismissively. “Duskwatch and the Silver Fist have always been close; it’s not surprising that the two of you would have a great deal in common.” Her eyes twinkled again. “Speaking of the Duskwatch, I believe I met one of your associates not long ago. She is a wood elf from the east…I believe her name was Aluriel, is that right?”
An anxious knot formed in the pit of Serrane’s stomach. “Yes.”
“She was quite friendly. We had a fun time together.” Silhouette’s smile widened. “If I recall correctly, she purchased a pair of gems from me—illusion stones, to be precise. She wanted to create a variety of entertaining disguises for herself and one of her very close friends.”
The knot twisted, and Serrane could feel the color slowly draining from her face. She dreaded where this was going…
“Anyway, I certainly hope that she and her friend enjoyed the toy,” Silhouette went on. “I was pleased that someone in the Duskwatch had an open mind and understood the virtue in my mistress’s craft.” The half-elf sighed. “It’s a shame that Commander Crowe would react so negatively if he learned the truth. I wouldn’t want Aluriel or her friend to get in any trouble. After all, they just wanted to have a good time.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Serrane murmured, struggling to keep herself calm. “Lu and her friend are very resourceful.”
“I’m sure they are,” Silhouette said, still smiling. “In any event, it was a pleasure to meet you, General. I’m sure we will see each other again soon.”
Serrane couldn’t have stopped the other woman from leaving even if she had wanted to. Her limbs were weak and wobbly as if all the strength had been sapped from them. She and the other councilors had been outmaneuvered so thoroughly it was genuinely sickening…
“Le’thos,” she hissed, slumping against the wall. About a year ago, she and Aluriel had adopted two fake personas—Faewyn and Laryssa—so that they could indulge their depraved desires without compromising their professional reputations. The illusion gems had given them an enormous amount of freedom, and Serrane probably still would have been using it from time to time if not for her “epiphany” with Cassel in Icewatch.
She was no longer ashamed of what she had done, and she had let go of most of her old inhibitions...but that didn’t mean she wanted the Council or anyone else to know the truth. The mere accusation of such a thing could destroy her reputation and compromise her authority as Ranger-General, which was exactly what the Black Mistress was counting on.
In other words, Serrane was about to get blackmailed.
She stood there in silence for several minutes, clutching and unclutching her fists in frustration, before she spat a barrage of Elvish swears that would have a sailor blush. She could still hear Mannick and Crowe yelling at each other in the main chamber, and that argument wasn’t going to end anytime soon. At this rate the Inquisitrix wouldn’t even need an army to trash the city.
“All right, Julian,” Serrane whispered, “I hope you’re having better luck.”
***
“Absolutely not!” Knight-Commander Theon Deswick snarled, his haggard old face creased in equal parts rage and astonishment. “I can’t believe you are seriously suggesting we throw away a lifetime of service and worship to follow some red-haired strumpet!”
Knight-Captain Julian Cassel sighed and slumped forward. “I’m not suggesting we throw away anything!” he protested. “Tahira isn’t asking for an oath of service. She isn’t even asking anyone to convert to her religion!”
“Not yet, anyway,” another of the knights, Captain Andel, put in bitterly. “How long do you think that offer will last? She’s a bloody cultist, Julian. This is all a trick to twist our minds and tempt our hearts.”
“Escar’s mercy,” Cassel breathed. “Can you even hear yourselves? Highwind is on the verge of collapse, and this order is on the brink of annihilation. Tahira is our only hope!”
The other knights gathered around the massive silver table shook their heads and muttered in annoyance. Cassel wanted to blame them—hell, he wanted to jump across the table and choke them—but he knew that if he had been in their position he probably would have been acting the same way. They were frightened of the unknown, and they were even more frightened by the sickness slowly eating away at them. The pain and suffering wrought by the Wasting Echo was getting worse each and every day, and Cassel knew it was only a matter of time before the entire Order imploded.
“None of us know how bad this sickness is going to get,” Cassel went on, “but two of our brothers have already died and five more have fallen unconscious. The Inquisitrix is offering power to any knight who is willing to convert to her banner, and the longer this goes on, the more of our brothers and sisters will take her hand.”
“Do you truly have so little faith in your own kin?” Deswick asked, shaking his head. “I cannot believe that you of all people have fallen under the spell of this mountain siren.”
Cassel sighed. “All I’m asking is that you give her a chance. She can relieve your pain—she can give us the power we need to fulfill our sacred charge and defend Highwind!”
“You’re the one who can’t hear himself, Julian,” Deswick said. “You sound like a bloody demon trying to tempt us with power. For all we know the gods themselves are testing our faith. We must remain strong and resolute. We must remain loyal to Escar and Escar alone!”
Most of the knights banged their gauntlets against the table in approval, and Cassel sighed and slouched back in his seat. He had already demonstrated his power to them multiple times over the past week. They knew he could still channel the Aether, and they knew he wasn’t afflicted by the Wasting Echo. Many of the squires had shown an interest in learning more, but the officers had shut down their queries almost immediately. Cassel had no doubt that some of them were disparaging him as a sorcerer behind closed doors, while others were probably convinced he had made a pa
ct with demons. If the officers still had their own powers, they might have already thrown him in the Grey Citadel for treason by now.
But they didn’t have their powers, and frankly they didn’t have much authority left, either. A century of good will among the populace had disintegrated almost overnight, and almost a quarter of all the city’s paladins were already dead or missing. In a single act, the Inquisitrix had done what thousands of orcs and demons and other monsters never could.
“The gods will forgive us for our transgressions, and they will grant us the power we need to destroy our enemies,” Captain Andel said. “But first, we must seek absolution for our sins. We shall fast, we shall pray, and we shall beseech Escar for another chance to prove ourselves worthy of his glory.”
“With all due respect, Captain, we’ve been trying that for weeks. It hasn’t worked.”
Every officer at the table turned and glared at the new speaker. Knight Laurent was sitting with a group of squires, and her arms were clutched about her body as if she were freezing cold.
“If the gods have forsaken us, I doubt that a few more prayers will make a difference,” she said. “Our people are suffering now. If Captain Cassel has a way to help, we should—”
“We will not succumb to temptation,” Deswick said, his stony gaze petrifying every younger knight at the table. “The Silver Fist has stood guard over the Northern Reaches for a hundred years, and we shall stand guard over for a hundred more.”
Cassel leaned forward. “But sir—”
“This discussion is over,” Deswick said, standing. “Return to your duties and speak no more of this.”
Cassel glanced away and grit his teeth as the rest of the knights slowly filed out of the room. His pleas had been ignored over and over again all week, but this rejection had a grim finality to it. If the pain of the Echo hadn’t converted them to his side by now, nothing would. The Order was going to die, and apparently there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
