Midwinter 02: The Office of Shadow

by Matthew Sturges

  "I take it back then," said Ironfoot. "I once kicked a man in the head so hard that he forgot his name."

  "Much better."

  "Does anyone feel something strange?" asked Sela.

  Silverdun looked back at her. "That implies that there's some part of this that isn't strange."

  "I've got the oddest sensation," said Sela. "As though I'm being pushed backward, but I can't feel a wind."

  Now that she said it, Silverdun could feel it as well. It was slight, but noticeable. As though a light breeze he couldn't feel was blowing into his face. Or perhaps more like the heat from a distant fire radiating toward him. But it was not fire or air that was pushing against them. It was their own re.

  "The queen's alabaster ass," said Silverdun. "Do you know what I think?"

  "What?" said Faella.

  "I think that castle is made of iron."

  "What?" said Ironfoot. "That's impossible."

  "I've had a few run-ins with iron, friend. Trust me. That's what you're feeling."

  By the time they reached the bottom of the stair, the sensation of being pushed backward was unmistakable. It was becoming difficult to walk. And as if that weren't enough, the steps themselves presented a problem. They were each waist high, and there were easily a hundred of them.

  "Stairs for giants, said Silverdun.

  "Or gods," said Ironfoot.

  "Don't get superstitious, Ironfoot," said Silverdun. "I admire you for your powers of reason."

  "There's nothing reasonable about any of this."

  "That inscription is just to scare off visitors," said Silverdun. "Whatever awaits us up there may be ominous, but it's not divine."

  "If you say so," said Ironfoot.

  "Well, boys," said Faella. "Are we going to stand here nattering all day, or are we going to storm yonder castle?" She was smiling. Faella was many things, but apparently she was no coward.

  The steps were just high enough to be an enormous bother without being an impassable obstacle. Silverdun and Ironfoot hauled themselves up each one, reaching back to help Faella and Sela up, neither of whom was quite tall enough to manage it themselves. After twenty steps his back was aching, and they weren't quite a quarter of the way to the top.

  The closer they came, the stronger the repulsion grew. It was painful now. Not excruciating yet, as it had been when "Ilian" had yanked him into the bars of his cell, but bad enough.

  Halfway up, Silverdun was out of breath, and Sela and Faella were both struggling. Silverdun and Ironfoot had the benefit of Shadow strength and resistance, but neither of the women did. Thinking of his Shadow nature recalled his conversation with Jedron at the pit. Silverdun was dead. But that was insane. He was Silverdun. In every way that mattered, anyway.

  But if Silverdun was truly dead, where was he? Was his true self in Arcadia with Mother and Father now? Were Je Wen and Timha there, waiting to blame him for their deaths? And the others he'd seen fall: Honeywell, Gray Mave, all the men he'd killed at the Battle of Sylvan?

  Was this Silverdun merely a ghost? Was that what he'd become?

  After what seemed like ages, they reached the top of the steps. The castle loomed before them, giving off waves of reitic repulsion; it was like standing in front of a bonfire. It burned the skin and stung the eyes. Before them was a wide door, easily forty feet high. It was opened just a crack.

  "Not to be defeatist," said Ironfoot. "But what in hell are we supposed to do now?"

  Silverdun paused. He'd been so intent on reaching the castle that he hadn't given much thought to what they'd do when they got there. One thing at a time.

  "What, indeed?" he said.

  "You forget, Lord Silverdun," said Faella, "that I am a talented girl."

  He looked at her. Still smiling, eager even. He realized that he was in love with her, and always had been.

  "What are you going to do?" asked Ironfoot. "Make us all impervious to iron?"

  "No, Master Falores," said Faella. "I'm going to remove the iron."

  "There's no way to do that with the Gifts," said Silverdun.

  "There is with the Thirteenth Gift," said Faella. "Change Magic reaches into the very nature of things. I'm not really sure how it works. I'm no Ironfoot. But I believe I can manage it."

  "I'll believe it when I see it," said Ironfoot.

  "There's just one thing," said Faella. "In order to change something, I have to touch it."

  "No," said Silverdun. "That much iron-it'll kill you."

  "Not just that," said Faella. "I'm afraid I don't have quite enough re of my own to get the job done."

  "Meaning what?" asked Sela.

  "Meaning I'll need Sela to join us all in Empathy, so I can draw from you all."

  "I can do that," said Sela. Silverdun looked at her. She was looking at Faella, her head high. She clearly wasn't going to let Faella take the award for bravery without a fight.

  "Ironfoot, can you think of any alternative?" said Silverdun.

  "No," said Ironfoot. "But I have a hard time believing this will work either."

  "Allow me to surprise you," said Faella.

  They linked hands. Silverdun stood between Sela and Faella, with Ironfoot at Faella's other hand. Silverdun opened up and felt Sela flow into him. He felt the same swirl of beauty and darkness and pain and hope that he'd always felt from her. But now it was tinged with a keening sense of loss. Silverdun knew that he had caused this feeling, and he cringed. Then Faella flowed into him as well, and Sela faded into the background. Faella. There were no words for her. She was simply Faella. That was all she cared to be, and no matter how much he had tried to deny it, it was all Silverdun wanted.

  Faella stepped forward all at once and placed her palm against the door. Silverdun felt what she felt. It was torture, agony. For an instant they were all blinded by the pain, by the magnitude of the hurt, the relentless force of the iron's push.

  But then, something changed. Dimly, Silverdun sensed a fleeting thought coming from Ironfoot: Just like Lin Vo. Silverdun had a little touch of Insight, and channeled a bit of it to try to figure out what Faella was doing, but he only caught a brief glimpse, and as soon as Sela noticed him channeling, she threw her own thought at him: Stop that!

  There was a crackling sound and a burst of heat: real heat. It burned Silverdun's skin, but then was whisked away. With it went the force of the iron. The repulsion was still there, but much reduced. Tolerable. Silverdun looked at Faella's hand against the door. The hand was red and blistering. Her pain, which Silverdun could still sense, was more than he could have borne on his own.

  Beneath Faella's hand, the door began to change. From the deep black of iron, it became lustrous and gray. The change spread out in veins from Faella's fingers, growing like the branches of a tree, each branch sprouting others. The branches grew and overlapped, and after a few moments the door was all gray, and Silverdun felt no repulsion from it at all.

  Faella dropped her hand from the door and clasped it in her other. Silverdun looked at her face and saw that she was crying.

  "I've started the change. I made it into a little binding-it's funny, once I started it, it sort of took off on its own; there was energy in the change itself, as the iron became something else."

  "What kind of energy?" said Ironfoot. He let go of her hand and touched the door, rapping against it.

  "Oh, I'm sure I don't know," said Faella. "But I sort of nudged it a little and it turned into re. There's re here, lots of it. Everything here wants to become it. I don't know how to explain."

  A bit of the door chipped away in Ironfoot's hands. "What is this?" he asked.

  Silverdun took the chip and channeled Elements into it. "Cobalt," he said.

  Ironfoot frowned at him. "Geology was a required subject in Elements," said Silverdun. "Boring as all hell."

  It took all four of them, but with some effort they managed to pry the door open on its hinges. Silverdun looked at Faella.

  "Your hand," he said, pointing. "It's healed.
"

  "Oh, that," she said. "That's not so hard."

  The door opened onto an entry hall with a pair of great doors just opposite the ones they'd entered. It was dark inside, but there were witchlamps on the walls, and Silverdun lit them. Once lit, they revealed the continuation of Faella's work; the iron around them turning slowly into cobalt, branches of gray flowing out in all directions.

  "I suppose what we're looking for is through there," Silverdun said.

  After a moment, the second doors were changed enough to touch. They were even more difficult to open than the first, but they eventually gave as well. Beyond them was a great chamber, also dark, but there was a gray light flitting in the distant darkness. The slightest footstep echoed in the space beyond. From within came a quiet droning sound.

  "I believe there's someone in there," said Silverdun.

  "How is that possible?" asked Sela. "How could any Fae survive in there?"

  "Let's find out," said Silverdun.

  He started through the doors and was immediately struck with vertigo. Waves of re reverberated through the chamber, condensed by the surrounding iron. It was like walking into water. It was a curious, warm sensation. Not unpleasant. Like being bathed in warm light. It took a moment for Silverdun to regain his bearings.

  "I can't see a damn thing," said Ironfoot. "Should we chance some light?"

  "Let's hold off for the moment," said Silverdun. "It might be best if we catch whoever's in there by surprise."

  They pressed forward. Silverdun could hear his companions' breath strangely muffled in the cavernous room. They were all breathing quickly.

  The gray light beyond was still now, and as they approached it, the droning grew more intense. Not knowing what else to do, Silverdun led the way toward it. Whatever the source of the light was, it was hidden behind something massive in the room, something he could sense more than see from the way that sounds and re echoed from it.

  They reached a wall that cut across part of the chamber, and stopped behind it.

  "Wait here," Silverdun whispered to Sela and Faella. "Ironfoot, you're with me."

  "I want to come with you," hissed Faella. "We both do."

  "Ironfoot and I can move in total silence," said Silverdun. "Neither of you can. Wait here."

  Silverdun and Ironfoot continued, making no sound whatsoever. They came closer to the source of the light, and Silverdun now began to notice that there were a number of other massive objects in the room. The wall they'd left Sela and Faella behind was actually the base of one of them. The droning noise grew as they approached, the light remaining constant.

  They reached the edge of the tall obstruction that hid the light. Just as they were about to peer around it, the droning whine stopped, and the room grew impossibly silent. There was a slight rushing sound, and Silverdun felt a breeze on his face. The light began to approach them, its reflection moving along the wall behind it. Silverdun and Ironfoot both drew knives and slid around the corner.

  Approaching them was a glowing silver moth, huge and hovering ten feet in the air, flying directly at them. It was the source of the illumination; its body and wings emanated witchlight.

  The creature noticed them and flapped its wings, stopping in the air. Now that it was no longer in motion, Silverdun could see it better. It was not a giant moth, but a Fae man, dressed head to toe in bright silver armor, a helmet covering his head entirely. A pair of great wings, composed of silver so thin it was nearly transparent, emerged from the shoulder plates of the armor, easily thirty feet from tip to tip.

  The flying man reached up and raised the visor of the helmet. He looked astonished.

  His face was that of a Bel Zheret, but his eyes were those of a true Fae.

  "Who the hell are you?" he said.

  The only perfect battle plan would be the one that acknowledges that no such plan exists.

  -CmdrTae Filarete, Observations on Battle

  he catapult was finally finished, no thanks to the lieutenant who wouldn't stop breathing down Sergeant Hy-Asher's neck.

  "Where do we aim?" he said. "Into the main force?"

  "No, you idiot," said the lieutenant. "You'd be killing our forces as well. Aim for the camp on the hill. Take out General Mauritane and the war's as good as won."

  Hy-Asher's men tested the wind and maneuvered the catapult into place. A private wound the roller handle, and the beam came down slowly and was hooked into place. With shaking hands, he placed the Einswrath into the bowl and nodded.

  Mauritane was at the front of the line, leading Bear Company toward the gate of Elenth. Once the gate was breached, they could fight their way into the city, and he and the Annwni commanders could rendezvous. The battle, he felt in his bones, was as good as over. All around him men shouted, swinging blades in strong arcs. Clatter and shriek. Hoofbeat and shout.

  A new sun erupted behind him, and a moment later a force like the hand of a god threw him from his horse, landing him facedown on the trampled ground. Surprised shouts and screams of pain came from all around him.

  Mauritane sat up and looked back toward his camp. A column of flame rose up from the top of the rise at the edge of the valley. Trees hundreds of feet away were on fire. Smoke rose from the flattened grass on the slope. The Seelie camp was gone. If he hadn't rushed into battle, he'd be dead now.

  The Einswrath had come. The Shadows had failed. After so much effort, so many turns, it seemed there was no escaping the inevitability of loss.

  But at this point, Mauritane didn't care. He stood up, waved his sword in the air, and screamed. "The Seelie Heart!" he rasped. "Onward to Elenth!"

  Many of his soldiers rose along with him, rallying to the sound of his voice. Not all of them, but perhaps enough.

  Across the Unseelie, things began going wrong for Mab. In her rooms atop the new City of Mab, reports went from bad to worse. The Annwni High Council had rebelled against her, slaughtering her governor and proconsul. They'd sent word to their troops to ally with the Seelie, and now they were wreaking havoc across the entire front.

  At the same time, every Arcadian in the Empire seemed to have risen up as one. They were stealing horses, dismantling supply wagons, intercepting orders. An entire company of the Fifth Battalion had defected to the Seelie: Every one of them had been infected with Arcadianism.

  Mab paced in her rooms. Hy Pezho would be back soon. He would swiftly build more Einswrath, the lunatic. If only he didn't somehow manage to wake Ein in the process.

  Mab and Fin had a history together. Their relationship had ended on a sour note.

  Soon Hy Pezho would return. And Titania would finally kneel before her. All the rest was just a momentary hiccup.

  "Why?" only matters over the long term. In the moment, "How?" will suffice.

  -Master Jedron

  e're Shadows," said Silverdun, stepping toward the flying man, dagger in hand. "Who the hell are you?"

  "The infamous Shadows! I should have known!" said the man. He bowed in the air. "And I am Hy Pezho. The Black Artist. I'd be hurt that you didn't recognize me, but I'm a bit changed of late. I suppose now you are my nemeses."

  "We're here to stop you building the Einswrath," said Silverdun. "We're here to end it."

  "Hm," said Hy Pezho. "That's interesting."

  "Is it?" said Silverdun.

  He cocked his head to the side. "No, I was just wondering: How are you standing on the floor? It's solid iron."

  "Not anymore," said Silverdun. "We've changed it. If that's why you're in the air, you can come down."

  Hy Pezho's face took on an expression of pure horror. "What do you mean, you changed it? That's impossible!"

  "We have our little secrets," said Silverdun. "Now come down from there. You're outnumbered."

  "Stop it!" shouted Hy Pezho. "Whatever you're doing, stop it at once! Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

  Silverdun looked at Ironfoot. This wasn't quite the reaction he'd have expected from the Black Artist Hy Pezho.


  Hy Pezho threw up his arms and illuminated the entire room with bright white witchlight. "Look around you, you fools! Don't you know where you are?"

  Silverdun looked. It took a moment for him to take in what he was seeing. The space took up the entire interior of the castle save for the small entryway through which they'd passed. It was empty except for a number of massive platforms, made of iron, but already changing to cobalt under the influence of Faella's spell. Each platform was the height of a man, and at least forty feet long and twenty feet wide.