The Thousand Names

by Django Wexler

  Something was changing. On the boundaries, where the magics sparked and warred, one of them was giving way. Winter’s naath expanded, oil spreading out as the water retreated. It converted the other into more of itself, twisted and pummeled and restructured it until it could incorporate the foreign thing into its own fabric. The process began slowly, then accelerated, change running through Alhundt’s magic as fast as thought could follow. Then, where there had been two warring powers, there was only one. Winter’s naath flooded back through the link, diving back into the depths of her soul like a monster returning to its cave, sated with its kill.

  The link broke. It felt like hours had passed, but in the real world time had barely moved forward at all. Winter’s hand fell away, flopping limply against the plinth. The screech of Alhundt’s magic ended abruptly, leaving a tooth-jangling hum echoing in Winter’s ears. The Concordat agent herself crumpled on the spot, folding like an empty sack to sprawl bonelessly on the flagstones.

  The sound of Marcus running was distant, irrelevant behind the shooting pain that wracked Winter’s body. Darkness closed around her. She closed her eyes and surrendered, gratefully, to unconsciousness.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  MARCUS

  “Are you certain?”

  Jen lay on the bedroll, arms at her sides, left hand wound round with bandages. They’d dressed her in whatever could be scrounged from the stores, all much too large. The sleeves of the white shirt overhung her fingers, and the army-blue trousers had the cuffs rolled up like a little boy’s. Marcus had retrieved her spectacles, one lens cracked through, and set them beside her head.

  He couldn’t help staring at her. With her features at peace, she looked like the woman who had cried on his shoulder and shared his bed, rather than the unholy monster she had revealed herself to be. The movement of her chest was so slight, the whisper of air through her lips so faint, that he felt if he looked away they might cease entirely. He rode with her in the carts during the day, and stayed with her in his tent at night. What sleep he did manage was brief and troubled.

  No doubt the paperwork was piling up, but Fitz would take care of it. Marcus took his meals alone with his silent patient, and waited. Everyone knew just enough to leave him alone.

  “Are you certain?” She’d implied there was more in his file that he knew . . .

  The tent flap rustled, and there was a knock at the pole. Marcus looked up.

  “Who’s there?” His voice was still hoarse from that horrible day at the oasis.

  “Janus.”

  Of course. Marcus sat in silence for a long moment, indecisive.

  “May I come in?”

  “Go ahead.”

  The tent flap parted. Janus’ left leg was bound up in wood and linen, and he supported himself with a crutch under that arm. He slipped inside with surprising dexterity and hopped over to Marcus’ camp chair.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I sit,” he said. Marcus nodded dumbly, and the colonel settled himself down and stretched his splinted leg in front of him. “It could have been much worse, so I suppose I should be thankful. Still a damned nuisance, though.”

  “Worse?” Marcus said.

  “The leg.”

  “Ah.”

  Marcus lapsed into silence again. Janus regarded him thoughtfully, gray eyes glittering.

  “Another day,” the colonel said, “and we’ll be at Ashe-Katarion. The fleet should arrive the day after that.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I’ll be going back to Vordan on the next courier run.”

  “And taking your Thousand Names with you,” Marcus said, letting a hint of bitterness into his voice.

  “Yes.” Janus leaned forward. “Does that bother you, Captain?”

  “You never cared about any of this, did you? The campaign, the Redeemers, any of it. It was all . . . a means to an end.”

  There was a pause. Janus cocked his head.

  “I can’t deny that it was part of my plans,” he said. “But I think you do me an injustice. I was commanded to destroy the rebels and restore the prince, and I have done that to the best of my ability.”

  “Only because it furthered your private war with the Last Duke.” Marcus turned to look down at Jen. “What about the Colonials?”

  “The Ministry of War will no doubt find a new commander. I’m sure it won’t be long until some colonel disgraces himself badly enough to deserve it.”

  “Ah.”

  “On the other hand . . .” Janus paused. “The job is yours, if you want it.”

  “Mine?” Marcus blinked. “I can’t. I’m not—”

  “Not nobly born, I know. But conferring a colonelcy on a commoner is not entirely without precedent. I’ll certainly speak for you, and I suspect my word will carry a great deal of weight on my return. Provided you agree to stay here for the remainder of your career, out of sight of anyone who matters, I believe the Ministry could see its way clear to authorizing the promotion.”

  “Oh.” Marcus paused, not quite able to bring himself to offer any thanks.

  “It’s the least I can do,” Janus said. “Assuming that’s really what you want.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  Janus sighed. “May I speak frankly, Captain?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You should return to Vordan. You’re too good an officer to waste his days in a sinecure. We’re going to need men like you.” Janus paused. “I am going to need men like you.”

  “What?” Marcus felt a flush of anger rise into his cheeks. “You need me? You’ve spent this whole campaign keeping me in the dark—”

  “I told you as much as you would accept.” Janus flashed a brief smile. “Honestly, Captain, if I’d told you the truth when I first arrived, you would have thought I was mad.”

  “I’m half sure you’re mad now.” Marcus gritted his teeth. “My men died chasing that thing across the desert. I had to stand by and watch you sign my best friend’s death warrant. What makes you think I want to have anything to do with you ever again?”

  “Because I think you are a patriot, Captain. Loyal to your country, and to your king.”

  Marcus stared at the colonel for a moment in stunned silence.

  “You may not like it,” Janus went on, “but you cannot deny what we saw. The Penitent Damned, the elite servants of the Pontifex of the Black, working hand in glove with Duke Orlanko’s Concordat. Evidently the Last Duke’s association with the Sworn Church has gone well beyond a casual alliance. If we do nothing, Orlanko will take power, and Vordan will be as good as ceded to Elysium.” He nodded at Jen. “In the hands of people like her. We’ll have the Priests of the Black back in the cathedral, rooting out heresy with knives and hot pokers. The Great Schism all over again.”

  Another long pause.

  “Even if I believed . . .” Marcus hesitated. “Even if I believed any of that, what assurance do I have that you would be any better?”

  Janus smiled again. “All the more reason to come with me, Captain. If the day comes when you believe I no longer have the kingdom’s best interests at heart, you’ll be in a position to do something about it.”

  Marcus said nothing. His eyes went to Jen. Janus caught the expression and frowned.

  “You know what she was,” he said. “Is.”

  “I know,” Marcus said. He was quiet for a moment. “The cutters don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

  “Unsurprising. It’s a bit beyond their area of expertise.”

  “Is she going to wake up?”

  Janus blew out a long breath. “In all honesty, Captain, I don’t know. What happened to her was . . . unique. I would not have expected her to survive at all. Given that she has, she might wake up tomorrow, or in a month, or not at all. And if she wakes . . .” He hesitated. “I don’t know how much will be left of her.”

  “You don’t know.”

  “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Did you study my history b
efore you came here?” Marcus said.

  Janus nodded. “Of course.”

  “Then you know what happened to me. To my family.”

  The colonel ducked his head. “A tragedy.”

  “They all died. That’s what they told me, afterward. I wasn’t there, you see. I was still at the College. By the time I got home they’d gone ahead with the funerals. Visiting the cemetery was all I could do. There wouldn’t have been anything left to see, anyway. The whole house burned.”

  Janus nodded.

  “All dead,” Marcus said. “But Jen . . . when we were in the temple, she said . . .”

  “Are you certain?”

  There was a long silence.

  “I don’t want to hold out false hope for you, Captain,” Janus said. “Orlanko and his creatures are masters of deceit. There may have been no more truth in it than in her affection for you.”

  “I know. But—”

  “You want to know for certain.”

  Marcus said nothing.

  “If the truth exists anywhere,” Janus said, “it’s buried under Orlanko’s lair in the Cobweb.”

  “I’ll dig it out,” Marcus said. The anger in his voice surprised him. “With my bare hands, if I have to.”

  “Come with me,” Janus said. “I swear I’ll help you, if I can.”

  After a long moment, Marcus nodded.

  WINTER

  Winter pushed the tent flaps open cautiously, and blinked in the full glare of the morning sun. Scrubby grass underneath her feet meant they were no longer deep in the Desol. Ahead, the land fell away in a spectacular cliff. Beyond that, stretching to the horizon, was the sea. The water was deep blue against the cloudless Khandarai sky, and she could see tiny white-tipped waves far below. The air smelled different—salty, and somehow alive compared to the baked, dead atmosphere of the Desol. Even the heat was moderated by a cool breeze blowing off the water.

  She’d awoken to crisp linen sheets and a surprisingly small amount of pain. Some of her wounds were bandaged, while others had been closed with fine silk stitches that were already sinking under the surface of newly healed skin. Her side still hurt when she touched it, but not nearly so badly as it had. When she lifted the sheet to examine her skin, she saw that the mass of bruises had turned a startling yellow-green.

  Waiting at the foot of her bed was her uniform, freshly laundered, the various cuts and abrasions expertly stitched and patched. Beside it was a brand-new coat, with a lieutenant’s stripes properly sewn into the shoulders.

  Outside, a white fabric awning threw its shadow across a wooden table and a couple of chairs set with pillows. One of them was occupied by Colonel Vhalnich, who was reading a book with his legs stretched out on a cushioned footrest. He looked up at the rustle of the tent flap, then shut the book and flashed her a brief smile.

  Winter saluted, heels coming together to straighten her painfully into a parade-ground stance. The colonel winced in sympathy, and gestured to the chair.

  “Please, Lieutenant. Sit down and relax.”

  She unbent cautiously and settled into the chair. His gray eyes regarded her thoughtfully.

  “I would get up to greet you, but . . .” He waved a hand at his legs, and she noticed that one of them was bound by a wooden splint. “I’ve been waiting most anxiously for you to awaken.”

  “I—”

  He held up one finger. “To anticipate your initial questions: We are on the coast, four miles east of Ashe-Katarion. Your corporals and those of the Seventh Company who escaped the caves with them are fine, and have been asking quite urgently after your health. And you have been unconscious for approximately twelve days.”

  Winter blinked, trying to make room for all that. “Twelve . . . days?”

  “Indeed. Our return from the Desol was dusty but uneventful. The same could not be said for your injuries, I’m afraid. For a time you were in serious danger.”

  Winter remembered feeling as though her lungs were ripping themselves to shreds with every breath. It seemed distant, like something from a past life. “Do I have you to thank for my recovery?”

  “You do,” he said matter-of-factly. “While I hate to cast aspersions on the humble army cutters, their knowledge tends toward the practical, and their approach is often . . . blunt. If the problem cannot be removed from the patient with a bone saw, they are often at a loss. Fortunately, medicine is among my fields of study.”

  “Then you saved my life. Again.”

  He inclined his head. “After you saved mine.” The colonel held up his hand again, ticking off more fingers. “To be more precise, you came to save mine, I saved yours, you returned to rescue me once again, and I again managed to be of some service afterward.” He raised an eyebrow. “It seemed only polite.”

  “What about the others who were in there?” Winter drew a sharp breath. “Feor! What happened to Feor?”

  “She would be the Khandarai priestess who accompanied you?” At Winter’s hesitant nod, Janus gave another fast smile. “She is fully recovered, I believe. Your Corporal Forester claimed her when he led the rescue party into the temple. I was in no condition to give advice at the time, but fortunately it proved to be unnecessary. The wounds magic inflicts on the spirit are painful, and can even be fatal, but they fade quickly compared to the more physical sort.”

  She’s all right. Something unknotted in the pit of Winter’s stomach. She’d been convinced that Feor was dying, that the reading of the naath had been an effort of grand self-sacrifice on her part. Hell, maybe she thought it was.

  “I haven’t been able to let any of them come and see you,” the colonel continued, “as I didn’t know which of them were privy to your secret.”

  “Ah. That was very considerate of you.”

  “As I said, it seemed only polite.”

  There was a pause. The clink of glass on glass made Winter look up, and she was startled to see a servant in formal black pouring wine from a carafe. He handed her the glass with a grave expression, and she sipped politely. It was iced, and the chill felt good against her lips.

  “Thank you, Augustin. Leave the rest.”

  “My lord,” Augustin murmured. He ghosted away.

  “That leaves us,” the colonel said, reaching for his own glass, “with the main issue.”

  “Oh?” Winter did her best to match the man’s casual tone.

  “How much do you understand of what happened in the temple?”

  Winter’s cheeks flushed. She drank, to cover her embarrassment, and found the wine surprisingly palatable. “Not much. Alhundt was trying to kill us all, and Captain d’Ivoire and I stopped her.”

  He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I’m not surprised that you’d pretend ignorance. To be knowledgeable is to be involved, after all, and you must know better than anyone how dangerous that can be. However, I believe we are beyond that point. Whatever you know, or don’t know, you are involved now, and so I ask not in some attempt to entrap you into revealing your hand but simply so that I do not waste your time with explanations.”

  “If you say so,” Winter said carefully.

  “Trust me.” He leaned forward. “How much do you know about what has happened to you?”

  She shrugged. “Only what Feor told me. She recited a naath, something that was engraved on those steel plates, and I said it along with her. Then I finished it alone.”

  The colonel winced. “No wonder she was unconscious. Did she tell you anything about the nature of the . . . naath?”

  “No. Only that I could use it to stop Alhundt.”

  “And when you did?”

  “It was . . .” She found it hard to put into words. “It was like whatever was inside me reached out, into her. It found the magic inside her and—I’m not sure. It—”

  “Devoured it,” the colonel said.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Remarkable.” He looked at her curiously. “And how do you feel now?”

  “All right, I guess.” She l
ooked down at herself. “A hell of a lot better than I expected to.”

  “An expectation I might have shared, had I known what you and Feor had tried.” He paused, as though searching for words. “The . . . thing that you have, call it a naath for the sake of argument, is one that is known to us, though only distantly. It was discovered in the wild only once, more than a thousand years ago. The Church of the time called it ‘Infernivore,’ because to them it was a demon that fed on other demons. It resisted every attempt to learn its name, and eventually its host died under the not-very-tender ministrations of the Priests of the Black. In time, however, rumors reached the Church that either the Infernivore or a very similar entity had been discovered in Khandar, among the great store of knowledge we call the Thousand Names.”

  There was so much that Winter didn’t understand in that statement she hardly knew where to begin. She seized on something familiar. “Feor mentioned the Black Priests. I thought they were shut down a century ago.”

  “Officially, yes,” Janus said. “As far as history is concerned, the Priests of the Black expanded their remit from the elimination of the supernatural to meddle in the realm of politics and doctrine, which is true, as far as it goes. In the aftermath of the Great Schism, the Pontifex of the Black lost much of his standing, and the Obsidian Order was eventually disbanded.”

  “But?” Winter prompted.

  “Elysium took the opportunity to purge the rot and return the Priests of the Black to what they had been. They operate in secret, searching out demons and magic in all its forms. Just because they are no longer publicly acknowledged does not make them any less dangerous, however.”

  “I thought Alhundt worked for the Concordat.”

  “The interests of His Grace the Last Duke,” the colonel said darkly, “align very closely with those of the Pontifex of the Black. It doesn’t surprise me in the least to find them working hand in glove.”

  “But—”

  “All of this is a bit beside the point,” the colonel said. “At least for the moment, as far as you are concerned.”

  “So what is the point?”