Bane and Shadow

by Jon Skovron

  Chiffet Mek didn’t take the bait, however, and instead changed the subject. “You seem to have developed quite a bond with His Highness.”

  “Say, I hope it doesn’t make you nervous.” Red fired off all six rounds with a jaunty flourish, leaving one hole in the target. “Me having my own friends in high places, that is.”

  “On the contrary,” said Mek. “Progul Bon is quite pleased.”

  That shook Red’s confidence slightly. Anytime he pleased a biomancer, it never seemed like a good thing. Especially not a schemer like Progul Bon.

  “You better not do any of your biomancery on Leston,” he said ominously.

  “Save your empty threats,” said Chiffet Mek, with the closest thing to a smile Red had ever seen. “Rest assured we will not do biomancery on the prince. When he was born, the emperor had us swear not to alter him in any way with our arts.”

  Red knew that biomancers couldn’t lie, or they would lose their powers. He didn’t know why that was true, but it was one of the few things he had on them. And while he may not have pinned the murders on the biomancers, the news that Leston was safe from them was a bigger relief than he expected.

  The following day, he was back in the secret basement levels of the palace, this time with Ammon Set, the head of the Council of Biomancery. They stood in a room without any light. Even with his enhanced sight, Red couldn’t see. But just to make absolutely certain, Ammon Set had blindfolded him as well.

  “We enhanced more than just your sight, Rixidenteron,” Ammon Set said, his dry, dusty voice echoing in the pitch-black chamber. “Your other senses have been heightened as well. But you rely so much on your sight that your hearing, smell, and touch have not had a chance to develop as strongly. We will begin to correct that now.”

  “What about taste?” asked Red. “Is that enhanced, too?”

  “Yes. Although there are few practical applications for that.”

  “Identifying poisons, maybe?”

  Ammon Set gave a weary sigh. “I suppose…”

  “If I’m kissing a molly, would I be able to tell what she had for dinner?”

  “Probably, but—”

  “What if I kissed her cunt? Could I tell if—”

  “Let us continue with the exercise at hand.”

  “Sure, Ammon, old pot. Sure.” Red smiled broadly enough that Set could hear it in his voice. “What are we doing here in the dark?”

  “Your task is to reach me on the other side of the room.”

  “Simple as sideways,” said Red. “I can hear which direction you’re in.” He began walking quickly toward Ammon Set’s voice. But then something hard slammed into his shin.

  “Piss’ell!” he yelped.

  “Something wrong?” Now it was Ammon Set’s turn to have a smile in his voice.

  “There’s something in my way. Felt like a pissing table edge with its legs cut short.”

  “Yes,” agreed Set. “In fact, there are many different things in your way. You must use your sense of hearing to avoid them. If you touch any of them, you must return to the other side of the room and try again.”

  “How am I supposed to hear a pissing table?” asked Red.

  “Bats use a process called echolocation. By listening to the sound of their voice echo back from objects in the space, they can discern where those objects are located.”

  “Sounds like balls and pricks to me.”

  “Then you are in for a very long and painful afternoon.”

  Ammon Set was right. Red was in there for hours. He ran into things, stepped on things, and even banged his head on a few things hanging from the ceiling. He tried listening to his footsteps, his voice, and even hand claps. None of it seemed to work. Then, by accident, he discovered that if he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, it was just loud enough and sharp enough that he could tell a difference if something was directly in front of him. He wasn’t seeing the whole room, but by moving slowly, it was just enough warning to get him through the obstacle course.

  “Well done,” said Ammon Set.

  Around the edges of his blindfold, Red could see that the room suddenly flared up with light. He closed his eyes as he took off the blindfold, and didn’t open them until he had his smoked glasses on.

  “I think that will be all for today,” said Ammon Set. He was the only biomancer who didn’t bother to hide his face under his hood. Patches of his skin looked like they were made of the same beige stone of the palace, and he was completely bald. He fixed his dull, colorless eyes on Red. “I trust you will be at the Annual Lord’s Ball this evening?”

  “The prince told me it was important.”

  “It is. You should go.”

  “Why?” Red had lost count of how many balls he’d been to, and they were all so dull that roping foolish lords into shell games was about the only way he could entertain himself. And they’d finally grown wise to that particular scheme. “How is this ball different from all the others?”

  “Did you know,” said Ammon Set, “that the Dark Mage could see the future?”

  Red had learned that biomancers took an almost childlike delight in not directly answering questions that were put to them. He’d given up trying to fight it, so instead he sighed and said, “That’s balls and pricks. Nobody can really predict the future. And anyway, didn’t he go slippy?”

  “It’s true that his visions drove him mad,” admitted Set. “But he wrote down many of his predictions while he was still capable of coherent thought. So far, all of them have come true.”

  “Like what?”

  “He predicted his own death at the hands of Manay the True.”

  “He knew when and how he was going to die? That would make anyone slippy.”

  “The Dark Mage also predicted the uprising of the Jackal Lords that happened thirty years ago, as well as the withdrawal of the Vinchen order to the remote southern island of Galemoor.”

  “Not bad,” admitted Red.

  “He also predicted the invasion of Aukbontar as well.”

  Red’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you gafs are real worried about that, aren’t you? That’s why you think you need me. Why you created coral spice to make people like me.”

  “It’s why we have urgently explored every weaponized possibility of biomancery we can conceive of for the last twenty years,” said Ammon Set. “In a desperate attempt to be ready to defend the empire when Aukbontar begins their invasion.”

  “I met someone from Aukbontar. Palla’s a quality wag. If that’s what most of them are like, it doesn’t seem like anything to get worried about.”

  Ammon Set leaned in close. His breath smelled like old stone and dust.

  “If you took every island in the empire and pressed them together into one great big land, it would still be only a third of the size of Aukbontar. Their armies are endless, highly trained, and ferocious. Their advancements in the mechanical sciences are beyond your comprehension. So yes, we are worried. You should be, too, Lord Pastinas, unless you want to see your precious New Laven crushed beneath their cold, merciless steel might.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” asked Red.

  Ammon Set turned his back on Red. As he walked toward the door, he said over his shoulder, “Go to the ball tonight, Lord Pastinas.”

  “Announcing Lord Pastinas of Hollow Falls!” boomed the head steward of the palace, a terminally serious old wrink who made Hume look like a merry prankster. It was his job to sit at the entrance to the ballroom and announce the name and title of each person as they entered.

  One thing Red liked about all the lacy pomp was that the person arriving stood behind a velvet curtain until they were announced. Most people didn’t take advantage of such potential for a dramatic entrance. But after Red’s name was called, he swept out from behind the curtain with a gallant flourish.

  “Thanks for that.” He winked at the steward.

  The steward replied with a withering look.

  “Fancy a rematch on stones sometim
e?”

  The head steward’s jowls trembled. “Never again, my lord.”

  “Can’t say I blame you.”

  The ballroom was one of the largest rooms in the palace, taking up most of the thirtieth floor. Tables were set with food along the perimeter, with chairs both at the tables and facing the center of the room, where a few of the braver lords and ladies were dancing to the tinkly strains of a string orchestra tucked away in one corner. Most of the guests stood in small clumps around the periphery, chatting and drinking wine.

  Red made his way toward the wine table, but didn’t get far before he heard a warm, lush voice say, “Quite a splendid ball, wouldn’t you say, my Lord Pastinas?”

  Red turned to see Lady Hempist in a silver gown cut so low, she was in danger of showing more than just her impressive cleavage.

  He bowed slightly to her. “My lady, you look as delicious as ever.”

  She smiled, showing her pearl-white teeth. Red was always amazed at how lacies could keep their teeth as white as children’s. He knew there were tiny brushes and powder involved. He had dim memories of doing it himself when his mother was still alive. But the streets of Silverback and Paradise Circle hadn’t allowed him to maintain habits like that.

  “And you look nearly respectable, my lord,” said Lady Hempist lightly. “A clever deception.”

  Red plucked at his charcoal-gray frock coat. “Prince Leston pleaded with me to put on a jacket and cravat. Claimed it was the ball of the season or something like that. You know I can’t stand to see my best wag fretful, so I did as His Highness commanded.”

  “Even ran a comb through your hair.” She reached her hand up and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. She had a ring on every finger, and painted nails long enough to make it clear she was not someone who did work with her hands.

  “More like the rake they use for the rock gardens.”

  “You’ve still got those tinted glasses of yours, though.”

  “So many lamps in the room,” Red said truthfully. “Hurts my delicate eyes.”

  “I don’t mind, my lord. Makes you seem aloof and mysterious. Almost unattainable.”

  He flashed a grin. “That’s because I am unattainable, my lady.”

  “So you keep saying.” She patted his cheek condescendingly. “It’s quite adorable.”

  Red sighed. “You are impossible.”

  “I know it.” Her eyes swept the ballroom, which was more crowded than Red had ever seen it. Apparently, even the minor lords and ladies from the outer islands trekked in for this particular ball. Red had no idea why, because it still seemed like every other ball he’d been to since arriving at Stonepeak.

  “So what do you think of this ball of the season, my lord?” asked Lady Hempist, mimicking his mocking tone from earlier.

  Red shrugged. “Not enough drugs, violence, or sex for my tastes.” He wouldn’t normally say something like that to one of the ladies of the palace, but Lady Hempist seemed determined to prove she could take anything he could dish out, so he’d see just how far he could push it. A part of him hoped she might storm off in a huff. It wasn’t that he disliked her. In fact, he found her rather charming. And that was the problem. It was her appeal that made him uneasy. Like he was the one getting conned.

  Instead of looking shocked, she gave him another pearl-studded smile and hooked her arm in his so that they stood side by side, looking at the gathering.

  “You do us a disservice, my lord,” she said. “Look more closely. There is Archlord Tramasta off in the corner, sniffing a fine white powder called cloud glass that he claims is medicinal, but I know from personal experience to be quite… invigorating.”

  Red examined the tall, gaunt archlord that he’d won a pair of boots from a few nights before and noticed an odd glaze to his eyes, with pupils that were unnaturally large. “Hmm, I see what you mean.”

  “And over there by the entree table,” continued Lady Hempist, “Lord Weatherwight of Wake Landing seems to be doing some violence to that steamed lobster.”

  It was true that the portly, bearded man didn’t seem to know how to get to the meat, and was making a mess of it with a mallet and knife. But Red shook his head. “I think you may be stretching the word to call that violence, my lady. Especially since the poor thing’s already dead.”

  “Fine,” she said, undaunted. “Perhaps there’s less physical violence being done here than you’re accustomed to, but what about violence of the heart?” She nodded over to where Leston stood in a dark blue frock coat, looking utterly bored as he sipped at his drink. “Observe Archlady Bashim, hovering nearby.”

  She stood near the prince in a high-buttoned, conservative pink gown. She kept turning suddenly, and Red realized she was trying to catch the prince’s eye. Finally she gave up on subtlety, and walked over to him. Now that they’d been formally introduced, she could at least start a conversation with him. He nodded politely to her greeting, but then another lord came and spoke to him, and he turned away from her.

  “Dear me, but that’s cutting,” sighed Lady Hempist dramatically. “It’s as if she’s back on the cliff gardens, but this time, her heart has been flung over the edge to splatter on the uncaring rooftops below.”

  “Okay,” admitted Red. “I reckon that’s a bit closer to violence.”

  “And as for the lack of sex…” Lady Hempist leaned in so close that her breasts pressed against his arm as she purred into his ear, “I’m certain you and I could correct that.”

  Clearly she was teasing him, and Red knew he needed to respond in some way. Either to retaliate in kind, which could escalate dangerously, or flee, which she might enjoy nearly as much. But just then, he was saved by perhaps the last person he ever expected to be saved by.

  The orchestra went quiet and all heads turned expectantly to the ballroom entrance. The high steward’s voice boomed in the sudden silence. “Announcing, the Shining Light between the Dawn and the Dusk, the one chosen by God as the defender of the people of the Storm, His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Martarkis.”

  The orchestra burst into a processional march, and every head bowed low. Red followed suit a moment later, after Lady Hempist jabbed her elbow into his ribs.

  This was why it was the ball of the season. Everyone came for a rare glimpse of the emperor. But why did Ammon Set think it was so important for him to be here? It certainly wasn’t to be astonished by the power and majesty of the emperor. The old wrink moved painfully slow, as if he had to will each leg to rise and fall. His hair looked like strands of white silk. His skin was paper-thin, showing veins and sharp-angled bone beneath. His thick gold robes, embroidered with the imperial crest of a lightning bolt meeting a wave, seemed far too heavy for him to support. When he finally reached the golden chair at the far end of the ballroom, he collapsed into it with an exhausted wheeze.

  Maybe that was what Set wanted him to see. If Aukbontar did invade, the empire wasn’t exactly under the strongest leadership.

  Once everyone stood straight again, and conversation resumed, Red murmured to Lady Hempist, “Piss’ell, but he looks like Death in his cups.”

  “Do you ever run out of those quaint little folk sayings?” asked Lady Hempist.

  “Haven’t yet.” The moment he said that, he was reminded of a similar conversation he’d had with Nettles a long time ago. The combined discomfort and homesickness was more than he could take. He bowed to Lady Hempist and said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think the prince needs me for something.”

  She inclined her head, her eyes flashing. “Of course, my lord. I hope we can continue our plans for shoring up the missing components you feel make a successful ball at a later time.”

  Red forced a smile and hurried across the room to Leston, who hadn’t signaled to him, but watched him approach with wry amusement.

  “Has the dangerous outlaw Rixidenteron finally met his match?”

  Red scowled as he bowed perfunctorily to the prince. “I don’t know what her game is, but I think I’m l
osing.”

  “An astute observation,” said Leston. “Lady Merivale Hempist is known to be a woman who is very good at getting what she wants. And at present, that seems to be you.”

  “Well, she will have to become a woman who is good at accepting that now and then, she doesn’t get what she wants.”

  “Would it be so bad? She’s clever, quite handsome, and her estates on Lesser Basheta are small but impeccably managed. By all accounts, she’s an excellent match for you.”

  “There’s only one match for me,” said Red, unable to keep the sharpness from his voice.

  Leston’s expression softened. “Right. Your Bleak Hope.”

  “If I don’t speak of her often, it’s not because I don’t care, or that I’m not thinking of her constantly. It’s because it already hurts to be separated from her, and talking about her only makes it worse.”

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” said Leston. “From everything you have described, she must be a remarkable woman.”

  Red’s grin suddenly bloomed. “She is, quite possibly, the deadliest person in the world.”

  Leston laughed. “I hope someday to meet her.”

  “Preferably under friendly circumstances,” said Red. “She’s not overly fond of imperial authority.”

  “That seems a common theme among your friends,” said the prince.

  “Nothing personal, Your Highness. Poor people tend to hate the rich and powerful.”

  Leston’s face brightened. “But with your help, perhaps that can change. What I have already learned from you about the plight of the common people has touched me deeply.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, Your Highness.”

  “That reminds me, apparently there was another murder last night.”

  “What does that make, five? Have you talked to your dad about it? Maybe he could push the imps harder to actually look into it?”