Sworn in Steel

by Douglas Hulick

  But all Wolf did was follow the sword with his eyes and sigh.

  “All right,” I said. “You got to see it. Now it’s your turn: Why do you want Bronze?”

  “You mean aside from his having killed Iron?”

  I looked up sharply at that. “Like I told your Order, Shadow was the one who—”

  “And like I told you,” said Wolf, “I don’t care about the lies you told them or the half-truths they mouthed back. We both know Bronze killed Iron. There was no other reason for him to disappear without a word, nothing else that would have caused him to abandon his sword. A degan’s blade is his identity, his soul. Bronze wouldn’t have done that unless he felt he no longer had a right to carry it.”

  “You’re that sure?” I said.

  “We all are.”

  I shifted on my perch. “You all . . . ?”

  “We know that Gray Prince didn’t kill our brother. Not that cleanly. We’re not fools, after all.”

  I’d kind of been hoping they were, actually. Most people wanted their answers simple, their mysteries solved. But then again, most people weren’t the Order of the Degans.

  “So is that why you want him?” I said, my voice tight. “You think he dusted your sword brother, and now you want to make him pay?”

  “No. That may be true for the others, but not for me.”

  “How convenient, then, that I’ve been set up by the one degan who doesn’t want Bronze dead. Lucky me.”

  “Believe what you wish, but know this: It’s not my intent to hunt down Bronze so I can exact vengeance on him.”

  “Then why?”

  Wolf gave me a long, thoughtful look. “Because I need him.”

  “For what?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Oh, Angels!” It was Degan and his reticence about Iron all over again. “You degans and your damn secrets. You’re worse than a courtesan at court.”

  Wolf’s voice took on a condescending tone. “It’s a matter regarding the Order of the—”

  “It’s about the fucking emperor, isn’t it?”

  Wolf’s eyes went wide. “What?”

  “The emperor. You know, the man your order promised to serve, only now you can’t agree among yourselves whether that means preserving the empire or the man himself.”

  Wolf’s eyes grew even wider. I could almost read his mind by his expression: This was all supposed to be deep-file degan information, internal politics meant to be kept within the Order.

  “How . . . ?” he began.

  “How the hell do you think?”

  “Perhaps,” said Wolf after a moment, “you should tell me—exactly—what Degan told you about the Order.”

  “And perhaps you should tell me which side of the split you stand on.”

  It wasn’t an idle question. The whole reason I’d ended up breaking my Oath to Degan was because he’d decided we needed to turn an ancient Paragon’s journal over to the emperor rather than let the information it contained fall into the wrong hands. Problem was, I’d already agreed to give the book to Solitude and help her throw down said emperor. That was no small thing, and not just because he was the emperor; it was also because killing him didn’t mean he wouldn’t come back.

  For the past six-hundred-plus years, the Dorminikan Empire has been ruled by the same man—or rather, by three recurring incarnations of the same man: the founder of the empire, Stephen Dorminikos. Named, respectively, Lucien, Theodoi and Markino, each version of the emperor was reborn thirty years apart from the other two, always in the same order, always succeeding one another to the throne—more or less. The occasional revolt or stubborn regent had caused their fair share of gaps, but in the end, one version or another of the emperor always regained the throne. After all, it was the Angels who had chosen Stephen and shattered his soul into three pieces, so he could be perpetually reborn, wasn’t it? It only seemed proper that the Chosen One of the Angelic Host sit the earthly throne that had been set aside for him, right?

  Right.

  Except it was all a load of shit.

  Thanks to the notes in the Paragon’s journal, I’d learned the truth: that Stephen Dorminikos’s broken soul and unending rule had had nothing to do with the Angels. The sole reason he’d been able keep coming back was that he’d tasked his magicians—his Paragons—with finding the secret to immortality. Unable to figure it out, they’d instead come up with the best solution they could manage: cyclical regeneration.

  The whole thing—the Angels, being chosen as the Perpetual Emperor, the resulting Imperial Cult—had been a con. And what was worse, it was slowly falling apart. Not in terms of the magic—that appeared to working fine, at least from the outside—but rather in terms of the man, or by now the men, being reincarnated.

  It was no great secret that the various incarnations had been slipping into madness over the last century or so. As each emperor aged, they tended to become paranoid about various things, especially one another. Over time, that had translated to more and more hostility. Right now it was minor, but as Solitude had pointed out, the eventual path was easy enough to see: Sooner or later, one incarnation would challenge the other openly, and the empire would end up at war with itself. Forever, because if the emperor you believed in never died, neither would his cause. But I couldn’t say the same for the empire itself, and that had bothered me. No Empire meant no Kin, and I wasn’t about to see the closest thing to a family, and the only legacy I had, go down the sewer someday because of a religious con job. Hunting us down because we were criminals was one thing, but to be destroyed as an afterthought of history gone bad? No, thank you.

  And that’s where the problem had come in. Degan had stood with the part of his Order that believed preserving the empire meant preserving the emperor. If I’d let him follow his conscience and turn that journal over, there would have been no stopping the downward spiral towards civil war. I’d needed the information the journal held to try and topple the man Degan was sworn to preserve. Which was why I’d coldcocked my best friend the moment he’d turned his back to me and run off with the Paragon’s notes, even though I knew it meant I was destroying his life.

  But just because I’d betrayed Degan that one time didn’t mean I was willing to do it again. If Wolf stood on the opposite side of the Order from Degan, I’d be damn if I helped him do anything.

  For his part, Wolf waved the question off with a dismissive hand. “The Order’s issues with the emperor aren’t your concern.”

  “You made it my concern when you set me up. So either you come clean or I take a walk and see just how well me and my people do against your lies.”

  He shifted his weight back on his heels, but otherwise didn’t move. “You like dramatic threats, don’t you? To use your knowledge like a blade. Very well: I concede the point. I stand with the Order. No,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall my argument. “Don’t interrupt me. By that, I mean I wish to see the degans come together under one purpose, like it used to be in the days after our founding. I wish to see us do the things we are capable of, if only we didn’t have this thorn constantly worrying at our side. It festers and drives us apart.

  “You wonder how I know Bronze and Iron fought? Because it was inevitable. If not them, then it would have been two others. I have no proof, no witnesses as you would say, but that isn’t important. One degan has spilled the blood of another over what it means to serve the Empire. If that deed stands unanswered, then the Order will fall upon itself. I need Bronze to prevent this.”

  “How, by making an example of him?” I said. “By dragging him before your brothers for some kind of mock trial?”

  “You understand nothing.”

  “And whose fault would that be, do you think?”

  Wolf sighed. “How do you make an example of someone who’s already an exemplar? Where the rest of us have argued and debated and even changed our minds, Bronze has stood unmoving, like a boulder in a gale. For him, it’s not about reasons or intentions—it’s abou
t conviction.

  “Bronze holds a special place in the eyes of my Order. By standing apart, he’s gained a certain degree of moral authority among us. In a roomful of yelling, headstrong swordsmen, it’s no small feat for everyone to fall silent when you speak. Bronze had that power among the degans before Iron fell, and I think he might have it still. That’s why I need him: I need his authority to help settle this before it becomes worse. Before we fully turn on one another.”

  “But if they didn’t listen to him before, what makes you think they’ll listen now? You said yourself he did the unthinkable: He dusted another degan.”

  “Which is exactly why they may listen.”

  I reached up and ran my hands through my hair. “I’m sure that makes some kind of wonderful sense,” I said, “but let’s pretend I’m not a degan, that I don’t think like a degan, and that I don’t know an entire Flock or Oath or Misery or whatever the hell you call a bunch of degans, all right? Just explain it to me.”

  Wolf leaned forward, his left hand on his sword, and pointed over my shoulder at Degan’s blade with his right. “Understand this: No degan has raised steel—not seriously—against another member of the Order in ages, and no degan has killed another since near the founding. Bronze’s action is no small thing. For two of us to come to blows over something so fundamental strikes at the very core of our purpose. That it was someone as respected as Bronze makes it even worse.” Wolf shook his head, something close to disbelief on his face. “No, if there’s anyone who might be able to sway the Order, it would be him: the man who bloodied his blade on his brother, and then had the presence of mind to cast it away.”

  “And they’re just going to let him stroll back in and change their minds?”

  “Well, no, not exactly.”

  “How ‘not exactly’?”

  “I’m not sure he’ll be allowed back into the Barracks Hall.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Why do you think?”

  Yeah, that’s what I’d thought.

  “Go to hell.” I stood up.

  A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. “Listen to me. This could work.”

  “Like hell it could. If you think I’m going to—”

  “What I think,” said Wolf, “is that Bronze is the best hope the Order has right now, and that I, in turn, am his. If any of my brothers or sisters find him first, it will most likely end in blood. We are not a forgiving family. But win or lose, it will be too late for him then: The Order might be willing to look past one degan’s body if I can make a case for Bronze, but two? More?” He shook his head. “No. If you wish to save Bronze, and if I wish to save the Order, then I have to find him before the others.”

  “How does coming back with you help?” I said. “I thought you just said you weren’t even sure they’d let him back into, what’d you call it, the Barracks Hall?”

  “It’s the closest thing we have to a council chamber. And you’re right: Walking in on his own could be the same as falling on his sword. But I have this.” Wolf slapped the hilt at his side. “And, with your and his permission, I’ll have that, too.” He pointed at Degan’s blade. “Between the two, I can petition to speak for him. I can invoke the old traditions of the Order and try to shield him from their judgment until he’s had a chance to speak.”

  “And what will he say?” I thought back to Copper, and the cold steel in her eyes when she’d been asking me about Degan. “What can he possibly tell them that will excuse his dusting Iron?”

  Wolf shook his head. “I don’t know. But I think he should be able to have the option to stand before the Order and give his side of the story. I think he should be able to ask for atonement and receive the judgment of his fellows face-to-face. I think he should know, once and for all, whether his name is to remain on our roles, of if it’s to be struck through in shame. But mostly, I think he deserves the opportunity to choose to seek out his own redemption or damnation.” Wolf looked down at me. “Don’t you?”

  My mouth was too dry to answer. To argue that Degan had left Ildrecca of his own free will, that he’d known what he was doing from the moment he’d walked out of that burning warehouse after saving my life. To yell that the one thing the man wanted was to be left alone.

  I didn’t say it because I couldn’t be certain it was true. Because I realized that all of the reasons I’d been giving for Degan walking away had really been excuses for me not trying to find him, for not following after him. And because, dammit, Wolf was right.

  Still, it wasn’t quite enough.

  “Why should I trust you?” I said. It wasn’t the strongest argument, but it was all I had left. “How do I know that, despite everything you’ve said, you won’t go for the steel cure the moment you see Degan?”

  “You don’t,” said Wolf simply. “Aside from threatening to destroy you and your organization, there’s nothing I can do to force you to do as I ask. Except to ask. And to offer my word that I’m not seeking Bronze out of any sense of vengeance.”

  “A sword in one hand and a promise in the other? The two don’t exactly complement each other when it comes to putting my mind at ease.”

  Wolf arched an eyebrow. “You would have me combine the two, perhaps?” he said, drumming his fingers on the hilt of his saber.

  I didn’t have to ask what he was implying: I knew. Wolf was asking if I wanted to take the Oath on the matter—to bind him to me, and me to him, to the tune of a single service.

  I shook my head, perhaps a bit too quickly. I’d seen where that could lead, and I didn’t want to think about the kind of price Wolf might exact in exchange for his service. No, his bringing up the Oath was enough to show me just how serious he was about this.

  “No need to go that far,” I said.

  A brief smile passed over his lips. “Then we have an accord?”

  I felt myself nodding before I made the decision to do so. Then, because I’d started, I said the words. “Yeah, we have an accord.”

  I was going to find Degan.

  But not for Wolf, and not for the Order. Not even for my people or for me. I was going to do it for Degan. Because he deserved better—far better than I’d given him.

  Now I just needed to figure out how I was going to find him.

  Chapter Eight

  I left the piazza maybe half an hour later with less of a plan, and fewer answers, than I would have liked. Despite neatly setting up two Gray Princes and their organizations, Wolf hadn’t been able to offer me any information on the man he was actually looking for. Degan, it seems, had disappeared just as completely when it came to his brethren as he had for me. This wasn’t terribly surprising, considering they wanted to kill him, but still, you’d think that the members of his Order would have some idea of where Degan might have rabbitted to.

  No such luck. Nor, had I been informed, was Wolf willing to tap the few resources he had on the matter. His asking after Degan, he’d argued, would arouse suspicion among his fellows. He’d been carefully distant on the subject for months. To show a sudden interest now would only pique the wrong kind of curiosity. And the last thing we wanted, he assured me, was to have other degans taking a sudden interest in our business.

  On that score, at least, we’d agreed. One degan breathing over my shoulder was bad enough, thank you very much—I didn’t need more.

  And breathing over my shoulder he was, too. Wolf had made it abundantly clear that the sooner we found Degan, the better—to the point that he expected me to start producing leads within a week, and ideally less. I had tried to explain why the odds of that happening were beyond slim—that the trail was cold, that Degan had a knack for disappearing, that it was damn hard to find someone who didn’t want to be found when they had a three-month head start—but Wolf hadn’t been impressed. Time, he’d assured me, couldn’t be wasted on this. As to whether that time was to be spent tracking down Degan or trying to deal with the bodies that might start piling up at my door, well, that was up to me.

  Arrogant
bastard.

  I turned onto Boot Nail Lane and began the slow climb uphill, leaving the worst of the grit and heat from the forges behind. My instincts told me to start working the street right away, to begin digging up clues and tracking down rumors, but I knew I was both too exhausted and too twitchy to succeed at either. Better, I thought, to wear away some shoe leather and let my mind wander while I ran an errand I’d been putting off ever since returning to the city. The street, I told myself, would still be there tomorrow.

  I almost even believed me.

  Still, that didn’t mean I had to contemplate the night on an empty stomach. I stopped at the first tea vendor I found and bought a cup of strong, peppery night tea from him. The drink wasn’t exactly refreshing, but it helped settle my nerves. It also felt good going down since the vendor had been clever enough to store the tea in large clay pots, which kept the liquid cooler than the summer air around me.

  I sighed and pulled out more coins and had another cup.

  I’d ended up not telling Wolf about Copper. Part of me knew I should have shared what I had, especially since he was already worried about other members of the Order following our lead, but a larger part of me had decided he could go fuck himself. He’d been playing me for months, and I wasn’t about to give up everything I had just because he had me over a barrel. We might have come to an “accord,” but that didn’t mean I trusted the bastard. If my keeping Copper’s interest hush could give me even the tiniest bit of leverage down the line, it would be worth it. After all, what better weapon to use against a degan than another degan, even if tangentially?

  As for the other Gray Princes and their increased interest in me, well, I’d gotten the feeling that Wolf was the one holding a bit back on that. He’d assured me that he had a plan to deal with the problem once we found Degan, but he hadn’t been forthcoming on the details. This wasn’t surprising, but it was damn annoying. When pressed, he’d finally admitted that he’d arranged for blame to shift away from me and onto someone else—all he had to do was give the word and leave a body or two in the street, and it would be done. He didn’t say, but I got the feeling that the person who would end up taking the blame, and possibly end up lying in the street, might be Rambles.