by Wight, Will
“I am...most pleased as well,” the Pilgrim said, unsuccessfully trying to free his arm from Darius' grip. “But are you sure?”
Darius dragged him away from the family’s room and out of the tenement building without answering. He pulled the outer door open to reveal his cart sitting unguarded on the street. It contained Darius’ gear: his set of armor, a second sword, an emergency Beacon, a few alchemical solutions, a trio of quicklamps, and a handful of other invested odds and ends.
As well as three half-size coffins.
The Pilgrim broke his hold as soon as they hit the street. “The advance team determined they couldn’t be saved! Who knows what Elder horrors could hatch from their bodies?”
“I disagreed with the judgment of the advance team,” Darius said, gently guiding the Pilgrim around the cart. “Let’s be happy that three little girls survived their unfortunate meeting with an Elderspawn. And might I suggest that, next time, you wait for me to confirm before you go in there and try to read them funeral rites.”
“We need to call in a follow-up team of qualified Guild Readers,” the Pilgrim insisted. “I myself could—”
“It’s such a lovely day, isn’t it?” Darius took in a deep breath, which wasn’t as refreshing as he had imagined, Capital air being what it was. “Let’s go home, you can take the day off, and I’ll register this assignment as completed. Meanwhile, three boxes are going to float out to the Aion where they belong. Light and life, that sounds like a wonderful afternoon, doesn’t it?”
He knew exactly what the other Readers would find, should a team investigate. They would go into the tenement, confirm the influence of the Elderspawn, and they would recommend that the girls be killed. Just in case. Some of them could even argue that it would be for the girls’ benefit.
The worst of it was, they might be right. Some Elder victims never recovered, or spiraled downwards until they were worse than human. But many others recovered.
If he could live with nightmare visions haunting his brain, others could too.
“That sounds nice,” said a new voice, a woman’s voice. “I’d like to tag along, if you don’t mind.” Darius turned, another smile on his face that she couldn’t see. Sometimes people liked to travel with Luminians, and he wouldn’t mind some company on the way back. Certainly not if it would keep his attendant Pilgrim from urging him to go back and murder three children.
Then he caught a glimpse of the woman.
She was dressed in black. Dark cloth covered her mouth and nose, and black hair hung down around her face like a hood. Her skin was pale, her eyes narrow, and she seemed to be chewing something behind the mask.
He catalogued her appearance at a glance, but something else drew his attention. Her belt was set with two heavy knives, both of them so dense with Intent that they almost pushed his eyes away. But one was wrapped in bandages, and she rested the palm of her hand on its hilt.
Darius almost thought he heard the three girls whispering again.
“I didn’t know the Consultants had a new Soulbound,” he said casually, inwardly measuring the distance between him and his cart. He couldn’t pull his armor on in an instant, but he might be able to put the wood between them in case she lunged at him with her Awakened dagger.
Just because the Consultants were allies didn’t mean they were harmless.
The woman swallowed whatever she’d been chewing and whistled appreciatively. “I didn’t know Luminian Readers had started carrying swords instead of books. It’s a good change.”
The need to carry a sword was never a good thing, in his opinion, but her attitude solidified something in his mind. These were the legendary Consultants, after all; if she had been hostile, he would never have seen her before she tore him apart with her Soulbound powers. Time to try the friendly approach.
“I have a book, too,” he said, extending his left hand. “Darius Allbright, Captain of the Knights of the White Sun.”
It was hard to tell underneath the veil of black cloth, but it looked like one side of her mouth quirked up. She’d noticed which hand he’d extended, then. To accept his gesture, she’d have to take her hand away from what he strongly suspected was her Vessel.
But a second later she placed her gloved hand in his and shook firmly. “Shera.”
She ended the handshake after only an instant of contact; he got the impression, from his fleeting glimpse of her Intent, that she wasn’t comfortable without access to her weapons.
“And what brings you to the mainland, Shera?”
“I heard you misplaced some personnel about five years ago,” she said, dark eyes still locked on him, gauging his reaction. “They haven’t been very kind to the Regents recently.”
She might have been testing him for secret knowledge, preparing to attack him if he knew something he shouldn’t, so it was fortunate that he had no idea what she was talking about. “Sounds like you’re implying something, but the God only knows what it is. Pilgrim? You have any news?” He looked over at the white-robed man, who seemed to be trying to stay as far away from the confrontation as possible. The man had a name, but Darius hadn’t interacted with him enough to remember it.
“None, Knight-Adjunct.”
Shera raised her eyebrows. “Really? The Regent of the East has been assassinated. Attempts have been made on the life of at least one other that we can confirm.”
Darius’ stomach lurched, and the void closed around his vision. He had to grip the side of the cart to steady himself. He wasn’t yet forty, but his joints seized up, pain shooting through his spine.
—the darkness waits outside, creeping and slithering at the edge of your vision. It’s everywhere, at all times, and all men are dead, will die, are dying, must die—
The Pilgrim rested a hand on his shoulder, pestering him with questions, but he waved the man away. The Consultant, he noticed, didn’t even seem concerned. She had lowered one side of her mask to pick at her teeth with a tiny triangular dagger.
“Regent Loreli met with our Guild Head today,” Darius said, his voice hoarse. The fits struck at the worst times, and usually while he was already startled. “When the Head returned, he did not inform us that anything was amiss.”
Shera glanced aside, seemingly at nothing. “The Regents are formidable, so I’d guess it’s possible for Alagaeus to have survived, or perhaps Loreli doesn’t know. But I doubt it. Our intelligence is very reliable.”
“Oh, it’s not your information that I question.” The Consultant’s Guild would not have sent a Soulbound on a hunch. “I’ll escort you back to base, and you can help us straighten this out.”
“You suggested a relaxing afternoon,” Shera said. “It’s my strategic advice that we all get some rest once we get there.”
“I like your approach, Shera. I haven’t dealt with Consultants much myself, but I hear they usually pretend they’re tireless, unstoppable monsters.” He’d certainly never heard of one asking for a break.
She considered that for a few seconds. “I’ve never thought so. That sounds more like my partner.”
“Partner?”
Darius looked right, and the street was empty. Identical tenement faces up and down the row. To the left, the same story. He glanced right again, and a monster stood inches from his face.
He grabbed his sword and slid to the balls of his feet, ready to draw. The Pilgrim did nothing but let out a startled oath.
When his heart stopped hammering, Darius could see it was another Consultant…but he suspected she might still be some kind of Elder-spawned fiend. Her skin was corpse-pale, her hair almost the same shade, her eyes an odd pinkish color that reminded him of a rabbit. The black half-mask covering her mouth gave her the appearance of a black-shrouded ghost, and her hands…her hands were the worst of them all. From her fingers extended six-inch claws of sharp iron.
“I apologize for startling you,” she said, and her voice was a grating rasp. “I hadn’t realized Shera was planning on introducing me. I am Ayana.”
“Charmed,” Darius said, extending his hand out to shake. He almost thought better of it at the thought of those claws, but in the end he stuck it out again. “Startled and still a little skittish, to be quite honest, but…charmed nonetheless.”
Ayana delicately grasped his hand in hers, encasing his wrist in a web of steel. It seemed miraculous that she managed to avoid cutting him, but that didn’t put him at ease. All it would take was a sneeze, and she could open a vein.
Mercifully, Ayana released him quickly, turning a glare on Shera. “She could have warned me. Warned us both. I’m sure I taught her better.”
Emperor’s name, she sounds like a spirit swearing vengeance. On the last word, Ayana jabbed her partner in the side with one of her finger-knives. Shera winced, rubbing at the wound.
Somehow, it made him feel better to see a pair of Consultants acting childishly. Letting their guard down. Acting like friends, like real human beings. With a looming conflict between the Guilds, he had never considered the Consultants as real allies. They would do whatever was best for them, and the others would be left to hang.
But they were here investigating the death of a Regent, it seemed. His Guild Head would be very interested in that.
“Day’s not getting longer,” he said, turning to the cart. “I know a place to hire a horse if you would like to ride in the—”
The two women had vanished.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nine years ago
A crumbling, abandoned lighthouse stood on the hill overlooking the town of Silverreach. It had once supervised the sea trade for the town, but coastal ships stopped here less and less, until the only visitors were carried by the Navigator's Guild. Since Navigators had no need of lights to guide them to shore, the building itself had been left to nature.
The Emperor and Lucan had known immediately that there was no one in or around the lighthouse, but Meia had still demanded a full check. She and Shera had moved from room to room, going through the motions of a sweep.
To no one's surprise, it was empty. Shera somewhat resented the waste of time.
They stepped outside and joined Lucan and the Emperor, who stood next to the one scraggly tree on the hill. The Imperial Guard had insisted on accompanying the Emperor off the ship, and the Emperor had insisted right back. The Guards stayed where they were.
The sun had set almost an hour ago, and the only significant lights came from the orange glow of the town below.
They were having a festival. Light, smoke, and music drifted up from the houses, and from this distance, Shera could clearly see the feasting and dancing in the streets. There was no emergency here.
She didn't mind the distraction too much. It had taken weeks to get here, and she'd gotten plenty of sleep on the ship.
“How did the Blackwatch lose contact, Highness?” Meia asked.
The Emperor said nothing. He stood with his head bowed, pressing the fingers of his right hand to his temple. His blue silks swayed in the ocean breeze.
“This doesn't look like an Elder uprising,” Shera added. She had been somewhat nervous at the idea of another full-scale fight with Elderspawn, and she couldn't hide her quiet relief.
“Lucan,” the Emperor said quietly, without looking around.
Lucan looked surprised to be singled out. “I don't know anything,” he began, but trailed off as he stared at the Emperor.
After five or six more seconds, Lucan tugged one black glove off and knelt, pressing his bare hand to the hill.
“Maybe the lines of communication were interrupted,” Meia said. “Maybe the Watchman was killed, and that's why they never heard back from him.”
Shera nodded to Lucan. “He'll have the answer in a minute. Why guess?”
Meia shot her an irritated look. “What else am I supposed to do?”
The three Gardeners had come armed for war, and while Shera was relieved they didn't have to fight one, the situation now seemed a little...anticlimactic. In addition to her two bronze shears, she had strapped another knife to each ankle—the steel blades that Shepherds carried. She had a packet of paralyzing needles on her left hip, a pouch of spades on her right, and backup spades in her pocket. She was even wearing armor, of a sort; her forearms were sheathed in matte-black metal, almost like manacles with no chain, thick enough to turn a blade. They rested underneath her sleeves, with bandages tied directly to her arms to prevent chafing.
Meia would be carrying a trio of alchemical smoke grenades and some explosive charges, as well as a few poisoned darts she'd taken to bringing along lately. Of course, her most dangerous weapons were internal. Even as she waited impatiently for Lucan to Read the hill, her eyes flashed from blue to orange, claws sprouting and retracting from her fingertips as she flexed her hand, muscles shifting and writhing in unnatural patterns beneath her skin. She'd been the one most looking forward to a real fight, and Shera couldn't blame her. Only in combat could she exercise the gifts alchemy had given her.
Lucan actually had a sword belted to his hip, which was the first time Shera had seen him with a full-sized weapon. She wondered if he could use it, but she had to admit that it made him look dangerous. His belt was covered in bags, boxes, pockets, and packages, all of them filled with small items invested in mysterious ways, but that was hardly unusual. What was new, besides the sword, was that he'd added a bandolier across his chest, and the strap was hidden beneath even more pouches.
In all, they were better equipped than a typical squad of Imperial Guards, and they weren't even sure if the enemy was going to show up.
As seconds stretched into minutes, Shera felt her initial relief melt into unease. “The deadliest enemy is unseen,” Maxwell had always said, and her Gardener training certainly underscored the point. The only thing worse than an obvious enemy was one they couldn't find.
After six minutes, Lucan finally took his hand away from the rock, sliding it back into his glove. He stood up, fiddling with one of his pouches.
“Well?” Meia asked, after ten further seconds of silence.
“The town has been...cut off,” Lucan said. His voice shook, uncertain. “It's isolated somehow. I don't understand it; the whole place feels like an island.”
“That's correct,” the Emperor said. He turned, silhouetted from behind by the light from Silverreach. “Something has walled off this location from the outside world. Any messengers who get far enough from the town are turned back or destroyed. This has been true for months, and even Watchmen could not escape the cordon, it seems.”
The three Gardeners waited for orders. Now that the Emperor understood the situation, it was his call to make.
Personally, Shera wondered if they were caught in the invisible net around Silverreach already, and if it would somehow turn them around when they tried to leave. But she didn't voice her thoughts aloud.
Then something happened that she never would have predicted: the Emperor crossed his legs and sat straight down in the dirt, chin in his hand. The Consultants glanced at each other. Lucan looked as surprised as Shera felt, and Meia's eyes were wide.
A second later, Meia dutifully sat on the ground herself.
“Did he plan for this?” the Emperor muttered. “A hundred years ago, I could have dealt with this from my throne. Now I’m forced to come in person. Is that part of his trap? How far does the boundary extend? Could he do it himself, or did he need help? Did he have help? How many? Who?”
Each of his questions sounded more agonized than the last, as though even the act of curiosity pained him. His hand, which had once cupped his chin, now grasped his own lower jaw like he meant to tear it off. His other hand gripped a fistful of grass and soil.
Shera held onto her shears like a falling man clutching a cliff’s edge.
The Emperor almost never asked questions to which he didn't already know the answer, and he absolutely never sounded this out of sorts. Not even when he was threatening to kill them, or talking about his own death. He handled the most important t
opics with absolute calm. And here he was, twisting and muttering like he had suddenly started to torture himself from the inside out.
Meia spoke up hesitantly. “Your Imperial Highness? Are you all right?”
“That's one of many things I don't know, Gardener,” he whispered. “If I Read the situation for myself, I’ll only get worse. But if I don’t…then I won’t know anything.”
“You're the Emperor,” Shera said. “You know everything.” She was only half joking.
“I know nothing,” he said, then he straightened his back. “But I can always find out. Answers. Yes, I need answers.”
He sounded much brighter all of a sudden, and Shera was forcibly reminded of their confrontation on Nakothi's dead island, where the Emperor had drawn his swords and fought the three Gardeners. His mood hadn't changed so drastically or so rapidly since that time.
Her grip tightened on her shears. Was this the influence of the Dead Mother? Had the time come so soon? They weren't ready. He'd slaughter them.
Unless she got in a good first hit. Which would only happen if she caught him completely off guard.
But this didn't feel like Nakothi, somehow, in a way she couldn't quite place. He wasn't ranting about death and rebirth, for one thing.
Maybe the madness took him in a different way each time. She had no way to tell.
She didn't, but someone else did.
Only a second after the Emperor finished speaking, Shera turned to look at Lucan. His eyes widened when he saw her, as he guessed her thoughts. His gaze flicked to one side as he considered, and his hands flexed like Meia's. Reading the ambient Intent, she hoped.
Five seconds later, he met her eyes and firmly shook his head.
She relaxed, letting out a breath. Even Meia rolled her shoulders to release some tension; she must have been thinking along the same lines.
Light and life, that had been close. She'd almost attacked the Emperor, which could only have ended badly.
He spoke again, without standing or turning around. “We need information, more than anything. Go down into the town, complete a thorough survey of the area, and return to me with whatever you find.”
