A Blade of Black Steel

by Alex Marshall

  “Perhaps it does, and perhaps it doesn’t.” Fennec sounded as tired as Zosia felt, though not so much as Ji-hyeon looked. “But I believe Hoartrap’s point was that the whole board has changed, so our strategies must adapt to suit it.”

  “No matter how many times I ask you to knock it off, you grizzled old fusspots keep calling this war a game,” Ji-hyeon growled, perhaps failing to notice all the red and blue toy soldiers arranged on the map that covered the command table. “Let us assume Hoartrap’s right—”

  “Which he is,” said the sorcerer, unable to resist.

  “So fucking what!” Ji-hyeon was showing her age a little, but by Zosia’s reckoning such a tantrum was long overdue. “If the raising of the Sunken Kingdom really was the end of days those mooncalves have been preaching, don’t you think we’d have a bit more to go on than your shaky word? Angels cleansing the land, devils set loose, all mortals judged, the iniquitous land of Jex Toth remade as a Chainite paradise—that kind of fairy-tale garbage? And yet here we sit, in defiance of their bullshit and yours.”

  “I never alleged their prophecies were anything more than mumbo-jumbo,” Hoartrap said in the easy-breezy tone Zosia had always found so exasperating when she’d been the one in the general’s seat. “But the fact that they’ve managed to find a kingdom missing for the last half a millennium should at least give you pause, General.”

  “Oh, you can bet your bottom devil it’s giving me pause,” said Ji-hyeon. “But a pause in our campaign is exactly what the Crimson Queen and the Black Pope want, and exactly what they expect. We flinch now, wait to see what the Sunken Kingdom’s return actually means, then the next thing we know my dad will come riding back over the hill with terms of our surrender drafted by the Ninth Regiment.”

  “Your dad?” Zosia looked up from her work, amazed that Kang-ho actually had the diamonds in his pouch to come here, now, after he’d sent Singh to kill her back in the Dominions. Unless Ji-hyeon meant her other father, King Jun-hwan…

  “He’s acting as envoy to the Imperial army out of Thao that’s breathing down our breastplates.” Ji-hyeon pointed her bandaged hand at Zosia. “And you don’t lay a finger on my dad, not without my say.”

  “Kang-ho was here?” Singh asked, looking over her shoulder at Zosia with a cocked eyebrow and an upraised biscuit.

  “Was, and might be again,” said Ji-hyeon with a shrug. “But right now he’s sitting in a different command tent, one that belongs to a regiment big enough to slap us down without breaking a sweat. He had the Thaoans all juiced up to join us, to take back Linkensterne together, but after yesterday’s massacre of the Fifteenth we’ll be lucky if he convinces them to wait another day before laying into us. So that means we move. Fast.”

  “In that, my general, we are agreed,” said Singh, “but first a destination must be fixed, or else my dragoons and I will settle on west and move swiftly homeward, along with the purse you promised us for engaging the Fifteenth Cavalry.”

  The mention of the unit that had erased Zosia’s home from the Star curdled the fruity aroma of the crushed kaldi beans, making her teeth gnash harder than those of the grinder. The Imperial riders had all been sucked into the new Gate when the Chainite ritual had climaxed, and while she couldn’t have hoped to deliver a more grisly end to those murderous bastards, it nevertheless felt strangely unfulfilling, perhaps because she hadn’t seen it happen. It wasn’t that Zosia wanted revenge, for she’d seen and done enough to know what comes of paying blood with blood, but she needed it, for her dead husband, Leib, and for her people, but mostly for herself. She had vowed to personally dispatch every single individual responsible for the massacre of Kypck, but instead the entire Azgarothian cavalry had escaped into death before she could seize them for herself. It left Zosia rudderless, half hoping it would turn out the Black Pope had given the order to attack her village, so that she could go back to pretending it was all somebody else’s fault, that she was administering justice to a world in desperate need. Such succor smacked of stale smoke and spoiled meat, but it was better than nothing but the smell of your husband’s blood on your own unrecognizably wrinkled hands, a stench that overpowered even the richest kaldi…

  “What?” Ji-hyeon’s voice went as high as the kettle, and Zosia looked over to see that Keun-ju had entered the tent and apparently whispered something unpleasant in his mistress’s ear. Before, the half-pint general had looked too battered to sit up straight, but now she bolted out of her seat and followed her Virtue Guard out of the tent, addressing her captains as an afterthought. “Something’s come up. Let’s reconvene at noon. Everyone out until I get back.”

  “If I could have a quick word…” Fennec called, harrying Ji-hyeon out as Zosia stuffed a salty cake in her pocket for the road and looked forlornly at the beautiful, brimming press she had just poured.

  “If I told her once I told her… well, once, but trust that I made my reservations known,” Hoartrap murmured as he sidled up to Zosia. “About using one’s personal quarters as the command tent, I mean. Leads to all sorts of inconveniences like this. Let me help you with that?”

  Singh had walked over as well but now glided past them, spotting her old partners’ scheme and warmly addressing the bodyguards waiting for them to clear out. As Singh lay down the diversion, complimenting this one’s sword and that one’s cuirass, Hoartrap reached out and pocketed the hot kaldi press as smoothly as Kang-ho palming an opal bracelet off an oblivious dancing partner. Wroth as she’d been at Hoartrap for his murdering Sister Portolés, and even worse, lying to her face about it, it brought a welcome smile to Zosia’s lips to watch the old gang fall into their easy rhythms, even if it was just to filch the general’s bean juice.

  Her smile didn’t last long. It never did, around Hoartrap.

  “And how is Choplicker this morning?” The warlock breathed in her ear as they passed the blithely chatting Singh. “It’s not like him to be so far from your side.”

  “He’s close enough,” said Zosia, not wanting to give the old witch anything he could use against her. “Too close, as usual.”

  “You think so, do you?” Hoartrap frowned up into the iron clouds of the overcast dawn as they waited for Singh outside the command tent. “Well, then I won’t worry about it. So long as you feel safe, I’m happy.”

  “Anyone else talked that way, I might think they were threatening me.” Zosia’s heart wasn’t racing but it wasn’t exactly strolling at a leisurely pace, either… which was exactly what the warlock wanted, and something he always seemed able to detect. She looked the hulking freak right in his eyes and said, “Are you threatening me, Hoartrap?”

  “Heaven forefend!” said Hoartrap, the wavering tattoos on his neck going taut as he mugged for her. “I would never, dearest friend, even after the shabby way you treated me last night.”

  “You forced my hand,” said Zosia, willing her eyes not to water as she held his mirthful gaze. “You don’t like it, quit hitting yourself.”

  “Ah, that does seem like the sort of game you would refine rather than abandon with age,” said Hoartrap, and to her surprise he flinched first, and fast, as far as their staring matches usually went. “My concern, however, was sincere—what you did last night was very reckless, and could have gotten both of us in a lot of trouble. I would not advise you to play so loose with any devil, let alone… him.”

  “No, I figured you wouldn’t,” said Zosia, resisting the urge to look around and see if Choplicker was trotting between the tents, back to her side. “And so long as you’re straight with me from here on out we won’t have to worry about that again, will we?”

  “I certainly hope not,” said Hoartrap, displaying his unnaturally white teeth as he removed the kaldi press from one cavernous pocket and two stacked bowls from another. “I misspoke when I said what you did was reckless; it was stupid. And I don’t just mean using your devil against me, but the offer you made him—to force the truth from me in exchange for his liberty, if I didn’t willingly conf
ess. Your wording was such that had I carelessly omitted some minor detail the fiend could have wriggled loose of his bondage through the loophole you left him, and then where would you be?”

  Totally vulnerable to the witchery of a vengeful sorcerer, was one of several answers that went without saying… assuming Choplicker even left Hoartrap alive after gaining his freedom. Zosia took one of the bowls so Hoartrap could fill them as he went on. “This is no time to be devil-less, Zosia, and certainly not for such a trifle as the truth.”

  “That just proves the difference between us—I put a premium on honesty. I knew you were lying, so I called you on it, and I’ll do it again if I have to.”

  “You won’t,” said Hoartrap, sloshing kaldi into her bowl and then his. “Not where I am concerned, anyway. I pledge to be honest to a fault from this day forward. And my first hard truth for you is that risking your fiend’s freedom in the course of an interrogation simply isn’t worth it.”

  “And what prize would Choplicker’s liberty be worth, huh?” Zosia asked, feeling about as tired as she’d ever been. “I’m beginning to think anything they can offer ain’t worth the deal, seeing’s how the rest of the Villains all cashed in their devils but still found their way right back here to where we all started. Excluding you and me, of course.”

  “It’s a sad commentary on the world, I’ll grant you that,” said Hoartrap, raising his bowl in salute. “If only devils could solve our problems we’d all be happier. Oh, and as part of my new oath to be forthright with you I suppose I ought to set you straight on that last count—I still keep a few minor devils on retainer, but loosed Lungfiller ages back, when I was helping dear little Indsorith solidify her rule. Which means of all of us Villains who took part in that last ritual, you’re the only one sensible enough to hold on to your devil. It’s almost poetic, given how reluctant you were to bind him in the first place, and now the two of you are inseparable.”

  Was Hoartrap fishing? Did he suspect, as Zosia did, that Choplicker’s absence from her side might be more than temporary? Did Zosia have a single sloppy fuck left to give? At least one of those questions had an easy answer, and Zosia scalded her tongue on the kaldi as she slurped from the bowl in a fruitless attempt to ward off the morning chill. It was even colder than when she’d stumbled over here from her tent, the Lark’s Tongue blowing down the first waft of some bad mountain weather. She was exhausted, every bone and muscle muttering at her from the previous day’s workout, but worse yet than the lead in her limbs was the weight on her humors, dragging her down, down, down… after everything she’d done to reach this point, there was nothing left for her but another interminable two-step in her endless verbal dance with Hoartrap the fucking Touch, on a morn as cold as her heart, on the ass-end of the Crimson Empire, without even a flea-harried devil to keep her feet warm when she plopped back down in her cot.

  “I say, old girl, are you all right?” Hoartrap sounded almost genuinely concerned, and Zosia shook her head, too bushed to keep up with him for another round.

  “Haven’t been in so long I don’t think me and all right would recognize each other anymore.” She poured out the rest of the kaldi and passed him back the bowl. “I’m trying to work myself up about this return of the Sunken Kingdom shit, Hoartrap, I really am, it’s just… I don’t know anymore. Maybe Ji-hyeon’s right, maybe Jex Toth coming back doesn’t really change anything. Maybe the Star deserves whatever the Burnished Chain called down on it. Whatever it is, it can’t be much worse than whatever red-handed salvation I’d bring them, you know?”

  “Please, enough!” Hoartrap tried to pass her back the kaldi bowl. “I think you might need this to catch all your tears.”

  For just a moment there Zosia felt her fire again, ready to pop the ghoulish old fucker in the mouth, but fast as it came it was gone again, and she forced a smile to reward his valiant effort. “I know, I know, boo frickin’ hoo. I just wish… I just wish there was someone left to answer for Leib. For Kypck. It’s more than I deserve, given how many I’ve widowed in my day, but still…”

  “If we didn’t wish, we wouldn’t be mortal,” said Hoartrap, smiling sadly at his former general. “And I know firsthand that wishing for what we’ve held and lost aches longer and deeper than idle dreams for that which we’ve never had at all.”

  “Careful you two don’t trip over each other’s lips,” said Singh as she joined them in the thoroughfare between the tents, an empty cup at the ready. “Apologies for the delay, another herald came in while I was chatting with the guards. Either Kang-ho’s negotiation skills have waned or he’s been spinning another long song for his daughter, because the Thaoans are already moving our way. Did you see which way the general went? I admire the child, so I believe I ought to have a quick counsel with her about the going rate of Raniputri dragoons before the next Imperial regiment gets any closer.”

  “I’ll find her for you,” said Hoartrap, filling Singh’s cup as he gave Zosia a hopeful smile. “See, we’ve cooked up another desperate fight against insurmountable odds, just for you! Doesn’t that put a little spring in your step?”

  “Hardly,” said Zosia, the very prospect of hoisting her hammer again so soon making her want to cry. “I’ve said it before, and may not get a chance to say it again: we’re fucked.”

  “If we have to fight, yes,” said Singh, grimacing on the over-steeped kaldi. “But for a nominal consulting fee I shall advise the general to do like we did back at Okkultokrati, and line up all the Imperials we captured between us and the Thaoans. If they want us they will have to ride down their own people.”

  “Not bad,” said Hoartrap, as Zosia started to drift away from them, wanting an hour or two’s peace back in her damp, drafty tent before things heated up again. “Why don’t we do one better, though, and line them up on the far side of that new Gate? It would take some doing but I daresay I could dispel that lingering fog at a dramatic moment, and reveal their fellows on the precipice—if that doesn’t give them pause to reevaluate our power nothing will.”

  “So long as you leave my name out of it,” said Zosia, waving her farewell. “Don’t let anyone harass me until it’s unavoidable.”

  “Safe havens keep you at your rest,” Hoartrap called after her, and by way of answer Zosia hawked up a grey clod of phlegm. The chill was rattling around her chest now, and as she trudged between the tents fat white flakes began to drift out of the low clouds overhead. Perfect. Just when a morning couldn’t get off to a worse start, too, the weather had to go and match her mood. Run-down and sore as she felt, she would’ve assumed her period was blowing in on the winter wind, if it hadn’t been several years since she was last in her moons. Thank the devils for that small mercy, at least, even if in old age she had become more prone to peeing a little when she sneezed or—

  “Heard it was another three hundred Myurans, on top o’ all that Azgarothian infantry,” one soldier was telling another as they ate their gruel outside a mess tent, the tired-eyed listener giving Zosia a half-assed salute as she passed. “Those’d be decent hostages alone, peasants or no, but there was a few real officers to go with the petty ones. And cavalry’s always better to do, some of ’em knights, even, and we got a good fifty of them in irons, so that’s not just rabble, that’s a serious chip of the bargaining persuasion.”

  Zosia kept walking for a few numb steps, still ruminating on the petty victories and defeats of age, but then the words sank in. There was no hesitation, no moment of awareness as she stood in the snow, digesting the words. Instead she pivoted on her heel in one easy motion, descending on the two soldiers like an avenging angel in one of the Chain’s fairy stories. She knew she was standing too close for comfort, but these humps would never know how much effort it took to keep herself that far back.

  “You said cavalry?” she said, low and even. “Captured yesterday?”

  “Ah, um, yes Captain?” said the talker, turning paler than the snow landing on her threadbare blue cloak. “Sorry, Captain, sorry, wasn’
t trying to gossip, but Mur here was down in the mouth, talking about all we lost, so I was just trying to be optimistic and—”

  “I weren’t gossiping at all,” Mur said, the second soldier scowling at his fellow. “I was eating. Silent, like.”

  “Who told you we captured the Fifteenth Cavalry?” It felt like there was a moth in Zosia’s chest, fluttering perilously close to a candle…

  “Nobody?” said the first soldier, but just as Zosia’s tiny hope brushed that flame, burning out as fast as it had caught, the woman amended herself. “That is, I was there when we took ’em in, so no one in particular told me, was just… common knowledge, Captain? Took a bit to sort ’em from the infantry, on account of most of ’em bein’ thrown from their horses in the fight, and the whole lot of ’em bein’ so addlepated from whatever black magic that Hoartrap the Touch called down on ’em they didn’t know they names at first, let alone their position, but by the end of the night we’d gotten ’em sussed and—Captain?”

  But Captain Zosia had stopped listening, a smile as hungry as any Kutumban leopard’s splitting her face as she hastened away, down through the camp toward the prisoners’ tents. Not such a bad morning, then, not such a bad morning at all—she might have finally lost her devil for good, but at least one of her wishes had actually come true.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Everything was spectral, spooky, otherworldly, even before Princess Ji-hyeon’s older sister Yunjin blew out the last candle, leaving the Mistward Balcony lit only by the Fisher’s Moon above. It wasn’t just the darkness that made Ji-hyeon glad for the comforting warmth of Hyori burrowing into the side of her thin robes, her little sister every bit as excited as she was, and it wasn’t just Yunjin’s throaty ghost song that made the girls shiver in the summer night. It was the faint cat’s cradle of lightning that stretched above the Haunted Sea, like fox fire beckoning to them from across the moonlit waves.