Ellie smoothed out her dress. “We cannot initiate the rebellion until we locate the goddess of war.”
“You’re not locating her here,” I said.
She gave an agitated shake of her head. “Everything we’ve known about the gods suggest they do not cross over between realms.”
People, particularly those in seats of power, enjoy that saying or a derivative of it. Everything we’ve known. It’s usually said by those who have an agenda to push and have closed themselves off to logic that suggests they’re in the wrong, or by those who are so deeply stuck in their ways that they cannot fathom an alternative idea or thought exists.
“Look,” I said, “I get that it disturbs you. It disturbs me. And I understand if you don’t want to snuggle up with the idea that gods can cross between realms, but trust me that they can. At least this one.”
“He wouldn’t lie,” Lysa added. “Not about this.”
“I’m not suggesting he’s lying. I’m suggesting he’s mistaken. What purpose would Lyria have for traversing realms? She is the god of war. She is the caricature of strife; her presence would have no effect in the living realm.”
I flicked a rock into the air and caught it flat on the back of my hand. “On a confidence spectrum, where would you say that statement falls, hmm?”
Ellie drew in a sharp breath, and her jaw flinched. It seemed I was beginning to annoy her. Perhaps she wasn’t used to being questioned.
“I know for a damn fact,” I said, “that her presence has a bloody effect in the living realm. Now let’s ponder for a moment what that might mean for you and your rebellion.”
Vayle massaged her hands. “If Arken intends to eliminate the rebellion, it stands to reason that he will do so entirely, thoroughly and without remorse. Astul has told me a rebellion has failed in the past.”
“We weren’t prepared,” Ellie snapped.
“Neither was Arken, it would seem,” Vayle said. “Tyrants do not settle for surrender. They do not tolerate the possibility of even a single rebel lingering. He made a mistake. Your rebellion rebuilt itself. He will not make the same mistake twice. The goddess of war is recruiting.”
What a perfect little lie my dear commander had spun. She wasn’t the lying type, to be sure — honor and whatnot — but she knew we couldn’t risk telling Ellie the absolute truth.
The problem with Ellie was simple. Vayle and I couldn’t trust her. If she knew Arken would bypass her rebellion entirely to launch an assault on the living realm, she’d come to the very logical conclusion that her little fighting force wasn’t responsible for even a single concerned blink of Arken’s eye. That’s the sort of conclusion that can result in a rather precipitous plunge in morale, a spin into hopelessness.
She needed to believe that her rebellion not only stood a chance, but was indeed the last bastion of hope for Amortis. My life and Vayle’s life and the survival of our world depended on it.
“Recruitment?” Ellie said, biting her lip. “I don’t know about that. How would she do so?”
“By dragging them through tears,” I said.
“Or by culling them,” Vayle suggested.
I shrugged a shoulder at my commander. “Yeah, or that.”
“It would be simpler,” Ellie said, “to commandeer the population of Fragment Nine.”
Not if Fragment Nine needs to appear like a jolly pasture for the dead, I thought. What better way to fool Ripheneal into thinking Amortis was fine and dandy and totally not preparing for war than hiding its true colors behind a pristine fragment?
“Vayle and I have an idea,” I said.
Vayle rapped a rock against a honeycomb cell on the wall. “Keep your people in Fragment One for now. Astul and I will return to the living realm. We will supply the rebellion from there.”
Ellie turned her head suspiciously. “How?”
“Mayhem,” I said, smiling. “And negotiations. We know ways in which to reroute caravans, and we know how to steal and plunder. Siphoning supplies from the fragments is risky. If Arken figures out what you’re doing, he’ll come straight here and put you down. He won’t suspect a caravan of wagons full of swords and armor and all of war’s necessities to be arriving from Fragment Nine, will he?”
“But,” Vayle said, holding her apparent pet rock high in the air, “it would be ideal if we could shorten the route from Mizridahl to here. Are you aware of reapers?”
Ellie gestured toward Rovid. “Only that your sleeping friend calls himself such.”
“We’ll need to find one who knows how to open a tear.”
“They’re called wraiths,” I said. “For what it’s worth.”
“For now,” Vayle continued, “Astul and I will send supplies here via the only tear we know of in Mizridahl.”
My eyes focused in on Fragment Zero. Conjurers, I thought. Holy hot damn. Conjurers! “Actually, Commander,” I said, “there has been a slight change in plans. You’re returning to Mizridahl. I’m staying here.” Feeling the need to address the confusion wrinkling Vayle’s brows, I added, “Swords and armor will go a long way in strengthening the rebellion. But you know what would be of greater help? Conjurers.”
“You’re not…”
“I am.” I planted my finger onto the wall, in the center of the cell with a chalk “0” written in. “How long does it take to get from here to there?”
Ellie’s nostrils flared as she realized my intentions. “You cannot…” She struggled to find the words amid the bewilderment that paralyzed her. “You cannot go there.”
“You said you have scouts there.”
“At the edge, yes. Even inside sometimes. But you’re not going there to scout.”
“No,” I agreed. “I’m going there to deliver you an army of conjurers.”
Strictly speaking, I was going there to deliver myself an army of conjurers, but… y’know, semantics.
Chapter 13
Some ideas brew in your mind like the dankness of swamp water — sitting there for days and weeks and months, maybe even years. This was not one of those ideas. This was the sort of idea I’d spent the past sixteen years always rejecting, because it could only end badly. I’d long ago termed it the Holy Shit idea. It typically strikes you when you think to yourself, “Holy shit, this would be a great idea.” And it typically ends with you picking your sorry ass up off the floor, or bidding adieu to the living realm.
Vayle was less than pleased to hear about our change in plans. She met me inside the cottage, where I was rummaging through supplies, checking what I’d need to procure for the jaunt to Fragment Zero.
“Freeing conjurers?” she asked, the disbelief in her voice rising over the slamming of the door. “Are you mad, Astul?”
“I’m perfectly content,” I said, grinning behind the safety of my shoulder. My commander was liable to sock me for being such an ass.
“You cannot go there alone.”
“Well, I am. It’s better that way, trust me. Nobody will suspect a thing.”
Vayle stomped over beside me and waited, arms crossed. I finally looked at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
Hmm. I would need to grab some bread for the trip. Dried, salted strips of boar would be nice too, if they had any.
“Astul…”
I slapped my knees and grabbed onto the bed for support as I stood. “All right, look. There’s a reason for me doing this.”
“I would hope so.”
I held a pair of fingers up. “Two, actually. Firstly, what are the chances — what are the bloody fucking chances — that we can create a successful war on two fronts when Arken owns a personal collection of conjurers that probably number in the hundreds? You saw what a handful did in Edenvaile. Obliterated the whole goddamn wall. We need them on our side.”
I’d hoped there might be thousands of conjurers in Fragment Zero, but Ellie had told me that her scouts put the number in the low hundreds. All other conjurers who had ever existed were either part of the
rebellion already, helping out in various fragments, or keeping low profiles and living off the land, moving and hiding. The majority fit into that latter cohort
“And what if our side is not their preferred position?”
I tossed my hands up. “Bad luck, then, huh?”
She stared me down like she wanted to punch the toe of her black leather boot square into my crotch. Instead, she calmly said, “The second reason?”
“It’s rather strange, don’t you think? The bodies harvested from Fragment Four, conjurers corralled and used as slaves. And then there’s this question that’s been bugging me. If Arken’s big bad army is headed straight for the living realm… how are they getting there without being turned into reaped?”
“They will still respond to him, reaped or not.”
“Where’s he finding the corpses for the souls to transfer into? Even if we pretend he’s got a bounty of cadavers stashed away somewhere in the living realm, consider this. All it takes to invalidate an entire army of reaped is one flick of the mind. Lysa showed us that. She showed Occrum. And you can bet Arken took note.”
Vayle rubbed her jaw. “There are no more Lysas in existence. In the living realm, at least.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t think Ripheneal could do it? Or Polinia? Something’s not adding up here, Vayle. Admit it.”
“Perhaps our hunch is incorrect, and Elimori’s is not.”
“Or,” I wagered, “perhaps Fragment Zero holds an uncomfortable secret you don’t want to hypothesize exists.”
These were all partial truths I believed in, but I could not confess to Vayle the actual impetus that drove me to Fragment Zero. If she knew, she’d demand to be by my side. But sometimes you’ve gotta handle business yourself… especially when the outcome is almost certain death.
Vayle threw herself back onto the bed, bouncing up onto her butt. She dug her elbows into her thighs and clapped her hands. “What of the strategy involving the families?”
“Put it into motion. I intend on coming back, you know.”
The aforementioned strategy was one my commander and I had drawn up after coming to the conclusion that the living realm was a key player in Arken’s plans. The goddess of war needed to be eliminated, or, at the very least, stymied.
She clearly had Grannen Klosh wound around her finger, but why? If she’d skipped on over into the living realm simply to aid in the elimination of the gods, what purpose did manipulating Grannen Klosh — and Patrick Verdan — serve? None… unless she desired a unified Mizridahl. I couldn’t say her reasons for that desire, but we would cede to it, and unify Mizridahl. Against her.
That required a subtle hand to influence Jesson Tath.
And a proxy war to aid Sollick Glannondil in his bid to outmaneuver Grannen Klosh and lay claim to the throne.
And the consolidation and allying of Dercy Daniser’s bannermen in the aftermath that was the obliteration of Watchmen’s Bay.
And another — very regrettable, mind you — fellowship with Kane Calbid.
And, lastly, the swaying of Patrick Verdan not to ally with Grannen Klosh, but instead to crush him.
Now, here’s a good question: why was all of that necessary when Grannen Klosh and the goddess of war were, while fairly powerful, relatively small in numbers? Because we were dealing with a bloody goddess, and, more importantly, nothing ever works out as planned.
Vayle pursed her lips. “I do hope Kale is easy to find. I can only be in so many places at once.”
I waved away her concerns. “Fifteen days to Fragment Zero, fifteen days back. Another two weeks to the Hole, once I return here. Give me a month, and I’ll relieve you all of your stress. Let’s just hope this goddess of war has been fairly idle in our absence.”
Vayle and I talked some more, finalizing our strategy. She’d ideally enlist the help of Rot recruits to swindle minor families into armament deals and seize control of caravans full of supplies, redirecting them to the Hole. After finishing that job, she would — along with Kale, hopefully — chat up Jesson Tath and put the second part of our plan into motion.
We said our goodbyes, or rather, our see-you-on-the-other-sides, and my commander left on a boar whose snout pointed toward Crokdaw Village, fourteen days away. A scout rode with her, ensuring she didn’t accidentally find herself in Fragment Four, harvesting bodies for the rest of eternity.
I paid a visit to a baker who went by the name of Oglund. Cheery chap, although his eyebrows gave me the shivers. Things were as thick as caterpillars and seemed to wobble, crawl and flounder all at once. He sliced me a loaf of bread, wrapped the pieces up tight in some dingy cloth, and told me if I saw a bug or two in there, not to pay it any mind. These things happen, don’tcha know.
A butcher provided me with a few thinly sliced chunks of heavily salted boar, and I filled a few empty skins with water from the city’s well.
With my riding satchels now bursting at the seams, I went off to have a little talk with Rovid. The reaper had just awoken from his stupor and was moseying on out of the cave when I emerged from the cottage. I waved him over.
“I feel,” Rovid said, pressing against his temple, “like death. Everything… hurts.”
“Maybe you ought to lay off the black dust, huh?”
“Stuff’s not for the living, tell you that. I miss anything important?”
“Not much. Vayle’s left for Mizridahl, I’m going to Fragment Zero to free conjurers, and you, my friend, are going to rendezvous with your old reaper buddies.”
He closed his eyes, pushing harder into his temple. His mouth opened, and it stayed open for a while, till he finally muttered, “What?”
I gave him the lowdown on the need for a quicker route from Mizridahl to here and told him we desperately needed a wraith who could open a tear.
“Why’re you askin’ me? They left me for dead. Remember? They don’t care about me — not the ones I ran around with, rounding up the damned dead to be turned into reaped, and not the ones who are still alive. And what do you think they’re doing out there? Hiding, that’s what. They’re scared. Some of them might even be blasted Occrum sympathizers, and who knows what they’ll do to me? So, uh, no. Can’t help you there.”
Rovid was, if nothing else, predictable. Sadly. Although he and I had had plenty of disagreements over the course of our short friendship, I had wanted this to go smoothly. I didn’t want to have to dig. To prod.
“You look old,” I said. “Helluva lot older than I remember you looking a few months ago.”
The sudden clenching of his jaw emphasized his saggy jowls. His eyes might’ve looked livelier than they had when they were black holes absorbing all remnants of light, but the blues didn’t shine as brightly as they had four months ago. They were dusty now, paler.
“Good for you,” he said, voice raw and bitter, “you have a fucking eye for detail.”
A flake of ash fluttered down from the sky, landing on my nose. “That little drink Occrum gave you to pause time, to make age a worthless number… its effects were tied to his existence, weren’t they?”
A hard swallow flushed away the ball in his throat. “You know, it’s… it’s funny, huh? Yeah. Funny. He said — he told us that we were bound to his life. That if he ever perished, we’d waste away. Thought after the grayness was washed from eyes… I truly thought the reaper in me had been cut loose. But, no. It’s still there. The poison he fed us remains. Seeping out, eroding us from the inside. We’re still reapers, the lot of us. You hear that Silma caught one a couple months ago?”
“A reaper?”
“Sure enough. She prodded him, got to know him real well. Knew what would make him break, what would him snap. And she wanted to see a reaper snap. She wanted to see a wraith in the flesh. She got her wish. That’s how I know I’ll be a reaper till I die, Shepherd. It’s not a very good feeling.”
“When you die,” I said, “this is going to be your world, the only one you’ll ever know.”
“Listen here,”
he said, punching a finger into my chest, “don’t you try to goad me into this by pulling on my emotions. Don’t act like I’m the only one to benefit from putting my ass on the line here. You’re in this for yourself, Astul. Always have been. And sure, sure — maybe you’re in it for Vayle too, and for Lysa, but you always look out for yourself.”
“If I don’t, who will? Point is, Rovid, pal, you’re wasting away. Think you’ll be satisfied slaving away in a fragment, chipping at obsidian or hauling iron to a forge, for eternity? Lend me a goddamned hand, please. We can’t afford our supplies making a fourteen-day trek from Crokdaw to here. It’s too long. We need a shortcut. And I know you have a fair idea of where reapers are hiding.”
His eyes slanted to the palisade, perhaps into the fields, where the plumes of gray smoke pilfered the blue from the sky. “What am I supposed to do? Beg ’em to come with me, ask them nicely to abandon the safety of their refuge and risk those… those” — he nodded off in the direction of the Warden — “big motherfuckers chopping off their heads?”
“You’ll have—”
“And!” he shouted, interrupting me. “And! I’ve done told you before, not all reapers can open tears. If that were the case, I’d rip open one right now and be done with it.”
“I understa—”
“Furthermore, those that can need… things. Coordinates. Vectors. You can’t just open tears willy-nilly. I, as you like to say, guaran-damn-tee you if I find an able wraith — and against all odds, a willing one — he won’t know Mizridahl from the mole on the back of your ass. Well, he might be familiar with Mizridahl, but not wherever you’re wanting him to open a tear to and from.”
I lifted a brow. “I don’t have a mole on the back of my ass, and the fact you think that’s an apt comparison is disturbing.” I slapped a hand into Rovid’s chest, hopeful to subdue his emotions. “Listen. All I’m asking you to do is try. All right? And I’m not sending you to your death. You’ll have a small company of able swordsman and pikemen and bowmen at your side. Or as it stands, swordswomen, pikewomen and bowwomen. Ellie has offered the assistance of her Mutilik Company to help you hunt down and capture your old reaper friends.”
An Assassin's Blade: The Complete Trilogy Page 79
