by Jon Skovron
Hope walked across the lobby to a desk where a lacy old man in a jacket and cravat was looking at them in a very unwelcoming manner. Hope supposed she and her friends didn’t look like the sort of people who could afford such opulence. Or perhaps he looked at everyone that way.
“Excuse me, perhaps you’ve lost your way,” he told them pointedly.
“No,” muttered Hope. “But it appears others may have.”
“I’m not sure I understand, madam, but if you seek lodging, I will need to verify—”
“We’ve been invited by the Vinchen,” Hope cut in. “Where are they staying?”
“Oh. Them,” the old man said sourly. “Of course it would be them.” He shook his head wearily and pointed to the last of three staircases. “Take those up to the top floor.”
“Well, that’s some show of frugality,” said Brigga Lin. “The top floor is generally considered the least desirable.”
“Say, maybe that’s why they picked this hotel,” said Red. “It’s the tallest building in the district. I reckon climbing all those stairs is good exercise.”
Hope rolled her eyes. “I suppose we’re about to find out. Come on.”
Six flights of evenly spaced, plushly carpeted stairs did not seem like much of a workout to Hope. Certainly not enough to justify selecting such an opulent hotel. At the very top of the stairs was a short landing, and a large, ornately carved wooden door. Hope banged loudly on it with her metal claw, not caring if it scuffed the wood.
The door opened a moment later, and one of the Vinchen opened the door. Hope wasn’t sure of his name. He was stripped down to the waist, wearing only his leather pants and boots.
“Oh my,” said Brigga Lin, eyeing his sleekly muscled torso appreciatively.
“We have been invited as guests,” Hope told the Vinchen.
“Yes, you have,” he said, and stepped aside.
Hope walked into the room, with Red and Brigga Lin behind her. The narrow foyer opened into a large, lavishly decorated living room. It was odd to see the grim, hardened Vinchen warriors scattered around such a place, some sharpening swords or knives, others polishing their armor.
“Ah, you’ve come,” said Stephan as he stood up and pulled his leather jacket on over a thin linen shirt and began to buckle it. He nodded to the shirtless Vinchen who had let them in. “Thank you, Ravento.” Then he turned back to Hope. “I wasn’t sure you still wanted to come.”
“Yes …” Hope’s eyes scanned the room. “Very fine furnishings you’ve found for yourselves.”
“Oh.” Stephan looked away, and a faint blush crept onto his cheeks. “Racklock chose it. He said … well, it seems a bit silly now, but he said that before Manay the True, there was no vow of poverty, and we should just go back the way things were then. It, uh, seemed persuasive at the time.”
“I’ll bet,” said Hope. But the lengthy lecture she’d been storing up dissolved in the face of his earnest shame.
“Is it true?” Red asked curiously. “That Vinchen lived in luxury before Manay the True?”
“Yes, back when they lived at the palace,” said Hope. “I suspect that Manay brought them down to Stonepeak to escape the luxury as much as to escape the politics. Both distract from the true focus of the Vinchen.”
Stephan smiled sadly. “Your words remind me of when Hurlo was still living.”
“Hurlo the Cunning,” said Malveu, sitting nearby. He was still in his linen undershirt, working black polish into his armor. “We should return to calling him by his proper name, as it will be remembered in the history of the order.”
Hope looked questioningly at Stephan. He again looked embarrassed. “Racklock sought to discredit Hurlo the Cunning and remove him from the records.”
“Remove him?” All gentleness left her. “After everything he did for the order? For the empire? For all of us?”
They remained silent. Each and every one of them. She looked around, daring one to meet her furious gaze. They knew it had been wrong. But they had been so cowed by Racklock that none of them had spoken up.
“Is your grandteacher able to talk to me?” she asked finally.
“We no longer recognize Racklock the Cruel as grandteacher,” said Ravento as he sat down and began to work a nick out of his sword with a whetstone.
“We put it to a vote,” Malveu said quickly. “As dictated by the code.”
“He’s awake,” said Stephan, finally answering her question. “I will take you to him.”
“Thank you,” said Hope.
Stephan led them to one of the bedrooms. Inside, Racklock lay on top of a large four-poster bed. His arms and leg had been splinted, and he was chained to the bed. He looked up at them with haggard eyes when they entered, but didn’t seem surprised.
“Come to gloat, blasphemer?” he growled.
Hope walked past him to the window. She kept her back to him as she picked at the lace curtain. “Curious choice of insult, given your own attitude toward the basic tenets of the order.”
“We should be treated with the honor befitting our rank, not groveling like southern peasants,” he said.
She was silent for a moment as she continued to examine the intricate design of the lace. Then she said, “I used to wonder whether it was my peasant background or my gender you hate most.” She turned to face him. “Now, I simply don’t care. I didn’t come to gloat. I came seeking information.”
He gave a short grunt. Or maybe it was a laugh. “And you think I will provide you with that information?”
“If you have any desire to see the order survive beyond your own ambition, then yes, I think you will.”
“And you imagine yourself the savior of the order?” he asked mockingly.
“You know,” she said as if she hadn’t heard him. “In at least one respect, you and I actually agree.”
His eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
“Just like you, I believe the Vinchen order should end its seclusion and return to the world.”
“Really?” Racklock seemed genuinely surprised.
“While I understand Manay the True’s reasoning in sequestering the Vinchen down in Galemoor, far away from the corrupting influence of the palace, it has allowed the order to become stagnant and rigid.”
“Yes!” He struggled to rise, forgetting both the chains and broken bones in his sudden enthusiasm. He winced in pain and fell back on the bed, but his eyes still blazed. “We cannot continue as we are! Only obsolescence and death await us in the Southern Isles!”
Hope nodded. “But that isn’t my only reason for wanting to leave Galemoor. The absence of the Vinchen these last few centuries has allowed the biomancers to go unchecked. They prey upon the good citizens of this empire like livestock. The Vinchen must once again become the protectors they were meant to be.”
Racklock’s body suddenly went lax, and his excitement was replaced with a bitter sneer. “I see. So it’s coddling the weak you long for. I take back whatever I may have said in the past about your abilities as a student. You are Hurlo’s perfect pupil, aren’t you?”
Hope smiled. “Whether you meant that as a compliment or an insult, you’re only partly right. I left Hurlo’s instruction years ago. And while it’s true he taught me many things, my view of the world is informed at least as much by what I have experienced since leaving Galemoor.” She gave the broken old Vinchen a pitying look. “A world which you have only just begun to comprehend.”
He closed his eyes. “I grow weary of your presence. Get out.”
“I want to help the Vinchen adjust to this world. To flourish in it,” said Hope. “Tell me what alliances or pledges you have committed them to, so I at least know what I’m working with.”
He didn’t open his eyes, but the bitter smile returned to his lips. “We pledged to kill you and your biomancer witch, for which service we would be welcomed back as the right hand of the emperor. So by all means, retain the honor of the order and fulfill that pledge.”
“You swore this to
the emperor?” she demanded.
He remained silent, a mocking smile on his bruised lips.
“He didn’t swear it to the emperor, just the biomancers,” said Red. “I was there when he spoke to the council.”
“That’s somewhat less problematic,” said Hope.
“See?” Red’s smile was a little tighter than usual. “Sometimes it’s helpful to have someone on the inside.”
Was he trying to convince her to join the “inside” again? Or was he just trying to prove to her that he wasn’t bad for being on the inside? Hope didn’t know. She wanted to ask, but not here in front of Racklock.
“You’re always helpful, Red,” she told him instead. “I’m done with this bitter old man. Let’s talk to the other Vinchen and see what they intend to do next.”
When they returned to the living room, Hope noticed that the Vinchen had all made themselves presentable. Armor was on and buckled, weapons had been sheathed and properly stored.
“Well?” she said. “What do you plan to do now?”
They looked uncertainly at each other.
“I suppose we should return to Galemoor?” said Malveu.
“I’m sure Brother Wentu would be eager to welcome you all back,” said Hope. “But have you considered staying?”
“What do you mean?” asked Ravento.
“I know you don’t recognize me as a true Vinchen, and I don’t hold that against you. But if you will allow me to offer you some advice, I believe the time for hiding in Galemoor is over. For you, the younger generation of Vinchen, this is your opportunity to make a difference in the empire. To earn back the respect the order once held.”
Stephan shook his head. “It’s too late for that. Those who know us, resent us. And the rest simply don’t care. Perhaps Racklock is right and the order is doomed. Perhaps it should be. Are we really anything more than a relic of a bygone romantic age?”
“That is just pathetic,” said Brigga Lin. “I thought Vinchen were supposed to be resolute. Implacable. She certainly is.” Brigga Lin gestured to Hope. “Are you telling me she’s the only one? That the rest of you are merely petulant little children who now wish to run home at the first sign of failure?”
“Brigga Lin …,” said Hope.
“No, no,” said Brigga Lin. “It’s this, or I literally vomit on them. Because I am sick of these—”
Hope put her hand on Brigga Lin’s arm. “I know you’re trying to help, but this isn’t the way right now. Trust me.”
Brigga Lin rolled her eyes but said nothing else.
“Just think about staying,” Hope told the young men. “You could do a lot of good in the empire. Even if you never earn back the respect that the Vinchen of old enjoyed, isn’t that enough?”
She didn’t wait for their answer, but instead turned toward the door.
“That’s it?” Red asked quietly. “We’re leaving?”
“They’ll need time to deliberate,” she told him.
Ravento stood up from his chair and hurried to open the door in a sudden and unexpected show of courtesy.
But before Hope could leave, a great rending sound filled the air. It was like a thunderclap that went on too long, vibrating the glass in the windows for several seconds.
Once it subsided, Red said, “What in all hells was that?”
There was another sound, so loud it shook the floor beneath their feet. It was followed by the distant screams of people frightened or in pain.
“It’s coming from east of here,” said Hope.
They hurried over to the balcony door. Red yanked it open and Hope stepped out onto the open platform. Everyone else crowded after her into the small space. For a moment, Hope considered telling them to step back a little. But then she looked toward the coast of the Shade District, amid the extensive network of docks that splayed out like veins in a leaf, and saw something that took every other thought out of her head.
The kraken.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
The Guardian’s bulbous head, which towered over even the tallest buildings, was speckled with barnacles. Caught in the rough exterior were rusted objects such as spears and anchors that would have pierced a grown man through, but seemed as negligible as splinters to the great sea monster. Eight arms, each longer than a city block and nearly as thick around as a sloop’s waist, swept across the intricate network of docks that comprised a large portion of Vance Post, pulling up clusters of pylons like they were clumps of grass. It hurled the thick wooden poles into the city, where they took the roofs off buildings or crushed swaths of panicked bystanders in the streets.
“I’d heard about it, of course,” Red said, his voice awed, “but I honestly wasn’t sure if it was even real.”
“I can’t believe the Council of Biomancery sent the Guardian into such a heavily populated area,” said Brigga Lin. “This … This is unprecedented. There’s no research value in this. I can’t think of any reason for this other than sheer wanton destruction.”
“Perhaps the biomancers learned that we have abandoned our mission and seek to destroy you themselves,” said Stephan.
“Surely if their only goal was our deaths, they could have found a more efficient means to do it,” said Hope.
“Especially since we just have to sit tight here,” said Red. “We’re near the center of the island, and not even the kraken can throw that far.”
“Alash!” Brigga Lin grabbed Hope’s arm. “He and Vaderton are tinkering with that stupid boat! They’re right in the middle of it!”
She shoved her way through the pack of Vinchen and hurried toward the door.
“Brigga Lin, wait! We need a plan!” called Hope.
But Brigga Lin either didn’t hear or didn’t care to make any plans, and kept moving.
Hope turned to Red. “Go with her. Keep her from getting herself killed.”
Red nodded grimly, then followed after.
Hope turned to the Vinchen who still crowded around her. “Will you help?”
“What could swords possibly do against such a creature?” asked Ravento.
“There are hundreds of people hurt or dying right now, with many more to come. You could help them. This was what every Vinchen swore to do in the days of Selk the Brave,” she said.
They looked uneasily at one another.
“Go to the Shade District,” she urged them. “Rescue as many as you can. Earn the trust of the people. Show them the Vinchen are an ally, not another enemy.”
As if to drive home what Hope was saying, another crash thundered outside. It sounded like an entire building had caved in. Screams of pain and fear filtered in through the louder sounds of destruction.
Finally, it was Stephan who said, “If you lead us, I will go.” Then he dropped to one knee.
“As will I,” said Ravento.
“As will I,” said Malveu.
One by one, the Vinchen all dropped to one knee and asked her to lead them.
Hope would have been lying to herself if she tried to pretend she didn’t feel a surge of satisfaction. Perhaps even triumph. All those years of being told she was not, and could never be, as good as them. And now it was they who declared her the most worthy.
But this was far too reminiscent of her recruitment on the Empty Cliffs for her to be comfortable with it. So next to that feeling of triumph, she carefully nestled the dark pearl of doubt and humility she had gained on Dawn’s Light. She would keep it there to remind herself that leadership was not glory, but responsibility to the people she commanded.
“Very well,” she said quietly. “I will lead you until this threat is past. Now, let us remind the world that the Vinchen can save as well as kill.”
20
I’m sorry your negotiations with the emperor have stalled again.”
Lady Merivale Hempist sat in a high-backed chair, her hands moving swiftly and efficiently as she knitted a long maroon scarf that was unlikely to ever be worn.
Ambassador Nea Omnipora sat opposite h
er in a matching chair, her guitar in her lap.
The ambassador inclined her head as she quietly picked out a melody on the strings. “It’s frustrating. But the health of the emperor must come first. Is he likely to recover soon, do you think?”
“I’d say he’s not likely to recover at all,” said Merivale.
Nea paused in her strumming. “Oh?”
“He is nearly a hundred and fifty, after all,” said Merivale pleasantly. “Not even biomancers can work miracles forever.”
“I suppose,” Nea said carefully.
Merivale smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Ambassador. If all goes according to my designs, the next time you begin negotiations, the tone will be much more progressive.”
“That is … encouraging,” said Nea.
“I should probably mention, however, that it will absolutely get worse before it gets better.” Merivale kept her tone light. Almost playful. “But that is the way of things, I suppose. Nothing we can do except our duty, isn’t that right?”
“I strive always to do just that,” agreed Nea.
It was clear the ambassador wanted to press Merivale further, but she was holding back. Perhaps out of a misplaced courtesy? Or fear of what she might learn? Or perhaps she was as crafty as Merivale suspected and knew that to ask outright would be to show weakness. A dependence on Merivale’s intelligence-gathering. And yet, to not take advantage of that intelligence would be foolish. Such a conundrum for the poor ambassador. Merivale thought it best to throw her worthy adversary a bone. After all, their particular conflict would likely not come to fruition for several years yet. And in this current conflict, she hoped the ambassador might prove to be an invaluable ally.
“I go to speak to the empress this afternoon,” she told Nea. “Alone, on a swift horse.”
“I take it on a matter of some urgency.”
“The utmost urgency,” agreed Merivale.
“It is unlikely you’ll share the specifics with me at present,” said Nea.
“It is.”
“So why tell me at all?”
