The Silvered

by Tanya Huff

  Why had she gone to Abyek after she’d escaped? He should have asked.

  “This is their first meal of the day,” the emperor continued. “They haven’t seen the outside world since they arrived and I’m experimenting with their sense of day and night to keep them off balance. Not excessively, of course, given their conditions. Still, the midwife attending them assures me that the lower orders are remarkably persistent when it comes to reproduction.”

  Remarkably persistent?

  “So, Captain Reiter, do you see any evidence they’re able to use mage-craft?”

  “No, Majesty.” As he spoke, he saw the blonde woman, the leader, look up, almost directly at him. He stepped back, nearly tripped on the rug, and had to catch himself on the arm of the chair, suddenly wanting to speak with her alone.

  The emperor laughed. “Oh, they know this observation booth is up here, but they can’t see the lens and don’t know when it’s occupied. Also, just in case, I’ve acquired protection charms from the Archive for the four represented crafts. All tested, of course.” He reached back behind the fabric and the sound of voices from below stopped. “I was looking forward to sharing my research with Major Halyss—he was the only person at court interested in mages—but never imagine I’m not pleased to have you here in his stead.”

  It seemed to Reiter that the emperor would be happy with any pair of ears—Halyss’ interest in mages or his own experience was incidental to the emperor loving the sound of his own voice. And he could only hope none of that showed on his face. “Thank you, Majesty.”

  “Fascinating, aren’t they? I can’t spend as much time observing them as I’d like, but I try to be here for meals. Unfortunately, other duties call.” His sigh held equal parts regret and acknowledgment of the inevitable. “As they do now.”

  Following the emperor out of the room, Reiter tripped again on the rug. In his own defense, parts of it had buckled up, too large for the space. He glanced down and heard Major Halyss say, “He’s been collecting them for a while now. He could be studying the enemy. He could be having rugs made.”

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” Out past the hanging fabric, two steps down the stairs, the emperor turned and looked proudly at the pelt. “They’re larger than actual wolves, you know, so even trimmed up, they cover a more useful area. You attempted to bring me an abomination as well as the mage, didn’t you, Captain Reiter? How did you find him to be?”

  “He was mostly unconscious, Majesty…”

  The emperor laughed. “Safest way to keep them.”

  “…but he seemed to be…a person.”

  “It’s a fascinating camouflage, isn’t it? Spend a little more time with them and you’ll see that slough off fairly quickly. Their response to stimulus is distinctly bestial.”

  To Reiter’s surprise, the emperor remembered to tell Tavert he was to be given access to the Archive. He’d begun to suspect that words poured out of His Imperial Majesty’s mouth without His Imperial Majesty being aware of them, but it seemed he actually paid attention to what he said. Reiter watched a little more closely as the emperor interacted with the people around him—a smile here, a touch there, the right word said at the right moment. He made people want to please him. Walking through workshops clustered against the south side of the palace, he spoke to men who wore heavy leather gloves and goggles, the dusters over their clothing speckled with small burns. He didn’t seem to mind shouting over the noise of welding and pistons and any number of small roaring machines Reiter couldn’t identify, and those men—and women, Reiter amended, although the protective clothing made it hard to tell—spoke back, not to their emperor but to someone who understood what they were saying.

  He was smart.

  And so excited about the possibilities technology offered, it was almost impossible not to share that excitement.

  He had as little to do with the day-to-day running of the empire as General Loreau had to do with the day-to-day running of the Shields, but Reiter had been a soldier long enough to know that generals put their marks on their divisions, their prejudices and bigotry trickling down to the lowest rankers.

  Emperor Leopald considered the beastmen of Aydori abominations, so regardless of what they’d been, that’s what they’d become within the empire.

  The Empress Ileena and Everin, Leopald’s seven-year-old son and heir joined the court for dinner. Even from where Reiter sat, well below the salt with the unimportant and unranked, he could see the emperor make his wife blush with pleasure. His son stared at him adoringly. Happy families.

  The mages, the women at the round table had families.

  Every soldier he’d ever fought had a family.

  The women at the round table weren’t soldiers.

  “This one’s had pups.”

  “It’s a pity they can’t whelp litters actually.”

  After the tables were cleared away, Reiter put his back to a wall and stood quietly watching the ebb and flow of the court as though he were watching the advance and retreat of a battlefield—although he was smart enough to know that was far too simple an analogy. The people who followed the emperor during the day were not the people around him now. These men and women were older, powers in their own right. These were the officers who actually saw to it that battles were won.

  It wasn’t hard to pretend he had no place in the court; that he was merely an officer of the guard, unseen until needed. Playing guard was a welcome relief after a day spent feeling like he’d been swimming with all his strength and barely keeping his head above water.

  Camouflaged by his uniform, he overheard more than one person complain that the silver needed for the Aydori campaign was well on its way to bankrupting the empire. Although they complained the way people complained about the weather or the traffic in Karis or the stink in the summer. They didn’t like it, but they couldn’t do a flaming thing about it. They didn’t blame the emperor—even though it became clear Aydori had been the emperor’s private project—they blamed the Soothsayers. The emperors had always used Imperial Soothsayers and the empire had thrived. It was just how it was.

  They were, Reiter realized, a convenient Imperial scapegoat.

  No one could leave the room until the emperor did. While Reiter suspected it’d be useful to see how the currents in the room changed without Imperial attention to court, he didn’t get the chance. The emperor beckoned, and they left together. He could almost feel the impact of the daggers glared at his back.

  The five captured women were eating another meal. The emperor had him look briefly then surrender the spyhole.

  “When I have the leverage of their offspring to protect my people, I think I’ll remove one of the artifacts and try a few simple experiments before I breed them again.” His face was so close to the wall, his voice was slightly muffled. “Have you ever thought of mage-craft and technology working together, Captain?”

  “No, Majesty.” He’d never thought of mage-craft at all until the mission to Aydori, and his musings on technology had started and finished with wondering where the hell the artillery had got to and how fast he’d have to move if Colonel Korshan’s rockets headed back toward Imperial lines.

  “I know, who would? But it’s a fascinating thought and you’ll never guess who gave me the idea. Pity I’ll have to wait so long to attempt anything.”

  “Wouldn’t you be able to begin sooner if you made a treaty with them?”

  “Them?”

  “The mages, Majesty.”

  “Yes, of course,” the emperor laughed. “If they were people.”

  “You’re early,” Tavert said the next morning when he entered the staff room to find only her and one of the other workers there. She seemed pleased—as much as she seemed anything that wasn’t professionally neutral.

  “I have a good sense of direction.” It had been one of the reasons he’d been sent to Aydori in the first place. Although, just to be certain, Reiter had given himself extra time in case he took a wrong turn in the hidden ha
lls.

  “The emperor is in the north wing this morning observing a procedure. He’d like you to go to the Archive. The Lord Warder is to show you the scroll.”

  “The scroll?”

  “The Lord Warder will know.”

  No one in their little group was to accompany the emperor to the north wing. No one complained about it. Besides the mages, what else did the emperor have in the north wing?

  “Take him with you. His Imperial Majesty’s been collecting them for a while.”

  Stupid question. Even unasked.

  Directions to the Archive were reasonably straightforward. Reiter waved off the offered assistance of a page and headed into the oldest part of the palace. The Archive was on a lower level, a level that had been a second floor before the third emperor had earth built up around the building and more stories added.

  The closer Reiter came to the Archive, the emptier the halls became. By the time he approached the Archive’s double doors, he was entirely alone. As he reached for the curved steel handle, the door opened, the lamps that hung down the center of the corridor flickered, and Reiter found himself face-to-face with an elderly courtier. Not the Lord Warder of the Archive, but one of the stern-faced men who he’d seen move in and out of the emperor’s orbit yesterday evening. One of the “officers.”

  Reiter stepped back out of the way and instinct brought him more-or-less to attention.

  “You’re Captain Reiter.”

  “Sir.” It probably should be my lord, but without knowing the specifics, Reiter figured sir was as good a general purpose title as any.

  “My son wrote to me of you.”

  “Your son, sir?”

  “You would know him as Major Halyss. He said he met you at the Abyek garrison. That you shared his interests.” Dark eyes searched his face, pale lips within the gray beard pressed into a thin line. After a long moment, he punctuated the examination with an emphatic exhale. “I have been informed you’ve taken my son’s place on the emperor’s staff as someone His Imperial Majesty can speak to about mages.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  For an instant, Reiter thought he saw concern in the dark eyes. “Be careful.”

  As he walked away, Reiter wondered what interests Major Halyss had said they shared. And what, exactly, he was to be careful of.

  * * *

  They’d moved too far from the road to take the time to move back, but Mirian never hesitated in picking their path. While she occasionally pulled out the telescope, she’d stopped using the captain’s compass. Tomas didn’t know if she followed air or earth or something else again. Nor did he care.

  He followed her.

  “Wait.”

  She glanced down at the arm he’d stretched across in front of her, but when she turned to face him, he thought for just a moment that in spite of how close they were standing she didn’t see him. It had been happening more and more often lately, but lots of mages got lost in the craft. Even Harry had used it as an excuse although, in Harry’s case, it had actually been an excuse. He stood silently until her eyes focused on his face and she began to look impatient.

  He checked the breeze again, picked up the scent, then pointed north. “Pack.”

  * * *

  Tomas was half out of his shirt before Mirian realized what he’d said. “Alive? Tomas!” She grabbed the waistband of his trousers as he started to pull them down. “Are they alive?”

  “Yes. And heading this way.” He glanced down at her hand then back up at her face. “He’s moving pretty fast.”

  “He?” The trousers dropped as she released them. Just one, then. That changed things. “Are you going to fight?”

  “No!” He frowned, face half furred, and added, his voice slurred by the changing shape of his jaw. “Maybe.”

  Then he was on four feet and, given the way his hackles had risen, Mirian suspected maybe was a distinct probably. They’d both been on edge for the last couple of days. Grieving for their dead. Snappish and uncertain about the way they’d dealt with it. The men who’d brutalized and murdered the family deserved to die, they agreed on that. What they couldn’t seem to settle on is how they were supposed to feel about what they’d done. Triumphant. Disgusted. Guilty. Justified. Nothing was clear anymore so Mirian, who could now feel the weight of Karis on the earth, kept them moving, clinging to the idea of rescuing the Mage-pack. At night she clung to Tomas; in the daylight, they didn’t talk about it.

  And now, more Pack.

  Alive.

  She started after Tomas just as a huge dark gray wolf suddenly appeared out of a dip in the land. Between his color and his speed she had to squint to bring him into focus and then squint again, unable to believe his size. She’d thought Jaspyr Hagen had been a small silver pony when she’d seen him running toward her back in Bercarit. On that scale, what she saw now was closer to a full-sized horse. The stranger was the biggest Pack she’d ever seen. He made Tomas look small.

  Mirian began to run as Tomas sped up.

  She couldn’t hear either of them snarling. That had to be good. She hoped.

  The first impact happened in the air, all eight paws off the ground. They landed, spun around each other, charged in again. Tomas hit the ground on his side, rolled, and was snarling by the time he’d reached his feet.

  If this wolf was a wanderer, he’d want to establish dominance. If he was defending his family, he’d want to establish dominance. Tomas either thought he was protecting her or he needed to bleed off the emotional impact from killing those men or he was just reacting to the other male. And he was trying to establish dominance.

  Mirian didn’t have the patience to put up with it.

  “Enough!” She used the wind to whip the word between the two of them, then, as they scrambled apart, put herself there bodily. “We’re no threat to you,” she told the stranger, “and you’re no threat to us, so just stop it! Tomas!” The growling behind her stopped.

  The stranger stared at her for a long moment, then he opened his mouth, tongue lolling out, and Mirian suspected he was laughing at her. She folded her arms and glared. To her surprise, he sobered, nodded once, as to an equal, and changed. Mirian watched him rise, and rise, and rise. The top of her head came to his shoulder and she was not, to her mother’s very vocal dismay, small. His shoulders were broad, heavily muscled, and scarred, his arms as big around as her thighs.

  Look at his face. Look at his face. Look at his…Lord and Lady!

  She snapped her gaze back up to his face. He was old enough the gray fur he kept on two legs passed as hair. Although he looked nothing like him, he reminded Mirian of her first impression of Ryder Hagen that night at the opera—the same barely contained energy, the same potential for danger barely harnessed.

  He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “We?”

  “Me and Jake. He Saw you here yesterday and sent me out to find you.”

  “Saw?”

  “Aye. He’s a Soothsayer, sure enough, and mad as they come. Still, he’s mine and I’m his and we manage. I’ll wait for your lad…”

  “Tomas Hagen,” Mirian told him. Even without turning, she knew Tomas was still in fur, unwilling to admit the fight was over.

  “He’s a Hagen, is he? Well, I expect we’ll talk of that as well, but, for now, he needs to get his clothes.” The callused end of an enormous finger gently touched Mirian’s cheek and dark eyes looked into hers. “I don’t like leaving Jake for long on his own, so we’d best be on our way.”

  “We don’t have time. We have to…”

  The stranger cut her off. “You have to come with me. There’s things Jake’s Seen me tell you that you need to hear, little mage.”

  “How did you know she was a mage?” Tomas demanded, gripping Mirian’s shoulder. Mirian leaned back toward him, a little afraid he was going to try and drag her out of danger and fully aware there’d be no danger unless Tomas started something. “She didn’t do anything and she has
no mage marks.”

  “She put words on the wind.” The big man glanced over Mirian’s head. “And I have a nose, don’t I? Besides, Jake Saw it.” Then back at Mirian. “My Jake’s quite taken by you, little mage.”

  “He’s never met me.”

  “He sort of met you yesterday. He’s in tomorrow now, and you still seem to be around.”

  “That’s…” Mirian frowned. The Mage-pack had been at the palace for days. They had no time to follow this man home to his crazy Soothsayer. They had to get to Karis and rescue the Mage-pack without having any of idea of what they were up against—beside the entire Imperial army—and no idea of how to get them out of the palace after they somehow managed to find them. But Jake had Seen the big man tell her things she needed to hear. “Can’t you tell me…?”

  “No. He Saw us at our table, sitting down when I told you.”

  She sighed. “Tomas, maybe you’d better go and get your clothes.”

  “We don’t even know his name,” Tomas growled.

  “You have my scent, but if you need something to call me, Gryham will do.”

  “Just Gryham?”

  “Never had need of another.” He folded his arms and his brows rose.

  Mirian flushed. “Mirian Maylin. Tomas…”

  He got his clothes, but didn’t put them on, taking the bedroll from Mirian and draping them over the top. Mirian could sort of see his point in remaining naked. If Gryham was in skin and Tomas was in trousers, Gryham would have the distinct advantage if it came to a fight, able to change faster. It seemed wisest to ignore that Gryham would have the distinct advantage if Tomas were already in fur and Gryham was dressed for the theater.

  Over the last few days, Mirian had gotten very good at looking Tomas in the face. It shouldn’t have been so hard to apply the same discipline to looking at Gryham.

  “We’ve got a bit of a walk,” Gryham explained as they headed east. “Jake Sees accurate, but he’s not always so convenient. This was as close to home as you came on your own.”

  His accent put a different rhythm on familiar words. “You speak very good Imperial.”