by K. Eason
Dekklis watched as Veiko drew upright. Watched him swallow a protest. Then, quietly, grimly, “No. I am not. But you are not trained.”
“You weren’t either, when you hurt her. And I learn fast. And I can do something you can’t. I can conjure. —Bel. We’ll need the Academy’s help for this. We need some adepts.”
“The Academy stands in full support of the First Legate.” Bel’s eyes gleamed. “You have anyone particular in mind?”
“I do. Caerik. Tethni. Sashki, if she hasn’t set herself on fire.”
“She has, as happens. But she healed, and she says she knows better. Caerik’s no good. Got himself an alliance with Jez. Yeah. That Jez. She’d as soon see the whole city burn as help a half-blood, and he’s cock-swallowed enough to go along. But Kalle’s a better choice. You don’t know him, but.” She shrugged. “He’s got talent.”
“Highborn?”
“No. Half-blood.”
“Even better.” That was the old Snowdenaelikk, the one who did not love authority, or soldiers, or Illharek. She turned a smirk on Dekklis. “Just tell me. What will you do with Istel and me when this is over? Because hell if I’m going to help you now, only to have you arrest us on the corpse of that dragon.”
“I don’t know. The God’s never tried to control Illharek. Maybe we can work a compromise. A truce. Maybe I just grant you amnesty. Maybe I pretend I don’t know what you are. One thing I won’t do is arrest you. My word on that.”
“Huh.” Snow squinted at the window, as if against bright light. As if seeing all the way to Cardik, or into spirit, or nowhere at all. Her right hand clenched into cord and bone and skin stretched grey. “All right. Lot of things you are, Dek, but liar’s not one of them.”
“I thought one of them was friend.”
And oh, that earned a dagger-glare. And a wince. “Never been friends with a dictator before. You survive tomorrow’s vote, Dek, and we’ll see how that goes.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tomorrow came and went, and the day after, and another four after that.
Now, fifth day, and the candle had burned past the last mark. Guttering in its holder now, about to go out, beside its fat, pristine successor. There were bondies whose sole job it was to light the next day’s mark-candle. The Dictator of Illharek had an optio for that job. One more task on Pyatta’s ever-growing list of them, except tonight the Dictator had sent Pyatta to quarters. The Dictator could light her own mark-candle, if she was going to stay up this late, waiting for her allies to come back and tell her the fine details of how they planned to save Illharek. Naming her Dictator and the proscriptions and arrests were only the first steps.
The vote, when Senator K’Hess called it and Senator K’Hari seconded, had been not as close as Dekklis had feared. She had expected blood in the gutters, fire, a repeat of Cardik’s riots at the least. But the revelation of K’Hess Rurik’s death, of Taliri raiders actually inside Illharek, of Vesh’s involvement in both had proved compelling. And the bodies, admit it, the bodies had done much the persuasion: a young woman with Tal’Shik’s godmark on her palm, with a sword-wound in her gut, and Rurik, the man who’d made that wound, burned by that young woman’s godmagic. Senator K’Hess had known, had suggested they use Rurik’s body, and still—her howl when she saw her third son had not been performance. Her fury, when she made her speech—about how worship of Tal’Shik was the past and must remain so, see what had been done, legion troops attacked in the street, Taliri raiding the city, and all because of a jealous god, Illharek would not return to those days, would not!—had been real. And then K’Hess had read out a list of the accused, from a scroll held in hands that shook.
With rage, Dek had thought; Dek’s own hands had been shaking with anticipation of violence. There had been a little of that. The Senators who stood unaccused leapt on the ones who were named. Senator K’Hari had gotten a nasty burn when she’d slammed into old matron Toer and deflected a godmagic bolt, but then three of K’Hari’s bench-neighbors had pounced, and Toer had gone down. That same pattern, repeated all around the Senate. No coordinated resistance, no cooperation. Not in the curia, where the accused Senators fought back singly, or tried to flee singly, and so got picked off and subdued, one by one.
And then Praefecta K’Hari had come through the curia doors with her troops, with a red-robed wall of adepts behind her, led by Uosuk Belaery.
Well planned, Istel had said to her, after. Well fought. You’re good at this, Dek.
But she’d thought she saw flames in his eyes when he said it.
That should have made her uneasy. Now she just ground her teeth into a grin. You took allies where you could find them, except and unless they were Tal’Shik’s Dvergiri godsworn; because Snow was wrong about that. They wouldn’t know the word ally if you branded it onto their hands, over the godmark that made them traitors to Illharek, real Illharek, Dekkli’s Illharek, and not Tal’Shik’s.
Tal’Shik’s Taliri, now: they were coming. The scouts had reported seeing the avatar over the road leading down from the north. Somewhere between one and three days out now, depending on speed. They had seen Taliri, too, on the roads this time. A horde, not an army: no neat rows, no marching discipline. Raiders en masse. No match for Illhari troops in a straight fight, but the dragon made up for any lack of numbers. Kellehn had said there were divisions there, too, which Snow had confirmed. But there were still a lot of them. Dekklis hated the waiting, but she dreaded a fight too soon. Illharek wasn’t ready. They could lose. The Illhari Republic could fall.
And if it did, she wouldn’t know it. She’d be dead on the field with the rest of the legion. Mud and blood and raw meat while the Taliri swarmed the city. And then the adepts would bring the whole of Illharek down into the Jaarvi, all the Tiers smashed straight down. The Taliri wouldn’t get to occupy Illharek. That was Dekklis’s order. See if the adepts followed that command at the end.
Except you won’t see if they do, Dek. Remember? You’ll be dead.
Unless the ritual worked, the one Belaery and Snow were creating behind the Academy walls. There were adepts involved. Dekklis knew that much. She just hadn’t had time—until now, tonight-turning-into-tomorrow, to ask for the details.
The mark-candle flickered. Dekklis took the fresh one. Had to use both hands; mark-candles were fat and heavy. She touched its wick to the dying flame. Almost too late, but not quite. The candle flared. She set it down beside its predecessor.
“I could’ve done that for you,” from the door. Belaery’s voice.
“The Dictator of Illharek can light her own candles.” Dekklis turned. Took in the adept in the doorway, conspicuously alone. “Where’s Snow?”
“Coming. Said she had to do something. Wouldn’t tell me what.” Belaery rolled her eyes. “My guess, she’s with Veiko. I understand you’ve given them a flat in the garrison.”
“Seems more efficient than making them trek back to the Suburba every day.” Truth was, Dek hadn’t expected Snow to take the offer. Had expected argument, suspicion, this is one step from arrest, yeah? But Snow had said thanks, with a thin-lipped smile, and now she and Veiko slept across the garrison courtyard, in a flat with a window Dekklis could see from her office. That window was dark now.
“Well. She shouldn’t be long, then.” Bel circled the table. “I see you ordered us supper. That’s kind.”
It was the Dictator’s privilege to get supper at any candlemark. This late, Dekklis had opted for simple stuff. Bread. Cheese. A decanter of something strong and red and sour-smelling. And the inevitable pot of tea.
“Reckoned you hadn’t had time to eat in your meeting.”
“Adept Tethni makes time to eat. She just rarely leaves much for the rest of us. Oh, foremothers. Is that a Riku vintage?” Belaery poured a little bit of wine into the cup. Swirled and sniffed. “It is. Their wines all have this particular berry scent.”
“Fuck and damn, Bel.” Snow came through the door like the hem of a cloak
through mud. “Is there anything you don’t know something about?”
Belaery sniffed. “My mother’s a merchant.”
“And mine was an apothecary. Don’t hear me yapping on about this herb or that. But that berry smell—it’s crowberry. They grow around Riku.” Snow sidled around the table and the chairs and set herself beside the window.
Dekklis chuckled. “You’re not thinking to jump.”
“I might, if Bel doesn’t shut it about the wine.”
“Then join us. Sit down.”
Snow leaned against the stone. Crossed her arms. “Been sitting all day. And all yesterday. How many days since we got back?”
“Six.”
“Then I’ve been sitting most of six days.” Snow closed her eyes. Drew a deep breath. Blew it out. “You mind if I smoke in here? She”—and she arrowed an evil look at Belaery—“won’t let me, in the Archives.”
“No fire around the scrolls. You know that.”
“Table full of adepts can put out a toadfucking fire if I was idiot enough to drop sparks. Which I am not.” She was already digging at the pouch on her hip.
Typical, that Snow wouldn’t wait for permission. Dekklis thought of saying no, just to see the effect. Crossed stares with Belaery and bit down on a smile.
“The hell you grinning at?” Snow drew a lungful of smoke. Held it. Closed her eyes and sighed it out again. “Fuck and damn.”
“Addict,” Bel said primly. She sipped her wine. “I only see three chairs, Dekklis.”
“Because there are three of us.” Dek tore a chunk off the bread. “Veiko’s not coming.”
Belaery looked at Snow. “I thought that’s where you went. To get him.”
“Thought wrong, yeah? Needed my jenja.” Snow had her eyes still closed, lines of tension spidering out from the corners. “Veiko’s Above with the scouts and Istel.”
“Istel. Not the God?”
“The Laughing God’s not much help with dragon-killing and troop tactics. He’s been real curious what we talk about in our meetings, though.” Snow smirked at Belaery. “Don’t worry. I don’t tell him anything.”
“About that.” Dekklis poured herself some of the wine. Got it halfway to her nose before her stomach balked. She set it down untasted. Reached instead for the pot of tea.
Snow raised a brow. Twisted a sympathetic half-smile. “Wine’s better for sleeping. You look like you’re not sleeping much.”
“I’m worrying and running a republic. Don’t know what you’re doing nights.”
Flash of teeth, a grin that got all the way to her eyes. Then flat lips again. Flat eyes. “I’m learning to be a noidghe. Songs. Well. One song. Something to keep the spirits out of Bel’s ritual.”
“Something to keep the God out. A very specific spirit.” Belaery’s perfect topknot had lost a few strands. She tucked them behind her ears with careful fingers, as if she were afraid to snag her earrings. More likely she wanted everyone to see them. Remember who she was. “We don’t want him getting caught with the spell. Not deliberately or accidentally. We just don’t know quite how it’s going to work. We’ve never had a godsworn noidghe before. And no one’s done a ritual like this in—well. Ever, most likely.” A little smile. More than a little pride.
More than a little worry, too, in Belaery’s too-bright eyes. Dekklis’s gut did another wrap around itself. “Do I want to know how this works? This ritual.”
“You might. But I’m not sure you’d understand the—”
“Fuck and damn, Bel.” Snow bent her tall frame into the nearest chair with a wince. “Our dictator’s smart enough.” Half a beat, then she turned the smirk on Dekklis. “Can’t read Middle Dvergiri for toadshit, though.”
That got a laugh out of Dekklis. Rough on the edges, short and sharp, but still. She hadn’t been sure she could laugh any more.
Snow leaned onto her elbows. The jenja flared as she gestured. “Plan’s simple. Shut up, Bel, it is. The adepts are going to open the ghost roads and then hold them open so that there’s a rift between here and there. And while they’re holding the rift open, Bel’s adepts are going to aim conjuring straight at Tal’Shik. Not the dragon. The goddess. From our side into the ghost roads, like an arrow. Suck the power out of her, yeah?”
“More like a siphon,” said Belaery. “Or a drain.”
Dekklis ignored her. “Conjuring’s going to kill Tal’Shik. It’s that easy.”
“We hope so.” Snow leaned back. Flicked the jenja out the window and grinned at Dek’s scowl. “Come on. Some recruit’s got to find something to sweep out there.”
“Conjuring. Tal’Shik. Explain.”
“Conjuring is damaging to spirits,” Belaery said. “It’s taking without giving back in return. A noidghe bargains. A conjuror—”
“Steals.” Snow whipped a knife out of her belt. Stabbed a chunk of cheese off the board and held it up. “Noidghe bargain. They offer power for power. Godmagic’s a variation on that. Conjuring just takes, no asking.”
“You oversimplify, Snow, as ever.” Belaery sighed. “The point is that we’ll aim our conjuring at Tal’Shik specifically, and we think if we make contact with her from within the ghost roads, we will have greater effect, and ideally weaken her enough that she abandons the avatar.”
“That means the dragon will be just a dragon, with whatever’s left of some Talir heretic inside. Easier for Veiko and your scouts to chop up. All he has to do is sing”—Snow gestured with the dagger—“whatever he needs to help him kill it. Wurm-killing secrets. Noidghe stuff.”
The secret to dragon-killing was hacking it to bits, hopefully, with that motherless axe of his. Dekklis felt a twinge of envy. She’d rather be doing that than marching around on the field in full armor, offering a target for the Taliri.
Dekklis leaned back in her chair. The smell of cheese made her stomach roil. Not sleeping. Not eating, either.
Not good, Szanys.
“And what about you?”
“What about me?” Snow put her boot on the table edge, hell and damn. Daring Dekklis to snap about that. Hoping she would.
Which meant she didn’t want to answer the question. Dekklis put on her best bored face and waited.
“Snow,” Belaery said after a moment, as if the words had sharp edges, “is going to cross into the ghost roads physically, because she’s evidently a noidghe and that’s what they do. In order to hit Tal’Shik with our conjuring, she needs to be in position. Snow’s task is to get her there.”
“Got to be me in the ghost roads. I’m the only other noidghe, and you need Veiko out here.” Brass-bright tone. Too many teeth in the smile.
Dekklis was suddenly glad of her empty stomach. “How will you maneuver Tal’Shik, exactly?”
“Two parts to that. Ehkla was trying to sacrifice Veiko, first time they met. He’s got half that spell carved into his leg already. We know how to finish it. He’s tried it before, and Tal'Shik would've gotten him then, except I bound her to Ehkla.” Casually, waving her hand like she was describing a stroll on the Riverwalk and not the beginning of the fall of Cardik. “So this time, I do it. I make Tal’Shik think I’m him. She comes, Bel hits her, the rest of the adepts bring down the dragon on the hill so Veiko can chop her up, and it’s done.” Snow dropped her gaze and poked the table with the tip of her knife. “Veiko’s been on me to learn to be a noidghe. Now that he’s got his way, he’s sorry for it. I reckon he’s realized how bad I sing.”
Reckon it’s because you’re bait. Dek let that stay behind her teeth. Looked at Belaery, who tightened her fine jaw until Dek thought her teeth would crack. Clearly, this was an old argument, and just as clearly Belaery didn’t have any better ideas, or she’d’ve used them by now. That was clear from the scowl. Worry, too, which Dekklis didn’t see often on Bel’s face.
One thing she’d learned from Rurik
one thing, hell
was you didn’t second-guess your experts. Let them do their jobs.
Dekklis lifted her
cup. Swirled the wine. Looked too much like blood in there. She looked past the rim, at the ceiling, and slammed the drink back.
Even if it killed them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
At dawn, the clouds appeared as a quill-stroke of black across the northeastern sky. By midmorning, they had grown into stacks of charcoal and steel. By midday, when they had swallowed half the sky, the wind began. First in fits and gusts, then a steady howl. Smelled like winter, in the middle of summer. Violet lightning and thunder that sounded like screams.
The forest crawled with motion, but that was the Taliri, and they were Dekklis’s problem. The wurm was his.
Veiko watched from the hill to the west and south of Illharek’s mouth, concealed among jagged boulders and stubborn pines. Small shapes cut patterns across what remained of the blue sky: ravens, crows, svartjagr, the battle-beasts gathering for war. Briel was out there. Veiko bent his attention to her impressions. The troops, indistinct and uninteresting below her. The smoke-rot wind under her wings. The storm-tingle in the air, that said flying things would need to worry about lightning. But not the avatar. Lightning was her weapon, unless the adepts could disarm her with theirs.
Veiko’s eyes tracked to the Jokki. The river gleamed like molten metal. It had become a highway for barges, roped one to another into floating, mobile bridges for the troops to cross as needed. Beside it, the Riverwalk was a column of metal and leather, bristling with javelins and gleaming with steel. The valley looked like a field of legion crop ready for harvest. Neat collections of helmeted heads, each marked by a banner. The cohorts, Snow had explained. So the legion could figure out where it was during battle.
So the wurm knows where to strike, he had retorted.
Dark little smile. Well, yeah. She’ll go straight for Dekklis.
Whose banner was biggest, scarlet, blazed with Illharek’s seal, amid a sparkling field of armor. The wurm would not miss that banner.
