Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle

by Mercedes Lackey

  So, now the question: how to penetrate this edifice, which was surely better guarded than any other on the grounds, and approach the owner? Simple; walk through the front door. He had already proven himrself; he had penetrated the worst of the overt security, for the outer perimeter was the most heavily guarded. After that, it was assumed that there wouldn’t be anyone dangerous enough to get close, no more than the occasional geriatric who had become lost on the golf course. Why take the chance of setting off alarms before one even had a chance to speak? Someone as obsessed over his own protection as this target was . . . it would be much better to take the direct approach. Dressed as a member of the staff, with the Jade Emperor’s Whisper hidden in a golf club bag, it was easy enough to walk to the front door of the old Victorian house near the center of the property.

  One hopes this Shadow-Storm has not degenerated into senility, the General thought, his hand on the door. After all this . . . it would be a grave disappointment. Taking a breath, the General twisted the handle and gently pushed the door inwards, placing his sword hand inside of the golf bag.

  The sound of a chime marked his entry. Nothing more.

  Inside, the antique house was decorated in a curiously Spartan style, almost Oriental in its simplicity—the so-called “Swedish Modern” look, executed in the finest of materials and workmanship. The tall, narrow windows were shrouded in wooden slat blinds and plain curtains, allowing very little light in from the fading sun.

  There was no answer to that chime. Not by the appearance of a servant, nor a voice. There were cameras, however. Many, many cameras. They seemed to sprout from every corner, and all of them were tracking him automatically. Shen Xue was not familiar enough with the interiors of houses like this to tell if the layout was normal. He stood in a small entryway; to his left, a staircase led upwards. To his right, a hallway ended in a closed door, with two more closed doors along the right-hand wall. Up, or further in? Or wait for a response? Action. Never look behind; dive forward with all of one’s might. Well, perhaps not “diving.” The General paced deliberately forward. Most main rooms were on the ground floor, in his experience. But he was presented with the choice of three closed doors. Which?

  He chose the middle; the second door along the wall. Tactics said to choose the center of the enemy’s power; the logic was as ancient and as proven as the General.

  The door opened with little effort.

  It was a room full of electronics. Or rather, of electronic screens. It looked strangely like one of those decadent display rooms for expensive televisions, except that the screens were all the same sort, and each one showed a different view of some point—presumably in this house. The screens were the only light sources in the room; most of it was draped in heavy shadows. In the center of the room was a wheelchair, and in the wheelchair was a man.

  “So, they’ve finally sent someone, have they? I was starting to wonder if I was important enough to kill anymore.” He was wizened, decrepit; skin hanging off of bones, looking feeble. Was this what the barbarian had sent her for? A living corpse?

  “The world has been somewhat preoccupied,” Shen Xue said politely. This was, after all, an elder. “Also, perhaps you have been mistaken in my purpose.”

  “Oh, what’s your purpose, eh? A little fanny to seduce me while you cut my throat? No one comes in here, missy. No one living.”

  “Negotiation,” suggested the General. “The world has greater concerns at the moment than the sins of the past.”

  The man sneered. “The past? Lemme tell you about the past. Snubbed! That’s what I was! Everything I have ever done, for nothing. Nothing but a graveyard, full of walking corpses and what’s left of them that don’t walk anymore. Everything I’ve done . . . for nothing!” He jabbed a crooked finger at her. “Negotiation? What negotiation? What can you offer me that I couldn’t steal for myself still, hmm?”

  Shen Xue considered this, with growing impatience. Verdigris had sent him on a fool’s errand. Verdigris may well have known this. But if he did not . . . this impertinent creature was not worthy of Shen Xue’s time, but the General also did not wish to permit anyone more to know of his own considerable abilities. This meant killing him, which would be a pleasure after the insulting way the creature had spoken to him, elder or not. But it would have to be killing him in a way that Verdigris could not put down to pique.

  “I fail to see that you are able to steal anything more than my time, broken old man.” The General looked down his nose at the man in the wheelchair. “Boast to the shadows and wind, I am done with you. If you are truly brave, you will end your own wretched existence yourself. Only a coward would continue a life so shrunken.” Deliberately, he turned his back, expecting to hear the sound of a weapon.

  “Fucking Chink,” said the man in a growl. The General tensed. There was no sound other than that insult. But something . . .

  Instinct warned and her senses were on fire, and Shen Xue acted on that instinct, pulling Jade Emperor’s Whisper from the golf bag with one hand, and flinging the bag in the direction of the threat he sensed with the other.

  The bag exploded in the air as a tendril of shadow whipped from a corner, ripping through the bag and scattering the bent clubs. The General was holding the jian in a low ready, eyes scanning the room. The shadows seemed to be roiling like black clouds, as if they were . . . restless and alive. What sorcery is this? “You use tricks when your opponent has their back turned. It is the mark of a dishonorable cur, old man.”

  The man cackled, and rose easily from his wheelchair; no longer looking nearly so feeble. “There’s no honor among thieves, you stupid Chink. You came here to steal my life. I’ve been a thief longer, girl. I’m going to take yours from you.” The shadows were starting to gather around him, tendrils draped around him like wisps of infernal smoke. “I’m going to make you scream first, bitch.”

  The man leapt towards the General, covering the space between them far too quickly for someone of his advanced age. The General, ready for such a charge, sliced the air in front of himself effortlessly; the Jade Emperor’s Whisper hummed as it rose to meet the foe. But the old man wasn’t there when the blade was supposed to slice through him from stem to stern. Instead, he was to the General’s left; Shen Xue narrowly dodged a fist that was aimed at his temple. In the slow half second it took to pivot, the General noticed that both of the old man’s hands were holding brass knuckles, studded with spikes and covered with ancient runes and hieroglyphs.

  The General backed away with his sword pointed at the man’s throat, being mindful not to tread too closely to the shadows at his back. They were all around, lurching forward whenever he came close.

  “Noticed something, bitch? Not what you were expecting, huh?” He cackled again. “You’re better’n I thought. I didn’t expect you to block one of my friends there; he was going to take your pretty head off with that swipe. Might be you can give me a fight. I need one; it’s been years since I killed anyone properly.”

  The General moved warily. It would be no bad thing to keep him talking. “So this is the source of your secret? You command shadows?”

  The old man barked a harsh laugh. “Shadows? What are shadows, you silly bitch? Nothing. These aren’t shadows. They’re what you’re going to become: one of the dead. These?” He raised his hands, looking around the room. “All of the dead I’ve killed, all of the dead I’ve found. They serve me, now; not in body anymore, heh, I took care of that. I took their fucking souls. Pretty soon I’ll have yours, too.” He moved in again, swinging the brass knuckles in crude arcs.

  Normally, the General wouldn’t be fazed by such a lack of finesse. Somehow the man was moving faster than any man should be able to, and his blows were strong. The General had to focus on keeping his jian between them and dodging blows to keep from being mutilated or worse. The General could sense the power in the man now that he was clothed in his shadows; the brass knuckles, the shadows, and even the chain he wore around his neck reeked of magic.


  “Not fast enough. Don’t think you can tire me out, either. My friends will see that I’m standing long after your petite ass has gone cold.”

  The shadows . . . they are empowering him. The General could see it now that he was looking; human forms, always shifting. The lines of shadow that were covering the old man looked like hands and arms, with fingers digging into his skin. He was on the General again as soon as Shen Xue finished the thought. He’s trying to drive me into a corner, into his captured souls. There was a long tradition of captive, murderous ghosts in Chinese literature, and of the witches, male and female, who commanded them. The old man probably had caught Westerners unaware, but this was not a handicap the General suffered under.

  “Do you want a good death, old man? I will not give you one. You are below me.” The General tried to press the attack this time. The old man simply dodged each of her swings by a hair’s breadth, laughing the entire time. It was effortless for him to avoid the attacks. When he was up against the wall, he kicked off of it and launched a flurry of his own; he seemed to be trying to strike the General from every direction all at once. The more he moved, the more the General became certain that he was, in fact, the very sort of witch that the legends described. No other creature, human or otherwise, could move like a spider, a monkey, and a snake combined. Underneath the spells and magic, the man was just a common thug; it showed in his fighting and in his speech. But with such terrible power to back up feckless brutality . . .

  The General was forced to retreat again, cutting and slashing to keep the old man at bay, but never striking flesh. This dance could not be kept up forever; even with the General’s prowess and the Jade Emperor’s Whisper, a misstep could be made and the beast would be upon him. The shadow souls were starting to come free from the walls; one actually grazed the back of the General’s coveralls with unearthly cold claws, ripping the fabric and barely missing flesh. The General countered with a backhanded cut, expecting nothing—but the jian met with resistance and a horrible wail as the shadow’s hand fell away and melted into the ground. What was most interesting was the scream that the old man gave; he stumbled, his eyes growing wide as he looked past the General. Oh. Aha. Now I have you, old man. The sword itself, Jade Emperor’s Whisper, was the secret to killing the shadows. It was divine, and could slay them, magic to magic. Nothing less would touch them.

  “How in the hell?” the old man sputtered, shock evident in his tone. The General quickly turned his back to the old man. The Jade Emperor’s Whisper knew the taste of these abominations, and wanted more. The sword blurred against the background as the General did an entirely different dance; pieces of shadow lay scattered on the floor as he cut through them. More sprang into place, trying to overwhelm the General, but this was trivial. The General knew Jade Emperor’s Whisper could hurt them, and there was nothing more perfect than the General with his sword in hand.

  “What are you doing? You—stop, goddammit!” He came at the General again, another lazy blow with those brass knuckles. But it was slower this time. The General scored the old man’s arm at last, sending a thin stream of blood to splatter on the ground; it didn’t melt away like the shadows.

  “No. No. No no no!” He backed away from her like a wounded animal, cradling his arm. “You can’t do this!” The shadows all surged forth again, and the General went through them, rending them asunder with the Jade Emperor’s Whisper as easily as if they were grain and he was a sturdy peasant with a freshly sharpened sickle in hand. With each one that the General cut down, the old man seemed to shrink in on himself. He couldn’t hold himself up as high, couldn’t stand straight, and finally couldn’t stand at all. As the General cut the last shadow soul in half, the old man crumpled to the floor. The room had brightened considerably; with the evil the old man had wreathed himself in gone, the light of the fading sun made itself known once again. With an effort, the man raised himself up off of the floor. The General casually walked towards him, spearing him through the chest with the tip of Jade Emperor’s Whisper. His face contorted in surprised agony, and he slid off of the sword point before hitting the ground with a soft thud.

  “They’re—they’re all gone now. My slaves, my—my power. Gone, gone again, just like everything. Everything . . . gets worse, everything becomes broken. Everything—it goes to hell.”

  “I believe Jade Emperor’s Whisper shall send you to a very special hell,” Shen Xue said thoughtfully. “The Chinese have a great many hells. Which one shall it be, I wonder? Dismemberment? Crushing? Boiling? There are many kinds involving fire or cold . . . oh, and blood. And the removal of body parts.”

  The old man’s life was bleeding out through his chest. He had minutes, at best. “I’m going to be remembered, bitch. E-everything I’ve done, all the people I killed—they’ll know me where I’m going.” He coughed, producing more dark blood. He looked much as he had when the General first saw him: frail, small, broken. “They called me Shadow-Storm. B-but—my name . . . my name is—”

  With a flick of Jade Emperor’s Whisper, the General opened his throat, drowning his words in his lifeblood. “No one knows your name, old fool. No one will. And no one cares, except maybe the demons you will meet.” The old man’s eyes bulged, and a single wisp of shadow extended from his fingers before he collapsed, still wide-eyed and in agony but finally dead.

  The General left the old Victorian house in the same way he had entered: boldly and through the front door.

  * * *

  Verdigris was surprised when People’s Blade actually notified his receptionist that she—he, the General referred to himself as a male—was coming. Granted, she brushed aside any attempts to keep her out, and strolled straight in as if she’d had an appointment, but at least she stopped at the desk first.

  She swaggered to stand in front of Verd’s desk, and looked down her nose at him. “I have, as you barbarians say, ‘good news and bad news.’ Which would you prefer first?”

  “In my experience there’s not always that much of a difference between the two, depending on one’s perspective. The good news.” He gestured for the General to take a seat in one of the hand-crafted leather chairs.

  People’s Blade remained standing. “The good news: Shadow-Storm is no longer a threat to anyone. He was disinclined even to consider negotiation, so in the interest of removing a potential hazard, I eliminated him.” She considered the nails on one hand. “That is the bad news; I was forced to eliminate him, even though I approached him peaceably and attempted to recruit.” She was intentionally leaving something unsaid there; Verdigris knew better than to fall into such an obvious trap, though, deciding to use a different tack.

  “How did you dispose of him? Anything that I have to worry about making the papers?” He kept his face and voice calm, as if this was merely a cleanup detail. Never show your cards if you can help it.

  “Please. How do you think?” There was a distinct edge to her voice.

  “You’re a person of many . . . talents. Your cutting wit may have done him in, my dear.” He allowed himself a smirk.

  She glared at him. “You neglected to tell me much about this target. Your primary neglect was to tell me that his power derived from magic.”

  “Magic? Impossible, General. Surely it was something else; sufficient technology appears magical at first glance. I should know, I’ve made some things that would qualify as magic to the uninitiat—”

  The General cut him off with an abrupt gesture. “You are a barbarian. You do not know the power of magic. This is why none of those technologists were able to defeat him, and I was. You would be wise to listen to one who is an expert . . . fool. If you wish my alliance, there will be no more nonsense about how impossible magic is.”

  “I—”

  “And nothing will be kept from me from now on. No more games. No more tests. If more nonsense follows this episode, our arrangement will be ended. With finality.” The General’s glare gave ample warning of just what she meant.

  Ver
digris cooled immediately, his face hardening into a rock. “Understood. General, I have something very important for you. This will be a long-term project and a vital target, and one I suspect only you have the ability to accomplish. I’ll send for you when I have a proper file updated.”

  People’s Blade raised an eyebrow. “Really. What, do you have a god in your sights as a possible recruit? Nothing less is worthy of my time.”

  “Not a recruit. That’s been tried. You know the value of weapons. I mean to steal one. Whether or not she wants to be stolen.”

  * * *

  Khanjar was listening, from the spy post, and her frown deepened. This . . . was stupid. There was no other word for it. Bad enough that Verdigris was dealing with the General—Khanjar had done some information-seeking on her own and knew what the creature called People’s Blade was, or at least what she had said she was to the communists. That sword she carried—Jade Emperor’s Whisper—was supposed to be divine, forged by the order of the Jade Emperor, the chief of all the Chinese deities. That was bad enough, but to make things worse, it contained the soul of Shen Xue, an ancient Chinese general, one of the most ruthless leaders ever to walk the earth, a man who would spend the lives of hundreds of thousands—enemies, noncombatants, or his own men—to accomplish his goals. Not that Khanjar objected to this level of bloodshed in principle, but in practice, in this day and age . . . it was injudicious and tended to get the attention of other people with armies.

  Allegedly, the General had only served as the advisor to the blade’s “owner,” Fei Li, a peasant thief girl. But given the way that People’s Blade had been acting . . . Khanjar was relatively certain now that Fei Li was no longer in possession of her own body. The General was in charge now, and given his nature, he was unlikely to hand the body back until he had accomplished whatever his current goal was. Perhaps not even then.