Starlight(Pact Arcanum 4)

by Arshad Ahsanuddin

  Nick stared in amazement at the space where the barrier had stood. “It wasn’t me. They dropped it themselves.”

  Ghian scowled. “Trap?”

  Nick let Reaper fade and drew his usual sword again. “Looks like it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We reach the repository through the Council Chamber. Time to finish this.” Ghian waved the vanguard of their forces forward.

  The Night’s Herald appeared in front of them from behind a shroud of invisibility. He lifted the white flag he carried as the Armistice Security forces raised their weapons. He faced Nick. “Nicholas Magister Luscian. Imperator Vladimir would speak to you privately as a senior member of the Court of Shadows.”

  Nick laughed. “I’m sure. I have nothing to say to the Imperator.”

  “But he has something to say to you. If you do not meet with him today, then he will simply leave, and you will never have another chance to face the man who killed your mate.”

  Nick paled, his knuckles whitening on the grip of his sword.

  Ghian took in Nick’s ashen face and grabbed the Daywalker’s arm. “He’ll die anyway once we destroy the depot. This is a trap. You know that.”

  Nick shook off his hand. “Like you said, it doesn’t matter.” He walked forward to stand in front of the Night’s Herald. “Take me to Vladimir.”

  “No,” said Ghian. He motioned to several of his soldiers. “You’re not going alone.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care what happens to me?”

  “I don’t,” answered Ghian. He looked at the Herald. “But our forces can take the repository without us, and I have a few words to say to the Huntmaster as well, about how William manipulated me into sending Lorcan in there alone.”

  The Night’s Herald regarded him with distaste. “Your prejudices made it a relatively easy task, Archangel. Razheel merely told you what you wanted to hear.” He studied Nick. “I’m told you killed her.”

  Nick snorted. “Yes, I did.”

  “Did she suffer?”

  “Yes.”

  The Herald’s expression was unreadable. “She was my mate.”

  Nick glared at him. “Did you help kill Ruarc?”

  The Herald nodded. “I let Vladimir into the bloodwine depot, once it became clear that Imperator Lorcan intended to betray his oath.”

  “He was trying to save your people, you stupid bastard.”

  “Perhaps,” said the Herald. He sighed. “So much death. Perhaps it’s time after all.”

  Ghian stared at him in suspicion. “Time for what?”

  “To make an end.” The Herald turned away. “Follow me please.”

  Nick, Ghian, and a company of their soldiers followed the Herald into the antechamber. The large room was packed with Nightwalker soldiers, leaving only a cleared aisle leading to the entrance of the Council Chamber itself.

  The Herald led them into the Chamber, a wide underground amphitheater with a brightly inlaid dome showing the rune and serpent seal of the Court of Shadows. The stands were only half-full, a testament to the decimation of the Nightwalker ranks by the Harbinger plague. Nick, Ghian, and the Herald walked down the wide stairs to the combat circle at the base, the Armistice soldiers bringing up the rear. The click of their heels on the cold stone was the only sound as the remaining Magisters watched them with silent hatred.

  Nick walked to the Challenger’s lectern, never taking his eyes off Vladimir, who stood before the high table with sword unsheathed and ready. “Imperator Vladimir, I am informed that you have something to say to me.”

  Vladimir smiled showing the points of his fangs. “I do. Nicholas Magister Luscian, you have no honor.”

  Nick burst into laughter. “That’s it? I would have killed you anyway.”

  Vladimir’s expression remained haughty. “If you kill me, then the Court has been instructed to offer you the office of Huntmaster.”

  Nick stopped laughing, his expression blank. “What?”

  “The Night’s Herald will explain if I fall.” He hefted his sword. “But I do not intend to die today.”

  Nick scowled. “I don’t care what you have planned, but I am not part of it. I came to kill you, nothing more, nothing less.”

  Vladimir chuckled, his eyes bright red with scorn. “And I intend to deprive the Redeemer of another lover.”

  Nick stared at him for a long moment. “I accept your challenge.”

  “Shall we settle this here and now?”

  “Here and now is fine with me.”

  The Herald strode forward and picked up the Champion’s lectern, and then carried it outside the combat circle.

  Nick picked up the Challenger’s lectern and threw it into the stands while the Magisters scrambled to get out of the way. He raised his arms. “Two have entered.” A wall of flames spread out behind him.

  Vladimir lifted his arms in turn. “One will leave.” Fire blossomed behind him, completing the spell and sealing them both inside. The Huntmaster raised his sword and gave Nick a triumphant grin. “Now, we shall see—”

  That was as far as he got before Nick raised his hand and conjured Reaper into being, already in flight at the forefront of a telekinetic pulse.

  Vladimir stared down at the black blade buried in his chest, and fell to his knees as his legs gave out. He clawed at the hilt in an effort to dislodge it, but by then Nick had crossed the distance between them.

  Nick grasped a fistful of Vladimir’s hair and jerked the Nightwalker’s head backward so that Vladimir’s eyes met his gaze. Then, not breaking eye contact, he laid the blade of his mundane sword against Vladimir’s neck. “Nothing more, nothing less,” said Nick softly, and forced the spell-sharpened steel through sinew and bone to cut Vladimir’s head from his body.

  The runes on Reaper’s blade flared white, and another voice joined the screaming in his mind from the Crown of Souls. Nick tuned it out mechanically. A fragment of conversation drifted up from his memory. I swore to myself that I would never draw the sword, that there was nothing in the world that would ever justify using it.

  Nick pushed away his own damning words to focus on the present. He sheathed his sword and drew Reaper out of the dead body’s chest. He faced the Herald as the containment circle dissipated.

  The Herald reached into his coat and pulled out a scroll of heavy parchment. He held it out to Nick. “This should explain everything.”

  Nick glared at him, then snatched the scroll out of his hand and broke the red wax seal, which was impressed with the rune and serpent symbol of the Court. Unrolling it with his left hand to keep his sword arm free, he read the precisely drawn Arcolin pictograms.

  To Nicholas Magister Luscian, called Soulkiller’s Bane, the Prince of Thunder:

  If you are reading this letter, then I have failed to kill you. That is unfortunate, but you may be a more receptive audience for what I have to say than the Archangel, so at least my death has had purpose. I call upon you, as a senior member of the Court, to perform one final service to the Nightwalker race before your Harbinger plague wipes us out entirely. I make this request, despite my better judgment and my desire to see you destroyed, in the name of my predecessor, Imperator Lorcan Magister Diluthical.

  As our annihilation is now inevitable, I have ordered the curators of our memory records to transcribe their testimony onto crystals for permanent storage. In this, we hope to preserve a portion of the knowledge that we have retained throughout history since the end of the First Age. The memory crystal archive will be the conclusive historical record that we existed, the remnant of what we were that may yet survive us. But this effort will take time. To buy that time, our historians must have access to the bloodwine repository to sustain themselves and their witnesses long enough to finish their work.

  The central stockpile of bloodwine lies before you. You may try to destroy it, in which case our remaining soldiers will fight to their last breath to stop you. Or you may accept the authority of Imperator and add your might to our defens
es until the memory archive is completed.

  You must choose whether to let your vengeance die with me and to preserve the legacy that Lorcan Magister Diluthical gave his life to protect, or to take your ultimate measure of revenge.

  Either way, know that I despise you and everything Lorcan stood for. Only the honor of the office of Huntmaster compels me to act in the best interests of my race and make this final appeal.

  The decision of how to proceed is yours.

  Set and done over my seal and signature, Imperator Vladimir Magister Talizered, called the Prince of Torment, in the year 93 of the Fifth Council, in the Third and Final Age of the Court of Shadows.

  Nick let the parchment roll back up. He handed the scroll to Ghian and turned his attention to the Herald. “He can’t be serious.”

  The Herald met his stare impassively. “If you like, I can show you the portion of the memory archive that is ready for viewing. If possible, we would have used the mind-transfer technology we received from the Nexus, but we don’t have the resources to manufacture enough neurochip implants to save more than a handful of the best of us. Our race is poised on the brink of extinction. All we ask for is time to save what we can.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Ghian. He crumpled the letter in his fist. “That repository is the key to ending the war.”

  The Herald snarled, showing his fangs, and a dozen Inquisitors appeared from behind shrouds of invisibility, surrounding them. “Then my men will escort you back to the lines. You will have to kill us all to take the repository.”

  Ghian laughed. “Then we will kill you all.”

  “No,” said Nick.

  Ghian and the Herald both turned to stare at him.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’? This is what we came for!” demanded Ghian.

  “It’s what you came for,” said Nick. In his mind, he heard the words again. I swore to myself that I would never draw the sword, that there was nothing in the world that would ever justify using it.“A battle, I could accept. But this is committing outright genocide for the sake of a few months, without changing the outcome. The Nightwalker race is dying. We can give them a little time to settle their affairs.”

  “Like hell we can!” said Ghian, raising his sword and taking a step toward Nick. Then he stopped as all of the Nightwalkers in the room drew their swords.

  The Herald faced Nick. “What are your orders, Imperator?”

  “Escort the Archangel back to his forces and then reestablish the perimeter ward around the Council Chamber and the bloodwine depository. I’ll augment it when you’re done to make it impenetrable.” Nick looked at Ghian. “I want your garrison out of Sanctuary by sunset.”

  Ghian sputtered in fury. “You turn traitor on me, and then expect me to give you one of my cities?”

  Nick shook his head. “My city, your garrison. If you try to order your soldiers to take over Sanctuary, my people have already been instructed to execute the lot of them: a final contingency plan, in case you decided to overstep your bounds. You want to avoid a bloodbath? Then you get them out of there. I’ll contact you if and when I want to normalize relations between Sanctuary and the Armistice.” Nick faced the Herald. “Do you swear upon your honor that everything in Vladimir’s letter is true?”

  The Herald nodded. “I do.”

  “Then take him away.”

  The Herald gestured his Inquisitors forward, and they quickly disarmed Ghian and his soldiers. Then he had them escorted out, Ghian screaming incoherently at Nick.

  Nick watched them leave, and then subvocalized to his AI. “Animikii.”

  “Nicholas. You do make life interesting.”

  “I try. Put me through to Sanctuary Control.”

  “Channel open.”

  “Sanctuary Control, this is Nicholas Magister Luscian, authorization Luscian-two-zero-nine-four, authentication keyword ‘Ragnarok’. I am withdrawing from High Council authority and seceding from the Armistice. The other terms of the Armistice Declaration are to remain in force. Instruct the city militia to take all necessary measures to secure the city from attack.”

  “Confirmed. Isolation protocols initiated.”

  “Connect me to the Speaker for the Word.”

  “Stand by. Speaker Sean’s locator beacon places him off-world. I am re-routing your call through the FTL uplink.”

  Nick was about to ask what Rory was doing off-world, when a virtual screen opened up before them, showing a flickering view of a red-lit room filled with wounded. Rory looked up from the man he was tending and smiled. “I knew you’d make it.”

  Nick grinned. “Vladimir is dead.”

  “Good riddance.” Rory frowned at the Herald. “Is there any reason he’s still walking around?”

  “Change of plans. Ghian and I had a falling out. He’s leaving. I’m staying.”

  Rory stared at him. “You’re staying. At the Court.”

  “Long story.”

  “I’ll bet.” Rory looked around at the makeshift infirmary. “I’ve got one, too. Are you keeping Sanctuary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll meet you there as soon as the Singularity makes it back to Cassandra Station and offloads casualties.”

  Nick raised his eyebrows. “Do I want to know?”

  “Not right now. It would just raise your blood pressure. Tony and Raf managed to get communications online, but the external sensor array is fried. Cassandra is sending us something they’ve cobbled together that will give us enough data to navigate. They seem confident that we should be able to plot a course back to dock eventually.”

  “Would you be willing to offer the Grace to a bunch of historians, so they can live long enough to finish recording the memories of the remaining Nightwalkers for posterity?”

  Nick watched his lover work through the implications of that request in his mind.

  “I’d be happy to. I imagine I’ll be working out of Sanctuary instead of Icehaven from now on, if there are refugees from the Court seeking the Grace in addition to our remaining Nightwalkers.”

  “I think there’ll be a lot of people who are going to take you up on that.”

  “Right. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

  “Tonight.”

  The virtual screen winked out. Nick faced the Herald. “Your name is Eduardo, right?”

  The Herald frowned. “I am the Night’s Herald. I have no other identity.”

  “The Night’s Herald killed my mate. He’s a dead man. But to carry on Lorcan’s work, I need the resources of the Inquisition. Honor demands that I kill the Herald. I don’t have to kill Eduardo, yet.”

  The Herald looked like he had swallowed something sour. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, my name is Eduardo.”

  “Start assembling your historians and those of your people who are willing to take the oath and become Daywalkers. We’ll send them to Sanctuary as soon as I have Rory set up there.”

  The Herald hesitated.

  “Was there something else?”

  “Why did you change your mind about helping us?”

  Nick glared at him. “You asked to save what you could. That’s what Ruarc wanted as well. For his sake, you can have as much time as I can buy you. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Then get moving and stop asking stupid questions.”

  “As you wish, Imperator.”

  CHAPTER 49

  April 2143; Sanctuary, French Alps; three months later

  Nick stood at the edge of the landing pad and watched the sleek little vessel touch down in the early twilight. A few minutes later, the boarding ladder dropped from the belly of the ship. Antonio, Rafael, and Rory climbed down to the tarmac. As they walked toward Nick, the dockworkers swarmed over the ship, opening the cargo bays and transferring the contents to the waiting antigravity sleds.

  Nick waited until they reached him before he took three long steps forward and wrapped his arms around Rory. “Hey, beautiful.”

  Rory laughed as he re
turned the embrace. “It’s only been a week since I was here last, Nick.”

  Nick laid his head on Rory’s shoulder. “It felt longer. I kept thinking Ghian would find some way to stop you from leaving.”

  Rory smiled and reached up to run his fingers gently through his lover’s hair. “Why bother? I’m almost obsolete as the Redeemer, given how few Nightwalkers are left, and Nemesis will be a better Speaker for the Word than I ever was. The world has finally decided to leave us alone.”

  Nick let go of him and straightened. He glanced at Antonio and Rafael, who were watching with amusement. “Nice ship. Is it a rental?”

  Antonio shook his head. “No, I bought it.”

  Rafael chuckled at Nick’s surprise. “He paid cash, too.”

  Nick stared at the jumpship. “That’s a top-of-the-line diplomatic courier, built for speed and maneuverability in emergencies. They cost as much to build as a small space station. How the hell could you afford it?”

  Antonio looked embarrassed. “The Guild pays starship captains extremely well, not to mention the hazard bonus. It’s small change.”

  Nick frowned. “I could feed and clothe the entire city for what you’re calling small change, boy.”

  Antonio sobered. “Has finance been an issue?”

  Nick shrugged. “Somewhat. I’ve been paying out of pocket for the upkeep of the city, and my net worth took a hit when Ghian confiscated my assets within the Armistice Zone. It’s taking time to build new lines of supply with the humans—and what’s left of the Court—now that we’re frozen out of Armistice trading partners. My personal fortune should last long enough to keep the city functioning until it becomes self-sufficient again.”

  “Um, Uncle, I could, uh, float you a loan, if you like.”

  Nick glared at his nephew, and then sighed. “Pride doesn’t score me any points with my citizens. I’ll take what you can spare, on a temporary basis. Emphasis on temporary.”

  Antonio nodded, looking intensely uncomfortable. “Sure. I’ll set it up in the morning.”

  Nick turned away and looped his arm around Rory’s as he led them to the teleport gateway. “Come on, let’s go home. Interplanetary moves are a pain. Trust me, I know. You’ll want to rest up before starting on the unpacking.”