1163rd Year of Blaze’s Slumber

  105th Year of the Nazalam Empire

  9th Year of Empress Lasean’s Rule

  Taterztayl glared at Uiscejacques. ‘Furbolt is insane,’ she pronounced. ‘That edge to him was always there, but he’s chewed holes in his own Warennes and he’s tasting Disorder. Worse yet, it’s making him more powerful, more dangerous.’

  They had gathered in Taterztayl’s quarters, which consisted of an outer room — where they now sat – and a bedroom with the rare luxury of a solid wood door. The past occupants had hastily stripped the place of anything valuable and portable, leaving behind only the larger pieces of furniture. Taterztayl sat at the table, along with Uiscejacques, Swift Nevis and Aqida, and the sapper named Piper. The air in the room had grown hot, stifling.

  ‘Of course he’s insane,’ Swift Nevis replied, looking at his sergeant, whose face remained impassive. The wizard hastily added, ‘But that’s to be expected. Bache’s tail, lady, he’s got the body of a puppet! Of course that’s twisted him.’

  ‘How twisted?’ Uiscejacques asked his wizard. ‘He’s supposed to be watching our backs, isn’t he?’

  Aqida said, ‘Swift’s got him under control. Furbolt’s backtracking, working through the maze – he’ll find out who in the Empire wants us dead.’

  ‘The danger,’ Swift Nevis added, rounding on Taterztayl, ‘is his being detected. He needs to slip through the Warennes the unconventional way – the regular paths are all trip-wired.’

  Taterztayl mulled over that point, then nodded. ‘Tynell would find him, or at least catch wind that someone is sniffing around. But Furbolt’s using the power of Disorder, the paths that lie between Warennes, and that’s unhealthy – not just for him, but for all of us.’

  ‘Why all of us?’ Uiscejacques asked.

  Swift Nevis answered, ‘It weakens the Warennes, frays the fabric, which in turns allows Furbolt to break into them at will… and out again. But we have no choice. We have to give Furbolt his rope. For now.’

  The sorceress sighed, massaging her brow. ‘Tynell’s the one you’re looking for. I’ve already told you—’

  ‘That’s not good enough,’ Swift Nevis cut in. ‘How many agents is he using? What are the details of the plan – what the hell is the plan? Is all this on Lasean’s orders, or is the Leading Sorcerer eyeing the throne for himself? We need to know, dammit!’

  ‘All right, all right,’ Taterztayl said. ‘So Furbolt unravels the whole thing for you – then what? Do you intend to try to kill Tynell and everyone else involved? Are you counting on my help?’ She looked from one face to the next. Each revealed nothing. Anger flared and she rose. ‘I know,’ she said stiffly, ‘that Tynell probably murdered A’bsi, Darknip, and my cadre. He probably knew your tunnels would collapse around you, and he might well have decided that Drin’s Second was a threat that needed culling. But if you think I’m going to help you without knowing what you’re planning, you’re mistaken. There’s more to all this than you’re willing to tell me. If it was just your survival at stake, why don’t you just desert? I doubt Drin would chase you down. Unless, of course, Tynell’s suspicions about Firstbranch and the Second are grounded in truth – you’ve plans for a mutiny, proclaiming Drin Emperor and marching off to Puerlos.’ She paused, looking from one man to the next. ‘Has Tynell simply anticipated you, thereby fouling up your plans? Am I being pulled into a conspiracy? If I am, then I have to know its eventual goals. I have that right, don’t I?’

  Uiscejacques grunted, then reached for the jug of wine standing on the table. He refilled everyone’s cup.

  Swift Nevis let out a long breath, then rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Taterztayl,’ he said quietly, ‘we’re not going to challenge Tynell directly. That would be suicide. No, we’ll cut away his support, carefully, with precision, then we arrange his … fall from grace. Assuming the Empress is not involved. But we need to know more, we need those answers before we can decide our options. You don’t have to get any more involved than you already are. In fact, it’s safer that way. Furbolt wants you to protect his back, failing every other option. Chances are, that won’t be necessary.’ He looked up and gave her a strained smile. ‘Leave Tynell to me and Aqida.’

  All very well, but you didn’t answer me. Taterztayl looked at the other black-skinned man, her eyes narrowing. ‘You were a Talon once, weren’t you?’

  Aqida shrugged.

  ‘I thought no one could leave – alive.’

  He shrugged again.

  The sapper, Piper, growled something incomprehensible and rose from his chair. He began pacing, his bandied legs carrying him from one wall to the next, like a fox in a pit. No one paid him any further attention.

  Uiscejacques handed a cup to Taterztayl. ‘Stay with us in this, Sorceress. Swift Nevis doesn’t usually foul things … too badly.’ He made a sour face. ‘I admit, I’m not completely convinced either, but I’ve learned to trust him. You can take that for whatever it’s worth.’

  Taterztayl took a deep draught of wine. She wiped her lips. ‘Your squad’s heading to Matlabistan tonight. Covert, which means I won’t be able to communicate with you if the situation turns bad.’

  ‘Tynell would detect the usual ways,’ Swift Nevis said. ‘Furbolt’s our only unbreachable link – you reach us through him, Taterztayl.’

  Uiscejacques eyed the sorceress. ‘Back to Furbolt. You don’t trust him.’

  ‘No.’

  The sergeant fell silent, his gaze fixed on the tabletop. His impassive expression fell away, revealing a war of emotions.

  He keeps his world bottled up, but the pressure’s building. She wondered what would happen when everything broke loose inside him.

  The two Seven Metropolises men waited, eyes on their sergeant. Only Piper continued his preoccupied pacing. The sapper’s mismatched uniform still carried the stains of the tunnels. Someone else’s blood had splashed thickly on the front of his tunic – as if a friend had died in his arms. Poorly healed blisters showed under the uneven bristle of his cheeks and jaw, and his lank red hair hung haphazardly beneath his leather helmet.

  A long minute passed, then the sergeant nodded sharply to himself. His hard eyes still fixed on the tabletop, he said, ‘All right, Sorceress. We’ll give you this. Swift Nevis, tell her about Sorrowful.’

  Taterztayl’s brows rose. She crossed her arms and faced the wizard.

  Swift Nevis looked none too pleased. He shifted uneasily and cast a hopeful glance at Aqida, but the big man looked away.

  Uiscejacques growled, ‘Now, Wizard.’

  Swift Nevis met Taterztayl’s steady gaze with an almost childlike expression – fear, guilt and chagrin flitted across his fine features. ‘You remember her?’

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She barked a harsh laugh. ‘Not an easy one to forget. An odd … sense … about her. Dangerous.’ She thought about revealing what she’d learned during her Fetid with Tynell. Newborn of Dying. But something held her back. No, she corrected herself, not just something – I still don’t trust them. ‘You suspect she’s in the service of someone else?’

  The wizard’s face was ashen. He cleared his throat. ‘She was recruited two years ago in Nvse Ken, one of the usual sweeps across the Empire’s heartland.’

  Aqida’s voice rumbled beside her. ‘Something ugly happened there at around the same time. It’s been buried pretty deep, but the Supplement became involved, and a Talon came in her wake and silenced damn near everyone in the city guard who might have talked. I made use of old sources, scrounged up some odd details.’

  ‘Odd,’ Swift Nevis said, ‘and revealing, if you know what you’re looking for.’

  Taterztayl smiled to herself. These two men had a way of talking in tandem. She returned her attention to the wizard, who continued.

  ‘Seems a company of cavalry hit some hard luck. No survivors. As for what they ran into, it had something to do with—’

  ‘Dogs,’ Aqida finished without missing a beat.

  The sorceress frowned at the assassin.

  ‘Put it together,’ Swift Nevis said, drawing her attention once again. ‘Supplement Loren is Lasean’s personal mage-killer. Her arrival on the scene suggests sorcery was involved in the massacre. High sorcery.’ The wizard’s gaze narrowed on Taterztayl and he waited.

  She swallowed another mouthful of wine. The Fetid showed me. Dogs and sorcery. Into her mind returned the image of the String as she had seen it in the reading. Tall House Black, ruled by Blackrule and the String, and in their service – ‘The Seven Canines of Black.’ She looked to Uiscejacques but the sergeant’s eyes remained downcast, his expression blank as stone.

  ‘Good,’ Swift Nevis snapped, somewhat impatiently. ‘The Canines hunted. That’s our guess, but it’s a good one. The Nineteenth Regiment of the Eighth Cavalry were all killed, even their horses. A league’s worth of coastline settlements needed repopulating.’

  ‘Fine.’ Taterztayl sighed. ‘But what does this have to do with Sorrowful?’

  The wizard turned away and Aqida spoke. ‘Furbolt’s going to follow more than just one trail, Sorceress. We’re pretty sure Sorrowful is somehow involved with House Black …’

  ‘It certainly seems,’ Taterztayl said, ‘that since its arrival in the Pack and the opening of its Warenne, Black’s path crosses the Empire’s far too often to be accidental. Why should the Warenne between White and Black display such … obsession with the Nazalam Empire?’

  Aqida’s gaze was veiled. ‘Odd, isn’t it? After all, the Warenne only appeared following the Emperor’s assassination at Lasean’s hand. Blackrule and his companion the Sponsor of Assassins – Quadrille – were unheard of before Kili and Hoofer’s deaths. It also seems that whatever … disagreement there is between House Black and Empress Lasean is, uhm, personal…’

  Taterztayl closed her eyes. Dammit, it’s that obvious, isn’t it? ‘Swift Nevis,’ she said, ‘hasn’t there always been an accessible Warenne of Black? Nashar, the Warenne of Hallucinations?’

  ‘Nashar is a false Warenne, Sorceress. A shadow of what it claims to represent, if you’ll excuse my wording. It is itself an illusion. The gods alone know where it came from, or who created it in the first place, or even why. But the true Warenne of Black has been closed, inaccessible for millennia, until the 1154th year of Blaze’s Slumber, nine years ago. The earliest writings of House Black seemed to indicate that its throne was occupied by a Cest Snow—’

  ‘Cest Snow?’ Taterztayl interrupted. ‘Who were they?’

  The wizard shrugged. ‘Cousins of the Cest Velle? I don’t know, Sorceress.’

  You don’t know? Actually, it seems you know a hell of a lot.

  Swift Nevis shrugged to punctuate his last words, then he added, ‘In any case, we believe Sorrowful is connected with House Black.’

  Uiscejacques startled everyone by surging to his feet. ‘I’m not convinced,’ he said, throwing Swift Nevis a glare that told Taterztayl there had been countless arguments over this issue. ‘Sorrowful likes killing, and having her around is like having spiders down your shirt. I know all that, I can see it and feel it the same as any of you. It doesn’t mean she’s some kind of demon.’ He turned to face Aqida. ‘She kills like you do, Aqida. You’ve both got ice in your veins. So what? I look at you and I see a man because that’s what men are capable of – I don’t hunt for excuses because I don’t like to think that that’s how nasty we can get. We look at Sorrowful and we see reflections of ourselves. Cowl take it, if we don’t like what we see.’

  He sat down just as abruptly as he had risen, and reached for the wine jug. When he continued his voice had dropped a notch. ‘That is my opinion, anyway. I’m no expert on demons but I’ve seen enough mortal men and women act like demons, given the need. My squad’s wizard is scared witless by a fifteen-year-old girl. My assassin slips a knife into his palm whenever she’s within twenty paces of him.’ He met Taterztayl’s eyes. ‘So, Furbolt has two missions instead of one, and if you think Swift Nevis and Aqida are correct in their suspicions you can walk from all this – I know how things go when gods step into the fray.’ The lines around his eyes tightened momentarily, a replaying of memories. ‘I know,’ he whispered.

  Taterztayl slowly let out her breath, which she had been holding since the sergeant first rose to his feet. His needs were clear to her now: he wanted Sorrowful to be just human, just a girl twisted hard by a hard world. Because that was something he understood, something he could deal with. ‘Back in Seven Metropolises,’ she said quietly, ‘the story goes that the Emperor’s First Blade – his commander of his armies – Taysom Ultrix, had accepted a god’s offer. Cowl made Taysom his Chevalier of Death. Then something happened, something went … wrong. And Taysom renounced the title, swore a vow of vengeance against Cowl – against the Master of Death himself. All at once other Risers started meddling, manipulating events. It all culminated with Taysom’s murder, then the Emperor’s assassination, and blood in the streets, temples at war, sorceries unleashed.’ She paused, seeing the memories of those times reflected in Uiscejacques’s face. ‘You were there.’ And you don’t want it to happen again, here and now. You think if you can deny that Sorrowful serves Black your conviction will be enough to shape reality. You need to believe that to save your sanity, because there are some things in life that you can go through only once. Oh, Uiscejacques, I can’t ease your burden. You see, I think Swift Nevis and Aqida are right. ‘If Black has claimed the girl, the trail will be evident – Furbolt will find it.’

  ‘Do you walk away from this?’ the sergeant asked.

  Taterztayl smiled. ‘The only death I fear is dying ignorant. No, is my answer.’ Brave words, woman. These people have a way of bringing out the best – or maybe the worst – in me.

  Something glittered in Uiscejacques’s eyes, and he nodded. ‘So that’s that,’ he said gruffly. He leaned back. ‘What’s on your mind, Piper?’ he asked the sapper, who was still pacing behind him.

  ‘Got a bad feeling,’ the man muttered. ‘Something’s wrong. Not here, though, but close by. It’s just—’ He stopped, cocking his head, then he sighed, resuming his uneasy walk. ‘Not sure, not sure.’

  Taterztayl’s eyes followed the wiry little man. A natural talent? Something working on pure instinct? Very rare. ‘I think you should listen to him,’ she said.

  Uiscejacques gave her a pained look.

  Aqida grinned, a network of lines wrinkling around his dark eyes. ‘Piper saved our lives in the tunnel,’ he explained. ‘One of his bad feelings.’

  Taterztayl leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. She asked, ‘So where is Sorrowful right now?’

  Piper whirled, his eyes widening on the sorceress. His mouth opened, then snapped shut again.

  The other three surged to their feet, chairs toppling backwards.

  ‘We’ve got to get going,’ Piper grated. ‘There’s a knife out there, and it’s got blood on it.’

  Uiscejacques checked his longsword. ‘Aqida, out front twenty paces.’ He faced Taterztayl as the assassin slipped out. ‘We lost her a couple of hours ago. Happens a lot between missions.’ His face looked drawn. ‘There may be no connection with this bloodied knife.’

  A blossoming of power filled the room and Taterztayl spun to face Swift Nevis. The wizard had accessed his Warenne. The sorcery bled a strange, swirling flavour that she could not recognize, and it frightened her with its intensity. She met the black man’s shining eyes. ‘I should know you,’ she whispered. ‘There’s not enough true masters in this world for me to not know you. Who are you, Swift Nevis?’

  Uiscejacques interjected, ‘Everyone ready?’

  The wizard’s only answer to Taterztayl was a shrug. To Uiscejacques he said, ‘Ready.’

  The sergeant strode to the door. ‘Take care, Sorceress.’

  A moment later they were gone. Taterztayl righted the chairs, then refilled her goblet with wine. Tall House Black, and a knife in the dark. A new game’s begun, or the old one’s just turned.