The influx of now homeless, frightened people who were kept just outside of Crow Post was adrift with rumors of Wolfshadow cult raids, and mass murders, and missing children. It was difficult enough to keep the peace and treat the wounded without the citizens of Laurel picking fights with the people of Dry Port, or the upper classes of Cressen provoking others with their accusations of alliances with the dreadful cult. And to make matters worse, the Enforcers had not stepped in, as was their sworn duty. The people had no protection.
The supplies were dwindling fast, and with so many people who were in such close quarters, disease could break out among them and spread quickly. It would turn the already terrible situation into a dire one. And it was never spoken aloud, but there was a thick apprehension among them all because the people of Cyan were not counted among these fortunate survivors.
In the meantime, John imagined very few of the leaders who were at the meeting truly knew how close they all were to disaster. He'd returned to this mess, and when he'd seen the state Crow Post was in, he'd immediately begun to snap orders to help ensure that chaos would not erupt. Then he'd advised the posted doctor here to call this meeting to order. There was a lot to discuss, and there was a lot more to do — and it all needed doing before the fast-approaching spring rains flooded the basin to the north. Before those rains turned heavier and overcame the roads and began to wash them away again this year. These people could not be allowed to idle until the waters trapped them here. It would end badly for everyone.
The meeting itself started very well, and everything went according to the agenda they had set . . . until the lead mortician, Dr. Ellie Mae, stepped in.
"I don't know what has come over your daughter," said Ellie Mae as she stormed inside, her fist clenched tightly about a small leather purse. "First, that hair-raising screaming of hers in the night, waking me out of a dead sleep next door. And then that bloody, creepy song that sent those poor mourning mothers into hysterics after the deaths of their children. Now these." There was a clinking sound as Ellie Mae emptied the small leather pouch onto the table. Six jaggedly broken, glittering glass shards spilled across the polished steel. The candlelight flickered near them, as though the glass had stolen a breath from the room.
For a moment, none among the thirty field doctors, apothecaries, botanists, attendants, brewers, emissaries, or even Crow Post's leaders, said a word. Silence had gathered, thick and heavy as a thundercloud, ready to split wide open with deafening sound.
The back of John's neck prickled as one of those shards slid across the table. The glassy item stopped merely a centimeter from his fingers, where his hands clasped each other tightly.
A single gunshot thundered outside among the hordes of refugees, and an angry scream slithered after it, and then a wolf's howl, just outside the refugees' camps. They ignored the noise, knowing the situation would be handled while they were busy getting their affairs in order.
Meanwhile, on the table before them, the shards seemed to begin to glow from within. It was faint, but a violet radiance flamed there. Men shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and Sean Heinzrich fell silent; he was unsure whether to proceed, given the hostility in Ellie Mae's glare as she directed that anger at John.
John struggled to keep his expression impassive. "We are busy, Dr. Mae," he said evenly.
But another man had leaned forward, shocked. "Are those . . . ?" It was John's friend Amos Shipwright, who was Crow Post's assigned doctor. He was the man in charge of the post. The man was more often referred to by the pseudonym of Nails.
Ellie Mae looked at John expectantly, still clutching the now empty coin purse. "Haven't you anything to say, John?"
"By the apocalypse — I've never seen so many at once," said Nails. "Nor so bright an' purple. Where did yeh get 'em?"
"Jeana," the mortician said coldly, "just retrieved them from among their daughter's things." John cringed inwardly at Ellie's accusatory look, and he wondered, what, in the broken chain, she could be angry over. Then she revealed that particular detail. "Along with the walkies that went missing last week," she vented, "and several of his brother's tools."
John lifted his gaze from the glittering stones and listened intently. His heart beat furiously against his ears, but he withheld a certain stream of words which might provoke her further. His daughter's many eccentricities made for an unwelcome topic, given the current state of affairs. "I do believe this is the last thing we need to be discussing at present," he warned instead.
Far be it from Ellie Mae to take heed in such a dark time, however. "I couldn't disconnect any of them without destroying the walkies," she said through bared teeth. "I'll have Reid or one of his men repair them as soon as he returns. If Nymeria doesn't run off with more of his tools by then. He may not have any left by the time he gets back, at this rate." Her scowl deepened. "You said you would do something about these growing problems of hers."
Sean Heinzrich cleared his throat and opened his mouth again to redirect the conversation to their previous topic. "As I was saying, Amy Nacanth, the Lady of Cressen, claims to have evidence there will be more attacks. More people will be displaced, I am afraid — "
Nails held up his left hand to silence Sean, then dug into his left breast pocket for a scratched pair of spectacles. He scraped one of the stones across the table with his long, herb-stained claws, then, and he held the thing up. Sean looked helplessly to John, and John returned his silent frustration as some of the others in the meeting began to grumble over the interruption. They quieted when the surprise on Nails's countenance deepened, when he palmed the shard and peered at it through the shadows in his closed fist. When he harrumphed, John's own brow creased. "I see," said Nails. "Quite interesting. Truly. From among Nymeria's things, yeh said?" he asked.
Ellie Mae nodded, her expression most grave. "Do you know what they are? Why would she be doing this, destroying our equipment to attach them?" She was more than impatient.
"Aye, I do summat know what they are," said Nails. But he rebuked her. "But yeh shouldn't have disconnected any of 'em." He eyed her good and hard. His lips smacked together several times, rolling over things he thought to say next, then settled. "Are any of 'em still intact an' workin'? I want teh see 'em. The radios, that is. Now."
Ellie Mae was taken aback by Nails's reaction. She sputtered. "What? No! Absolutely not! That equipment has already been distributed back to its proper owners, and I'll not have them without their radios again — "
But Nails had already moved on to another question. "These shards of glass . . . these . . . these stones — where'd Nymeria get 'em?" He was looking at John now.
John studied the small slivers of purple glass glittering on the table as he scratched his wiry-haired chin to keep from spitting curses. Faintly, he recalled he was in dire need of a fresh shave. "I don't know," he said, glaring, in turn, at Ellie Mae. "But I will find out."
Across from him, Taiir's face remained devoid of any glitch or twitch that might betray some sort of knowledge on the matter. "Have we forgotten tha agenda, then?" Taiir asked.
Nails waved off that question. "This is more important, I assure yeh. Of all the blabberin' mongrels here, I'da had a mind yeh'd know the trouble these pieces of glass could bring, Taiir. Yeh should know better'n any here, this hue of forbodin'."
"When will you be finding out?" demanded Ellie Mae. Her bow hand flexed, as though she'd just released another arrow.
John would have ordered the mortician out of the room to discuss his daughter's startling sins in private after the meeting, but he knew by Nails's reaction that it was out of the question. John was disappointed in his eldest child for the theft and the tampering, but he could do nothing about it right now. All he could do was offer the mildest thread of damage control, and then try to get them to return to the emergency at hand.
"Ellie — " he began.
"Don't you dare Ellie me," she said venomously, shaking the empty purse at him.
John said nothing else as he contemplated the situation as well as how best to deal with Nymeria's serious offenses. He wanted all of this pushed quickly out of the light so they could concentrate on the agenda tonight; he did not understand why Nails seemed to think these stupid stones were important.
Curse you, Ellie Mae, he thought.
Then the smell of coffee filtered in on a breeze as John's wife and brother pulled aside the canvass of sheer linen that hung across the doorway. Both entered quietly. Reid's footfall was as silent as ever, and two of his men stepped in after him and maneuvered to the right. Reid moved to the back with a solemn expression upon his countenance. He didn't look directly at John, and he said nothing, either, which was unusual. But John was preoccupied with Ellie Mae's current, rageful interruption and could ask nothing of it.
Sean again tried to make his case as others murmured their aggravation also. "I don't understand how they could be more important, Dr. Shipwright. We're soon to run out of certain supplies if that train from Edantine doesn't get to us in a couple of weeks. If more refugees — "
"Shut it, yeh noisome ferret," growled Nails impatiently. "Let me think, damn it! There's a whole baloogy I remember 'bout 'em, but what they're called an' some'a the details . . ."
Jeana's dark boots crunched over gravel again as she moved to the left and lifted her steaming cup to her lips. In the dying daylight, several of the doctors who'd been awake more than a full day stared longingly at the cracked mug in her hands, with bloodshot eyes and downturned, practically salivating mouths. Jeana winked at them as she savored its fragrance. Then she signed to John that their son was sorting herbs they'd harvested from the low tunnels for Adam, one of Crow Post's busier and more talented apothecaries. The last she'd seen of Nymeria was in the lab, asking Adam for a few things.
Ellie Mae's eye twitched. "What kind of things?" she asked. Her sassy, soul-filled harrumph might as well have split the earth, for all John thought. It still would not have elicited the smallest outcry of rage from Jeana. Not even a scornful, pursed lip. Jeana was most often quite patient with angry people. Calm despite it. Perhaps in spite of it.
John interrupted, afraid to allow another topic involving his daughter to take light. "Where are we on the water situation?" Any distraction, to put off Ellie's wrath, even if it was only for a moment longer. Jeana grinned as though she understood already what was going on, and why he was avoiding Ellie's questions.
Jeana signed to him that Adam was enjoying Nymeria's company, even though he was still finding it difficult to understand their daughter's strong, foreign accent — her unusual accent had not faded yet, and John suspected it might never.
Jeana also told him the water would hold for another year, even if the refugees doubled — or another five years if the rains continued north of them even two days more.
Ellie began to repeat her question, but at Jeana's look, she realized Jeana was not going to answer her regardless of what she asked, or how. Ellie would get absolutely nowhere. So she quieted, seemed to at last put her anger on the backburner. Jeana had always commanded that kind of respect among her peers; she was small and quiet, but her presence was fierce and her will was to be obeyed.
"Something's wrong, I know it," Ellie said at last. "Your little girl is in a fright like nothing natural, John. I've never known that child to scare for anything in the least. She started taking the walkies after she started having those nightmares that set her screaming last week."
"I don't want any more questions about my daughter right now," John said to her. "We are in a meeting, Dr. Mae."
"But is she okay?" Ellie demanded.
"She's fine," he said flatly. "She always is, always will be. Nightmares, nothing more, Dr. Mae. Now, are you done? Can we get back to the more important conversation at hand? Like Black Temple's upcoming request for more apprentices? It is getting close to the traveling season, and there are too many trips to plan to waste on discussions of my daughter's waywardness. Or perhaps we should immediately turn to another better topic, such as the attacks and who the culprit might be. Laurel is gone. So are Dry Port and Cressen. And no one really seems to know who is responsible. There are just rumors of Wolfshadow uprisings all over — which is strange, given their reclusive nature and relatively small numbers, which will never likely increase much because they eat their children. And there is the fact that their groups are scattered across the forests around Five Tower, to the east, and they eat their recruits' children, too. Several posts have been attacked nearby as well, and some of those are gone, too."
John felt his eye twitch. "Or, perhaps we should talk instead of the desperate lunatics who've been trying to rob our caravans lately, trying to find golden liberties, of all things. There are a great many things more important to discuss than my wayward daughter, with whom I will be speaking later today about what she's been up to — "
"Aha! They called 'em memories — that's the name," said Nails suddenly, bringing the conversations back around to the damned stones on the table. John felt his blood pressure rising and looked up helplessly at his brother. But Reid's eyes flashed with something when for the first time, he saw the six purple shards scattered across the polished steel surface. John opened his mouth to ask his brother how his journey had gone, but Nails continued before he had the chance to do so. His gut churned even as Nails began to speak again. "Never seen one quite so bright," said Nails. "Worth a lot in Five Tower. They were tryin' teh make 'em a'fore — " Nails looked up at John and frowned. Then he tossed the glass memory back onto the table. "Yeh know what I mean. That."
"I have seen slivers of glass like those before," commented Taiir. "Caol used to ship them. Those, he would have destroyed after tha Bright Night. Tha color became a grave offense to him."
"But what are they?" Nails's son Mark set down the knife he was sharpening and reached for the stone Nails had returned to the table.
"Keep yer grubby hands off 'em, boy," said Nails. "Yeh can ask yer questions. But yer eyes aren't learned enough teh discern what they are, an' yer greasy fingers better not touch 'em."
Mark scowled. "My eyes know what they see, you fat, old, plunky senile. An' my fingers are clean." Mark plucked the stone from the table, and then he kicked Nails's groaning chair out from under him when the old man's hairy upper lip quivered at him. There was a great crash, and curses billowed upward on a plume of Nails's fat, flailing limbs.
Nails roared as he folded up his spectacles, placed them carefully upon the table, and drew his axe. "Why, yeh ungrateful whelp! I'll show yeh, teh kick a chair out from unner yer elder — "
Taiir and several others moved to separate the father and son, but Jeana had already darted forward with footsteps that whispered almost as soundlessly as a wraith, and she placed a delicate hand upon Nails's shoulder as he wiped the spittle from his fat, bloodless lips. His head turned wildly, and he took a breath to shout another curse when he realized it was small, frail Jeana who'd reached out to calm him. Her flat expression tottered the old man's wrath. "Eh . . . sorry, sorry. My son irks me, is all. Just like 'is mamman. No manners, 'im."
Her thin brow arched humorously, a razor thin line of bright auburn beneath loose, chin-length locks. Nails had gotten her to raise her eyebrow, having raised his weapon. That eyebrow was — in a way — equivalent to Jeana having drawn her slender pugio and placed it beneath Nails's chin.
John swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. The smell of her coffee had made him thirsty.
Jeana cocked her head ever so slightly and wagged a finger at Nails. She clicked her tongue once, and when she nodded with her chin determinedly, her expression warned he should brook no argument.
Nails scratched at his wooly scalp. "Aww, come now, Jeana, don't make me apologize teh my mannerless boy."
Her brow rose higher.
John chuckled under his breath as he leaned to pick up the chair and set it back at the table. It was bent at an odd angle, but even as it sat on three of its four legs, he did not doubt whether Nails's weight would press that last leg back down. "My wife is fierce when it comes to one's own children. She believes parents should set the example," said John.
"Are yeh saying I am a rude, mannerless man?" Nails blubbered, his eyes wide and round and insulted. "But I wash my hands, an' I respect my elders, John. Even if most of 'em are dead. An' I don't talk with my mouth full. Why, I even say please an' thankuns! Mark, here, does none of it! Yer lucky not teh have 'im shovin' live turkeys in 'is gullet like a mad dog, or spittin' in yer coffee when yer not lookin'. He does mine, that boy! He's disrespectful, a wild 'un!"
Ellie Mae, arms still crossed, was still glaring at John. Still waiting. Her damned foot kept tapping against the earth, even though the sound was soft and difficult to make out through the sudden commotion.
Mark forgot he sat to Taiir's immediate left, closer than he should have, to mock Nails next. "Yes, Da," smirked Mark. "You should be a better leader an' set a better example. You — "
John nodded, and barely a fraction of a blink passed before Taiir had smacked the younger man in the back of the head. The movement was a little too eager, as though Taiir had uncorked the bottle on some great and unbearable pent-up annoyance.
"Shut it, Mark," said John. "Nails is sorry. And Nails, Mark will be sorry tonight when my brother catches him falling asleep on watch again." Mark, still holding his head, cut his gaze at John.
John motioned to his brother, and suddenly Mark realized Reid was, indeed, back. To John's humor, Taiir threatened to smack Mark again if he dared open his mouth one more time. Some of the other doctors and attendants chuckled heartily at Mark's misfortune.
When the younger man sat straight and resumed his knife sharpening, John nodded sourly with approval. "Problem solved, Jeana." Now for the next issue. He and Ellie stared at each other in a silent standoff. Her jaw ticked. So did his. Her claws tightened over her arm. His blood pressure rose higher, until it was pulsing dangerously from his neck to his temple. The arteries felt as if they were about to pop. Damn her tapping foot. Damn that tic of hers.
He swore. She'd already opened the can, and the worms from that can were already on the table, still drawing the eyes of every man and woman present. He noted the continuing glances of curiosity, of interest, littered among even those who were as annoyed as he was. He dreaded learning more, but it was the way Nails had allowed the conversation to turn. There was no out, no return to the previous topic of the changing season and the journeys it entailed before the rains hit hard, or of the growing threats to the uneasy, increasingly frightened and desperate civilian population. No, their attention had been hooked like fish, and they were being reeled in. Ellie had already won with those stupid rocks.
And most unyieldingly, he wouldn't admit that he was curious as well. Not even a tiny bit. He knew next to nothing about those shards. They'd perplexed him much the same, but he'd already dismissed them in the past, preferring not to dwell on them when more important things were always at hand. It was not so easy now, not with thirty other curious faces about him. Not with Nails's obvious interest.
He sighed. A damned headache, this was. He was going to end up with an aneurysm before he ever received his first gray hair.
John leaned forward then, and he held out his hand for the delicious coffee Jeana was hoarding. "Give me that, will you? Making me thirsty, smelling those freshly brewed grounds. Haven't had a good brew from this sorry, flea-ridden lot in three days. You would think these two could boil water right and cook for themselves on the return trip from Cyan. Not so. The coffee was undrinkable, and I'm sure nothing will ever grow where I poured it out, or where they pissed on the shrubbery. I'm surprised it didn't burn a hole in the ground."
John took the cup as his wife smiled knowingly, and he inhaled the potent aroma, ignoring Taiir's and Mark's wounded expressions — and especially Ellie Mae's more furious one, for his having made yet another attempt at steering the conversation away again. "Goes right to the soul, that does," he said before throwing his head back and gulping down half the scalding cup. There was a resounding thud that made Mark jump and Nails take his seat as John slammed his fist onto the table.
On to it, finally. Get it out of the way so that he could get everyone to focus on what they should still be discussing.
"Nails. Tell me what these things are. How do you know anyone in Five Tower was trying to make them, and what are they for?" He wiped clean the dark coffee that had spilled down his chin with his collar, and when he glanced sideways at Ellie Mae, he noticed that some of the tension had finally cut itself from her rigid posture. Hopefully, it meant she accepted his acquiescence, that he was willing to ask about the damned stones.
That woman knew how to pick her moments, damn her. Just like Jeana. Whatever obstacle she aimed at, she shot down.
"Back teh the heart it is, then," said Nails as he folded his stained hands together and then unfolded them to tap on the table instead with his nails. "I don't know how they work, just that they do. Magic, I s'pose. Somethin' like it. I don't have the right equipment or trainin' teh begin teh figure 'em out an' give yeh a more scientific answer. I just know tha — "
"That's the extent of your knowledge about them, Da?" Mark exhaled, exasperated. "Some kind of magic?"
Nails glared at his son for a long moment, then continued. "They're usually precious stones, teh start with. Or some kinds of glass," said Nails. His fingernails tapped at the steel again. "Doesn't truly matter what is used teh make 'em, I think, as long as they're made from some kinds of clear material — somethin' yeh can see through, a'cause light passes through 'em an' holds true better. An' they're dangerous. Verily so."
Taiir grimaced. "Indeed, they are. They were a guarded secret in Five Tower, and Caol forbade tha use of them after tha Bright Night."
Nails shrugged. "Yet 'is son Eiran still got 'is nasty hands on 'em after it. Rumors of the experiments unner Five Tower spread through a certain grape vine, an' I was able teh pick some'a that such info when I was posted there. Even got meself involved a bit, a'fore the bastards ran me an' my boys off, harrassin' us as much as they did. I examined some'a his slaves — they were crazier'n crazy, but they all said the same lunatic things, they did, a kind of symptom of the shards. An' later, Eiran hired some doctor who was inteh weird sciences an' even stranger medicines, supposedly inteh magic an' souls an' all maniacal manner of other things — he's the man who took my post from unner me. I'd heard Eiran worshippin' the man's know-all as if he was some kinds of witch doctor. Never met that bastard, though. I'da given 'im a piece of my unhappier thoughts if I'da met 'im. Things changed after yeh left, Taiir. An' for the worst. Yeh were good an' lucky yeh got fed up with the corruption an' left when yeh did."
Taiir nodded gravely. "I am well aware, Amos."
"The shards shatter if yeh touch 'em, usually. Eiran still traded unusual prisoners an' slaves for 'em, though. That wacko doctor was the supplier when they got rarer'n diamond trees, but none'a them shards of 'is were as bright or stable as these. The shards he got, he had teh have 'em handled careful-like. They called 'em memories a'cause of the hallucinations they made 'is slaves start havin'. On top of that, my vine even rumored these shards teh be cursed. The thieves an' killers in the Gray Halls called it the Violet Curse. The Violet, for short." Nails shook his head, his eyes round and twinkling with admiration. "That bag should'a been filled with nothin' but sharp, lightless slivers by the time yeh'd brought them inteh here, Miss Ellie Mae. Eiran would'a paid heavily for 'em."
Sean Heinzrich cleared his throat. "How are they dangerous? And are you sure you should be handling them so casually if that is the case?"
Nails chuckled heartily. "Taiir would know more'n I would, how they're cursed."
"What else do you know on the matter?" John asked Taiir.
The warrior shook his head. "Only that Caol and Eiran took slaves deep into tha recesses of Five Tower to condition them behaviorally. It is where he had had tha stones taken also. Too few knew what tha stones were for, precisely, or what they could do. If Eiran is still experimenting with them, he has found them useful in some ill capacity."
Mark went back to sharpening his knife. He glanced once more to the glittering glass and sucked on his canine with a look that assessed the value such shards could bring them versus the cons of dealing with someone from Five Tower. Mark was more aware than most here how shady some of the councilmen were in that city; he'd commented about the ill things he'd seen when he'd lived there with his father and his brother.
The slithering scrape made by Mark's blade on the whetstone was the only sound for a moment before John's brother broke the silence.
"I want to see them closer." Reid moved a couple of the men to the side as he made his way to the table. When he touched one of the shards, the candlelight flickered, and the purple radiance again became a bright, brilliant color in the temporary darkness. When the flame flickered lively upon the candle wick once more, however, the light in the stones began to fade. Reid sucked in his breath, perplexed by what had just happened, and he let go of the shard.
"See? The stones seem teh adhere teh an' mimic circuits an' data an' the like," said Nails. "Five Tower had some old tech they'd dug up from some councilman's collection. These beauties supposedly got 'em workin' when nothin' else would — but only temporarily, mind yeh. My vine said even the shoddy shards they had did some use, but none'a them ever lasted very long. They were tryin' for quite a while teh fix that problem, teh see why these damnable shards worked — an' then why suddenly they wouldn't. An' I don't know where they came from, neither. None but Caol an' 'is innermost circle would."
Nails scratched at his fat, bearded jowls and readjusted his spectacles to peer down at the one pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "These shards don't work the way old tech did. Don't need no batteries or green chips, don't even need no wiring, not really. Some'a them caused electromagnetic pulses, from what I heard. Weird stuff about 'em. Weird. As I said. Sometimes the lights'd explode a'cause of 'em gettin' too near. Stranger rumors'n that, too, I'd heard. Yeh want a load of liberties, or more knowledge about 'em, take 'em teh Five Tower. Eiran would pay yeh well for 'em. If he didn't kill yeh an' just take 'em instead. But yeh'd be wise teh keep Caol from hearin' about 'em, that'd be a death sentence waitin' for anyone as stupid as much. 'Cept Eiran, I'd s'pose, bein' his son an' all. Surely the man wouldn't kill his own son for that trickle of defiance."
John shook his head, though. "No one is taking them to Five Tower," he said. "I am not willing to send another into that dangerous city just to find out more about these rocks. I think they should be destroyed when and if it becomes safe to do so." He looked about, studying the other faces among them, and he saw Taiir nod at his wisdom with approval. "I'm sure none of you want to deal with the leaders there, anyway, just as the lords there want nothing to do with our guild." There was a murmur of agreement from among them all, save Reid, whose dark expression only became graver.
Ellie Mae's foot had finally fallen silent. Perhaps she was also perturbed by the idea that the shards were more than just glass. That they were something alien, something not many people understood.
The thing that struck John the most was that there were men supposedly willing to kill for them. Usually Nails's intel on Five Tower's goings-on was quite on the mark, so he didn't feel as though he needed to question the validity of it now, even if it was strange. And Taiir's invaluable knowledge had helped them avoid conflict since the day he'd arrived, seeking employment at Crow Post just months after John and Jeana had rescued Nymeria from the horrible city.
"Dishonest men," nodded one of the apothecaries among them. "City's full of them. Overrun with killers, and slavers, and thieves. It would be best to destroy those things."
Jeana snapped her fingers, and Nails turned in his chair. It groaned, threatening to collapse under his massive weight again. "What is it, yeh mighty, scary little woman? Goin' teh frighten poor old Nails again, that it?"
John took another swig of the deliciously aromatic beverage she'd brought in. Then he translated the quick motions of her hands. The others usually understood her, he knew, but not quite so easily when caffeine had her hands fluttering faster than hummingbirds' wings, as it did now.
"She wants to know . . . If they have figured out how to even remotely get these shards to work with old tech, even if only for a little while, then why haven't they tried to sell them off?"
"I wouldn't know," said Nails.
"There are people who would shed blood to have some working tech from the Modern Civilization," John pointed out. "All we have left of that bygone era are books that are next to worthless because it took old tech to build the tech in them, walkies and radios that only a handful of tinkerers know how to fix or make, a few thousand working vehicles it takes forever to get scrap parts made or salvaged for, and not enough guns to fight any kind of large-scale war. There are not enough smiths with the equipment or knowledge to enable such a war, either."
"It seems to say that greed and fortune are not on tha agenda in Five Tower this time," agreed Taiir, "even though that is usually tha soul of its stain."
"So what, then, is their intention with the shards?" asked John. But no one seemed to have an answer. "Why the secrecy? Why be willing to shed blood to obtain them, or to become so paranoid as to want to kill to be rid of them?"
Jeana nodded, approving of his added questions toward the end. "And if they aren't trying to jack away poor merchandise for a quick liberty as they do with everything else," he wondered, "what are they really doing with those things? Reviving old tech can't be the extent of it."
Thomas, who'd been silent until that moment, decided to remind them of something more dangerous. "Keep in mind, there are other sinister things which could, in some way, be related to the rumor of this 'violet curse.' The forests around Five Tower are sacred to the Wolfshadow cult, and they have rarely ventured from them before. Perhaps whatever is going on in Five Tower is driving them this way. They won't take children they think are cursed; they wouldn't dare risk it, as they are a superstitious and paranoid folk. What isn't eaten of the dead become their clothes, their weapons, their baubles, their coin."
Thomas continued as John pondered what he was saying. "And Five Tower has always enjoyed some twisted relationship with the cult, so they've never bothered to try to drive them away. They've even traded children to them to keep them near. That fact has been proven several times." Thomas's gaze flickered to the stones on the table, briefly. "The sightings and the attacks upon the refugees and their homes is worth the same questioning as the shards on the table. What has caused their movement? Did it begin after the Bright Night two years ago, or is this more recent? And are they really the ones stealing children? Could it be Five Tower instead, looking for more victims? Or could it be someone else? And children are not the only ones missing."
John's gaze flickered to his wife. She'd paled at the reminder of the wolfmen, and her fingers clutched the handle of her slender pugio tightly. She did not try to add to the conversation, however, but simply stood there, listening patiently, waiting for some clue that would tie all of this together. Just as they all were.
He hated that Nails had been correct, after all. The stones had brought up some important points that might otherwise have been overlooked.
"All right," said Nails. "So then we'll destroy these shards away from camp. An' Ellie Mae, yeh can do me the favor of lettin' me examine yer own radio after we're done here, as I imagine it's also been tampered with by Dr. Ivan's little one. Back teh the agenda, then. Sean. Where were we? Yeh'd said somethin' a'fore our chief mortician walked in earlier, somethin' of the water supply bein' contaminated upriver, near the Cyan fork — "
"We already took care of Cyan and its riverside division during our cleanup assignment," John said. "Which is why I am present in Crow Post in the first place, and why I asked you to call this meeting. We have other issues to resolve, the first of which — "
Reid cleared his throat as a darker cloud seemed to descend upon him, and John allowed him to speak. "Before we move on entirely, Amos. John. I think I may have someone who can answer another part of this puzzle about the shards. Or, at least, why anyone would want the dreaded things."
Nails considered his request and then allowed it. "If yeh can tell us all a bit more'n we already know, I'd welcome it. They're a conundrum — an' I don't like conundrums that are of no medical or helpful value. I like 'em worse when they are dangerous, an' I know these things are. Or can be, at any turn. What's whispered about 'em is dreadful, in any right."
Reid turned his head as he stepped forward, and he nodded to his men near the room's opening. The men were Robert and Thomas, both of whom were very big men with scowls that could shatter mirrors — and send the pieces flying, too. "Bring him in," said Reid.
The command startled John. Perhaps this had something to do with Reid's perplexing mood, he thought.
There was a murmur along the table that spread throughout the enclosure as both the warriors under Reid's command obeyed. Both warriors disappeared for a bit.
"Absolutely," said John, and he placed his hands calmly upon the table and then clasped his fingers tightly. "We'll just talk about the glass and Five Tower all night, then. Why not? The plans for the travel season can wait, and so can the supplies we are supposed to be dealing for. Everything else can wait, too, while we're at it."
There was a short-lived, raucous commotion outside, and then there was the hoarse voice of some young boy whose voice cracked with approaching manhood. "How many times do I have to tell you, I wasn't trying to steal anything, fellas? Can't we make some kind'a deal? I — "
"Be quiet and go in," hissed Thomas.
Mark kept sharpening his knife, but his head had tilted a twinge with renewed interest. Taiir's brows drew together, however. He seemed to recognize the voice, and by the set of his jaw, he didn't seem too happy about it, either. And Ellie Mae had forgotten her anger entirely. Her hand rested instinctively upon the leather-wrapped grip of the bow she always carried, as though ready to pull it from her shoulder and arm it. She and Robert shared a look — hers questioning, his gently telling her to wait.
"I'll have you know, I am a nobleman's son. My father can pay you — "
The boy fell through the awning and collapsed at the end of the long, curved table. When the sack over his head was yanked back, greasy, dirty, blond hair fell past his chin and obscured his black eyes. Small prickles of blond beard poked through as he lifted his filthy face. He raised his dirty hands and wiped away the fresh blood coming down from his nose. Then he spat in the dirt and looked up. He smirked comfortably at them all, seeming to think his game wasn't yet over. It was a slimy expression, and his dark eyes glittered, seeming to drink in everything about the people before him. "To what do I owe the honor, fine doctors and cohorts of the Glass Chain?" He bowed as though he was in some court, although he was already upon his knees and could not bow much lower.
"This man," said Reid, his voice low in his throat and more menacing that John had heard in a long time, "has some interesting things he can tell us about what's been going on."
"Ahh," said the blond man dejectedly when he recognized Reid. He wasn't a boy, though his voice had previously cracked like one. Now he cast the falsetto aside, and he lifted his shoulders higher and studied each of them, until they grew uncomfortable under his cutting black gaze. "Well, I'd hoped I could persuade a softer heart or mind, but you're the one who's here, Range Commander . . . It was worth the try." The haughty, irritating note to his speech crawled under John's skin and scraped his nerves raw. Instantly, he did not like this man. Judging by the faces of his equals, this captive had a similar effect upon them all.
"Who is he?" Nails demanded, his hand upon his axe again. "He ain't one'a ours, I'd know a mop like that, runnin' 'round camp. He follow yeh from Edantine an' Hagenhold? Has the look of a weasel, all right. I bet he'd cut an' run first chance he gets. Has that look about 'im; cut throat, then ghost."
"Gentlemen," said the blond man. "I — " Reid's knife was under his throat before he could murmur another word, and so it was that John noticed Reid's knuckles were caked with dried blood. Then those thin, long fingers of the stranger's curled in the air, although they were not quite bold enough to clasp the blade. The blond man's healthy teeth flashed in a grimace of a smile, and he made a sound in the back of his throat. "Please remove that . . . ? It doesn't do the nerves any good, you know — "
Reid did not release him. Instead, he knelt close and whispered into the man's ruined ear. The knife pressed deeper, until it drew blood. "Best be cautious with your next words. If you try to beguile anyone here with another lie, this knife will enter your mouth and exit through the back of your skull, and I will do it so slowly that your screams will gurgle and weep. Do not dare doubt my sincerity or my sense of judgement. Remember how little escapes me and what I will do again if you do not cooperate." He then addressed the men and women in the enclosure, but he did not look at John. "And all of you be careful what you say or do in front of him. This man is called Lukas. He is a spy, and a murderer."
"A murderer, have we?" said Mark, his features twisted with menace.
"A spy?" Sean Heinzrich was equally disgusted.
Reid nodded and released Lukas from his knife.
"I should guess," said Lukas, his tone unduly polite as his hands came together slowly. He rubbed at the chafed skin beneath the bindings on his wrists, but he left the blood upon his throat to ooze, wary of provoking Reid's blade again for too sudden or extended a motion. "You want me to tell them about my dealings with Five Tower. I'm sorry — Two Tower? Twin Tower . . . Whatever it is they are being called now by outsiders. They should be, anyway; there aren't five towers anymore about the proud bastards. Their name should be Franken Fingers." Lukas chuckled, amusing himself despite the threats and having very obviously been beaten. "Crippled Fist." Another laugh bubbled up from the lunatic's throat. "Broken Teeth? I can keep going. Bastards deserve the worst names. Crooked Fingers. That's the one . . . Do you know how hard it is to rename a city properly . . . ?"
Reid sheathed his knife, quite aggravated. "You will tell them everything." A look passed between them, and Lukas hesitated despite Reid's baneful expression.
John shifted in his seat. A sinister feeling that was laced with dread began to pool in him. He didn't want to believe this was going to go where it seemed it might go.
Then Reid approached the table and bent forward to speak to John and Nails quietly. The blond man watched them warily, but there was no way for him to hear as they spoke in low tones. "Most of what he has to say somehow has a lot to do with Nymeria. It's bad. It's very, very bad."
The startling revelation set John's stomach to roiling.
Mark objected. "But they don't know about John's daughter, not unless — " Mark shut his mouth when he saw Taiir's threatening look. Then he remembered Lukas in the vicinity, and he said no more on that matter.
"No one there besides Timothy knows," said John quietly. "Taiir trusts him greatly, and I trust Taiir. The two of them have many times given us intel that has kept our guildsmen from harm by any of Five Tower's ill-intending associates, so I have no reason to question either of them."
"Then what could he know that has something to do with Nymeria?" Mark asked curiously.
John shook his head. He wasn't sure he knew how to handle that news.
Nails waved the expectant prisoner on. "Go ahead, yeh right worthless rodent." Even as Nails spoke, John felt his gut twisting further with that slithering dread.
"We're listening," John added, his voice hard.
Lukas did not look at Reid directly when he made his next disgusting proposal. "I'd be more willing if I received some form of payment for this information — "
Nails drew his axe and pointed it at him. "Get teh talkin', yeh rotten, pale-haired fidget. So we can hurry up an' toss yeh teh Mercy's dogs. They're hungry, 'em dogs. Leathered strip of scrawny, yeh are, won't feed 'em much. But it's better'n naught, an' they'd have somethin' teh chew on for a mighty bit."
They heard the sudden vicious barking of the guard dogs on the other side of the camp then, and Lukas strained at the bonds on his wrists uncomfortably as the cacophony continued to rage. Several men shifted uneasily. John did as well, although he was more worried about his daughter than the idea of the dogs eating the killer alive.
"Of course," said Lukas. His head tilted very slightly to acknowledge Nails's steady, polished axe as it gleamed in the candlelight. "Eiran and his league of cursed hunters are about to kill all of you, and the Enforcers won't be helping you. You're on your own."
No person was left inattentive after such a dreadful statement.
Mark's dark gaze lingered on the stones again, and Lukas's followed. The blond man's jaw unhinged, but he snapped his mouth shut and looked away from them quickly, as though he knew exactly what they were and what they could do. He acted as if even looking at them could set them off. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to speak again.
"An' just what do you mean by that?" asked Mark dangerously.
Lukas offered a cold, unfeeling smile. "I meant exactly what I said." To Reid, he then said, "I am sorry, but your friends here seem to know only the barest touch of Five Tower's great and many schemes. May I have a chair? This may take a while."
"You can lie in the dirt like an animal or sit on your own feet," said Mark. "Now let's start over from the beginning. What are you doing working for Eiran? An' how much could he be paying you for that dangerous sort of treachery, for it ever to be worth any sort of trespass against Black Temple? I know he's into slavery an' killin', an' thievery an' worse. Who did you murder, an' what secrets are you trying to steal an' sell?"
"Secrets?" Lukas asked innocently. "You have the wrong idea. I'm no ordinary spy. My specialties are . . . niche. I was a merchant from Tallil, and an emissary who negotiated with both Black Temple and Five Tower before I became what I am. And you would not precisely understand my occupation as it is now. It is not a path any man would have chosen for himself."
John doubted the murderer's claim, but Taiir verified it. "He was what he says he was, and more," Taiir said quietly. "He is one of Caol's crazed servants now, though, not Eiran's. I saw tha change in him firsthand. Before, and after."
"Before and after," hissed Lukas. "You're the one who dragged me down into the dungeons for them to do what they did," snarled Lukas. "I — "
"You have not found tha golden-eyed one Caol sent you after yet, have you?" Taiir asked. "Rhael, that is?"
Lukas gritted his teeth but said nothing. The question had infuriated him.
Taiir prodded further. "I did hear you were tha one responsible for tha man's escape in tha first place, Lukas. That it was intentional, to spite Caol and his son for what they had done to you."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Lukas glanced at Reid again, hesitant to continue. Reid simply glared back at him. There was so much hatred in Reid's eyes that John couldn't for the life of himself understand it.
"Go ahead. Explain it to them," Reid commanded.
"Caol has unfinished business with Rhael. And Eiran wants more of them," said Lukas. "More hunters, loyal without fault. He has more of a twisted mind for getting his wishes, and he isn't as conservative as his father Caol. He's not afraid of the consequences his father learned the hard way. He does what he pleases, and what he pleases is . . . not even in Five Tower's interest. He'll break every last link in the Glass Chain, flushing out every member of your guild to execute or to turn to the slavery of the Blood Light. Eiran's obsession with the strange energy in those pieces of glass will eventually earn him a throne if he is not stopped. And everyone, including the Enforcers, will have to bow to him as a king."
"He would have to try to remove the entire Enforcers' Alliance for that to work," Ellie Mae said sourly. "They would stop that sort of madness. And we're here to serve the wearyworn. That includes Five Tower, despite its many wicked citizens. Why would he, or anyone else, want to destroy us?"
"Why doesn't matter so much as how, unless it is to motivate others to do your work for you," Reid said with a grimace. "But they've already implemented part of their plan," he said. He paused to let those words sink in. "It's been years in the making, and the beginning stages of the takeover have already been carried out. Strategic attacks have begun all around us. The refugees outside are proof of the stirrings of his desire for war, and the evidence I've seen suggests it is all tied to Five Tower. Why else would the cities who have been attacked only be the ones who most strongly support and work with Black Temple? I'd already suspected this for a few months now. This only confirms my suspicions."
Thomas spoke again. "In every attack thus far, we've found nothing left of our guild at all. Even the banners were burned away. The hospitals and apothecaries and plant nurseries were utterly demolished, as though whoever attacked wanted Black Temple's mercy to be forgotten. Everything related to us was set to flame."
And then Reid dealt another harsh revelation to collaborate Lukas's heinous claim. "I've also learned that at every place that has been hit, the Enforcers were recalled a week before for various reasons. My men and I are concerned by the amount of evidence there is to support everything Lukas has told me — even some of the more unnatural things he has claimed."
Reid nodded to the stones then. "Unfortunately, the stones on the table in front of you seem to play a major part in everything else that has been happening. We need to worry about this problem before everything else that is on our plates. No one will be safe this season, the apprentices least of all."
John sighed. "How does Five Tower plan to kill us all if they lost over half their population on the Bright Night two years ago? Thousands more were injured. They couldn't have recovered so quickly. It would have taken generations."
Lukas shook his head, smirking to himself as the faces of the men and women among them stared blankly at him. It was as though he felt he should not have to answer that question, as though the answer was obvious. The smugness upon his visage hinted he still had some master plan for having ever been brought here at all. He seemed too comfortable as he sat before them, even as he was bound and bleeding and playing the role of a thief who'd gotten caught.
John felt a strong urge to unsheathe his knife and gut him. It was uncanny how the smug man irked him.
"Well, isn't that a nice question?" Lukas grinned. The expression was foul upon him.
"We'll have to get back to that one," said Reid. His jaw ticked, and those blood-crusted knuckles of his cracked. "There is more." His scuffed boot tapped Lukas's bruised leg, and the blond prisoner cringed as though the appendage were broken.
John had thought that was all of it. He felt sick, hearing there was more.
Lukas cut his black gaze sideways. "When Eiran's hunters get a hold of me, they'll figure out I've told you everything." He held up his hands at Reid's murderous look. "You'd better keep me under heavy guard after this in order to ensure my protection."
"You're lucky I have enough restraint not to have gutted you myself," said Reid. "This man is my brother. How do you think he'll take it?" When Lukas blanched, Reid's fists curled again.
"How will I take what?" John asked.
But his brother tapped Lukas's injured leg again. "Keep talking. Tell them the rest."
Mark stopped studying the tip of his blade for a flawless edge and pointed the weapon at Lukas. "What he's said doesn't explain why he is here. An' I don't mean that he was caught, either. Could have been a robbery, could have been some bounty hunter after him . . . If he knows all this, an' it's true, an' he's chasing down some ghost they've sent him after, why is he here?"
"I commanded you to tell them everything," Reid said again. "So go ahead and tell them how you got involved in this mess to start with."
Lukas hesitated to say anything.
When Reid glared at Lukas and touched the handle on his dagger again, Lukas cringed. "All right." He held his hands up, surrendering. "All right. I will tell them everything I told you, Range Commander." There was silence for a moment, and Lukas sat on his heels. He spat crimson on the ground again and then flung his filthy, curling hair from his face. His upper lip sported a nasty cut — a fresh one, too, for how it bled still. "It started years ago," began Lukas. "It's why everything. Caol and I were still allies, not master and servant. He hadn't turned on me yet," said Lukas.
Then he began to tell them a tale Reid seemed to believe was true, but whose details were too incredulous to be so. "Some obscure group had set up a heavily guarded dig site. Their weapons were strange — not like ours but better. We wanted them, and we made plans to steal them. My men and I remained above while Caol and his friend, this golden-eyed freak who went by the name of Rhael, went in with a small group of their own men to scope our mark. They returned, gathered their forces, and then moved into the deeper levels of the excavation for a proper attack. We were to guard their backs from the surface. But several hours later, the ground began to tremble, and then several hours after that, they all emerged from underground, like cockroaches escaping the light. None even cared to fight one another. They were all running from something else."
Lukas paused for a moment to wipe the blood from his throat where it had begun to congeal. "Some of them had clawed their own eyes out, we saw," he continued, "and many had killed themselves, we later learned. Some attacked everyone and everything around them in a blind, mad rage, and some began screaming — and some of those went on screaming until they died. The half-mad ones who survived it said there were monstrous creatures down there — demons, as black as jet and as tall as trees nearly a decade old. The creatures had swarmed the pit they'd found down there and had attacked the others, and more than a hundred men had died. They told us an ancient wall had collapsed during the excavation and revealed some kind of unholy tomb, with pillars engraved in glowing glass runes, and bright, violet lightning arcing and striking man, tomb, and demon alike. Several said the pit itself was filled with cursed magic, that the unstable energy had burned a lot of men alive, and many others had been turned into red-eyed flesh eaters by the demons there."
Lukas wove an enrapturing tale, and even John found himself drawn into its horror. It was worse for him than most because the creatures were the same ones his daughter described. The coincidence was too frightening to consider. Reid had told him Lukas's confession had a lot to do with her. Was this that something?
"Caol lost his nerve over whatever he witnessed down there, but Rhael led them all back to the surface. When they reached us, they had something contained in a chest that was large enough to hold some kind of creature. The chest was covered, but I saw the violet light emanating from it, and so did a few others among us — we were fools to think it was something valuable. The light it gave was the same as that violet in the glass before you. We should have realized that it was the color of a promise of death, of madness. Whatever was in that trunk, they took it to Five Tower. And Caol was nearly as mad as the rest of his men. He was never the same after that night. He still employs men to guard him from the darkness at every hour of the night. We dismissed it as hysteria — we weren't down there, after all. My men and I eventually made light of it all; it was a mistake we didn't think we'd regret later. But Caol never forgot it. Neither did Eiran."
Lukas was angry now, but Reid kept his hand upon the dagger. "Don't quit now," said Reid. "Tell them everything you told me, and not a word less, or I will keep my promise and cut open your throat and toss you in with the dogs myself. It'd be fitting retribution for what you've done."
The murderer shook his head, disgusted with the order but heeding the warning. "It was Rhael's idea for Caol and himself to work together. Then Caol decided I was worthless and betrayed me. My men were slaughtered in the middle of our next weapons deal — those who survived were dragged into the depths of Five Tower alongside me, and they put those unholy shards of glass inside our flesh."
Several of the doctors seemed befuddled by this, as they did not understand what putting glass in flesh could accomplish besides a splinter and an infection. Many were only slightly less than outraged that Lukas had been dragged in to tell such a bizarre tale. But Nails seemed to believe it. Reid was heavily concerned over it. And John and a few others had an idea what Lukas meant, and it chilled them when Lukas confirmed it.
"I survived," said Lukas. "None of my men did, and neither did hundreds of others they later betrayed, or captured, or bought. They experimented on us with the glass and the energy in it, and like me, the others screamed because of the visions of the blood and the death and the agony. Then they found some of the survivors from the first night, from the pit. And then more strange people began appearing with violet eyes, people who'd been cursed by the Blood Light. So they took them, too. All of them. Called us Violet Cursed. Everyone who was cursed to see the creatures in the shadows, to hear the voices in the visions and the dreams and the night itself — they took anyone who could feel the beings in the darkness or hear the voices that were always hissing, calling for some one or some thing."
"Dear skies above," Nails exhaled, and he folded up his spectacles and put down the shard. He pushed the shard away from himself with his glasses, now quite mindful and wary of the thing.
Lukas went on, and he stared at the bonds on his wrists as he spoke what he remembered plainly, no fancy words or nerve-curdling haughtiness.
"Later, Rhael wanted out because his agenda had been different from Caol's from the beginning. He decided to leave, but he was the only one who understood whatever it was they had. He was the one who'd kept the experiments running properly — and from what I could gather, he wasn't an evil man. I believe he truly wanted to help everyone who'd been affected, including me. But he couldn't work with Caol because that bastard's heart is as black as the creatures they said were in that pit.
"After Rhael escaped with his life — and with whatever he took — Caol tried to continue the experiments. He failed, and badly. That failure caused the Bright Night, and it killed his wife when the experiment backfired, and he's cursed the color ever since. Blamed it on everything except for the truth. Violet offends him. It used to be his wife's favorite color supposedly, but because it killed her and destroyed his city, it was completely purged under his order. Violet is the color of the Shamed now. He's even gone to have the color removed from the banners of his own family name. To wear it or to keep anything of its color is to invite torture and then death."
Lukas twisted his wrists under the ropes again, trying to loosen them for a more comfortable fit, and he continued. "But Caol's son Eiran never gave a smidgen of pig sludge when Caol himself washed his hands of it all and settled for those bloodier, more practical solutions to his goals. Eiran continued the experiments in secret, and now he has a new supplier, one who was a Black Temple doctor slimier than Caol himself ever was. The man's name, I do not remember. But he bears a moon-shaped scar across the left side of his face. His left eye is blue, and his right is black. He's taken women and children and done things to them. And the screams that come from his chambers in the dungeon put what was done to us in a kinder light."
"A moon shaped scar, you said? One blue eye . . ." Sean Heinzrich exclaimed. "But that is Abel Orthwit — and he's a murderer. He was supposed to have been executed at the Reformation fourteen years ago when they found him guilty of the crimes charged against him. He murdered a whole village, releasing a disease among them — just like what happened in Cyan recently. He'd been paid to do it by a man from Five Tower; my cousin found the evidence. And Abel had the dread cult's worship paraphernalia in his home in Cressen. There was even a pair of hands, cooking in a pot on the stove."
Lukas shrugged. "Then he escaped, and another was executed in his place. If it is the same man, he's under a different name now. And he wouldn't be the first from Black Temple to skip his sentence that way. Or the last. Hell, the doctor who helps him is equally wicked. We saw what was left of the victims they experimented on. One or two may have survived it. And the rest of us? We only wanted to be free of the curse. Many killed themselves because promises of freedom were not good enough. The rest of us felt that an end committed by our own hand was the final stain that would give us entirely to the creatures. We preferred the desperate, mad blindness that drove us to trust the word of those men, that they would free us at the end of our loyal service. We believed ignorantly that if Eiran and his father knew how to curse us with the Blood Light, surely they also knew how to reverse it. They had already claimed to have freed others who had served them well. We were fools to believe them — I was, especially.
"So that is why I've been doing Caol's dirty work for longer now than I would ever have wished. And now I'm free of the visions, and yet it is not because of him. Something else is happening. The paradigm is shifting. The creatures in the darkness are waking up, one at a time, and together they are calling louder. And even though the brunt of it is gone from me, I know in my bones that I am still cursed. Why is it, do you think, Commander, that I said it was better to be a prisoner of Black Temple than a servant of Five Tower? I would truly rather perish in a cell or work a lasting and miserable penance than return to the hell I've seen in Five Tower. I would certainly be safer at the Reformation, and I would no longer be receiving orders to kill or hurt anyone for the false promise of freedom."
"We don't give a damn about your fearfulness or your yearning for freedom," said Reid. "Tell them why Eiran and Caol wanted the shards, what they were using them for," said Reid.
"To build an army, of course. Men loyal to the death, desperate to outlive the madness forced upon us — what more could such a man want? No one is more driven than a madman with cause to avoid his darkest terror. None can be more cruel, more uncaring, or more desperate to obey. Myself, I was never a man of bloodshed. The most I'd ever done was cheat and lie in the name of money and glory. I didn't risk lives, or take them. I'd never harmed another man, woman, child, or even animal. I shrank from the idea of killing. I was, in every sense of the word, as honest as a politician could get. But those ethics meant nothing against the Violet Curse. Honor means nothing in the presence of the Blood Light. Nothing is more terrifying than watching these creatures search about for you, getting closer and closer every time you commit a murder and receive its shadowy phantom mark — not after seeing what those things have done to others like me, whom they have caught."
John leaned forward. "So Eiran is creating an army?" he asked gravely. He was not interested in the paranoid, paranormal claims. He was interested in the real threats. "How many others like you are working for Eiran?"
Someone cursed under his breath over the ridiculousness of Lukas's claims, and Nails cut his eyes icily in the angered doctor's direction. "Shut it," Nails said, "or I'll cut yer tongue out, too. Anythin' come out'a the Gray Halls, I think twice over. Been fierce, terrifyin' rumors same as these for years, though they rarely got farther'n the gates of that city. Yeh'd be a stupid man teh ignore even this crazed fidget's weaselly, odd words 'bout it all." Nails turned his head back to Lukas and narrowed his eyes at him. "Answer Dr. Ivan's question, yeh brawny waste of a talkin' corpse. How many others?"
"Each cursed man is worth fifty seasoned warriors," said Lukas slowly, his lips drawn tight over his teeth. "And there are well over a hundred of us, plus the horde of the stranger ones who went missing before the Bright Night. The deranged are the most dangerous. The worst of them have lost the ability to speak, and when they're released, they kill indiscriminately. We are all loyal — of sorts — to Eiran. None serve Caol directly, except me. I am the last of his hunters. One of the longest surviving, and one of the sanest."
Taiir shrugged. "I admit, I am surprised tha other lords decided to proceed with Caol's mad plans, after all. I had thought they had put Caol in a corner where he was unable to carry out tha promises of his crazed rants against Black Temple and tha Enforcers' Alliance. I thought they feared tha idea, believing it would bring attention to them all and ruin their prospects in tha slave trade and their other . . . interests."
Lukas snarled at the dark warrior, and then he spat in the dirt again. "The other lords are all dead, Taiir, except the ones Caol has paid or frightened into submission — or those who were more powerful than him but already liked the idea anyway. And I never dealt with those. But no, these recent activities are all Eiran, the repugnant torturer. Caol removed himself from all the paranormal treachery after the Bright Night. And as I said, I do not quite serve Eiran. I still serve Caol's wishes, but only because Eiran does not stand in the way of it. Eiran has the rest of the hunters to command, and he sees me as broken and useless, as do the rest of the hunters he's made. I haven't yet completely lost my mind as they have. Only a fraction . . . It's a struggle. So I do the killing, the murdering, the enslaving, and the thieving for them both. But most namely for Caol, if it does not interfere with the other hunters' objectives."
"So explain why the Enforcers aren't stepping in to help," Mark said.
Lukas laughed. "Oh. That." He wiped blood from his nose again and leaned back lazily. "If the High Commander Avery Ramont had ever suspected what was going on, he would have easily put a stop to all of this before things had escalated to where they are now. Caol already planned for all of it decades ago, what with how little love there was between him and the leader of the Enforcers' Alliance. He did not want Avery to be able to be tempted into the fold. He was discreet about it."
Ellie Mae choked back what sounded like a strangled mew as Lukas continued.
"He knew it was impossible to organize a direct attack on Black Temple or the Enforcers, even if it was a quiet one. Both are too large and too well distributed across the continent," grinned Lukas. "A direct attack on either would have been a few small skirmishes, and then the flame that was Five Tower's objective would have been extinguished. Snuffed out in but a few quiet battles. He always said the most effective enemy is your closest friend; the blade you never see coming."
"Are yeh saying High Commander Avery Ramont is dead?" asked Nails.
"I'm saying worse," replied Lukas. "The whole alliance has no idea it's been compromised. Caol's allies are among them."
"I am going to be sick, I think," murmured Ellie Mae. "I didn't realize the glass would lead to all of this."
"It's not too late to cut out the rot," said Reid. "The wise choice for Caol would have been to place a handful of men he trusted in their ranks, in crucial places. I've a few men with the same kind of training who know what to do to pinpoint the infiltrators, as well as how to quietly get rid of them. We must avoid outright confrontation or blatant accusation, and pretend we know nothing. This will ensure we remain discreet. My men as well as our contacts among the Enforcers will help flush these rats out and get them arrested by their own."
"So yeh already have a plan then?" asked Nails incredulously.
Reid nodded once. "I always have a plan. In the event I don't, I know ways around ways. My job is to be the ear, the trap, and the dagger. It's my job to ensure the safety of the guild, its members, and those who help us."
"Next, we'll be worshippin' yer know-all," chuckled Nails as he breathed for what seemed the first time in half an hour. "Yer a bloody witch strategist if yeh have it figured out already, I tell yeh."
"There is one major pitfall," said Reid, and he looked at every face in the dark room with an intensity that made them stir. "We have to avoid starting a war with the Enforcers over anything trivial, even if one of them tries to provoke us into action. We cannot risk upsetting their entire order by allowing ourselves to act without weighing those actions very strenuously. Our steps will need to be cautious, and we will need to coordinate with Saura's instructions diligently in the matter, whether it becomes personal or not. We will work together most tentatively." He then added. "If any of you don't think you can do this effectively, remove your signet now and leave the ranks. You should rejoin the refugees and focus solely on doing what you can to keep them from squabbling among one another. They'll need the guidance."
"We overlooked something with tha Enforcers," said Taiir.
John closed his eyes to regather himself.
"What is it?" Nails asked.
"What do we do in tha event that High Commander Avery Ramont is not dead but a prisoner?" asked Taiir. "What if freeing him alerts these infiltrators?"
"If that is the case, we will not free him," Reid commanded. "We will do what the guild did for Saura's great grandmother a century ago when she was taken hostage by the angered nobleman of Feilmein during her pilgrimage through Arsennia."
Nails smiled warmly at that. "Ah, now that's a clever thought. Aye, it is. Excellent point." His thoughts then turned to the opposite scenario. "An' yet, what if Avery is alive, takes back 'is guild, an' decides teh rampage? Are we goin' teh take our business teh 'im, then? He'll end up causin' a lot'a innocent deaths in 'is anger, an' I doubt he'll be workin' with us easily if he's all focused on that wrath. Too proud an' arrogant on a normal day, anyway."
"Tha foulest fortune," sighed Taiir. "What a dangerous time, it is."
John and many others nodded quietly, no words in their mouths. And none removed their signets. All were willing to face difficulty.
Ellie Mae pulled at her braid worriedly. "We'll need to send a messenger to Saura immediately." She eyed the stones on the table with new respect, and wonder. "And we need to find out where your daughter got those."
"I agree," said Nails.
Then Old Jacobs, one of Ellie's morticians, said he would send his son the moment the meeting adjourned.
Mark addressed Reid aggressively, then. "Now why was he where he left corpses? What brought his chase across your path?"