In the Shadow of Lightning

50

Demir returned to command of the Foreign Legion as if nothing had happened – as if rumors about his duel with Capric weren’t flying around the capital in every direction, and practically everyone he passed wasn’t burning with questions about how he dodged Father Vorcien’s fury. Demir ignored it all. He couldn’t afford further distractions, not now.

Careful to keep a steady line of communication with his scouts, in case the winds of this war shifted once more, Demir regrouped the Foreign Legion just a few miles northeast of Harbortown. It was not an ideal location – the ground was a little too soft for heavy cavalry, and sight lines were ruined by the windbreaks between the farms that stretched across this northern edge of the Copper Hills – but the location effectively prevented the enemy from trying to turn and encircle Ossa. They would have to either come through him, or retreat back to Grent and the river.

What’s more, he could see the Forge in the distance from here. Not close enough that Kerite suspected anything valuable was there, but enough that he could intervene if she made a move in that direction. It was a wildly inappropriate mismanagement of his priorities as commander of the Foreign Legion, and he didn’t give a shit.

It was midday, the weather cold but sunny, and the camp bustled with the activity of some fifteen thousand soldiers and twice that number of support staff. Demir had just arrived, and columns were still marching in from Ossa while a steady stream of scouts reported the enemy’s positions on a regular basis. That steady stream, he noted as he stared across at the crateloads of information gleaned from spymasters, gossipmongers, and the Ministry of the Legion, seemed to have flagged since this morning. He needed to know why, and soon.

But then again, he needed to know a lot of things.

He sat in his big commander’s tent on the only piece of furniture – a folding stool – staring at the cork box balanced on his knee. He imagined he could hear the resonance of the powerful witglass within. He needed that sorcery. He needed his mind to work like it used to; to be the human thinking machine that could carve circles around the next-best strategist. He flipped open the box to reveal a little piece of purple godglass, the same color as his family crest, in a crescent-roll shape with a hook at one end.

He took a deep breath, snatched up the earring, and threaded the hook through one of his piercings.

The pain started immediately – an ache at the base of his skull, creeping up the back of his head and then stabbing inward, like hot lances through his brain and into the backs of his eye sockets. He gritted his teeth, bearing the pain, waiting for it to subside enough for him to actually think. But it didn’t subside. It intensified, growing with each passing second, a sweet agony that wouldn’t let him get a thought in edgewise.

When he finally tore the witglass from his ear and thrust it back into the box, he felt like someone had burned through his soul from the inside. His mouth was parched, every nerve tingling at the memory of suffering. He raised a hand to see that it was trembling.

“Well,” he said to himself, “that isn’t going to work.” And if it didn’t work, how could he possibly win the war? His enemy commanders would all have witglass. Even the least of them would be able to think faster and more capably than he – and Kerite was far from the least of them. He was outnumbered and facing the greatest general in the world, and he didn’t have the wherewithal to plan.

“General Grappo!” a voice called from outside. “Major Grappo and Captain Sepulki are here to see you.”

Demir tossed the little box across the room and folded his hands to keep them from shaking. “Show them in.”

Uncle Tadeas and Idrian entered, pausing as one to look across the myriad of reports that covered the ground. “No chairs, huh?” Tadeas asked.

“I can send for some.”

Idrian grunted at Tadeas and pulled one of the crates over next to Demir, dropping onto it and popping his jaw. “Don’t be prissy, Tad.”

“Please, have a seat,” Demir said sarcastically. “Is everyone here?”

Tadeas raised an eyebrow. “Who else did you want at this meeting?”

“I meant the glassdamned Ironhorns, and those cuirassiers that were at Fort Alameda.”

“Oh, yeah.” Tadeas snorted. “Yeah, everyone is here.” He peered at Demir. “How are you here? Last communiqué I received from Breenen said you were locked up in the Maerhorn.”

“It was … smoothed over,” Demir said.

“Is that it?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you sometime. Where’s Mika?”

“She’s off working over the supply runners from Ossa as we speak, stealing every last ounce of gunpowder that they’ll let her get away with.” Tadeas tapped a fingernail against one tooth, watching Demir with an expression that said he wanted to know more about the business with the Maerhorn. Well, gossip would filter into camp soon enough.

Demir plowed onward. “Good. I want her engineers making grenades between now and the moment we next join battle.” Demir cleared his throat, shifting on the little stool, trying to ignore the little pit of despair that the witglass had left behind with all that pain.

“Do we know when that is?” Idrian asked.

“Within the next three days. No longer. I–” He was cut off by some very creative swearing outside his tent. The flap was thrown back and Colonel Jorfax strode inside, taking all three of them in with her icy stare. She looked just as immaculate as she had on their last meeting, her uniform pressed, not a hair out of place, hands clasped behind her back. Demir started, realizing he hadn’t even sensed her approach through his sorcery. He needed to pay better attention, or the assassins that killed General Stavri would get him, too.

“Colonel,” he greeted her, “good to see you again. I trust you didn’t murder my bodyguards outside?”

“If anyone ever tries to keep me from seeing you again, I will,” she snapped. “What are you going to do about this? What actions have you taken?”

“Wait, wait.” Demir realized he had stood by pure instinct, his sorcery grasping at the glassdancer egg in his pocket. He forced himself to untense. “What the piss are you talking about? I’ve been in camp all of twenty minutes.”

Jorfax’s gaze swept around the tent as if she were examining a concert hall full of her enemies. Her gaze lingered briefly on Idrian before returning to Demir. “That should have been enough. My glassdancers – the sorcerers you appropriated to act as scouts – are dying.”

“Oh shit,” Demir said, wiping a hand across his face. He glanced at his uncle, who just shook his head. No help there. “I thought the system was working. We blinded the Grent, we washed them out with that flood. Have they countered us already?”

“I told you not to underestimate Kerite.”

“I think,” Idrian spoke up suddenly, matching Jorfax’s stare with a cool one of his own, “that you’d better explain.”

Jorfax seemed to genuinely get a grip on herself, and when she spoke next some of the anger had gone out of her words. “It started yesterday. First one, then two – now eight of those scouting parties, each accompanied by one of my glassdancers, have gone missing. We finally found one just a couple of hours ago. Completely eviscerated – torn to pieces, taken completely by surprise. My subordinate’s glassdancer egg was still in his pocket.”

“And you think the same thing has happened to seven other scouting parties?” Demir asked carefully. This was bad. Very bad. If the Grent, or Kerite, or whoever, had already turned the tables on that little maneuver, then the Foreign Legion might be damned.

“It’s the only explanation for their disappearance. I’ve sent out riders to make contact and warn all the remaining scouts to be on the alert. I don’t want anyone to go down without a fight – but you should recall them immediately.”

Demir was surprised she hadn’t recalled them herself. Was that an oversight on her part, or did she actually respect his command after the Grappo Torrent? It didn’t matter. He said, “Keep four of them out there doing circles around the camp – just enough to deal with anyone who tries to get a close look. We’ll recall the rest.”

For a moment he thought Jorfax would protest, but she gave a sharp nod. “Agreed.”

“We should tell them,” Idrian suddenly said.

Demir turned toward him. “Eh?”

“Including her?” Tadeas asked.

“Yes. She has a right to know. It’s her people out there getting killed.”

Demir glanced between his three companions quickly, and could see that Jorfax was just as confused as himself. “What’s going on? Tad?”

Tadeas cleared his throat and leaned back on his crate. “We haven’t made a full report yet – no reason for the Ministry of the Legion to recall us because they think we’re insane – but you’re going to start hearing rumors. Both of you. We were attacked at Fort Alameda the night you went back into Ossa.”

“Attacked?” Demir said. Every glassdamn word was another piece of bad news. He didn’t think he could wind himself any tighter at this point. “Why didn’t I hear about this sooner?”

“Because it was a glassdamned monster,” Idrian spat. “That’s why.”

“You’re joking,” Jorfax scoffed.

“I wish I were,” Idrian continued. “Demir, it was your secret glassdancer alarm that saved us all.”

“Squeaks?”

“Yeah. She warned me there was a glassdancer on the roof of the officers’ quarters of the fort. I have no doubt it was the same assassin that killed General Stavri and his officers. I managed to get the drop on him, but when I engaged it was not human. It was taller than me, built like a breacher with skin like a hard shell. It was faster and stronger than me with my armor on, and when I pressed it, the damned thing flew off. It had wings, Demir.”

Demir felt every hair on the back of his neck stand up. In a less serious situation, without Jorfax present, he might have accused Tadeas and Idrian of playing a prank on him. It was the type of thing Tad might do for a laugh. But one glance at both of their faces told him that there was no joke. “Who saw it?”

“I did,” Tadeas said, “Idrian, Mika, Squeaks. A dozen engineers and seven soldiers. Whatever it was, it was there.”

To Demir’s surprise, Jorfax paled and sank down on a crate next to Idrian. It was the first time he’d ever seen her lose her composure, and it was almost as shocking as Idrian’s revelation. She said, “I thought sentries were just making things up.”

“What do you mean?” Demir asked sharply.

“I mean, about eight weeks ago, well before this bullshit war, the garrisons at two of our northern forts sent reports back to the Ministry of the Legion that they’d seen some kind of large animal in the sky at night. It was a strange report, but nothing came of it, so we ignored it. It could have been anything, after all – an albatross, or a trick of the light, or just some sentries bored out of their glassdamned minds.”

Demir might have lambasted her if he didn’t agree. It was nonsensical, and the Ministry was right to ignore such reports. Until suddenly they weren’t. “So what is it?” he asked. He didn’t think he could feel any more helpless, not after having his mind so firmly reject that witglass. But here he was, floundering, presented with something so far outside of his experience that not even the old Demir could have planned for it. “A Grent weapon of some kind? The results of godglass experiments?”

“Idrian and I have been talking about it for three days,” Tadeas said, “and that’s our best guess. Godglass that gives you pissing wings. Think of that.”

“There’s more,” Idrian said. “More of whatever that was.” He glanced at Tadeas and then continued, “Right before the Torrent, Squeaks was taken off guard duty because she said she saw a monster in the forest. She said it was short, with a long neck and a delicate face. Oh, and an underbite. Definitely not human. It even disappeared when she looked at it. Valient and I thought she was just exhausted and seeing things, but I’m not so sure anymore. There may be more of them, and we need to be ready.”

Demir felt a cold finger move up his spine. That sounded a lot like the face he’d seen in the window of his mother’s study when he first returned to Ossa. Was he being followed by some otherworldly presence? He tried to shake off a sudden bout of the chills.

“So we have a flying glassdancer,” Demir said, “and a disappearing monster with an underbite. Sweet godglass, how the piss do we plan for monsters?” He inhaled sharply, part of him wanting to go looking for that piece of witglass again. Maybe if he tried just one more time. Maybe if … He stood up, turning his back on his three guests, staring at the wall of his tent. There was a new hole – a gaping one – in his half-constructed plans. He didn’t even know how to deal with the problems he had, let alone this. Once again he felt the sweet draw of cowardice – of fleeing into the provinces, never to be seen again.

Idrian spoke up. “The winged glassdancer we saw must be what killed those scouting parties. You said your glassdancer didn’t even take the glassdancer egg from his pocket?”

“Correct,” Jorfax answered.

“Of course he wouldn’t. Nobody expects an attack from above. If this winged glassdancer is swooping down on our scouts, it explains why we’ve only lost eight parties rather than all of them. He can only work so fast, after all. It also gives us an opportunity.”

“What kind of opportunity?” Jorfax asked.

“A trap. Send out me, Mika, some engineers and soldiers disguised as scouts, and a single glassdancer. When that thing attacks us, our glassdancer will sense it coming – he’ll be paying attention to the sky this time – and then Mika can drive it to the ground with explosives and I can kill it.”

“Ooooh,” Jorfax said, the word almost sensual. “I like this plan.”

Demir did not turn around. The word “disguised” had touched something off in his mind but he couldn’t quite grasp what it was. He could feel the frustration building, like an expert marksman who just couldn’t quite seem to hit the target before him. He forced himself to take a deep breath. To focus.

This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him, not if he was going to protect the people he loved. What had he told himself days ago? No more arrogance. No more foolhardiness. No more crippling self-doubt. He had to shed it all like a snake shed its skin and arise anew with what was left behind. He needed to be the best of his old self and his new self.

Did he even know what his “new” self was? A grifter? A con man? Someone who consorted with cudgelists and fixed fights for money and entertainment? Demir frowned, struck by a sudden realization that he had spent so much time separating his life into “before Holikan” and “after Holikan” that he’d never really stopped to consider that maybe he hadn’t changed all that much.

He still charmed and blustered and organized. After all, what was a political savant but a formalized con man? He’d just lost the confidence to do it in public.

The line of thought brought him back around to Idrian. Disguised. Why was that word tumbling around in his head? Was it because it felt so familiar? All con men needed disguises, but never mind how it was useful to Demir the grifter. How was it useful to Demir the general?

“Demir?” Tadeas prodded. “What do you think of Idrian’s plan?”

Demir whirled to face the other three. “This trap is a good idea. Make it happen. Whatever this monster is, we’ll lure it out and kill it.”

“That’s just one tiny aspect of this conflict,” Tadeas pointed out. “We haven’t even talked about the Grent yet. Or Kerite. I hope you came up with some good battle plans while you were in the city.”

Demir waved off his uncle’s question, still deep in thought. He could feel pieces falling into place – little bits of information scattered throughout his brain coalescing to form a coherent narrative. “Listen, Jorfax is right. I can’t outthink Kerite. She’s the best general in the world. But she only has perhaps seven thousand mercenaries, right? The rest of her forces are all Grent.”

“What are you thinking?” Tadeas asked, sitting up straight. He seemed to have noticed a change in Demir’s countenance. Good. Let him take whatever confidence he could get from it.

Demir said, “When I was out in the provinces, I fixed a lot of cudgeling matches. I couldn’t always bribe the judges, but I realized early on that the judges are beholden to the crowd. If a judge thought there was foul play, they would stop the match and investigate. But if the crowd absolutely believed in the fight – if it was just too damned good – no judge would dare to intervene. They went with what the crowd wanted.

“Kerite is the judge. She’s the arbiter of the battlefield – someone who will read my every move and respond accordingly. I don’t need to play her. I need to play the Grent officers that hired her. How many National Guardsmen do we have on hand?”

“Sixty thousand,” Tadeas answered thoughtfully. Idrian and Jorfax both frowned, but Demir could see that his uncle had an inkling of where he was going with this. “But,” Tadeas continued, “you said yourself they are worse than useless. They’ll only panic against real soldiers, and if they run it’ll be worse than not deploying them at all.”

“We’re not going to deploy them to this battle,” Demir said. His thoughts were whirring along now, moving so quickly he could barely keep up with them. Not as fast as with witglass, but with more alacrity than he’d ever experienced unaided. It was as if all the different parts of him – grifter, politician, and general – were finally talking to each other. “Send a fast rider back to Ossa. I want them to find every single spare uniform they can get their hands on at the Ministry. I need at least ten thousand, preferably more. We’ll stuff each one with a National Guardsman, and then we’ll send them into Grent. March them down the street, capture bridges, occupy tenements. No real fighting, mind you. Just bodies on display.”

It was Jorfax who seemed to figure it out next, followed quickly by a widening of Idrian’s one eye. Jorfax said, “The Grent will panic and pull out all their forces. It won’t matter what Kerite says or does – her employers will insist she withdraw from Harbortown at speed in order to protect Grent.”

“And when she does,” Demir finished, “when her troops are spread out on the road, at their most vulnerable, we’ll hit her hard and fast from the flank.”

“Glassdamn,” Tadeas breathed. “That just might work.”

“It pissing better,” Demir replied, “because it’s the best I’ve got. Idrian, organize your trap. I want you riding out first thing in the morning. Jorfax, recall most of your glassdancers. We’ll need them for the upcoming battle. Tad, I want you running point with all the other officers of the Foreign Legion. They need to understand that if we’re going to win this, they have to follow the orders of their disgraced commanding officer.”

The others scattered, leaving Demir alone in his tent full of information. He found the little box with the high-resonance witglass and set it on top of one of the crates, staring at it. “You’re a crutch,” he whispered, “and I can’t yearn for you any longer. With or without you, I am still a Grappo. I am still the Lightning Prince.”