The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Chapter X

The Lords of Chaos

In which Alia bargains for a wayward soul

Once again cold stone chilled her back, seeping through her clothes. And cold iron bit into her bare skin.

“Awaken, priestess.” The man’s voice came from her right.

Alia kept her eyes shut. To open them now would oblige her to engage. Which she refused to do, not until she was sure of what she was dealing with. Instead, she forced herself to remain calm.

Heat warmed her face. Lights must be overhead, she judged. Blinding lights, if she were to open her eyes in her current position.

She listened.

Footsteps. Two. No, three. Three people in the room with her. She corrected herself: three moving people. Someone else could be there, someone sitting quietly and watching.

And what else? A scent. Rank, like an animal’s. Metal scraping on wood, as if someone were dragging a chain against the floor … or restrained an animal.

And finally, the hum. A strange hum, but not unfamiliar, and it was the only thing that reassured her.

Certain that she’d gained everything she could from scent, sound, and touch, Alia decided the time had come for sight. She turned her head toward the sound of the voice.

She opened her eyes.

Two men stared at her. From her left she felt the eyes of the third person, but for the moment she concentrated on the first two. They stared expectantly at her.

“At last, the wait is over,” the taller of the two snapped. “We don’t have all night, do we now?”

Alia didn’t answer. Sarcasm didn’t require a response, and she was unmoved by it. Coldly she studied him. He was one of the lighthouse workers, part of Gavin’s staff. Anaxander. The same one who attacked Shahin? If so, he was a shadow priest, and she needed to be on her guard. Although, he appeared to be a most unremarkable fellow. Grey-brown hair, sallow-faced, thickening around the middle. New bags under his eyes; perhaps fear of flayers robbed him of rest.

“Do you have an appointment, Anaxander?” Alia asked.

Though Anaxander flinched, perhaps startled she knew his name, his companion remained focused.

“As if you don’t know,” the shorter man snarled. Same hair, same coloring, but scrawny of skin and bone. So closely did he resemble Anaxander that she guessed they were brothers. The concept of ‘family resemblance’ had always fascinated her. It was a testament of belonging in a way alien to her.

“You will call off your dogs, huntress, or we take your soul.” The gravelly voice came from the unseen man to her left.

Alia didn’t bother looking his way, she was curious about the other one.

True to her suspicions, a fourth man sat quietly in the room.

He sat behind a desk, a codex in front of him. Quiet and calm. Was he the leader of the little group? She took him in. Olive skinned, not sallow; svelte, not scrawny. Disciplined. The grey in his hair gave him an air of “distinguished statesman” unlike Anaxander’s broke-down bandit look.

Alia sighed. Her arms were numb. The iron bit into her wrists. Restricting her circulation. Even if she freed her arms she would be helpless, at least at first. Stratagem, not violence, would grant her freedom.

Alia lifted her chin, indicating the quiet man. She held his gaze and matched his silence.

A faint smile flickered on his lips as he rose from his seat. Keeping his eyes on her, he made a slow, deliberate bow. “You have come far, huntress,” he said when he straightened again.

A small laugh escaped her. He paused, his face freezing.

Alia looked away from him, satisfied she had knocked him and Anaxander and the short man off guard. Now was a good time to examine the gravelly-voiced man.

He was powerfully built, and appeared as young as she. Darker than the others, but not as dark as she. Long black hair curved over his shoulders. In the light his hair took on blue highlights. Anger radiated off of him, from the set of his face to every line in his body.

Alia turned her head now, back to the leader.

“Is there something about this situation that amuses you, huntress?”

Dryly she replied, “I have an inappropriate sense of humor. Don’t mind me. Really.” She smiled and cleared her throat. “Though I think your—what is he, your son? Nephew? Son-in-law? Anaxander, you have been rude.”

This time Anaxander’s brow furrowed. Still confused? Good.

In the early days of her life in Ebon Cove, Alia discovered she threw off many people in conversation. Eventually the chrysopteron patiently explained she was inappropriate. Her reactions didn’t always align with the emotions she was expected to have, and people didn’t like that.

Now, she was sure her captors were expecting her to be afraid. So, she was amused, and they were the ones uncertain.

And worried.

Worry loomed in the eyes of Anaxander’s brother.

Anaxander exchanged a look with his brother, and glanced back at the quiet man.

“Rude?” he squawked.

“Did you think I didn’t know your rules? When strangers meet, introductions are made. I am known to you, you are known to me, but what of your father? Your brother? And this man, your bodyguard? Rude, rude, rude.” She dipped her head to the leader. “I am Alia Ironwing, honorable old man whose name I do not know.”

The man folded his arms.

Anaxander’s brother interjected, “We all know who you are, huntress.”

Alia arched an eyebrow. “Should I feel insulted? You say huntress as though it were an insult. Are you a heathen from some barbaric backwater?”

The waft of air to her left warned her that the ‘bodyguard’ was advancing. Strong fingers clamped her neck before she could turn to see him. He squeezed. Alia allowed herself to go limp, but her expression revealed her indifference. Killing her was not an option, and she knew it, and saw no reason not to let them know she knew it. Besides, the brute with his hands on her neck was not in charge. The old man was. And what would he say?

Her sight dimmed. Any minute now, she would pass out.

“Let her go,” the old man commanded. He reminded her of Palamara, effortlessly exuding authority without raising his voice.

The pressure didn’t ease.

The old man cleared his throat, and only then did the bodyguard remove his hand from her neck.

For several seconds Alia simply coughed. After a while she cleared her throat, eying Anaxander with disfavor.

“So a barbaric backwater after all,” she rasped.

The old man jerked his head. Footsteps sounded, receding from her hearing. Apparently, the bodyguard was being banished. However, he moved in the opposite direction of the door, so Alia must still count him in her plans.

“Apologies, Lady Ironwing. Or is it Huntress Ironwing?” the old man paused for her response.

“Either is considered respectful, amongst Lyrcanians,” Alia replied, employing the soothing tone her etiquette teacher used.

The man’s lips quirked. He bowed again, and came around the desk.

“You misunderstand, Lady Ironwing. We are not barbarians, though I don’t blame you for thinking so. All of this is most uncivilized.” He made a sweeping gesture, encompassing her from head to toe. She supposed the chains were included.

“That is my understanding as well,” Alia agreed.

She waited.

Any minute now, the old man would show her why she should be afraid of him instead of the bodyguard. By now they understood Anaxander did not impress her, nor did the brute, and the old man needed her to be impressed. Of a certainty Alia believed the old man required her to be afraid, for whatever plan of his.

One other thing she firmly believed: these men were members of the Lords of Chaos. She remembered the roar. The limping man, who’d posed as a huntsman. Clearly he committed suicide with his gun.

Unleashing the infernal.

The thought made her blood cold. That particular infernal was perhaps more powerful than the ones the ritualists had summoned for their soul cutting. Those had fled from her, after she invoked the Huntress and unsheathed her moonbow blades. Perhaps the infernal who ambushed her counted on the element of surprise? Unlikely, with such high stakes for the shadow man, who would not have given his life so readily if he thought her a match for an agent of Erebossa.

The old man’s cold eyes swept over her in open calculation.

“Lady Huntress. I wish no violence. Give me your word you will not attack, and I will have Anaxander release you. How does that sound?”

As though to think it over, Alia allowed the silence to stretch. Finally she replied, “I will reciprocate kindness for kindness.”

At a nod and a gesture from his leader, Anaxander moved. Quickly his brother followed. They flanked Alia, Anaxander on her right and his brother at her feet. This was how she discovered her ankles had been bound as well; she hadn’t felt the manacles through her boots.

The minute the men freed her, Alia let out another sigh. However, she remained motionless, waiting for the tingles to stop. Once she could move her arms with purpose, she began to massage first one, then the other wrist. When the pain faded to a dull ache she slowly sat up. Her back complained, but one thing at a time, she told herself.

She made a show of flexing her toes, a suitable excuse to see whether she still carried her moonbow knives. To her surprise the knives were still in their sheaths, strapped to her thighs. Only her Dragon Pearl IV had been removed.

Confirmation her abductors were shadow priests. They would be loath to touch divine weapons.

Finally she stretched her arms, taking the opportunity to pinpoint the dragging sound.

Ah. A cage in the left corner of what she realized was a temple sanctuary. Heavy fabric draped over the cage concealed its mysterious inhabitant. Whatever resided in the cage was very much awake; it moved restlessly, dragging its chains.

She judged she had tested the mens’ patience long enough. “Well?”

“Shall we speak of threats, Mistress Ironwing?” the old man asked.

“That depends,” Alia answered. “How long have I been here?”

Again she put them off-balance. Seeing the wheels turning in their minds almost made her laugh. The old man blinked. Anaxander and his brother kept looking from her to themselves again, as if they were trying to reassure themselves of something.

“We have not kept you here for days, if that is your worry, Mistress Ironwing. But if you’re trying to find out how quickly your people can find you, I’m afraid that won’t be soon at all,” the old man replied.

“Allow me to clarify,” Alia said, holding up her hand. “I am not concerned about my people. I want to know how long I have been here. That is all.”

“Inside an hour, perhaps. Why does that matter?”

Alia nodded to herself. So. The hum grew louder. Hope was not so foolish for her to have, after all.

“Speak on,” she said. “Of your threats and such. Go.”

Anaxander’s brother leaned over to him and said, “Why is she acting as if she’s going to just walk out of here? Like we’re no threat to her? Is it because we’re going to die—?”

Anaxander cuffed his brother’s ear. Alia watched them with interest. Long ago she learned it paid to trigger arguments between her suspects, for they revealed much when shouting at each other. Unfortunately, the old man gave them a searing look, and they subsided.

“Immortal one,” the old man resumed. “You threaten my people with a most terrible death. To be eaten alive? How is that a just thing for you to inflict on us?”

It was Alia’s turn to choose her words with care. “This is about the flayers? I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. They’re only targeting the people who have participated in crimes against the daughters of the Huntress. What ever could that have to do with you? Be at your ease, the lot of you, and sleep well in your beds tonight.”

The old man started to reply, when Anaxander’s brother blurted, “But you said you’d only protect the people who came to you!”

“Ohhhh. So you are involved in that business. Well.”

“Anaxander.” The old man’s tone was dangerous.

Anaxander’s blow was harder this time, knocking his brother flat on the ground. He didn’t give his brother time to recover, collaring the scrawny man to yank him back to his feet. Swiftly came his punch to his brother’s midsection.

The breath knocked out of him, the little man collapsed on the floor, gasping desperately. Which gave Anaxander the opportunity to kick him right in the teeth.

“Enough,” Alia said sharply.

She shuddered, unwilling and unable to hide her disgust. Not that it mattered. Death was imminent for these men; all she wished was for them to make themselves useful to her while they still lived. She stared at the old man and her expression hardened.

“Let me save you time,” she said. “You want me to call off the flayers. But, gentlemen, I am a huntress, and the idea of letting you go unpunished for your acts against the dryads is not on the table. You will pay for that. Unless—I am allowed to show mercy. If you are offering to walk away, break off your crimes against the dryads, and turn in those who persist in hunting them, I will see to it that the flayers do not extract your skin and bones. Otherwise, I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

“You may have suborned those traitors—” It was the bodyguard, but the old man cut him off with a hiss.

The old man demanded, “And if you are dead, how will the flayers arrive? Who else will summon them?”

“Another misunderstanding. You are consistent. But the flayers aren’t arriving because I summoned them. They are arriving, as I said, because of the crimes done against the dryads. Perhaps they are servants of the Huntress. Might they be Her enforcers? Shall we ask them?”

“Call them off, priestess, or you too will be separated from your flesh and bones.”

“No,” she snapped. Her eyes narrowed. “You serve your gods. I serve mine. You will die serving yours; I am willing to die serving mine. How could it be otherwise, when we are both of us priests? So you know better than to threaten me. Don’t play games. There’s no time for that.”

The hum was not quite loud enough to keep her from hearing his answer. Yet loud enough to make her struggle to divide her attention.

The sneer was pronounced in both his voice and his expression. “The boy you took after the ritual? He was one of ours. We looked after him, while he was rotting away on the streets, right in sight of your temples.”

“The boy?” A pit of dread cracked open in her stomach.

The old man strode over to the curtains and yanked one end, sending the fabric cascading to the floor.

Alia jumped to her feet.

The curtains had concealed two cages. In one paced a leukrokotta. The beast snarled at the cage and whipped its head about, chafing at the chains around its neck.

The second cage held the boy. Bound and gagged, he had eyes only for the leukrokotta.

“Ever so predictable, huntress: you took this boy to your temple. Of course. Because what better place for him? Would it ever occur to you to take him anywhere else? Are you capable of imagining why taking him to your temple was a bad idea? What happens next will be on your head.”

Yes indeed, she was capable of imagining exactly what he intended: the monster would devour the boy, and then it would be set loose on the grounds of the fane. Where it would no doubt lure guards and priests and acolytes alike with false cries for help.

“So, your people get eaten, and therefore you think mine should be eaten,” Alia noted. “Yes, you have made a more plausible threat.” She allowed herself to look worried while she pondered her next move.

Could she spare the boy? True, she hadn’t imagined him as a willing participant in the ritual. Given his age she assumed the men duped or coerced him. Killing a beardless youth … her stomach turned at the thought.

Yet, though the boy was not a man, he was still old enough to know right from wrong. But—if he had been orphaned or abandoned, if the shadow priests had taken him in, he might be misguided and acting out of a sense of misplaced loyalty. On their trip to the temple he seemed so remorseful. Or had she misread him? Maybe the remorse was because he thought he’d let down the group he’d thrown his lot in with.

“For our sake, the boy will die. Isn’t that right? Precisely as you said, huntress,” the old man spat.

He reached into the boy’s cage and patted his head. The boy squeezed his eyes shut. Tears slid down his cheeks.

Alia’s own eyes stung a bit. Nevertheless, she clenched her jaw. No matter what, she must do her job. And the answers she sought were imminent. One way or the other, she’d learn the boy’s disposition.

Alia stalked over to the cage. Deliberately she got into the old man’s space, forcing him to back up.

“Young man,” she addressed the boy. “I believe you said your name is Mahzun? And I trust you have not forgotten me. What is your wish, Mahzun? Tell me, and I will make it so.”

She unsheathed one of her Huntress blades. The old man gave a start, as did the other three men, but Alia ignored them. With a deft hand she cut the gag, and the ropes around the youth’s wrists. She sheathed her knife again and stepped back.

The boy blinked up at her. He used his newfound freedom of movement to wedge himself in the furthest corner he could get from the leukrokotta. He drew his knees up to his chin, and looked from Alia to the old man in obvious confusion.

“You said her people were the real enemies,” the boy said accusingly. “You said you’d be my family but you weren’t! But you’re going to let this thing eat meeeee! And trick all those people who were nice to me.” Mahzun sobbed, his body shaking so hard he rattled the bars of his cage.

Summoning her inner Rikka, Alia gave the old man her most withering stare. “Have you forgotten what it is to be young? He doesn’t want to die for you. Or your cause. Apparently, you have not indoctrinated him sufficiently. Like all young people, he wants to live. And if you want me to call off the flayers, then that is my price: his life.”

Anaxander smirked. “Predictable.”

Alia eyed her Dragon Pearl IV, still resting on the desk.

The old man said, “Fine, Priestess Ironwing. You will have your price. As soon as we have proof—”

“I am not in the business of trusting men like you. Let the boy go now, or forget it.”

She pressed a hand against her temple. The hum was starting to give her a headache.

For Mahzun’s sake you better hold on.

After a moment the old man shrugged, and eyed her with contempt. Undoubtedly, he believed he successfully duped her.

Good.

“Anaxander,” the old man said, turning his back on Alia and walking back to his desk.

The Dragon Pearl IV gleamed in the glowlights. Naturally, for she always kept the gold dragon barrel polished. Serafina’s father was a fine gunsmith, and it showed. Now at last Alia admitted to herself that her real reluctance to have her gun converted to the modern style was because she was worried no other gunsmith would match Hurik’s craftsmanship. Contrary to her upbringing she was being dangerously sentimental, and she mentally rebuked herself for it.

How could she hope to destroy the shadow queen if she didn’t commit to doing everything possible to hunt it down? Would the Huntress still use a self-bow if a rifle were at hand?

The jangle of keys brought Alia out of her reverie. Anaxander was making a show of finding the right key as he lingered in front of Mahzun’s cage.

“We took you in. You cast your lot in with us, you took vows. And now, at the moment of truth you wimp out.” Anaxander made a sound of disgust in his throat.

Alia rolled her eyes, making sure that Mahzun saw it. On no account could she allow Mahzun to remain frozen in fear. The boy must not still be here when she needed him to be gone. Showing her open disdain disdain for Anaxander might deflate whatever fears the boy had about him. Or better still, give him courage.

The cage door swung open. Anaxander stepped back. As she expected Mahzun hesitated, but Alia gave him an encouraging nod. The boy crawled forward. When he reached the door, he hesitated again. Alia held out her hand. Fortunately Mahzun was quick to grip her hand tightly in return, and she pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, obviously sore from staying in a cramped position in a small cage.

“Go to my temple or not, it is your choice. Your life is yours,” Alia told him.

The boy’s arm trembled as she tightened her grip. Eyes wide, he stared at her, ensuring she had his attention when she lowered her voice and added,

“Your life, and the freedom to live it as you will, is the gift I give to you. If you harm the dryads or their servants again, or aid those who do, I will take back that gift. Is that clear?”

Mahzun gaped at her, then his eyes dropped. She clenched her teeth, hard-pressed in her battle of wills between herself and the presence in her mind. Fortunately, Mahzun did not drive her past the point of endurance.

“Yes, huntress. Thank you,” he mumbled.

She released him, and he ran. He fled the room, glancing back only once.

Alia pointed to the scrawny man. “You. Get up and make sure Mahzun gets out safely. Do you have doubts about your fate if he does not?”

The scrawny man staggered to his feet and shuffled off, sniffling loudly as he went.

While the others watched him go, Alia used the opportunity to ready herself.

“So it’s done,” the old man said when the scrawny one passed the threshold and his footsteps receded from their hearing. He started forward again.

Away from her gun.

Alia sighed, pleased the old man would not have it in his hands. “Do you have a scryer? I want to see the boy leave here safely.” Casually, she strolled over to the door.

Stalling.

“I am done indulging you, huntress,” the old man declared.

The bodyguard left his punishment corner, and now all three men stood before her. Any one of them could easily force her into the cage, hence her moving away from it. Right outside the cage was the lever which would remove the partition between the leukrokrotta’s cage and the one Mahzun had just exited. The trick they planned to use Mahzun for would work handily with Alia instead.

Except she still had one bit of leverage: they were ignorant of her treaty with the flayers, which meant they believed they needed her.

The cage would be for after.

At least, that was their plan.

«I am here, servant of the Huntress.»

«Her will be done,» Alia answered.

The old man smoldered. Bold, defiant, Alia raised her chin. Once more she played the inappropriate gambit as she closed her eyes.

The chimes rang clear and pure, and the afterimage on her inner eyelids assured Alia the men were now blinded by a glorious light.

The astral warrior had arrived.