The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

XX

Lair of the Red Daggers

In which the fight is taken to the enemy

Fanuco’s, Bessa discovered, was an all-purpose hangout. Boasting of a bath house, gym, library, and restaurant, Fanuco’s served many of the more respectable citizens of Kyanopolis.

Lady Nensela waited in one of the private banquet rooms which featured restrained, tasteful wall murals and floor mosaics of naiads and asrai at play. Kyane, patron naiad of Kyanopolis, figured prominently in the murals and the mosaics.

An elegant and tasty assortment of platters greeted Bessa and Edana, predominantly seafood and the requisite sauces, but also roasted flamingos, and desserts featuring black cherries. At the far end of the room, open double doors framed a picturesque view of the bleached white sails of the ships gliding to and fro in the bay.

Lady Nensela stood on the terrace beyond the double doors. Her hand shaded her eyes as she peered at the vista below.

Edana stalked over to her, addressing her back as she demanded, “Did you know?”

Without turning around Lady Nensela replied, “I take it you had trouble? Did I not warn you to keep your guards about you?”

Drawing even with her Edana fired back, “What about my people? All of them were in danger today—”

“An unpreventable danger. The Red Daggers are looking for you, you specifically. Found you, did they? Now they know that is a dangerous thing to do. It is a necessary lesson. For them.”

Edana did not appear mollified, and her next words confirmed it. “I never would have brought danger to doorstep of my people! I do not want them to be—”

Lady Nensela turned at last and met her eyes. As usual, her inscrutable expression guarded her thoughts.

“Think of the situation a different way: your staff now know to be on their guard, and that you are in danger. Your people care for you, as they know you care for them. Think not of them as people you need to protect; think of them as people whose help you need. And now you both understand that. From now on, they can take their own measures to protect themselves. Better still, they can warn others. Which means there is less value in killing you, by the way.”

“This is some sort of plan?”

With a sigh, Lady Nensela walked over to the banquet table. She ripped off a hunk of bread, and swirled it in a saucer of olive oil flecked with herbs and sea salt.

“What cause have you, to think I would plan for the Red Daggers to attack you, and yet not safeguard you? Nor did any vision came to me, for the Seeker is keeping Her silence. Accuse me not of treating the lives of others as my playthings.” She popped a small piece of the bread into her mouth and ate it.

All of the color drained from Edana’s face, and Bessa suspected the furnace of her temper was extinguished now.

“I’m sorry, I should not have implied—”

“This matter is one of faith, girl. In the well from which I draw are aeons of experience. Thus I tell you: if the Seeker did give me a prophecy, only two reasons would I have for my silence: the will of the Seeker, and to avoid a prophecy trap.”

“A what?”

They followed her to the table, and Bessa began pouring wine for the three of them. No slaves attended them here, and Bessa suspected this was at Lady Nensela’s command; she wouldn’t want anyone to overhear their business. Lady Nensela’s own slaves stood outside, guarding the doors.

Carefully, precisely, Lady Nensela began the lesson: a single outcome may have multiple paths leading to it.

A fact she learned to rue.

“Change one simple thing, people think, and they have avoided the terrible outcome. Inevitably, they overlook a crucial detail, and invite upon themselves the fate they sought to avoid.”

“Is their fate unavoidable then?” Bessa asked.

“Often it hinges on the nature of the person involved. Tell a man he will be killed by the jealous husband of his lover, and he will avoid the current woman he is seeing. But if he habitually takes up with married women my advice is useless, for there are many possible husbands who might slay him.”

“So he better stop pursuing married women,” Bessa mused.

A smile from Lady Nensela. “As you say. In such cases I keep silent until the Seeker commands otherwise. When threads tangle on a loom, it is more helpful to convince you to manage your risks. Yet sometimes, the path to an outcome has just one fork: Do, or not do. Go, or stay. Such times come rarely, and I treasure them. Pain taught me this lesson, of when to speak and when to keep silent. I beg of you to accept the fruit of it now.”

Her tone grew stern. “In this matter, Edana, prophecy is not required: only foresight. You knew the Red Daggers are looking for you, and I have faith in your love for your friends. Will you not have faith in me?”

“Yes,” came Edana’s swift reply.

Bessa passed wine cups to her and Lady Nensela, and the three of them drank in silence. In the silence, Bessa considered Lady Nensela’s words, and her actions that day. The prophet had dealt honorably with them, she judged. More, Bessa believed guilt was what ignited Edana’s anger. Guilt over such evil people coming so near her friends.

Gently Bessa pointed out, “The Red Daggers’ attack was inevitable. Consider we don’t know how much they know, or what they intend about you. What else can you do other than what you already are doing? The timing was against us, is all.”

“My people will be safe if I close my shop.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts, a silent dare to challenge her.

“And endanger their livelihood?” Bessa countered. “Will Atreus thank you for endangering his?”

Inevitably, they overlook a crucial detail.

Time to demonstrate that lesson, Bessa decided. “The Red Daggers know you’re an Eitanite. What keeps them from making incursions on the Sower’s temple, to get to you?”

As she hoped, Edana was jolted out of her defiant stance. Part of Bessa felt guilty for manipulating her, as though she were one of the dolls they played with as children. But Bessa used to accompany Papouli on his rounds, and neither screams nor tears deterred him from setting broken bones.

“There is only one fork in the road for you, sister mine: warn everyone, so they can be vigilant, or remain silent.” Hardening her voice Bessa added, “Every burden doesn’t need to be carried on your shoulders alone. You thought you’d protect me from the Red Daggers if I didn’t know about the giants. But that still left the giants, no?”

“But I—”

“In your shop I let your smiths decide what risks they should take,” Bessa went on. “And now Silas Atreus needs to decide; he needs to be on his guard. Closing your shop will not buy him any protection; surely the Red Daggers read his name on the sign over your door.”

“That’s just it!” Edana exploded. “Everyone close to me is in danger now. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Now Lady Nensela stepped in. “Fear blinds you to your sister’s counsel: warn everyone, and they will protect themselves. Let their lives be in their own hands, and not only in yours or our enemies. When you teach a man to fish, he may have spare nets when yours breaks: put people on alert, and they become your eyes and ears. Allies. Shall I remind you of the Sayings of your Speaker? Thus spake He: ‘the watchmen must warn as well as guard.’”

Edana fell quiet.

They gave her a moment to compose herself, and it was Edana who eventually broke the silence.

“Can Ziri scry this for us?” The ring she’d hidden in her sash. “The Red Dagger wore it. Perhaps it leads to their spymaster in Kyanopolis.”

“Soon we shall know; Ziri is already on his way,” Lady Nensela said. The questioning expression on Bessa’s face prompted her to explain that Ziri was the master arcanus of the Star Dragons.

“Perfect, I’ll ask him to send someone to the Watch, too,” Edana said. “Another Red Dagger is still alive to answer questions.”

“We’ll take care of that,” said a voice behind Bessa.

Bessa jumped, then whirled in shock, but Nensela and Edana were used to Ziri. Lady Nensela didn’t even turn around; she simply poured a fourth cup of wine.

The young man before them was lithe and muscular, which his short-sleeved tunic emphasized. The tunic matched his forest green trousers, but his belt, leather with a clasp of chased bronze, suggested he was a man of status. Reddish highlights glinted in his brown hair, which he wore down to his shoulders. The string he used to tie it back matched his clothes.

Ziri stared at Bessa, sizing her up as he accepted the cup Lady Nensela handed him. “Nice work taking down Gagnon.”

Bessa’s eyelids fluttered in her surprise. She had not figured on being included in any reports. How had he managed to enter the room from the balcony? Lady Nensela had been looking at the bay when they had come in.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said. “How did you get in here?”

He only smiled enigmatically and drank his wine.

Lady Nensela gestured to Edana. “Did you learn anything from your would-be captor?”

Quickly, Edana briefed Ziri on the attack at her workshop. “The man believes I am a Star Dragon, and I let him think I am. But he seemed confused about it.”

“Why?” Bessa asked.

At this part Edana’s eyes brightened with excitement. The Red Dagger let slip they did use some sort of power to track the Star Dragons.

“He said they needed to use their ‘usual’ methods to find me. Somehow I eluded them in Silura, even though they were using their ‘new power.’ And ‘Lord One Hand’ implied they were over-relying on it. It seemed to disgust him.”

Ziri interrupted here. “If it is power, then it’s more than I would think any sorcerer would have. It’s more than a sorcerer would dare to seek. The cost is too high.”

“Murena,” Bessa whispered.

Ziri raised his eyebrows, and Lady Nensela in turn told him what Bessa and Edana uncovered so far. When she reached the part about Murena, Ziri froze. For several heartbeats he stared in shock at the floor.

“By the Seeker,” he gasped. “Erebossi are involved! Damn. Yet it’s the only answer that makes sense. I must take this to my staff.”

Edana handed him the ring. “Can you scry where this goes?”

Ziri clasped the ring tightly in his hands. After a moment, he smiled slowly in undisguised satisfaction. “Yes. The blood of our brothers will be repaid with blood. Their shadow master can do as he pleases with them when we send them to meet him.”

A shiver went through Bessa.

Lady Nensela pressed, “Is our hope vindicated? The ring leads to the Red Daggers’ headquarters? Strike fast. Undoubtedly the Red Daggers realize they have failed in their attack, and they will likely assume the ring is compromised. Strike, before they turn the ring into a trap.”

“I will come with you,” Edana said, surprising them all.

“You can’t be serious,” Bessa protested. “These are killers. They—”

Edana held up a hand. “If the Red Daggers know they failed, they will try again to come at me. As you said, they may strike my temple. So, let me serve as bait. I’ll take the ring and demand an audience.”

“And how will you explain why you know they were looking for you? Wouldn’t they realize you must have a seer’s help? Lady Nensela’s?”

“Because Lord One Hand told me so, a very plausible lie I can tell them. If he is dead, he cannot contradict me. Failing that, if they somehow don't already know of Lady Nensela, why would they look beyond the Star Dragons for an explanation? Let them continue to think the Star Dragons and I are one and the same prey. However, they do know of my shop, and a group did attack Lady Nensela’s conclave last spring. Likely the Red Daggers. Either way, we have nothing to lose, and we are not in any further danger.”

She glanced at Ziri, and he nodded.

“But—” Bessa stopped. For once she was bereft of convincing arguments. Finally she settled on asking, “What will keep them from filling you with arrows from head to toe? When you approach their stronghold, why will they not kill you on sight, instead of talking?”

“The Red Daggers were instructed to take me, not kill me, as they do with any other Star Dragon. Let them think they have my cooperation.”

“That’s an awfully slim tether to hold onto,” Bessa said, glancing at Ziri to check his reaction. The thoughtful expression on his face suggested he was considering Edana’s insane idea.

Bessa frowned. Surely he should be talking some sense into Edana, on professional grounds at the least? What would possess an expert arcanus to draft an ordinary silver broker into his battle plans?

Edana said, “We won’t go in blind, will we, Ziri? You will do a quick, yet hopefully thorough reconnaissance, and we will plan accordingly, will we not?”

Again Ziri nodded.

Enough. Through clenched teeth Bessa addressed Ziri. “Is vengeance worth so much to you?”

Now Ziri was roused to speak. “I promise you, Edana will not be in any further danger than she is already. The fact is, she cannot run forever. Either the Red Daggers are taken down, or she will be. They need to fear us, and learn they cannot hunt the Star Dragons with impunity. And Edana is right. She is in danger the same as us; therefore, let her be one of us.”

Edana’s hand flew to her mouth. “Ziri!”

“No recruit in recent memory has done as much as you have done for us. If you’re going to take risks in our name, then you should not be left in the cold.”

To Bessa’s surprise, Edana rolled her eyes. In fact, she looked downright irritated. Bessa held her tongue; silence might aid her cause better. Hopefully.

“I am not taking risks in your name. With respect, you are irrelevant to my motives. I am taking risks because I believe Lady Nensela’s vision. That is why I’m giving up the life I built. Whether you or the Star Dragons are involved makes no difference, only stopping the giants matter.”

With a sweep of his arm, Ziri bowed. “Your motives are noble. Mine are not. I am offering to initiate you into our ranks for purely selfish reasons: you are effective, which we need. And it’s not all one-sided; you will have certain benefits if you are one of us. Star Dragons have allies and covenants going back thousands of years, sweet thing. If you are one of us, you will have that aid.”

Cold despair washed over Bessa. Edana was too ruthlessly sensible to turn down Ziri’s offer, she was sure. Unable to resist any longer, Bessa tried again, “But whoever or whatever allows the Red Daggers to scry you—”

“Will be known to us soon,” Ziri said. “Do not fret. Avenging my people is not my prime motive. This mission is critical for all of us.”

Lady Nensela stepped forward, and Bessa stiffened in anticipation. Would she have a convincing counter argument? However, all she said was, “Do not let the timing be against us in this matter as well.”

Edana’s spine straightened, and she looked Bessa right in the eye. Emotionless, as she had been in Bessa’s vineyard before going after the giants. Her battle guise, and Bessa shuddered before allowing herself to slump in defeat.

“I will go,” Edana said briskly.

“Now is the time for strategy,” Lady Nensela counseled. “The ring key you have will grant me access to the Red Daggers’ den, in a special way. I will send myself ahead, and prepare the ground.”

Together Bessa and Edana said, “What?”

Ziri smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Brilliant!”

Merriment danced in Lady Nensela’s eyes as she replied, “Bilocation, my dears. For an experienced seer, it is a matter of using an object to ‘send’ our spirits to a place the owner of the object had been to.”

“Yet I sense there’s a reason this skill is not a party trick,” Edana said dryly.

“Quite. For an echomancer there is little risk, as they are only observing the past. However scryers, who observer the present, are subject to enemies who may sever their souls from their body.”

Bessa shuddered, and Edana hugged herself. Both started to speak an objection but Lady Nensela raised her hand, quelling them.

“Fear not,” she said. “As a prophet, I can project an apparition of myself, and see through its eyes as I keep my spirit in my body. In this fashion I can scout the Red Daggers without endangering myself. The Red Daggers will be off guard, and when Edana comes, they will fear her, for I shall make them fear her. The timing must be proper and precise. Do you understand?”

Edana’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know if they can’t trap your…apparition? Or destroy it? What will that do to you?”

“Did I not say I draw from a vast well of experience? Since my body and spirit will stay here, an enemy scryer will have no way to destroy me. Further, if Murena is among them, I will sense him. If Murena is not among them, then plan on wiping them out. Let it be so.”

Something was wrong. Men kept their voices low, and looked around out the corners of their eyes. Faces grim. And everyone who was not part of the inner circle made a point of busying themselves with trying to look busy.

Now the boss showed up. One sharp snap of his fingers to cut the pomp he usually expected when he graced them with his presence. Something must be up. Ruffo sidled up to Bocca, who acted so busy, sharpening blades with his whetstone.

The Red Dagger fortress aped a typical military fortress, except it was underground. Which put Bocca in a good position, as the weaponsmith was across the courtyard from the boss’s office. Who came in, who went out, what they said along the way—none of it got past Bocca’s eyes and ears.

Bocca wiped the sweat off his brow—well check that out, he was not pretending to work!—and glanced at Ruffo.

“Don’t even ask. Nothin’ makes no sense to me,” he said.

“So tell me, and I’ll make sense of it,” Ruffo retorted.

All he got from Bocca was a slit-eyed glare.

Reflexively, Ruffo folded his arms and stood his ground. “What, no sunshine and flowers from you today?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Bocca demanded.

The accusation in Bocca’s tone caught Ruffo off guard. So much so that he checked his vestigial conscience. Did he owe Bocca money? Something else? Nah, he was good. “Humor me.”

“We had her. Or we were supposed to.”

Blank stare.

“The girl? The one we’ve been searching for? The Terebinthian?”

“Mm. What about her?”

“We found her is what. Fabian took a group to get her.”

Confusion began to ebb, just a little bit. So, Bocca’s brother went out on a mission. This worried Bocca? For serious, he was worried?

“Are we at the part where this gets interesting?”

“Are they here? Didn’t come back, did they? Not a one of ’em.”

A different sort of man might have tried to look reassuring. But Ruffo’s scars, sharp snaggletooth, and pig eyes made his face better suited for threats.

“Bocca, we ain’t got a schedule or a curfew. Could be Fabian took the scenic route with this girl.” The leer came easy to him.

Surprisingly, Bocca rolled his eyes instead of laughing. All while he tossed a knife behind himself into a block of wood. Bam, landed right on the mark. Show off. Didn’t even check; he was already moving on to another knife.

“Wax in your ears, Ruffo? Gallo doesn’t want her harmed. And the big-ups are here, you do see that, right? Something not-good is happening here.”

Alright. Fine. Point made, so think about it. What was special about the Terabinthian? Nothing, not a damn thing. Oh, she was a Star Dragon, but they had ways of dealing with Star Dragons now. Also, there was only one of her. Also-also, she was not a sorceress. Add all that together … and Fabian should be back by now.

Queasiness settled in his gut. Catch that girl at all costs, said the boss. What he didn’t say was why. Usually, Ruffo didn’t need reasons, a simple order was enough. Still. Something seemed not-right about Gallo’s insistence on catching her.

Ever since—ever since that meeting, the boss had changed. Priorities, missions, everything was out of order now.

Ruffo hadn’t gone to the meeting. Only two of the inner circle joined the boss for it, and Ruffo couldn’t shake the feeling eavesdroppers would be horribly punished. The boss and the chosen two emerged from the meeting tight-lipped.

And shaken.

And the boss laid down the law: never go into his office. For any reason. Unless he told you to. Now, though? The boss was ordering people to come in and see him…in his office.

“What do you know about the Terebinthian?” Ruffo demanded suddenly. “Is she some arcana, or something else? Could be it’s a coincidence the boss is—”

Bocca glanced up from the knife he was sharpening. Looked sharp enough to Ruffo, but he mostly needed the knives to look scary, not sharp.

Still, Bocca kept sharpening, so Ruffo clamped a hand down on Bocca’s wrist. The fellow’s eyebrows practically flew off his face, but Ruffo figured Bocca wouldn’t take his actions as a threat. Bocca was too smart to think Ruffo was that dumb. Meaty as they were, Ruffo’s hands were dwarfed by Bocca’s skull-crushing fists. The brawny smith easily outweighed him, and in a fight, Bocca had only to sit on him.

“This is important,” Ruffo insisted. “Tell me. What do you know about the Terebinthian?”

“Nothing that matters. Wait. Wait. Let me think. Fabian was irritated about her. Didn’t think she was a real Star Dragon, because we couldn’t find her like we could the others. Our secret weapon failed us.”

Sarcasm rang in his voice, and Ruffo tittered in camaraderie. By Khratu’s feather the leadership in this unit was governed by magpies. Look at their strategies lately. Smart? Who cares! Not them. Shiny? All in. Disgusting. Right now their ‘secret weapon’ was oh so shiny. Yeah, wiping out the Star Dragons was great and all, but come on.

They weren’t supposed to be common thugs. Not like those other gangs. Being a Red Dagger meant something. What they did took cunning. Art. Their work was art. And the ‘secret weapon’ cheapened that, like some two-bit whore. Their scryers were already grumbling about being left out of the juicy missions, and Ruffo didn’t blame them. On the other hand, he didn’t give a damn, either. What good did the scryers ever do when it came to Star Dragons? Plenty of chances for glory, but they failed every single time.

The principle was real simple: losers take the easy way. A Red Dagger is canny enough to make his own luck. A rule Ruffo lived by.

“Good. I’m glad it failed. Maybe the big-ups will shut up about it now. What else?”

“Word is, she was at Red Pointe when Gagnon went down. And the giants.”

Ruffo shifted his weight. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself the girl might be due some respect. He managed to rally, “And the army helped. Come on, she didn’t do it herself.”

“Put a head on your body, man. Giants! Think what it means that she walked away from a fight with them. How’d she do that?”

“Look. Star Dragon. Remember? We got ways, they got ways; I ain’t impressed, and you shouldn’t be, either.”

Bocca’s words died in a grunt in this throat; something behind Ruffo made his eyes grow as big as dinner plates. Quickly, Ruffo whipped around. And jumped.

A woman stood in the center of the courtyard.

Seer. Obvious, because of the fancy bauble in that circlet thing on her head.

Right.

Why was she staring at the boss’s door? Why was she here?

Also. The lady didn’t walk. No, she glided forward, ignoring Bocca’s shocked mutterings, and taking no notice of Ruffo’s drawn short sword. Not a second glance at them, let alone a first.

Ruffo whistled loudly, piercing the din of chatter inside and beyond the courtyard. All eyes on him. Then her, and they recoiled. So disciplined, they all reached for their weapons and started forward. In the lead, Ruffo held up a hand for them to halt.

Still the seer ignored them, as if she couldn’t take her eyes off Gallo’s door, not even when Ruffo whistled.

“You there, lady! Can I help you?” By now Ruffo drew even with her, but he had to walk double time to keep up with her.

Only then did she look at him. Or rather, right through him, as if he were of no consequence at all. Unarmed women never looked at him like that. This lady made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

She gave him a sunny smile, and Ruffo took a step back before he realized what he was doing. He clenched his jaw, furious.

“Thank you for offering,” she said softly. “Gallo, please. I must have words with him.”

Ruffo didn’t want to take his eyes off her, but he didn’t need to look around to know the others were trading glances with each other. Even if she were one of the boss’s women, it was not possible he was careless enough to give one of them the way into their headquarters. No, he was far too disciplined for that; no face was pretty enough for him to do something so ridiculous.

“Gallo’s a little busy, sweetheart,” he said. “Why don’t you wait for him at your usual place—wherever it is.”

Some things Gallo didn’t need to know. Ruffo knowing where he met his mistresses? Right at the top.

Ruffo gave her the once-over. Beautiful. Beddable—what made high class women like her go for Gallo? What did he have that they wanted?

The woman just laughed. The world began to spin, and everybody started turning into twins. Why did he feel so woozy?

“Gallo,” she sang out. “Come out, Gallo. We must have a chat.”

Oh, she was a dead woman. No way Gallo would forgive her this. Coming in here, snapping her fingers in front of his men? Rich or not, big-time papa or not, Gallo would teach her real quick who really held the whip-hand: not her. Not in front of his men, that’s for damn sure.

“Get out of here,” Ruffo warned her, when the room stopped spinning for a moment. “Gallo will—Gallo will—Gallo’s gonna be pissed.”

Talking was a struggle. So was seeing, for that matter. For a minute he closed his eyes. Room couldn’t dizzy him if his eyes weren’t open to see the spinning, right?

Wrong.

Also suicide, maybe, because the woman couldn’t be trusted. Count to ten, look again.

When he opened his eyes, Gallo was standing in the doorway to his office. Staring at them. Why didn’t he look pissed? Anybody’d think his face was like a kid’s toy, all stiff and wooden.

Hmm. If the woman slapped Gallo, would she live to tell about it? Ruffo lowered his sword, so no one could see his hands shake. Either their leader had gone so soft he let his womenfolk humiliate him in public, or…

What was she? Could she be that rare breed, a seer and a sorceress? Wait, was she even human?

Dryad.

Oh!

His sphincter tightened, right on time. Some said tree nymphs could leave their groves, but some also said the dryads were strange. Dangerous. Little kids might be safe around them, but not men like him.

Suddenly, the room vanished.

A roar pounded Ruffo’s ears. An eternity went by before he realized he was screaming as well.

Wait. Was he awake? Where was he?

“Where are we?” Bocca’s voice sounded far off.

Bocca’s shaky voice. That detail alone almost brought a tear to Ruffo’s eye, and he wasn’t even ashamed.

The answer to where, was: some sort of clearing. A rocky clearing, with no trees. Air like sulfur. Thin sulfurous air, so they were high up. Jet black soil under his sandals … just like at Mount Grenn.

She’d moved them to the Cauldron!

But how? Teleporting a cohort of people to some place hundreds of miles away took power. But Gallo’s secret ally had gelded the sorcerers good and proper, so they couldn’t do things like that anymore.

Yet here they were…

“Do I have your attention?”

Ruffo whirled. She was sitting there, on a throne-like arrangement of rocks. Yeah, she looked like a queen, too. The kind with her own personal, jewel-crusted bone scourge.

She was no longer laughing.

Gallo swore. Good. Good, Gallo looked like himself again. Glaring at the woman in that cold, slit-eyed way that reassured Ruffo something was right in the world.

In the distance a low, deep, throaty growl reverberated, bouncing off the mountain walls and into Ruffo’s bowels, chilling them. The only time he ever heard that sound, he prayed he would die before hearing it again.

A dragon.