Of Dawn and Darkness

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

In the last week, Calder had spent more time in carriages than in the entire rest of his life combined. They weren’t nearly as comfortable as he thought they should be.

He paused with his pen halfway to the page, looking to Andel. “How do you say, ‘I’m sorry my wife killed your assassin?’”

“Not like that.”

Calder, Andel, and General Teach were all riding together, and even though this carriage had been constructed to the Emperor’s specifications, it was still crowded with that much armor. Teach took up more space than Calder and Andel combined, her armor filling the space with the smell of iron and oil.

These two were not the first people he’d ask for advice regarding a diplomatic letter, but they were all he had. He’d wanted a Consultant’s touch, but Meia was gone. The medical alchemists in charge of her care had come in to an empty bed, and the Imperial Guards outside the doors never saw a thing. A thorough search of the Imperial Palace afterward had revealed no trace of her. Once again, Meia had disappeared.

Though if she chose to pop up in the middle of this very carriage, he still wouldn’t be entirely surprised.

“An official apology would be a mistake,” Teach put in. She was watching the streets through a crack in the window, presumably looking for threats, but she had enough spare attention to criticize his letter. “It implies that you are in some way responsible. You can express your condolences, since you did not officially execute the Consultant, but it might ring hollow. Given that we’re preparing to attack their headquarters.”

That the Imperialist Guilds were gathering for an attack was common knowledge, even if their target was a secret. A secret to most, at any rate. Calder was certain that the Consultants would know exactly what they were planning, and would be coming up with some way to counter them.

“I’m still not certain I want to attack the Consultant’s Guild,” Calder said, though it was mostly an empty protest. The Navigators were recalling to the Capital and stocking up on supplies, the Imperial Guards had begun training for naval warfare, and the Magisters were bringing up what weapons they could. The Witnesses had published an article in the news-sheets exonerating the Imperialist Guilds for “any attacks they may conduct in the pursuit of justice.” The tide was going out, and Calder could see it.

But he couldn’t fight the feeling that he was playing straight into someone else’s hands.

Teach didn’t respond to his words, but she shook her head faintly as she kept watch out the window. Andel was the one to speak up, and surprisingly, he did so without a trace of mockery. “You should recognize when a battle is lost, Captain.”

“If the battle’s already lost, I can’t imagine why we’re still sending our troops.”

Andel didn’t rise to the bait. “Not that battle. Yours. The Guilds are moving out, and your only hope of maintaining your position is to move with them.”

Calder turned to him, and out of respect for the man’s forthright honesty, he responded in kind. “Even if this is an Elder plot? Even if this is Othaghor dividing us up piece by piece, to be devoured one at a time?”

Andel leaned forward, the White Sun of the Luminians swinging at the end of its silver chain. “‘The educated man embraces the inevitable.’ Sadesthenes, I believe.”

“I hate it when you use Sadesthenes against me,” Calder said.

“Imagine how the rest of us feel.”

He was right. Calder was still trying to fight yesterday’s battle, something most of the ancient scholars would have counseled him against. “So I should just give up, then?”

Predictably, Andel had an answer for that, too. “We’re fighting them, whether you like it or not. So if there’s going to be a battle, we may as well figure out how to win.”

Kelarac’s gold-capped smile appeared in Calder’s mind. He was sure that the Great Elder would have been delighted with the way events were proceeding. But that didn’t mean Andel was wrong; if they really were cornered by the Elders, the only way out was through.

The only thing worse than getting forced into a battle was getting forced into a losing battle.

“Very well,” Calder said, nodding to Andel to concede the point. “Then we’ve already taken our first step toward victory. We’re heading to see Kern.”

Teach sighed. “Which will either lead to victory or to your gruesome death.” She had been very much against Calder personally coming on this little carriage ride, and had agreed only on the premise that she accompany him.

“If you’re worried that it will be too dangerous, you could have brought more Guards.”

“They wouldn’t help. Baldesar Kern is loyal and stable enough, but if he decides to kill you, I’m the only one that can hold him back long enough for you to escape.” She didn’t claim that she could kill him, Calder noticed. Only that she could temporarily keep him in check. That said everything he needed to know about Kern’s ability.

“I’m sorry to worry you,” Calder said. “But while I’m at it, I should tell you that I’ll be leading the attack on the Gray Island.”

Teach turned from the window at last to glare at him, and her attention carried the baleful, deadly aura of Tyrfang’s Intent. It was hard not to shrink back. “Absolutely not. Two minutes ago you didn’t want the attack at all.”

“I can change my mind quickly, when necessary. I’m decisive.”

“That’s a flattering word for it,” Andel said.

“As long as we’re trying to win, then I need to be there. I captain the fastest ship in the Navigator fleet, I can use the Emperor’s crown, and I need a reputation as someone who handles my problems personally. I won’t fight if I can help it at all—”

“I was worried for a moment there,” Andel murmured.

“—but I have to be there. If only to show the people that I can do something myself.”

“If you want to do something, then find a way to use the Optasia,” Teach insisted. After Lucan’s testimony, Calder had demanded a more thorough investigation into the state of the Emperor’s throne. Finally, they had taken a volunteer Reader from one of the Imperial Prisons and allowed him to briefly use the Optasia—under careful supervision—in exchange for a commuted sentence.

After five minutes, the man had clawed out his own eyes. He would spend the rest of his days in a Luminian sanatorium.

The carriage slowed, clattering to a halt, and Calder opened the door without waiting for Teach. “Yes, well, at the moment I’m somewhat attached to my eyes.”

When they’d boarded the carriage, Teach had said only that it would take them “to Baldesar Kern.” Calder had assumed they would end up at a chapter house, or a mansion, or maybe a fortress of some kind.

He’d never expected the Head of the Champion’s Guild to live in a quaint little townhouse, with a yard and a white-painted fence. Patches of flowers grew in front of the porch, where a pair of rocking chairs sat side-by-side. The door was bright blue and the roof tiles a matching shade; it looked like the home of a grandmother. He half-expected to see a pie cooling on the windowsill.

Guild Head Kern himself knelt by a section of wooden fence. He wasn’t much taller than Calder, but he was broad, with enough solid muscle to suggest that his skin was packed with rocks. His black hair was winged with silver, and he squinted at the fence in utter concentration. He’d rolled his sleeves up so that only his bare forearms were splattered with paint.

Very delicately, he dipped his paintbrush into the can at his side. When it came up dripping white, he brushed it lightly against the fencepost, as though afraid that he might break the wooden plank if he pressed any harder.

As Calder dismounted from the carriage, he examined the full length of the fence. Only the segment in the middle was new, unpainted wood; the rest of the posts in the row were white and somewhat weathered; they might have stood there for years.

It was so mundane that Calder almost couldn’t believe this was the Head of the Champions. The man who had singlehandedly sent a rebel fleet down to Kelarac. The series of novels about his legend were labeled “Not Suitable For Children,” due to their expressions of extreme violence.

“I hope you don’t mind if I keep working as we talk,” Kern said, squinting at the fence as he applied another stripe of paint. “It’s almost lunchtime, and I have to take my roast out of the oven.”

Calder was standing in the man’s yard, wearing the Emperor’s old clothes, and Kern obviously knew who he was. Yet he didn’t seem to care.

In a way, that made things easier.

Teach stood by the carriage, keeping watch over Calder, and Andel started to walk over. Calder motioned for him to stop. “Of course I don’t mind. Would you like some help?”

Kern flashed him a smile. “Promised I’d do it myself, or I’d take you up on that. It would do you good to get some stains on those clothes.”

Calder glanced down at the layers of dark purple, violet, and lavender that he’d been forced to wear today. “I assure you, they’re not mine.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched as Kern kept painting, moving as though he expected his paintbrush to shatter. He was waiting for Calder to make the first move, and he seemed like a man who appreciated the blunt approach, so Calder dove right in.

“I want the support of the Champions.”

“I’m sure you do,” Kern said. He sounded gentle, without the edge of sarcasm Calder might have expected.

“We’re currently planning a major military action, and having the Champions along would go a long way toward ensuring a decisive victory.”

Kern’s brush paused. “A major military action. I don’t mean to seem hostile, Captain Marten, but have you ever served in the Imperial Army?”

“I’ve drawn my sword before,” Calder said, the words dry. “I’ve fought Elderspawn, cultists, rebels, Consultant assassins, Imperial Guards, Kameira…you name it, I’ve crossed swords with it.”

“I would expect no less from a Navigator Captain. But I’m asking you if you’ve ever been a part of an army.”

Calder thought back to the clash between the Blackwatch and the Consultants. That might count as a battle, but hardly as an army. “I have not.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Most people haven’t. We’ve been an Empire so long that precious few of us have ever been soldiers. Even if you had, the Imperial Army is effectively a standing police force.” He returned to his work, moving his paintbrush carefully up the fence. “I may have lost my point somewhere in there. Forgive me.”

Calder had been waiting for the Guild Head’s argument so that he could counter it, but now he’d lost his balance. He tried to regain the initiative. “Your experience alone would be invaluable. And I know the Champions are more loyal to the Empire than any other Guild.”

“Hmmmm. The Empire. That’s tricky.” He tucked paint into the last few corners of a fencepost, sat back on his heels, and examined his handiwork.

“What’s tricky?” Calder prompted.

“Is there an Empire without the Emperor?” He waved a hand before Calder could respond. “I suspect you’re tired of people calling you a figurehead. I know you didn’t take the job unless you had the hope of real power someday, so I won’t hammer on that. But the fact remains that my loyalty was not to the idea of a united Aurelian Empire, it was to one man. Now that the man is gone, who am I fighting for?”

He was trying to mire Calder in an argument. Whether he’d been doing it intentionally or not, he was keeping the focus on the intangible aspects of Calder’s position, taking the subject away from the Champions. If Calder couldn’t keep the conversation grounded, it would go nowhere.

“Will the Champions commit to fight for the Empire, or not?” Calder spoke firmly, holding the man’s gaze, hoping he would be impressed rather than offended by blunt speech.

Kern tapped excess paint off his brush, watching Calder. “I will not commit the Champions to your cause. First, we don’t believe in it. Some of us think your Guilds are crazy for trying to hold the Empire together, some of us agree with the Regents that we’d be better off governing each region separately, and many of us just don’t care much. Second, we don’t believe in you. You’re young, you’re no one, and you’ve come out of nowhere. You’re clearly just a puppet for the Guild Heads, but we don’t understand why they need you at all.”

He nodded to someone over Calder’s shoulder. “No disrespect intended to General Teach. But that’s why I will not call up an army of Champions to your rescue. There’s a more pressing issue: I can’t.” Kern’s brush glided smoothly over the wood.

“There is no Champion’s Guild anymore. There are only Champions. I’m the Guild Head no longer, and I expect the Witnesses will issue our public declaration of complete dissolution within the month.”

Teach made a choking sound back by the carriage, and Calder felt like the man had punched him in the gut. The Champions were the second oldest Imperial Guild, behind the Consultants. Half the stories of Imperial unification began or ended with the legendary powers of the Champions. If there was no Champion’s Guild, then how could Calder pretend there was still an Empire?

“What happened?” Calder managed to ask, even though he felt like a child faced with the death of a hero.

Kern sighed. “The Emperor died. Without him, there was no one to tell us what to fight for. Or what not to fight for. Champions started to take contracts at their own discretion, all over the world, until eventually most of them stopped reporting to me altogether. I only know one way to make people do what I want them to, and sometimes force doesn’t work. Sometimes the tide goes out, and you can’t stop it.”

A snap cracked the air, and for a second Calder thought he’d heard a gunshot. But it was the half-painted fencepost, broken in two under Kern’s brush. The bristles had actually stiffened somehow, temporarily frozen like they’d been made of steel, and a casual push of Kern’s hand had snapped the thick plank of wood in half.

His shoulders drooped, and he tore both halves of the broken fencepost away. Casually he hurled them over his house, where they landed with the clatter of wood on wood. As though these two pieces had landed on a pile of many others.

Kern walked over to the porch, where a stack of spare boards waited. “This always takes twice as long as it should, but it’s my own fault. Accidentally threw a stove through the fence in the first place.”

There was nothing else Calder could get from him, so he might as well leave. His first meeting with a legend had gone much worse than he’d hoped. “It may be futile, Guild Head, but I have to try one last time. Will you support us?”

“The only Champion I can speak for is myself,” Kern said. He picked up the board with one hand and a hammer with the other. “As for me, I don’t trust you enough to risk my life for you. That’s nothing to take offense about. You haven’t proven yourself yet. And I will be risking my life, if you’re asking me to go up against Regents and Gardeners.” He propped the plank carefully in place, lining up a nail. “That’s about all there is to say on the matter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying not to break this one.”

Calder left Baldesar Kern gently hammering his broken fence back together.

Back in the Imperial Palace, Calder dropped Andel off at his rooms. He’d intended to return to his own, but Teach stopped him.

“Without the Champions, this battle becomes even more dangerous,” she said.

As though Calder needed another reminder of his failure. “If you think you can persuade him, please do.”

“He won’t change his mind for me. Nor for anyone else we know, I think. You went to see him in person, and that shows respect. In a year or two we’ll try again.”

“In the first month of his reign as Imperial Steward, Calder Marten oversaw the dissolution of the Champion’s Guild and led an attack on the Consultants,” Calder said bitterly. “He was driven insane shortly thereafter by the throne he inherited from the Emperor.”

Teach tapped him in the chest with the back of her fist. She didn’t seem to put much power into it, but he gasped for breath and staggered backward two paces. His wounds forcibly reminded him that they still ached. “Self-pity is a bad habit, and you should lose it as soon as possible. The attack on the Gray Island is going forward, so as I see it, you have two options. You can support us with the Optasia, which is by far the better choice, except that we can’t prepare you to use it safely. Otherwise, you can accompany us.”

Calder set his emotions aside, focusing on the conversation. “I’ve already made my decision clear. You need me.”

Teach worked her jaw as though chewing on something. Finally, she said, “For that, I can prepare you.”

Then she led him on an exhausting path through the Imperial Palace. Calder had always known the complex was huge, but seeing it on the map didn’t have nearly the same impact. As they walked deeper and deeper, mile after mile, Calder’s wounded leg started to throb. Even his healthy leg ached, and he wondered how Teach could even stand walking this distance in her armor.

All the while, they never left the palace grounds. It was like a city unto itself, and Calder was seeing its underbelly for the first time. I’ll be spending the rest of my life here, he realized, and it was a strange thought. He’d grown up in the Capital, but the Imperial Palace was a totally separate world.

Each time Teach passed a group of Imperial Guards, they offered to join her, but one and all she turned them down and instructed them to forget her passage. “You did not see us,” she said, more than a dozen times.

She’s going to kill me and hide the body. When the thought first came to him, it was a joke, but as more time passed he wondered. Maybe she actually intended to lock him away until the battle was over; that could be what she meant by “preparing” him.

At last they came to a stone building the size of an outhouse. It was completely out of style for the rest of the Imperial Palace, sticking out like a gravestone in the middle of a kitchen. The tiny building was little more than a rectangle of rough stone and a steel door, which was guarded by two Imperial Guards. They both had mouths filled with the pointed teeth of crocodiles, as well as absurdly muscled arms and six-fingered hands. They could have been brothers.

For Teach, they stepped aside, though they eyed Calder suspiciously.

“I haven’t opened this door in more than five years,” Teach said, taking a heavy steel key from a cord around her neck. “What you’re about to see is highly privileged, and there are fewer people allowed in here than in the Imperial treasury.”

Calder’s expectations rose with each word. Now, if there were anything less than a dragon on a hoard of gold inside, he would be disappointed. “What is it?”

“The Emperor’s personal armory.”