Читать книгу Stormtide - Den Patrick - Страница 15

The Envoy was true to her word and the novices worked through the night to unload the supplies though the chill was deep and bitter. Silverdust had no need to pack for he had long given up the mundane pleasure of possessions. He took a spare uniform and packed a handful of curios so that he might pass as human.

No one spoke as he headed across Academy Square. The gaunt novices, wrapped up against the cold, shared wary looks at Silverdust’s passing. The remaining Vigilants of the Synod assembled to watch Silverdust depart. None had words of farewell for the Exarch. He nodded to them and turned his back. It would be many hours until the sun rose at this time of year, yet Silverdust’s aura of arcane light emanated brightly around his feet. He turned to take in the brutal splendour of the four academies. It pained him to know he would not return here. Vladibogdan had been his prison these long decades but it had also been his home. The Envoy slunk from the shadows, the white fox stole that hung from her shoulders ghostlike in the darkness. She joined him at the centre of the square and followed his gaze to take in the buildings.

What will happen to these children?

‘Such sentimentality.’ Envoy de Vries grinned. ‘Come, pay no mind to them. The Emperor needs new Vigilants now more than ever. I am sure they will be treasured.’

Silverdust began the many steps down to Temnet Cove where the Imperial galleon waited in the darkness. The silver light followed him and threw weak shadows all around.

‘I’ve long been aware that individuals of certain power manifest the arcane in strange and forbidding ways,’ said the Envoy from behind him. ‘For Khigir it was tongues of flame that danced at his feet.’ She paused. ‘They never did find his body.’

Most unfortunate. Though in truth Silverdust had hated Khigir. He’d been glad to hear Steiner had put an end to the hateful man.

‘I trust you can suppress this nimbus of heat that surrounds you?’

I am sure I can accommodate you, Envoy de Vries.

‘I don’t like you, Silverdust,’ said de Vries dispassionately. ‘I don’t like the way you never speak.’

I was injured. My face. It is difficult to form words and so I use the arcane. He didn’t really care if she believed the lie; she had no way of proving him false short of wrenching off his mask. They were halfway down the countless steps to Temnet Cove, the stone worn smooth by the passage of time. How many novices had scaled these steps only to die during their training?

‘I don’t like the fact that you retired,’ continued the Envoy, her voice quiet but no less dangerous for that. Silverdust reminded himself de Vries needed him alive.

‘And I can never tell if you’re mocking me or not.’

I would never mock you. You are the Emperor’s representative.

‘I don’t like your mask, and how it reflects my face back at me.’ Silverdust reached the bottom of the steps and made a mental note, adding Envoy de Vries to the list of people he wanted to kill.

I will think on what you have said and make efforts to appease you.

The Envoy stopped and stared up at him. Silverdust could feel her frustration as she tried to get the measure of him. She released an irritated sigh and headed towards the boarding ramp. The ship was lit by lanterns, the masts gilded in soft light. A dark shape awaited them on the main deck.

‘Father Orlov,’ said Envoy de Vries with a smile. ‘Have you been waiting long?’ The Vigilant gave a shrug as if it were no matter. Silverdust approached the man with the sense that something was amiss.

I trust the island will be safe in your hands, Father Orlov.

‘In my hands? Ah, you are mistaken, Exarch. I am not staying on Vladibogdan.’ Silverdust looked at Envoy de Vries, who smirked at him with her hands on her hips. ‘I too am journeying to Khlystburg,’ continued Father Orlov. ‘So that the Emperor may benefit from both of our accounts of what happened here.’

Silverdust nodded. His hopes to assassinate the Emperor wavered with this new complication. No matter. It was a long way to Khlystburg and a plan would present itself in good time.

It did not take the galleon long to reach Cinderfell with Father Orlov and Silverdust lending their talents. Both of them had studied at Academy Vozdukha and could summon arcane winds with a gesture. The white sailcloth billowed out from the mast and snapped taut as more and more wind was conjured into being. The day favoured them with a lazy drizzle and pale grey skies. Silverdust was grateful that the Envoy stayed below decks. Her endless affectation of boredom made him want to burn things.

Soon the ship had crossed the Spøkelsea. Cinderfell was just as drab and dreary as Silverdust remembered. The cottages and hovels were squat, built from drab grey stone with thatched roofs, scattered over a steep incline that looked out to sea. Envoy de Vries emerged from her cabin and stood at the prow. The town was silent as a tomb.

‘Where is everybody?’ she whispered.

‘Perhaps Shirinov put them all to the sword when he came here,’ said Father Orlov. ‘He was always keen in that regard.’

Orlov, Silverdust and de Vries took a small boat to the stone pier, escorted by two soldiers who rowed without a word.

‘Why was Shirinov so desperate to come here?’ asked the Envoy.

I do not know. Silverdust wondered if the Envoy believed anything he said. He couldn’t blame her for distrusting him.

‘The Vartiainen boy had a sister,’ said Father Orlov, happy to oblige the Envoy with facts. ‘It was concluded that she should have been brought to the island instead of her brother. This was Shirinov’s and Khigir’s mistake.’

Khigir never had the sight. He could not have detected witchsign even if his life depended on it.

‘This sister,’ said de Vries, striding down the pier. ‘Her name?’

I did not learn it. Another lie in service to Steiner, another attempt to keep someone safe.

‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ said Father Orlov. ‘Shirinov took a ship to Cinderfell with around twenty soldiers. Surely they can’t all have disappeared.’ Silverdust left the pier and crossed the beach, noting large pieces of blackened driftwood tumbling to and fro at the water’s edge. The Envoy joined him and looked around.

‘Damn you, Steiner Vartiainen.’

Something troubles you, Envoy?

‘Your talent for understatement is masterful, Silverdust. Where is the ship? Where are the soldiers?’

Silverdust pointed to the several pieces of burned driftwood.

Your missing ship has been ravaged by fire. It sank close by, or perhaps it washed ashore and the locals broke the hull down out of fear of reprisal.

Silverdust studied the beach. Three weeks had passed since Shirinov’s ill-fated journey. The rain and tide had long since washed away any tracks that might tell a useful story.

‘Emperor save us,’ said Father Orlov from further up the beach. Silverdust and the Envoy made their way to where the Vigilant was pulling something free of the shingle.

‘It seems you have found Ordinary Shirinov,’ said the Envoy. Father Orlov shook the sand from a silver mask with a gently smiling expression. A smear of blood had dried at the corner of one eye.

‘B-but where is the body?’

Silverdust extended one arm and pointed out to sea.

‘Shatterspine,’ said de Vries, invoking the name the novices had used for the man. ‘The old bastard really is dead after all.’

Or gone renegade.

The envoy laughed bitterly. ‘Shirinov would sooner sprout wings and fly than turn against the Empire.’ She stalked off towards the town without a backwards glance. Father Orlov cradled the mask in his trembling hands.

Are you unwell, Father Orlov?

‘No.’ Orlov straightened up and gripped the mask more tightly. ‘I’d never known a Vigilant be killed before the uprising. Now this Vartiainen peasant appears and even the most venerable of our number fall. It is … It is unseemly.’

Did you think us invincible, Father? Immortal?

Father Orlov shook his head, and though Silverdust could not see his expression he knew the man felt disgust. Disgust for Shirinov’s fate and disgust at Silverdust’s insolent question.

Father Orlov tossed the mask onto the stony beach and followed the Envoy. Silverdust watched him go and waited, feeling the wind whip all around him. It must have been a fight to inspire the storyweavers, he decided. A lone peasant boy riding a dragon, taking on a seasoned Vigilant and twenty soldiers. This was the stuff of legend. Something the people of Vinterkveld would grow drunk on. Silverdust stooped to retrieve the mask and drifted into town, though he was certain all the inhabitants had fled. To stay would be madness. To stay would invite difficult questions and a swift death.

They found rooms in an abandoned inn and the soldiers took roles as cooks, servants, and waiters. Envoy de Vries insisted on a hot bath and Father Orlov turned in early. He had said little since uncovering Shirinov’s mask. Silverdust waited in his room, sending his focus out beyond the wooden walls to ponder at the soldiers in their company. His attention brushed against the minds of men drawn from many provinces across the Empire. Most of the soldiers were useful fools that cared nothing beyond getting paid and fed, but one approached, younger than the rest, who he sensed was different. Silverdust opened the door before the young soldier could knock. He held a tray with a bowl of borscht, a plate of dark bread, and a stout mug of ale.

Come in.

The soldier hesitated at the door, then entered the room with a wary expression on his face. Silverdust knew full well what the rank and file thought of him. The way he seemed to glide rather than walk unnerved people. That he never spoke aloud but dropped the words directly into a person’s mind earned him greater mistrust. And there was the question of his loyalty.

What is your name?

‘Streig,’ said the young soldier as he set the tray of food down. He was barely older than Steiner, with a downy fuzz masquerading as a beard, and hair shorn down to stubble across his scalp.

I have already eaten, Streig. So I invite you to stay and enjoy this food.

‘I … I can’t do that,’ said the soldier.

You and I both know that the Emperor has so many soldiers he cannot afford to feed them properly.

‘That’s no secret,’ replied Streig. ‘The peasants in the Scorched Republics eat better than we do.’

And you are hungry, are you not?

Streig’s stomach chose that very moment to growl.

I wish to take the air outside. Being cooped up in these sombre dwellings does not suit me.

Streig had the good sense to remain quiet and watched Silverdust leave. The streets outside the inn were shrouded in the deep darkness of winter night but Silverdust had his own illumination. He drifted along the lonely winding lanes of the town. Something else was in Cinderfell, some other presence that he could not put a name to. The buildings became fewer as he drifted onward, following the steep incline up through the town. The Exarch paused, staring up at the star-flecked heavens, before turning north and advancing into the woods. The leaves and grasses at his feet grew black as he passed by, scorched by the aura of argent light. This was novel; for decades he had only walked the corridors of Vladibogdan and now he travelled in the shadow of moonlit trees, beckoned by an unknown feeling, almost a sound to his arcane senses.

Something wailed in the darkness, something pained and anguished. The trees crowded around Silverdust with dark and threatening branches, then all at once opened out to a clearing. The ruins of a chalet stood on the far side and scores of broken branches littered the ground. Silverdust paused at the edge of the clearing.

You can step into the light, Envoy de Vries.

‘And here I was thinking I’d been so good,’ she said, stepping out from behind an old oak tree a dozen feet behind him. ‘I do so hate the cold.’ She shivered in the night’s chill and stared up into the Exarch’s blank mask. ‘And what brings you out so late at night, Silverdust? What have you seen?’

Silverdust cast his gaze over the clearing where writhing ghostly forms stood weeping and moaning. There had to be a dozen of them, broken in body and mind, cradling old swords and crooning to themselves like tired children.

Can you not see them?

‘What?’ The Envoy drew her knife from the golden belt that hung from her hips.

The ghosts of the Okhrana haunt this place. They linger over shallow graves and cry out for absolution. I hear them.

‘This is nonsense,’ replied de Vries. ‘No Vigilant has ever had such gifts.’

They speak of a peasant girl with terrible power. She summoned the stones from the earth and smashed everyone alive to a pulp.

‘More of your cryptic foolishness. Don’t you think I know you’re hiding something, Silverdust?’

I am not hiding the ghosts of the Okhrana from you, I give you my word on that.

The Envoy looked over her shoulder and for a second Silverdust wondered at how easy it would be to kill her in the darkness of the forest. It was no good, he decided. He needed her to gain audience with the Emperor. Only after the Emperor was dead could he rid himself of the Envoy once and for all.

They haunt this clearing and yet remain hidden from you.

‘There is much that remains hidden from me.’ There was a sour curl on her lips. ‘Not least the events of Vladibogdan.’

The ghosts say one name, over and over.

‘Vartiainen,’ said the Envoy. Silverdust nodded. She stepped closer and dropped her voice to a deathly hush. ‘I don’t believe you can see these ghosts. You’ve told me nothing I did not already know.’

You knew a dozen Okhrana had been sent to Cinderfell, Envoy?

Her silence confirmed she had not.

We could return in the morning and dig them up if you need proof.

Envoy de Vries looked around the clearing as if it might come alive with stalking nightmares at any moment.

‘Perhaps you can see ghosts. I don’t care. I’m going back to the inn. You will keep me informed if you learn anything else.’

Silverdust said nothing and watched the woman leave. He wandered the clearing for long moments, drifting between the phantoms who cried or wailed in the night. As a man he might have fled from such a vision, but as a cinderwraith he had no fear of death. Never before had he seen such apparitions, but much had changed since Steiner had taken his hammer to the Ashen Torment.

Finally he came to a grave with a marker. The soul that had belonged to these bones had moved on to whatever rest awaited. Silverdust crouched down and leaned closer to the wooden marker. A name had been carved into the wood.

Verner.

Silverdust stood slowly and nursed a pang of jealousy. How he longed for the peaceful slumber of death’s cold embrace. How he yearned to pass on from this existence. Silverdust glided from the clearing back towards the town. There would be no peace, not while the Emperor still drew breath.