The Steel Remains

“Clearly not, my lord.” Though she found suddenly she could not make herself hate the idea, the return and the final exasperated turning on these fucking humans. And she wondered fleetingly where Jhiral had derived the idea from, out of what guilt and half-suppressed fear of the race who had served his father but turned their backs on him. “The Kiriath are gone, yes. But they are probably not the only near-human race ever to have visited this world. In the Great Northern Chronicle, the Indirath M’nal, there is some mention of an enemy that fits the description of Elith’s dwenda. I’m not overly familiar with the text, I’ll need to look back through it, but one thing I do recall is that these dwenda were reputed to have a specialized relationship with the elements; they could, for example, summon up storms or command the earth to open and vomit up its dead. And certain types of stone and crystal were supposed to have powers they could draw out.”

“Crystals?” Jhiral’s face was a study in disdain. “Oh, come on Archeth. No one, I mean no one with a halfway decent education believes that power-of-crystals shit. That’s for the peasants on the northern march, the ones who never learned to read or add up.”

“I agree, my lord. But at the same time, it is a known fact that my own people were successful in utilizing certain structural peculiarities of geology for navigational purposes. It simply occurs to me to wonder if the dwenda might not have done something similar.”

“Navigation, eh?” Jhiral glanced shrewdly across at Shanta, who looked embarrassed. Archeth had run her theory by him, but he hadn’t reacted all that well to it. “Go on, then. I’m listening.”

“Yes, my lord. On the bluff overlooking Khangset harbor from the north, there is—there was, I’ve had it removed now—a stone idol. Very roughly human in form, about the size of a small woman or a half-grown child. It is made of a black crystalline rock called glirsht, commonly found in northern lands, but almost unknown farther south. Elith brought the figure with her from E

The look of disdain flowed back, this time on Rakan and Shanta’s faces as well. The Revelation and its adherents had scant time for idol worship. At best it was primitive nonsense, to be discouraged with a more or less heavy ecclesiastical hand; at worst it was a first-category sin, and deserving of death. Imperial conquest was built on a centuries-old assumption of the right to suppress the practice and instruct those conquered in the error of their ways. Specifics varied from Emperor to Emperor, and how well financed the levy was at the time.

“The way I see it, my lord, this idol may have acted as some form of beacon. Elith believes it was her prayers and offerings that brought the dwenda to Khangset. I’m inclined to think those rituals are beside the point. But the stone itself, the glirsht, may have some kind of . . .” A shrug; she had not fully convinced herself of all this, let alone Shanta. “. . . a structural resonance, perhaps. Something for the dwenda to steer by.”

Even in her own ears, the words sounded limp. Jhiral looked back at her for a couple of moments, then down into his lap, then back up. When he spoke, his voice was weary, almost plaintive, imploring the simple explanation.

“Look, Archeth—could this not just be a case of pirates? Albeit sophisticated pirates, pirates with a flair for disguise, for exploiting the terrors of our less worldly citizens? Maybe even pirates with some sorcery adept crewing with them.” The imperial fingers snapped—abrupt inspiration. “Come to that, they might even have been in league with this northern bitch you brought back with you—what if she was spying for them on shore, going up to the bluff to signal to them.”

“They took nothing, my lord,” she reminded him. “And no pirate vessel I’ve ever heard of mounts weaponry sufficient to damage Kiriath-engineered defenses.”

“If it were the dwenda,” said Rakan, perhaps in an attempt to back up his Emperor, “then they also took nothing. Why would that be?”

Jhiral nodded sagely. “That’s a very good point. Archeth? Are these creatures not interested in gold or silver?”

She bit back a sigh. “I don’t know, my lord. I’m barely familiar with the mythology as it is. But it does seem clear that these raiders, whether they were dwenda or human, came for something other than loot.”

“Such as? Not their local priestess, that’s for sure. They left her high and dry for us to pick up.”

“Revenge, perhaps?” said Shanta quietly.

There was a brief, prickly silence, during which you could see the naval engineer transparently wishing he’d never spoken.

“Revenge, on whom?” asked Jhiral with dangerous calm.

Archeth cleared her throat. Someone had to say it. “Elith was not well treated by imperial forces during the war. Members of her family were brutalized. One died, and the rest were resettled against their will.”

“Well, we all suffered in the war,” Jhiral said, in clipped tones of affront. “We all had to play our part in the struggle. That’s no excuse for treachery or betrayal of the realm.”

Jhiral’s part in the struggle and the suffering had been confined, Archeth seemed to recall, to riding behind his father at troop inspections and saluting. For all his training, he never saw combat.

“I don’t think Mahmal Shanta is referring—”

“I don’t care what you think he’s referring to, Archeth.” Affront now building to genuine anger. “We’ve pussyfooted around this long enough. If there is even the slightest suspicion that this woman Elith might have given aid or comfort to our enemies, sorcerous or otherwise—then I want her put to the question.”

Archeth’s flesh chilled.

“That won’t be necessary, my lord,” she said rapidly.

“Oh, won’t it?” Jhiral leaned bodily out at her from the throne, voice an inch off shouting. It was the most aggressive stance he’d taken all evening, the confrontation with Pashla Menkarak included. “How refreshing that you’re suddenly so certain of something. Perhaps you could explain to us, in this mess of mythological mumbo-jumbo and conjecture you’ve cooked up, how you can be so bloody sure of that?”

Seconds ticked away; she could almost hear the clockwork of their passing. Behind her eyes, the seared memory spread itself, of interrogations she’d been required to attend in the past. She forced herself not to swallow.

“I have gained this woman’s trust,” she said truthfully. “In the days since we found her, her madness has begun to recede. She talks to me freely, not always making sense, but that is improving. I don’t believe any degree of inflicted pain will help the process—if anything, it will simply thrust her back into her delusions. I need more time, my lord. But given that time, I am wholly confident I will discover everything of value that she can tell us.”

More quiet. But she no longer heard the clockwork in it. Jhiral still looked skeptical, but in a mollified sort of way.

“Rakan?” he asked.

Archeth’s gaze leapt to the Throne Eternal’s face. She should have known better—there was nothing to hang on to in that impassive face. Faileh Rakan considered for a moment, but the only indication that there was anything going on behind the narrow features was a slight distance in the normally attentive eyes.

“The woman is talking,” he said finally. “The Lady kir-Archeth does appear to have won her trust.”

Yes, you fucking beauty, Rakan. Archeth could have kissed the Throne Eternal captain’s impassive face for him. Could have punched the air above her head and whooped.

She held it down and watched her Emperor.

Jhiral saw her watching. He made a tired gesture.

“Oh, very well. But I want regular reports, Archeth. With something substantial in them.”