The Hollow: At The Edge (39 page)

“I will face down
Ferine with you, Victor. But I’m not taking on Kaitlin Astral for
you. I’m not that stupid.” He looked at Victor. “What
do
you
think Dillaini’s up to?”

“I have no idea. I just
hope whatever it is, it was worth all this.”

Grimm stroked his beard
in thought.

“Well, that was quite
something,” he said to the generals. “Mysterious flying creatures.
Battles to the death. Reminds me of my youth.”

“Your youth?” said Roth
in amusement. “Who did you ever fight to the death, Arch-Magus? Did
lunchtimes at the College get that violent?”

“There was sometimes a
scuffle for the last apple cobbler, I will admit. Mmm...
Fascinating thought, wasn’t it? That young Hawthorne would see the
Scar of Redan on Vharaes. I wonder where he would have picked that
up?”

“Could have been
anywhere,” said Roth smoothly. “Perhaps they figured it out all on
their own. Vharaes was supposedly quite the wizard in his day.”

“True. But a wizard,
General. The Scar is an assassin’s tool. No decent wizard would be
seen dead without a staff-”

“Grimm,” Dillaini
interrupted loudly. “Perhaps you would like to start the paperwork
for those promotions? See that Blackwood and Hawthorne get what’s
coming to them.”

“What? Oh. Oh, of
course. Promotions to Arch-Caster. They must be proud.”

“I’m sure they are
ecstatic,” said Dillaini. “Don’t let us keep you.”

Oblivious to her tone,
Grimm smiled politely and left.

Dillaini waited until
his footsteps echoed away before exploding.

“Those
idiots
!”
Dillaini seethed.

“It wasn’t their
fault,” General Roth said reasonably. “They were following
orders.”

“They were damned
fools! They nearly ruined everything!”

“But they didn’t,” Roth
tried to placate her. “In fact it worked out all right in the end.
They had no idea the man they killed wasn’t Vharaes. And with
Stallin dead, there’s no one to argue that Vharaes isn’t gone for
good.”

“So they said,” put in
Dillaini. “But do we know for certain what Stallin told them before
he died? He could have told them anything. Who he really was. Who
he worked
for
. Those bloody upstarts, disobeying my orders!
They’re meant to be in the Legion, Gods damn it, who the hell told
them to
think
?”

“It would be a fine
thing if we made an army of fools, General.”

“It was simple plan,”
fumed Dillaini. “Simple. How the hell could things have gotten so
screwed up?”

“Jadia, will you shut
up,” Roth snapped at her.

She glared at him.
“Excuse me?”

“You are throwing a
tantrum like twelve year old who isn’t getting her own way. You’re
meant to be the leader of the gods damn Legion. Act like it! We
both knew this was a long shot. But I went along with it. I
supported your promotion to Arch-General because I believed you
actually had a chance of finally getting this idiot country and its
overly pragmatic elves to come to heel. But if you’re going to go
to pieces the first time something goes wrong, then I am going to
have to rethink our positions.”

“You wouldn’t
dare.”

“I would. We’re doing
this for the Empire, remember? Not your fragile ego. Get over
it.”

There was a knock at
the door.

“Enter!”

An aide showed in
Dhulrael. The elf smiled tentatively at the two, who glared
back.

“Well, Patrician,” said
Dillaini when the door closed again. “You have some explaining to
do, traitor.”

“Me, traitor?” asked
Dhulrael, and for first time in days his amiable facade slipped. He
glared furiously at the general. “Do you have any idea what I have
been through these past few days? My own people turned against me.
They killed my friends. They hunted me.
Me!
Do you have any
idea how many times I have nearly been eaten, by Ferine, and by
some psychopath calling himself Dogbreath? I mean
Dogbreath.
What kind of people are you enlisting in the Legion these
days?”

“Stop your whining,
Vharaes. They were your people. You were meant to control them.
They knew all of your secrets, and you let them take over
everything. What would have happened if someone had found out who
you really were.”

“Say that name a little
louder will you, Jadia,” Dhulrael snapped angrily. “I think there
are a few Legion left who did not hear you!”

“You had one simple
thing to do, Vharaes. Start a rebellion, and have it fail. How hard
was that? I gave you money, resources, everything you needed.”

“Stop using that name.
As far as anyone cares, Vharaes is dead. And for the record you
also gave me an untrustworthy middleman. You know how long it took
me to track down the Ferine? To earn their trust? I finally had
them eating from the palm of my hand. Literally! Then along comes
your man, Stallin. He played you, Jadia. He had plans of his own.
Everything that has happened, can be laid squarely on him.”

“Impossible,” said
Roth. “Stallin was one of our most loyal agents. He lived most of
his life in the Empire. I trained him myself, and I personally
chose him-”

“Well you chose wrong,
General,” Dhulrael spat. “He turned on us. He turned on
you
.”

“Why?”

“I do not know why.
Maybe he let thrill of playing me go to his head. Or maybe he
decided he did not want his homeland in the hands of the Empire any
more than the Ferine did. Most likely he was made a better offer by
another party. This so-called “master”, Narak.”

“So you did know about
it!” Dillaini said victoriously.

“Do not be stupid,
Jadia. I had to hear about from your boy, Hawthorne.”

“Are you trying to tell
me you didn’t involve it?” demanded Dillaini.

“Why the hell would I
involve something like that? Mutants, and flying monsters... As if
things were not complicated enough. The Ferine must have told it of
our little plot. It invited itself to the party. Perhaps it managed
to sway the thinking of your supposedly loyal Stallin.”

“What do you know of
this creature?” asked Dillaini.

“Nothing. Whatever it
is, it is powerful. But on the bright side, it did you a favour
when it destroyed Stallin’s body. Now there’s no proof he was not
who he claimed to be. Vharaes is dead, and the Legion has its
foothold in Elsbareth. Bravo, Jadia, you have everything you ever
wanted, whereas I am lucky to escape with just my life.”

“You had the Illudin in
your grasp, Vharaes. Why did you destroy it?”

“Because your dog
Sergeant Caellix would have destroyed it anyway. Either she would
have killed us all in the process, or she would have killed me for
trying to stop her. I had to maintain my facade. Besides, if it was
going to be in anyone’s grasp, it would have been yours, and there
was no chance in hell I was going to let you get your hands on it.
The Ferine were bad enough but that sort of power being wielded by
the likes of
you
? I would smash it a thousand times before I
ever let you have it.”

Dillaini opened her
mouth to retort.

“Shut up! Both of you,”
ordered Roth. “It’s done. And the elf’s right. Better that thing
was destroyed than someone else get their hands on it.”

“Exactly,” said
Dhulrael. “We need to focus on the more pressing issue.”

“This master,” said
Roth. “The boy said it called itself Narak.”

“Yes. And what a
perfect stroke of luck for you that it has made its appearance.
Narak has given you perfect reason to remain here, General. You are
now hunting down the last of the Ferine, and their monstrous
Master. And you must do this, because you have no way of knowing
what it knows. It is the only remaining loose thread, and you must
destroy it before it destroys us.”

“Oh, I will,” said
Dillaini. “I am going to mount its head on my wall.”

“But we have no idea
what it is,” said Roth. “No idea what it wants.”

“Stallin tried to take
something from the fortress,” said Dhulrael. “Do you know what it
was?”

“He had all sorts of
books and scrolls he had taken from the vaults. We don’t really
know what was in them.”

“Damn him,” Dhulrael
muttered. “The vaults? Those were sealed under orders of the king.
I do not even know exactly what was in there. I have been trying to
find a way in ever since I became Patrician. Those vaults are one
of the reasons I agreed to help you in the first place.”

“You were going to raid
them during the occupation of the city,” Roth said in
amusement.

“I had ample excuse to
do so. But I didn’t tell Stallin about them. Someone else did. This
Narak, maybe.”

“What would be so
important about some old books and scrolls?”

“As you should know,
General, knowledge is power. The information stored in those vaults
would have dated back centuries. Imagine the secrets locked away in
there. And now lost, thanks to you.”

“Well, when we find the
creature, we can asked it what it found in there,” said Dillaini
scathingly. “Just before I tear its head off.”

“You would best do it
quickly,” said Dhulrael. “Before it lets others know that you
orchestrated an invasion of the Faelands. Do not forget, for even a
moment, that all of our heads are on the chopping block,
Jadia.”

“You don’t have to keep
reminding us, Patrician. We’ve done our part, now you do
yours.”

Dhulrael nodded
stiffly, and went to the door. He lingered there a moment, then
turned back to them.

“A thought does occur,”
he said slowly.

“What?”

“This is only a theory,
you understand,” he said in his typical way. “But from the
description Hawthorne gave me, this creature is similar to those
wolf mutants that chased me halfway across Elsbareth. We can assume
that they are linked. If so, then I believe that who ever has
involved themselves in your little scheme may hail from the
Darklands.”

“The Darklands?”
repeated Roth. “Nothing has gone into or out of the Darklands for
nearly a century. It’s completely walled off.”

“Walls are a poor
barrier to a creature that can fly, Roth. I am merely stating the
fact that the shape of these creatures, the techniques that would
be used to create them, such things all originated from the
Darklands. And if I am right, then things have become even more
complicated than you could ever imagine.” He smiled at them. “Good
day, Generals.”

He made a point of
slamming the door behind him.

“We should kill him,”
said Dillaini.

“We still need him to
be Patrician of Vollumir,” replied Roth. “Besides, first we need to
ascertain if he has any fail-safes in place. Plans in case we did
turn on him. We eliminate those, and then we can kill him.”

“Good. What about the
two mages?”

“What about them?”

“One of them has
already started to talk. What if they blab to the wrong
people?”

“We can’t just kill off
two of our own, especially not the two we’re about to decorate. It
would be bad for morale, and if anyone found what we were up to, I
think you’ll agree, that would be rather catastrophic for everyone.
No, Jadia, I would like you to try a new tact with these two. I
want you to try being patient. We keep them contained, somewhere we
can keep an eye on them. And when the time comes, we’ll see if they
are loyal Imperials or... not. Meanwhile, do the job you said you
would do.”

Dillaini sniffed
impatiently.

“Jadia,” Roth said,
rolling his eyes. “You are a hair’s breadth away from controlling
the entire Faelands. Just... try to enjoy the moment for once.”

Annabella admired her
work, and gave a nod of satisfaction.

“That’ll do it,” she
said. “Just give it a day or so to heal. A little magic wouldn’t
hurt either. Just to speed things along.”

Serrel looked at the
freshly painted Scar of Redan she had just tattooed on his left
palm. It was actually the second tattoo he had gotten that day.
He’d caved in to peer pressure, and let the other Hounds push him
into getting the words
Vollumir 1251
, tattooed across his
arm. It was a Legion tradition to get the major battles you fought
and won tattooed in remembrance. All the other Hounds had done the
same. Victor and Mouse were going to as well, but Victor had
changed his mind when Mouse casually dropped into the conversation
the fact that Kaitlin didn’t like tattoos. Mouse herself had
baulked when she had seen the size of the needle being used.
Apparently she did still have her limits.

“So I just have to use
the word
Tael
and I can weave with it?” he asked
Annabella.

“Yep. That simple,” she
replied, packing up her equipment.

“How long should it
last?”

“Depending on use, I’d
say about five years before you noticed a decline in your weaving.
Enough time to get you through your term of service.”

“Maybe,” said
Serrel.

Annabella looked at him
with a raised eyebrow. “Thinking of sticking around, are you?”

“I don’t know yet,” he
replied, bandaging his hand, and then sliding a leather glove over
the top.

“In any case, try not
to burn or cut your hand. Any damage to the Scar could make it
useless.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“And it goes without
saying, I did not give that to you, and I have no idea where you
got it from.”

“Got what from?”

“That’s the spirit.
Here, there’s still a little left,” Annabella noted, holding up his
flask of Vorkeph’s Elixir. She’d mixed it with the ink to make the
Scar of Redan. “Here you go.”

“You can keep it,” said
Serrel. He had never like the Elixir.

“You’re going to need
it more than me,” said Annabella. She pushed it into his good
hand.