The Office of Shadow (57 page)

Paet and the Shadows went to Everess, and Sela went through the documents
with him as she'd done with Paet.

"Very good work, Sela. Very good," said Everess once the story was done.
He leaned back in his chair.

"Do we recommend him to the high prosecutor?" asked Paet.

"Heavens no," said Everess. "We can't let him know we suspect anything."

"You can't think to let him get away with this!" said Paet.

"Oh, he won't," said Everess. "But Glennet is a very powerful man, one
who's owed many, many favors. Who do you think recommended the high
prosecutor to his post? No, we can't take the direct route with someone like
him."

"Are you proposing that one of my Shadows eliminate him?" asked Pact
dourly. "I thought I made myself clear on that point."

"No, Glennet is more useful to us alive and well at the moment," said
Everess.

"At the moment," said Silverdun.

"At the moment," repeated Everess. "And trust me, I know precisely how
to take care of him after that."

Everess fell silent, lighting his pipe. "We've a more pressing problem, though," he said. "Our troops are outnumbered by a great margin, and if war
is indeed inevitable, we need to find ways to even the odds. Any suggestions?"

Silverdun sat up. "I've got a few ideas," he said.

Estiane's office was as warm and cozy as Silverdun remembered it. When he
barged in, Estiane was sitting at his desk with a huge slice of peach pie in
front of him. Estiane made to hide it, then saw it was Silverdun and decided
not to bother.

"Perrin! It's good to see you, though I'm told that things are not progressing as one might hope with our neighbors to the north."

Silverdun sat. "It's worse than you know," he said. He told Estiane what
he could, leaving out the more classified details.

When he was done, Estiane said, "What can I do to help?"

"I'm glad you asked," said Silverdun. "Because I'm about to ask something very large of you."

"What's that?"

"We are going to war with the Unseelie," said Silverdun. "That seems
inevitable now. All we can do is try to make it as unpleasant for the Unseelie
as possible."

"I'm not sure how I can help, other than by praying."

"How many devout Arcadians are there in the Unseelie?"

Estiane frowned. "It's hard to say for certain. Perhaps five thousand? Ten
thousand at the most? As I told you before, the less we know about them, the
safer they are."

"I want you to contact them, as many as you can, in secret."

"And what shall I tell them?" Estiane now looked deeply worried.

"You're going to tell them to do everything they can to sabotage the
Unseelie war effort. Disrupt supply lines, disrupt communications, destroy
spellcraft depots, steal weapons, horses. Stab commanders in the back. Whatever they're able to do."

"I can't ask that of my people!" said Estiane. "These are Arcadians!
They're committed to love and peace. That is what brought them to Aba in the first place." He pushed the pie around on his plate, dropped the fork in
frustration. "I won't do that. I'm sorry."

"You will do that," said Silverdun. "You put yourself on a pedestal,
making a martyr of yourself, believing that if you do a little evil in the name
of good, then you're protecting your people. You claim that this is a sin you
take upon yourself to save others. But now it's time to give all of your followers in the Unseelie the same opportunity. If they're as principled as you,
they should be happy to make the same choice."

"You don't know what you're asking, Perrin," said Estiane. "Joining
Everess and his Shadows has changed you. You've forgotten what it means to
be an Arcadian."

"I haven't forgotten," said Silverdun. "I've just learned a few things since
then."

"I'm sorry, Perrin. I won't do it."

"If you don't, then Paet is prepared to testify in the High Court that you
conspired with the foreign minister to have the husband of the secretary of
states murdered in a brothel."

Paet had promised no such thing, but Estiane didn't know that.

"That's preposterous!" said Estiane. "I had no idea what Everess was planning!"

"Maybe not," said Silverdun. "But you know there are elements in
Corpus who would be more than happy to see the Church fall on its face. It's
not that long since Arcadianism was considered a dangerous cult by most
Fae."

"You'd bring down the Church to get your way," said Estiane.

"No, but I would bring it down to save the Seelie Kingdom."

"I could excommunicate you for this," said Estiane.

"It wouldn't matter," said Silverdun. "I don't think you can excommunicate a dead man."

"Are you serious about this?" asked Estiane.

"I've never been more serious about anything."

"Aba will turn his back on you for this."

"I believe that the ends will justify the means, Abbot." He stood. "You
taught me that."

The basis of the Chthonic faith is the mistrust of divinity.
How fortunate we would be if all religions had the
decency to lock up their gods!

-Beozho, Autobiography

ronfoot was desperate.

He'd stared at these documents a hundred times in the past two days.
He'd read every single one of the books that Timha had brought with him,
examined every bit of Hy Pezho's fake plans on the off chance that some bit
of the actual mechanism might be concealed somewhere within them. The
best lies, he knew, were based in truth.

It wasn't just that the Einswrath threatened the Seelie Kingdom. He
understood that, of course. But that still seemed remote, a possible contingency. This was personal.

It was at times like this that he could not control his anger, when he was
in the thick of a problem. At any moment the dark thoughts would creep in:
You are not smart enough, or good enough. You are a shepherd's son. You don't deserve
to be here. You will fail and then everyone will know who you really are.

He was fighting those dark thoughts when Sela came downstairs into the
mission room carrying a stack of briefs. She'd begun sorting through intelligence from the Unseelie, trying to get some idea of where Hy Pezho had
come from, and when.

"How is it going?" she asked.

Ironfoot looked up at her. "How does it look like it's going?" he said blandly.

"I don't suppose there's anything I can do to help."

"Not unless you know how to circumvent the exponential decrease of
reitic force in unbindings."

"Sorry," Sela said.

"If only I could remember," said Ironfoot. "Something that's bothered me
ever since I first came to Selafae."

"What's that?" asked Sela.

"All around the crater, there was a smell. Sort of like roast meat, but
acrid, like tar. I don't know how to explain it."

"Do you remember the smell?" she said.

"I'll never forget it."

"May I smell it?"

"It's a long way from here to Selafae, and I doubt the smell is still there
anyway, after last spring's rains."

"That's not what I mean," she said. "Open yourself up to me. Open your
mind and think about the smell."

"You can smell my memory with Empathy? That's new."

"I have skills other Empaths don't," she said.

He shrugged. "Why not?" He closed his eyes, opened his mind. He felt
something-not a presence, more like the sense of being watched by someone
unseen. It made him wary.

"Relax," she said. "Think of that smell." He did.

"Got it," she said.

Ironfoot opened his eyes and looked at her. She was smiling.

"You know what that is?" he said.

"I do. When I was very small, before ... well, when I was very small, my
parents used to take me to the Chthonic temple in the city on holidays. That's
the smell of the prayer bowls just after they've been lit."

"You're kidding," said Ironfoot.

"Have you ever been to a Chthonic holiday service?" she asked.

"Just once," he said. There aren't many Chthonics down south, where I
was raised. But I went to a wedding once in Sylvan...."

Ironfoot sat up. "Auberon's hairy balls, Sela! That's it!"

"What's it?" Sela looked excited, though she clearly had no idea why.

"Auberon's big, sweaty, hairy balls!" he said, digging through the stack
of papers on the table. He couldn't find what he was looking for.

"Prae Benesile," said Ironfoot. "Where's Prae Benesile?"

"Who's Prae Benesile?" asked Sela.

Ironfoot ran past her into the den and attacked the piles of books on his
desk.

"Prae Benesile was an Annwni scholar who was murdered in Blood of
Arawn five years ago," he said, digging. "Before he died, he'd received a few
visits from one Hy Pezho. Looking at Hy Pezho's plans, Prae Benesile is referenced more than once, but we had no idea why. I started to assume that Hy
Pezho included the references to him just to confuse those who came after him."

"But you don't think that anymore."

"No. It didn't make sense. Why did Hy Pezho go so far out of his way
to meet with this doddering old lunatic? Why did the Bel Zheret kill him
during the Fall of Annwn?"

"And now you think you know?"

"I'm beginning to, yes." Ironfoot found the book he was looking for. It
was Prae Benesile's Thaumatical History of the Chthonic Religion.

"I believe that the answer we're looking for is right here," he said.

"Do tell," said Sela.

Ironfoot opened the book and began paging through it. He was instantly
reminded why he'd only glanced at it before now; it was a collection of incoherent ramblings, observations about history, religious maunderings.
Though it claimed to be a "thaumatical" history, there was no formal thaumatics anywhere in it.

"Hm," said Ironfoot. "This may take a while."

The Temple of Bound Althoin was a towering, imposing heap of gray stone
located in a once-fashionable part of the City Emerald. It was one of twelve
Metropolitan Chthonic temples scattered throughout the known worlds.
These were the focal points for the faith, each overseeing a large collection of
smaller temples.