Wintercraft: Legacy (9 page)

‘Since you already know me,’ said Silas, ‘I will not waste time on introductions.’

The councilman turned to his fellow members. ‘Why is he here?’ he demanded. ‘Who let him get this far into the chambers? A murderer is standing a few feet away from me and no one is moving!’

Most of the advisers whispered excuses and exited the
room, leaving the council and their wardens alone with their two visitors.

‘I have served this country far longer than you have worn that robe,’ said Silas. ‘You will listen to me, or this city will soon be unrecognisable. You have become blind to what is happening here. You have been so busy doubting the truth about the ground beneath your feet that you have allowed a poisonous enemy into your lands.’

‘And that enemy would be . . . you?’ The councilman laughed quietly, looking around for others to share in his joke. Edgar watched nervously. He had never seen anyone attempt to mock Silas before.

‘Dalliah Grey is here.’ A whisper of surprise spread around the table as Silas addressed the council as a whole. ‘She is here, and she intends to damage our city and our country. Those of you who were present on the Night of Souls know that the veil is not merely a superstition. Dalliah intends to bring it down upon all of us, allowing restless souls to wander through our streets, our homes, and our lives. She plans to bring chaos to Albion and she must be stopped.’

As Silas spoke, he studied every face in front of him. He was looking for clues: any sign that Dalliah’s appearance came as no surprise to someone in that room. If what he had heard from his sources was true, someone had wheedled their way into power even more deviously than most. An enemy agent had infiltrated the council’s chambers. One person sitting at that ruling table had been working for the Blackwatch all along.

‘I am here to offer my services in defence of the city,’
he continued. ‘People are afraid, and they have good reason to be. Until you accept what is happening, you will be of no use to them. The veil will fall, and you will lose control.’

‘Why do you care if we “lose control”?’ asked one of the seated men.

‘Because the leaders of the Continent are preparing to move against us. Rumours have spread that Fume is weak. There is talk of sickness within its walls and people are beginning to distrust your rule. The Continental leaders see this as the perfect time to attack. If you do not act, you will lose this city. The war will be over. They will have won.’

‘That will never happen. Fume is ours. We will defend it!’

‘Then you must prepare. Now.’

A third councilman, his confidence bolstered by the presence of the wardens in the room, stood up. ‘That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,’ he said.

‘It is the truth.’

‘I see no armies on the horizon. There has been no word of attacks upon our southernmost towns for days.’

‘No competent leader would waste time on smaller towns when our capital is weak,’ said Silas.

The third councilman raised a thin smile. ‘Then we are perfectly safe,’ he said. ‘Our enemies have already proven that they are far from competent.’

More nervous smiles spread around the room, fuelled by the arrogance of fools.

‘Every battle against the Continent has been hard won,’ said Silas. ‘Their leaders will not waste this chance to strike at the heart of our lands. The wardens on the walls
are disorganised and unobservant. They are not used to being challenged. When the armies come we will need to provide greater resistance than we have raised so far. I will hunt down Dalliah Grey, but I cannot protect this city on two fronts. I need men and women who are willing to fight and I need them to be ready. I am here because my duty is always to Albion. As is yours.’

The outspoken councilman folded his arms and shook his head, raising his eyebrows in mock concern. ‘This is all very interesting,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, your “duty” extends to one action alone. You are a traitor, a murderer and a criminal. You have no right to stand in this room and address this council as an equal. You are an insect, worthy of nothing more than being crushed under my heel.’

The room waited silently for Silas to react. He unbuckled his scabbard from his belt and passed it, sword and all, to Edgar, who held it carefully and backed away.

‘Then you surrender yourself?’ The councilman’s mouth twitched with victory and he signalled for the wardens to close in. No one moved. ‘Take him!’

One warden stepped forward, sliding a silver dagger slowly from its sheath. No matter who had given the order, Edgar could not believe anyone would be foolish enough to act upon it. But instead of approaching Silas, the warden walked up to Edgar and passed him his weapon before standing to attention at his side.

‘What is going on here?’ The councilman’s smile twisted into rage.

Two more wardens joined the first. Then five more, all placing their daggers on the ground at Edgar’s feet.

‘You have already lost control,’ said Silas. ‘You have lost the respect of those who serve you. You have lived in decadence for too long while your own people suffer to keep you in power. You have allowed yourselves to neglect what should have been most important to you. Without the trust of the people, a government is powerless. The greatest threat to our country is inside this very room.’

‘I think we can all recognise the greatest threat in this room, and I’m looking straight at him.’

‘No,’ said Silas. ‘I am.’

Everyone followed Silas’ eyes and stared at a councilman who had been content to sit quietly at the table and let others do the talking. He was middle aged, with a neatly trimmed beard and a face that looked open and trustworthy. He was sitting back in his chair, casually making notes on a piece of paper.

‘Gorrett?’ said the councilman sitting directly beside him. The entire council smiled and a few suppressed sniggers of laughter.

As an infiltrator, Edwin Gorrett had been easy to overlook. He was old enough to make himself appear physically weak. His opinions, as far as Silas had ever witnessed, always ran in line with the general consensus and he had never openly challenged anyone around that table. He wrote his notes, cast his votes and went about his business with quiet grace. No one had anything bad to say about the man. Silas had always thought of him as a pawn used by the other members to bolster their own opinions, but Gorrett’s reaction to the announcement of Dalliah’s presence in the city had not been one of shock like the
others’. Instead, his lips had flickered with secret pride. Silas’ arrival had surprised him more than his fellows, but he had been quick to hide it, forcing himself to appear relaxed while the sharp scratch of his pen betrayed his true feelings. Not fear, like the rest, but frustration.

Gorrett’s eyes sharpened, just for a moment, and Silas saw the heart of a soldier simmering beneath the veneer of power. He beamed a politician’s smile, but his fingers tightened around his finely nibbed pen. He kept his head low and looked at Silas, shifting his weight very slightly to his left. In trained hands, that pen could be an effective weapon, and exposed enemy agents rarely allowed themselves to be taken down alone.

‘Councilman Gorrett has never served Albion,’ said Silas. ‘He has been against us from the beginning. He ingratiated himself into the life of the man whose seat he now fills. He earned his trust and now betrays that trust by passing every secret shared in these chambers on to his true masters. Gorrett is a Blackwatch agent.’

‘That is impossible!’

‘He was posted here to undermine this council,’ said Silas. ‘He deceived us all.’

Exposing a Blackwatch agent in the centre of a council meeting was a dangerous move. A lesser warden would not have noticed the flex of a tendon in the back of Gorrett’s hand. They would not have seen the tiny twitch of the upper lip and the furrowing of his brow that betrayed what he was about to do. To have survived undiscovered in the heart of enemy territory for so long, Edwin Gorrett had to be one of the Blackwatch’s best
men. His mission had been to destabilise the High Council. Now that he was exposed, there was only one way to continue that mission. He was out for blood.

Gorrett’s right arm tensed and sent the pen stabbing up towards the throat of the man beside him. In the space of a second, Silas pulled a concealed dagger from his sleeve. The blade cut the air as the metal nib speared towards the artery throbbing beneath the targeted councilman’s skin.

Silas’ weapon struck first.

The dagger punctured Gorrett’s chest with a soft fleshy thud. His arm lost momentum and slumped on to the table as blood blossomed across the front of his robes, sending councilmen fleeing and scattering against the walls.

‘No one leaves!’ ordered Silas, sending the wardens to take up positions at the doors. Gorrett was bleeding badly, but the wound was not immediately fatal. Silas was not finished yet. He skirted the table as the infiltrator reached in vain for a blade hidden in his boot. Silas grabbed him by the neck, lifted him from his seat and slammed him down on to the table.

Silas reached the blade before Gorrett could, and thrust it hard into the tendons of the dying man’s ankle. Whoever Gorrett truly was, he was well trained. He barely made a sound.

‘Officer Dane, stop! You are killing the man.’

Silas grasped the handle of the dagger still lodged in the man’s chest. ‘Not quickly enough,’ he said.

Gorrett smiled through bloodstained teeth. ‘You . . . are too . . . late. I did . . . my duty. Do yours. Kill me.’

Silas twisted the blade inside Gorrett’s chest. His body buckled with pain, and with one last shuddering breath the life in his eyes died.

The wardens were uncertain how to react. No one moved. No one dared to speak.

Silas pressed his hand to Gorrett’s forehead. A glut of memories spilled out into the veil as the man’s spirit prepared to leave its physical body behind. Silas saw them all, but ignored everything except the details of the Blackwatch plan. He witnessed Gorrett’s secret meetings, the opening of letters carried in by unofficial messenger birds, until finally he found the information he was looking for. He lifted his hand away, and spoke to the council. ‘We have less than a day,’ he said. ‘The armies are here on Albion soil. They are coming now.’

‘How could you know that?’

Silas dragged his blade out of the dead man’s chest and pressed his palm against the open wound. The veil spread through him like trails of ice, passing into Gorrett’s muscles and flesh, binding them together and dragging his spirit back from the very edges of death. Gorrett’s skin flushed as he breathed in a gasping breath, choking on the blood that had collected in his throat.

‘Welcome back,’ said Silas, holding his dagger barely a hair’s breadth from Gorrett’s left eye. ‘You are a parasite feeding off my country and killing it from the inside. I could tear your soul from your chest and send it into the darkest pit of existence that your nightmares cannot imagine. Do not test me again. You will die when these men have no more use for you. Until then . . .’

Silas dragged Gorrett down from the table and let him fall hard upon the floor. ‘You saw this man attempt to take a councilman’s life,’ he said as wardens converged upon the prisoner. ‘Interrogate him. If he will not speak . . . force the truth from him.’

‘Albion will fall!’ Gorrett coughed and struggled weakly as his hands were bound behind his back. ‘This city is ours now.’

One of the wardens bent to pull the blade from Gorrett’s useless ankle.

‘Leave it,’ said Silas, remembering his own treatment during his time as a Blackwatch prisoner. ‘The Blackwatch enjoy causing pain. Make sure he suffers plenty of it in return.’

‘You should not have been here!’ Gorrett shouted as he was dragged away. ‘You were supposed to have been kept away!’

Silas waited for the doors to close, then stabbed the bloodied dagger deep into the table and left it there while the remaining councilmen stared at it, nervously taking their seats. Even the outspoken newcomer sat down, his lips quivering in response to the brutality he had just witnessed.

‘Now, I have your attention.’ Silas tugged his coat sleeves back into place, his fine appearance giving no sign that he had almost killed a man. ‘We can continue to distrust each other, or we can work together and get things done. Decide quickly.’

The man whose life Silas had saved spoke slowly, rubbing a hand protectively over his throat. ‘What could you possibly need from us?’ he asked.

‘I need wardens on guard in every town from the southern coast to the High North. Wherever they are posted, they need to be seen. If we have soldiers nearby, send word that we need more men here in the city. Let the enemy know that challenging us will not be an easy fight. I want every warden to man these walls, scour them for hidden breaches, and make sure every entrance to the Thieves’ Way and the City Below is watched at all times. As you have seen, the Blackwatch are already here. The Continental army will not be far behind. Let us give them a fight to remember.’

‘And you?’ asked the councilman. ‘You expect us to let you go free, after everything you have done?’

‘I am already free,’ said Silas. ‘My loyalty is to Albion, not to you. I came here because you appear incapable of doing your duty. Do not try to prevent me from doing mine.’

The warden who had been the first to stand beside Edgar stepped forward. ‘I will send word to the towns and recall the Night Train,’ he said. ‘The officers will do as you have ordered.’

‘Take the council to a safe place,’ said Silas. ‘They are our enemies’ primary target, and it will do the people no good to see their leaders fall.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You can’t do this!’ protested the loud councilman. ‘
We
make the decisions here, Officer Dane.’

‘When you finally make a decision, perhaps someone will listen to it,’ said Silas. ‘Until then, keep quiet and you may stay alive.’

The wardens retrieved their weapons and escorted the High Council out of the room, but before the new member could leave Silas ordered the warden with him to wait. He walked up to the councilman and stood over him, a full head and shoulders taller than the frightened man.