Authors: Douglas Hulick
“You did?” said Degan. “How?”
“I left Iron’s sword on Shadow’s body and made sure the Order found it. You’d crossed swords with Shadow already, and he was on the opposite side of the fence from Iron.
I didn’t think it’d be too much of a stretch.”
“Nice. But I’m gathering it didn’t work, considering you’re down here.”
I shook my head. “To hear Silver tell it, no one argued with the official story, but no one’s fully buying it, either. Not having you, or at least your body, around seems to be
making it a hard sell.”
“Sorry to complicate things for you by being alive,” said Degan. “So which camp is Silver in? Does he want to give me a hearty handshake or a sword thrust through my
heart?”
“He wants to get you back to Ildrecca,” I said. “He says you carry enough weight with the Order that you can help keep things from getting worse, that you can prevent the two
sides from coming to blows over the whole ‘How do we serve the empire’ thing.”
“He gives me too much credit.”
“He also thinks he can get you back into the degans.”
“He gives himself too much credit as well.” Degan smiled thinly. “But that’s Silver all over.”
“Is he right, though?” I said.
Degan stared down at his boots, kicking absently at a spot on the floor. “Maybe,” he said at last. “It’s possible that, having killed Iron, I’m now in a position to
step forward—if only as an example of what can happen—and ease some of the tension. It’s been a long time since one degan killed another, and it gives me a sort of grisly cachet,
I suppose. Mind you, I don’t believe for a moment I can heal the split, but could I put it in perspective? Maybe. But that would require the Order not cutting me down the moment I con-firmed
their suspicions. And to even stand a chance of doing that, I’d need to get into the Barracks Hall, and that’s only slightly less likely than me not getting killed in the first
place.”
“But if they aren’t willing to admit for certain you dusted Iron, what’s keeping you out?”
“I cast my sword away,” said Degan. “Turned my back on my brothers and my Oath. That’s not exactly something they can overlook. If I wanted to enter the hall in anything
other than chains and an iron gag, I’d need the support of at least three degans. Last I checked, Silver is only one man, no matter how big his ego.”
“Which is why he wants to get you back into the Order: so he can bring you into the Barracks Hall.”
“Probably,” said Degan. “If I’m a degan, no one can keep me out, but that’d be one hell of an achievement, even for Silver. No one’s been reinstated to the
Order after leaving it. Ever. Oh, there’s supposed to be rules governing that, but they were lost a long time ago.”
“Lost how?”
“Someone took them.”
“From a bunch of degans?”
“Being good with a sword doesn’t mean you don’t make mistakes.”
I was about to ask what kind of mistake would allow a person to walk away with something like that, but then I caught the look in Degan’s eye and stopped myself. Things were delicate
enough between us as it was at the moment; the last thing I needed to do was give him another excuse to tell me to fuck myself. Given his look, this time he might just do it.
So instead, I said, “Lost rules aside, do you think Silver could get you back in the Order?”
Degan shrugged. “Silver knows more about the old laws and rituals than I ever will. I suppose it’s possible.”
“So then we
could
help you get back in,” I said, suddenly feeling as if sunlight were shining on me for the first time in months. “Which means all we need to do is get
you and Silver back to Ildrecca, maybe find at least one more degan to speak for you, and—”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m not worried about becoming a degan again, Drothe.”
“But you said—”
“I said I’m trying to come to terms with it, but that doesn’t mean I think I should carry a sword of the order again. I killed one of my sword brothers: I can’t just walk
back in like it never happened. For all that I disagreed with him, Iron’s memory deserves better than that.” Degan pushed himself away from the wall. “No, if I’m interested
in anything, it’s in saving the Order from itself. I may no longer be a degan, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still love what the Order represents and what my former brothers stand
for.
“I appreciate your offer and your effort—you don’t know how much, truly—but I don’t think my going back to Ildrecca is the best way to accomplish that. I’m
here for a reason, and if I’m right, it’ll make more of a difference to the Order than anything Silver can pull off.”
“How?” I said. “With a bunch of ivory and paper?”
Degan smiled and began to turn away. “With ivory and paper, yes.”
“So the answer’s no, just like that?” I said.
He stopped but didn’t turn back. “You think this is easy for me? That I walk away lightly? Even after everything that happened, part of me still wants to say yes, to come back and
run and fight and laugh at your side again. But the rest of me knows better. It would be too easy to fall back into old habits with you, too easy to forget what happened and why it should
matter.
“So no, it’s not just like that—it’s a hell of a lot more than that.”
I stood there and watched Degan walk down the steps and away, feeling the sunlight go out on my face and the darkness return. Suddenly, it was hard to stand, let alone think. I stumbled back to
my room, turned the lock, and opened the door.
Wolf was there, lying on my bed, his hands clasped behind his head.
“Well, that could have gone better, yes?” he said.
I
stood there stupidly for a moment, staring at the other degan. Then I closed the door behind me.
“Get the fuck out of my bed,” I said.
Wolf met me halfway and sat up, but didn’t stand.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I said.
“As it appears, waiting for you.”
“And Degan just
happened
to show up right outside my door while you were in here?”
“I’ve been waiting for a long time,” he said. “We need to talk.”
“You talk; I’ll sleep. Feel free to make up my side of the conversation in case you get bored. I recommend throwing in the occasional ‘fuck you’ on my behalf, just to
keep things true to life.” I bent down and, after succeeding in not falling over, began undoing my shoes.
“For someone who just let the man we traveled over a month to find walk out the doo—”
“Hey,” I said, looking up from the tangled knot that was my left shoelace. “I didn’t exactly see you out there making the case to your sword brother. You’re the one
who wants him back in Ildrecca so damn bad, why didn’t you come out and join us?”
Wolf shifted on the bed and looked away. “Now is not the time for me to confront Bronze.”
“How convenient for you,” I said, turning back to my shoes. To hell with it: I drew my dagger and sliced the of-
I fending lace away. The shoe loosened and released my foot. I sighed in relief. How many hours—no, days at this point—had I been on my feet?
I looked back over at Wolf. “How did you get in here, anyhow? I can understand Fowler looking the other way for Degan, but not you.”
“What kind of a bandit would I be if I couldn’t sneak into a room in an inn?”
“The kind that’s a hell of a lot better than most Draw Latches and Star Glazers I know back in Ildrecca. Fowler keeps a tight watch: How’d you get past it?”
“The Azaar do not move as other men move.”
“Maybe not, but they sure as hell seem to bullshit as other men bullshit,” I said, taking my other shoe off. Paradise! “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you
telling me where you’ve been, let alone how you got into el-Qaddice?”
Wolf flicked a bit of dust from his caftan. “There’s not much to tell: A bey of one of the smaller military districts owed me a favor. He happens to be in el-Qaddice reporting to the
mogul, and so I was able to arrange entrance. Why?”
I stood up and went over to sit on my travel chest, since it was clear Wolf wasn’t about to abandon the bed. “Because it would have been nice not to have to sing for our supper if
you could have gotten us in,” I said, settling myself on the scarred wooden lid.
“The bey is not a patron of the arts, as is the padishah. My speaking in your favor would have hurt my own case.”
“And where were you before that?”
Wolf ignored the question and instead gestured at the closed door. “Why didn’t you follow him?”
“Degan?” I said. “Are you kidding? If he was going to be watching for one thing, it’d be me trying to tickle his shadow. He knows me too well, and is too good, to let
that happen.” I didn’t mention that I also thought he deserved better from me, and that even if he didn’t, I doubt I would have been able to make it five blocks in the condition I
was in.
Wolf grunted, clearly not convinced. “In that case, you’ll have to find him again. And persuade him.”
“Weren’t you listening? I tried to persuade him—he doesn’t want to come back. Hell, he doesn’t even want to get back into the Order; he’s more worried about
saving it from the outside.”
“I heard,” said Wolf. “Don’t fool yourself. Bronze is a degan: In his heart, he burns to wear the sword again.”
“Well, his heart and his head don’t seem to be talking to each other right now.”
“Then you will need to find what his head seeks, so that his heart may follow.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” I began unbuttoning my doublet, hoping Wolf would take the hint. “Ivory and paper: no problem. I’m sure they’re both very
fucking rare in a city filled with artisans and poets.”
“The ivory he seeks is.”
I reached up and rubbed at my eyes with the heels of my palms. This wasn’t going to end, was it? Fine: I’d play along, if only long enough to get Wolf out the door. I’d marshal
and make the arguments about why it was hopeless later, when I was fully conscious.
“And what’s so special about it?” I said.
“The ivory he seeks did not come from a beast or a great fish,” said Wolf. “Nor is it something you’ll find hidden away in a chest: Ivory was a degan back when the Order
was begun, over two centuries ago. He was our first archivist, and one of the architects of our brotherhood.”
“Wait,” I said, sitting up straighter. “A degan?
Ivory
Degan?”
“You think we’re only named after metals and their cousins?”
“Well, I—”
“You know nothing.” He took a deep breath. “Ivory helped write the Degan’s Oath, not to mention the Oath we exchange with our clients. He was the one who wrote the laws
we follow, the one who shaped our initial pledge to the Empire, the one who kept our earliest records and traditions. He was, in many ways, the father of all who followed. And then he
left.”
“Left?” I said. “Why?”
“There was a falling-out: Ivory became disenchanted, even disgusted, with the Order over time—something to do with theology and souls.” Wolf ran his hand over his silver-chased
sword guard and shook his head. “What do we know of souls, eh? We’re swordsmen: Our calling is to free souls from their bodies, not debate their nature and purpose.”
I felt my ears perk up at this, despite my exhaustion. Souls were at the center of not only the Imperial Cult and the emperor’s ability to continually reincarnate as Markino, Theodoi, and
Lucien; they were also the secret behind the devastating power that was Imperial magic. Where other magicians relied on scraps of magical energy that slipped through from someplace called
“The Nether” or, in the case of the most accomplished, established a direct tap to the power source, imperial Paragons somehow drew and focused that same magical energy using their
souls. As I understood it, this was damn hard and damn dangerous—most Mouths considered it impossible—which only made Wolf’s mention of the word all the more interesting.
In the empire, I’d been learning, “soul” was a loaded term on more than just the religious level.
“Still,” said Wolf, “it was a different time. Whatever his reasons, Ivory came to believe not only that we degans couldn’t be bound by the Oath—an Oath he himself
had helped write and invest with power—but that we were unworthy to serve either the emperor or the empire.
“This change of heart did nothing to endear him to his brothers and sisters. They had sworn their lives and their swords to a cause he had created—one he now seemingly disdained.
Dogs, some degans said, were more loyal than Ivory. Blood flowed in the Barracks Hall for the first time.”
Wolf stopped. I thought I could almost see the chaos of that time reflected in his eyes; as if he could see it happening again in the present if he didn’t succeed.
“So Ivory fled?” I said.
“No.” Wolf shook his head and, mercifully, got up out of my bed. If I’d had the energy, I’d have leapt for joy. “No. Ultimately, even Ivory saw what his presence
was doing to the Order. He renounced his place among us and left.”
“Then why is Degan looking for his papers?” I said.
“Because when Ivory left the Order—when he left the empire—he took the founding records of the degans with him: the old Oaths, the original formularies of ritual, the history
of the degans up to that point. And, most important for my brother Bronze, Ivory took our first laws as well.”
“Laws,” I said. “As in, what it means to be a degan?” That made a kind of sense: If Degan wanted to help the Order, what better way than to find the documents could
answer the question at the center of the split?
Wolf nodded. “And how a person can be restored to the Order, yes.”
“But I told you,” I said, “Degan . . . Bronze doesn’t want back in.”
“Perhaps not,” said Wolf, “but for our purposes, it’s the laws that matter. If we want to be able to get Bronze into the Barracks Hall, let alone give him a chance to
speak, quoting from the old laws could prove helpful. Much of what the degans have now is based on memories and tradition written down after Ivory’s departure. The first laws will take
precedence, even when spoken by someone under the taint of killing one of his fellows.”
“And you think those laws—Ivory’s papers—are in el-Qaddice?”