Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles (23 page)

“How do you know he’s still . . .”—she almost said alive, but that wouldn’t do at all—
“around
?”

“I do not know for sure. It has been years since his last contact with the outside world. The last time I tried to speak with him was when the question of your identity was raised. Alas, he did not answer the summons on his ring. I do not know if that was because he was unable, or if he no longer cares enough to bother.”

Faye sighed. So not only was she going into Dead City, she was going to do it for somebody who might not even be sane enough to answer her questions. It wasn’t like the undead were known for their
calm.
“So this fella knows more about Sivaram than you do?”

Jacques shook his head. “I am afraid not. I am the expert on that sad individual.”

“Then why—”

“Zachary can see the future.”

Jacques Montand was true to his word. He would wait the twenty-four hours before leaving Germany, never to look back. It was deeply troubling that he was so willing to abandon the poor girl to such a dark fate, but that was only if he was thinking of her as Faye, the helpful, earnest, courageous young woman, rather than as the Spellbound, a lethal vampiric curse bound in flesh, destined to turn into an engine of homicidal madness, and a prototype of things to come. Then the idea was not so difficult to bear.

She had gone alone into the city. It would be exceedingly dangerous, but he suspected Faye would come back. She was one of the only Actives in the world capable of traversing Dead City alone and making it back alive. It would surely be lethal for almost anyone else, as had been demonstrated by a more than a few foolish treasure-hunting expeditions into the interior. Faye was different, though. Her combination of natural craftiness, quick thinking, and seemingly limitless Power made her an unstoppable force. She was quite the weapon for good. It was so tempting to believe that she could stay on a righteous path, but Jacques had seen far too much in his long life to hold to such naïve idealism.

The hotel room was too quiet, but such was the nature of the suburbs of Dead City, a place of perpetual nerves and whispers. The quiet made it too easy to think, and he was not a man at ease, for those who had difficult decisions to make seldom where. He had kept his word and Faye’s continued existence was still a secret to the other elders. His knights had been sworn to secrecy, which had been easy to do since none of them realized just what was at stake. The idea that he was somehow assisting the greatest danger to mankind gnawed at his conscience.

It would have been so much simpler if she had been a snarling killer instead of a charming young girl.

Assuming Zachary was still available, he would be able to help give her direction. His Power was unreliable at best, but perhaps their fortunes had shifted, and his visions would show some good possible outcomes for Faye to work toward.
Doubtful.
Jacques took another shot of bourbon. It was more likely that Zachary’s visions were still the same as they were before. Then, Faye would come to understand just how dangerous she really was. It would either serve to temper her recklessness and prolong the inevitable, or sadly, but perhaps for the best, Faye would simply kill herself and spare them the trouble of having to deal with the Power’s dangerous manipulations for another generation.

Before he had been lost, when their Soothsayer had foretold the coming of a new Spellbound, all of the potential outcomes had ended in rivers of blood and skies of fire. He had never foretold any otherworldly Enemy or hypothetical Pathfinder, but then again, none of them had known to ask.

Letting Faye live was an incredible risk. Jacques took the vial from his shirt pocket and studied the unassuming liquid through the clear glass. The girl was trusting. It would be so simple to place a few drops of this into her food or drink. Her death would be swift and nearly painless.

Why did you have to put me in this predicament, Whisper?

There was a sudden warmth in his body, and it wasn’t from the alcohol spreading through his bloodstream. His Grimnoir ring was burning with sudden magical energy. Someone was attempting to contact him, and by the amount of Power being channeled, it was someone rather capable, more than likely another of the seven elders.
Had they found out?
Did they know he was sheltering the Spellbound?

Placing the lethal toxin back in his pocket, Jacques went to his luggage and removed a small pocket mirror, which he had already engraved and bound with spells for just such an occasion. He set it on the bed and willed his own magic to connect. It only took a second for the Power to activate and for the communication spell to take hold. The mirror began to glow as it lifted from the covers to hover at eye height. It seemed to spin about as others joined the conversation. He recognized many of his longtime compatriots from around the world and various other prominent knights, some of whom appeared to have just been woken from sleep. A few of the faces seemed to be blurred and dark, much as his would appear to the others, a magical protection to conceal the identity of the elders. So this was not an interrogation, but rather an emergency conference. He breathed a sigh of relief.

And then the spell settled on the man who had called so many from across the entirety of the Earth. It was not one of the seven elders looking back at him, but rather it was the hard, square-jawed face of Heavy Jake Sullivan, who, despite his relative inexperience, displayed a subtle mastery of magic which already rivaled or surpassed many of the elders. Sullivan was a dangerous, dedicated, and passionate individual, and his adamant insistence on the existence of the Chairman’s mythological Enemy had caused many of their best young knights to join his futile quest.

“Evening,” Sullivan said. There was a chorus of responses, some more positive than others. Regardless of Sullivan’s effectiveness against Imperium forces, he was a controversial figure at best.

“Hello, Mr. Sullivan. Have you found your white whale yet?” Jacques asked.

“Read that book. Don’t want to ruin it for you, but the whale turned out to be real. I’ll keep this brief as possible. We raided the Imperium monitoring station at the North Pole.”

“You did
what
?” someone blurted. They’d known Sullivan was chasing his unicorns, but apparently not everyone had realized just how far he was willing to go in order to catch them. Of course, Jacques had already thought this through, so he wasn’t surprised in the least. Sullivan’s decisions were proving no more shocking than those of the man who had recruited him. Black Jack Pershing would have approved of such decisive actions. “The Imperium will retaliate against us all!”

“I’m talking to dozens of people all around the world, so I don’t have the Power or the inclination to debate this again. We took a few casualties, but we learned that the Enemy is already here. It’s all over the Imperium, hiding at every one of their schools. The invasion has started.”

There were some angry cries from the disbelievers, but Jacques cut them off. “The schools are beyond our reach. What do you intend to do now, then?”

“We think the imposter Chairman is somehow in on this. Toru figured out who he is. I’ll have your knights send you the details. In the meantime, I plan on taking out the Chairman, in public, so that the Iron Guard will know they’ve been compromised. Once they realize that, they’ll have no choice but to clean out the infestation for us.”

“Another attempt on the Chairman? Every such action has always caused a terrible response,” one of the elders shouted. “Permission denied!”

“Good thing I wasn’t asking for any.” The Heavy was not so easily riled. “We’re already on our way. The Pathfinder’s got a head start, so we need to act fast. Exposing the fake Chairman is our only fast option.”

Jacques nodded. It wasn’t like they had not already tried to assassinate the Chairman many times before. The most recent attempt had been a disastrous plot, which had rocked the elders’ council, murdered Pershing, cost Harkeness his life, and sent Rawls into banishment. “It will be a shame to throw away the lives of forty knights.”

“And a far bigger shame to have the Power flee and all of us be eaten by this Enemy,” said another elder.

“Assuming it is even real!” declared the American elder. He was the newest member of their leadership, and it had been a difficult decision for the others to choose between this man or John Moses Browning. Both had been capable candidates, but it had been felt that Browning had been getting up in years, which seemed an ironic reasoning for a position called
elder
. “You want to risk the lives of our men,
my
men, all on the word of an Iron Guard? Absurd.”

“Button it,” Sullivan ordered, which was a rather surprising breach of etiquette, but Sullivan was, after all, an American too, and they tended toward direct speech. “We’re making the attempt whether you like it or not. Anybody on this airship who doesn’t want a piece, I’ll let them off before we hit Japan. But one way or the other, we’re going in. So the society can either help, or it can get out of my way.”

There was a long silence as the most powerful and influential Actives in the world weighed the consequences. Their stated purpose was to protect Actives from the world, and to protect the world from Actives, and it had been clear for generations that the Imperium was the greatest threat to human liberty in history. Attempting to assassinate the Chairman was practically a tradition at this point. “It isn’t like the Nipponese can possibly come to dislike us
more
,” said a British elder with a laugh. “I say good hunting, Mr. Sullivan.”

One of the more cautious elders interjected, “Are we willing to lose so many valuable knights over this?”

Fool. They are going regardless of our opinions.
They were young, idealistic knights, eager to strike a blow against tyranny. The elders were old, looking at the big picture yet unable to grasp the passion which inflamed their soldiers. Whether Sullivan realized it or not, he had inspired many. They would follow him, and this task would be seen through to completion, regardless of the outcome. Personally, Jacques thought the entire concept of the Enemy sounded implausible, and, in fact, he had doubts that Okubo Tokugawa had ever been killed to begin with. The Chairman had easily destroyed all of the knights who had come against him before, so why would this time be any different?

Yet, he could still feel the weight of the poison in his breast pocket, and the thought occurred to him that this suicide mission offered other opportunities. If it could not be stopped, then it should at least be utilized in the most effective manner.

Jacques cleared his throat. “I agree. It is a risk, but the Society is already at war with the Imperium. Regardless of the actual existence of this Enemy, if the Chairman is truly dead, then Sullivan’s expedition may well succeed and throw the Imperium into complete disarray. If the Chairman is, in fact, still alive, then perhaps this time we will get lucky and kill him once and for all. The knights on this mission are all volunteers. Since they go willingly toward this end, who are we, so far from the actual danger, to deny them their courageous attempt . . . You have my full support, Mr. Sullivan.”

With Jacques statement, the balance had shifted. There were a few murmurs of assent, and the dissenters were quiet. It was close enough.

“Thank you,” Sullivan said. The Heavy may have been uncouth and unflinchingly violent, but he was also struck Jacques as an honest man. “I need up-to-date intelligence and I could use any local support you’ve got to help us get close. I’ve heard we’ve got a few knights hidden in Japan.”

“That may not be necessary, Mr. Sullivan,” said the British elder, his face shrouded in magical shadows, but still obviously gnawing on a cigar. “Setting foot on the home islands is a death sentence. Japan is locked up tight as a vault. However, there may be another opportunity in the near future, which will offer you better odds. It is also deep within enemy territory, but it is not quite the belly of the beast.”

“I’m listening.”

“My sources have told me that Okubo Tokugawa is planning an inspection tour to China within the month, mostly military bases along the front, but his itinerary includes a lavish award ceremony for his officers in Shanghai. Perhaps he will be presenting trophies for
most butchery
or
best torturer.
The knights in that city have faced terrible setbacks over the last few years, so there are not very many of them left to help, but it is still a far more approachable, and more importantly,
escapable
place.”

“I’m not exactly set on this being a one-way trip myself, sir.”

“Indeed, Mr. Sullivan. Some of my men volunteered and are with you on your fool’s errand. I am rather fond of them and would prefer for them to return home in one piece.”

“Shanghai’s one of the Free Cities. That’s got possibilities.” Sullivan mulled it over. “It could work. I’ll talk to the captain and see what we can do. I’ll be in touch.” Abruptly, the communication spell was broken. The mirror instantly lost all of its unnatural color, fell, and landed safely on the bed.

Jacques watched the silent mirror for a time, thinking about what he’d just done through a few simple words. He’d never been much for politicking, but he had just thrown his considerable support behind an assassination attempt that would almost certainly fail. Jacques returned to his chair, picked up the glass, and poured himself another finger of bourbon. He pounded it down in one gulp. His words had just authorized many good knights to end their lives in a futile attempt against an immortal.

And Faye, poor cursed, Faye . . . Once she knew her friends were going into harm’s way, even if it meant certain death, she would join them.

Such was Faye’s character.

When she found out—when he told her—she would go, and when Sullivan’s hunt inevitably ended in blood, Faye would be destroyed by the combined might of the Iron Guard, then the danger of the Spellbound curse would be postponed for another generation. At least Faye’s magnificent Power would be able to strike a great blow against the tyranny of the Imperium in the process. Let the candle burn the brightest right before it is snuffed out. Maybe he was just trying to justify his decisions, but he suspected that Faye would prefer it that way.