Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

ORLANKO

By the time he climbed up a stepladder and into the comfort of his private carriage, Duke Orlanko was sweaty and very out of sorts.

In hindsight, he’d stayed at the Ministry too long. Once it had become clear that Vhalnich’s Mierantai had overcome the Grays-and how the hell had that happened? — the clerks of the Cobweb had begun their emergency preparations. Vital archives were evacuated, and the incinerators in the lower stories blazed as they devoured less important papers. It was in Orlanko’s nature to prepare for all contingencies, and so there was a plan for everything, even the fall of the Cobweb itself. Nothing there was irreplaceable.

But Vhalnich’s men had held back, and Orlanko had accordingly hesitated to order the final evacuation. Only when he’d gotten word from the deputies had he accepted that this round, at least, was definitively lost. The mob there had overwhelmed both the men he’d sent to secure them and Vhalnich’s Mierantai, and by the time the news reached him they were only an hour from the gates of Ohnlei.

With some of Vhalnich’s men still prowling the grounds, he couldn’t leave by carriage. Instead he had gone out via another tunnel, which came up at a hidden post in the royal hunting preserve. Horses had been waiting for him and his guards, and from there it was only a short ride to the Midvale Road. The duke was an indifferent rider at best, though, and his small stature made mounting an undignified process. He cursed every minute they spent in the saddle, first trotting through the woods and then setting a faster pace up the road to where the carriage was waiting.

Halfway there, an enormous boom had broken the stillness of the forest. Orlanko, watching the column of smoke rising, was at a loss to explain it-it seemed to be coming from the middle of the hunting park, and there was no reason so much powder should have been stored anywhere near there. It was another inexplicable thing in a day that had been full of inexplicable things. Since the duke had prided himself for years on knowing everything there was to know about his city, this frustrated him beyond words.

Three vehicles waited for them, two big post wagons full of records and a black carriage with shaded windows for Orlanko himself. There were also two dozen mounted black-coats with carbines, and together with the squad that had escorted him from the Cobweb, they were enough to make Orlanko feel reasonably secure. He pulled himself into the carriage, muscles already complaining from the short ride, and sank into the cushioned seat.

Sitting opposite him were two figures in hooded brown cloaks. Brother Nikolai and his charge had been among the first to be evacuated from the Cobweb, bundled up to keep their identities concealed even from the Concordat. Orlanko dared not risk losing his link to the Priests of the Black, not now. But he felt his irritation rising at the sight of Nikolai’s glittering black mask; the story he’d received from the floor of the deputies had been very clear on a few particulars.

“Your people have made a mess of things, Brother Nikolai,” Orlanko snarled, as the carriage lurched into motion.

The priest shrugged. “It was not my doing, Your Grace, as you must know. But I believe His Eminence was eager to speak with you on that very subject.” He patted the girl sitting beside him on the thigh. “Is he still there?”

She drew back her hood. A bandage of black silk was wound around her head, covering her mutilated eye sockets. “Yes. One moment.” Then, in the harsh voice of the Pontifex of the Black, “Orlanko.”

“Your Eminence,” Orlanko said. “You have received the news, I take it?”

“I have,” said the distant Pontifex. “I must say I am beginning to have doubts about your commitment.”

“ My commitment? I was promised a free hand.”

“And you’ve been given one.”

“Until today! It was one of your people that killed Danton and threw the mob into a fury.”

“There was no other option,” the pontifex said, the girl’s mouth stretching oddly to speak his words. “He was possessed, as you should have been aware, and his demon was a particularly dangerous one. He needed to be eliminated.”

“I had the situation in hand.”

“I doubt that. I’m told your men were ready to go over to the rebels as soon as Danton started speaking.”

Orlanko pursed his lips. He’d long suspected that the Priests of the Black had pawns in the city other than himself, but it was galling to get confirmation nonetheless. He was also uncomfortably aware that the pontifex was probably right. The Special Branch were, after all, nothing more than mercenaries, not like his own carefully trained Concordat men. And if Danton had a demon. .

He regretted, for the first time, sending Jen Alhundt to Khandar. At the time, he’d been pleased to rid himself of the arrogant Church agent, but if there were demons on the loose, having one on his side would have been a comfort.

“Well,” Orlanko said, after a moment of silence. “What’s done is done. The mob appears to have turned on Vhalnich, so perhaps things are not as bleak as they appear-”

“They are bleaker,” the pontifex snapped. “Vhalnich is no common enemy. He has the Thousand Names at his disposal. Now that you and your men have been driven from the city, there is nothing left to stop him from becoming another Demon King. Your failure runs deep, Orlanko.”

Orlanko’s fists clenched. Someday, Your Eminence. Someday you will pay a heavy price for every slight. He kept his tone calm.

“I am taking steps to retrieve the situation as we speak. By morning, I will be at Midvale-”

“Do whatever you think best,” the pontifex said. He sounded dangerously dismissive.

“Your Eminence,” Orlanko said, “I hope you understand that, in spite of our setbacks, we’re still very close to achieving our goal. We can break this rabble, and once we have Raesinia in hand, everything will be under control.”

“So you have always assured me,” the pontifex said. “I am losing confidence in you, Vordanai. I will not allow another kingdom of darkness to be established on these shores, do you understand? So by all means, get matters in hand. Because, if you do not, I will be forced to take. . other steps.”

“I-” Orlanko began.

“He’s gone,” the blind girl said.

We’re so close, the duke thought. All these years, I’ve worked for this, and we’re so close. If not for Danton and Vhalnich, it would have gone smoothly. Now there would be fighting and bloodshed, but there was no helping that. I will not let that pious old fool ruin everything I’ve built, either.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when the carriage and its accompanying wagons rattled off the Midvale Road and up a gentle slope to a high, grassy hill. From here Orlanko could see the town of Midvale a few miles off, a prosperous, tidy-looking community of a few hundred shingled houses. Closer to was the regular grid of long, low barracks that comprised the Royal Army camp. Midvale was the permanent camp of the Eighth and Tenth Infantry regiments, as well as the Osthead Cuirassiers. They formed a second town of seven thousand souls-not counting wives, servants, whores, and other hangers-on-that had grown up alongside the first, more uniformly laid out but not nearly so clean.

Another carriage was pulled up in the grassy parade ground, which by its luxuriant growth of weeds had not seen a great deal of parading recently. A squadron of cuirassiers was deployed around it, resplendent in polished steel breastplates and plumed helmets. A pair of them rode alongside Orlanko’s carriage as it pulled in, and the Concordat troops spread themselves out among the cavalry.