Will Wight - Of Dawn and Darkness

Eleven people, killed just to reach a twelfth. This was all too much for Calder to take in at one time. He struggled out of bloody sheets, hobbling over to the wardrobe. He was practically naked in front of Meia, wearing only a pair of shorts, but he couldn’t possibly have cared any less.

“I was going to ask how he got in, but I guess that explains it.” His hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t open the wardrobe—fear, pain, exhaustion, and the rush of danger combined so that he was surprised his limbs didn’t shake themselves off completely.

Meia moved to the window, closed and bolted it, and then returned to the door. “It’s a good thing it was a Champion, in a way. They don’t concern themselves with stealth, they just kill a straight line to their target. As soon as I noticed him, I followed. I would never have seen a Gardener.”

And she wouldn’t have stopped one either, he was sure, but that did bring up an interesting question. “How did you notice him? Where were you?”

She spared him a glance, saw that he was frozen in front of the wardrobe, and reached over to pull the door open for him. “I grew up in the palace for years. I could stay here for the rest of my life, and no one would see me if I didn’t want them to.”

Which didn’t exactly answer his question, but it was likely the closest he would get. Calder removed the servant’s uniform, the one that had been waiting for him earlier, and quickly pulled it on. His skin was tacky with blood, so these clothes would be ruined, but he didn’t care. He felt too vulnerable without anything on.

This will be the third set of clothes I’ve destroyed since I arrived here. An idle thought, but almost enough to make him laugh.

“That explains how you were nearby, but you actually saw an intruder and saved my life. That’s not your job.” In fact, he wouldn’t have been surprised if her job was the exact opposite.

She frowned at him. “Right now, my job is to keep the Optasia out of the hands of the Elders. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

“Trust me, I don’t want Elder tentacles on the throne any more than you do.”

Meia turned back to survey the hallway through the cracked door. “Then we’re on the same side.”

As Calder finished buttoning up his red-and-gold jacket, he considered Meia. Over the last month or so, since he’d found out that Consultant assassins were after his life, he’d thought of the Consultant’s Guild as heartless, bloodthirsty monsters who were only pretending to serve their clients.

Now, he was reminded of the Consultants as he’d always heard of them. The most loyal Guild in the Empire; the only one that had always, through the past two thousand years, had the Emperor’s complete trust. Everyone knew a Consultant would guide you and help you, and would remain utterly dedicated to your cause…for the duration of their contract.

More than one of the great classical philosophers had words of praise for the Consultants. If he could get one on his side, even if the rest of their Guild opposed him, that could be a huge advantage.

A distant door slammed open, and booted feet pounded down the hallway, toward Calder’s room. Meia eased the door shut, sliding away and over to the window. “Imperial Guards. They’ll take you somewhere safe.”

“Wait!” Calder called before she vanished. She froze, one foot on the open windowsill. “Why leave?”

She looked at him like he was asking why she sharpened her knives. “For the same reason I disappeared aboard your ship. Our Guilds are in conflict, and maybe soon open war. If they catch me here, they’ll try to take me into custody, and I’ll have to kill them.”

The boots were closer to his door now, and raised voices had begun to call his name. He motioned for her to stay where she was. “Stay there. Don’t leave.”

She gave him a doubtful look.

“Trust me. Please.”

He walked to the center of the room, casually putting himself between the door and Meia. If he wasn’t mistaken, they would jump to conclusions any second now.

Sure enough, a Guard with massive lion paws for feet kicked the door in a second later, brandishing a musket and bayonet in his hands. He looked past Calder and gave a shout, leveling his gun.

Calder showed his empty palms. “Lower your weapon, Guardsman.”

“Move out of the way, sir!” the man shouted, stepping forward as though to move Calder physically out of the way.

Calder walked into him voluntarily, so that the bayonet rested at the end of his chest. The Guard jerked the weapon away hastily. “This woman saved my life. He tried to kill me.” He jerked his thumb toward the Champion’s corpse.

More Guards poured into the room, and two immediately checked the body for vitals. “Slit throat,” one said.

“Champion,” the second responded.

“Good point.”

Together, they drew swords and hacked the limbs from the man’s body. Shivering, Calder turned away. “Excuse me, my friend and I would like to be taken somewhere else. I’m not feeling particularly safe in here, for some reason.”

The Guard’s gaze hardened when it moved over Calder’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, sir, we need to ask her some questions. Standing orders.”

“Why’s that?”

“She’s a Consultant, sir. One of the enemy.”

“Ah, I can see your confusion.” He stepped back, presenting Meia with one arm outstretched. “She’s not a Consultant at all. She’s a Navigator. A member of my crew, in fact, my new…cook.”

Meia’s eyes were back to a human blue, and she stared at him as though she could focus hard enough to Read his Intent. Maybe she could; was she a Reader? He had no idea. But if she was a Reader and a trained assassin and a warrior with enough enhancements to fight toe-to-toe with Urzaia Woodsman, that just wouldn’t be fair.

The Guard looked uneasy. Calder took advantage, pressing him while he was uncomfortable. “Let’s go, Guardsman. Lead me and my cook to safety.” He held a hand to his temple against a throb of sudden pain. “And a medical alchemist, as soon as possible. I’d like to kill this pain yesterday, if that can be arranged.”

While the Guard was uncertain when faced with Meia, he knew exactly what to do with an injured ally. They practically carried him down the hall, sending for the palace alchemists, and Meia followed.

Half a year after delivering Urzaia to the arena, Calder was finally starting to learn his way around the ship. He could furl the sail without tangling it nine times out of ten, and he could steer his way through a predatory coral reef without putting his hand on the wheel.

More importantly, Jerri had taken to the work of a pilot—she scanned the horizon, charted their course, studied their position by the stars, and logged whatever deadly creature or impossible phenomenon they encountered during the day. She enjoyed, as she called it, “planning a safe route through an endless maze of horror and death.”

Calder had even grown used to the two monsters in his life: the Lyathatan and Andel. The Elderspawn, it turned out, existed in a perpetual state of malice and burning frustration. It had very little to do with anything Calder did. So long as he allowed the creature to snag the occasional shark and otherwise let it sleep, he and the Lyathatan remained on good terms. He still got the impression that it was plotting something ominous at all times, and that its service to Calder was but one step in some insidious game, but he was beginning to realize that its game wouldn’t end for another few centuries at least. He couldn’t bring himself to care about that.