Darkwar by Glen Cook
She took the darkship up and let her far-touch roam the wilderness. Somewhere in those icy badlands there was a major rogue hiding place, one they had believed could not be traced back through the levels of their organization.
She sensed a place where many meth were gathered, deep beneath the surface. She captured a strong ghost, rode it through a long, twisting tunnel, and found herself inside a weapons manufactory. More than two hundred meth were at work there, including bond females…
Females!
Marika considered them closely. They were not prisoners. Some even seemed to be supervisors.
Anger seized her. She set the ghost ravening.
The massacre lasted fifteen seconds. A screaming electromagnetic surge severed her connection with the ghost. She suffered a moment of disorientation. The darkship plunged fifty feet before she regained her equilibrium and control.
So. They had adapted a suppressor field so it would shield an entire installation. It was to be anticipated. They had adapted it so it would protect individuals upon the alien starship.
No matter. These meth were dead. Voctors would come to cleanse the place once she reported it.
She took her darkship up high and sent a general far-touch roaming that face of the continent. Kublin. The game is about to end. I am coming for you this time.
She expected no response and received none, but was certain Kublin would receive the message if there were as many wehrlen among the rogues as some silth suspected.
She drifted away westward, to continue the hunt elsewhere.
III
“How long do you plan to stay this time?” Bel-Keneke asked from what had become her customary seat before the fireplace in Marika’s quarters, though now those quarters had been shifted.
“Until I find the rogue I seek,” Marika said. “A day or a decade.” It had been a month since her return to Ruhaack. A dozen attempts on her life had failed. The cloister had suffered damage on several occasions. “Do not be distressed. Do not be frightened. I wish there were some way I could stem your fear that I intend to wrest the Reugge away from you.”
Bel-Keneke was startled. “I do not…”
“Of course you do. Because your one weakness is insufficient imagination. If I have such wicked intentions, why have I not displaced you already? Do you doubt that I could in a test of strength? Entertain, for the sake of argument, the remote chance that I would not want to endure the responsibilities of being a most senior. Assume that I have a task to complete here and then I shall depart for the Serke starworld. I really would rather spend my time nursing secrets from the alien starship.”
Bel-Keneke seemed mildly embarrassed.
“Shall we drop the matter and turn our attention to the rogue problem?”
That problem had become one silth dared not ignore. In the past month the rogues had become violently active, betraying a level of strength and organization unsuspected even by those few silth who had taken them seriously. Their weaponry was a shock, and they had made excellent tactical use of their talent suppressors. A lot of damage had been done and many silth had died.
It was, of course, all Marika’s fault. So the word ran among those who refused to see their own failures.
“All right,” Bel-Keneke said. “The rogues.”
“They can be beaten. They can be wiped out. If the Communities would cease blinding themselves, pretending they are only a nuisance. The problem must be recognized for what it is and approached in the same cooperative spirit as the mirror project.”
“That is a matter of survival, Marika.”
“Stubborn folly. Stubborn folly. Things are not so because we wish them so. They have to be made so. This is a matter of survival, Bel-Keneke. Those rogues are determined to obliterate all silthdom. And they are going to manage it if someone does not wake up.”
“They are but males.”
“True. Absolutely true. Are you any less dead when a male puts a bullet through your brain?”
“Marika, you credit them too much….”
“Ask yourself who unleashed the fire that consumed TelleRai. Mere males. They will not go away because we wish them away. They will not go away because we turn our backs and refuse to see them. Those are the very reasons they come back again and again. I smash them, then the rest of you pretend they do not exist after I have gone on to something else, and the disease reestablishes itself. It was not imagination that destroyed my tower.”
Bel-Keneke looked like one patiently suffering the ravings of one touched by the All.
Irked, Marika continued, “They now have an unknown number of hidden bases and manufactories. I have revealed several of those already. You have seen the things they were stockpiling. And you will still insist that they are just a nuisance? Must they kill you in order to gain your attention?”
Bel-Keneke shook her head.
“Try to imagine what they may be preparing in more remote places, safer from searchers.”
Bel-Keneke showed no enthusiasm, even so. Marika was disturbed. Was all silthdom paralyzed by some mad suicidal urge? She feared she would have to call on the terror of her name to mobilize a real effort to overcome the rogues.
She was convinced that Kublin had built a movement so strong it no longer needed the support of the defeated Serke. It would attain its goals without it if silth continued to blind themselves to the threat.
Kublin, she was convinced, was not just the warlock; he was the driving force behind the rogue movement. She knew Kublin because she knew herself. Kublin might be cowardly at times, but he was very much like her. He was every bit as determined, if for reasons she could not fathom. In a way battling him, she battled her mirror image. She had acted, thus far, as though she was dueling herself, guessing what she would have done in Kublin’s place before she made a move. And that had allowed her to deal this new crop of rogues numerous and frequent disasters.
The difference between Kublin and herself was that he was less willing to risk his person. In his place she would have come out to kill herself instead of sending assassins.
As a test she had tried an offer of rich rewards for information. She had had few takers. As she had expected. That revealed the real strength of the rogues. They were so strong and so feared that few ordinary meth would dare betray them.
“It is time to put the fear of silth back into the populace,” Marika said.
Bel-Keneke looked startled.
“I do not want to press anyone, but I will if I must. I do not tolerate willful blindness in myself and I will not tolerate it in anyone else. We will destroy the rogue if I have to compel the Communities to join in the hunt.”
Bel-Keneke sighed. “There is a great deal of confusion yet, Marika. You know very well that many of the strongest Communities lost their most seniors during your adventure against the Serke. They have not yet stabilized into any fixed hierarchy. You cannot expect them to have formed policies.”
“The lack of a certain meth in control should not rob a Community of direction at mundane levels. You… Never mind. Argument accomplishes nothing. As strength goes. I would appreciate it if you would contact those Communities that do have most seniors and tell them that I plan a major rogue hunt directed to the northeast. Tell them I want all the darkships that can be mustered. My intention is to mount a sweep that will cripple the rogue’s offensive capacity. If in the course of the sweep I find the one rogue I am hunting myself, his loss will set his movement back so far the rogues will present no threat for years. You all will be rid of me, for I will disappear into the void once more. And you can all go back to your somnolent pretense.”
Bel-Keneke refused to be angered. “Very well. As you wish. I will see that your fleet is assembled.” Bel-Keneke’s tone recalled that of Marika’s dam Skiljan when she was discussing tribute that had to be paid to the silth at Akard. A little something yielded grudgingly so a greater power would leave one alone.
Damned blind fool. They were all damned blind fools. Maybe they
She stalked the hallways of the cloister, irked with herself. She was growing too intolerant and impatient, she feared. In younger days she would have tried to maneuver, to manipulate, to get what she wanted more slyly. These days the impulse was to turn to power at the first impediment.
From the comm center she contacted the Hammer, ostensibly to see how Bagnel’s preparations were coming, actually to turn off her thoughts for a while while talking with someone who wanted nothing from her and from whom she wanted nothing. She left the conversation pleased. Bagnel had assembled a scientific team that, he assured her, was more than respectable in knowledge, ability, and reliability.
She began to feel anxious to move into deep space once again.
The homeworld was not home anymore.
If anywhere ever had been.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I
Grauel returned from the window. “The sky is filled with darkships, Marika. They are grounded in the streets and on the open ground around the cloister. I never imagined there were so many.”
“I am amazed,” Marika admitted. She looked at Bel-Keneke. “What did you tell them?” In one week more than three hundred darkships, of the planet-bound sort, carrying as many as a half-dozen voctors each, had gathered at Ruhaack.
“I told them what you told me to tell them.” Bel-Keneke was not surprised at the response. “You are much feared, in more ways than you can imagine.”
“Whatever moves them, I had better take them out before the spirit falters. Is there a place where they can be gathered so that I can speak to them all? Tomorrow I will lead them out against the rogue.”
“I thought you would want to address them. I have made arrangements with the Redoriad. The west wall of their cloister overlooks open ground. Nearly half of them are grounded there anyway.”
“Thank you.”
Marika examined the weather auspices. It would be a clear night, and the major moons would be in near conjunction. She set her speechmaking for that hour.
She said nothing new or particularly inspiring, nor did she try to whip the assembly into a froth of hatred. She simply told the silth that they had a job of work to do, and if they carried it out properly they would end this rogue threat that had begun to seem like a reign of terror. An hour before dawn she raised her wooden darkship and led the airborne horde northeast, to that region she believed to be the heartland of Kublin’s shadow empire.
She expected heavy action and she was not disappointed. In that region the rogues had invested heavily in time and labor and resources, and so felt compelled to resist instead of to run.
The Mistresses accompanying Marika learned quickly after several darkships had been downed by suppressor beams. Fear inspired cooperation. The moment a Mistress detected anything inimical she summoned aid. When superior strength had gathered the Mistresses grounded and sent in their voctors to do the killing, supporting them with their talents.
In the six hours following the first contact fourteen installations were captured and more than a thousand rogues slain.
Marika did not participate directly. She remained high above the hunt, probing the far distances with her touch, occasionally sending, Kublin, I am coming for you. She was certain he was out there, cowering in some secret command center, watching his fastnesses fall.
Grauel and Barlog watched her and became increasingly unsettled. They began to prowl the arms of the darkship, restless, watching her closely. They sensed a darkness growing in her.
The more stubborn the rogue resistance, the more angry and hate-filled she became. Something had twisted inside her. She was no longer able to think of Kublin as the fragile, sweet littermate she had known as a pup. She could not remember him as the youngster she had saved in the Ponath at the risk of her entire future, nor as the adult she had spared by imprisonment and murder after his raid upon Maksche.
He would not learn. He would not recant. He would not cease his misdeeds. She had risked everything for him, and he had given nothing but pain in return. She had no more love for him. Not a spark. She wanted only to hurt him in return.
Splash the plains of snow with blood. If he did not join the dead, maybe he would read a message he would finally understand.
A squadron of latecomers arrived from Ruhaack. Marika touched them. They seemed eager to join the hunt, like pups racing after the panicky denizens exploding out of an opened leiter nest. She was pleased. Slow as silth were to start, she had no trouble inspiring them once they decided to move.
An eagerness for plunder animated many of the hunting crews. The rogues had betrayed several advanced technologies in their attempts to defend themselves—technologies that, locally, almost offset the overpowering silth sorcery.
Maybe that was the answer. Survival never had been much of a motivator when she had tried to get them to do something. But appeal to their greed and they swarmed.
She would never understand. But, then, she had been involved in a struggle for survival all her life.
She directed the newcomers to places in the sweep line, then turned her attention to a lone darkship at the limit of vision, rising and racing toward her. In a moment she recognized Balbrach’s aura.
She flung a questioning touch. Balbrach was supposed to be aboard High Night Rider, in orbit, refitting after surviving the Serke.
Wait, Balbrach sent back, and continued her swift approach.
Marika waited, her nerves beginning to fray. Balbrach’s tone intimated bad news.
The Redoriad darkship drifted close to her own till arms touched. Balbrach stepped aboard Marika’s darkship and joined her at the tip of the dagger. “What news can be so bad that you have to meet me face to face up here?” Marika asked.
“Yes. You guess well. It is bad news, though not surprising.”
“What is it?”
“A Chorada darkship has just arrived from the Serke starworld. They brought word that three voidships of the Groshega—their entire fleet, none of which joined us in the struggle out there—have seized the alien starship and claimed it for their Community.”
“The fools. How stupid can meth be?”
“The universe is filled with fools, Marika.”
“How do they expect to hold it? They must have support. I am here, and can cut them off…”
“I do not know. But something must be done.”
“Must be done by me, you mean?”
“For two reasons, one being that no one will even begin to believe the noble motives of anyone but you. For all they may say otherwise, many silth at least grudgingly suspect you may actually mean it when you say you intend this find to benefit all meth.”
“And the other reason?”
“The Groshega have a champion, Brodyphe, who was thought to be second to Bestrei before you proved that Bestrei was not first. No Community would dare challenge her. We Redoriad are strongest in the dark now in numbers, but I would not send all my Mistresses against her.”
Silently, Marika appealed to the All. Why now? Was this a sign? Was she never to be allowed to extinguish the rogue plague?
“The dark-faring sisterhoods appeal to you to end this usurpation, Marika. Before a precedent is set. You said you would hold the alien starship and its secrets in trust. Grudgingly, most of us have accepted that. But you are compelled to enforce that if you wish to maintain that acquiescence.”
“I know. But I have a task here. It will not get done if I leave it.”
“Have you not crippled the rogue enough?”
“No. Not enough. Far from enough to satisfy me. There is one I especially want to remove from the social equation. Without him the movement will become blind and halt.”
“Can one male be so important?”
“This one can. He is very much like me. He is wehrlen, Balbrach. He is strong and smart and
“We dare not wait long. Any significant delay will give some meth the idea you have accepted the fiat. That would dissolve whatever unanimity of thought exists….”
“Is High Night Rider ready?”
“Yes. I contacted your male Bagnel and directed him to begin sending his scientific team aboard. I intend to leave, with all the voidships I can gather, as soon as I return to the cloister and make arrangements for another extended absence.”
“All right. Let it be known that your movements have my full approval and are my first move against the Groshega. Do not rush, but move with deliberation. I will continue here for a few days more, then will overtake you along the starpaths.” Marika looked to the sky and silently asked the All what it wanted of her.
Balbrach nodded curtly. “That should appease the majority.”
“This land should never have been abandoned,” Marika said. “We Reugge never pulled out of our territories. We still have our outposts. Leaving the land unwatched only encouraged the rogues…” She was talking to empty air. Balbrach had returned to her darkship. It separated, turned, hurried toward Ruhaack.
Marika checked the progress of the sweep. Another rogue installation had been located. The darkships were settling in the snows and the killers were gathering. It was a large base and would be stoutly defended. But it was not the base she sought, the one where Kublin the warlock sat at the heart of his villainous web.
She did not waste time on anger or frustration when she did not find that one. It seemed fated that the worst would happen.
In the end, after taking three more days, during which her hunting teams exterminated another four thousand rogues, she gave up and hurried back to Ruhaack and her wooden voidship. She left the hunt in care of a sister she had known in the days when she had battled the rogue out of Maksche, a silth almost as stubborn and determined as she. But she did not expect the campaign to retain its momentum long after her departure. The Communities would convince themselves that they had struck a mortal blow and no longer need be concerned. They would begin withdrawing their darkships.