Chapter 39

It was a little nostalgic, eating chicken-and-onion skewers with a keg of cheap beer.

It reminded Angharad of the evenings out after fencing tournaments, when she would sneak out with the other competitors to buy too much street food and get drunk in public gardens until someone’s minder found them and they were all forced to trundle back to their lodgings feigning feeling chastised. Angharad’s first kiss had happened while she smelled of roasted beef and maize beer, Arianwen laughing at her for it even as she pressed her against a tree.

It was still a fond memory despite their bitter parting, the wounded accusations that Angharad was throwing away her talent by returning to some wet, moldy manor instead continuing the dueling circuit year round. Arianwen was a third daughter, not the heiress. She’d never had to contend with the responsibilities that such a position entailed, the choice between legacy and personal glory. Besides, it had been a smaller world they both contended with in those days.

Malan had once seemed so large, so far. Now it was but a corner of a world that seemed to grow larger by the year.

There was no such bitterness tonight, though, and instead nestled under Angharad’s arm was a treasure rather sweet. Shalini’s head lay against her shoulder, her brown hair smelling of hibiscus and sandalwood, and she had refused to move since Angharad made room under the cloak for her. The swordswoman was disinclined to complain, especially with Shalini’s fingers resting ever so gently on her upper leg. It was enough to give a woman ideas.

“All right,” Tristan announced, clapping his hands. “Everyone is fed, several of you insist on imbibing expensive rotten water that makes you feel sick and stupid-”

Most of the assembled hunting crew booed him, Angharad included. She drained the last of her earthenware cup just to show him, handing it to a laughing Rong Ma afterwards for filling. They sat with the keg between their legs, like it was a beloved child, and had been generously pouring all evening.

“-but I never held high hopes about any of you anyway,” the Mask sadly said. “I thus declare the Fourthday Council in session, and anyone may claim the floor.”

Fourthday Council. Angharad snorted. Well, she supposed it sounded more respectable than the tomorrow-we-set-out-so-decisions-must-be-made council, thought it might be a more accurate description. Zenzele cleared his throat.

“Has Song considered recruiting a diplomat for your brigade, or at least having you gagged?” he politely inquired.

“The Laurel thinks more Laurels should be recruited,” Tristan replied, rolling his eyes. “There’s a surprise.”

“A candidature is being considered for an Arthashastra cabalist,” Angharad provided before the conversation further descended into petty bickering. “I could not speak on the matter of gagging.”

“Let us all be honest with ourselves here,” Ferranda mused, “who hasn’t fantasized about gagging Abrascal?”

Angharad pressed a kiss against Shalini’s head, getting a pleased noise for it, and if the timing allowed for her amusement at Ferranda’s sally not to show it could have been a coincidence. Sometimes it was easy to remember why she had once liked the infanzona.

“I’m flattered, Ferranda, but you are simply too much woman for me,” Tristan ‘regretfully’ said.

“It’s true,” Shalini murmured loud enough only she could hear. “At least one Khaimov and a half, by weight.”

Angharad politely kept her chortle behind her hand. Rong Ma, cheeks flushed from the drink and a genuinely impressive number of skewers for someone of such slight frame, cleared their throat.

“I was approached again this morning about joining our hunting crew for whatever expedition we’ve planned,” Rong said. “If we wait any longer, the Ninth and Seventeenth will have recruited all the standouts.”

“I was ambushed after class, myself,” Izel told them. “Awonke Bokang from the Third extended an invitation for us to join his brigade in their own push.”

“People are getting curious about our intentions,” Ferranda said. “I warned you keeping quiet would only make them more eager, Tristan.”

And how eager they were. Victory drew men like honey drew flies, Mother had once told her. Rhiannon Tredegar had greatly struggled to find funds and sailors for her first expedition across the Aeolian Sea, but after she discovered the isle of Lunkulu suddenly every noble from Carchar to Port Cadwyn had a caravel to offer her. As was so often the case, her mother’s teachings proved true. Their hunting crew had needed to make dubious bargains to fill the ranks before the Battle of the Barrels, but now there were volunteers all but throwing themselves at their doorstep.

Most of these eager souls were independents, of course. Now that the path to the Old Canals had been cracked open, the hunters were mounting expeditions to find the dantesvara’s lair but to track down the great monster’s hiding place would be no small affair. For one, entering its hunting grounds risked provoking it to stamp you out and few of the independents cared to take that risk on their own. So why not hitch their horse to an already-proven cart instead?

The alliance of the Thirteenth and Thirty-First had a recent and eye-catching notch on their belts, so for many they had been the first port of call.

“Waiting didn’t hurt us, we’ll have to refuse most of them anyway,” Tristan opined. “Larger numbers will be useful until the moment we find the Lord of Teeth, at which point they’ll become a noose like as not to get us killed.”

Predictably, Ferranda was displeased at the notion of turning away manpower and influence. It was a relief, in some ways, that the infanzona also made it easy to remember why Angharad had come to dislike her.

“We don’t need to march with them personally,” Ferranda insisted. “We can form them into hunting crews loosely under us and send them out on their own. We would cover significantly more ground that way.”

“If we take them under our banner, we owe them aid and protection,” Angharad icily replied. “I shall generously assume that you did not mean to imply these undercrews were to be used as disposable outriders.”

Shalini tensed under her arm, but after a beat said nothing and did not pull away. The mirror-dancer hid her surprise, as that was a fresh development. Usually Shalini made sure to maintain a distance when Angharad and Ferranda clashed, no matter who it was she agreed with.

“We would not countenance such a thing,” Zenzele said, the words straightforward enough Angharad let the matter go with a curt nod.

Anything less would be questioning the truth of his word, and he had not given her reason for such a slight to his honor. Still, the look he shot at Ferranda was less than pleased. It was becoming increasingly clear that the victory on the heights had done nothing to mend fences between them. Angharad’s deliberate restraint in asking Shalini about the going-ons of her brigade had made that a surprise to realize.

“It’s not like we’ll be turning away everyone, Ferranda,” Tristan slid in, peacemaking. “The hunters from the gunline on the heights proved steady in a fight, there’s no reason not to keep those we can. And I’ve been speaking with a first year called Luyanda who has a contract that lets them augment their senses, we should take them in as well.”

It sounded like a powerful contract, making it strange that Angharad had hardly ever heard of this Luyanda before, but after she asked she easily grasped why. Luyanda could only increase a sense by drawing on the others, meaning that though they could have a cat’s ears it came at the price of having a mole’s eyes and a fish’s nose. Without someone guarding them, their contract was more liability than help.

Shalini wiggled out from under Angahrad’s arm, clearing her throat after she tugged her tunic back into place.

“We’ll need those swords if you’re intent on the western route,” the Ramayan said. “And for the record, I still think we should take an eastward swing instead.”

There, Angharad did not agree.

“The east is safest but also the path most the other brigades will be taking,” she reminded her lover.

“I’d rather be crowded than dead,” Shalini shrugged.

So far, the planned hunting expeditions were headed one of two ways. A trio of hardened fighting crews, Sebastian Camaron’s Ninth foremost among them, would be pushing straight north into the greenery-and-detritus filled trenches of the ancient canals. It was the most straightforward path to the dantesvara’s territory, but one passing through thick herbage certain to have dangerous lemures lying in wait.

The remaining crews were instead swinging eastward through the ruins to the right side of the canals, intending to stick to that safer path until they’d reached the section of the canals where water still flowed. As dantesvara usually dwelled close to water, it was considered most likely that its lair would be around the part of the canals where the piles of mud and detritus tumbled into the waters of Rhodon Bay.

The cost of this approach was that, while safer, the ruins lacked anything like a working path. Theirs would be as much a climbing expedition as a hunting one. The Third had been the first to commit to the path, buying up climbing equipment while their tinker built a sort of foldable bridge out of wood and iron, but a flood had followed behind them.

Tristan and Angharad had chosen to follow neither tendency when planning out their advance. The scouting they’d been able to get in before matters with Song and Maryam came to a head had shown there might be a different opportunity: they could strike out where no one else dared, westwards.

“There are risks to swinging west,” Tristan acknowledged. “We’ll be close to the Nests, so if we stumble into lemures it will be tricky to fend them off without drawing more. But there’s also benefits.”

“The eastern edge of the Nests is a functional paved street,” Angharad said, still remembering the sight of that narrow canal-side strip in the distance. “By using it we could reach the detritus beach at the end of the Old Canals in hours instead of days. And it lets us narrow the search down.”

“Because if there’s an area entirely free of lemures that close to the Nests, it’s almost certainly because the Lord of Teeth is lairing there,” Izel completed, having been brought into the planning early. “It’s a gambit, to be sure, but the chances of striking gold are too good to pass up.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of the selling points,” Shalini sighed. “But also of the risks of drawing half the Nests down on our head should we get into a shooting match. We killed a lot of lemures that day, but we sure as Fetters didn’t empty the breeding grounds.”

“That’s the selling point of bringing Luyanda,” Tristan pointed out. “We put them on a stretcher and have them warn us of anything coming close.”

A tactic that was not feasible for either the crews headed into the canals or eastward, given the broken terrain they would be moving through. A paved street, though, would make two students carrying a third in a stretcher something other than an elaborate death pact.

“To be frank, I am not sure the benefits outweigh the risks of coming so close to the Nests,” Zenzele said. “Could we not simply take in every independent and force march north down a canal bed to make similar time? There is one still left unclaimed.”

Several winces from the more tactically inclined, including herself. Angharad cleared her throat.

“Taking a large band into the canal negates the advantage of numbers,” she said, “while leaving us to bear all the costs of them: slowness, noise, disarray.”

Especially since a mob could not be counted on to hold steady in the face of danger. It was a recipe for a rout, not a triumph.

“We could take up the Third’s offer, then,” Shalini pressed. “Things have been quiet with the princess, but she’s still around and the Second’s still seething from Alizia Salas’ death. There’s safety in numbers.”

The Nineteenth Brigade, that nest of spies still stubbornly resisting disbandment, had been keeping out of sight. In a rare display of good sense, Yaotl Acatl had avoided the Lamb Hill camp and spent her time out scouting for paths forward. As for Guadalupe, Angharad suspected that the enmity there was not so great as some thought but she could not find it in her to argue against caution given the Thirteenth’s record with enemies.

“Accepting Nenetl’s offer would mean taking sides between the Third and the Ninth, regardless of the practical considerations,” Ferranda pointed out.

Half of her cabal looked less than convinced, and Angharad hid her surprise at the fact that they were so openly displaying it. This was an informal parliament of ideas, certainly, but the sheer lack of deference to their captain was troublingly open. She was not the only one to notice, either.

“Opinions are getting entrenched,” Tristan said. “Let’s put it to a vote and move from there, yes?”

They went by raised hand. Those against the plan to swing by the west voted first, earning two raised hands: Shalini and Zenzele. All five others voted in favor, a decisive enough majority in that direction it would be difficult to argue with it. Her friend was not the kind of man to call a vote without knowing the outcome in advance.

“Then we head west,” Tristan said. “I’m not blind to the risks, mind you. We should proceed with care and prepare for another avenue to take should it prove too dangerous. I expect we’ve got two volunteers to consider that.”

It was a sop thrown to the two against the plan, Angharad judged, but a well-placed one. Zenzele looked pleased, at least, and Shalini was not one to argue when a plan was agreed on even if she disliked it. Angharad had found the gunslinger was perfectly capable of thinking on her feet, down in the Acallar, but she preferred to leave the planning to others. Angharad suspected it was an old habit from the years Shalini had spent as a bodyguard.

“And, on this note, the beer has run out,” Rong Ma drily said. “I believe this heralds the ends the first session of the Fourthday Council.”

There were general noises of agreement. It was not late but tomorrow would be a long day. An early start was the best way to make use of their plan, and that meant rising with the earliest lights. They’d have to be careful not wake the others when leaving. Song and Maryam still had Warfare class tomorrow but they were still sleeping in town, largely because they were rushing through Maryam’s arrangement with the ship captain before Colonel Cao’s peace dinner tomorrow.

That meant their room would be quite crowded and Angharad would have to seek other arrangements for her evening. But before their assembly could disperse Shalini leaned up close to her ear to whisper.

“Rainsparrow, room seventeen,” she breathed, hand coming to rest high on Angharad’s leg as she did. “Twenty minutes.”

What a farsighted woman she was, Shalini. Full of great ideas. The curvy gunslinger drew away with a catlike smile, leaving the mirror-dancer to adjust her cloak and try not to think too much about those nimble fingers put to improper work. She abruptly rose to her feet, hastily bid Tristan and Izel goodbye – the latter poorly hid a knowing smile behind his hand when wishing her a ‘pleasant evening’ – and strode away.

It turned out to be a premature notion, as they’d all settled on seaside benches maybe ten minutes of walk away from the Rainsparrow and Angharad found she had time to waste with frustrated energy in her limbs. There were much more pleasant ways for her to spend it, but instead she found herself wandering by the empty courtyard houses north of Fort Seneca to waste time.

The informal trainings grounds were where her Skiritai lessons took place, these days, though in truth they reminded her more of her mirror-dancer training. Nandi Khota was not interested in drills or in pushing on her a particular fencing school, instead pitting her against a wide variety of weapons and opponents – on occasion, several at a time.

The courtyards were deserted at this time of night, though, and rarely saw use past noon. Which made it all the more unusual when Angharad caught a flicker a movement inside one. Angharad raised her voice, hailing a stranger, but the lack of answer told her this was no couple looking for an unusual tryst location. Lemure, lares? Either way, it would be dishonorable to pass on a nasty surprise to whoever came here to train in the morning when Angharad stood present and armed.

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She unsheathed her saber, slow and careful so the sound would not carry, and stepped past the threshold into the dark courtyard. Silver Orrery light swept above, casting shadows across the sand, but there was no mistaking who stood in the middle of it. A ghost in black, wearing a sneer like it was armor.

“Cai Wei,” Angharad evenly greeted. “You return to haunt me.”

“Tredegar,” she replied. “How could I not, when you’ve set out to kill me?”

Her brow rose.

“A bold claim,” Angharad said. “One might argue you are already dead – and that I owe you not a thing besides, parasite.”

The ghost’s teeth clenched.

“You know what will happen to me when I am embodied again in the Acallar,” she said. “The Marshal already pointed a gun at me once with intent to pull the trigger – he’ll push for me to be executed.”

“You took from me willingly, Cai,” Angharad flatly said, “where the others latched on dreaming. You even tried to hide your presence.”

“And for that I deserve to die?”

“I did not ask for you to be killed, and the Marshal cannot decide it on his own,” she impatiently replied. “Once you are embodied again you will have the same protections as any other student.”

Until she was tossed out of Scholomance, anyway. Angharad did not know whether she would be held to account before or after she washed out, nor did she particularly care.

“They’ll put me on trial,” Cai Wei snarled.

Her anger stoked the same in Angharad’s belly.

“To hold you to account for things you have done,” Angharad snarled back. “Where was this concern when you slunk under my skin like a sickness, feeding on my soul?”

“So I should sit on my hands like a good little fool, watching you bring us back one after another until I can be dragged in front of a tribunal to, what – hope I don’t die patrolling the Desolation or doing seven years of hard labor in the Kalkhea mines?” Cai said. “I won’t just wait in silence as my life is ripped away from me.”

And Angharad could sympathize – at the torment of watching powerless, if not the refusal to own her deeds – but she struggled to see what Cai Wei thought could be done. Little of this was in her hands.