The Radisha had to explain that.
The prince observed, "So we assume the worst? No matter how unlikely?"
"Even if she has access to only a few Stranglers, dear, she's acquired an unholy power. They have no fear of death. If they're told to kill, they'll kill. Disregarding any cost to themselves. And we have no way of knowing who might be one of them."
"The Year of the Skulls," Smoke piped. "It's coming."
"Let's don't get carried away. You talked to her, Sis. What does she want?"
"To continue the war. To fulfill the Black Company's commission, then see us meet our end of the agreement."
"Then we're in no immediate danger. Why not let her have her head?"
"Kill her now," Smoke said. "Before she grows any stronger. Destroy her! Or she will destroy Taglios."
"He seems to be overreacting. Don't you think, Sis?"
"I'm not so sure anymore."
"But ..."
"You didn't talk to her, her with all the confidence of a tidal wave. She's turned damned scary."
"And the Shadowmasters? Who'll handle them?"
"We have a year."
"You think we could build an army?"
"I don't know. I think we made a lethal mistake dealing with the Black Company the way we did. Quiet, Smoke. We wove webs of deception. That will come back on us because we're in too deep to retreat. Swan, Blade, and Mather were convinced we were treacherous in our promises. I'm sure Blade shared his opinions with the woman."
"We'll step carefully, then." The Prahbrindrah reflected. "But right now I don't see the threat. If she wants to get the Shadowmasters, I say let her go after them."
Smoke had a fit. He ranted. He cursed. He issued dire prophecies. Every sentence included the words, "The Year of the Skulls."
His histrionics were so craven they drove the Radisha toward her brother's position.
Brother and sister left him to his humors. As they moved toward their part of the palace, the Prahbrindrah asked, "What's gotten into him? He's lost his nerve completely."
"He never had much."
"No. But he's gone from a mouse to a jellyfish. First it was fear of getting found out by the Shadowmasters. Now it's the Stranglers."
"They scare me."
The prince snorted. "We have more power than you suspect, Sis. We have the power to manipulate three priesthoods."
The Radisha sneered. She knew what that was worth. So did Jahamaraj Jah, now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Eight men sat around the fire in the room without a roof. That room was on the top floor of a four-storey tenement in Taglios' worst slum. The landlord would have suffered apoplexy had he seen what they had done.
They had been there only a few days. They were wrinkled little brown men unlike any Taglian native. But Taglios lay beside a great river. Strangers came and went. Unusual people seldom drew a second glance.
They had opened the room to the elements and now some regretted it.
A summer shower had come down the river. It was not a heavy rain but the clouds had stalled over the city. They shed a steady drizzle. Taglios' people were pleased. Rain cleared the air and carried away the trash in the streets. Tomorrow, though, the air would be muggy and everyone would complain.
Seven of the eight brown men did nothing but stare into the flames. The eighth occasionally added a bit
of fuel or a pinch of something that sent sparks flying and filled the air with aromatic smoke. They were patient. They did this for two hours each night.
Suddenly, shadows rippled in over the tops of the walls, danced behind and among the men. They did not move, did nothing to admit they sensed the new presence. The one added another pinch of aromatic, then rested his hands in his lap. Shadows gathered around him. Shadows whispered. He replied, "I understand." The language he spoke was not Taglian. It was spoken nowhere within six hundred miles of Taglios.
The shadows went away.
The men did not move till the fire died. The rain became a blessing then. It quenched the flames quickly.
The one who had fed the fire spoke briefly. The others nodded. They had their orders. Discussion was unnecessary. In minutes they were out in the Taglian streets.
Smoke muttered curses as he stepped into the rain. "Story of my life. Nothing goes right anymore." He scuttled along, head down. "What am I doing out here?" He ought to be inside trying to make the Radisha see sense so she could make her brother see sense. They were going to ruin everything. All they had worked toward was going to fly away if they didn't do something about that woman.
They were going to destroy Taglios by default. Why couldn't they see that?
Sometimes a walk helped clear the mind. He needed to be out, away, alone, free. Some new avenue would present itself. There was a way to get through, he was sure. There had to be.
A bat zipped past so close he felt the air stirred by its wings. A bat? On a night like this?
He recalled a time, before the legions marched, when bats had been everywhere. And someone had made a considerable effort to eliminate them. Someone like maybe those wizards who had travelled with the Black Company.
He halted, suddenly nervous. Bats in weather when bats should not fly? Not a good omen.
He had not come far. One minute and he'd be safely in the palace.
Another bat whipped past. He turned to run.
Three men blocked his path.
He whirled.
More men. Everywhere, men. He was surrounded. For half a minute they seemed a horde. But there were only six. In very bad Taglian one said, "A man want see you. You come."
He looked around wildly. There was no escape.
The paradox of being Smoke, Smoke thought. Terrified when the danger was insubstantial, calm now with it concrete, he moved through streets dark and wet, surrounded by men no bigger than he. His mind worked perfectly. He could break away whenever he willed. One small spell and he could be gone, safe.
But something was afoot. It might be crucial to know what. That spell could be loosed later as well as now.
He pretended to be as rattled and craven as ever.
They took him to the worst part of the city, to a tenement that looked like it could collapse any second. He was more frightened of it than of them. They led him up four creaky flights. One man tapped a code on a door.
The door opened. They went inside. Smoke eyed the man waiting. He looked just like the six who had brought him. Nor did the man who had opened the door seem any different. All hatched in the same nest. But the man who waited spoke passable Taglian.
He asked, "You are the one called Smoke? The fire marshall? I cannot recall the full title."
The wizard supposed they knew who and what he was, else he would not be here. "I am. You have me at a disadvantage."
"I have no name. I can be called One Who Leads Eight Who Serve." Ghost of a smile. "Unwieldy, yes? It is of no importance. I am the only one here who can speak your language. You won't confuse me with anyone else."
"Why did you interrupt my stroll?" Keep it cool, casual, he thought.
"Because we have a common interest in dealing with a peril so great it could devour the world. The Year of the Skulls."
Now Smoke knew who they were.
He controlled himself but his mind went wild. His efforts to maintain his anonymity had gone for naught. The Shadowmasters knew him.
Maybe Swan was right. Maybe he was just a coward... He was. He had known that always. But he was no puling craven. He could manage his fear if he had to.
Still ... It rankled that Swan could be right about anything. Willow Swan was an animal that walked on its hind legs and made noises like a man.
"The Year of the Skulls?" he asked. "What do you mean?"
The man smiled thinly. "It will save time if we don't pretend. You know Kina is stirring. And when she stirs, ripples go out and waken other things best left undisturbed. The first whisper of Kina passes over the world. Soon the woman who is her avatar will become aware of what she is."