FORTY-EIGHT

NEW VIGIL

Life isn’t like opera.

I know I keep saying that, but that’s because I keep forgetting it. Because I want it to be like opera. I’m not ashamed to admit that. I want everyone to be charming and vibrant, I want romance and overtures, I want stories that end neatly and with no words left unsaid.

I want that. Desperately.

I think a lot of people do.

A lot of people love opera, after all.

But those who don’t also have a valuable perspective—if you never believe in those things in the first place, you never have to be disappointed. You never have to learn that heroes are also often murderers. You never have to find out that sometimes things just end and no one is happy. You never have to learn that leaders aren’t dramatic and often have no more idea of what they’re doing than you do.

“Well, I’ll be honest, I didn’t actually expect us to survive this long, so I’m not quite sure where to go from here.”

As I was saying.

“That’s… I mean, that’s not exactly encouraging to hear.” Meret wanted to say something a little swearier than that, I could tell. But to his credit, he kept it together. He leaned in closer, whispered, “But given that you’re the leader and all…”

“Right, right.” Cavric’s sigh escaped like steam as he stroked his beard. He glanced over our heads. “I admit, I’d find it easier to think if I weren’t hiding from my own soldiers.”

It couldn’t be helped, honestly.

The tavern that had been turned into a command center had been turned into an infirmary. The wounded—countless in number, gruesome in injury—lined the walls; every space that wasn’t occupied by a table was occupied by a cot, leaving precious little space for an overworked Mendmage and a handful of scurrying medics to work among their numerous charges.

The mood was bleak, despite the day’s reprieve. The unexpected clash between the Imperium and the Revolution—or, shall we say, improvised provocation—had broken the siege, but the breathing room had only given everyone a chance to realize how close they were to being overrun. The two forces had retreated, regrouped, reorganized—or so we suspected, scouts being in short supply after the day’s carnage.

To know that the Imperium and Revolution had been wounded might have brought some much-needed morale.

To see how easily they could shrug off such a wound brought no comfort in those cramped quarters.

The mood was tense. Morale was bleak. I admit, it wasn’t good for the soldiers to see their commander and his associates huddled in a corner like a pack of thieves. But I also agree that it was probably better that they not hear the dumb shit coming out of their leader’s mouth.

“Maybe they’ve had enough. We could strike a truce.”

Yeah, like that.

“I was off the wall, so I didn’t see. Did you hit your head in the battle?” Ketterling, still dirty from her desperate escape from the battle, snarled. “Because that’s the only thing I can think of that might explain the big puddle of stupid you just dribbled on the floor. Do you not know who’s on the other side of that wall?”

“I fucking know who’s on the other side of that wall,” Cavric replied, ire creeping into his voice. “Just as I know that we somehow, through whatever birdshit Sal pulled—”

It would have been rude to interrupt.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

But I wasn’t feeling polite just then.

“We somehow managed to beat them,” Cavric persisted, glaring at me, “we bled them on that field and we buried them by the score and we still lost. They tore us apart on those walls and that was just the Revolution. They might have fucked each other up for now, but they’ll recover. We won’t.” He took a breath, held up a hand. “They’re bastards and they don’t deserve it, but a truce would be the best option for—”

“You dumbfuck,” Ketterling interjected angrily, “it’s because they’re bastards that we can’t treat with them.”

Cavric opened his mouth to reply.

“She’s right.”

But I beat him to it.

“And she’s right because you’re right.” I leaned heavily on the wall, tried to keep weight off my bandaged leg. The medics had done the best they could, but there were more pressing needs for their talents. “The Imperium and the Revolution will recover. And we won’t recover. And they know that just as well as you do.” I smiled, but it wasn’t happy. “Why would they agree to something like a truce when they could just as easily wait a few days and try again?”

The anger that flooded his face didn’t alarm me. I knew it well—hell, I’d worn it myself just a few moments ago. It was the heaviest kind of anger to hold, the kind struggling to hold back something true. And like it had done with me, the fury on his face gave way to sorrow, then defeat, and then he wore the same unhappy smile I did.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “You’re right. Both of you. Nothing has changed.” He looked at us. “Nothing. New Vigil has always stood for more than they could give us. It has since we built it.” He let out a slow breath. “It will when it gets burned to the ground, too.”

Life isn’t like opera, like I said. Pithy, inspiring statements don’t inspire the same kind of courage. The bravest last-ditch efforts don’t always change anything. And the plucky underdog still ends up getting crushed.

“Commander.”

But then again.

“Commander!”

Sometimes it is like an opera. For example, sometimes when you think things can’t possibly get any worse, some asshole comes in with a new development.

In this case, it was a scout who ran breathlessly to our huddle, saluted briefly. “Commander,” he gasped to Cavric. “Revolution, sir. At the gate.”

We tensed, made ready for action. The scout shook his head wearily, held up a hand, caught his breath.

“Only three of them, Cavric,” he said. “Diplomats. They want to meet.”

“Meet,” Cavric repeated flatly. “As in… surrender? Or…”

He shook his head. “She wouldn’t talk to me beyond demanding to speak to you.” He glanced toward me. “And you.”

My brows rose. Cavric’s brows furrowed.

“Me?” I asked.

“She,” Cavric grunted.

“Yes, sir,” the scout nodded. “She introduced herself as Cadre Commander Tretta Unbreakable. Said you used to be friends.”

So, just to get something clear, it’s not that I’m undiplomatic.

I had my fair share of negotiations when I was in the army, after all. I was familiar with the protocols of it: the etiquette, the techniques, the pageantry. It’s just that I was much more familiar with what followed after diplomacy.

You know, the burning and such.

Which I guess is what diplomacy is meant to avoid.

So, I take it back—maybe I am bad at diplomacy.

I was fairly sure I wasn’t alone in that realization. If the spear-straight postures of Cavric and Ketterling were any indication, anyway. We rode out from the gates atop our birds, Ketterling carrying New Vigil’s banner, the sigil of a rearing Banter flapping in the breeze. The tension settled on our shoulders as we made our way, each of us worried at least a little about my presence here.

After all, it’s not like most people asked me to make things less complicated.

But, then again, my presence had been personally requested.

We were met on the field by a trio of envoys. The passing hours had not been kind to the battle’s aftermath. Many bodies had been recovered by their respective sides, but not enough to discourage the numerous scavenger birds and beasts that braved the presence of armies to get a bit of food.

If the morbidness bothered Tretta, she didn’t show it.

She stood in a dirty coat, grimy and bloody from battle—she’d been there, leading the charge. Impressive woman. Wish she didn’t want to kill me all the time. Her face was restrained admirably into an expression of mild distaste. Her escorts—a pair of faceless Twenty-Second guards—stared emptily into space.

“Cavric Proud,” Tretta said. “I am pleased to see you alive.”

“I go by just Cavric now,” he replied as we pulled our birds to a stop. “And no, you’re not, Tretta Unbreakable.” He sniffed. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

“That is…” Tretta’s face screwed up in restrained fury for a moment before she let out an unhappy, defeated sigh. “That isn’t fair, Cavric. I don’t want you dead any more than I want anyone in this city dead.”

“Could have fooled me,” Ketterling muttered, “what with you killing us and all.”

That twitch in Tretta’s left eye at that comment was just severe enough to make me finally like Ketterling.

“Those are Revolutionaries behind your walls,” Tretta said, holding her ire behind her teeth. “Derelict in their oaths, traitors to the Revolution, which has given them everything.” She let out a sigh. “And even still, neither I nor anyone with wisdom wants to see more dead today.”

“Wisdom, huh?” I muttered.

My eyes drifted skyward, to the airship hovering bloated over the field, and the creature posing as a man poised at the railing.

“At the behest of the Great General,” Tretta continued, “his most esteemed hand, Culven Loyal, has, in the interests of preventing further bloodshed and in providing sanctuary for all the Revolution’s wayward and disaffected, requested an end to the strife.”

“Outstanding,” Cavric said. “The road out is back the way you came. Don’t look in any holes on your way out.”

She narrowed her eyes. “A wise leader listens, thinks, and then acts.”

“Of course, of course.” He glanced out over the field and its strewn bodies. “We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt now, would we?” Cavric sighed. “So, then. What does the general want me to hear?”

“The Great General”—Tretta’s face soured so fiercely I felt my ass pucker—“has deemed that all interested parties should be present to partake of his font of wisdom.”

All parties?

A note of the Lady’s song caught my ear. A portal winked into existence not far away. An Imperial Doormage emerged, an Imperial banner clutched in their hands. They stood aside, expectant, as another shape emerged.

She looked like Bad Neighbor, sure enough. But the woman that emerged from the portal wasn’t her. Riacantha ki Camathusula had always been brusque, maybe even a little bit of a prick. But her eyes had always held light. Her lip could still curl into a smile.

This woman, whose eyes were empty and whose face was as still as the mask her Doormage wore, was no one I recognized.

“Huh, so it was true,” Cavric observed. “Imperium and Revolution working together.”

“To kill us,” Ketterling grunted. “We should be flattered.”

“No such alliance exists.” Bad Neighbor’s voice was as empty as her face as she spoke. “The Imperium’s interests were better served by nonaggression.”

“Until they weren’t,” Tretta observed sharply. “Had I been there to offer counsel to Loyal, I would—”

“You didn’t.” Bad Neighbor didn’t even bother looking up as she folded her gauntleted arms. “Whatever you could have done, you did not. Whoever you could have saved, you did not. And now we are here.” She snorted. “May the regrets of Torle of the Void console you.”

“And Velline?” I interjected.

Bad Neighbor’s face hung still for an ominous moment.

“Torle of the Void extends his regrets regarding her, as well. She will not be attending.”

“What a pity. I would have offered tea.” Cavric rolled out his shoulder, tried his best to shake the weariness from him, failed. “Is there anyone else ‘attending’? I can send for some, maybe a couple of cookies to go with it?”

“Proud—” Tretta caught herself. “Cavric, you serve your people ill with your flippancy.”

“Then you know they’re my people,” he replied. “And this is their city. They want nothing more than this forsaken spit of land to call their own. We need nothing from you, we want nothing from you.”

“The Empress disagrees,” Bad Neighbor said. “You took her mages. You took her people. This city’s presence stands as an insult to her, her people, and all that our blood has built.”

“She’s got plenty of blood left,” I said, which was probably not particularly helpful. “A whole fucking Imperium’s worth.”

“The Great General likewise will not tolerate a city that provides haven to counterrevolutionary thought,” Tretta said, forceful. “Nor should those most vulnerable be left to the insufficient protection of…” She narrowed her eyes at Cavric. “Dissidents.”

“Torle has exchanged words with the Revolution,” Bad Neighbor added. “We have arrived at a conclusion that will limit the bloodshed.”

“To what?” Ketterling scoffed. “A few lakes’ worth?”

“To nothing,” Tretta replied. “There shall be no retribution. No punishment. No occupation of territory. Nor even executions of leadership.” Tretta’s eyes lingered thoughtfully on me for a moment. “The Great General’s fury is exceeded, it seems, only by his mercy.”

“The Empress finds the terms amenable,” Bad Neighbor said. “She will permit all leadership to remain in this”—she glanced over our heads, to New Vigil’s walls—“this very fragile city to remain, uncontested. She merely insists on her right: the return of her mages and all pertinent citizenry.”

Cavric stiffened. Ketterling’s eyes went wide.

“The Great General likewise demands that the proud and loyal people of the Glorious Revolution of the Fist and Flame be returned immediately to be escorted to the nearest Revolutionary stronghold for education.” Tretta’s back stiffened. “You have my solemn word as cadre commander and emissary of the Great General that none shall be harmed.”

“Harmed?” Cavric straightened in his saddle. “Harmed? Have you even heard the shit that comes out of your mouth, Tretta?” He burned behind his beard, broad shoulders trembling. “I know what the Great General’s education is. I’ve lived it. It’s nothing more than torture with a quiz at the end.”

“You speak unwisely, Proud,” Tretta growled.

“His name is fucking Cavric, you greasy bird-mouthed motherfucker.” Ketterling’s Banter bristled beneath her, encouraged by the anger flowing out of her. “This city is New Vigil. It isn’t here to spite you. It’s here to get the fuck away from you.” She spat at the feet of Tretta, then took a quick swig of water and spat again at the feet of Bad Neighbor. “And we’ll sooner die here on our terms than live under the ‘protection’ of yours.”

Bad Neighbor’s eyes drifted to me. “You’re quiet, Salazanca,” she observed. “You know what’s going to happen if you don’t speak up. You were there. With Torle of the Void.” She blinked, vacant. “So was I. You saw what happened there. You know it’ll happen here.”

I did know. So did everyone else. Tretta’s face screwed up at the memory of Bitterdrink, the muscles in her neck straining to swallow the rage. Cavric’s and Ketterling’s own anger was stiffened by the fear crawling up their spines at the mention of Torle. Silence fell over us, as their gazes fell over me.

I closed my eyes. There was a pain in my neck that I couldn’t seem to roll out. It followed me as I pulled my scarf up a little higher over my throat and spurred Congeniality forward.

“Yeah.” I knuckled the small of my back as I approached—not to seem nonchalant or anything, my ass just hurt. “Yeah, I know what’ll happen. You’ll kill us all. You’ll bury us under the earth.” I paused, considered. “Or you’ll incinerate us all. Or electrocute us with lightning.” I glanced at Tretta. “Or, hell, maybe you’ll just do it hand-to-hand. I know you’re going to kill us all.” I gestured with my chin to Cavric and Ketterling. “So do they. So do you. So does everyone in that city.”

“You disgrace this meeting with your empty bravado,” Tretta said, sneering. “Don’t act like retribution doesn’t frighten you.”

“It scares the piss out of me,” I said, “if I’m honest. I wouldn’t take odds against everyone else in this city feeling the same, either.”

“Then stop acting stupid,” Bad Neighbor said. “See reason.”

“Oh, I am, I am,” I said. “I’m just considering all angles.” I smiled gently. “But then, I’m always the only one doing that, aren’t I?”

The silence deepened from uncomfortable to desperately uncomfortable. Bad Neighbor’s face fell the barest inch it could manage. Cavric shifted in his saddle behind me. Only Tretta took the bait.

I could always count on her for that.

“What is it,” she said, “that we aren’t considering?”

“You’re out here.” I pointed back to the walls. “And I’m in there. And there isn’t anyone in this little circle that doesn’t know how much worse I can make this and isn’t hoping I don’t decide to.”

There’s an art to shit-talking.

You never want to be too detailed in your threats, because that just makes people want to see it more. And you never want to be too vague, or you’ll sound like you’re scared. The trick is to be just specific enough to give them an idea, then let their imaginations run wild.

Which, if the twitch across Tretta’s face was any indication, she was doing. I could count on her for that, as well.

“So here’s our counteroffer,” I said. “You leave. You go home and have a drink. You never return to New Vigil, never speak its name, never even dream about it. And none of us will have to worry about what I’m doing behind those walls.”

“You’re full of—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” I cautioned. “Listen. Think. Then speak.”

I turned Congeniality around, trotted back. The silence didn’t last as long this time. And when a word was spoken, it was fraught. Fraught with fear. Fraught with fury.

So I might have just made things worse.

Bad Neighbor snorted at Cavric. “It won’t be long until Torle arrives. This city won’t last the night.”

“If that,” Tretta agreed.

“Are you sure you want to let her speak for you?”

Cavric took a deep breath. “No.” He let it out. “But I’m sure that surrender can’t be done. Not like you want.” He set a hand upon the haft of his axe. “You do what you have to do, and we’ll do…”

His voice trailed off. His eyes did, too. A little rude to do while you’re delivering your defiant last stand, but I didn’t blame him. I was looking, too.

Across the chaos-riddled field, a single wagon pulled by a single bird came trotting. Completely unbothered by the macabre horrors surrounding it, neither the bird nor the charming lad driving it seemed to even notice the many bodies they picked their way through. A merry bell jangled a tune as the wagon approached us, pulled around, and came to a halt.

The hay in the wagon’s back rustled as a shape emerged. A shabby shape in shabby clothes, eyes sunken and face unwashed, reeking of drugs, booze, and grief.

It’s not that I was being mean to Rudu, it’s just that he looked a little rough as he pulled himself out of the wagon. He handed a piece of gold to the boy and packed his pipe as the wagon rode off. His smoke arrived before he did, a cloud of silkgrass reek heralding his return.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said through puffs. “Takes a bit to find a ride out here.” He glanced around the assembled, who regarded this stinking newcomer with a mixture of indignation and curiosity. “So, what’d I miss?”

“What?” Tretta snarled. “Who dares to—”

“Rudu the Cudgel,” he said. “Representative of the Ashmouths and the Three.”

“The Ashmouths are a gang of criminals and murderers,” Bad Neighbor observed. “They have no interests to represent here. And a Vagrant is no emissary.”

“Well, good thing I said I’m a representative, then, isn’t it?” Rudu took another puff. “And, as the Three see it, they’ve got a fairly vested interest here.” He made a lazy attempt at a bow to Bad Neighbor and Tretta. “Your war has been difficult to manage, let alone profit from. The Three believe that they are owed a say in how this plays out. Call it recompense for losses.”

“I’ll call it fucking stupid,” Tretta snapped. “You and your criminal mistresses should fear the conclusion of this, because once we’re done here, we’re coming for—”

“Yeah, yeah, very intimidating, I’m both scared and a little aroused, whatever.” He reached into his robe, produced a pair of envelopes. “I’m a little pressed for time, so if you’ll skip to the end of your threats, I’ll skip to the end of mine.”

He approached and handed one to each of the women. They glared at him, but made no move to reject them—or kill him. Each of them tore the envelopes open. Bad Neighbor unfurled a letter and began to read. Tretta furrowed her brows in confusion as a dull metal item fell into her hands.

“This is a medal.” Her eyes widened. “This is my medal. My first medal. It never leaves my quarters.” She turned her gaze to him. “How did you get it?”

“One of your soldiers owed me a favor,” he said.

“Which one?”

“The one that knows where and when you sleep.”

“Impossible,” she said. “Impossible. The Revolution does not have spies in its midst.”

“Probably not, no,” he replied, shrugging. “But you’ve got a lot of people with a lot of needs that you can’t satisfy. And all the Ashmouths ask in return is a little favor. Done quietly.” He took another puff. “You know, a leader stabbed in the night here. A trade route sabotaged there. We have all sorts of people willing to do us favors. Maybe we’re popular.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You cannot hope to stay the hand of the Revolution with pathetic threats.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, glancing at me. “Nor would I dream of getting in the way of whatever back-alley heroism is going on here. But there’s a lot of people in that city, a lot of material, a lot of interest the Three want to make certain are secure before they let any mage or cannon bury the place.”

“I don’t blame thieves for wanting to pick our pockets while we’re down,” Cavric said. “You are assholes, after all.”

“All right, listen, I just met you.”

“And I’ll be fucked before I invite them into my city,” he finished, forcefully.

“Okay, fine, we won’t go in ourselves,” Rudu said, sighing. “What if we just sent a representative?”

“The Revolution will not permit the Ashmouths unfettered reign of the city,” Tretta interjected. “If they send an emissary, the Great General demands one present, as well.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Ketterling snapped. “You want us to set the table for you while we’re at it?” She elbowed Cavric. “This is pointless.”

He shook his head. “It isn’t.” He held up a hand. “We’ll agree to three emissaries. One for each of you. No more. But while they’re in the city, you don’t so much as raise a weapon against our walls or we’re back to doing this the hard way.”

“A bluff to buy time,” Tretta said, sneering.

“For what?” Rudu asked. “Looks like they’re not going anywhere. But I’m kind of busy today, so if you could just go ahead and tell me if you’re in or not…”

She seethed for a moment. “Fine. The Revolution shall send an agent.”

Rudu glanced to Bad Neighbor. “And the Imperium?”

The little woman hadn’t said so much as a word since she opened her envelope. And when she lowered the letter she’d read, the last traces of emotion were wrung out and splattered across her face. Her eyes were misty, her throat heavy as she swallowed hard.

Whatever the Ashmouths had on her… it was all she had left.

“Fine,” she said. “Whatever.”

“Then we’re all in agreement,” Tretta said. “For the moment. But there’s only one way out of this, Cavric, and it is through the Great General.”

“It always was,” he replied, terse.

The silence lingered for only a moment before Tretta and her guard turned smartly and left. Bad Neighbor didn’t look up, clutching the letter to her chest as she returned to her portal and vanished. Rudu stood, hand in pocket, exhaling smoke into the sky.

“What was in her envelope?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” he replied. “They have another guy for that.” He licked his lips, snorted smoke out his nostrils. “I’d wager the big boys here can keep themselves entertained for… what? A day? Maybe longer?” He clicked his tongue. “Not a lot of time, is it? Best to make the most of it.”

I didn’t miss the implication. No one did. I wasn’t sure if Rudu was simply bluffing or if the Ashmouths actually did have business there. I still don’t know, if I’m honest. But I liked to think that maybe…

Well, hell, maybe he was tired of killing, too.

“Thank you,” I said. “For that.”

“Yeah,” Rudu replied.

“And I’m sorry… about Necla.”

Rudu was quiet for a long, long time.

“Yeah.”

He turned on his heel, started to wander off, a cloud of smoke trailing him. I watched him go, unsure whether to speak to him again or not. But curiosity overwhelmed me.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Well, shit,” he replied, “I’ve got to go find an emissary, don’t I?”