In the Shadow of Lightning

44

Idrian stood over a washbasin, splashing cold water onto his face as he stared into his reflection by flickering gaslight in the officers’ guest quarters of Fort Alameda. He could see the gray in his hair, and the tiny iridescent splotches of purple and yellow permanent glassrot on his cheeks and neck that were visible only from the right angle. Light reflected off his witglass eye as if from a child’s glass bauble, showing the imperfect depths of the glass. Sometimes he fancied he could see through his eye, all the way into his brain, and witness the rot growing within that caused his madness.

He finished shaving and splashed more cold water across his neck and chin, then wiped it all away with a rag. Someone off in the courtyard of the fort was singing along with Braileer’s fiddle – the beginning of what everyone hoped would be a long night of hard-earned relaxation. Demir was off in Ossa. Kerite was not an immediate threat. Food and beer had been brought in by the cartload to reward the Ironhorns and their cuirassier counterparts for the maneuver that everyone was calling the Grappo Torrent.

The Grappo Torrent. Idrian chuckled at that and wondered how many commanders over the next hundred years would stupidly try to blow up dams and divert rivers at their enemies without doing the kind of calculations that Demir had carefully prepared.

He pulled on his dress uniform jacket and adjusted the collar in the mirror. He was getting older. Stiffness crept into his skin and bones all over from glassrot. He wasn’t far from retirement, and while he yearned for peace, part of him feared having to spend the rest of his life alone on an officer’s pension, waiting for glassrot cancers to kill him.

He wanted nothing more than to go out into the courtyard with the enlisted men. Drink beer all night. Maybe spend the night in a cuirassier’s arms. Instead he had to attend a formal dinner with the garrison commander, whose name he couldn’t even remember.

“Shit and piss,” he said to the mirror, pressing on his godglass eye gently, “I’d say getting old is the pits, but every year is a gift for a breacher like me.”

He slowly became aware of the sound of feet running in the hallway of the barracks. They came to a stop just outside his door; then came a knock and, without waiting for permission, Squeaks pushed the door open and looked up at him.

He waved her off. “I know, I know. I’m late for dinner, I–”

“Sir!” Squeaks cut him off in a low voice. “It’s not about dinner.”

Most of the enlisted soldiers called Idrian by his given name. He’d never cared, since he felt more like them than an officer. “Then what’s this about?” he asked, turning toward her with a frown.

“There’s a problem.”

“Then say it quick!”

“I’m a minor talent as a glassdancer.”

Idrian peered at Squeaks. “That’s your problem?”

“Of course not! It’s a secret, not a problem. Only Major Grappo knows and he’s been telling me for years not to mention it to anyone. Says it might come in handy one day.”

It was an odd thing to keep a secret. Minor talents might have some use in a few occupations, but the military wasn’t one of them. If people knew she was a minor talent she might be able to command a few ozzo more per month from her contract, but it made no more difference than that. “So why tell me now?”

“Because General Grappo pulled me aside and gave me a task – to be on alert at all times. He didn’t want what happened to General Stavri to happen to him.”

Idrian was still thinking about having to wear this stiff-collared dress uniform all night. “The general has gone to Ossa. We don’t expect him back until late tonight, and assassins aren’t going to attack us inside a damned fort. At ease, soldier.”

“Uh, sir. I think the assassin might be here.”

Idrian looked at the mirror, adjusting his collar once more. Several moments passed before what Squeaks had just said sank in. He whirled back toward her, the hair on his neck standing on end. He looked at her – really looked – and could see from the fear in her eyes that this was no joke. Within moments he was striding down the mostly empty barracks hall, every spare piece of godglass threaded through his piercings. Squeaks ran to keep up, talking in a hushed tone as she did.

“There’s just one of them,” she explained, “perched up there on the roof of the commander’s office.” Which was, it could be no coincidence, where all the officers were gathering to have dinner as they spoke. Squeaks went on, “I checked around, and not a single glassdancer is unaccounted for. He’s definitely not one of ours. I don’t even know how he got up there. I didn’t sense him coming in. It’s like he just appeared out of nowhere.”

Idrian looked sidelong at Squeaks. “You’re sure it’s just the one?”

“Yes, sir.”

All the reports Idrian read about Stavri’s assassination said that it was carried out by a squad of at least six glassdancers. Any fewer could not have possibly conducted such a precise and immediate slaughter. But there had been a lot more officers and hangers-on at the Bingham Brawlers Club than there were here. “Does he know you’ve spotted him?”

“My own glassdancer talent is so minor that I’m difficult to sense. That’s why I’ve been able to keep it secret so long. He either doesn’t know I’m here or doesn’t think I’m paying attention. Glassdancer senses are like any other – you have to have your sorcerous eyes open, so to speak, in order to catch something.” She paused and looked worried. “Should I have raised the alarm immediately?”

“No, that would just tip him off. You did well coming to me. How strong is he?”

“Very. He stands out in the empty night like a beacon, sir. If we had any military glassdancers in the fort right now, they’d have sensed him without even having to look.”

Idrian vacillated over raising the alarm. A single glassdancer would have a difficult time getting out of the fort alive, but a suicide mission could easily kill Tadeas, Mika, Valient, and all the garrison and cuirassier officers before a proper response could be levied. Idrian needed to turn the tables – to ambush the glassdancer – but that meant doing nothing to tip him off that he’d been discovered. He looked sharply at Squeaks. “Does everyone know that Demir went into Ossa?”

“No, sir. Hardly anyone knows. He wanted it kept quiet in case of spies. I think the garrison commander still thinks he’s coming to dinner.”

That settled it, then. That glassdancer was likely on a suicide mission, here to kill not a handful of middling officers but Demir himself. He’d probably snuck into the fort hours ago and couldn’t sense Demir’s absence until he was already in position. That meant he’d either attack anyway, or hope to hide out until he could slip away. Idrian had no intention of letting him do that. He went into Braileer’s room, where his equipment was set out for polishing. Idrian picked up his sword and shield.

“All right. I’ll deal with him. Go warn Tadeas immediately, but do it quietly. I don’t want him raising an alarm. A trapped, panicked glassdancer will do more damage than someone who stupidly thinks he has the upper hand.”

Squeaks headed out the main door of the barracks while Idrian slipped out the side, keeping himself out of the sight line from the roof of the commander’s quarters. He kept his head low, raising a finger to his lips to anyone he passed who gave him a curious glance – and there were quite a few of them. The fort was overflowing with infantry and cavalrymen here for a good military party conducted with the general’s blessing. If the glassdancer panicked, he could kill a lot of people before they managed to take him down.

Idrian made his way to the far side of the mess hall and found the rusty ladder leading up to the roof. He ascended with his shield on his back, crouching in the darkness for a moment to be sure he hadn’t been spotted, before hurrying across the slate tiles. He climbed up two more stories, moving silently on the balls of his feet and keeping his head down so no one shouted to him unawares from the muster yard below.

He’d just crested the roof of the garrison supply depot when he spotted a shadowy figure. The glassdancer was perched a few feet back from the edge of the roof, just above the patio to the garrison commander’s quarters. If someone was planning on dropping into the middle of dinner and killing everyone, that was exactly where they’d wait. Idrian was to his right and a little behind, and if the glassdancer noticed Idrian’s presence he did not react in any way. Slowly, careful not to let his sword or shield scrape on the slate roof, Idrian worked his way around behind the glassdancer.

He slid his sword and shield off his back and remained in place. The glassdancer was less than thirty paces from him, facing away. He was bigger than Idrian expected, perhaps even bigger than Idrian himself – shoulders hunched, head tilted as if listening, entirely focused on the sound coming out from the open patio door beneath him.

Idrian stared for several moments, unable to shake an unsettled feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. This was odd. Very odd. Glassdancer assassins were certainly not unheard of, but since they could be sensed by minor talents they were not widely utilized. A chill went down Idrian’s spine as he realized that the glassdancer was waiting for something – likely for all the officers to be present. Idrian himself should have been there. Perhaps the glassdancer still hoped for Demir’s return.

Enough worries. It was time for action. Idrian turned the hilt of his sword in his palm until the blunt edge was facing forward. Put a glassdancer in enough pain and they would be as helpless as anyone else. Answers would be very valuable. Break an arm, perhaps? No, a leg. Perhaps both legs with one blow.

Idrian began to sprint, running at full tilt across the slate roof, no longer bothering to hide the sound of his movement. He was wearing enough forgeglass that he could cover the short space in a matter of seconds, and he did just that. He brought his sword out and around in a wide, low swing, his shield held forward. The glassdancer began to turn before Idrian even reached him, but was not fast enough to dodge his sword. The blunt edge came down and across, sweeping at the glassdancer’s legs.

This was a maneuver Idrian had done before, and he knew exactly the amount of force to expend. The end of his sword hit right at shin level, but instead of a sweep it felt as if he’d just hit an anvil. The impact nearly wrenched Idrian’s arm out of his socket. Both he and the glassdancer grunted in surprise. The glassdancer went down, though not nearly as hard as he should have, while Idrian found himself off balance and careening toward the edge of the roof. He threw himself sideways and rolled across his shield, tumbling loudly across the slate shingles.

He recovered during the roll, returning to his feet with a practiced move, sword and shield positioned between him and his enemy, every muscle of his body coiled and ready to spring forward.

The glassdancer was big, over six feet tall and wide enough for two men. A cloak hid most of his body, but Idrian could make out massive arms encased in some kind of matte armor, and a broad helmet decorated with fanciful ridges that reminded him of the spikes on the edges of a crab’s shell. They sized each other up for half a second before shouting in the room beneath him caused Idrian to snap out of his brief reverie. It was not an instant too soon. Glass on the windows below them audibly shattered, and he could hear it tinkling against itself as the glassdancer coalesced the glass on all sides. Idrian snapped his sword back around, blade-forward, and lunged.

The glassdancer was surprisingly agile despite his bulk. Steel-shod boots clattered on the roof tiles as he sidestepped Idrian’s thrust, ducked a slash, and then rolled out of the way of a second slash. Idrian began to sweat immediately, a fear like nothing he’d ever experienced appearing in his belly and causing his hands to tremble. He didn’t have his armor on, but he was wearing enough forgeglass to be about as fast as it was possible to be and this glassdancer was sidestepping everything he could throw at him. He felt something breeze past the back of his neck and realized the glassdancer was both moving and on the offensive – something that took a lot of skill and practice to accomplish.

Idrian caught sight of glittering movement in the corner of his eye and dove to the rooftop, rolling across the shield, followed by the sound of dozens of shards of glass slamming into the roof tiles right where he’d been standing. He pulled his shield up to cover his eyes, the feel of a thousand little cuts brushing across his ankles, shredding his uniform pants and the skin underneath it. Against all instincts, Idrian dove forward, forcing the glassdancer to the edge of the roof until the two of them were close enough that he could feel the other’s hot, sour breath on his cheeks.

It was the first time he’d gotten a good look at the glassdancer’s face, and what he saw made the blood freeze in his veins. That helmet with its crab-like ridges wasn’t right. The eyes were too far apart, the mouth too low. It wasn’t a helmet at all. It was a face.

This glassdancer – this thing – wasn’t human.

The two remained there for a heartbeat, the massive glassdancer just on the other side of Idrian’s shield, before Idrian registered the sounds of alarm going up all around them. The glassdancer opened its jaw, unhinging it horribly, stretching its long neck over Idrian’s shield. Idrian almost didn’t respond. This couldn’t be real, could it? Another manifestation of his sick mind? At the last moment he dropped his shoulder and shoved, hearing the sound of a jaw snapping shut just over his head. The creature reeled back into thin air.

What Idrian had taken for a cloak unfurled into massive wings, beating so hard that they almost drove Idrian to the ground. The light caught the beast for a few moments, showing Idrian that the armor was hard shell, and what he’d taken for steel-shod boots were clawlike feet. The glassdancer shot upward into the night air with impossible speed, quickly getting lost to Idrian’s vision. Idrian backed away from the edge of the roof, staring upward, waiting for the glassdancer to return. The whole night was filled with the sound of the garrison and their guests arming for battle. If there was anything to be heard of the glassdancer, Idrian couldn’t make it out over the sound of his allies.

He was still staring into the sky when Tadeas joined him on the roof, sword and pistol in hand, Mika on his heels and holding a pair of grenades. They were both wearing heavy cloaks that covered all but their eyes – the best defense against a glassdancer. Idrian looked at them, then back up into the sky, then back at his companions.

“Tadeas,” he said, hearing the desperation in his own voice. “I’ve done it. I’ve gone mad. I just … I just … I fought a…” He could not make the words come out. Even now, moments after the glassdancer was gone, he was having trouble describing it in any terms that made sense. He must have gone completely insane.

“You’re not mad,” Tadeas responded grimly. “I saw it from the roof of the barracks. So did Mika. I’m not sure who else, but it glassdamned flew away.”

Relief washed through Idrian, a sigh escaping his lips that what he’d seen was actually real. The feeling was quickly followed by terror. That glassdancer wasn’t human. It was strong enough to shrug off a disabling blow, and fast enough to dodge those that followed. What kind of a creature was it? Could godglass do all that? Was it some Grent monster? Or was it something else?

“Get everyone on high alert in case it comes back,” Tadeas ordered Mika. “And Idrian, you’ve been damn well shredded. Get out of the open and get some cureglass. It’s gonna take all night to pick glass out of you.”

Idrian could feel the cool air on a thousand little cuts on his legs and his right shoulder. He didn’t want to look. He was probably bleeding badly, and the pain would be worse if he weren’t wearing milkglass to counter his sightglass. He kept his eyes on the sky, his sword and shield still at the ready. What was that thing? Better yet, how could he possibly be prepared to fight it if it returned?