1 State of Grace Page 2

  “Come in, Shadow Seven,” he said in the gruff, no-nonsense voice he always used when he had business to discuss. Wolf’s hopes for a mission rose a little.

  “What do you know about the situation in Alfar?” Bartleby asked.

  “Mostly what I read in the briefs,” Wolf replied. “It’s an elf nation across the Gleaming Sea. Split from its neighbor, Jifan, thirteen years ago after a religious uprising caused a coup. The two nations warred for several years before coming to an uneasy truce.

  “The principle disagreement is over who is the proper successor to the prophet, Frey. Jifan is ruled by the more conservative Shendali sect, while, until recently, Alfar was in the hands of progressive Freyalans.

  “Four years ago, Shendali fundamentalists attempted to take over the Alfari government, and the rightful rulers asked for our assistance in holding the country. We’ve had boots on the ground ever since, and our soldiers have struggled to maintain order and prevent sectarian violence between Freyalans and Shendalis.

  “Six months ago, Freyalan and Shendali leaders formed a coalition government in the name of peace. The president of the coalition is Freyalan, but numerous key officials are Shendali. Since then, ethnic cleansing and other elf-on-elf violence has waned, but Jifani-funded terrorists still attempt to destabilize the government with suicide killers.

  “The coalition government wants us to withdraw our troops now, believing both that their security forces are capable of containing the violence and that anti-human sentiment among Shendali fundamentalists will be countered by our withdrawal, thereby reducing the number of incidents, both potential and real.”

  “Very good,” Bartleby said. He looked at Wolf for the first time. “But there’s more. As you know, Alfar is critical to our interests in the cold war with Phrygia. Elves are master artisans of magic, and Alfar is our principle supplier of such goods. Jifan sells to the Phrygians. We therefore need to ensure the Alfari government stays in the hands of progressives and doesn’t fall to the anti-human fundamentalists ruling Jifan.”

  “Which makes the negotiations to withdraw our soldiers from Alfar tricky,” Wolf commented.

  “Precisely,” the chief said.

  “Am I being reassigned to Alfar?” Wolf asked. The thought made him nervous. He was unfamiliar with that theater. For the past several years, he’d been operating exclusively north of the Gleaming Sea, particularly in Phrygia and the states that bordered it.

  “Not yet,” Bartleby answered. “There’s something else we need to look into.”

  “What’s that?” Wolf asked.

  Bartleby motioned for Wolf to sit down. Wolf dropped into a comfortable chair in front of the chief’s desk, while the big man pulled a file from a drawer. He tossed it across the desk to Wolf, who picked it up.

  “Shadow Five’s been murdered,” Bartleby said. Wolf looked up from the file sharply.

  “They got Sara?”

  “Mm-hmm,” Bartleby said, nodding.

  “How?”

  “We’re not sure yet,” the chief replied. “Her body was severely mutilated, torn to pieces. So was the horse she was riding. She was on her way to Al-Adan. Based on the tracks left by the horse, she was going at great speed. She appears to have been thrown forward. The evidence suggests she was being chased.”

  “We’re sure it wasn’t a wild animal?”

  “The bite marks don’t match those of any predator indigenous to the area. The details are in the file I gave you.”

  Wolf nodded and glanced at the documents. He scanned the particulars. They were gruesome.

  “So what do we think killed her?” he asked.

  “Like I said, we’re still working on that. Quincy’s on location,” the chief said, referring to the head of Urland’s Magic Division. “He’s researching magical and Shadow angles.”

  “Do we have any leads at all?” Wolf said. He and Sara Wensley-James had been friends. He wanted to bring her murderer to justice.

  “One,” Bartleby answered. “That’s where you come in.” Wolf looked up from the file. His grey eyes met the chief’s gaze.

  “As you are likely aware,” Bartleby continued, “one of Shadow Five’s abilities was to send messages to select individuals. She had to be well acquainted with the subject and could only choose one or two people at a time.

  “Most recently, she connected herself to Kenderbrick, her controller. This enabled her to communicate with her field officers without actually having to report in. She was a great asset in this way.

  “Before she died, she sent Kenderbrick a one-word message: ‘Silverleaf.’” Wolf cocked his head quizzically. “Sagaius Silverleaf is the Alfari ambassador to Urland.”

  Wolf’s eyebrows raised. He ran his fingers through his thick, black hair. For a moment he didn’t know what to say. The accusation was unthinkable.

  “The Alfari ambassador murdered Sara?” he said.

  “No,” Bartleby replied. “That wouldn’t be possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” the chief said as though it should be obvious, “for the past three weeks, he’s been here in Urland.”

  Wolf sat back in his chair and pondered the implications. Sara was killed by some mysterious power or beast. She fingered the Alfari ambassador before she died. Silverleaf couldn’t have done it by any conventional means, because he’d been here for more than a fortnight. Something about all this wasn’t right.

  “What’s the connection then?” he asked.

  “That,” the chief said, “is what I want you to find out.

  “Silverleaf often spends his evenings at the Dubonney Club downtown. I want you to try to get close to him and see what you can learn.”

  Wolf scratched the back of his head. He thought the chief’s plan was doubtful.

  “Chief,” he said. “That club is for aristocracy only.”

  “And if I’m not too much mistaken, you come from noble blood,” Bartleby snapped.

  “My family disowned me when they discovered I was a Shadow,” Wolf protested. “I can’t make any claims to the title.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, man!” Bartleby sounded as though he might explode. “This is the bleeding Shadow Service. Do you think we can’t pull the appropriate strings to have your title temporarily reinstated?

  “One of my best agents is dead. Somehow the Alfari ambassador is involved. I want to know how, and I want to know why. The key may be at the Dubonney Club, and I intend to use whatever resources I have to find out. So quit crying about your beastly family and go investigate Silverleaf.”

  Bartleby finished and held Wolf with his gaze. Wolf seethed quietly in the chair, his fair complexion turning a dark red. He didn’t care that Bartleby was his commanding officer; the man had no right to speak to him that way. What did he know about being disowned and reviled?

  “You have a job to do, Wolf,” Bartleby said, softening his tone. “We all do. I appreciate that this is awkward for you, but national security may hinge on this investigation. I need you to focus on what’s important.”

  Wolf chewed his bottom lip. He didn’t like it, but the chief was right. He had a job to do.

  “Very well,” Wolf said. “I’ll make reservations for tonight.” He got up and went to the door.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Bartleby said as Wolf was about to exit. “Shadow Five’s death means you’ve been promoted again. You’re Shadow Six now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wolf said after a pause.

  He went out, feeling depressed. He’d been excited when he arrived. He’d gotten a mission at last. But this one left nothing but a sour taste in his mouth. He swore he was going to make whoever was responsible for Sara’s death pay. And if it was Sagaius Silverleaf, the Alfaris were just going to have to find themselves a new ambassador.

  Chapter 2: Thirst for Blood

  (Eleven Months before Revelation Day)

  General Yevgeni Tupelov could barely contain his disdain. How could these politicians and generals be so will
ing to turn their backs on Phrygia? Where was their patriotism, their sense of pride?

  He hated dealing with bureaucrats. It was a waste of his time to be here in Mockba for the military brain trust’s annual comprehensive state of security briefing. He should be out commanding his troops.

  “If we do not reduce our military spending,” General Petrovsky said, addressing the politburo, “we will not be able to fund other critical programs, including domestic projects such as increasing agricultural output.”

  Tupelov rubbed his bald head and glared with his singular eye. Petrovsky was the supreme commander of the Phrygian military. How could a man in his position ask for a reduction in military spending?

  “What do you suggest,” one of the men in the room asked. Tupelov couldn’t remember his name. It didn’t matter. All these politburo politicians were the same – bloated and self-absorbed. None of them appreciated true sacrifice. They lived in their cozy apartments in Mockba while the soldiers froze in the snow and ice, protecting Phrygia from her enemies.

  “We must redirect twelve percent of military funds into the People’s Defense Bureau,” Petrovsky answered. “Another three percent should be added to the budget for the People’s Paranormal Research Unit. These two agencies provide far greater defense of our nation than the military can.”

  Tupelov was shocked. Fifteen percent of the military budget was going to be redirected to the damned Shadows? Was he mad?

  “How so?” a second politician said. Tupelov thought that one’s name might be Mirin.

  “The cold war with Urland does not present any immediate military danger,” Petrovsky said. Tupelov couldn’t believe his ears. “Urland is not in a position to attack Phrygia or her interests directly. The true threat comes from Urland’s Shadow Service and her magical superiority. Urlish Shadows can penetrate our holdings – both military and political – and gather intelligence that can lead to devastating results. We must give greater funding to counterintelligence and intelligence-gathering efforts with our own Shadows in the PDB to effectively gain the upper hand in our struggle with the Urlanders.

  “Furthermore, they have many more magicians in their employ and enjoy a better relationship with Alfar than do we with neighboring Jifan. Thus, they can purchase elfin magic in much greater quantity and at a much lower cost than we. Moreover, Urlish magicians receive training from elfin masters. We receive no such treatment from the Jifanis.

  “Frankly, comrades, we have more soldiers than the Urlanders, but they can’t help us win this critical struggle. We need to be allocating our resources toward more effective weapons – Shadows and magic.”

  “I’m sorry, Comrade General,” the nameless politician said. “You mentioned by cutting military spending, you could fund domestic projects. How does reallocating fifteen percent of your budget to the PDB and PPRU accomplish this?”

  “I am suggesting a total budget reduction of eighteen percent,” Petrovsky answered.

  “What!” Tupelov rose from his seat, unable to contain his anger any longer. Petrovsky glared at him.

  “Fifteen percent of that money will be reallocated to intelligence efforts, and the remaining three percent will fund domestic projects,” Petrovsky finished.

  “And just what will happen to the military personnel, who will be displaced by your eighteen-percent budget cut?” Tupelov demanded.

  All eyes in the room turned to Petrovsky. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  “As many as can will be reassigned to the PDB,” he said.

  “And the rest?” Tupelov said.

  “We need to improve our agricultural output,” Petrovsky said. “They would be given farms, so they can continue to serve the state.”

  “Farms?” Tupelov said, unable to believe what Petrovsky was suggesting. “Heroes of the people will be given farms? The defenders of Phrygia, who have sacrificed so much in her name, will be told to take up farming? This is intolerable!”

  Tupelov felt his voice rising to a shout and was powerless to stop it. These bureaucratic idiots needed to understand what was being suggested.

  “I always knew you had no stomach for war, General Petrovsky,” Tupelov continued, “but I had no idea you had so little respect for the soldiers under your command. This is absolutely outrageous.”

  Petrovsky opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted by Mirin.

  “Do you have an alternative proposal, General Tupelov?” he said.

  Tupelov beamed. This was the moment he’d been waiting for.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” he replied. Petrovsky rolled his eyes and sat down.

  “Members of the politburo, we have two problems facing us, both of which can be solved. First, we do not have as many resources as our Urlish enemies, and, second, Urland has us blockaded from improving that situation. I propose a military solution.

  “General Petrovsky wants three percent of the military budget for magic, presumably so we can buy more from Jifan. But the Jifani government has a decidedly anti-human perspective, so continuing to buy from them at their inflated prices is poor policy.

  “Neighboring Alfar, on the other hand, is more reasonable, as General Petrovsky himself pointed out. There are those within the Alfari government that desperately want the Urlanders out. We can assist them with this effort. We offer them Shadow support to effect a coup and provide military assistance to defeat the Urlanders.

  “In Pushkingrad, under my direct command, are three legions of infantry and one of cavalry. Another two cavalry legions are stationed only a day’s ride away. Thus, we can bring six legions, half of them mounted, to bear on Alfar with a six-day march across Jifan. We can secure Jifani cooperation by leading them to believe we are supporting a coup by Shendali fundamentalists, which will in part be true.”

  “This is madness!” Petrovsky shouted, standing again. “This plan has already been ruled out due to its aggressive and risky nature. What you are proposing is an act of war, and the Urlanders will respond appropriately.”

  “No!” Tupelov yelled back. “Because we will be ready for them. We will set up a naval blockade off the Alfari coast, and send half of our armada to Celia to attack the Urlish fleet stationed there.

  “Simultaneously, our units in East Bretelstein will surge across the border, driving the Urlanders all the way back to Gallica. The Urlanders will be on the defensive before they realize what has happened. With Alfar and Bretelstein firmly in our grip, we will then offer the Urlanders an armistice, which they will have no choice but to take. They will be cut off from the supply of magic, and we have a larger army.

  “We will then be able to acquire magic from Alfar at a greatly reduced cost and receive the magical training Urland now enjoys. Plus, we will have the fertile farmland of West Bretelstein to harvest food for our own people. Our resources will increase substantially, and Urland will be weakened, unable to threaten us in any meaningful way.”

  “And suppose,” Petrovsky said, his voice full of sarcasm, “Gallica doesn’t care for us occupying Bretelstein? Suppose they unite with the Urlanders, with whom they are already allied, to counterstrike into this fertile farmland you’re hoping to exploit?”

  “Then we will crush them too!” Tupelov shouted. “If they will not live peaceably next to us, then we will take their land too.”

  “And how many Phrygians will die in this glorious conquest of yours?” Petrovsky shot back. “How many families must lose loved ones to sate your thirst for blood? Because that is all this is. You are the one who cannot live peaceably with your neighbors, Yevgeni. You are driven by paranoia and rage, and if you do not desist with this mad plan to ignite a worldwide war, I shall have to consider stripping you of your rank and expelling you from the army.”

  Tupelov’s whole head turned purple. The very thought of a milquetoast like Petrovsky expelling him from the military after twenty-seven years of service was beyond infuriating.

  “Make such a threat again, Comrade,” he said, his
voice a low growl, “and I will see your head on a spike.”

  “Enough!” came a new voice.

  Both soldiers turned their heads in its direction. It was Premier Mishkin. He had risen from his seat.

  “I will not have this sort of juvenile squabbling between my generals, especially before the politburo,” Mishkin said. “General Tupelov, your proposal is intriguing but impractical. General Petrovsky, while your proposed budget change is sound, we cannot force our soldiers into farming. They are our most gallant citizens and deserve our respect. Any soldiers that would choose to farm we shall allow, but you must come up with another plan to accommodate the soldiers displaced by your budget reallocations. Do the rest of you agree?”

  Tupelov scanned the rest of the military officials. They all nodded their assent, although some of them didn’t look happy.

  “Very well,” Mishkin said. “Let us move on to the next item on the agenda.

  Tupelov seated himself. His lone eye bored a hole into Petrovsky. He would see that man pay for his insolence, and he would make certain Phrygia didn’t suffer due to the fool’s disastrous spending cuts.

  Chapter 3: Magic

  (Twelve Days before Revelation Day)

  Wolf Dasher entered the Dubonney Club feeling foolish. He was a good-looking man, but he was wearing a stuffed, turquoise shirt with a ruffled collar, an ivory cloak, and matching leggings. He wore an ostentatiously decorated sword on his hip, which he checked at the door along with the cloak. The black, leather shoes with the brass buckles hurt his feet. The outfit was uncomfortable and impractical. It restricted his movement such that it would have been difficult to fight in it. He preferred the lightweight, unremarkable clothes he usually wore on assignment. In this outfit, he felt like an overstuffed peacock.

  But he was dressed appropriately. All of the club’s patrons were similarly attired, and his perfectly chiseled features were drawing stares from the female patrons and staff.