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Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2025-05-30 16:00:16 +0000 UTCThere were places across Vesper where dawn was a soft thing, gentle and graceful. The inching return of light as brought back by the wonders of the First Empire or the painstaking work of lamplighters. A tide of warmth lapping at your feet.
Tolomontera was not one of those places.
Time had whisked away the second the Orrery’s great moons, gold bleeding out of the pale-and-gold light to leave behind a dim glow, dulled. But in the distance, to the east, the verdant star announcing morning crawled ever close and with its approach that the dimness went. The light was turning harsh, like a knife to the eye. It was in that forbidding cast that Song Ren sat with her eyes closed on the front steps of the hospital, laying down her face on her hands as the sixth hour past midnight crawled closer and with it the verdant star announcing morning’s arrival.
To her left, across the broad open space of the boulevard, corpses were still being laid in rows. They had been coming in all night, by pairs and packs, on carts and stretchers. The bodies of students and soldiers broken, made into meat that the blackcloaks lined up across the paving stones. Shrouds were laid over them, but not before a sober-faced lieutenant went around marking down names. Song had tried not to stare, but her eyes kept being drawn back like iron to a lodestone. Counting the dead, row after expanding row.
The guttering lantern in that lieutenant’s hand drew her eye, gaze catching on the dead girl being veiled. Young, Tianxi. Her face twisted in a rictus of pain. Song’s throat clenched. Was that what Aihan would look like, if Song failed to obtain the book? Mother should know better, she had miscarried twice after Yixiao’s birth and almost died from the second time. Aihan was seventeen. Even if the betrothal ran long-
Song forced herself to look to her right, away from the shroud it was her responsibility to off her little sister’s face. Hands folded over her chest, sleeping like the dead even though her body was sprawled uncomfortably across the stairs, Angharad Tredegar slumbered on without so much as a twitch. Song had told her to go to the Rainsparrow, twice – all hostels opened their rooms for free this night, by the garrison’s order – but her friend had insisted on staying here with her. Exhaustion had knocked her out eventually, as well it should.
Song was still awestruck and a little appalled that Angharad had run with Tristan on her shoulders for the better part of a quarter-hour while the dantesvara rampaged after her. She had sat in on Angharad giving that report to Colonel Cao in stunned silence, and would have thought anyone else speaking those words a liar. As the last student to have seen the Lord of Teeth before the garrison caught up to it in the shrine district, Angharad had spent the better part of an hour getting squeezed out of every detail by the colonel before finally being cut loose.
That must have been almost as exhausting as the running, Song figured. Chunhua Cao had been in fine form tonight, every question leading into another and even Pereduri precision challenged by all the details she demanded.
When the bag was dumped on her head, Song barely even twitched. Exhaustion had dulled her as it had dulled the lights above, so instead of giving Wen Duan the reaction he sought she pawed half-heartedly at her back until she had in hand the small bag he had dropped. It was, she found with a frown, full of hazelnuts. Not salted or crusted, only the nuts. Unusual of him. She looked up at Captain Wen, or tried to: the large, bespectacled man was already lowering himself down onto the stairs to her left. Groaning as his bulk cut off her sight of the dead.
“What is this?” Song asked.
“Hazelnuts,” Wen Duan said, rolling his eyes behind golden-framed spectacles. “Try to keep up.”
A beat.
“And eat,” he said. “The tea swill they offered inside won’t keep you going. This might.”
Dutifully, Song opened the bag and crunched a few walnuts with her teeth. Swallowed. It felt mechanical, like loading a pistol. Tiredness had made of her body a machine.
“Maryam will be fine,” Wen said. “Captain Yue inspected her personally and claimed it’s nothing bed rest in a Meadow won’t fix.”
“I know,” Song quietly replied. “I was there.”
Though she had eventually been sent out by the gray-robed physicians. The hospital was packed tight with the wounded from the debacle at Misery Square, the attendants wanted no idlers even if they had a right to be there. She had not been the only captain cast out onto the steps, though the others had left for elsewhere. The Chimerical for those with means, the Dregs for those without. She had declined the invitation from Sebastian Camaron, then again offered through Vivek Lahiri’s mouth.
Song did not have it in her to feign civility at the moment.
Captain Wen stole back a handful of his hazelnuts, crunching loudly and looking down at her like he was giving elementary instructions to a slow child. Song ate another few, half-heartedly. The night had not been as much of a disaster as it could have been, for the Thirteenth at least. Maryam, fresh from drawing too deep, had immediately drawn too deep again – but sharing the burden with Hooks had kept it from causing more than a vicious fever and what promised to be months of nightmares. She would still miss the first few days of classes.
Tristan, though… She had never seen that look in his eyes before. Lost, like he had no idea what to do. Like his bag of tricks had finally run empty. The physicians had said there was nothing physically wrong with him and he needed to sleep, but instead he had turned a pleading gaze on her. As if begging her to give good news. Song had none to give. The bright gold of his contract with Fortuna had gone dull, and though it still existed it looked… fragile. As if pulling on it too much would crumple it.
Song had fled his bedside after that, not even waiting for the sedatives to put him under. She could not face that despair when she had nothing to offer it. Every breath in his presence when he looked like that felt like a sort of failure, but what could she do? If the Lord of Teeth had devoured the shrine and the Lady of Long Odds with it, there might be no mending that wound. Song was well read but no Savant, she did not know. Gods but it felt like she knew nothing at all, sitting here in bleak light as the rows of death to her left swelled ever larger.
“First time seeing so many dead?” Captain Wen Duan lightly asked.
Song did not answer immediately.
She could still see the details every time she closed her eyes. Song had not known Shan Gao well. The captain of the Seventh had been an acquaintance, someone she shared a few cups of tea with while talking business. But she had known him, and now all she could recall of the man was the look of almost innocent startlement on his face before the Lord of Teeth’s foot came down. The spurt of red, gods. Then Captain Anaya from the Twenty-Third, the entire upper half of her gone in a lazy snap of the jaw. The way her legs had kept… standing for a moment after.
There had been lucky ones, too, for a meaning of the word. Nenetl got off with only having her leg pulped up to the knee before her dark-skinned Tinker stole her away. Tupoc had not gone Saint from losing his arm, so he would grow it back given a few days. And Ferranda… It hadn’t even been the beast, for her. A panicked shot from a garrison man went wild and took half her face off. Song could still remember how flesh had dangled, ham on a string.
Song swallowed the bile pooling in her throat, forced herself not to acknowledge the taste in her mouth. If she did she would throw up again.
“More died when the Newborn came calling,” she finally said. “From the melee and the shooting. But never before so many I knew.”
That should not make a difference, but it did. Gods, it did. Wen Duan helped himself to another handful of his own gift, chewing all too loudly. She made herself follow suit, some seed coat slipping through her fingers as she fed herself. There was a pause, both of them chewing. They swallowed.
“On my first rotation after the Rookery,” Wen told her suddenly, “I was assigned to an expedition to Bujia. A ruined town east of the Riven Coast, long abandoned, but some storm had dredged up a temple and the Conclave wanted it looked into.”
Song blinked at him in surprise. Wen never spoke of himself, when he could help it. You could get him to insult a king three hundred years dead for an hour with barely a question, but ask where he’d been born and he would not even pretend to humor you.
“It was easy as assignments get, for covenanters,” Wen said, picking out one hazelnut from the bag.
It crunched under his tooth, shattered with a sound like a small gunshot.
“Hollows avoided the city, there were barely any lemures worth mentioning and we’d be coming in with two galleasses and a full stack company of two hundred Garrison soldiers. It was just a way to get some fresh Arthashastra kids their feet wet before they were sent off somewhere to do real work.”
Wen smiled thinly.
“I’ll spare you the details of how it went to shit,” he said. “Long story short, the storm had also beached some whales and the smell of rotting flesh drew an onjancanu down from the hills. Real old fucker, larger than the bestiaries say they grow. He had a bit of nibble at the carcasses, but then he smelled us poking around the ruins.”
Lierganen called those lemures Old Tyrants, Song recalled, for they were as clever as they were large and it was said that in the time of the Old Night some had ruled petty fiefdoms of hollows. The clever ones were always the worst, for the touch of the Gloam put that cleverness to the service of cruelty.
“How many died?” she asked.
“About sixty garrison men,” Wen said. “It caught us at night and in town, completely by surprise. But it’s not the soldiers I remember. There were ten of us from the same Rookery class, and we were getting drunk in the temple when it attacked.”
He breathed out.
“Only four of us made it out.”
The large captain looked up at the bleak Orrery light, the coming verdant star, and quietly laughed.
“I hardly remember the face of a single one of those Garrison soldiers who died ugly fucking deaths trying to get a bunch of idiot kids out of that town,” he said. “Heroes one and all. But the other Laurels, the scholars I’d been taught with? Them I remember every detail. The mind’s not a fair thing, Song. It cares when it cares, it fears what it wants.”
His voice turned almost gentle.
“You don’t get to choose what shakes you.”
Song breathed in, breathed out. Kept herself flowing like a river, that she might not snag on herself.
“What happened to the others?” she asked instead, for to stop would be to drown. “Those who survived.”
“You’ve met two already,” Wen replied.
She hummed, going through the man’s surprisingly long list of associates.
“Professor Sasan,” she immediately said, and got a nod.
But she frowned when digging for the second name.
“… and the former Forty-Ninth’s patron,” Song guessed. “Dionora Cazal, I believe her name was.”
A mimed tip of the hat.
“It’s not always those you like who make it through,” Wen said, then pushed himself up with a groan. “So treasure it when that does happen, Ren. Good luck shouldn’t go unthanked.”
He stole back his gift of hazelnuts without a hint of shame.
“The Thirteenth made it out without any casualties,” he said. “It’s better than what most captains managed tonight, so stop looking fate’s gift horse in the mouth.”
“It got away, Wen,” Song told him. “It will kill again.”
He shrugged.
“Sometimes they get away, Song,” Wen Duan told her. “Sometimes we lose. If we’re lucky, we get to avenge that loss. If we’re not, well, you learn to live with it.”
He pushed up his glasses.
“Or you burn out,” he added.
“I will not burn out,” Song Ren sharply replied, getting to her feet.
Wen slapped his hands together.
“Good new,” he happily said. “Because Colonel Cao sent me to fetch you about ten minutes ago, meaning you are already running late. Best get moving!”
That utter prick, she thought. But the words were not as acid as they might have been a few minutes earlier, and that was something. Song got up, and even as she heard the captain nudging Angharad awake headed inside.
Morning was not yet there, and neither was the right to rest.
--
It had been hours since the massacre at Misery Square, but the inside of the hospital was still filled with moans and weeping. Song had sat in the steps longer since before the last rotation of the guards, so they did not even ask her plaque as she passed the doors and the harried attendant in front waved her in after asking her name.
“Last door to the right before the shrine,” he said. “The one with all the freight.”
The hospital was an old temple and had kept the shape of one: a two-story rectangular hall with anterooms on either side, ending in a squat tower bearing Lady Knit’s hidden altar. There must have been a hundred beds in that main hall, and there was hardly an empty one to be seen. The second level, which normally served as stockage and dormitories for the physicians, had been filled to the brim with wounded as well. That was where Tristan was, upstairs and hopefully still sleeping.
Song knew she should check, told herself she would. But the thought of if he had awoken, of facing those gray eyes again without answer? She swallowed, her mouth dry as dust, and forced herself to keep moving.
Even now that the lights were dimmed and shadows had crept up on the lime-white walls and floors, the ground floor was a hive of movement. Gray-robed men flocked to and fro, halfway between physicians and priests, moving from one bed to another as they saw to garrison soldiers and students. The blackcloaks were bedridden with everything from a broken foot to the all-too-common scorched eyes, those writhing with the shakes or clawing at nightmares in their poppy-induced sleep.
The oil lamps flickered, burning with a dull drone, and the only sight worse than those who stared at the wall with a broken stare were those few who saw nothing at all. Eyes burned by the breaking of the mirror-device, moaning in their sleep for some god to fix them. Gods, so many wounded.
Three hundred and twenty-one students had survived to their graduation ceremony. On the back of that success, four hundred and fifty-seven new souls had volunteered for the belly of the beast as the fresh batch. Not all of these had been in Misery Square, be they first or second years. Fewer than seven hundred had stood there when the dantesvara first rose, either from lateness or disinterest or even having not yet arrived in Port Allazei. But it had been close to seven hundred.
After tonight, the student count would be on the lower end of the six hundreds.
Most of them had died in the first five breaths of the Lord of Teeth’s entrance, when it shattered the mirror-device. The burst of Glare-charged power that struck Misery Square had killed thirty-eight students outright, either from the initial impact or the violent convulsions that ensued. All of them had been first years save for one, outlining the difference that the graduation ceremony made: the only second year who died from that burst had not died because of the burst but because she fell badly and broke her neck.
Most of the deaths after came from the Lord of Teeth’s slaughter, but only most. When the students panicked and fled, several were trampled to death and the jostling had resulted in even more deaths when the living tide of blackcloaks had to squeeze through the jagged and broken streets leading south towards the Triangle.
Still, the deaths were nothing compared to the number of wounded. It was they who filled the hospital now. Partaking of Scholomance might have hardened the graduates, but it had not made their eyes proof to scorching. Those completely blinded were relatively few, but many had fled because they could now barely see more than moving shapes and keeping their seared eyelids open was an exercise in agony.
And while the panic might have killed fewer than the Lord of Teeth it had wounded ten times as many. Pulled muscles, sprained limbs, cuts and ripped patches of skin. Nasty bruises and torn hair. These were the lesser harvest, the ones that would not warrant the attention of the likes of the goddess who lurked in this place. The worst of the wounded had been tucked away in the anterooms, away from prying eyes, and Lady Knit had been entering them one after another to offer salvation at a price.
Not, Song saw as she walked down the length of the hall, that she was the only one peddling miracles tonight.
At the bedside of those Pereduri twins that Angharad always eyed up a little too long sat Captain Nkosinathi Morcant of the Forty-Ninth Brigade. Had he known when he picked the number, or simply claimed one of the few remaining and still-prestigious plaques beneath a hundred? It did not matter. He knew now and his silence on the matter was an embrace of the meaning. Now all they needed was for the fucking princess to claim captainship of the Nineteenth and they could have another round of pointless infighting.
This time on behalf of Izel, who hadn’t even come to – Song breathed in, out. That was unfair. He could not possibly have known, and she had privately endorsed his absence. He would still have no idea, since the garrison had forbidden students from heading up Arsay Avenue for the night given the risks of lemure being stirred up by all the deaths. Izel was not the enemy, Song already had quite enough of those.
Like the slaver sitting by the Akelarre twins. Nathi Morcant wore muted clothes, compared to his richly dressed first impression: mere tailored Watch formal blacks with a vest striped with cheetah fur underneath. He had adjusted, caught on to grandstanding about wealth winning him no admirers among the second years. Morcant was smiling as he faced the Emain twins, whose bloody hands were wrapped tightly in bandages. The first knuckle of their every finger was gone, the price of having constrained the Lord of Teeth longer than anyone else managed. They had saved ten life a finger easily, though Song suspected that knowledge would be cold comfort.
Her eyes lingered above Morcant’s head, dispensing with subtlety for once. She tore through the lines, uncaring for the terms and hunting for a price. She did not get there, first stumbling onto something else. A single sentence, which required an entire pedantic paragraph after. This ubunjalo he dealt in, he could not simply take it from anyone. He had to take it from those beneath him, a meaning the contract then elaborated on. Beneath in rank, in status. By law. The Tender-of-Reeds laid out strict definitions, which Song tore her haze away from as she reached the height of the three Pereduri.
And now she knew why he had brought slaves. Silently she marked the twins as another pair that would owe Nathi Morcant, but before she could put away the thought their situation took a turn.
“That will be all, Malani.”
“Excuse me?” Nathi Morcant evenly replied.
“I am tired,” one of the twins noted.
“And yet this conversation proves even more tiring,” the other added. “Begone, before we call the physicians to have you removed.”
The man stiffly rose, turning even stiffer when one of the twins cleared her throat and called out.
“Captain Ren, a word?”
Song weighed the choice. Colonel Cao had sent for her, but she was already late and Wen Duan stood a designated receptacle for the blame. On the other hand, did she want to needlessly antagonize Nathi Morcant when he had just spent the entire evening gathering favors? A glance picked out his clean clothes, barely scuffed. Hardly a bruise on him. He must have been one of the first students out.
That should not have settled it, but it did.
Song passed by the leaving Morcant, sparing him no smile, and folded her arms behind her back when she came to stand by the bed of the twins. They were, she noted, the only patients in the entire hall to share a bed. The twins waited until Nathi was gone before turning eyes on her. She said nothing, merely raising a questioning eyebrow. One of them scoffed at the sight. Branwen, she thought. The elder of the two. There were differences to the curve of her lips.
“As if,” Branwen Emain dismissed, answering her unspoken question.
“He put on a Malani name as a peer of Peredur,” her sister sneered. “Not even on the rolls, it is his given name!”
Ah. Angharad had mentioned they were Pereduri traditionalists, proud about the ancient roots of their house.
“The Morcant should have stuck to fishing,” Branwen said. “There is honor to be had in fishing. None in trading men.”
That last part, at least, Song could approve of. She inclined her head in agreement.
“But the Malani is not why we called out for you,” Branwen continued.
The sisters traded a look.
“Maryam Khaimov saved all our lives,” the younger twin said. “And underwent what appears to be severe backlash as a result.”
A half-thought flitted of allowing the misunderstanding to stand, but Song was too exhausted for wiles and it was a dead-end road anyhow.
“Captain Yue claims bed rest in a Meadow will see her through it,” Song shared. “Not so severe as you might think.”
To her surprise, they first answered with humorless snorts.
“Jumping off a cliff can also be healed by bedrest, if you happen to narrowly miss the rocks,” the older Emain dismissed. “Narrowly avoiding impalement does not turn a cliff into a bathtub, Ren.”
“We will remember what Khaimov did,” the younger twin seriously said. “So will others.”
A contemptuous look was shot past Song’s back, and she could guess at whom.
“Some ran, when doom came,” Branwen Emain said. “Some stood.”
“So much for our replacements,” the other twin sneered.
It was not entirely fair, Song thought. Without Scholomance’s boon, many more of the first years had lost part of their sight than the second. It was not bravery to fight the likes of the Lord of Teeth half-blind, it was foolishness. And most of those who had run had not been from fighting covenants – she did not blame Laurels, Savants and Tinkers for running when the teeth came out. Those same covenants in the second year had fielded few brave souls to fight the Lord of Teeth, but not many. Yet Song did not defend the first years, for the truth was the truth.
When doom came, most of them had run.
The scorn of the Pereduri twins was not the first undertone of contempt she had heard so directed tonight. It was a rare thing when the captains of the First and Ninth agreed on any matter, but being less than impressed by the underclassmen had been one such occasion. It would get worse, Song thought, as the list of dead and wounded and the costs extracted by Lady Knit finished tallying up and being spread around town. Before the week was out there would be a chasm between the first and second years, one that would only widen as time went on.
“I will pass on your good will,” Song finally said.
The twins good as dismissed her after, not all that interested in talk beyond what they had to say. Song saw no insult in it. She would have been significantly less gracious than they, missing the first knuckle of all ten her fingers. Besides, she did not want to risk making Colonel Cao wait any longer than she already had. The Stripe instructor’s temporary headquarters would have been easy to pick out even without instructions, as the two blackcloaks standing guard by it and the ‘freight’ she had been forewarned of were plain to see. There was a constant stream of corporals and sergeants entering and leaving, garrison men.
Colonel Chunhua Cao did not have a command in the Tolomontera garrison, despite being the equal in rank of the commanding officer of the island, but as the senior instructor for Stripes she had stepped in and taken control of the situation in the hospital. Her actual grounds to do this were dubious, but she had positioned herself as the spokeswoman for the covenants in Allazei and that was not to be lightly trifled with.
It helped that she was a highly influential Stripe and many among the upper ranks of the Tolomontera garrison were also Academy-taught.
The aides coming in and out were bringing in reports from wounded students, and were then set out with fresh questions as the colonel slowly put together a full account of everything that had happened. A better one than the garrison would be able to get, most likely. Song foresaw in the near future a private meeting of the Scholomance instructors and patrons quickly followed by Chunhua Cao sitting down with the colonel in command of Tolomontera with a mandate to make demands on their behalf.
The door just before the colonel’s opened, and Song froze at the sight of who came out. Of what. The goddess known as Lady Knit was not an impressive figure, as far as deities went. She was merely tall for a woman, and the frame on her elaborate gray robes was slender. But then a second look showed that she was not wearing clothes at all, that her body was no such thing: she was entirely made up of strings. All in varying shades of gray, a thousand thousand strings coming together in a near-perfect imitation of a woman that only revealed itself as other when she moved.
The strings did not all move at the same time, Song saw. Even when you could not make them out, for they were fine threads indeed, some animal part of the brain could tell there was something off.
The goddess did not so much as spare her a look, passing before her with a train of priest-attendants trailing in her wake, and she disappeared into a private room on the other side of the hall. Song shook off her discomfort after a moment, hastening her stride the rest of the way to Colonel Cao’s lair. The guards did not even ask her name before sending her in, one of them merely glancing at her eyes before gesturing permission.
The room had been turned into a makeshift office, a table brought in and covered with papers and a map while all the other furniture save for two chairs had been put up against the walls.
“-so go to the Emerald Vaults and knock at his door until he answers,” Chunhua Cao sharply said. “It’s called a casualty list, sergeant, not casualty guesswork.”
Said sergeant, a young Malani, snapped a cowed salute and ran for the door as quickly as he could. The gimlet eye turned on him promptly moved on to Song, who was silently ordered to close the door behind her after entering.
“You’re late, Ren,” Colonel Cao said.
“Captain Wen did not inform me of your summons until we had already talked some time,” Song said.
It was always, always fair to sell out Wen Duan. The man even said so himself.
“Transparent,” Colonel Cao noted. “But you’re wiped enough you have crumbs on your face, so this once I will let it pass.”
Then the other Tianxi suddenly frowned.
“Are these from hazelnuts?”
Song blinked at the unlikeliness of such a detail being picked out in lamplight.
“Yes?”
“Duan, you son of a bitch,” Colonel Cao snarled. “So that’s where my bag went.”
Song Ren very carefully did not smile. Wen Duan, what a prick, she thought almost admiringly. She was saved further struggle off by a knock on the door. Cao shouted to come in, and moments later a corporal was handing her a fresh report. Leaving her to it, Song approached the table in the middle of the room and let her eyes wander on the large map covering almost a third of the surface.
It was a map of Port Allazei and dense to the eye, its small lines raked and redrawn and heavily annotated. The small iron figurines placed atop it were shaped like grinning monkeys, an incongruous touch, but what they were meant to represent was plain to the eye: the garrison was preparing to fortify Port Allazei. Part of it, anyway.
Assuming the figurines meant watchtowers or forts, the line of defense would run up the border of the Ashgarden, that large ashen field east of the Abbey, and continue north until it hit Regnant Avenue. It was effectively an eastward-facing wall protecting most of the Triangle, focusing on open grounds everywhere it could. Open grounds, Song thought, meant cannons. They were preparing for the return of the Lord of Teeth.
Confirmation it was not dead, though there had been little doubt. She’d had few hopes of the garrison managing a kill after the dantesvara was driven out of the shrine district. The weapons at hand that could reliably harm it were not the kind that could be dragged through a foot race across Allazei.
“Is your curiosity now sufficiently sated?”
Clearing her throat in embarrassment, Song snapped a salute and only then noticed the corporal was gone and the door closed again. Colonel Cao did not seem all that irritated, but neither was she impressed.
“Ma’am,” she replied. “If I may ask…”
“What happened to our friend?” Chunhua Cao finished. “After we shot it up in the shrine district, it fled further east. We lost it at the edge of the old canals and did not dare press further.”
Song hid her grimace. Port Allazei had once been graced with two sets of canals: one that crossed the width of the city just short of Scholomance, long gone dry, and another set of three small canals that went straight south from the northwestern Rhodon Bay. They were called the old canals, as they were the first set to have been built. Some span of them still took water from the bay, though time and nature had reclaimed the rest, but the real trouble was just past them.
The long seaside strip of warehouses that had been meant to accommodate the commerce of those canals was now known as ‘the Nests’, an overgrown nightmare that lemures had turned into a breeding ground. Venturing too close to that part of the city at night would have meant risking a full wipeout of the force pursuing the Lord of Teeth, as the lemures there were legion and highly aggressive.
“There would be no need for fortifications,” Song slowly said, “if the creature was expected to stay there.”
“That is incorrect,” Colonel Cao replied. “The addition of a such a great predator to the vicinity of the Nests is certain to drive away other lemures from their former territories by knock-on effects, which will push them towards other grounds.”
Like the Triangle. Song’s eyes narrowed.
“But lesser lemures would not warrant so many watchtowers,” she said, gesturing at the figurines.
For the vast majority of the smaller breeds, barricades were enough. The colonel held her gaze a moment, then nodded in approbation.
“Questions have been raised as to whether what you faced tonight was truly a Lord of Teeth,” Colonel Cao said.
Song stilled.
“Pardon?”
“Dantesvara do not eat shrines, Song,” the older woman said. “And doing so certainly does not appear to heal them as it did this particular specimen.”
“It healed?” she hissed out.
“We have the description of it that your Skiritai gave,” Colonel Cao said. “By the time our main forces engaged it in the shrine district, most of those wounds were gone.”
Had it been feeding on the divinely tainted aether of the shrines? Why should that even aid it? Even if Ishanvi’s suggestion that Lords of Teeth were remnant gods was true, you couldn’t just shove any kind of aether into a starved god. They would sicken or turn mindless, not heal.
“Besides, dantesvara are territorial but they are also deeply craven,” the older woman continued. “When fights turn badly on them, Song, they run. That this one risked its life to try and collapse our student body into a layer is more than merely unusual: it goes against everything we know about the creatures.”
“So it was a fake, another creature taking its shape?” Song asked.
“We do not yet know,” the colonel said. “That a Lord of Teeth would be on the island is absurd in the first place. There is no reason for one to be here, and we do not believe Scholomance has anything to do with it.”
Song frowned, for who else could be responsible? Colonel Cao looked amused.
“If Scolomancia could reach so far away from its grounds, girl, we would all be long dead,” she said. “Lord Asher was around when the school was last open and he is adamant that it never used a dantesvara against us before."
Lord Asher was still on the island? She had heard no rumor of it, and the ship that had brought him was long gone.
“It was strange how it was able to come so close to us without alarming anyone,” Song slowly said. “Size aside, it first appeared in the old palace and any patrols on the southern end of Arsay Avenue should have had a fine line of sight on that.”
None of them had raised an alarm. And they had been paying attention, because the guards there had quickly moved to reinforce the students when the slaughter began. Twenty-three, they’d been. Three had survived.
“It is stranger than you know,” Colonel Cao said. “I’ve gone through garrison reports, and no route makes sense: it would have needed to duck several patrols to get so close without anyone noticing, and that is simply not how Lords of Teeth operate. Either someone is controlling it…”
“Or it did not come through the streets,” Song said, “but through another path. A layer.”
“Only there is no known layer that has a dantesvara in it,” Colonel Cao said, tone frustrated. “And even if there were, it would be an internal construct to that layer – it would not exist outside it.”
“If it were some sort of false lemure,” Song said, “why would it eat the shrines?”
“Because they bear highly concentrated aether,” the colonel replied without batting an eye. “That’s essentially what gods are made of – tainted, concentrated aether. It wouldn’t be able to consume the gods outright, mind you, not unless it was compatible. It’d need to dissolve them first, melt them down.”
And it could not possibly be compatible with all it had eaten, since word had it at least a dozen shrines were gone.
“Digest them,” Song quietly said. “It would need to digest them.”
Which meant the gods it had consumed were not yet gone and she might be able to look Tristan Abrascal in the eye again.
“Speculation, all of it,” Colonel Cao said. “We need answers, Song, and there are two schools of thought about how to get those answers. It’s why I sent for you.”
Chunhua Cao went rifling through a drawer and drew a rolled-up scroll, which she tossed Song’s way. There were two sheets, she saw as she unrolled it. The first was a formal answer to her request by Colonel Azocar, commanding officer of Tolomontera. He was, she read with gritted teeth, denying her request. She had genuinely not expected the answer, for she was not even outright requesting that Orel Poltava become a sanctioned blacksmith.
Her request had merely been that the Izvorica blacksmith might be tested for proficiency in producing goods of use to the garrison and student body. Which Poltava had sworn she could, and that would allow Song to slip in most of the other Izvoric through the net as apprentices or family. Only Colonel Azocar had flatly refused to entertain the notion. Her eyes flicked up to Chunhua Cao, who nodded. So she knew.
“Why refuse now?” she asked. “He could have killed it through the test instead.”
“Because bigger names than you have tried to get tradesmen in Allazei,” Colonel Cao said. “If he agrees to your request now, he then has to justify every past refusal.”
Song grimaced. Her displeasure was certainly the least fearsome one on the table.
“Then either they become auxiliaries or they will be expelled from Tolomontera,” she tiredly said.
“You’ll need signatures to even get a contract considered,” Colonel Cao warned. “And from legitimate officers. Covenanters, preferably.”
“So teachers,” Song said.
The older woman inclined her head. This was also getting by on technicalities, she knew. Officers of the Watch could contract with third parties, ‘auxiliaries’, to obtain goods or services necessary for the fulfillment of their duties. Scholomance students were all warrant officers by default, which meant Song might be able to squeeze through there even though eyebrows would be raised. Colonel Cao’s warning was that using a technicality would not be enough to get her dismissed from the start, but that if she did not get some impressive names signing the proposed contract then it would get nowhere.
So that meant either getting individuals of influence on Tolomontera involved – preferably covenant instructors, all of which were very well connected – or striking a bargain through a well-connected student to draw their patron’s backing. The First Brigade or the Ninth could deliver the help of such a patron, maybe the Third. She flicked up a glance at the colonel, since before her stood one of the best-connected covenanters on Tolomontera.
“I am not unwilling,” Colonel Cao said. “And there is something I want of you.”
Her lack of elaboration turned into a silence, and when three seconds had passed it became clear the colonel had no intention of saying anything yet. Song took the hint.
“Noted,” Song breathed out, forcing calm, and moved on.
The second sheet was her own personal request. It was a list of known holders of the ‘Book of the Lofty Mountain’, and it was distressingly short. Lord Idwal Cadogan. Forquet the Vagabond. The royal archives of the Calendar Court. Song swallowed. House Cadogan was one of the leading houses of Peredur, best known for their ownership of the Black Mountain – also known as Tintavel, the prison-fortress where Angharad’s father was being held. Forquet the Vagabond was an ancient and infamous devil, who wandered the world stealing secrets to furnish his grand library in Pandemonium.
She might as well make the request of the Lightbringer himself, for the difference it would make. No, untrue. Lucifer had better odds of lending her a book than a Pereduri great lord and Forquet was legendary for stealing books, not the opposite. As for the last… I am no daughter of the main line, Yaotl Acatl had said, but I am not in disfavor with my blood. Gold, books, weapons – much can be obtained by sending a single letter back to Izcalli.
Her fists clenched and she had to master her breathing. The bridge was burned. Keep moving. She looked up.
“You said you sent for me for a reason,” Song said. “It is not about the Izvoric, so it must be about the book.”
Colonel Cao nodded in approval.
“As I said, there are two schools of thought on how to unearth what that Lord of Teeth truly is,” the colonel said. “The first is to kill it and look through the remains for answers. Marshal de la Tavarin has been… enthusiastic about what he considers to be an opportunity.”
It was not a sure thing, Song thought, but if that creature was slain? Then anything inside its belly might just be freed – including Fortuna. Only the colonel was not finished, and thus neither was Song.
“And the other school?” she pressed.
“Lord Asher’s own inclination, and mine as well,” Colonel Cao said. “Scholomance has a library. The Glass Repository.”
Song blinked.
“This is the first mention I hear an officer speak of it,” she slowly said.
There had been tales, of course, of such a thing being seen in the distance when walking the grounds of Scholomance. She had even caught a glimpse of what might be such a structure, on occasion, but the silence of the Watch had led her to believe it was a mere trap of the god in the walls. If it tried to trick students with treasures, why not knowledge?
“Because we haven’t been able to get back inside,” the colonel said. “When the Watch first returned to the grounds and nailed down the paths to the classrooms, Scholomance was able to keep us away from the Repository.”
“Why would it care so much about the library?” Song frowned.
If anything, a large library with many dark corners sounded like a golden opportunity for the god to eat a few distracted students.
“A god ran it, last we had access,” Colonel Cao said. “And he was said to have great insight on the school and the layers around it. If anyone can tell us where that Lord of Teeth came from, what it truly is…”
“It would be that god,” Song finished. “And you think he might be able to help me learn what is inside the book?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Chunhua Cao said. “There’s one name that didn’t make it into that list, Song, because it was judged a dead end.”
Her brow rose.
“Who?”
The colonel gave her a meaningful look.
“Who built that library?”
“Lucifer,” Song disbelievingly said. “The Lightbringer had one of the copies of the Book of the Lofty Mountain?”
Why would he want one? It was not a book about inflicting curses but the opposite.
“And not one of those accounted for in the list,” Colonel Cao said. “Our archives claim he had that copy in his possession in 57 Accords.”
Song’s fingers clenched.
“Two years before he invaded Tolomontera,” she said.
The colonel nodded.
“It is not a sure thing,” Chunhua Cao warned. “But the copy has not resurfaced since, as far as we know. So if it still exists…”
“It will be in the library of Scholomance,” Song quietly said.
The colonel thinly smiled.
“Indeed.”
“Why tell me all this?” Song asked. “You won’t have done the same for all the other Stripes, and this is not the way you play favorites. You even dangled a signature. What do you want, colonel?”
Chunhua Cao smiled.
“Lord Asher will get his way, but so will the Marshal. Sign ups will begin within days: crews to explore the depths of Scholomance, but also to hunt the Lord of Teeth. I want you and Khaimov after the library.”
Song breathed in sharply.
“My contract,” she said. “You want my contract on the job.”
“And Khaimov’s northern witchery,” Colonel Cao said. “Yue claims she has the most sensitive logos of your year, the two of you are the finest navigation pair we have at hand.”
“And if we sign-up for the library,” Song said, “you’ll put your signature to the auxiliary contract.”
“I will,” Chunhua Cao simply replied.
Her name alone, Song thought, might be enough to get Colonel Azocar to sign off on the contract. Maryam would get what she wanted, Song would be put on the road to keep her sister away from a shroud and it would come at a small, simple price.
Leaving Fortuna to rot in the belly of the beast.
Comments
Nathan Fish
"Time had whisked away the second s//of/ the Orrery’s great moons, gold bleeding out of the pale-and-gold light to leave behind a dim glow, dulled." "But in the distance, to the east, the verdant star announcing morning crawled ever s/close/closer/ and with its approach s//that/ the dimness went." "Song forced herself to look to her right, away from the shroud it was her responsibility to s//??/off her little sister’s face." "Dutifully, Song opened the bag and crunched a few s/walnuts/hazelnuts/ with her teeth." “Good s/new/news/,” he happily said. "They had saved ten s/life/lives/ a finger easily, though Song suspected that knowledge would be cold comfort."
Scott's Folly
"Three hundred and twenty-one students had survived to their graduation ceremony. On the back of that success, four hundred and fifty-seven new souls had volunteered for the belly of the beast as the fresh batch." Taking us to 778 students in total. If not for the Lemure attack, I would have expected to lose one anyway, purely on the basis of significant numbers.
Joe Rachman
It turned up in my email. I think EE may have accidentally sent or posted it early. It's really a very good one btw.
alreaper
I got a notification for chapter 12 but there isn't one. Am I hallucinating now?
Patneu
The Skiritai cannot get Ferranda back by killing lemures in the Acallar, because she didn't die in there. Sadly, she stays dead.
Lucas E Burgan
So what is this gonna do to the desire to get folks back via the alcaller and the steel list? How many freshman do you save to get Fernanda back? This mass casualty even has to change the logic around using it. Also who the fuck profits from attempting to kill y2 of the of scholomance? This level of complexity and power feels like something only the watch and state actors could pull off. This looks like an act of war against the watch.
Poop McScoop
Angharad would be useful in Death Hogwarts. Her foreseeing was definitely useful on Isla Muerta, and there are a few captive lemures. Tristan has thrice uncovered ancient secrets (sleep feather, rocks fall chamber, and God killing tutoring.) I do think that it would be interesting to have Tristan with a bunch of Skiritai jarheads that don't respect him, especially if Tupoc is in that group.
PoiDess
Well, they’ll probably put it to a cabal vote. The discussion’s bound to get spicy, but I think they’re bound to split the party. Izel, maryam and song for the library hunt, angharad and tristan for the lemure hunt. The sword and the skulker’s no use in death hogwarts, and will be liabilities vs the aetheric tinker, the navigator, and magic truth eyes
PoiDess
I honestly think tristan would be on board with the library hunt vs the lemure hunt. They’re not a slaying cabal, and odds are forbidden lore would help them hunt and kill the thing anyway. And knowing the unluckies’ luck… the worst case scenario would be the lemure popping up within scholomance anyway
Alex
Did Nerei transform into a Lord of Teeth? A test for the students and a way to rid Tristan of his weakness by removing the god corrupting his soul after his near-sainthood? Who better to eat the divine than a heresiarch, described by Fortuna as "discordant" to gods.
Nicolas
If I really pray hard, I’ll pause reading until January
Nicolas
I really hope I can take a break from the story until like September or something
