The Office of Shadow (64 page)

The steps were just high enough to be an enormous bother without
being an impassable obstacle. Silverdun and Ironfoot hauled themselves up
each one, reaching back to help Faella and Sela up, neither of whom was quite
tall enough to manage it themselves. After twenty steps his back was aching,
and they weren't quite a quarter of the way to the top.

The closer they came, the stronger the repulsion grew. It was painful
now. Not excruciating yet, as it had been when "Ilian" had yanked him into
the bars of his cell, but bad enough.

Halfway up, Silverdun was out of breath, and Sela and Faella were both
struggling. Silverdun and Ironfoot had the benefit of Shadow strength and
resistance, but neither of the women did. Thinking of his Shadow nature
recalled his conversation with Jedron at the pit. Silverdun was dead. But that
was insane. He was Silverdun. In every way that mattered, anyway.

But if Silverdun was truly dead, where was he? Was his true self in
Arcadia with Mother and Father now? Were Je Wen and Timha there,
waiting to blame him for their deaths? And the others he'd seen fall: Honeywell, Gray Mave, all the men he'd killed at the Battle of Sylvan?

Was this Silverdun merely a ghost? Was that what he'd become?

After what seemed like ages, they reached the top of the steps. The castle
loomed before them, giving off waves of reitic repulsion; it was like standing
in front of a bonfire. It burned the skin and stung the eyes. Before them was
a wide door, easily forty feet high. It was opened just a crack.

"Not to be defeatist," said Ironfoot. "But what in hell are we supposed to
do now?"

Silverdun paused. He'd been so intent on reaching the castle that he
hadn't given much thought to what they'd do when they got there. One
thing at a time.

"What, indeed?" he said.

"You forget, Lord Silverdun," said Faella, "that I am a talented girl."

He looked at her. Still smiling, eager even. He realized that he was in
love with her, and always had been.

"What are you going to do?" asked Ironfoot. "Make us all impervious to
iron?"

"No, Master Falores," said Faella. "I'm going to remove the iron."

"There's no way to do that with the Gifts," said Silverdun.

"There is with the Thirteenth Gift," said Faella. "Change Magic reaches
into the very nature of things. I'm not really sure how it works. I'm no Ironfoot. But I believe I can manage it."

"I'll believe it when I see it," said Ironfoot.

"There's just one thing," said Faella. "In order to change something, I
have to touch it."

"No," said Silverdun. "That much iron-it'll kill you."

"Not just that," said Faella. "I'm afraid I don't have quite enough re of
my own to get the job done."

"Meaning what?" asked Sela.

"Meaning I'll need Sela to join us all in Empathy, so I can draw from you
all."

"I can do that," said Sela. Silverdun looked at her. She was looking at
Faella, her head high. She clearly wasn't going to let Faella take the award for
bravery without a fight.

"Ironfoot, can you think of any alternative?" said Silverdun.

"No," said Ironfoot. "But I have a hard time believing this will work either."

"Allow me to surprise you," said Faella.

They linked hands. Silverdun stood between Sela and Faella, with Ironfoot at Faella's other hand. Silverdun opened up and felt Sela flow into him.
He felt the same swirl of beauty and darkness and pain and hope that he'd
always felt from her. But now it was tinged with a keening sense of loss. Silverdun knew that he had caused this feeling, and he cringed. Then Faella
flowed into him as well, and Sela faded into the background. Faella. There
were no words for her. She was simply Faella. That was all she cared to be,
and no matter how much he had tried to deny it, it was all Silverdun wanted.

Faella stepped forward all at once and placed her palm against the door.
Silverdun felt what she felt. It was torture, agony. For an instant they were
all blinded by the pain, by the magnitude of the hurt, the relentless force of
the iron's push.

But then, something changed. Dimly, Silverdun sensed a fleeting
thought coming from Ironfoot: Just like Lin Vo. Silverdun had a little touch
of Insight, and channeled a bit of it to try to figure out what Faella was doing,
but he only caught a brief glimpse, and as soon as Sela noticed him channeling, she threw her own thought at him: Stop that!

There was a crackling sound and a burst of heat: real heat. It burned Silverdun's skin, but then was whisked away. With it went the force of the iron.
The repulsion was still there, but much reduced. Tolerable. Silverdun looked
at Faella's hand against the door. The hand was red and blistering. Her pain,
which Silverdun could still sense, was more than he could have borne on his
own.

Beneath Faella's hand, the door began to change. From the deep black of
iron, it became lustrous and gray. The change spread out in veins from
Faella's fingers, growing like the branches of a tree, each branch sprouting
others. The branches grew and overlapped, and after a few moments the door
was all gray, and Silverdun felt no repulsion from it at all.

Faella dropped her hand from the door and clasped it in her other. Silverdun looked at her face and saw that she was crying.

"I've started the change. I made it into a little binding-it's funny, once
I started it, it sort of took off on its own; there was energy in the change itself,
as the iron became something else."

"What kind of energy?" said Ironfoot. He let go of her hand and touched
the door, rapping against it.

"Oh, I'm sure I don't know," said Faella. "But I sort of nudged it a little
and it turned into re. There's re here, lots of it. Everything here wants to
become it. I don't know how to explain."

A bit of the door chipped away in Ironfoot's hands. "What is this?" he
asked.

Silverdun took the chip and channeled Elements into it. "Cobalt," he
said.

Ironfoot frowned at him. "Geology was a required subject in Elements,"
said Silverdun. "Boring as all hell."

It took all four of them, but with some effort they managed to pry the
door open on its hinges. Silverdun looked at Faella.

"Your hand," he said, pointing. "It's healed."

"Oh, that," she said. "That's not so hard."

The door opened onto an entry hall with a pair of great doors just opposite
the ones they'd entered. It was dark inside, but there were witchlamps on the
walls, and Silverdun lit them. Once lit, they revealed the continuation of
Faella's work; the iron around them turning slowly into cobalt, branches of
gray flowing out in all directions.

"I suppose what we're looking for is through there," Silverdun said.

After a moment, the second doors were changed enough to touch. They
were even more difficult to open than the first, but they eventually gave as
well. Beyond them was a great chamber, also dark, but there was a gray light
flitting in the distant darkness. The slightest footstep echoed in the space
beyond. From within came a quiet droning sound.

"I believe there's someone in there," said Silverdun.

"How is that possible?" asked Sela. "How could any Fae survive in
there?"

"Let's find out," said Silverdun.

He started through the doors and was immediately struck with vertigo.
Waves of re reverberated through the chamber, condensed by the surrounding
iron. It was like walking into water. It was a curious, warm sensation. Not
unpleasant. Like being bathed in warm light. It took a moment for Silverdun
to regain his bearings.

"I can't see a damn thing," said Ironfoot. "Should we chance some light?"

"Let's hold off for the moment," said Silverdun. "It might be best if we
catch whoever's in there by surprise."

They pressed forward. Silverdun could hear his companions' breath
strangely muffled in the cavernous room. They were all breathing quickly.

The gray light beyond was still now, and as they approached it, the
droning grew more intense. Not knowing what else to do, Silverdun led the
way toward it. Whatever the source of the light was, it was hidden behind
something massive in the room, something he could sense more than see
from the way that sounds and re echoed from it.

They reached a wall that cut across part of the chamber, and stopped
behind it.

"Wait here," Silverdun whispered to Sela and Faella. "Ironfoot, you're
with me."

"I want to come with you," hissed Faella. "We both do."

"Ironfoot and I can move in total silence," said Silverdun. "Neither of
you can. Wait here."

Silverdun and Ironfoot continued, making no sound whatsoever. They
came closer to the source of the light, and Silverdun now began to notice that
there were a number of other massive objects in the room. The wall they'd
left Sela and Faella behind was actually the base of one of them. The droning
noise grew as they approached, the light remaining constant.

They reached the edge of the tall obstruction that hid the light. Just as
they were about to peer around it, the droning whine stopped, and the room
grew impossibly silent. There was a slight rushing sound, and Silverdun felt a breeze on his face. The light began to approach them, its reflection moving
along the wall behind it. Silverdun and Ironfoot both drew knives and slid
around the corner.

Approaching them was a glowing silver moth, huge and hovering ten
feet in the air, flying directly at them. It was the source of the illumination;
its body and wings emanated witchlight.

The creature noticed them and flapped its wings, stopping in the air.
Now that it was no longer in motion, Silverdun could see it better. It was not
a giant moth, but a Fae man, dressed head to toe in bright silver armor, a
helmet covering his head entirely. A pair of great wings, composed of silver
so thin it was nearly transparent, emerged from the shoulder plates of the
armor, easily thirty feet from tip to tip.

The flying man reached up and raised the visor of the helmet. He looked
astonished.

His face was that of a Bel Zheret, but his eyes were those of a true Fae.

"Who the hell are you?" he said.

The only perfect battle plan would be the one that
acknowledges that no such plan exists.

-CmdrTae Filarete, Observations on Battle

he catapult was finally finished, no thanks to the lieutenant who wouldn't
stop breathing down Sergeant Hy-Asher's neck.

"Where do we aim?" he said. "Into the main force?"

"No, you idiot," said the lieutenant. "You'd be killing our forces as well.
Aim for the camp on the hill. Take out General Mauritane and the war's as
good as won."

Hy-Asher's men tested the wind and maneuvered the catapult into place.
A private wound the roller handle, and the beam came down slowly and was
hooked into place. With shaking hands, he placed the Einswrath into the
bowl and nodded.