1 State of Grace (2 page)

“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 willing 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.

The club dripped with money. This was where wealth met fashion. The idle rich and the powerful gathered here to socialize. The interior was laid out with oak and marble. It was cozily lit with magical light. Portraits of past club presidents and other officials, as well as an enormous one of the queen, adorned the walls. A lounge accommodated those who wanted to simply drink and talk; a restaurant served fine food; and a gaming room offered diversions of another kind.

Silverleaf liked to gamble, according to the file Bartleby gave Wolf. He decided the gaming room was his best bet.

Wolf had no trouble finding him. Silverleaf was seated at a large table playing Conquest with a human noble. Wolf had never seen an elf before, and he was somewhat taken aback. Even seated, Silverleaf was tall. He had skin the color of dark chocolate, and he wore his hair in braids, which were woven with delicate silver chains. His face was the very image of perfection – properly spaced brown eyes, a square jaw enhanced by a goatee, and pointed ears. He wore a blue, sleeveless tunic with silver highlights that exposed well muscled arms, and a large pendant of a silver leaf hung from his neck. There seemed to be a light emanating from him. He was profoundly beautiful in an almost disturbing way. Wolf found it difficult to look at him.

He moved closer to the table to watch the game. A large crowd had gathered and was buzzing with excitement.

“Looks like I’ve got you this time, Ambassador,” Silverleaf’s opponent said. He was a large man, with thinning grey hair. Wolf couldn’t tell if he’d once been muscular and had gone to fat or if he had always been soft. Regardless, he was sweating through his yellow, silk tunic. Wolf, who had no use for fashion, was nevertheless disgusted.

“I’ve got you surrounded,” the fat man continued. “Between my siege engines, infantry and, cavalry, your dragon can’t get them all.”

Silverleaf stared at his opponent without saying anything. He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“Well, I’m an optimist, Sir Leslie,” Silverleaf said. His voice was deep and powerful, but it had a melodious quality to it that was haunting. “What do you say we bet an additional thousand my dragon defeats your forces?”

Wolf’s eyes narrowed. Silverleaf’s wager was outrageous. He clearly had a nearly impossible position.

And yet, Sir Leslie did not immediately accept the offer. Neither did any of the spectators who were allowed to conduct side bets on the game.

“Why hasn’t he taken it?” Wolf whispered to the man next to him, a shabbily dressed noble, who looked as though he couldn’t really afford to be here. The buttons on his coat were tarnished, and the fringe lace was stained and fraying. Wolf suspected he had once been somebody, but that was long ago. He now hung around the Dubonney Club trying to hold on to the last tatters of his name and position.

“The ambassador never loses,” the shabbily dressed noble replied.

“Never?” Wolf said.

“Never,” his new companion said. “He’s very good. Well, very lucky is more like it. He always seems to get the card he needs when he really needs it. It’s uncanny.”

“Really,” Wolf said.

“Some people think he’s cheating, but no one can figure out how he does it. He always plays with his arms bare, so he can’t be hiding any cards up his sleeve.”

Wolf studied Silverleaf. The big elf stared quietly at Sir Leslie, a slight smile on his face. He drummed his fingers patiently. Silverleaf had changed the dynamic of the game. By making his outrageous bet, Sir Leslie had to either accept or forfeit. Because the ambassador always won, Sir Leslie had to consider whether it was worth risking another thousand gold to see if Silverleaf’s luck had at last run out.

“
All right, Ambassador,” Sir Leslie replied at last, mopping sweat from his brow. “I’ll see your thousand. There’s no way out of this.”

Sir Leslie’s confidence seemed to settle the observers. Nearly all of them placed bets on the sideboard supporting the fat noble.

“Last call for bets, ladies and gentlemen,” a
croupier
announced.

“Three hundred on the ambassador,” Wolf said.

The room fell silent. Everyone turned to stare at the newcomer. Wolf smiled roguishly. Silverleaf looked him over with disdain.

“Are you sure, Mr.—?” the
croupier
asked.

“Dasher,” Wolf replied. “Yes, I’m quite sure.” He turned his attention to Silverleaf and met his stony gaze. “I’m sure the ambassador doesn’t want to lose for the first time.”

They held each other’s eyes for a moment. No one said anything. The
croupier
broke the tension.

“Your wages, Mr. Dasher?” he said.

“Oh, forgive me,” Wolf said, turning away at last. He produced a sack of gold coins from his belt and placed it on the sideboard.

“You may play, Ambassador,” the
croupier
said.

Silverleaf returned his attention to Sir Leslie. He tapped his fingers twice on the board and then drew a card. The moment he did, Wolf saw something no one else in the room saw – a flash of magic. Wolf’s Shadow abilities allowed him to perceive its unique energy when it was in use. That was how he knew the light in the Dubonney Club was magical. When Silverleaf drew a card, his left hand flashed green from the eldritch energy it expended. Something was up.

“It seems Mr. Dasher’s confidence was well placed, Sir Leslie,” Silverleaf said as he stared at the card he had drawn. He placed it face up on the table. “Gargantuan.”

There was an audible moan from the observers. Sir Leslie’s shoulders sank.

“I’m afraid that by playing that card on my dragon, I can double its attack and defense values,” Silverleaf continued. “That will be more than sufficient to deal with your soldiers and siege engines.”

“Bloody hell, Ambassador,” Sir Leslie said. “How can you always draw exactly the card you need when you’re in trouble?”

“What can I say, Sir Leslie?” Silverleaf replied with a smug smile. “It’s magic.”

Of course,
Wolf thought as Sir Leslie grumbled about his misfortune. He was disgusted. He hated cheaters.

“How did you know?” the shabby noble asked Wolf.

“You told me,” Wolf said through his teeth. “He never loses.”

“Sagaius,” a woman with a thick Gallican accent whined. “When are you going to buy me a dreenk?”

Wolf caught sight of her and was immediately aroused. She had gorgeous, soft-white skin, immaculately manicured fingernails, and luscious, raven-black hair that fell halfway down her back. Her eyes were an icy blue and were set wide apart over a button nose and two perfectly plump lips, which were painted a deep red. The lower one was stuck out in an exaggerated pout. She wore an orange gown designed to show off her lean body. It plunged dangerously low and was cut out on the sides and back, making it impossible for her to wear undergarments. As he stared at her, Wolf discovered his codpiece wasn’t fitting comfortably.

“Not now,” the ambassador snapped at her. “I’m in the middle of a game.”

Before he had time to think about it, Wolf made a move.

“May I be permitted to buy the lady a drink?” he said.

Silverleaf stared at him again. He searched Wolf looking for his motive.

“Why would you want to do so?” he asked at last.

“Ambassador,” Wolf replied as though it should be obvious. “You just won me three hundred gold. Consider it a very paltry thank you.”

Silverleaf continued to stare. His expression changed, though. He was no longer quizzical. Now he just looked disgusted.

“Very well,” Silverleaf said at last.

“
Mademoiselle
?” Wolf said.

He offered his arm. She approached him with a surprised look on her face.

“
Merci beaucoup, monsieur
,” she replied with a sexy smile.

Wolf breathed in her perfume. It hinted of pears. He tried not to stare at her as she took his arm. He didn’t want to give Silverleaf any cause for jealousy. At least not yet.

Wolf escorted her over to the bar. She never took her eyes off him.

“Cabernet,” he said.

“And for the lady?”

Wolf turned to her and asked the question with his eyes. She smiled.

“Mead,” she told the bartender, continuing to stare at Wolf.

“Very good,” the bartender said, and went to fill flagons for them.

She looked Wolf up and down. He only smiled.

“You know ’e only let you do zat because ’e ’ates Urlanders, don’t you?” she said after a moment. Wolf flashed her a quizzical look.

“Why would he let me buy you a drink then?” Wolf said. “Wouldn’t he refuse me if he hated me?”

“
Non
,” she replied. “’e is forcing you to spend your money. Why do you zink ’e comes ’ere? ’e likes to take money from your people.”

Wolf glanced over at the table. Most of the crowd had broken up. A few of the faithful were hanging on, but they all looked glum. They knew Silverleaf was going to win.
He always wins
. It all was starting to make a certain kind of sense.

“Is that why he cheats?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.

“He’s using magic to make sure he draws exactly the card he needs,” Wolf said.

“I don’t know ’ow ’e does it,” she said. “All I know is ’e always wins, and ’e does it to take money away from your people.”

Wolf nodded. There was a lot more to Sagaius Silverleaf than cards. The elf had some sort of agenda.

“If he hates humans so much,” Wolf asked, “why is he keeping you as a girlfriend?”

“I did not say ’e ’ates ’umans,” she said. “I said ’e ’ates Urlanders.”

Wolf nodded and returned her smile. This woman was incredibly beautiful, and he was pretty sure she was playing the field, despite being attached to a very powerful elf.

“So Gallicans are okay,” he said.

“It would appear so,” she answered. “’e doesn’t seem to complain.”

Presently, the bartender returned with their drinks. Wolf paid him along with a generous tip.

“Why did you offer to buy me a dreenk?” she asked.

Wolf smiled again. He looked deeply into her eyes.

“Because a beautiful woman shouldn’t have to wait for what she wants,” he replied.

She said nothing for a moment. She looked him up and down, and then gazed into his eyes.

“Be careful,
Monsieur
Dasher,” she said at last. “Silverleaf is not a nice person. ’e is a deadly enemy.”

“I know,” Wolf answered, flashing confidence. She smiled demurely. “By the way, I never got your name.”

“Simone de Beausoir,” she replied, blushing a little. “It’s nice to meet you,
Monsieur
Dasher.”

“Call me Wolf.”

“I zink zat would be a bit presumptuous,” she said. “I don’t know you well enough to call you by your first name.”

“Then we should get better acquainted,” he said.

She smiled at him over the rim of her flagon. Then she took a sip of mead, still not taking her eyes off him.

Wolf was growing very attracted to Simone de Beausoir. She was so beautiful, and her accent completely charmed him. He liked Gallican. It had a pretty sound to it, and Gallican-accented Urlish was even better, to his mind. The way she pronounced her soft “th’s” as “z’s” and her short “i’s” as “ee’s” got his blood flowing. She sounded very exotic, and she had a body and a face to match.

“I zink you should quit while you’re ahead,
Monsieur
,” she said.

“And why is that?”

“Because I like you very much, Wolf Dasher, and I don’t want to see any ’arm come to you.”

“And you’re afraid I’ll meet a bad end if we continue this any further?”

“I know you will. Silverleaf will make sure of it.”

Wolf searched the girl’s eyes to see if she was sincere. There was a worried look in them masked by the sexy, confident smile. He decided she was.

“Hmm,” he said. “We’ll see about that.”

He looked back over at the game table. The crowd had broken up, and Sir Leslie was waddling away, his head hung. Silverleaf had obviously beaten him.