Idrian caught sight of glittering movement in the corner of his eye and dove to the rooftop, rolling across the shield, followed by the sound of dozens of shards of glass slamming into the roof tiles right where he’d been standing. He pulled his shield up to cover his eyes, the feel of a thousand little cuts brushing across his ankles, shredding his uniform pants and the skin underneath it. Against all instincts, Idrian dove forward, forcing the glassdancer to the edge of the roof until the two of them were close enough that he could feel the other’s hot, sour breath on his cheeks.
It was the first time he’d gotten a good look at the glassdancer’s face, and what he saw made the blood freeze in his veins. That helmet with its crab-like ridges wasn’t right. The eyes were too far apart, the mouth too low. It wasn’t a helmet at all. It was a face.
This glassdancer – this thing – wasn’t human.
The two remained there for a heartbeat, the massive glassdancer just on the other side of Idrian’s shield, before Idrian registered the sounds of alarm going up all around them. The glassdancer opened its jaw, unhinging it horribly, stretching its long neck over Idrian’s shield. Idrian almost didn’t respond. This couldn’t be real, could it? Another manifestation of his sick mind? At the last moment he dropped his shoulder and shoved, hearing the sound of a jaw snapping shut just over his head. The creature reeled back into thin air.
What Idrian had taken for a cloak unfurled into massive wings, beating so hard that they almost drove Idrian to the ground. The light caught the beast for a few moments, showing Idrian that the armor was hard shell, and what he’d taken for steel-shod boots were clawlike feet. The glassdancer shot upward into the night air with impossible speed, quickly getting lost to Idrian’s vision. Idrian backed away from the edge of the roof, staring upward, waiting for the glassdancer to return. The whole night was filled with the sound of the garrison and their guests arming for battle. If there was anything to be heard of the glassdancer, Idrian couldn’t make it out over the sound of his allies.
He was still staring into the sky when Tadeas joined him on the roof, sword and pistol in hand, Mika on his heels and holding a pair of grenades. They were both wearing heavy cloaks that covered all but their eyes – the best defense against a glassdancer. Idrian looked at them, then back up into the sky, then back at his companions.
“Tadeas,” he said, hearing the desperation in his own voice. “I’ve done it. I’ve gone mad. I just … I just … I fought a…” He could not make the words come out. Even now, moments after the glassdancer was gone, he was having trouble describing it in any terms that made sense. He must have gone completely insane.
“You’re not mad,” Tadeas responded grimly. “I saw it from the roof of the barracks. So did Mika. I’m not sure who else, but it glassdamned flew away.”
Relief washed through Idrian, a sigh escaping his lips that what he’d seen was actually real. The feeling was quickly followed by terror. That glassdancer wasn’t human. It was strong enough to shrug off a disabling blow, and fast enough to dodge those that followed. What kind of a creature was it? Could godglass do all that? Was it some Grent monster? Or was it something else?
“Get everyone on high alert in case it comes back,” Tadeas ordered Mika. “And Idrian, you’ve been damn well shredded. Get out of the open and get some cureglass. It’s gonna take all night to pick glass out of you.”
Idrian could feel the cool air on a thousand little cuts on his legs and his right shoulder. He didn’t want to look. He was probably bleeding badly, and the pain would be worse if he weren’t wearing milkglass to counter his sightglass. He kept his eyes on the sky, his sword and shield still at the ready. What was that thing? Better yet, how could he possibly be prepared to fight it if it returned?
45
Demir’s cell deep in the Maerhorn was a small stone room with the luxuries of a fireplace and writing desk. It was lit by gaslight and smelled like the chamber pot in the far corner, its only ventilation coming from a series of tiny holes drilled through the thick stone at the top of one wall. Demir sat on the threadbare bed, his knees pulled up to his chest, still wearing the uniform that he’d rushed back to Ossa in the day before.
He had slept. Pure exhaustion necessitated it. It had been an angry, delirious sleep, and he felt no better for it.
Every attempt to maintain his confidence had failed him. He’d made a mistake, a serious misstep, and now that he’d stumbled, the consequences for his actions and his arrogance would catch up with him. It was a deeply unpleasant thought that rolled around his head like a cannonball on a ship’s deck. How to stop it? Was there any way? Or had he pushed himself too hard and managed to break himself all over again?
He didn’t think he was broken. He knew what that felt like, and the only thing that had ever come anywhere close was fearglass. A misstep. That was all it was. He could get out of this, perhaps even profit from it. But how? He was in a dungeon beneath the Maerhorn. He’d attacked the son of one of the most powerful men in Ossa. He’d done other things too, but had expected to have the time and glory to sweep them under the rug.
He sighed and let his head loll back against the cold stone wall, only to snap forward again at the distant sound of an opening door. He could hear voices, though not make out the words. Another door, closer, opened and then closed again, and Demir peered through the flickering gaslight toward his own door. It was heavy oak, with a small barred window. The tramp of footsteps echoed just outside of it and he saw the flash of passing figures. A couple of Cinders, and Capric’s long black hair and sharp profile.
Capric looked toward him for a split second as he walked past, their eyes meeting briefly.
Demir listened to the footsteps retreat. He should have done this whole thing differently. He’d let his broken self, rife with emotional cracks, take over when he should have walked it out with skyglass and witglass, allowing himself to process Capric’s betrayal fully before responding to it. Just a few minutes to calm down was all he would have needed, and he would have seen how much better it would be to destroy Capric slowly, bleeding him out from every direction over the course of years. Capric wouldn’t have even known they were enemies.
Demir’s self-recriminations were brought to a halt by the sound of more footsteps, and the unmistakable rolling of wooden wheels across cut stone. They stopped outside his cell. The door was unlocked, and a lone Cinder pushed Father Vorcien’s wheeled chair into the small room and up beside Demir’s bed. Demir glanced at Father Vorcien’s unreadable face, covered in glassrot scales, eyes traveling up and down Demir as if to strip him naked and read all his secrets.
The door remained open and the Cinder stood just behind Father Vorcien. It was an older woman – a glassdancer, though Demir could sense no glass close enough to affect it – and she kept her hand on the hilt of her forgeglass-studded smallsword.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” Demir said, licking his palms and drawing them over his head to slick back his hair. “Otherwise I would have cleaned up the place. Please, have a seat.”