“Because it was a glassdamned monster,” Idrian spat. “That’s why.”
“You’re joking,” Jorfax scoffed.
“I wish I were,” Idrian continued. “Demir, it was your secret glassdancer alarm that saved us all.”
“Squeaks?”
“Yeah. She warned me there was a glassdancer on the roof of the officers’ quarters of the fort. I have no doubt it was the same assassin that killed General Stavri and his officers. I managed to get the drop on him, but when I engaged it was not human. It was taller than me, built like a breacher with skin like a hard shell. It was faster and stronger than me with my armor on, and when I pressed it, the damned thing flew off. It had wings, Demir.”
Demir felt every hair on the back of his neck stand up. In a less serious situation, without Jorfax present, he might have accused Tadeas and Idrian of playing a prank on him. It was the type of thing Tad might do for a laugh. But one glance at both of their faces told him that there was no joke. “Who saw it?”
“I did,” Tadeas said, “Idrian, Mika, Squeaks. A dozen engineers and seven soldiers. Whatever it was, it was there.”
To Demir’s surprise, Jorfax paled and sank down on a crate next to Idrian. It was the first time he’d ever seen her lose her composure, and it was almost as shocking as Idrian’s revelation. She said, “I thought sentries were just making things up.”
“What do you mean?” Demir asked sharply.
“I mean, about eight weeks ago, well before this bullshit war, the garrisons at two of our northern forts sent reports back to the Ministry of the Legion that they’d seen some kind of large animal in the sky at night. It was a strange report, but nothing came of it, so we ignored it. It could have been anything, after all – an albatross, or a trick of the light, or just some sentries bored out of their glassdamned minds.”
Demir might have lambasted her if he didn’t agree. It was nonsensical, and the Ministry was right to ignore such reports. Until suddenly they weren’t. “So what is it?” he asked. He didn’t think he could feel any more helpless, not after having his mind so firmly reject that witglass. But here he was, floundering, presented with something so far outside of his experience that not even the old Demir could have planned for it. “A Grent weapon of some kind? The results of godglass experiments?”
“Idrian and I have been talking about it for three days,” Tadeas said, “and that’s our best guess. Godglass that gives you pissing wings. Think of that.”
“There’s more,” Idrian said. “More of whatever that was.” He glanced at Tadeas and then continued, “Right before the Torrent, Squeaks was taken off guard duty because she said she saw a monster in the forest. She said it was short, with a long neck and a delicate face. Oh, and an underbite. Definitely not human. It even disappeared when she looked at it. Valient and I thought she was just exhausted and seeing things, but I’m not so sure anymore. There may be more of them, and we need to be ready.”
Demir felt a cold finger move up his spine. That sounded a lot like the face he’d seen in the window of his mother’s study when he first returned to Ossa. Was he being followed by some otherworldly presence? He tried to shake off a sudden bout of the chills.
“So we have a flying glassdancer,” Demir said, “and a disappearing monster with an underbite. Sweet godglass, how the piss do we plan for monsters?” He inhaled sharply, part of him wanting to go looking for that piece of witglass again. Maybe if he tried just one more time. Maybe if … He stood up, turning his back on his three guests, staring at the wall of his tent. There was a new hole – a gaping one – in his half-constructed plans. He didn’t even know how to deal with the problems he had, let alone this. Once again he felt the sweet draw of cowardice – of fleeing into the provinces, never to be seen again.
Idrian spoke up. “The winged glassdancer we saw must be what killed those scouting parties. You said your glassdancer didn’t even take the glassdancer egg from his pocket?”
“Correct,” Jorfax answered.
“Of course he wouldn’t. Nobody expects an attack from above. If this winged glassdancer is swooping down on our scouts, it explains why we’ve only lost eight parties rather than all of them. He can only work so fast, after all. It also gives us an opportunity.”
“What kind of opportunity?” Jorfax asked.
“A trap. Send out me, Mika, some engineers and soldiers disguised as scouts, and a single glassdancer. When that thing attacks us, our glassdancer will sense it coming – he’ll be paying attention to the sky this time – and then Mika can drive it to the ground with explosives and I can kill it.”
“Ooooh,” Jorfax said, the word almost sensual. “I like this plan.”
Demir did not turn around. The word “disguised” had touched something off in his mind but he couldn’t quite grasp what it was. He could feel the frustration building, like an expert marksman who just couldn’t quite seem to hit the target before him. He forced himself to take a deep breath. To focus.
This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him, not if he was going to protect the people he loved. What had he told himself days ago? No more arrogance. No more foolhardiness. No more crippling self-doubt. He had to shed it all like a snake shed its skin and arise anew with what was left behind. He needed to be the best of his old self and his new self.
Did he even know what his “new” self was? A grifter? A con man? Someone who consorted with cudgelists and fixed fights for money and entertainment? Demir frowned, struck by a sudden realization that he had spent so much time separating his life into “before Holikan” and “after Holikan” that he’d never really stopped to consider that maybe he hadn’t changed all that much.
He still charmed and blustered and organized. After all, what was a political savant but a formalized con man? He’d just lost the confidence to do it in public.
The line of thought brought him back around to Idrian. Disguised. Why was that word tumbling around in his head? Was it because it felt so familiar? All con men needed disguises, but never mind how it was useful to Demir the grifter. How was it useful to Demir the general?
“Demir?” Tadeas prodded. “What do you think of Idrian’s plan?”
Demir whirled to face the other three. “This trap is a good idea. Make it happen. Whatever this monster is, we’ll lure it out and kill it.”
“That’s just one tiny aspect of this conflict,” Tadeas pointed out. “We haven’t even talked about the Grent yet. Or Kerite. I hope you came up with some good battle plans while you were in the city.”
Demir waved off his uncle’s question, still deep in thought. He could feel pieces falling into place – little bits of information scattered throughout his brain coalescing to form a coherent narrative. “Listen, Jorfax is right. I can’t outthink Kerite. She’s the best general in the world. But she only has perhaps seven thousand mercenaries, right? The rest of her forces are all Grent.”
“What are you thinking?” Tadeas asked, sitting up straight. He seemed to have noticed a change in Demir’s countenance. Good. Let him take whatever confidence he could get from it.
Demir said, “When I was out in the provinces, I fixed a lot of cudgeling matches. I couldn’t always bribe the judges, but I realized early on that the judges are beholden to the crowd. If a judge thought there was foul play, they would stop the match and investigate. But if the crowd absolutely believed in the fight – if it was just too damned good – no judge would dare to intervene. They went with what the crowd wanted.