Peculiar Soul

Chapter 27: The Razor's Edge

Chapter 27: The Razor's Edge

It should be evident by now that the War is not the same species of conflict as prior, lesser wars. This is not the polite squabbling of warlords or some noble feud; the Safid mean to make the world Safid.

Not the continent, gentlemen. The world. It is folly to think that Ardalt will be able to take its ease on our mainland and abandon the continent to its fate. We watched from afar as the Safid destroyed one ancient enemy after another, and now our own Gharic brothers face their ire.

Each time the enemy falls, they turn to the next. If there is a Safid peace on the continent then an Ardan war will surely follow. The only real question is whether that will come before or after they make their war on Mendian - and before that gives you hope, gentlemen, consider Stellar. The current Star of Mendian is not a young one, and when her time comes to a close the soul will be born anew.

In the past, nations were loath to violate the terms of the Third Mendiko Exception. Oh, men have tried - and have learned to their chagrin that Mendians might does not rest solely with that soul. Withholding Stellar from the Mendiko has been tantamount to suicide since that particular Exception was proclaimed.Updated from

Yet it is highly likely that a new Stellar would arise within Safs own borders, especially if they control the continent by that point. A Safid Stellar, the first in centuries to stay and lead the Cult of the Sun. It is not fantasy, gentlemen. It is the future looming larger with every second of inaction this body visits upon the War.

Approve the damn appropriation, as you approved the last and will approve the next. Your dithering is theater, and I am at long last too tired to pretend otherwise.

- Carolus Altenbach, address to the Assembly, 2 Seed 688.

Thats a decent bruise, Charles said, eyeing the blot of purple on Michaels jaw. Especially for a man who looks as though he hasnt eaten in a week. He gestured at Luc, who was groggily chewing on some of their travel food while Gerard and Sobriquet observed. Are you sure hes in any state to guide us through the camp?

Michael shrugged, idly rubbing a hand over the bruise. Its a better option than waiting on me to look in every tent and pavilion. Hes been inside before, he can lead us right to the command area - and hopefully to the files were looking for. Less time inside is less risk, even if he has to lean on us a bit.

Annoyingly sensible. Charles turned to Clair. Anything stand out during your talk with him?

No, she said. But my opinion isnt the one that matters. Her eyes moved to Sobriquets dizzying form for a moment, then slid back. I dont think there will be anything. He seems lucid and willing to help, provided we can help him in return.

Charles snorted. I should hope were in a position to help him escape. If we cant, it doesnt bear well for our own fortunes. He looked back at the other group. Still, I have to admit that hes held up well for an unsouled. I wouldnt fancy my own chances in this camp, from what Ive seen.

Hes no stranger to rough conditions, Michael said. For better or worse. Im less worried about Luc in the camp than I am Gerard.

His statement earned an unkind look from Charles. Gerard wont be an issue, he said. It was only the surprise of seeing the Swordsmen up close, before. Worry about your own troubles before borrowing his.

Clair bent down to pick up some of the clothing they had collected - after a hurried wash the prisoners rags were still stained and torn, but no longer stinking of the corpse-pile where they had found them. It was not these that she withdrew, however, but the Ardan uniform they had pilfered from an inattentive laundress. It will be dark soon. We have a limited window after twilight comes; Luc said that past a certain point the only prisoners left in camp are those picked to serve or entertain the soldiers. We want to be gone before then.

She tossed the bundle to Michael. Be ready to go. Well leave as soon as Sobriquet is done vetting our guide. It shouldnt be long.

Michael nodded and shook out the uniform. It had evidently been stolen before the laundress could attend to it, and was stained on the lapel with something dark and unidentifiable; the rest was clean, if not fresh. He sighed and shrugged out of his own shirt, looking over at Sobriquets conversation with Luc as he did so.

What were they talking about, he wondered? He was not so vain as to think he was the only topic of conversation that could arise, as little as he trusted Sobriquets assurances that it would not pursue his secrets via that route. It had heard more than enough during Lucs prior rant to pique its interest, certainly.

He bent to lay his own shirt to the ground; when he raised his head again Clair and Charles were looking curiously in his direction. I think the sizing is okay, he said. Ill know in a moment...

He trailed off, noticing that they were not looking at his clothes at all; their eyes remained fixed on his scarred arms, his mismatched hands made obvious now that the discontinuity at his wrist was visible. Michael looked too, for a moment. He had long-since stopped noticing the scars, and had tried his utmost not to think about the hand. There was no pain or other niggling reminder of its existence so long as he did not focus on it, and it was far from the only horror competing for attention in his mind.

I suppose it helps me to look the part, Michael quipped, holding his arms out with their scarred backs facing up. The rest of me doesnt look very accustomed to battle.

Charles coughed. Heres where I can tell that youve never actually talked to anyone who worked for a living, if you think thats normal for enlisted men. And your hand- He broke off as Clair jostled his elbow, although he did not seem particularly abashed. I dont think those marks would help you blend in as readily as you expect, he said.

Michael glanced at his arms, then let them drop. Youre probably right, he said. I dont want some passing Swordsman to feel compelled to add to my collection.

You have some history with Cutters, then? Charles asked, heedless of Clairs annoyed frown. Were not going to have any problems from you in the camp, are we?

I dont mind Cutters, Michael said. There was only ever the one that was a problem for me, and the only trace of him I expect to see in camp is his signature. He pulled on the uniforms shirt and shrugged. Dont worry about me.

Clair regarded him for a moment, then shook her head. No more than usual, you mean. She bent down to grab her own clothing from the pile, then waved her arm lazily at Sobriquet. The apparition paused in its conversation, and Clair disappeared from view. A shirt materialized and dropped to the ground.

Come on, her disembodied voice said. Lets be about it.

Michael donned the woolen jacket, feeling the scratchy fiber against his neck. It itched, a constant reminder of its presence; he wondered if that was intentional. How odd that it should be harder to become accustomed to such a thing than it was to accept his abomination of a hand or Sparks infiltration of his soul.

Perhaps in a calmer environment they could have been left to chafe, and not to settle comfortably into the unseen corners of his mind. Perhaps, yes - were such a thing as calm to ever find its way into his life. Michael sighed and bent to grab the trousers.

The border of the camp was the manor houses old wall, a crumbling stone fixture that barely rose to waist height. Its run was interrupted here and there by craters, or by sections where the stones were simply missing - washed out by the weather or taken for some more pressing purpose than demarcating the abandoned property line of a family long-departed from this land.

Nevertheless, the wall was an inviolable barrier between the squalor of the prisoner camp and Severs central compound. Men with rifles stood sentry along the perimeter, and none dared approach the aged stone save for the short queues at the access roads.

There were no entrants waiting at the gate as they approached. Michael could feel the eyes of the camp on them; after so many days spent under Sobriquets shroud it was doubly-unnerving to be watched by so many.

Michael worked hard to keep the tension from his expression as their group approached the gate guard; it was easier when he could check his own face without the use of a mirror. Seeing himself in a soldiers uniform was an odd sensation, stirring childhood memories of mock wars fought between wooden figurines on his bedroom floor. That particular fantasy had not survived his fathers attention.

The guard tossed off a weary salute and extended his hand. Michael did the same as casually as he could muster before handing over a folded slip of paper. Emil, as it happened, was a forger of some skill. The work order he had produced was very convincing to Michaels eyes, but nevertheless his heart beat quickly as the guard scanned through it.

About time they start fixing this shithole up, the man grunted, handing the paper back. You know if theyre going to do anything about the latrines?

Michael shook his head, slow and languid despite his racing mind. If they are, I didnt hear it, he said. You know how it is.

The other soldier snorted in amusement. Thats the truth, he muttered, swinging the gate open for them. All right, head on in - and keep em quiet. Swordies are in some sort of mood today.

Thanks, Michael nodded, motioning for the others to walk ahead of him. Charles, Clair and Vernon passed with their heads lowered and eyes to the ground. Gerard had likewise lowered his head, but his eyes were up and scanning with cold, sharp movements. Luc stumbled along in the rear, looking only somewhat better for his recent meal.

After Luc had passed, Michael turned to follow - and then several paces later let himself breathe. Clair steered the group towards a secluded space between tents, and within a span of moments they were invisible once more.

Nice job, milord, Charles murmured. Your impression of a moron is impeccable.

Clair swatted him on the shoulder. Time and place, she said, giving Charles a level stare before turning to face Luc. All right, where are we going?

Luc nodded and raised one arm to point down the row of tents. The back garden, he said. Theyve got another little house there for some reason, the command staff have taken it over.

Groundskeepers house, Michael said absently, craning his head to look at the squat structure behind the manor. Theyre not uncommon on an estate this size.

And yet not precisely common at all, Charles said. Does your daddy have one on his estate?

Upstairs, Id say, Sobriquet replied. There are more than a few secrets held in a place like this, but the flavor Ive been pursuing seems strongest up there.

Michael nodded, shifting his sight into the smaller space on the second storey. It was more of a loft than a proper floor, with sloped ceilings and cluttered sides, but the end of it had been turned into what looked like a small office. An older man sat in a chair there, quietly reading through a sheaf of papers.

Not as many people upstairs, but there is one - might be the commander. Hes - oh, wait, hes getting up. Michael watched the man rise and look down with an annoyed expression.

People talking inside, Vernon said, closing his eyes. Angry. Soldiers shouting - no, Swordsmen. At least one of them.

Michael found the confrontation easily enough. There were two Swordsmen in the doorway of the house, unsteady on their feet and glaring blearily at a short soldier who was trying to herd them out of the command post.

The older man from upstairs stormed in, taking in the confrontation and gently guiding his subordinate back. The Swordsmen looked at him; one paled, the other squared his shoulders and began to talk.

Asking what they think theyre doing, Vernon murmured. Drunk, a disgrace to the uniform

Lordling, Charles hissed. You said the man upstairs left? Is there a clear path?

Michael pulled his vision away from the confrontation and checked. Yes, he said. The door-

Charles was already off, slipping through the house door and threading through the crowd of officers nervously watching their commander confront the drunken Swordsmen; none noticed the motion of the door as the artifex made his way invisibly upstairs.

The sounds of the confrontation drifted through the door now that it was ajar, and the rough voice of the posts commander made itself felt. this corner, at least, he thundered, this one post under my command will remain possessed of the dignity that you have abandoned - if you ever had it.

Something slurred and angry came from the drunken Swordsman, heedless of his fellow tugging at the arm of his jacket. He stood upright and narrowed his eyes. Michaels heart pounded as he watched the thin edges of the mans soul coalesce around him - then dart towards the posts commander in a flurry.

Shreds of cloth drifted down, revealing unmarred skin below. A faint gurgling noise came from the observing officers; one had been too slow to duck and was clutching his neck against an upwelling tide of blood. Others leapt to help him, calling for an anatomens.

The commander turned, glared, and punched the offending Swordsman in the chest. There was a crunch, then a crash as the mans body barreled through the door to leave a bloody skid along the dirt outside. It came to a rest halfway across the lawn.

A bloody fist grabbed the other Swordsman by his lapel, hauling him bodily off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Tell Kolbe I want to see him, the commander growled. Now. He tossed the man outside and shut what was left of the door, moving to stand over the wounded officer.

Shallower than it looks, one of the others said. Hell pull through.

The commander nodded and used his unbloodied hand to brush at the tatters of his shirt. Get him to the anatomentes, he sighed. And if any of you want to walk with them, I wont hold it against you.

About half of the officers left with the wounded man, filing out the rear door in a huddle of nervous glances and whispers. Those that remained stood looking at their commander as he paced slowly back and forth along the bloodstained floor.

Michael shifted his sight upstairs and found Charles turning the mans office upside down as quietly as he could. Papers were strewn everywhere, drawers opened, and the front half of a small safe had been neatly pulled away to reveal its contents.

Charles was leafing through papers from one of the commanders desk drawers when Sobriquet jerked forward urgently; the artifex narrowed his eyes and began to read the paper he had just withdrawn. Michael moved to snoop over his shoulder.

It was his fathers handwriting, describing in dry and exacting detail how they had appropriated several crates of intact Safid shells from a wreck. How those shells could be made to detonate at will, and how it would appear if those detonations took place amid certain residential neighborhoods in Leik.

He had predicted that twenty-five thousand casualties were a sufficient number to ensure Mendians intervention, but that with careful planning their shells could account for nearly twice that.

Michael was spared reading more of it as Charles lowered his hand, his face tight and furious. Sobriquet showed no reaction.

A disorienting shift made Michael pull his sight back to its natural position; he had sunk to his knees on the floor of the shed. Gerard knelt beside him, concern on his face.

They found it, Michael rasped. Theyve got the proof. The Safid didnt kill any of those people, the Ardans had their shells- He shook his head. My father planned the murder of fifty thousand people, and he got away with it.

Not if those papers find their way to Mendian, Clair said. Her voice was low and hoarse, vibrating with energy. We can leave right-

The door to the house slammed open. Charles, who had been creeping toward the stairs with a small folder of papers, froze in place to stare. A huge, barrel-chested man stood shirtless in the doorway, dragging the unfortunate Swordsman who had been sent running from the house minutes before.

Galen, the shirtless man said cheerfully. I heard you wanted to talk to me.

Friedrich. You smell like a bordello. The commander gave him a disgusted look, then gestured to the bloodstains on the floor. Your men came in here, assaulted me and injured one of my command staff. We have an arrangement, and you are not keeping to it.

Friedrich gave a solemn nod. That is concerning, he said, hauling the remaining Swordsman forward. What about it, lad? Did you and that bloodstain we passed raise your hand to Oberst Wahl?

The man gave a tremulous nod. He did, sir, and I tried to stop him-

And failed, Friedrich said. And now hes dead. Youre wearing a Swordsmans jacket, I assume you know the words that I used to organize this company. He peered down at the man. You do, dont you?

Yes, sir, the soldier said. Keep up.

Friedrich smiled down at the man, reaching down to grab him by the arm. He hauled him upright until the mans feet were barely touching the floor. Good, he said mildly. I prefer when a man understands his death.

There was no motion, no flexing of muscle or soul. In an instant the Swordsman became a spray of vibrant red, the ruins of organs and shattered bone collapsing wetly to the floor. Behind the commander, one of the other officers began to retch.

You should discipline your staff, Galen, Friedrich said. You see that Im willing to do the same with my men.

Was that what that was? Galen replied. What did he learn from that lesson?

Friedrich smiled, brushing the gore off of his arm. The only lesson worth learning, he said. The limit of his power.

Galen snorted. I wonder when youll learn that one, he said. Or is the mighty Sever above such silly trifles?

Please, Friedrich said. Theres no need to resort to insults. You know very well the answer to that question. Ive told you more than once. Did you forget? He leaned close, baring his teeth in a smile. Ill learn that lesson the day you all stop being so laughably weak.

There was a moment of silence, during which Galen met Friedrichs gaze. Perhaps we should talk privately, he said. If youre of a mind to be uncivil.

Perhaps we should, Friedrich agreed, starting toward the stairs where Charles was crouched, unmoving. The artifexs eyes widened, but before Friedrich had reached the bannister Galen cleared his throat.

The blood, Galen said. Youre dripping with it, and Id rather not have it on my floor - again. We can talk in the shed.

Michael reeled his gaze back, looking around at the others with sudden alarm. Gerard was white-faced, and Vernon was already running for the corner.

Clair grabbed Gerard, and Michael steered Luc towards the same corner Vernon had fled into.

So, Luc said, a high nervous pitch to his voice. I just want to be clear on our plan-

Vernon clapped a hand over Lucs mouth just as the door to the cottage opened.