Two hours after the attack on Krackzy Street station, Krystof stood in the small observation room connected to one of two warded interrogation rooms in the Horvach District constabulary headquarters. Beyond the large panel of one-way glass he could see Mladin Yaraslav, hands shackled to the table, two red uniformed Raderi agents guarding him. The man smiled faintly at the mirror glass, smirking as if he knew exactly what was going on behind the glass.
Chief Hrozic slapped his hand against the wall beside the large one-way window. ‘I don’t care who you are,’ he said, face red behind an equally vivid russet beard and moustache. ‘I’m chief of this station and I won’t be dictated to by a bunch of jumped-up clerics.’
‘Yes, you will,’ Dima replied calm, unruffled and deliberately condescending. ‘You already spoke to Mayor Lydecki; my associates and I are in charge of this investigation. You and your men are to give us your full cooperation. So,’ Dima smiled tightly, ‘when I say leave, you leave.’ He and Lydecki were the same height. The constabulary chief had fifteen years on Dima and maybe twenty pounds of extra weight but Dima appeared to loom over the other man. Krystof fancied that the shadows in the room bunched around him, like the faint whisper of wings.
‘What the Pit damn is the Vanguard?’ Hrozic shouted, refusing to be intimidated.
The man who had introduced himself to Krystof as Raderi Division Head Yuri Stojanosch chuckled. ‘Trust me chief, you don’t want to know.’ Stojanosch was a languid, dapper man his forties. His lean face was pock-marked and his pale hair slicked back against his head so well it looked like a polished glass cap. The curl of his mouth was amused, but there was a clear watchful light of intelligence in his eyes.
Chief Hrozic rounded on him. ‘What the Pit damn does that mean, Yuri?’ he demanded. ‘I have eleven confirmed deaths; twenty-eight casualties, nine in critical condition. Initial witness reports of mass possession, the walking dead, deadly butterflies and a Pit damn dragon. The city’s on lock down; I’ve got the newspapers breaking curfew trying to get statements, and all I’m getting from you is “you don’t need to know”? Smythion’s balls, how am I supposed to maintain order when no one tells me anything?’
Stojanosch sighed, casting an askance look over at Dima. ‘It’s above both our paygrades, friend,’ he said tiredly. ‘Trust me, I’ve been on this ride before. You want the city back to normal? Let the Vanguard take care of the problem.’ Stojanosch pushed off the far wall, his relaxed mien melting away and some of his native sharpness showing through. ‘I am saying this as both your friend and as a loyal agent of the bureau. Be grateful this isn’t our problem. Because whatever this is, it’s the sort of magic that will get your men killed.’
‘We caught that bastard, didn’t we?’ Hrozic pointed through the one-way glass. ‘We got the other one chained up next door. Seems like we’re handling this situation just fine on our own.’
‘Because they want you to,’ Dima snapped. ‘You were given the file on Atdottir, you know what he did in Ilinsk.’
‘Allegedly,’ Hrozic scoffed. ‘I’ve been doing this job twenty-seven years, son. Your file was nothing but conjecture. You’ve no evidence he was behind the attempted bombing of that hospital.’
‘I was there,’ Dima gritted out.
‘I don’t trust you,’ Hrozic countered. ‘Your word means nothing to me.’
‘You are a servant of this city,’ Dima snarled. ‘The mayor gave you an order. Follow it.’
Hrozic’s face was a fantasic shade of puce. He was almost nose to nose with Dima. ‘You questioning my professionalism, boy?’ he asked tone dangerously calm.
‘Question your professionalism?’ Dima’s lips curled in a sardonic smirk. ‘Me? Of course not. I don’t need to question anything. It’s a well known fact that Djisi’s constabulary is the second most corrupt in all of Reagir province. Kirjana only has you beat because everyone knows the city’s one bad day away from anarchy.’
Krystof had determinedly kept out of the argument, staying as quiet as he could. He was the junior most person present and barely better informed of what was really going on than chief Hrozic but now he straightened up, sucking in a sharp breath of shock. What was Dima doing? Surely he realised antagonising the chief was the worst possible way of getting his cooperation.
‘Rhado,’ Stojanosch grabbed the chief’s shoulders, inserting himself between the pair. ‘He’s not worth it, friend,’ he said close to the chief’s ear. ‘As for you,’ he said to Dima. ‘I’ve worked with your commanding officer. I respect Iorin and I expect better from one of his. You may be the expert here, but this is still a constabulary precinct. The chief and his men deserve your respect.’
‘This is a magical incident,’ Dima said, refusing to relent. ‘The constabulary have no juridisdiction.’
Stojanosch laughed. ‘And that tells me all I need to know,’ he said pleasantly. ‘You really are green, aren’t you? You think the Raderi has the funding to handle every magical incident on our own? Or what, you think that every criminal politely declares their status on arrest? This is the real world, kid. There is no divide between magic and “normies” here. You’d better start respecting the expertise of the streets, if you want a future in this town.’
Dima looked furious. Krystof had never seen him like this. Wound tight and laser focused yes, but belligerent and deliberately provocative, no. It was unsettling how the events of the last few hours had changed Krystof’s perspective so much. He felt a little as he had waking up in the hospital after he was attacked in the Snacks. He was no longer secure in his understanding of the world or in what or who he could trust. He realised, to his surprise, that it made him angry with Dima.
‘The Division Head is right,’ he said speaking up for the first time. He nodded to Stojanosch before addressing the chief. ‘I apologise, Chief Hrozic for any inadvertent office we might have caused. You and your men were invaluable in helping us secure the prisoners.’ He shot a look at Dima. ‘I have lived in this city for eight years. In that time I have never had any reason to doubt the integrity of constabulary.’ Admittedly he also hadn’t had much cause to call on its protection either. ‘I hope,’ he said sincerely, ‘that we can continue to work together in the future.’
He took a quick silent breath and waited. What he’d just done could be construed as insurbordination but he didn’t care. A fine, quivering rage had taken Krystof’s limbs. He was, quite simply, utterly appalled by his Dima’s attitude and wanted no part in whatever ridiculous point he was trying to prove.
Dima looked around the room, Stojanosch and Hrozic were a united front, the latter still visibly angry while the former was simply implacable. Krystof met Dima’s questioning gaze, he firmed his jaw and stood straight. He had never been good at asserting himself; he hated conflict and descent. When he’d left to join the seminary in Djisi he’d done so without telling his parents, unable to face his father’s disapproval. He’d packed a small bag and hopped a bus, only calling his parents from Acolyte Leminov’s office. His mother had cried. His father had driven all the way down from Tremenz, crossing the provincial border to drag his son home. Refusing him had been the hardest thing Krystof had ever done, up to and including what had happened today. It had left him with a deep distaste for acrimony of any kind. He didn’t like disappointing people and he disliked it even more when the people he cared for disappointed him.
Before the situation could descend into open conflict, forcing Krystof to choose a side, the door to the observation room opened. Ren’s gaze swept the room, taking in the tableau in one keen eyed assessement. Krystof was sure he was mistaken but it looked like she rolled her eyes at Dima.
‘Chief,’ she said in her delightfully accented Valk. ‘There is a call for you from the mayor’s office. Your lieutenant asked me to pass on the message while he watched our prisoner.’
Chief Hrozic looked highly suspicious but had no choice but to leave the room. Stojanosch went with him, stopping just inside the door to tip an imaginary hat at Dima. ‘If I were you, I’d take the time to get yourself in order, Aschenko,’ he said before pulling the door closed.
Ren folded her arms. ‘Again?’ she clucked her tongue. ‘Vhorki will not be pleased.’
Dima rolled his shoulders. ‘I don’t have time to play politics and make nice,’ he snapped. ‘This whole attack was a set up. They gave up too easily.’
Ren nodded. ‘It is strange that they surrendered.’ She said walking over to the one-way glass where Yaraslav was trying and failing to make conversation with his guards. The man was still smirking. ‘I could believe Matriev would sacrifice Yaraslav. But Atdottir would never allow himself to be taken.’
‘And yet, here he is,’ Dima spat. ‘I don’t like it. The city is on lock down. All magic is dampened, all our powers weakened. Why would Djem throw away two soldiers on a failed attack?’ He shook his head savagely. ‘Where is the advantage?’
‘Our power is weakened,’ Ren corrected him solemnly. ‘You are still thinking Matriev is like us. You have forgotten, wildr are not weakened by pylons.’
‘What are you saying? I thought Matriev was one of us?’ Krystof looked from one to the other. Ren looked abashed as if realising she’d spoken out of turn. Krystof’s cheeks flamed, humiliated as he realised that not only had his compatriots deliberately withheld information from him, they well have lied to him all along.
Dima threw up his hands. ‘I suppose there’s no point keeping it from you any longer,’ he said frustrated.
‘We have our orders,’ Ren reminded him. She shot an apologetic look over to Krystof. ‘Commander Vhorki ordered us to tell you no more than you needed to know,’ she explained. ‘The fewer people who know the whole truth the better.’
‘I’d say he needs to know,’ Dima objected. ‘I’ll take responsibility with Iorin. Seraphim only knows, he’ll give me enough of a dressing down for this mess as it is.’ He shook his head disgustedly.
‘I want to know the truth,’ Krystof ground out, fingernails digging into the palms of his hands as he squeezed his fists tight. ‘I’ve earned the right.’
‘You have,’ Ren agreed still looking and sounding apologetic. ‘We did not keep this from you because we did not trust you.’
‘Then why did you?’
‘Because we needed you to trust us,’ Dima said with brutal honesty. ‘When you hear what really happened, you might not like us very much.’
‘I don’t like you very much right now,’ Krystof blurted out. ‘I mean, no, that’s not what I mean,’ he stammered, mortified at his outburst. ‘I just—‘
Dima smiled at him tiredly. ‘Oh don’t ruin it,’ he said. ‘Be angry. I am. Ren is. Iorin is livid. You might as well join us.’
Now that it appeared he would be getting the answers to the questions he’d tried so hard to pretend he didn’t have, Krystof wasn’t sure he wanted them. Not if it meant losing the sense of safety and purpose the Vanguard had given him since his attack. He’d condemned Yaraslav for his lack of faith and cowardly abuse of his power, writing the man off as someone too fearful to trust his fellow man, but now Krystof felt like a hypocrite as he realised his own faith in Dima and Ren had only ever been paper-thin. His faith rubbed away to a flimsy veneer.
No, that wasn’t true. His faith in Dalleon remained unwavering. His belief that it was possible to change the world for the better remained the same. His hope remained, but his certainty that he’d chosen the right people to help him do that hung by a very thin thread, one that could snap at any moment. Krystof knew that the fall when it did would be bruising indeed.
He took a deep breath and marshalled his courage. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘You know that Djem was one of us,’ Dima explained. ‘Iorin recruited the two of us at the same time. We served together in the Royal Guards.’ He shook his head, a sad bitter smile playing over his lips. ‘I was dishonourably discharged,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been very good at playing nice with my “superiors”, especially when they were a bunch of inept idiots who got my friends killed.’ Dima’s teeth flashed. ‘Djem was my friend. The only officer who spoke up for me at the court marshal. His family had connections. He found me work while he waited to cachier out.’ There was pain in Dima’s voice. ‘There was a time when I thought there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him,’ he said. ‘No one had ever stood up for me like Djem.’
‘You didn’t betray him, Dima,’ Ren said quietly. ‘He betrayed everything we stand for. He betrayed the good man he once was.’
‘I was told he wanted to breach the Other Side to rescue his seraph. He was going to restart the Gods War. What happened to him?’
‘After we were recruited,’ Dima said. ‘He and I worked together. We already knew how to work as a unit and our seraph powers complemented each other. Sabron scion’s can manifest powerful concussive energy blasts that are much more powerful than Bakareon’s roar. I once saw Djem pulverize a wall of reinforced concrete with a stamp of his foot.’
‘You sound proud,’ Krystof pointed out, brow scrunched. Power alone didn’t impress him, especially when that power was destructive. Aldlis already had plenty of destructive forces, it didn’t need scions going around destroying things just because they could.
Dima shrugged. ‘He and I were a great team. We stopped a coven of summoners from drawing a sea dragon into Shasharinba harbour. We hunted down a necromancer who harvested the souls of children and sold them to an Other Side smuggling ring. We brought down the smugglers too; fought off thirty wildr on our own. So yes, I guess I am proud of what we accomplished.’
Krystof looked at Ren. ‘Where were you?’
She smiled thinly. ‘I was working in western Valkieres, out of Danitz.’
‘But you knew Matriev?’ Krystof pressed. ‘I always got the impression this was personal for you too.’
‘It is,’ Ren agreed, ‘but my reasons are different. Matriev was never my friend.’ She looked at Dima sadly. ‘I was working a case,’ she explained. ‘Hunting down a rogue Varkarion scion. You know, of course, that many Varkarion scions go mad. Varkarion herself is mad. She possesses her scions and forces them to feed her. Those who do not suicide or become feral monsters, barely better than ghouls. This one was different. Somehow she retained her cunning, her intelligence. She alluded me at every turn.’
‘Enid,’ Krystof said in sudden understanding.
Ren nodded. ‘I chased her to the capital and that is where I met Dima.’
‘We were on down time,’ Dima explained. ‘I was itching for another mission. Djem was visiting family. I jumped at the chance to assist another scion on the hunt.’
Ren smiled. ‘We found Enid. She had infiltrated a Voisera necromancy ring operating out of Doischoy. Did you know that when a Varkarion scion feeds on a victim but does not kill them, they become possessed with a shadow of Varkarion’s hunger? Enid found a way to do this on purpose, creating a band of psychic vampires loyal to her. This was the first time in centuries the Vanguard had encountered a Varkarion scion who was not a mindless slave, but one who was in control.’
Krystof nodded, engrossed. ‘How did you defeat her?’ he asked.
Ren cast her eyes downward. ‘I am not merely scion,’ she said. ‘I am of the Calvahno people. One of the nine faiths who practice hereditary necromancy. Varkarion’s power is a sickness of the soul I knew how to cure.’ She looked up. ‘Here and in Banaborra where I am from, necromancy is feared, but it is not a cruel magic when done properly. I was able to use my arts to rid Enid’s slaves of the corruption, without her army and with Dima’s help I was able to force Enid to surrender.’
‘So where does Matriev fit in?’ he asked. ‘How did he and Enid meet?’
‘Later,’ Ren said. ‘At first all was well. We took Enid to a secure holding facility the Vanguard use to contain Varkarion scions. There was interest in how she remained in her right mind. Some in the high command thought it was a sign that Varkarion was healing.’
Dima scoffed. ‘Damn the high command and their useless faith.’
Krystof scowled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Dima sighed. ‘No offence, Krys, but things would be a lot easier if the Vanguard didn’t take orders from a bunch of priests. Their dogma is the reason Djem got away.’
‘The first and foremost law of the Vanguard is no scion can kill another,’ Ren explained. ‘It is a reflection of Vishon’s Decree that no seraph could harm another. As it is in the realm above, so be it here below.’
‘I know what Vishon’s Decree is,’ Krystof pointed out a little stung. ‘Of the three of us, I am the only true cleric here, after all. I know the decree was in response to Kaekelion murdering Leleon and thus falling from grace.’ He shot a look at Dima who rolled his eyes.
‘I’d like to remind you, I’m not my seraph.’
‘We are losing focus,’ Ren said. ‘In answer to your question, Matriev became involved in Enid’s case while she was imprisoned. He should not have been, but he was persuasive. He was fascinated by the method Enid used to infect others with her seraph’s soul.’
‘Djem had always felt it was an injustice that Sabron was left to rot,’ Dima said. ‘I was never that interested in scripture. The Gods War was six thousand years ago. What difference did make? We might possess a facet of our seraph’s soul and power but most of us never hear the voice of our seraph. We’re not really connected to them at all.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Krystof asked. The thought of using Dalleon’s power without acknowledging the presence of the seraph in his life was alien to him. It was true he’d never heard Dalleon’s voice directly in his mind, but he didn’t need to, to know that the seraph watched over him.
‘What I believe doesn’t matter,’ Dima said. ‘What matters is that over time Djem grew more and more fixated on Sabron. He studied scripture. He read alchemical texts on the soul and studied every map we have on the topography of the Other Side. Pit damn it, he even read the heretical texts, the one’s said to be written by Pit lords before they were expelled from this realm. He was planning a jail break. I was just too stupid to realise it.’