On the Edge te-1 Page 25

  “To the left of Adele is Emily Paw, Elsie Moore’s niece.”

  Emily looked a lot like her aunt. Haggish and slight, she resembled a dried-out crow. Her mouth drooped downward, and in all of her twenty-two years, Rose had never seen Emily smile once. Of all present, with the exception of herself and Declan, Emily was the youngest and looked the oldest.

  “You already know Jeremiah and Grandma,” Rose continued. “The man on the right is Lee Stearns. Next to him is Tom Buckwell.”

  “Hello.” Tom Buckwell sounded like an ornery bear and looked like one, too. Big, almost seven feet tall and three hundred pounds heavy, he sat hunching his thick shoulders. He was also the hairiest man she had ever seen. His reddish beard was always tangled, his hair long, and the hair on his muscular forearms resembled fur. Rumors said that if he got drunk enough, he sometimes got his jollies by stripping naked and scaring hikers out in the Broken into thinking he was Bigfoot. Tom was also Fred Simoen’s uncle, once removed.

  “And this is Earl Declan Camarine,” Rose finished finally.

  Silence fell.

  “How do we know you are who you say you are?” Lee asked.

  Declan shrugged. “You don’t.”

  “Then how do you expect to prove yourself?”

  Rose tensed. She’d expected the question. It was natural that they would want to test him, but testing Declan was like trying to pet a strange pit bull.

  Declan’s eyebrows crept up an eighth of an inch. “I don’t have to prove anything. I came to you because Miss Drayton convinced me it would be beneficial to my cause. I’m here to kill Casshorn. I have no other purpose or agenda, and once I’m done, I’ll return back to where I came from. It’s up to you to accept me or not.”

  It really was amazing how Declan could shift into blueblood mode. His tone wasn’t exactly imperious, but it made it seem as if his words were cast in stone.

  “What Lee means is we would like to see some proof of your power,” Grandma said. “Please, indulge us.”

  He bowed his head. “As you wish, Madame.”

  Magic stirred within Declan, like a lazy monster, awakening slowly, stretching, testing its claws. It built stronger and stronger. A white glow rolled over his irises. It was as if the side of the room where he sat had darkened, but the magic within him glowed, swelling, rising, terrifying and impossibly strong like a hurricane.

  The tiny hairs on the back of Rose’s neck stood on their ends.

  Declan’s eyes blazed white. A ghostly wind brushed Rose. She could actually see it—a thin veil of pale glow, streaming about Declan, winding against him.

  She reached out and put her fingers on his hand. He glanced at her with his star-eyes and pulled the magic inside himself, sheathing it like a weapon. She wasn’t sure what was more impressive: the sheer magnitude of his power or the ease with which he controlled it.

  Lee opened his mouth and clamped it shut. Grandma looked pained. Up until now, some of them probably thought they could take care of Declan if it came to that. Now they knew that all of them put together could slow him down, but killing him would be another matter entirely.

  Adele leaned forward. “We would hear about Casshorn,” she said. “If it’s at all possible, Lord Camarine.”

  Declan leaned forward. “What I say here mustn’t leave this room. If it does, I’ll have to return, and I won’t be alone,” he said.

  Heads nodded around the table.

  “It goes back to the Empire of the Sun Serpent,” Declan said. “In the Broken, settlers from the Eastern half of the world came to the West and killed the native tribes, who lacked technology and the means to effectively resist.”

  Lee looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it.

  “In my world, the opposite was true. This continent was home to a powerful empire. Its people called itself tlatoke, and they called their realm the Kingdom of the Sun Serpent. Their magic was born in the jungle, and it was extremely powerful and difficult to counter. About sixteen centuries ago they crossed the ocean and began raiding the Eastern continent, terrorizing the coast of Anglia and what is now the Gaulic Empire, all the way south to Etruria. They killed, raped, stole slaves, and demanded bowls of gold dust in tribute. This continued for approximately two hundred years, until they abruptly stopped. Usually raids die down gradually, but the tlatoke simply vanished.”

  Declan paused.

  “Something screwed up the kingdom of the shiny snake,” Tom Buckwell said.

  Declan nodded. “The raids had spurred research. A century later, the peoples of the Eastern continent had developed the means to cross the ocean, but the fear of the tlatoke was so great that almost three hundred years passed before the first voyage took place. When the first war fleets arrived at the Western continent, they found no tlatoke. Plenty of ruined cities and temples, but no people. More, a lot of the magic-saturated flora and fauna one would expect was gone. The woods were young. Even now it’s difficult to find a thousand-year-old tree. The species of plants and animals that did survive had developed great defenses. Western animals are bigger and stronger than their Eastern counterparts, and something as sluggish as a vampire vine has evolved into an active predator.”

  “What killed the tlatoke?” Jeremiah asked.

  “It is unclear. The searches of the ruins didn’t provide any definitive answers. If something did kill the inhabitants, they were consumed, because no intact skeletons remained. But the researchers did find signs of struggle. Broken furniture. Holes in the walls. Claw marks.”

  “The hounds,” Grandma said.

  Declan continued. “Eventually survivors were found, isolated bands hiding out in the wilderness. They were almost unrecognizable. Legends said the raiders had worn steel armor and brightly colored robes, but their descendants had regressed into primitivism. The use of magic and cultivation of crops were forbidden. The former tlatoke lived in small nomadic groups, wore furs, and hunted with bows and spears. In three hundred years, they managed to fall from a glorious, advanced civilization to people who no longer remembered how to read the writings of their ancestors. Their oral traditions persisted, however, and their legends spoke about a gift from the Sun Serpent, which then turned on them and destroyed their kingdom. Even in the Weird, gods don’t actually interfere in the lives of the mortal men. We pray to them, but we have yet to see definitive proof they exist. So nobody was quite sure where this gift came from. Perhaps it was manufactured by tlatoke priests. Perhaps it fell from the depths between the stars as meteorites do. Perhaps it was an artifact of a forgotten nation. Whatever its origin was, the gift destroyed the tlatoke civilization and vanished.”

  “What happened?” Rose asked.

  “The continent was settled. New countries sprang up. Some, like Adrianglia, won their independence from their mother states. The tlatoke became a bizarre historical mystery. Then, about three hundred years ago, the great-grandfather of the current Duke of the Southern Provinces decided to drain a mire pond. As the pond was drained, a strange egg-like object emerged, sheathed in clay. It was too heavy to move, and so His Grace ordered the shell broken. Under the clay lay ceramic, followed by a layer of pure iron, then more ceramic, then lead. Finally when all the layers were cut through, His Grace found a strange device. As soon as the device was touched, it came alive and produced the first hound. The hound killed one of the workers. The magic it absorbed then streamed back into the device, and a second hound was born.”

  “You should’ve destroyed it,” Emily Paw said.

  “We tried,” Declan said. “The device absorbs magic. It’s impervious to fire. Attempts were made to crush it and encase it in molten metal, but they were unsuccessful. It’s made of a material not found in the Weird. As far as we know, its function is simple: it pulls magic from its environment and produces hounds, which then collect magic and return it to the device. We don’t know why it does what it does. We know human beings are the hounds’ preferred prey. We know it can’t be stopped.”
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  “Is that what killed the Weird’s Indians?” Tom Buckwell asked.

  “That’s what some believe. The device was classified as an ‘imminent threat to the realm.’ A bunker was built, mimicking the original object: several layers of iron, lead, ceramic, and glass were arranged in such a way as to provide maximum isolation from the environment. The device was placed into the bunker. Its existence was kept secret from the general public to prevent panic or terrorist acts.”

  Lee Stearns snorted. “Of course.”

  “The bunker is located in Beliy Forest,” Declan said. “It’s an ugly, inhospitable place, and nobody in their right mind trespasses there. The structure itself sits on a slab of ceramic, and the forest is burned, salted, and fenced off for a mile around the bunker. Once every two weeks a crew made up of members of a secret branch of the Duke’s personal guard travels to the bunker and destroys any encroaching plants or animals to prevent the device from accessing environmental magic. Approximately two weeks ago, Casshorn Sandine, brother of the current Duke, broke into the bunker and stole the device. It was brilliantly done: he had been secretly cutting a narrow trail into the forest for the last year and a half, ending it about twelve miles from the bunker. He then compromised the bunker and airlifted the device twelve miles to the trail by means of an Airforce wyvern he had stolen from a local armory. The device killed the wyvern but not before it got Casshorn to his escape route. He loaded the device onto a cart and drove it out of Adrianglia into the Edge.”

  “I think we all could use something to drink,” Adele said.

  ONCE iced tea had been distributed, the mood in the room lightened and Rose breathed easier.

  “Why would Casshorn do it?” Adele asked, sipping her tea.

  “Why is good, but I want to know how come the beasts aren’t killing him,” Grandma said.

  Declan drained half his glass. “It’s difficult to understand Casshorn. He’s mad, but he has flashes of genius. He’s amoral, but he takes pains to be polite. He’s failed at everything he ever tried. Casshorn expressed the desire to be a duke like his father. Centuries ago titles used to be hereditary. Now titles are administrative posts that carry a great deal of civil and military responsibility. One can’t inherit a title. One must earn it and pass the requisite examinations proving his or her competency in order to claim it. The higher the rank, the more stringent are the requirements. Sons and daughters of nobles often receive very specialized education from birth in anticipation of trying to assume the title. They have an advantage, because they watch and learn as their parents govern, in the same sense as the baker’s son knows about baking bread from watching his father make it. But no matter how good their test scores are, nobody, not even an heir to the throne of Adrianglia, can assume a title without first providing service to the realm. Some choose civil, some military, but all have to serve. The mandatory period of service is seven years in the military and ten for the civil service.”

  “Military for you, I take it?” Tom Buckwell asked.

  Declan nodded. “Casshorn passed the examinations at fifteen. Did spectacularly well, in fact. All that remained was the period of service. Casshorn attempted the Airforce, because it is considered the most cerebral of all military occupations.”

  “Airforce like planes?” Lee Stearns asked.

  “Airforce like flying beasts,” Declan said. “Wyverns, man ticores, and so on. Within a year Casshorn was booted from the Airforce Academy for plotting to kill one of his instructors. That effectively barred him from any military branch except for the Red Legion, who will take anyone. Whether you’re a wanted criminal or a certified lunatic—they don’t care. They can take an average person and in two years turn him or her into a mass murderer. Just deploying them often causes panic in the enemy. The Red Legion discharged Casshorn in six months, deeming him completely unsuited to military service.”

  “To screw up like that takes talent.” Tom Buckwell shook his head. “He must be special.”

  Declan grimaced. “He certainly thinks so. With the military crossed off his list, Casshorn attempted the civil service. He was fired from Elizabethian University for plagiarism, having served a little over twenty months. Two days later, someone set the campus on fire. Then Casshorn took a sabbatical for three years. Then he attempted manufacturing research. To make a long story short, in the meantime Casshorn’s younger brother, Ortes, finished his seven years, serving in the Andrianglian Navy with distinction, and Casshorn hadn’t even managed to pass a half mark. Their test scores were tied. Because they were siblings, Ortes had the option of signing a waiver to give his brother five years to complete the service requirement. A peer title can’t remain vacant for long. All peers have duties, and someone has to fulfill them.”

  “So what happened?” Rose asked.

  “Ortes was willing to sign the waiver, if his father wished to give Casshorn another chance. The Duke decided he needed to think some more on the matter and invited his sons to Yule Dinner at the ducal manor. Most of the nobles and their families were present at the celebration. I was eight, and I remember it vividly. Casshorn’s demeanor was bizarre. He seemed not to know where he was. Midway through the evening he stood up and started talking. He ranted like a lunatic and attacked Ortes’s wife, calling her a whore and blaming her for a number of odd and illogical things. Apparently, years earlier, when Ortes and Jane were affianced, Casshorn had made some advances toward her and she turned him down, but to hear him tell it, the incident had happened earlier in the evening, not nearly a decade ago. Obviously, no waiver was signed, and Ortes became Duke shortly after his father retired. Casshorn later claimed that someone had added a narcotic to his drink, but by then it was too late, and he seemed to accept it. Apparently, he found a new way of obtaining the power he always wanted.”

  Jeremiah frowned. “Why the Edge? Why our small neck of the woods?”

  Declan rested his arms on the table and leaned forward. “The Edge has no strong police or military force. Any resistance he encounters will be fragmented, since nobody but Edgers care what happens between the worlds. As to what his purpose is, I don’t know. I think he may have started with some idea of conquering the Edge, building up an army of hounds, and avenging himself on all the people who wronged him in Adrianglia. However, whatever he has done to earn immunity from the hounds is changing him. I’m not sure how much of his humanity remains.”

  “I think his conquering plans bit the dust,” Rose said. “He simply wants to absorb magic and eat us now. He kept his face hidden, but his hands looked like paws. He has claws instead of nails. If he conquers the Edge, it will be so he can feed.”

  “He can’t be reasoned with,” Tom Buckwell said.

  Lee turned to him. “How do you know?”

  Tom’s bushy beard moved around a bit. His face looked sour. “Fred Simoen sent Brad Dillon up to him with gifts.”

  “He what?” Grandma drew from the table in shock.

  “I told him not to do it,” Tom growled. “I said from the get-go that it was a lousy idea and it wouldn’t end well, but there was no reasoning with him. Fred thinks he can buy the world.”

  Rose thought of Casshorn raving on about the delicious man he had received as a gift. Nausea squirmed through her. “Casshorn ate Brad, didn’t he?”

  “He sure did,” Tom said. “At least that’s what Fred said, before he and the whole clan peeled out of the Edge like their arses were on fire.”

  Rose rubbed her face. Brad was slime, but to die like this . . . Nobody deserved that. She thought of the boys being eaten and had to clench her hands under the table.

  Declan’s large hand settled on her fist. He rubbed her hand with his dry warm fingers. “So you do know where Casshorn is?”

  Silence fell around the table.

  “He’s in Moss Ravine,” Adele said. “The Wood started dying there about six days ago.”

  Lee threw his hands in the air. “And he needs to know that why?”

  “It’s his mess,”
Emily creaked. “Let him clean it up.”

  “That’s a real good point.” Lee swung to Declan. “Why aren’t more of you fellows here taking care of this problem? Why is it you’re here by your lonesome? It’s your mess.”

  “Technically, the Duke has no jurisdiction in the Edge,” Declan said. “So it’s your mess at the moment.”

  “But they did send you,” Jeremiah said.

  “Oh, come on.” Tom Buckwell slapped the table with his big hands. “He’s covert ops, if I ever saw one. They ain’t gonna send a battalion to help us out, because that would mean they’d have to admit that Duke’s psycho brother made off with their supersecret apocalypse machine, which they weren’t supposed to have in the first place. They sent one guy, a killer, and if he fails, they’re gonna deny they ever knew anything about the whole deal.”

  “Not quite,” Declan said. His hand still stroked Rose’s under the table. “I have a time limit. If in a fortnight I don’t inform His Grace that Casshorn is dead and the device is destroyed, the Duke will take further measures.”

  “The Red Legion,” Grandma said softly.

  Declan nodded.

  “What does that mean?” Lee Stearns asked.

  Grandma’s mouth flattened into a severe line. “When the Red Legion comes through, nothing remains.”

  “You may hide in the Broken,” Declan said, “but they’ll purge East Laporte. It will be like you were never here.”

  Lee glared. “They have no right!”

  “Think,” Tom Buckwell said. “Fifty fellows just like him. They’ll come and wipe the place out, so we have nothing to come back to. That’s what the U.S. did in Korea. They don’t want us sitting in East Laporte spreading rumors of their doom machine. And he”—Tom stabbed his finger in Declan’s direction—“he’s the one who’s gonna carry the responsibility for us getting wiped off the map on his soul. It will be his call. Nobody wants to make a call like that.”