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Chapter Thirty-One

Beyond the Gate

Kristoph Vals

Truth was a weapon. Kristoph placed this fact above all others. Whether in telling the whole truth outright, in hiding parts from others, or subtly twisting it like a blade, truth was dangerous. As the group trudged through the endless forest for days at a time, he pondered truths both told and hidden. No one spoke to him as they marched through the dead forest. No one spoke much at all, which suited Kristoph well enough. It gave him time to think clearly without the endless prattle from the rest.

The Chancellor wanted him dead, that much was obvious. Kristoph eyed his Cursed, who would have let him be shot by the mutineer. Was Vasily still passing information to the Chancellor? Did that trick work on this side of the storm? Or would the Chancellor expect some manner of report about everything Vasily had observed on this side once they returned?

Kristoph knew the Chancellor intended for him to die—a small precaution necessary to keep from spreading the outlandish idea that anyone in the Directorate had known about the Almacian poison gas threat—but the Chancellor did not intend for the mission to fail. Nicodemus clearly needed some of them to return and report, because otherwise his little experiment to breach the veil would have been for nothing.

Kristoph had lied to Chankov about having special secret knowledge necessary to escape this land, but that threat would be enough to keep the soldiers in line enough not to mutiny again. However, once they were back on the other side, if the soldiers didn’t kill him, Vasily certainly had orders to. He would need to come up with a plan to avoid that fate before they reached the stones.

His eyes strayed toward Illarion Glazkov, walking next to Object 12 while one of the other inferior men piloted it. It did not take a genius to see the boy’s connection to the suit had strengthened. It was clear the thing was communicating to him somehow. He flinched any time he touched the metal, and a few times had even grabbed his head, as if in pain. Glazkov was doing an admirable job keeping himself composed, but the longer they were here, the worse it was getting.

He had witnessed many battles involving the Wall. Not once had one of the Objects been able to run. Let alone jump great distances, or accurately smite leaping ghouls out of the air. With Glazkov at the controls, the Object was much more like the mighty golems it was made from.

Magi were rare. Magi outside of the Chancellor’s direct control were rarer still. The Chancellor held a monopoly on magic within the empire. The boy was untrained, but Kristoph suspected he could make use of his powers somehow. At the worst, he might be able to trade Glazkov’s life for his own. Perhaps the Chancellor would neglect to have Kristoph killed if he delivered him such a prize? And there was always Amos Lowe—the mere rumor of that name had been enough to set Kristoph down this path to begin with—who would supposedly be only a few miles away from their destination. Surely that prize would be enough to get Kristoph back into the Chancellor’s good graces . . . or better, cast the Chancellor down.

A day of seemingly endless walking gave him time to think, but Kristoph had already run through the potential scenarios in his mind a hundred times.

If the soldiers all made it home—if Kristoph himself made it home—they would be celebrated. A small group potentially destroying the enemy’s greatest weapon after a journey like this would make them heroes. Only the Chancellor didn’t want heroes, not truly. He wanted servants. In Nicodemus’ mind, he was the only one worthy of leadership. Kristoph knew this because of the many assassination missions he’d been sent on over the years, and by the evidence of misdeeds he had been ordered to plant on the brightest rising stars in Kolakolvia. It was always Nicodemus, and Nicodemus alone, who had the Tsar’s ear. The Chancellor kept it that way.

Kristoph felt his eyes narrow as he studied the Cursed. If Vasily was supposed to be his protection for now, he would almost certainly be his executioner later. Vasily would have to be removed. A virtually indestructible killing machine in their own realm, was Vasily stronger here, like the Object? If so, killing him here would be almost impossible. But as soon as they were back in the real world, the Chancellor’s puppet would need to have a fatal accident. It was the only way Kristoph would stay alive long enough to be able to use his bargaining chips to secure his future.

As he looked at Vasily, it almost felt like the monster was watching him back. Even though his eyes were covered by cloth and his expression was as blank as ever, for just a moment Kristoph thought he saw a glimmer of the man Vasily had once been. Treacherous and conniving. But maybe that was just in Kristoph’s imagination.

The next day, Kristoph approached Illarion Glazkov to walk alongside him. The young soldier looked uncomfortable with his presence. Good. Kristoph liked being able to manipulate others’ unease. Vasily was, as usual, only a few steps behind, so he kept his voice low, and hoped that the clanking of the Object’s giant metal legs would keep the Cursed from overhearing too much.

“Hello, Glazkov. How is your friend Pavlovich?”

Glazkov answered quickly, probably hoping to cut off any chance of conversation. “He is secure, Mr. Vals.”

Kristoph chuckled. That much was obvious. The mutineer’s hands were tied, and the rope had been secured to the back of the Object. If he resisted, he’d simply be dragged along. On his face if necessary. “That is not what I meant.”

“You should forgive him.” Glazkov was choosing his words carefully. “Lourens is a good man pushed too far. He’d just lost someone close to him.”

“Sadly, tribunals are not known for their mercy and understanding. He will probably go before the firing squad, if he’s lucky. If not, traitors are routinely fed to the Tsar’s war dogs.”

Glazkov was not very skilled at keeping the emotions from his face. It was obvious that he wanted nothing more than to grab Kristoph and shove him beneath the Object’s feet. It was surely only his loyalty to his comrades that kept him from such an act. Kristoph loved working with the honorable. They were so easy to manipulate.

However, it is possible I could be convinced to forget the incident ever happened. Pavlovich appearing before a tribunal at all would become unnecessary.”

“That would be kind of you,” Glazkov said, but it was clear he knew there would be a cost.

Kristoph lowered his voice to a whisper. “I know what you are, Glazkov. But don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me . . . for now.”

To his credit, Glazkov didn’t so much as flinch. The attitude of a man who had already weighed all the bad options, and had chosen the best of them. Kristoph was so looking forward to working with Glazkov when they arrived back home. These sorts of men were a rare breed, even without the business of being a magi. “What do you want then?”

“I will tell you when the time comes.”

Glazkov’s eyes flicked back toward the Cursed. He knew. Of course he did. The boy was smarter than he looked. In another life, he would have wished to have been his friend.

“And if you are successful in that future task, then as a demonstration of my appreciation, I will forget that Pavlovich foolishly tried to shoot me.”

Glazkov turned his eyes forward, before asking, “When?”

“Once we cross back over.”

“You make a lot of deals with a lot of people, don’t you, Mr. Vals?”

“The world is built on deals, Glazkov. Remember that. And if I perish, so many of those deals will be broken. Not only will Pavlovich get executed, but poor Natalya’s parents will be left to rot in prison. A tragedy.” Kristoph thought about threatening Glazkov personally, by telling him that he’d left a coded message behind concerning Glazkov’s gifted nature, which would be delivered to the Directorate if he didn’t return, but that seemed like overkill. Threatening his friends would be enough to ensure the boy’s compliance. He would care about them more than himself. “You must realize, I wish you no harm. I don’t want to hurt you. To the contrary, Glazkov. I want to work with you. Someone like me could accomplish a lot with someone like you at his side.”

Glazkov looked like he wanted to vomit. If they were going to work together, Kristoph would have to coach him about how to better conceal his emotions in the future. Then Kristoph sped up a bit so that he could speak with some of the other soldiers as well. He didn’t care about them at all, but he didn’t want Vasily—or anyone spying on him through Vasily—to think Glazkov was noteworthy. It would just appear that Kristoph was trying to be a good leader.

The rest of the day passed listening to vapid platitudes about duty to country from men scared to talk to him. The woods around them were oppressive. The soldiers seemed to dread what lay behind every tree. Kristoph himself often found he was looking over his shoulder, not just to make sure Vasily was not about to stab him in the back, but also because his instincts told him something was following them.

When Natalya declared that they had found a good place to camp, Kristoph was happy to agree. His feet were killing him. The Rolmani seemed confident they were still going in the right direction, and that according to their map, they were almost there. As they began bedding down, the silence was broken by a loud caw.

Kristoph looked at the branches overhead, as did everyone else. After no animal sounds for the better part of a week, now suddenly a raven. Odd.

“Where did that come from?” Darus asked, studying the seemingly mundane bird. Despite it looking like a normal raven, several of his men were pointing their guns at it.

“If there aren’t normally ravens here, maybe it came through the storm too,” Chankov said. “It probably followed us.”

“No.” Kristoph studied the bird carefully and noted that it was oddly focused on their Object and the Wall around it. “We would have noticed. At the very least we would have seen its shadow. How strange.”

“It’s a sign,” declared one of the soldiers.

“What does it mean?” another asked.

“Nothing good,” Glazkov said.

There was so much certainty in the way Glazkov pronounced that, it told Kristoph he knew more about this sign than he let on. He would have demanded answers, if not for Vasily spying on them.

“Enough. Leave it be,” Chankov ordered. “We should reach the target destination tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Kristoph lay down and closed his eyes but didn’t sleep. Tomorrow would bring only death. He could feel it.



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