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CHAPTER FOUR
Silverdust

The wind howled around the jagged black peaks of Vladibogdan, ushering in a grey shimmer of rain from the Sommerende Ocean. Silverdust gazed at the sky from a tower in Academy Vozdukha as the waves crashed against the cliffs far below with a hushed roar. Rare were the times a wind blew in from the north east. Such winds had a way of invading the very island itself. Up through the darkened cove the winds would race, ascending a hundred blackened steps, keening through the gatehouse which lay quiet and empty, and into Academy Square.

The square had been cleared of rubble since the uprising and the shattered pieces of the dragon statue had been committed to the sea. The many bodies of the fallen had been taken below to the forges, where Silverdust himself had immolated them with arcane fire. No one had assigned him the role of the cremator, yet it was important to him that each body meet a decent end. Silverdust had taken a quiet relief in this. No one would rise as a cinderwraith since Steiner destroyed the Ashen Torment and the vast statue at the centre of the island. No longer would dead souls toil in eternal service to the Empire. Silverdust was now the last of his kind. His fate would not be passed on to another generation.

The dark pall that had lain heavy over the island for years had dissipated, drawn this way and that by winds from all cardinal points. Silverdust had enjoyed three weeks of peace until the north-eastern wind gusted in. Three weeks of peace until now.

A knock on the door roused the Exarch from his reveries. He reached out with his mind and found Father Orlov waiting in the corridor outside.

Come. Silverdust sent the word with telepathy; he had lost the ability for speech long ago. The door creaked open and Father Orlov edged into the room. He was a heavyset Vigilant, broad in shoulder and thick of arm.

‘Exarch,’ said Father Orlov with a half bow. His mask was a handsome face with nine stars embossed down the right-hand side, one star for each province of the Empire.

Father Orlov. Silverdust inclined his head, though in truth he had no respect for the Vigilant. We have not had a chance to speak since the uprising.

‘You have kept yourself very busy, Exarch.’ Father Orlov edged further into the room and Silverdust could sense the man’s wariness. ‘Appearing only at night to take the corpses from the courtyard. You have given the children much to talk about.’ Father Orlov paused a moment. ‘And much to fear.’

Cremation. A rotting body causes pestilence and we can ill afford a plague taking hold on the island. Not after everything that has happened.

‘Your wisdom is a guiding light in these dark times,’ replied Father Orlov. Silverdust ignored the sarcasm. ‘Will you walk with me, Exarch? I think it would do everyone good to see the highest-ranking Vigilant in the academy taking an interest in the living.’

I will walk with you, Father Orlov, though rank is rarely a comfort in the wake of disaster.

‘And truly this has been a disaster,’ said Father Orlov as he exited the room. ‘And someone will have to answer for it.’

Silverdust wondered if there were a note of warning in Orlov’s words, or if the man had tipped his hand.

There is always a price to paid.

Father Orlov glanced over his shoulder to check Silverdust was following him down the dark stone corridor. The children called him Cryptfrost behind his back, on account of his chilly temperament, and for the power he wielded over water and wind. Orlov would be keen to blame Silverdust for Steiner’s destruction of the Ashen Torment and his subsequent escape.

The Exarch and Father Orlov emerged in Academy Square and looked over the battered flagstones. Novices swept the square of grit and sand as best they could despite the wind.

‘I barely recognise the place now,’ said Father Orlov, unable to disguise how forlorn he was at the disarray before him. The Vigilant clenched his fists and Silverdust could sense a fierce eddy of disgust, shame and anger for what had happened during Steiner’s uprising.

It is much changed.

Blood stained the flagstones of Academy Square, each mark a reminder of someone who had risen up against the Empire or died to defend it.

‘It was quite the scene,’ said Father Orlov, after taking a moment to compose himself. ‘The Spriggani priestess killed a great many of our men, turning them to stone with her gaze.’

I had heard as much.

‘Your absence during the fighting was noted.’

I stayed close to Academy Vozdukha, protecting loyalist students.

This was lie, but one almost impossible to disprove. Academy Vozdukha was home to the school of wind, and though it had been a long time since Silverdust had taught, he had reason to be there.

‘I also heard you … negotiated with them. At the end.’ Father Orlov stopped walking and cradled a gloved fist inside the palm of his other hand. ‘With the Vartiainen boy and the Spriggani.’

Silverdust turned to the Vigilant, his curving mirror mask reflecting the nine stars of Father Orlov’s proud visage. The Exarch loomed over his subordinate.

Careful, Orlov, you are perilously close to accusing me of treason.

‘And yet you were seen in the company of the dragon rider—’

I was merely trying to broker a temporary peace. The Vartiainen boy did not want to rule the island. He wanted to escape and to take his friends with him.

This much at least was true. Steiner had never wanted dominion over Vladibogdan. Destroying the Ashen Torment had been testament to that.

My intent was to put an end to any further killing. It is by my actions that we have any loyal novices left alive at all.

Silverdust could feel Father Orlov’s gaze upon him, sense the Vigilant’s own telepathy brushing against his mind for some clue to the Exarch’s dishonesty.

You will not find what you seek with the arcane. Silverdust touched two fingers to his temple. My aged mind is as bewildering and impenetrable as any forest.

Orlov bowed. ‘Forgive me, Exarch, but you can understand my caution. We have suffered the worst setback in the history of Vladibogdan. I need to know who I can trust.’

I can understand your caution, Father. Silverdust walked to the centre of Academy Square and for a moment the battle raged all around him, phantoms conjured by memory. Arcane fire flared brightly, guttering as renegade students summoned winds to fight it. Soldiers fell choking as cinderwraiths robbed them of their dying breaths.

Tell me how things stand on the island now the dust has settled.

‘Loyalty has largely been determined by academy,’ said Father Orlov. ‘The novices of Plamya are the most loyal, with Zemlya close behind.’ It stood to reason. The students of Plamya, the fire school, were wild and capricious, but loyal to the Empire nonetheless. Zemlya, the earth school, had always been headed up by hardline Vigilants. Their fanaticism had been duly passed on to their charges.

‘No one trusts the few novices of Vozdukha and Voda that remained.’ Vozdukha, the school of air, had ever had a reputation for difficult or eccentric students, while Voda, the school of water, was barely seen as an academy at all. Its students had never amounted to anything.

And yet those students did remain. Does that give indication of their loyalty? I will be most displeased if there is any more death on this island. Do I make myself clear, Father Orlov?

‘So I gather you’re taking command then?’ said the Vigilant, taking no pains to hide the sneer in his tone. ‘At last.’

This is why you summoned me from the tower, is it not?

Father Orlov said nothing.

I am the highest-ranking Vigilant on the island.

‘Perhaps you can drag yourself away from the cremations to start acting like it,’ replied Father Orlov, before turning smartly and marching towards Academy Plamya.

Silverdust would have sighed had he still had lungs to breathe with. The north-eastern wind howled more loudly in Father Orlov’s absence and Silverdust turned towards the gatehouse and approached the top of the stone stairs. White-tipped waves smashed against the dark stone of the cove far below. For a fleeting second Silverdust saw the ghostly outline of a ship. A second later and the vision had gone. A vision of the future, Silverdust decided. Guests would soon arrive on Vladibogdan.

Silverdust delegated as much as possible to the few Vigilants who had survived the uprising in the days that followed. He appointed Father Orlov as his deputy for no other reason than to keep a close eye on the man. Taking over Felgenhauer’s old office didn’t sit well with Silverdust, but necessity demanded his discomfort. The Matriarch-Commissar had never been given to decoration but had kept a fine selection of books, which Silverdust distracted himself with, despite having read them all a long time ago. A knock sounded on the door and Silverdust set aside the book he was reading with a flicker of irritation.

Enter.

The door creaked open and a half-starved waif of around ten years stared at the Exarch with wide eyes.

Fear not, I will do you no harm. There is a message, I assume.

The boy nodded, then blinked and shook his head.

‘No, not really. A ship has arrived and all the other Vigilants have gone down to the cove to greet it. I …’ The boy swallowed. ‘I thought you should know.’

I imagine Father Orlov is keen to make a good first impression and give his side of the story.

The boy nodded. ‘C-can I do anything for you, Exarch-Commissar?’

Silverdust wanted to laugh at hearing such a title.

Fetch me tea from the kitchen and instruct the cooks to make a fine stew – one fit for an Envoy. Go now and do not delay.

The boy pushed his fringe out of his eyes and raced out of Felgenhauer’s office as fast as he could. His office – not Felgenhauer’s office, Silverdust lamented, not any more. The boy departed with such haste he failed to close the door behind him, giving Silverdust a clear view to the antechamber beyond and the doorway that led to the stairwell. He spread his hands on the wide featureless table, waiting to meet the person he would have to spin a web of lies to.

The Envoy, when she arrived, appeared in the antechamber sheathed in blue silk with a stole made from a winter fox, the fur white and stark. Her smile was bitter and she sauntered into the room with a swagger that was almost theatrical.

‘Silverdust. There you are! Well, I thought I’d suffered a setback or two, but it seems Vladibogdan has endured nothing less than a catastrophe.’