Taglios:
Thi Kim Was Always Here

Mogaba did not participate much in the fighting. He told Ghopal, “The spirit is willing but this body is just too damned old and tired. I’ll just sit here and tell you what to do.” But mostly he visited with the white crow, which had begun scouting for him despite the presence of unfriendly ghosts. The bird could see those ghosts quite clearly, for it warned him regularly when it was time to keep his mouth shut.

When Mogaba suggested that the unseen things did not seem to be helping the invaders much the crow told him that the folk of the hidden realm were completely devoted to making their master happy. What little they did contribute they did in response to the will of their messiah, Tobo, whom they worshipped almost as a god. As Thi Kim. Which, in the canonical language of the priests who had created the Unknown Shadows, meant One Who Walks with the Dead.

Startled, the Great General demanded, “You mean to tell me that Thi Kim isn’t Nyueng Bao?”

The title came from a language closely akin to the Nyueng Bao of four centuries ago.

“So Deathwalker is the half-breed kid?”

Not Deathwalker. One Who Walks with the Dead.

Mogaba was too tired to wonder much about the difference. “Go find Aridatha Singh,” Mogaba said. “I want to know what he’s doing.”

The bird was not pleased about being given orders. But it went.

Mogaba called for Ghopal immediately. He asked, “What’re your feelings toward this city?” He knew but wanted to hear it from the man’s own mouth.

Ghopal shrugged. “I’m not sure I understand. Like everyone who lives here I love it and I hate it.”

“Our enemies have reorganized their chain of command. Right now they’re resting. But they’ll resume their attack while there’s yet darkness enough to conceal their hidden allies. I’m sure now that our forces will survive the night with more than enough strength left to be able to counterattack tomorrow. I think we’ll be able to hurt them badly when we do attack but their damned sorcerers will save them and when night comes again their allies will finish us.” The Great General said all this without having seen any proof that the Unknown Shadows were capable of doing anything lethal. “And I think Taglios will suffer a great deal more destruction during that time. I believe that, eventually, both sides will be so weakened that, no matter who wins, neither will be able to restrain the religious factions, nor be able to contain the ambitions of the gang lords, priests or anyone else likely to take advantage of a state of disorder. We might even see rioting between the followers of the different major religions.”

Ghopal nodded in the darkness, unseen. As chief Grey managing unofficial ambition had been his task. He had been particularly hard on criminal gangs. Mogaba had not dug for details but knew that something in Ghopal’s past drove him to shatter criminal enterprises.

“What’re you trying to say?” Ghopal asked.

“I’m saying that if we continue this war the way we are now, we can win—probably—but we’ll destroy Taglios in the process. And, even if we do lose, the results will be anarchy and destruction.”

“And?”

“And our enemies don’t care. They didn’t come here for the city’s benefit. They came to get you and me. And the Khadidas and the girl. Especially the Daughter of Night.”

Mogaba felt Ghopal’s growing suspicion.

The white crow would be back soon, too.

“I think we should walk away, Ghopal. And save Taglios the agony. The garrisons in the eastern provinces are loyal. We can continue the struggle from there.”

Ghopal was not fooled. Neither did he raise the objection that they had little hope of success against an enemy seated in the capital, armed with a crew of wizards and well-supplied with funds.

Ghopal had known his commander a long time. The Great General was a stubborn warlord, imbued with no weakness whatsoever. Unless that was his secret love for his adopted city, that he had revealed several times lately. Ghopal found he had no trouble believing that the Great General could walk away rather than let Taglios be destroyed as a monument to his ego. This Mogaba was not the arrogant youngster who had held Dejagore against the worst the Shadowmasters had been able to deliver. “Where would we go?”

“Agra. Or possibly Mukhra in Ajitsthan.”

“Vehdna strongholds, both. A band of heretic Shadar aren’t likely to be welcomed. Particularly if the strife puts any more strain on religious tolerance.”

’That could happen,” Mogaba admitted. “Or it might not.”

“Nor have we mentioned families.” Family was extremely important to the Shadar. “I have only my brothers and cousins. But most of my brothers and cousins have wives and children.”

Mogaba said, “I suppose they could stay here, cut off their beards and pretend to be people who haven’t been getting much sun. Ghopal, I’m being completely unfair. I’m putting this all squarely on your shoulders. Stay and fight? Or go away and spare the city?”

As if to punctuate his remarks a mushroom of fire rose above the heart of the city. For an instant it resembled a gigantic, glowing brain. Flying shapes hurtled across its face.

Mogaba said, “That respite is over.”