Alric closed his eyes. “I apologize, my lord. But, if I may speak plainly, even if the girl’s coat was off completely, I don’t think we could find her given the present situation.”
“What do you mean?” the Lord of Storms growled.
Alric cleared his throat, searching for the most politic way to phrase their current predicament. “Our network relies on responding to spirit fear, but over the last day we’ve had a great deal of… interference.”
“What?” the Lord of Storms said. “Are we not hearing the panics?”
“We’re hearing them too well,” Alric said, pointing at the pile of papers on his desk. “Every time the Lady calls in a star, we have a massive influx. I can’t even keep up with the reports, much less decide which ones should be investigated. The Daughter has always been a quiet demon. Looking for her under these circumstances is like trying to separate the whispering voice out of a choir of screaming maniacs.”
“Oh,” the Lord of Storms looked considerably relieved. “Is that all?”
“That’s more than enough,” Alric said, not quite managing to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “With all due respect, sir, the Shepherdess asks the impossible. Telling us to hunt the Daughter of the Dead Mountain at the same time she decides to call in her stars without warning is practically inviting us to fail. How are we supposed to—”
“If we’d acted when she called the hunt, this would not have been a problem,” the Lord of Storms said, his voice cold.
Alric snapped his mouth shut. A fair point. But still. “If the Lady had warned us about the incoming panics, I would never have suggested the delay,” he said quietly. “That is no excuse, I know, but I cannot change the past. The truth of our current situation is that the Daughter of the Dead Mountain is missing, and there is simply too much fear for the League to find her. For pity’s sake, sir, I’ve got our agents combing Zarin like common guardsmen. If the Lady would consent to hold off calling her stars for a few hours, it would be enough to—”
“The Shepherdess tends her flock,” the Lord of Storms’ voice said, rolling over him. “That’s her job. Killing demonseeds is ours.”
Alric clenched his teeth. “And how are we to do that when—”
“I have spoken!” the Lord of Storms roared.
Alric stepped back, his face pale. “Yes, sir.”
The Lord of Storms nodded. “Forget Zarin,” he said. “The Daughter of the Dead Mountain cannot be trusted to stay in one place. Check every panic. I don’t care how many there are, have the men investigate every single one. If the demon is not there, they move on, no matter how upset the spirits are. Our only priority is the hunt.”
“Yes, sir,” Alric said, lowering his head. “What will you do?”
“I’ll hunt as well,” the Lord of Storms said. “She can’t hide forever. Now get to work. We’re running out of time.”
“Yes, sir,” Alric said again, but the Lord of Storms was already gone, his enormous black form vanishing in a crack of lightning.
Alric fell back into his chair with a sigh. He hadn’t expected the Lord of Storms to shut down his suggestion quite that quickly, but looking back, he wasn’t surprised. It was times like this that he had to remind himself that the Lord of Storms was not human. His body was an illusion created by the Shepherdess for her own amusement and to make it easier for him to interact with his human followers, but his mind was that of a spirit, one shaped from its very beginning to have a single purpose: to be the Shepherdess’s sword against the demons.
No matter how much the Commander railed against the Lady in private, unless her actions directly impeded his work, he would not question her. So what if the Shepherdess was sending the whole world into a panic, picking out stars like she was picking flowers? To the Commander’s mind, that just meant they had to look harder. He had balked against her order to leave Eli Monpress alone because it had put a wall between him and his purpose, but now that she had given him the freedom to hunt the Daughter of the Dead Mountain despite the thief, the Lord of Storms didn’t care how difficult the Shepherdess’s actions made things. So long as he got to hunt, to serve his purpose, the Lord of Storms wouldn’t care if the Lady ordered him to do it without hands. He’d just take it as a challenge to rip the creature’s throat out with his teeth.
Alric shook his head. It had taken him many years to understand the Lord of Storms’ nature, but no amount of understanding could make him like it. Still, there was little he could do. The Commander had given his orders, and Alric would obey. That was how the world worked.
He allowed himself a full thirty seconds of sulking before turning back to his desk and the impossible task the Lord of Storms had set before him. He grabbed the latest report and ripped it open, reading it quickly before laying it down on the bottom of what would become a stack of dead ends. Alric read the reports one by one, scratching off replies, sending his men after every panic, just as he had been ordered. They would go without question, do their duty to their utmost just like always, just like him.
“The Shepherdess’s will be done,” he muttered, laying another dead end on the pile.
An hour of furious work later, Alric had almost caught up to the current reports when a bright white light flashed in the paved yard below his window. A minute later, a brisk knock sounded at his door.
“Enter.”
A man in the League’s long black coat opened the door and stepped into the room without a sound. He was dark skinned and tall, and the sword at his hip shone as red as the setting sun. Alric smiled. Chejo was one of the League’s oldest and most trusted members. An efficient man who didn’t waste his time. If he was here, it was important, and Alric put everything else aside to hear his report.
“Deputy Commander,” Chejo said. “Eli Monpress has escaped from the Council.”
Alric frowned. “I wasn’t aware he’d been captured.”
“They got him yesterday morning,” Chejo said. “Whitefall’s good at keeping secrets.”
“Though not as good at keeping prisoners, it seems,” Alric said, tapping the paper in front of him. “But to be fair, this is Monpress we’re talking about. When did he escape?”
“Yesterday evening,” Chejo said. “Right after the incident with the rivers.”
Alric’s mouth pressed to a thin line. The timing lined up far too well for his liking. “Well, that explains the sudden disappearance of Liechten and the demonseed quite nicely, doesn’t it?”
“That’s why I thought you’d like to hear it in person,” Chejo said, his frown deepening. “Sir, does the thief’s presence change the mission?”
“No,” Alric said without hesitation. “The orders stand, but this does make things more complicated. Monpress always was the cunning one of their little group. If the demonseed is wrapped up in whatever scam he’s running, finding her could prove more difficult than we thought.”
“Don’t see how, considering it’s already nigh impossible,” Chejo said with a sneer. “The whole world’s in a panic these days.”
Alric sighed. “I know, just do your best.”
He motioned that the League man was dismissed, but Chejo didn’t leave. He stayed put, his eyes as sharp as the sword at his side. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
Alric could guess what the man wanted to say, but he nodded anyway.
“We’re pledged to protect the world from the demons,” Chejo said, gripping his sword hard. “But what the Shepherdess does now with her stars is worse than any demon fear I’ve seen in all my years with the League. I serve the Lord of Storms and his Lady without hesitation, but I have to wonder if we aren’t landing on the wrong side of the problem this time around.”
Alric looked down at his desk. Chejo’s words were dangerously close to insubordination. It was also a fair point, one that occurred to him every time he opened a report of a new panic.
“The Shepherdess has guided our world since its beginning,” he said calmly, locking his eyes on Chejo’s dark glare. “We must trust that she knows what she’s doing. Spirits are panicky by nature. Most of them are little smarter than animals, but even the big ones are prone to attacks of irrational fear. It’s only natural; spirits are prey. They are helpless, weak sheep, while demons are predators. The sheep must go where the Shepherdess leads, and we as her dogs must protect the flock and ensure it follows. That is why we are here, Chejo, to protect and corral. Not to question.”
“It is human to question,” Chejo said, crossing his arms.
“An urge we must suppress on occasion if we are to serve the spirits,” Alric answered tiredly. “Is that understood?”
