“Being a soldier is not, in the end, being an executioner. Understand that. In the cleanest of cases, you will not stand face-to-face and toe-to-toe with the enemy; you will not be fighting in self-defense. If you can, in safety, kill your target, you will be expected to do so—when he’s sleeping, when he’s eating, when he’s otherwise helpless.
“Your path will cross city streets, city buildings; there will be civilians on your battlefield and you will be considered a murderer should you kill them in pursuit of your goal. Battlefields define soldiers.”
Severn listened. After a pause that had grown too long, he said, “How many of your Wolves strike out on their own?” His gaze fell to Renzo’s head.
Helmat’s smile deepened; there was approval in it. And ice. “That,” the Wolflord said, “is a very perceptive question. You understand why choosing the right candidates is vital to an organization such as ours.”
“I’m not the right candidate.”
“In your opinion, who would be?”
Severn glanced at Elluvian.
“There are many reasons to kill,” the Wolflord continued when Severn did not answer. “Rage. Greed. Fear. Such crimes, however, are the responsibility of the Hawks. Most of these deaths occur between family members or people who know each other. They are not, and will not, be your concern. Crimes of passion do not need Wolves. Let us assume, then, that most murders in this city are irrelevant to the Wolves.”
The youth could not see the direction Helmat was attempting to steer what was barely a conversation.
“When people think of killers, they think in odd specifics. They think of battles in the warrens. They think of the deaths in the fiefs. They romanticize, for a value of the word; they are telling themselves stories. There are horrific murders that occur within the city proper, and those loom large in the minds of our citizens. There might be one such grisly death, or one such murderer in a decade—but that is the one that people will remember.”
“And that murderer,” Severn said softly, “is not someone you want as a Wolf.”
“Indeed, no. And perhaps I wander, but we have some time yet. Would you care to tell me what you think I would look for in a killer?”
“Someone who doesn’t want to kill.”
“Yes. But most people do not want to kill. And most people would not make good Wolves. En, tell the boy why you would make a good Wolf.”
“Given how often you’ve derided my attempts to carry out my duties, I find the request almost shocking.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“Very well. I would make a good Wolf for two reasons. The first, to which Lord Marlin has already alluded, is power. I am Barrani, and even among my kin, I am not considered inconsequential. Were I, I would be dead.” His smile was slender and almost warm. “The second: I would be willing to accept Lord Marlin as my commander. He is mortal, I am not, but his authority is absolute.”
Helmat snorted. Loudly.
“I obviously care more about the respect due his office than he himself.”
“It is not the respect due the office,” Helmat snapped. “And your second point is almost entirely irrelevant.”
“It is not.”
“It is. There are many who might consider suborning themselves to the merely mortal. There are Barrani Hawks.”
“That, as you are aware, is an unusual case—”
“More than a dozen ‘unusual’ cases. I would take none of them, regardless.”
“Ah. Perhaps my Barrani outlook prevents me from understanding your mortal requirements.” The boy’s gaze bounced between the two men, following their barbs. It settled, in the end, on Elluvian. “I do not enjoy killing. I do not decry it. It is, like sleep, a very occasional fact of life.”
“The Barrani don’t require sleep,” Helmat said.
“When severely injured, Lord Marlin, even the Barrani require rest. Perhaps, in the end, you do wish to explain? The choice is going to be yours, not mine.”
Helmat flicked impatient fingers in Elluvian’s direction.
“Killing livestock is not, in the end, more of a burden than killing a man. I take little pride in the act; it is a necessity, not more and not less. I am entirely neutral.”
“Why do you do it?” The young man surprised him by asking.
“That is a complicated question. Ah, no, it is a simple question; the answer is complicated. Let me say, simply, that I do it because I want to.”
One dark brow rose.
“That is hardly complicated,” Helmat said.
“I am famously lazy. Why did you agree to this interview?”
Severn said nothing for one long beat. Two. And then he said, “Because I wanted to.”
Helmat laughed. “En is being difficult. You will come to expect that, if you remain with the Wolves. You have killed. You have no desire to do so again. Tell me, boy, would you make the same choices that led you to kill the first time?”
“Yes.” He answered without hesitation.
“Even knowing what you now know?”
“Yes.” The word was defiant, and given his apparent age, this was not unexpected. But beneath it, Elluvian heard a depth of sorrow, of exhaustion. He wished, not for the first time, that human eyes, like the eyes of any of the rest of the known races, shifted color with mood or emotion. They did not. Various experts over the centuries had attempted to find reasons for this stubborn persistence of color, some going so far as to suggest that humans were simply slightly more intelligent livestock—which had not gone over well.
“Belief,” Helmat said softly, “is a dangerous game. En follows the laws because he has chosen to serve the Emperor; he does not feel any personal loyalty to them. Nothing is personal to En.”
“That is untrue.”
“Nothing to do with the Wolves is personal. En has offered the Emperor his oaths of allegiance, and the Emperor has accepted them. But En has seen the rise and fall of many things in his time, and he oft feels that laws such as ours are merely waiting to become the detritus of yet another mortal civilization.”
“The Eternal Emperor isn’t mortal.”
“That, of course, is the rejoinder to his philosophy. I have dedicated my life to the Emperor’s service. In En’s view, my life—the whole of it, from birth to death—is insignificant; it will be irrelevant.”
Elluvian grimaced. “It is simple to maintain principles for a handful of decades—even I am capable of that. But to maintain them for centuries as the world shifts and changes? It is far, far more complicated. We who live forever—without the malicious intervention of our foes—oft choose to live in the moment because change is inevitable. For you, that is not necessary.