by K. M. Hade
Atrament watches a villager walk by, then tells Blood. “This isn’t the place to have that conversation.”
“I never agreed to the thread,” I say sharply. “You said words, but I never agreed.”
“Do you want ScatheFire back or not?”
“Yes.”
Blood grimaces, flicking the loop of rein back and forth across his hands as he rests on the saddle pommel. “Crazy conversations aside, the ruined lands are probably the best place for us to lay low for a bit. Everyone will assume we’ve headed south or to the nearest military outpost. I don’t know what made you bust out of the Pit, Pebbles, and we can argue about that, the insanity of Fell thread, and if we trust this Pit-ghoul or not, later.”
Yeah. I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do, because I just ruined their lives with this stunt.
Smoke’s familiar alights on his wrist. He stares into the creature’s golden eyes for a long moment. “They’re about ninety minutes behind us. All the Aether Guards and the Warden. Riding hard.”
Blood sighs. Rot clucks his tongue. Smoke puts his familiar back around his neck. “Decision has been made for us. We don’t have a chance against eight Aethers.”
“I guess you’ve been before,” I say uneasily.
Blood smirks. “Who do you think they send in? The nice Aethers? I don’t like doing this without remounts and gear, but we don’t have a choice. Let’s ride.”
2
CRYSTAL
There is one road out of town: a squishy, boggy path a cart-and-a-half wide with deep ruts carved in it, and on either side of us, the thick, boggy grass of the swamp and the moss-covered, gray-trunked trees.
The worst part of it is even though the road is fairly well-travelled, shod hoof prints easily appear when fresh over the packed-down muck. The Warden would have to be blind not to see our trail.
And when the sun comes up and starts baking it, it stinks. And the flies are unbelievable. They’re so big they dive into your face like angry hummingbirds and as thick as a blizzard. Talking is impossible. Taking my cloak off? Not happening. Everyone pulls hoods and shirts over their faces.
Atrament takes the point. Once we get about a mile down the road the bugs clear considerably, and the soggy road firms and dries as it bends upwards out of the low-lying swamp. Two miles out, it’s dusty, packed dirt, and the sun seems brighter, more yellow, and the sky more blue.
“Good,” Blood says as we pause to let the horses relax a bit. He dismounts off his horse and crouches by the road. “Not quite as easy to tell how fresh these tracks are. I’m sure an actual hunter would know, but not a Warden and Aethers.”
I roll Atrament’s cloak and tether it behind my saddle. The sun instantly begins to bake me through my rag-like prisoner uniform. The Fells are fairing better: they’ve got their Imperial uniforms on. It might be brigandine and leather, but it’s been specially enchanted to be cooler in heat and warmer in cold.
“I sort of wish I was a Frost right now.” My hair plasters down to my scalp and sticks to the back of my neck. “What are you doing, Rot?”
Rot has wet the linen sack that our pies had come in, and puts it over ScatheFire’s head. The catatonic Fell is able to keep himself on Rot’s familiar without Rot to hold on to, but is slumped over dumbly and unresponsive.
“He’s not going to out us to the Warden,” I say.
“Nah,” Rot says. “Wanna protect his face from the sun. Keep the bugs out of his mouth and all. He can’t tell us anything or do anything. The water will keep him cool.”
My heart twists, and something inside me trembles, and I think everyone else grieves too. Smoke, standing a bit off to the side, grimaces, his emotions plain on his face. A ripple of doubt seems to move through all of us.
“The first person who suggests we leave him behind gets a crystal spear through their gut,” I warn them.
“Nobody’s going to suggest that,” Blood says. “We might need to throw him to a BlightWorm or something as food while we escape.”
“You already did that, asshole. That’s how he ended up in the damn Pit.”
“We aren’t going to throw him away.” Smoke is suddenly right next to me. “Well, not unless we’re sure you can’t get him back. We should at least try. And if all else fails... we’ll put him down. It’s a better death than the one the Pit would have given him. If there’s anything left inside of him to die.”
“There has to be,” I say stubbornly. “I know he’s still in there. I know it, and I’m getting him back.”
I bat away a bug so big I hear it thunk against my hand. “Shit, was that your familiar, Atrament?”
“No, Lady Crystal. It’s right here.” He holds up his hand. The black band around his finger seems to consume the sunlight.
“Holy Gods, the bugs out here are unreal.” I bat another one away as a second one bites into the back of my left hand. “Ouch! You little fucker!”
“Pebbles, your language,” Blood scolds.
Now that we’re standing still, they’re swarming in like I’m a buffet. The horses are stamping and tossing their heads and swishing their tails, but they’ve got long hair in their ears, double-thick manes, tails, and hairy legs, so the bugs can’t casually swoop in for a snack. I, on the other hand, am a tasty and easy treat.
Rot chortles.
“Shut up, smug bastard,” Blood says.
The bugs don’t eat Rot or his horse. They don’t like the taste.
Smoke launches his familiar into the sky. The bird catches a thermal and circles above us. We point the horses down the road and head out at a walk.
A few minutes later, the bird returns to Smoke’s forearm. He lets it gently nibble his other finger. “The Warden and his Aethers are behind us. Still riding harder than us.”
“How hard?” Blood asks.
Smoke unfocuses for a second. “Trotting, but the horses are foamy. They’re about halfway down the road.”
“Might be an hour depending on if they’re willing to ruin the horses,” Rot says.
“We can’t ruin ours. Atrament, you know the area. Where can we get off the road and lie low that the Warden wouldn’t expect?” Blood asks.
“That isn’t the swamp, preferably,” I add.
“Or too deep into the swamp.” Smoke shrugs as his bird shifts on his forearm. “Can’t be picky.”
I sigh. “Hear that? That’s me sighing.”
“You’ve been in worse places.” Blood winks. “Recently, in fact.”
Atrament pauses before he answers. “I know a place the Warden would probably not expect. He isn’t one for going on the hunts that come this way. He would send me.”
“And the Aethers wouldn’t know it because they rotate every three months and wouldn’t go on a hunting party.” Smoke’s familiar shifts into its necklace form, and he ties it around his neck. “I won’t risk flying my familiar again. I haven’t seen any other large birds of prey, and the Warden will probably spot it as a familiar.”
Blood points at Atrament. “You’re on point. Rot, you and Smoke in the middle. Pebbles, you and I are bringing up the rear.”
“And if they catch up to us?” I ask. “Are we engaging? Try to run in the heat and hope their horses are ruined from riding after us?”
Because the option of fighting is a bad one: eight experienced Aethers—two teams—is a lot of firepower. I’m dangerous, Atrament isn’t a combat Mage, and ScatheFire is a husk. That leaves Blood, Smoke, and Rot. They’re powerful and hardened. Technically they’ve assisted the escape of a fugitive from the Pit, but it’s arguable they’ve committed a crime doing that. I have my familiar sword but no armor, Atrament doesn’t even have that much, and we’re already riding palfreys.
This situation is going (predictably) from bad to worse.
Blood’s jaw moves. The other Fells seem to pulse with anxiety, oddly teetering on a dangerous edge.
I’ve already killed more than my share of Aether Mages, and worse. I rein my horse around. “Change
of plans. You all ride ahead and put half a mile between us. I’ll trail behind, and if they catch me, I’ll hold them as best I can. If I can get away, I will. If they capture me, I’ll tell them we went our separate ways and Atrament lead you into the swamp and low-lands south of here. That he knows some secret paths that the hunting parties use, and since you’re all Fells, the swamp won’t hurt you.”
Rot glares. “And they’ll take you back to the Pit!”
I hate the idea of killing more Aethers, I hate the idea of going back to the Pit more. I can’t let the Warden take me back to the Pit. I can’t let him have whatever might be growing in my belly. I’ve got to get ScatheFire back. “I’m the already-convicted Mage-killer in the party. You have Atrament as evidence of what’s happening here. He was Tailored in the Academy. I’ll bet my chargers the Empress doesn’t know.”
“You were Tailored at the Academy?” Blood demands of Atrament.
“There’s no time for this. Lady Crystal, he will throw you back into solitary... or worse.” Atrament’s voice strums my thread. My magic and soul quiver. “He will do horrible things to you. Far, far, far worse than he has already done.”
Keeping my Aether safe is no longer a priority. The Warden’s not getting a second chance at my body. “I was bred and trained to face nightmares. Your nightmares, their nightmares, my nightmares.”
Atrament’s dark hair twines and wraps around his shoulders and legs. “We cannot get ScatheFire back without you. you’re his only hope and you made him a promise.”
“I intend to keep it.”
Atrament smiles. He points. “Follow the main road. Watch for a narrow deer-trail that bends into the sawgrass towards the treeline. My familiar will lead you the rest of the way to where we will be hiding.”
“Don’t kill too many of them, Pebbles.” Blood blows me a kiss as he reins his horse around, but his expression is dark and worried.
“I do not like this,” Rot grumbles.
“Go and don’t argue. I’ve got a plan.” I flip my middle finger at them, then nudge my horse into a trot back down the road.
I don’t actually have a plan. I need a plan. A plan that preferably does not involve killing more Aethers. And there are eight of them and one of me, and with those odds, they don’t need a plan, but I need a damn good plan. Also one that doesn’t involve me being killed or captured.
I have a nifty new sword, but a tired horse and no armor. So my plan is going to need a lot of magic. Tons of magic. Buckets and buckets of magic.
Shit.
On the plus side, I’m in the middle of bloody ass nowhere. No farms, no estates, no pastures, no crops, no fields, no people. With the exception of the small town at the edge of the swamp, there’s nothing out here. I’m not an Inferno or ScatheFire or Storm, so there’s no chance I’m going to accidentally set fire to anything. Nor am I responsible for any other Mages, and if my magic does random shit, it doesn’t matter, does it?
Eight Aethers, though. One Aether would make me pause. The Warden’s no concern, but eight battle-hardened and experienced Aethers that hate me?
My only advantage is the Aethers assigned to the Pit aren’t the best and brightest. That doesn’t mean they’re dumb or incompetent, just that they’ve made enough mistakes to earn a sojourn to menial Blight-saturated Pit duty.
I put twenty minutes of jogging between me and the Fells before slowing my palfrey to a walk. The area all around is wetlands, dipping low on either side into boggy, uneven, soggy, foul terrain. There’s a line of trees in the distance on either side—the sort of grayish swamp-trees full of chiggers and parasites and moss and probably surrounded by chest-high water and muck.
And bugs. So many bugs. I pull back on the cloak despite the stifling heat. “I promised you, ScatheFire. I promised all of you, but I especially promised you.”
I swing off my horse. He’s sweating, foamy under his breastplate, and his nostrils flare as he breathes. He nudges me—he’s still good, just sweaty from the burning heat. I yank up some of the grass from the side of the road.
I crouch down by the gelding’s off hind leg, tie the grasses end to end, and loop them around the gelding’s lower leg, in the softest part of the tendon. “Sorry about this, horse.”
I pull the grass somewhat taught. Not tight, but snug enough to piss him off. He lifts his leg reflexively, then puts it down, touches his toe, lifts it again. I summon my familiar into sword form, take the horse by the reins under his chin, then walk down the road the way we’ve come.
Annoyed by the grass around his leg, my horse lifts his hind leg too high and irregularly, like he’s lame.
“Perfect. Sorry, horse. Really, but deception is a fully valid strategy.” First thing you learn out on the front (well, after the usual first things) is that simple strategies work. Don’t overthink it. Don’t try to make it pretty. Just get the job done. The bards and braggarts will take care of writing history to be pretty.
I spend the next twenty minutes waiting with my horse, listening for the sound of hoofbeats.
“Here they are.” My sword crackles in my hand and trembles like a snake’s tail rattling.
Eight Aethers and the Warden ride at a brisk walk up the road. The horses are lathered and blowing. The Mages are in armor. The Warden rides at the front.
“Don’t!” I point my sword at them. “I swear if you come closer I’ll add to my collection of heads!”
I pull the horse’s head around. Startled, he swings his haunches and demonstrates his “lame” hind leg.
The Warden spurs his horse closer. The Aethers stay close in four-by-two formation, with the two Aegis in the middle. The Warden’s eyes go right to my horse’s leg. “I see you’ve been abandoned.”
I snarl at him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not your broodbitch, and I’m never going back to the Pit.”
“Warden.” Inferno rides up alongside the Warden and holds out a hand. “Don’t.”
“It’s not an ambush.” I point to the low-lands around us. “Where would Rot’s big ass actually hide out there?”
A red dog appears at the horses’ hooves, and darts off across the road, while a wolf with a tawny coat appears and darts past me. Familiars. Two canine-types. One of those horses may also be a familiar. Five familiars unaccounted for.
The Warden focuses on me. “Where did they go, Crystal?”
The wolf traces scent down the road. Going to have to change my story—the wolf won’t be able to go more than half a mile, so it’ll still work, just with a revision. “They rode ahead, obviously, and left me here. Atrament is going to take them south through a low-lands path he learned from the hunting parties you sent him on.”
The Aethers exchange looks. The Warden’s cold arrogance fractures and his face contorts with fury.
I brush at a fly with one hand but adjust my grip on my sword with the other. “I know I’m worse than damned. My life was over the instant I got thrown into the Pit. They’re innocent. Guess it’s better I got left behind. The only thing that makes me sad is I won’t be there to see the Empress’ face when she finds out Atrament exists. I wonder who is going to get shipped back to the Pit. Some of the military you’re in league with? Some of your Aethers? Some nobles? You?”
The Warden snarls, “Take her!”
I slash the grass off my horse’s leg and spring onto his back. He jerks his head up, confused. My familiar shifts into snake form, and I cast a warding circle under myself. My magic roars up into my hands.
This time, I let it happen.
I cast a warding circle under them, large and wide.
Inferno flings a wall of flame at me. I catch it on a shield, extending the dome around and over me.
My magic boils over. My Aether burns through my prisoner’s clothing. Magic and circles and wards crack against my shields, but they’re pebbles. Crystal magic roars.
I grin at Metal as his flechettes plink uselessly off my shield.
I pull up.
Up.
&n
bsp; “More!” I scream at my magic, pulling as much of it through me as I can, feeling the ground heave and split and shake under me. My horse dances and half-rears, and their horses shift in panic, pressing together. Inferno flings more fire at me, but it bounces off my shield, and I keep pulling. One of the Aegis breaks from their usual job and tries to punch up through the dirt under my horse, but it doesn’t work.
My magic is endless, depthless, I summon more wild, crazed power, and it answers, pouring into me. My Aether ignites all over my body, and I vaguely see my skin has started to glow a bright blue streaked with a blinding array of colors so intense they shift and blur into something almost too bright to look at. It rips through my hair, over my skin, licks off me like fire and all I am is Aether fire. Burning, pouring through me, incinerating me and pulling at all the broken, anguished places.
The Aethers fall back. There’s shouting. The Warden, though, stares at me in hungry, ambitious wonder.
It’s too much. Too much magic, too unstable, I don’t want to kill them, I don’t even want to hurt them.
I scream in anguish.
I have to. I have to.
“I don’t want to do this!” I scream over the roar of the magic.
I promised you, ScatheFire.
Massive crystal spears rip out of the ground through the circumference of the warding circle.
I scream and pull higher, pulling against the promises, as the Blight tries to rush in and feed off my fear and rage. It sinks talons into all the anguished places. I scream and my magic bucks. The ground makes a terrible noise as the crystal pushes higher. The world cracks and the ground splinters.
For a second, I see through the cracks—just an instant—and see into some weird, shadowy world, like seeing through a thousand dark, gauzy veils.
ScatheFire?
Just a glimpse of a man’s form, bathed in faint greenish light, sitting, waiting, back to me.