by T B Phillips
“First, I will turn you over to the Astian council. They will likely make your death a public affair, as a lesson to the rest of the Society.” Smiling, he added, “Not like your last death, where your body couldn’t be found to properly put on display.”
“Well…” Kernigan paused to breathe between convulsing muscles. “Since none of that will happen, will you at least tell my sisters that I’m alive and well?”
Kestrel let out a low, rumbling sound that resembled a laugh. “Oh, I assure you that it will happen, Samani. You wouldn’t be able to escape me at full strength, much less in the state you are in.”
“Tell her. She needs to know I took my mission to Andalon. That I will set these people free.”
“They are not people. They are experiments that went wrong.” Kestrel let out a sigh, then dragged Samani into the Rookery.
The stone inside of the Rookery was cold, and Kernigan was appreciative that the Falconers took the time to lift him up onto a table. His hands were still bound, and Kestrel had taken extra precautions of wrapping his arms and legs as well. Unless the lead Falconer released him, there was no way to escape, cell or no.
He let himself slip back into omniscience. All teams had tossed the carcass grenades into the murder holes and atop the gun positions. The smoke and chemical vapor worked very quickly, and the city guardsmen choked and gagged in the cloud of death. The luckiest of the men escaped to fresh air, but many hundreds were sleeping near their posts and died from asphyxiation.
Jacque crouched beneath the northeast battery, out of view of the murder holes. His team, like the others, wore eyepatches that kept one eye ready for night vision. On his cue they switched them over and tossed Sippen’s inventions into the fortifications before climbing the wall to take out the first battery. Smoke billowed from the clay pots, covering their advance. Their knives flashed and sliced open the throats of surprised men.
Eusari’s special teams wore masks that Sippen had given them, and walked into the clouds unaffected. With haste each group raced to their assigned battery, placing primers in the barrels and inside casks of black powder resting nearby. They met little resistance since the guards were focused mostly on the gas, afraid to enter the clouds. He watched as Shon left the wall and led his team to the rookery. Marque turned south and led an assault on the harbor guns and Eusari headed for the northwest position by the gates. Remembering the mission briefing, he knew that Porter and Giovani would remove the southwest and harbor cannons overlooking Braen.
Samani shifted his view to watch Ice Prince. The bearded captain waited until he saw all four plumes atop the harbor wall, and then signaled for Krill to fire both port and starboard guns. He aimed to cripple the enemy vessels before they could intervene. The first volley rocked his own ship in the harbor, causing waves to rip at the pier. The Imperial ships on both sides splintered from the attack, and Gunnery Sergeant Krill fired salvo after salvo into each of the six ships alongside.
The pounding from running feet on stone brought Kernigan’s back to reality. He watched the Falconers sprint from the Rookery, racing to help fight off the attack. He tried his bonds and they still held, meaning that Kestrel had not gone far. He slipped back into the state but saw a different view.
The city of Diaph was gone and he gazed instead upon the city of Weston. The westernmost gate had been destroyed, and all that was left was a burned-out husk. The city had opened its doors to tens of thousands of refugees, with more trickling across the Forbidden Waste. Shock turned to concern, but eventually he felt proud that the people crossing the desert were Pescari.
As he focused on the palace, he found himself face to face with a teenage boy as shocked to see Samani as he was to see the boy. “I have to help her,” the boy was saying, over and over again to him. “I have to save her before he burns her.”
“How?” Samani was so shocked that he began to feel the dream slipping away and reality forcing its way back into his mind.
With a violent rush his mind’s eye clicked off and Kernigan lay on the table, effects of the bead completely used up. “How?” He thought. “How did the boy reach such a high level of Da’ash’mael without an Astian bead?” He stared down at his wrists, legs, and ankles, swearing at the wisps of air that bound him. He finally relaxed and waited, marveling at the implications in Weston.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Robert woke shivering but dry. It had snowed during the night, and a white blanket covered the city. Several weeks of growth showed on his face, and tiny icicles clung to his beard. Robert loved the snow but hated the cold wind. His breathing had been difficult every night since his humiliation, but the last had been the worst. His lungs felt like razor blades when he breathed in the icy air.
He had dreamed a scene so intense that he felt he had been there, watching the ship deposit the boats in the night. He remembered the adrenaline he felt as the soldiers, dressed in black leather, shimmied up the walls and deployed weapons the likes of which he had never seen. They tossed the little clay pots at the large harbor guns, causing gas to chase out the choking and gagged defenders. Most disturbing was the image of the man who shared his dream, and the Falconer who held him bound by shackles of air.
Of course, it was only a dream and he welcomed it over the others that plagued him every night since Eachann had taken charge of the city. Sarai dominated those visions, as she worked with the Pescari boy to settle his people. He had also seen her in reality, walking and holding the boy’s arm through the city streets. Robert knew boy was dangerous and prayed that she would realize for herself before it was too late.
He feared for her safety. His dreams of her were the reason that he had not rejoined Max and the rest of their army. It was always the same. Sarai would be sitting with Taros in the palace gardens, playfully tossing snow and smiling at their conversation. Then Taros would be standing over her, face distorted in anger with flames again in his eyes. She would burn to a husk before he would turn off the fire, and Robert would be too weak and useless to stop him.
The prince rose from the bundled rags he used as a bed, stretching and moving blood back into his hands and feet. Pain rushed into his extremities as it did, but Robert ignored it, flexing his hands and toes as he planned out his day. First and foremost, he needed food. Then, he would return to the rooftops and find Sarai.
His little nest was built on the top floor of a burned-out apartment beside a bakery that had somehow been spared from the fire. The loft provided the perfect vantage for spying on her window as well as the gardens below. He had watched over his love for several weeks. So long, in fact, that his crisp white uniform had turned unrecognizably black from the soot in which he slept.
He swung down to the street level, making an impression in the snow when he hit. He cursed at his mistake, realizing that if someone was looking for him, he had just given away the location of his nest. In the end, the uncomfortable rumbling of his stomach won out over his worry and he made his way down the street to an inn called the Cozy Dog. He circled around to an alley in the back, knowing that the proprietor would leave the previous night’s stew pot out on the step for vagrants. He smiled when he saw that there were also a few wooden bowls and spoons sitting nearby.
Robert sat on the step and filled a bowl. The stew warmed him from the inside out, and he felt his breathing improve with each bite. He closed his eyes and inhaled the steam through his nostrils, taking in the aroma of beef, mushrooms and leeks. When he opened them, the owner of the inn stood over him. The portly man was balding, white hair curving around the back of his head with only wisps of cotton on top. His fat cheeks were rosy, and his nose was overly large and scarred with tumors that made it as red as an apple.
“You need to come inside, Prince Robert. It isn’t safe for you today.” The round bellied man was looking back and forth down the alleyway as if he were expecting trouble.
“How? How did you know it was me?�
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“Son, I knew it was you the first time you poked around my scrap bin. I didn’t want you to starve, out here so I started leaving the pot.” The man looked anxious and even a little afraid. “Please, your highness. Please come inside.”
Perhaps it was exhaustion from a restless night, but Robert rose and allowed the man to lead him into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong? Something’s obviously bothering you.”
“There’ve been men about, asking everyone your whereabouts.”
“Probably soldiers or officers acting on behalf of General Reeves.” Robert dismissed the concerns of the man.
“No sir. These are harder men than soldiers. They stayed here last night and asked about you. They said that you conspired to have your mother killed so that you could take the throne. They offered to pay handsomely for information.”
“My mother?” The young prince mulled over the words. Realization dawning. “Did something happen to my mother?”
“I’m sorry, my lord. They say that you hired a pirate to behead her when she was trying to ransom back your brother.” The burly innkeeper looked down at the ground, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. I thought that you knew.”
“That would mean that Marcus is claiming the throne.”
“Yes, my prince. He was crowned, last week after a huge trial in Eston. Apparently, the Chancellor was part of the conspiracy.”
“Conspiracy.” Robert shook his head in disbelief, dumbfounded by the news. “I had nothing to do with it. I’ve been dealing with issues here.”
“I know, my lord. That is why I didn’t trust them. We need to get you to your army, sir. The general has men looking for you also. I can lead you to them.”
“No. I’m not ready. I’ve important things to do.” Robert was stunned. The news was slowly setting in, weighing his heavy melancholy further down.
“It ain’t right, sir.”
The prince looked up, focusing on the innkeeper. “What’s not right.”
“Moving the Pescari into the city. It ain’t right.” The man was fidgeting, rubbing his hands on a towel, drying them over and over, despite that they were already dry.
“Why do you say that?” Robert watched the man with increased interest. Something about the man’s erratic behavior unnerved him. The prince stood to leave. “Thank you for the stew. I need to be going.”
“No! I mean, please stay, your highness.” The man’s eyes darted toward the door to the common area then back to Esterling. “I need to keep you safe.”
“Keep me safe? Or stall, you mean?” Robert grabbed one of the kitchen knives from the counter, holding it as he was trained by Max. The door to the common area swung open and two men rushed in. A split second later the door to the alley did the same and two more men entered the crowded kitchen.
One of the men handed a purse to the innkeeper who ran from the room, door slamming shut behind him. The man who had produced the purse moved to block the door. “Hello, Princey,” he gave Robert a short curtsey and then laughed, “you were a difficult man to find.” The man signaled the others who rushed all at once.
Robert tried to control his breathing, feeling the passages constrict from his sudden leap to grab the knife. And then everything in the room came into sharp focus. A feeling of omniscience overwhelmed him, knowing where each man was going to step and the direction that their hands would attack. The first man reached him, but Robert ducked a blow from a cudgel and sidestepped, bringing his knife up into the man’s armpit. With a turn of the wrist, he turned the man to face the other two attackers, using him as both a shield and a battering ram to push them off of their balance.
Having gained separation, he turned his body so that he could see all four men at once. Blurred shapes ran out from each man, each indicating a path of intended travel. The man at the door seemed to hesitate, showing no desire to get physical. Focusing on the other two, Robert saw that one intended to pull and throw a knife. He reached his hand up as it flew, watching it turn slowly end over end until he snatched it cleanly out of the air by the handle.
All three men hesitated at this, having never seen any feat like it. Smiling, Robert lunged at the solitary man, spinning with the blades through the air in an act of stunning acrobatics. He felt as if he were flying through the air as he lunged, and the look on the man’s face was satisfying. He plunged the first knife into the man’s neck, spinning him around so that he was between him and the other two. He rammed the second knife up between the ribs into the man’s lung, feeling the escaping air around his hand.
He looked down and literally saw the air flow out from the man. Looking up he saw all kinds of swirling patterns like motes of dust around the room. The currents seemed to make sense to Robert in that moment, as if he could read them and predict their path. He reached out with his mind and caught ahold of one, drawing it toward the men. With a push he let it fly across the room, sending both men sprawling atop the man still bleeding on the floor.
He drew a deep breath into his lungs, filling them deeply and feeling no constriction. He marveled at the feeling whereas moments ago he had wheezed. Slowly letting out the breath he focused it into strands of air as fine and tight as tinsel. He reached out and wrapped the hands and legs of the two conscious men. He bound them in the same fashion as the Falconer had tied the hands of the man from the dream, with wisps of air.
The prince should have been terrified at what he just done, but he was strangely calm. He tucked the knives in his waistband and strode past the failed assassins, exiting the door beyond them and emerging in the alley. Looking down at the kettle of stew resting on the step, he thought about how he was lured into betrayal. He released another blast of air that sent the kettle careening down the steps, spilling its contents into the alley.
He hustled back toward the burned bakery, glancing at his footsteps in the snow. No longer worrying about being found or followed, he pulled himself up into the loft. As he did, he nearly collided with a hooded figure seated on a rafter. Robert jumped back, drawing his blades.
The man pulled his hood back, revealing his face. “Easy now. Why would I want to hurt the rightful Emperor of Andalon?”
Robert relaxed, putting the knives away. “I missed you, Max.”
“I missed you, too, my liege.” Wrinkling up his nose, he added, “Gawds. Your uniform smells like shit, boy.”
Maximus Reeves sat across from Robert, sipping from a waterskin. Too dangerous to go about the city in daytime, he had decided to stay in the boy’s loft. The prince had done well providing for his own survival, having collected non-perishable items in a basket in the corner. He had found a natural windbreak in the crook of the burned-out loft, and the hearth in the corner held warmth from the adjacent bakery.
He listened with interest at Robert’s exploits over the past weeks, periodically nodding his approval at resourcefulness. He only interrupted once, when the boy discussed his most recent brush with death. “Tell that part again.”
“About the men at the inn?”
“Particularly how you had bound their hands and feet.”
Robert recanted the “Battle of the Kitchen,” focusing on getting every detail accurate for the general.
“And you’ve never done any of that before? Not even by accident?”
“No, Max. This was the first time.”
“No, son. No, it wasn’t.” The boy looked shocked, so the general filled him in, describing the superstitious mumblings back in camp. “So, you see? You must have made a shield around us. That’s why we didn’t get hit with a single arrow.”
Robert searched his mind back to that night. A single memory rose to his conscious, remembering the moment that Sarai had called his name and how he had dodged the arrow. There was no way that he could have moved so quickly, save for the fact that the projectile had been pathing much the same way that the men in the kitchen had. O
nly, it had been moving faster so Robert hadn’t noticed reading the trajectory. He relayed this information to Max, who nodded.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you had the powers of a Falconer.”
“Great. We saw what he did to two of them with his fire.”
Maximus thought long and hard at this. “Don’t be so quick to think that he’s more powerful than you. They were bonded with their birds at the time, and we saw him fry those out of the sky. They were probably disoriented, and he caught them off guard.”
Robert considered this for several moments, finally looking up at his friend and mentor. “Am I a freak like them?”
“You’re not a freak, son. You are the rightful king of the Esterling Empire.” Max walked over and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Now let’s go back to the camp and march south to Eskera where I still have some officers loyal to me. If General Lourdes is sympathetic, we may be able to sway some troops into our camp.”
“No, Max. I need to be here to protect her. I’ve seen what he’ll do to her.”
“You can’t stay here, son. You just fought those assassins, and your brother’s no doubt sent several teams at once.” Shaking his head, he added, “No. I need to get you safely to camp.”
“Give me a week, Max.”
General Reeves looked closely at the young man sitting in front of him. Pride filled him as he thought about how much the boy had grown in recent months. “I’ll give you three days, no more. After that I’ll drag you kicking and screaming if I have to.”
“Thank you, Max.”
“You’re welcome. I’m also sending you some supplies and rations.” With that, the man put up his hood and started his climb down from the loft. Pausing, he added, “Oh, and be more careful about leaving tracks in the snow.”
Chapter Thirty-Six