Stonewall's squad had taken a position in the far corner, where the sun had not yet crested high enough to dispel the shadow cast by the garrison wall. Like a few other squads, they'd set their weapons aside in favor of hand-to-hand sparring. Currently, Stonewall and the squad's mender, Beacon, circled one another as the others cheered them on. Engrossed as they were, none noticed Talon’s approach.
“Come on, Beak!” Milo called, clapping his hands as Beacon struck Stonewall with a right hook. Flint hollered her approval.
Rook was more sedate. “Good footwork,” she said to the mender. “Keep it up and you'll hand the sarge's ass to him.” She paused as Stonewall swung a left hook, nearly catching Beacon's jaw. “No offense, ser.”
“None taken,” Stonewall managed, ducking again.
Despite the cool air, both men's foreheads were damp with sweat and their breathing was labored. There was a break in the action as Stonewall considered his opponent before making his move. He leaped forward as if to attack directly. Beacon braced himself and moved to match his sergeant, but before he could, Stonewall shifted his balance and caught Beacon with an uppercut.
It was only a practice blow, but the mender called a surrender and made a show of rubbing his jaw. “Good one. Where'd you learn that last move?”
“Nothing special about it,” Stonewall said as he clapped Beacon's shoulder. “Remember to watch your opponent's feet as well, not just their face.”
“Your sergeant is right,” Talon said, causing them to turn. “Eyes lie.” Her appearance snapped the lot of them into attention and they rushed to line up in a neat row to salute her in unison. She nodded acknowledgment and swept her gaze across the squad before looking at Stonewall. “They've improved a great deal over the last fortnight.”
The sergeant saluted again, bowing deeper this time. “They're a good bunch, Commander.”
As she'd noticed the first time they'd met, he was neither overly tall nor muscular, though he had both height and strength in sufficient quantities. His light-brown eyes were steady; his black hair, clipped short, gleamed with sweat and the pulse at his throat beat quickly.
She heard herself ask, “Are you tired?”
“A little, ser.” He squared his shoulders as if expecting a reprimand for his honesty. “But I'm not done yet.”
Nodding, Talon glanced back at the squad. “Take a breather. I'd like to try my hand at defeating your sergeant.”
It was a testament to how deep their training ran that none of the sentinels standing at attention so much as blinked in surprise. And it very likely was a surprise. Though Talon often led sessions, she generally did not have time to regularly spar with any save Cobalt and a few of the other officers.
Perhaps that ought to change.
As she slid into a fighting stance, Talon offered the sergeant a faint smile. “It is customary for me to personally spar with each newcomer to the garrison at least once,” she said as Stonewall dropped his shoulders and spread his feet. “I would have done so sooner, but–”
She attacked without warning; mid-sentence, she surged forward, momentum allowing her fists to strike hard and fast. The sergeant barely avoided what would have been a severe blow to his chest had he not been armored.
“But I have been otherwise occupied,” she finished, pivoting to aim a swift kick at his knee.
Stonewall darted out of the way, but either he was more tired than he realized, or she was faster. She struck at him again and again, barely giving him time to defend himself, let alone retaliate. His gaze mainly stayed on her, but darted over her shoulder once. She was dimly aware that his squad had stepped back to keep out of the way, though no doubt they were riveted on the display.
“Focus, Stonewall,” Talon said, right before she jabbed at his neck. She caught the edge of his cuirass to pull him to the ground, but he jerked out of her grip. When his eyes met hers again, they gleamed with an unspoken challenge.
A thrill shot through her. The sensation was unexpected and sudden, and was therefore enough to distract her for one instant, of which the sergeant took full advantage. He rained a series of brutal blows upon her abdomen that would have knocked a smaller woman to the ground. Talon stumbled back briefly, but caught herself and met him with her own strength. They were both panting heavily now, each putting their full effort into the spar. Talon pushed her conscious mind to the side and focused on letting her body move how it needed to in order to win. Yes, she was nearly a cinder; yes, she longed for another dose of hematite to burn her blood, but she was not the commander of this garrison for nothing.
Talon's victory came during a moment of anticipation on the sergeant's part. The muscles of his legs bunched as he prepared to strike; he kept his eyes locked on hers, drew his fists back and–
She pirouetted, swinging her foot to knock his legs out from under him, dropping him as easily as an apple from a tree. He lay stunned, blinking at the sky, before climbing back to his feet.
“Good work,” Talon said as she offered him her hand, which he accepted. “You lasted longer than I expected, though you should follow your own advice.”
As he brushed himself off, he cast a sideways glance at his squad, who were still silent, though that would no doubt change the second the officers were out of earshot. “I'll do that, ser,” he said.
“Are you tired?”
Judging from his grimace, it hurt to salute, but he managed the bow anyway. She almost felt sorry for him. “I am now, Commander.”
Talon allowed herself to offer him a true smile, if a fleeting one. She nodded to the fountain at the courtyard's edge, which provided a constant stream of clean water – an advantage of living so close to the river. “Walk with me a moment.”
“Certainly, ser.”
They passed by other squads, still sparring. Captain Cobalt watched her and the sergeant from across the yard, though he looked away when she caught his gaze.
The fountain was in the shade of one of the garrison walls. It was a practical piece of stonework, all right angles, with an edge wide enough to sit upon should one be so inclined. Clay mugs rested in small hooks beside the spout; Talon took two, filled them, and offered one to Stonewall.
“The One is life,” she said as she lifted hers.
Stonewall raised his too. “The One is life.”
They drank in silence. She savored the cool trickle down her throat, into her belly, and watched him over the rim of her mug. Despite his obvious thirst, he controlled himself and drank slowly. A good sign; he had the making of a fine officer.
When he finished, he swiped a drop of water from his lips and regarded her. “Ser, did you read my report from Torin?”
“It was on my desk this morning. Good work; it was concise, but still thorough.”
He nodded absently and did not comment upon the praise. “What did you make of the marks on the Aredian soldier?”
She frowned. “I appreciate the detail in your account, but surely the marks were a product of ill-fitting gear, chafing or something similar.”
“Maybe, ser,” he replied. “But Beacon recognized them as burn marks, not chafing or irritation.”
“What are you suggesting?” Icy alarm flashed through Talon’s veins. “Do you think magic was involved?”
“I can hardly say, ser,” he said after a beat. “But I thought it was worth mentioning.” He seemed to consider, then added, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the soldier was burned by the metal in his gear.”
What in the void was he saying? Talon tried to keep her voice neutral, despite her fraying patience. “You think he was a glimmer out of a children’s tale?”
Stonewall blanched but his reply was steady. “I’m not saying anything, ser. Merely offering observations.”
“I’ll pass them on to Argent,” Talon replied. “In the meantime, I've another mission for your squad.”
Stonewall blinked in surprise; his gaze slid to Cobalt, then back to her. But
he made no comment on her subversion of the chain of command, only waited for her to continue.
She wished she didn't have to. “High Commander Argent has reason to believe that a group of Sufani nomads have been conspiring with members of the Assembly.”
“That can’t possibly be true, ser,” he said, eyes widening. “The Sufani can’t stand outsiders.”
A sharp glare silenced him before she continued. “And with the recent incident involving our own hematite shipment, I’m inclined to agree with him. Sowing discord and chaos is exactly the sort of trouble the Assembly is known to cause – all in the name of equality.”
“I wouldn’t know, ser,” Stonewall replied. “I’ve never met anyone in the Assembly. But I have encountered a group of Sufani nomads fairly recently.”
She nodded. “Which is why I’m selecting you to carry out this mission. Are you familiar with a township called Oreion?”
He started again, though he recovered quickly. “Yes, ser.”
“Good.” To gather her calm, Talon held her mug beneath the trickle of water, then took a long drink. “You and your squad are ordered to investigate the area and bring in any Sufani you may come across. You are,” she clenched her teeth and forced her voice to be steady, “ordered to use any means necessary to detain them, though they must be returned here alive. They're to be sent to Lasath for interrogation. But be careful. If you encounter the same Sufani who stole our hematite, they may put up more of a fight than normal.”
Stonewall stared at her. Behind them, she could hear sounds of the others sparring; the bright song of steel was a fitting undertone to the aftermath of her words. Despite the cool air, sweat prickled at the small of her back.
When he did not reply, impatience welled within her. “Is there a problem, Sergeant? This assignment is a great honor; you and your squad have the opportunity to gain Argent's favor.”
This seemed to shake him out of his reverie and he shook his head. “With all due respect, ser, a sentinel’s purpose is to maintain balance in the world by keeping the mages under control, not to harass civilians accused of supposed wrongdoing–”
“There was a mage,” Talon interrupted.
Stonewall started and his gaze slid toward the bastion. “Ser?”
Talon glanced around once more to ensure that no one was listening. “A mage was working with the Sufani who stole our hematite. He used his magic to attack the sergeant in charge of the shipment.”
Stonewall frowned. “How, ser? The hematite–”
“Apparently the mage didn’t use magic on Gossan,” Talon broke in. “But around him.” She related what the burnie officer had told her, and Stonewall’s expression darkened with each word.
“Incredible,” he said after she’d finished. “I’ve never heard of magic being used in such a way.”
“Nor have I,” Talon replied grimly. “Which is why, if Gossan’s account is true, renegade mages like this must be brought into custody. Who knows what other damage they could do?”
Stonewall nodded, but his gaze on the bastion was distant. At last he looked back at her. “If I may ask, Commander, why you didn’t share this information during the…” His cheeks darkened. “The meeting the other morning?”
She had asked herself the same question many times. “Gossan is a sentinel, and therefore his word is meant to be trusted. However, he is also a young officer who bungled a relatively minor mission. Argent will hear of his error, but I’d rather not stir the pot here too much until I know the truth.” She slanted the sergeant with a knowing look. “You’re no burnie, Stonewall. You know how sentinels will gossip. Besides, if word of a renegade mage acting against us—along with the missing hematite—gets to the bastion mages, it could incite them to further acts of rebellion other than an ill-conceived escape attempt.”
The sergeant nodded again, though he still did not look satisfied. “To be clear, ser,” he said slowly, “are our orders to arrest Sufani nomads or a mage?”
“Both, if you should come across them,” she replied. “At least bring in a couple of Sufani for questioning. The mage…” She shook her head. “No telling where he’s gone to, but if you find him, bring him in.”
“What does he look like?”
Talon thought back to Gossan’s account. “That’s one of the complications. He was dressed in Sufani robes, so the sergeant didn’t get a good look. All he could tell was that the fellow was large and muscular with dark skin, and that he spoke with a southern accent – like yours, I believe.”
Sergeant Stonewall went very still, his brow furrowing in confusion. Talon waited, but when he did not speak, she cleared her throat. “Sound like someone you know?”
She meant it as a joke, but Stonewall’s expression only turned more solemn. “No, ser.” He hesitated, then met Talon’s gaze. “If a mage is involved in the missing hematite, then of course, we will do our part. But as to the matter of the Assembly…”
Talon clenched her jaw. Not again. “What about them?”
“As best I can tell, the Assembly folk are a problem for Queen Solasar. Seeking them out is the job of the city guards, or even the army.” Stonewall’s voice quieted, though it lost none of its resonance. “Commander, this order goes beyond what the gods mandate.”
You think I don't know that? The words clawed at her throat but she would not give them voice. “You have your orders, Sergeant. Perhaps you may not agree with them, but it is not your place to question. If your squad is unable to carry them out, you will all face disciplinary action. Is that clear?”
Stonewall's shoulders sank a fraction. “Perfectly clear, ser.”
She exhaled and set her mug back on the little hook, ready for this moment to be over, but not quite willing to end it on this note. “Stonewall, you've done well for yourself here. I think you have the makings of a fine officer, but I need to know that I can trust you to do as you’re told.”
“I always do my best to fulfill my duty, Commander.”
It was not entirely the answer she'd wanted. She turned away from him, back to the garrison, and tossed her final words over her shoulder. “I pray it will be enough.”
Eleven
Milo squinted down the street in the late afternoon sun. He'd always liked Oreion; the roads were clean and well maintained, and most of the passers-by gave the sentinels a respectful nod as the squad waited outside the inn. Children gaped in wonder at the distinctive armor: layers of cured, boiled leather dyed a dark gray, with hematite embedded beneath the topmost layer. More than a few civilians cast appreciative glances their way. If Milo could have put their mission out of his mind, the day might have been pleasant.
“What’s the sarge doing in there?” Flint muttered beside him, shifting in place. “Getting the innkeeper's sodding life story?”
“Maybe the commander's information was wrong, and there are no Sufani here,” Milo said hopefully.
The four of them stood in a neat line outside of the two-storied inn. The horses were tethered in the small stable yard behind them, where the mage carriage also waited, silent and empty. For now.
Beacon and Rook exchanged glances, though it was Beacon who said, “I wouldn't bet on that, Milo.”
Flint wore her helmet, but Milo saw how she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Hunting civilians is a waste of our time. Isn't that what the local militia is for?”
Milo's stomach twisted into knots. Wrong. Their orders were wrong.
A pretty red-haired girl carrying a basket of fabric smiled at Milo, but he couldn't bring himself to return the expression. His sword and daggers seemed to weigh five times heavier than normal; enough to drag at his hips and slow his steps should he try to walk.
At last, Stonewall slipped out of the inn, trailed by a short woman with a generous bosom. “If they're not by the stream, then they must've moved on,” she was saying to the sergeant. “But that's usually where those dregs like to linger.”
“Thank you for the i
nformation, Ser Faye,” Stonewall said briskly. “And for letting us leave the carriage here while we’re…out.”
“Of course, Serla Sentinel.” She shot a glance at the squad, and then smiled at him. “It was good to see you again. Please, let your commander know I helped, won't you? The Jessamin is always a friend to the sentinels – and the Circle.”
The sergeant nodded. Once the innkeeper departed, he looked at Rook. “Are you familiar with this area?” Grim-faced, she answered in the affirmative, and Stonewall said, “Good. I want you to scout ahead. Look for a stream—an offshoot of the White River—and try to find the Sufani camp. Get an idea of their numbers and defenses. But don't engage anyone on your own. We'll be on the main road, heading your way. If you find them, report back to me, and we'll plan from there.”
Rook nodded, but did not move. “Did the commander say what we're to do with the others, ser? The ones we don't have to...bring back?”
The sergeant frowned. “Not in so many words. But I don't–”
“But why is this task on our shoulders?” Flint broke in. “Are there moon-bloods with the Assembly, now?”
“Possibly,” the sergeant replied. “Talon informed me that a mage was spotted working with the Sufani.”
Quickly and quietly, he relayed the facts as he knew them. Once he’d finished, the squad exchanged astonished looks. Even though Milo couldn’t read the others’ thoughts, he could tell that none of them—including their sergeant—were pleased with the latest development. Stonewall hadn’t even reprimanded Flint for her interruption. Milo had no clue what to make of that.
Rook spoke first. “But what are the odds we’ll find this renegade mage?”
“Slim,” Stonewall admitted. “But even so, we must keep a sharp eye. This one sounds dangerous, even to us.”
Beacon's voice was grave. “Mages are one thing, ser, but I've been a sentinel for over half my life, and I've never once been ordered to harm civilians, Sufani or not.”
“But we don't have to harm them,” Milo said. “Just… collect a couple. Right, ser?”
Catalyst Moon: Breach (Catalyst Moon Saga Book 2) Page 13