Be on your guard, he thought. He nearly reached for Kali's hand, but checked himself at the last moment. “My commanding officer said there were a few dozen of the thralls,” Stonewall said to the priestess, mostly to break the eerie silence. “I've never known them to strike in such great numbers.”
Her fluttering cloak swirled dirt and ash in her wake. “As they did before, the creatures swept in without warning. Those that were not killed by the brave people of Parsa and your comrades fled just as quickly.”
Her answer made him study her more closely. “Do you live here, too?”
Now she tugged back the sleeves of her cloak to reveal several rings and bracelets made from hematite, and, more importantly, the intricate spirals tattooed on the backs of her hands.
“You're a Cipher,” he said.
“Aye. I've some healing skills, thank the One. I was on my normal route; there were no new children here to bless with a tier-mark, so I was supposed to leave today, but...” She let the thought die.
Stonewall took a deep breath and regretted it once he was hit with the smell of burned flesh. “How many villagers are dead?”
“Twenty-three, as of this morning. That number may grow if magic proves ineffective.”
They both glanced back to the mages. Sadira's head was lifted, her pale eyes looked ahead and her face revealed no emotion. By contrast, Kali's eyes darted everywhere as she scrutinized the carnage; her chin quivered and her eyes were bright.
He shouldn't have looked at her. But he did. Their gazes met and held, and the desire to simply be by her side was strong enough to ache. She looked away first, blinking rapidly. He faced forward once again. Focus.
“They'll do their very best.” Or so Stonewall supposed, for he didn't know Sadira personally. He was thinking of Kali.
“I pray you are right, Ser Sentinel.” The priestess indicated the stone building ahead. The double doors leaned awkwardly on their hinges, while a tall, sturdy woman stood guard. She, too, eyed the mages before allowing the group entry, though Stonewall did not miss how her gaze lingered on Milo.
Parsa’s temple of the One was the largest building in the village, and probably doubled as a meeting place for the townsfolk and those who lived in the surrounding area. The sturdy stone structure was not nearly as large or grand as the temple in Whitewater City, but it was beautiful in its own right. Stonewall got the sense that the temple had been crafted by loving hands. A massive hearth rested at the front of the room, where someone had created a makeshift altar with several potted plants surrounded by crystals, seeds, and flowers.
The room was crowded, reminding Stonewall of how the sentinels at Whitewater had gathered the morning of his induction. Low voices drifted through the rafters, ultimately fading into silence when the villagers spotted the sentinels and mages. There were no seats or benches here, just cots and pallets, buckets of water and clumps of fragrant healing herbs. But even they were not enough to drive away the smell of blood and body odor that was strong enough to make Stonewall's eyes water.
Beacon seemed unfazed; he slipped past the sergeant and cast his gaze around the room before looking at the priestess. “Which are the most critical?”
“There.” She pointed to a corner, where about a dozen people lay on what bedding had been mustered. A few villagers moved from one to another, trying to tend them as best they could.
Beacon adjusted his mender bag over his shoulder. “We'll get them sorted out, serla, don't worry.”
The priestess toyed with the hematite band on her thumb. “I must speak with the magistrate. Keep the magic-users from setting anything on fire. The godly people of Parsa have had enough trauma.”
Before anyone could reply, she slipped away. Stonewall did not miss how Kali frowned after her, though Sadira seemed unperturbed.
Stonewall looked at Beacon. “How do you recommend we proceed?”
“Mages on the most critical,” the mender said. “One sentinel each to shadow them; the rest of you, look over the other patients and give me a general idea of the nature of their injuries. From there, assist the others as needed.”
“I require someone with great strength to help me,” Sadira added, glancing at Beacon. “You will do.”
Color rose in his face, but his response was professional. “Err...very well. Mage Halcyon, do you also need–”
“No,” Kali interrupted, shaking her head for good measure. “I'll be fine on my own. With supervision, of course.”
Was it Stonewall's imagination, or did the words sound a bit sarcastic? Well, he couldn't blame her for not being pleased with the situation. Rather than dwell, Stonewall looked to Milo. “Shadow Mage Halcyon, will you, Mi?”
The lad saluted quickly, then glanced at Kali. “Ready when you are, ser.”
She gave Milo a tight smile. The mages and their sentinels moved to the corner with the worst injured, while the rest of the squad busied themselves with doing as Beacon had asked. All of them, though, remained within striking distance of the mages.
One woman Stonewall knelt beside was in a very bad way; she would need a magical intervention, and soon. She bore a series of cuts across her arms, as if she'd been trying to fend off her attacker barehanded. Her tunic was pulled back to reveal another, nastier gash upon her abdomen, and she lay still on her pallet, skin hot and already stinking of infection. A boy, no older than ten summers, sat with her, daubing her face with a wet cloth.
“Will the mages be able to help her, Serla Sentinel?” he asked after Stonewall offered him some thalo gel.
Although Stonewall was no mender, he thought most of the wounded Parsan villagers he’d come across were beyond any help at all. But to the boy, he said, “I've seen for myself how magic can do great things.”
“But magic is evil,” the boy replied.
Stonewall could not stop himself from looking at Kali, across the room. She and Milo knelt together before a young man; Kali had rolled up her sleeves, but her hands and wrists were already stained red, and her face was tight in concentration. Milo watched her, eyes wide.
“The One brought magic to this world for a reason,” Stonewall heard himself say. “We must keep faith with the One. There is balance in all things.”
Later, after the sentinels had distributed what aid they could, Stonewall sent Flint to keep watch outside while he patrolled the edge of the room, trying to keep near the mages without getting in anyone's way. It was difficult. The large room was packed and he was conscious of the bulk his gear added to his frame. Thank Tor, he didn't step on anyone. At last he reached Rook, who stood aside as Beacon and Sadira worked.
Rook did not look at him. Her eyes were fixed on Beacon and Sadira, who stood together, leaning over a man perhaps in his mid-thirties. The mage's hands were extended, hovering over the injured man's upper thighs while Beacon gripped his shoulders. At first, Stonewall thought the fellow was dead, for he was covered in blood and gore, but the mage did… something, and the man jerked like he'd been stung. But Beacon's grip was firm, preventing the villager from moving overmuch while Sadira worked.
Rook winced but did not move from her position, and Stonewall followed her lead, thinking that if there was anything they could do to help, she'd have done it already. He watched as Sadira's white brows drew together in concentration; her expression reminded him of Kali's when she exerted her own magic. The mage's russet hands trembled as she held them over the wounded man's legs. Stonewall caught a faint scent of smoke and burning flesh as magic worked beneath the mage's fingers. Ripped, torn flesh knitted together before Stonewall's eyes, and he was filled with awe.
Perhaps three minutes passed, then Sadira drew her hands back and rested them against the table's edge. Her expression was the same as it had been before: calm, steady. Although she still wore her hematite torc, she didn't look even a little tired. Stonewall remembered how exhausted Kali had been after a strenuous healing session, and felt a new appreciation for Sadira's magic. Beaco
n murmured something to Sadira, who shook her head and lifted her hands again. Beacon sighed and spoke to their patient, then braced the fellow's shoulders once more.
The man cried out, louder than before, and everyone nearby turned to look. A few of the villagers stepped forward, alarmed, but Stonewall halted them with a lift of his hand. The Zhee mage ignored them all and seemed to fully immerse herself in her magic, while Beacon held their patient in place. The scent of burning flesh was stronger than before. Stonewall shuddered.
Beside him, Rook hugged her arms to her sides. “I know she’s healing him, but it seems so dreadful.”
Stonewall broke his gaze away from Beacon and Sadira, searching for Kali. She'd reached the woman he'd tried to help before. The boy stood aside, torn between staring at Milo and warily watching the mage. He settled on the latter, even going so far as to tentatively touch her side, as if testing to see if she was real. Kali's jaw tensed, but Milo said something to the lad, drawing his attention.
Good work, Mi, was Stonewall’s first thought.
His second: I should be the one by her side.
Bitterness and sorrow clutched his heart. Suddenly, the air was thick enough to choke and the scents of blood and healing herbs pounded against the inside of his skull. He had to get out. There was nothing more he could do in here, so he carefully picked his way to the doors and slipped outside.
Twenty-Five
On the morning of Heartfire, Drake rose early and kept his movements quiet as he gathered his supplies, checking them off against his mental list. He’d done most of his preparation the night before, when he should have been sleeping, but it never hurt to be doubly certain. Save his ironwood spear, all of his worldly possessions fit into a rucksack and the pouches at his belt. At least a dozen times he made sure he still had the hematite vials tucked into one of the pouches; each time, he found them safe. One vial held hematite powder, which he’d ground earlier, but the others still contained the tiny chips of dark silver that whispered sweet promises if Drake thought about them too long.
The Assembly and Sufani had parted ways by now, but Aderey had promised someone from his family would meet Drake this morning, just before dawn. Drake simply had to trust that they would arrive.
Easier said than done.
As he packed, he tried not to look in the direction of Ben’s tent, where they’d spent so many nights together. After Drake’s… admission of his own abilities, the two men had not spoken. Drake twirled his spear in front of him, the movements fluid and familiar, and told himself the distance between himself and a man who hated mages was for the best.
“Drake.”
He held the spear still and turned to see Brice standing just out of arm’s reach. Hope flared in his chest and he smiled at his friend, but the look on her face snuffed the feeling.
Drake’s grip tightened. “Come to wish me luck? I’ll need it.”
“I would join you,” she said quietly. “But Ril’s terrified of the hemies. I can’t blame her.” She ran a hand through her dark red hair. “I should be afraid of them, too, but mostly I’m just worried I won’t see you again.”
He forced his voice to be teasing. “Always knew you had a flame for me.”
She chuckled, but her lips quivered. “You’re really going to do it without us, aren’t you?”
“Well, I don’t have much of a choice.”
“You don’t seem worried.”
Sometimes, the only options were to laugh or to cry, and Drake had known enough sorrow already. He shrugged and leaned his weight against the spear, watching the other Assembly folk over her shoulder. “You’re all leaving today as well?”
“That’s the plan.”
Drake nodded. “Well, safe travels to you. And tell Ril… no hard feelings, all right?”
Brice’s eyes narrowed. “You lied to us, Drake.”
“I didn’t tell you the whole truth. It’s not the same. And besides…” His hand crept to the pouch at his belt, where the hematite rested. “What else could I have done? You’ve heard how they talk about… people like me. Ea’s balls, Edel hasn’t even looked at me–”
“My brother-by-choice is close-minded,” Brice broke in. “But forget him. What about Ril and me? I have no love for magic, neither does she, but we were willing to help free your mage friends, anyway. But you never gave us a sodding chance. You assumed the worst of us.”
Ben’s head poked out of his tent, his gaze sweeping the campsite before landing on Drake. Their eyes met briefly before Ben looked away. Drake’s heart constricted and his shoulders sank. “I’m sorry.”
She made a noise of irritation, then flung her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest. “Take care of yourself, you brave twit.”
He might have been annoyed, but for the soft affection in her voice, so he hugged her back with his free arm. “You as well, love. And take care of Rilla. She’d be lost without you.”
Brice pulled back and looked up at him, her gaze serious. “You have nothing to prove. Don’t be a hero. Just get the job done and get out of that sodding city, all right? Don’t do anything stupid.”
She knew him far too well. Drake kept his voice light. “Oh, it’s too late for that.”
Brice shook her head, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “The One keep you, Bahar.”
Only a few people in Ea’s realm knew Drake’s birth name; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard it spoken. His throat tightened, holding back any potential words, so he only gave her a warrior’s salute, bowing deep. “And you,” he managed when he straightened.
Brice smiled at him, then went to rejoin the other Assembly folk. A few of them looked away quickly, a sure sign they’d been trying to eavesdrop. Drake looked away too, his stomach in knots. Brice was right; he had assumed the worst of her and Ril, of all of his friends. And now he was alone. He prayed that Gideon and the other Whitewater mages wouldn’t suffer the consequences.
“You know how to use that thing?”
Drake smiled as the Sufani woman slipped out of the shadowed forest, cloaked in her customary indigo robes. How long had she been watching? He twirled the spear again, faster than before. “Since I was a boy. Want me to demonstrate how well?”
Leal wore her hood, but he could see that she rolled her eyes and jerked her thumb behind her. “I have a wagon for the mages. It should hold most of them; the rest will have to walk. Or run.” Her green eyes slid toward the Assembly camp. “Is your team ready?”
Drake reached for his pack, hefting it over one shoulder. “Aye.”
She glanced around then back at him. “Just you?”
He began to walk toward the forest without looking back at his former life. “Just me.”
***
Hours later, Drake looked up as the shadow passed. His eyes darted until he spotted the single crow, circling beneath the pale gray dome of the evening sky. Perhaps the bird was searching for food; copious vendors in the makeshift, open-air market had sprung up where he and Leal waited outside of Whitewater City proper. Or perhaps the crow was no crow at all, but a mage looking for him.
Was something amiss in the bastion? Had the mages' plans changed? He gripped his spear and debated waving to signal the bird, but decided against it. Best not to draw attention to himself or his companion unless absolutely necessary. Let's save our luck for later.
Leal stood beside him, indigo robes rippling in the cool breeze as she squinted toward the city's outer gates, where a steady stream of people had been entering for the last hour. The Heartfire celebration was too vast to remain within the city walls; it spread outside the city and across the bridge, spilling on either side of the road that led to the outer gates. Lower tiered folk, vendors and civilians alike, milled along the road, preparing for tonight's revelry. Scents of cooking meat drifted past, and eager merchants rolled kegs of ale and wine toward the lower tiered revelers. Temporary market stalls had been erected throughout the clearing o
utside the city gates and bright fabric awnings added a festive air to the already brisk evening. Groups of troubadours and tumblers practiced their arts, such that Leal and Drake had drawn little attention as they’d practiced with their whirling spears all afternoon after they’d arrived.
“You're certain this plan of yours will work?” Leal asked.
A cold wind blew, bringing the scent of snow. Drake shivered. “Not at all.”
“Jokes? Now?”
“I'm not joking,” Drake replied. “Just being realistic about our chances of success. If it's any consolation,” he added at Leal’s narrowed eyes, “I can't swear an oath on it, but I believe everything will work out fine.”
“Fine,” Leal muttered. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do.”
She jerked her chin toward the crowded gates. “They'll be checking marks.”
“Normally, yes, they'd check tier marks. But Heartfire is different.” Drake held up his wrists, wrapped with strips of leather. “We're fire-dancers. Tonight, entertainers like us are exempt from the usual rules.”
“And later? Will the gate guards let us leave so easily?”
Gods above, we've been over this! But tension was to be expected on such a mission, so Drake fought to keep his voice steady. “Tonight, the gate guards and everyone else in the city will be too drunk to walk in a straight line.”
“Even your pious sentinels?”
“They're not mine,” he shot back, too sharply, too quickly. He took a breath to compose himself. “And no, they won't be drunk.” Not without all the wine in the province, he added silently. “But there aren't enough of them to be everywhere at once.”
Catalyst Moon: Breach (Catalyst Moon Saga Book 2) Page 30