They timed the entire thing, practicing until it only took about fifteen seconds. So that was how you crippled and blinded a Berserker. Calista was fascinated.
They were soon met by a band of Forge soldiers that included the engineer responsible for designing the creeper. He was an old, crabby man who went by the codename “Spinner” and had three parallel scars slashed across his face, as if he’d been mauled by a lion. Spinner schooled them on the workings of the device and took pleasure in scolding Calista when she didn’t hold up her end fast enough. She didn’t like the old man, but she respected his commanding ways. He never explained how he got the scars, only warned Calista to “mind his words, not his face, pretty as it might be.” She respected that, too.
Artemis and Spinner forced them to practice sticking the creeper on trees repeatedly within strict deadlines. They practiced setting the timer, phasing, and flying out of the bomb’s blast radius before the seconds ran out. Calista failed a dozen times for each success.
She would have enjoyed the process were it not for the pain of being without Lance. When she wasn’t training, she spent most of her time alone in her tent, napping and brooding. Athenara and the others invited her to a nearby river to swim, but Calista always refused. She went alone instead, wading into the cold current and fantasizing about all the different ways she would succeed in their mission and watch her enemies fall.
Bad news came in the form of a letter carried into the forest by one of the twins. Simon dropped out of his owl form, made eye contact with no one, and solemnly carried the letter to Artemis. Without a word of explanation, he phased and flew back to his post.
“That’s not good,” Artemis said.
Tomas approached him. “What news?”
After reading the letter twice, Artemis became so angry he found it difficult to speak without cursing every other word.
“Well, I’ll be—damn him—damn the smart son of a—aw, hellfire.”
“What is it?” Athenara said.
Calista hung back and waited. Artemis sighed and rolled up the document.
“Word from our men on the coast is, Xanthus has raised a Null Sphere around the coliseum. He must have imported a dozen magicians to pull that off. The resources Kovax is throwing into this—it’s just incredible.”
“A Null Sphere,” Athenara said. “I’m assuming it’s much worse than it sounds?”
“And you would be right. Inside a Null Sphere, luminether can’t function. Luminotronic technology will be shaky at best, so the creeper’s useless inside a thing like that. We’ll have to change tactics.”
“This late in the game?” Tomin said, throwing his arms out in frustration. “It’ll take months on top of what we planned.”
“If we’re going to disable that thing, we need to form another tactical unit.” He looked at Calista. “We’ll need someone skilled in the arts of a thief.”
A nervous chill made Calista’s body go rigid. “I’ll go tomorrow night.”
“No way in hell.”
The others were stunned at the rage in Artemis’s voice. Calista face him, shoulders squared.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said. “I’m not a child or your student anymore.”
“You’re a soldier in the Forge,” Artemis said, approaching her in his bearish, intimidating way, “and I’m your commander. If everyone started doing what they pleased—”
“Then you wouldn’t get to have your way all the time,” Calista said acidly.
A pink blush came into Artemis’s face, accompanied by a familiar hardening of his features. Then, he broke into a smile Calista hadn’t expected. With a chuckle, he waved his hand dismissively through the air.
“Tiberian Steel,” he announced. “I told her every time I look into her eyes, I see Tiberian Steel. Only problem is, Tiberian blades aren’t known for being forward thinkers.”
Calista scowled at him, about to voice a response.
“Stop,” Artemis interrupted, holding up his palm to halt her. “You’ll get your chance, but we need more intel. Don’t let me hear of you leaving before I say, understand?”
Grudgingly, she nodded and headed back toward the training field to practice.
SHE CAME across Athenara mixing berries and plants in a wooden bowl a few days later. There was something odd about the berries; their red coloring seemed to flare and pulse with a sickly glow. The plant’s leaves were black and sharp-edged, with oily surfaces that looked toxic.
“Death’s Head poison,” Athenara explained. “We can dip our arrows into this.” She held up the wooden bowl. It was half full of the purplish sludge. “A drop of this will kill anyone short of a Berserker. They have a natural resistance to the stuff. But a low mage…”
She let Calista finish the thought. Calista nodded and reached over to take the bowl
“Nuh-uh.” Athenara pulled it back. “It’s dangerous and only for emergencies. Get a drop of this in your mouth, and the effects are instant.”
“I can handle it,” Calista said. “If I’m a soldier like you, then I’d rather you didn’t treat me like a child.”
“I suppose,” Athenara said. “Artemis seems to think you’re good enough to infiltrate the coliseum by yourself. I hope you’re as good as he thinks.”
Calista sat cross-legged on the ground, her defenses dropped. Because Athenara had never mentioned the tattoos, Calista felt comfortable around her, like she could trust her with anything. “He’s going to let me. Do you think I’m ready?”
“I wouldn’t know what he knows. Or what you’ve been through. You’re like a locked box. But it’s the best plan as long as you have the steel for it—which you’ve succeeded in proving the past few weeks. I’ve been watching you more than the others.”
Calista nodded once, satisfied. She met the woman’s steady gaze. A moment of silence passed between them, and then Athenara smiled secretively.
“Here,” she said, putting aside the bowl and taking out a glass vial from a pouch hanging off her belt. The liquid inside the vial sparkled as if infused with magical energy. “I keep a vial of this on me at all times in case I get captured. If you’re as tough as Artemis says, you’ll understand why.”
Calista took the vial. “I don’t fear death. The mission’s more important.”
“I can see you mean that. Don’t do anything crazy in the meantime. Use it wisely.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Later, during a conversation with Tomin, Calista realized just how she was going to get inside.
“Those low mages he brought into the coliseum, the ones powering the Null Sphere,” Tomin explained while sharpening one of his many daggers, “they’re a feisty bunch, if the rumors are true.”
“What do you mean?” Calista said.
She listened while sewing a patch into a pair of her pants. Despite keeping her distance from the group, she found it calming to sit by Tomin now and then and listen to his stories. The man was a talker, never got too personal, and didn’t seem to mind that Calista was a “locked box,” as Athenara had claimed.
“They bring in slave women,” he continued, drawing the blade’s edge against the whetstone, “whole harems of them. Casting a spell like that is a grueling process, and not many would apply for the job. So Xanthus spoils them in their free time.”
He shook his head in amusement or envy, she couldn’t tell which. She would have been disgusted, but her mind was in planning mode, piecing together an idea that the others would certainly call crazy.
“How do they get in?”
Tomin shrugged. “Carriages from Jasparta, I imagine. Why?”
He gave her a squinty look. Before he could speak, Calista cut him off.
“No reason.” Sewing the final thread in place, she jumped to her feet. “I’m late for a training session.” And with that, she phased into her cat form and darted away before he could speak.
ARTEMIS WOULD BE FURIOUS, but the time had come. She couldn’t wait any longer.
Calista left in the dead of night, a pack slung over one shoulder. She kept her footfalls completely silent. Years of burglary had taught her to move like a ghost.
He found her anyway.
Artemis knew all her tricks and had expected this. A torch ignited, and his bearded face appeared by the nearest tree, set in a scowl. Something in Calista’s behavior that day must have given her away.
“You can’t go alone,” he told her.
“I left Wind and Quicksilver,” Calista said. “I’ll be back for them.”
“I’ll bring them to you. How’s that?”
She gave a solemn nod. “Thanks.”
“Cali, listen,” he said, the torch warming her face as he approached. “I’m not your father. And I’m sure as hell not your commander anymore. That much is obvious.”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Of course not. And I understand about the tattoos. I know what it cost you.”
She looked away in shame.
“They’re what is going to save you now. Maybe all of us. Let the snakes fill you with venom, and let the wings carry you to victory. Become those two things—the snake and the wing.”
“How did you…” Calista said, shocked.
His half-smile seemed to say, Shouldn’t it be obvious?
“Athenara told you,” Calista said.
“She’s loyal, as are my men. Except you.”
“I’m loyal to the Forge. That’s why I’m going out there. The way I have it planned, I don’t need anyone else. More people will just get in the way.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve brought you this.”
He held something out. Resting in the center of his creased and calloused palm was a small device, colored and shaped like a cashew. Calista frowned up at him.
“A two-way transmitter,” he said. “One of the engineers made it. Doesn’t run on luminether.”
Calista studied its strange shape. Just the right size to fit into her ear.
“I’m coming with you whether you like it or not,” he said. “I’ll be here,” he tapped his own ear, “the entire time.”
Calista ran the pads of her fingers over it. “If I put that in, they’ll see it.”
He shook his head. “The color changes depending on its background. Watch.”
He held it up to the flames. Calista marveled at the way it changed color and brightened until it disappeared against the torch.
“That’s Theusian technology for you,” he said. “Go ahead. Try it out.”
Calista took it and pressed it into her right ear. The device reshaped itself to fit snugly inside.
“I have one, too,” Artemis said, tapping his left ear.
Calista’s head jerked as something crackled next to her. It was the transmitter coming to life.
“It has a range of fifty miles,” Artemis said, sounding like he was speaking with his mouth only inches from here ear. “You can tap it to make it go silent. Tap it twice to turn it on again.”
Calista tapped it off. “Perfect.”
“You have to be smart about it. Don’t reach out to me unless you’re alone. Make sure no one overhears.”
“I will.”
He gave her a sad smile. Unable to resist, Calista threw herself at him, catching the man off guard. She wrapped her arms around him, and Artemis responded with a firm embrace.
“Don’t get yourself killed,” he said as affectionately as a father speaking to his own daughter.
Calista kept her tears at bay. She had to become Tiberian Steel, become the blade he saw inside of her—quick and deadly, light but unbreakable.
“Thank you, baker man.”
“And you, you little thief.”
He backed away, took in the full sight of her, and pressed his steepled fingers to his forehead in a salute they were not supposed to use in case of spies. Tonight was a night of broken rules, but hopefully not of goodbyes.
“Light guide your step,” he said.
Calista returned the gesture. “And yours,” she said before darting away into the dark forest.
CHAPTER 10
T he chamber they took him to was enormous.
Despite his collar and chain, Oscar felt distinctly like a military general as he stood in front of a group of towering Orglot males wearing crude suits of leather armor. They were all down on one knee, as was their custom during war meetings. At Ruk’s command, Oscar painted images in full color on a large, flat wall of the cavern.
If the Orglots were impressed by the static images—and they very much were—then they were stunned speechless when the images began to move.
A gently rotating hologram of Theus, as seen from a bird’s-eye view, sprang across the cavern floor. Terrified, one of the Orglots broke away from the group to throw up. Ruk growled at him, though he also looked pale and slightly nauseated. The elder stood up and paced around the hologram, occasionally swishing his hand through parts of it.
“This is the city of Theus as it looks today,” Oscar said. “As you can see, its weaponry is advanced.”
He spread his hands, a motion that caused the display to zoom toward a laser turret mounted on a guard tower overlooking the coast.
“Fire,” he said, using the Orglot word for ‘attack’ so they would not be confused by a literal translation. Ara had already set it up to respond to the Orglot tongue.
The turret flexed its many sliding parts as it shot a white beam into the group of Orglot warriors. They dove away, scattering with a flailing of weapons and cries of alarm.
“It won’t hurt you,” Oscar shouted at them. “It’s just a drawing.”
“Rotten black magic!”
“A demon’s foul trick!”
Oscar feared Ruk would suspect a weapon after all. Yet the elder was the only Orglot not alarmed. He had fallen to one knee and was studying the turret, wearing a melancholy expression that was completely unlike him.
“Fire,” he told it.
Ara didn’t respond, probably because she only obeyed Oscar. The turret remained still.
“Fire,” Ruk said again.
A tear ran from his eye, down one side of his nose.
“Fire.”
Ukril caught sight of his father’s reaction. Horrified, he went about quieting the group. Oscar was stunned.
“Master,” Oscar said, wishing he wasn’t chained to the wall so he could walk over. “What’s wrong?”
Even down on one knee, Ruk was four times Oscar’s height. Oscar gazed up at him, feeling a stab of pity. The elder was so transfixed by the turret he hadn’t even bothered to wipe away his tears.
“I have brought death to my clan,” Ruk said.
“But you’re safe down here. No one has to die.”
Ruk shook his head, still gazing sadly at the turret, though now he appeared to be looking past it at some imagined defeat. “I have lived for nearly two thousand years. I am the eldest of my race, and I have kept us here in darkness, promising victory and a return to the light. But I have waited too long, Speaker. I had forgotten how quickly the sun turns on the surface.”
“Is a return to the light all you want?”
Ruk sniffled. One by one, the other Orglots fell to their knees, mimicking their leader’s posture. They stared solemnly at the weaponized tower created by human hands. Oscar could sense the awe they felt, and the regret and fear.
“Ara,” Oscar said into the hologram. “Give me a bird’s-eye view of the mountains we’re in right now.”
The view zoomed out over the city and scrolled across the landscape to settle over a cluster of green mountains. The Orglots gasped at the sight.
Ruk stood.
“That is our home,” he said. “The land of light and trees, of clear waters and running beasts.” He turned to his gathered warriors and addressed them in a sober voice. “I will seal my eye in penance. I will give my spirit to the buried tunnel, where I shall join my ancestors in eternal wandering.”
“Ruk, wait,” Oscar said, taking a
hurried step toward the elder, then choking as the chain held him back. “You don’t have to kill yourself. There’s another way to reclaim the land of light.”
Ruk gave him a firm look. “The humans will hunt us again. They kill on sight, and their spellcraft is that of the gods. A new leader must take my place and build our civilization in darkness until our strength can prove a match.”
Ukril raised his dagger over his head and barked at the group. The other warriors did the same, with much less enthusiasm than usual.
“There’s another way,” Oscar said. “You can go back to the land of light without worrying about humans.”
This was where Oscar’s plan became crazy, but he had to give it a shot.
“Guide us, Speaker,” Ruk said. “Explain your plan before my eye is sealed.”
Oscar looked into the hologram. “Ara, show me a Tower of Dusk.”
“Their protective magic deflects my reach, Oscar,” came Ara’s voice. “All I have are recordings uploaded by scouts from the rebel group known as the Forge. Which one would you like to see?”
Oscar remembered something Calista had told him. Her homeland had been the first to fall victim to Kovax’s widespread use of the towers. If the low mage had a Tower of Dusk anywhere, it would be in Valestaryn.
“The biggest one on Valestaryn. Project it on the wall.”
The hologram disintegrated into light particles that sprayed against the wall to form an image. This time, the view was of a coliseum with a gray stone tower that stood only partly complete in the arena. All around its base, armed soldiers, low mages dressed in robes, and vicious-looking Berserkers went about their chores and patrols.
“This tower,” Oscar addressed the group while pointing up at the device, “is a weapon of the darkest magic, the creation of a mad spellcaster who wishes to enslave all creatures and destroy any who resist. It’s a threat to all life, including yours. His magic will penetrate the stone walls protecting you, poison the water you drink, and erase the light from our skies forever.”
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