Then it hit me. It was today. We were going to battle. And we were going to fight… my people.
Could I do it? I was one of them, after all. Tarvissi by blood, and, for the most part, upbringing. They were tall like me, and tan like me, they spoke my language, they pronounced my name properly, for gods’ sake!
But on the other hand, I didn’t know most of them and those I knew were assholes. They were more than ready to kill me and send my mangled corpse back as a message. Logically, I had no reason to hesitate.
The funny thing is, I wouldn’t even think about it if I hadn’t been constantly questioned.
A few more shadows joined us. My vision adjusted so well that I could probably count them if I squinted. But before I did, Myar Mal ordered, using a particular shouting whisper only natural-born leaders can successfully pull off, “All right, you know what to do. Go.”
The lantern eyes flickered and disappeared, leaving nothing but shadows behind. Soon, even those melted into the darkness.
Laik Var shoved a pair of binoculars into my hands and I scrambled to put them to use. They were enchanted, of course, turning total darkness into twilight. The world appeared in shades of gray, and the only thing I could see clearly was movement. Flashbacks of Sorox flooded my mind, and I struggled to push them back.
But I could spot them. Descending on all fours, they half-ran, half-crept along the ground, with the tips of their tails curved upward. They crossed the alarm spells, doubtlessly alerting the rebels inside, though at least the darkness shielded them from the crossbowmen. I didn’t think Tarvissi had access to magic-vision devices.
I briefly wondered how the kas’shams were going to scale the walls. From what I saw, they didn’t carry ladders or any other tools. Before I mustered the courage to ask, the first of them had reached the mansion.
And leaped.
Huh. Apparently, fifteen feet meant nothing for kas’shams. They landed effortlessly on the roof and the rest soon followed: some made it on the first try, others clutched the lower windows and climbed, a few bounced back and fell gracefully to the ground before trying again. But eventually, all of them managed to get in.
Sounds of battle erupted, carried far by clear morning air. The clash of metal, the roar of spells, the high-pitched, inhuman cries. I tried to imagine what was happening inside. Wands were slower than swords, and kas’sham didn’t carry any other weapons. But they did have natural tools—claws and teeth, speed and agility unmatched by any human being. Not to mention the element of surprise. Still, I doubted they could deal with all the rebels on their own.
“They don’t have to deal with them. All they have to do is open the gate,” I heard behind me and turned around to face Tayrel Kan. He didn’t bother with binoculars, but his eyes gleamed and I knew he cast his own spell.
“How are they doing there?” asked Myar Mal. Spying spell then? Like the one they had cast on me when they sent me inside?
“Not well, kar-vessár,” replied the sorcerer. “I think they could use some help.”
Myar Mal nodded and gestured to one of the vessár-ai. “Kiarn At, deploy kites.”
“Yes, Myar Mal.”
Immediately, dozens of kites took off behind us, probably awaiting telepathic order since the very beginning. They glided toward the mansion and stopped just above the outer walls. Now, even without the binoculars, I saw green and blue beams shooting down. And then the explosion.
On the wrong side.
“Fuck!” yelled Myar Mal.
I glanced aside to see his face twisted with anger, teeth bared, hands clenched on the binoculars so hard, his knuckles turned white. The explosion was small, but the shock-wave also toppled over two other machines apart from the one it hit, and their riders fell, most likely to their deaths.
“Tarvissian magical weapons in action,” remarked Tayrel Kan with almost clinical interest.
“You said the only magical weapon they have are crystal balls.” Kar-vessár glared at me with anger, and I flinched involuntarily.
“That’s all I saw,” I confirmed, confident in my report yet still feeling a pang of guilt.
“Care to explain how the fuck they got them so high?” he screamed, waving his hand toward the mansion. Two more kites fell, and others scattered around like a flock of birds.
“I don’t know, Myar Mal.” A far-fetched idea came to my mind and before I could think better I sputtered, “they may be using slings.”
“What?”
His face showed no sign of comprehension. No wonder, I scolded myself, he probably spent his entire childhood inside the City.
“A piece of rope with a leather pouch used to throw small, round projectiles. Like magic crystals. Though it’s not usually a nobles’ weapon…”
“Whose weapon is it then?”
“Well… children, mostly. We used it for hunting raishook back in Nes Peridion.”
He was still glaring at me, and even with my shitty emotion reading skills, I could tell he was not impressed. “And can it throw a projectile that high?”
“Well, once I shot a rock through the sky-dome. It was closer to the edge, though.”
“I’m not interested in your bragging, Aldait Han, yes or no?”
“Yes, Myar Mal.” I dropped my head. “Sorry.”
“Fuck!”
In the meantime, the Dahlsi aerial forces were practically decimated. The last few riders tried to flee, but only a dozen or so made it to safety. And the gates still weren’t open.
“Do you want me to go?” asked Tayrel Kan. His voice sounded nonchalant, but he was stiff, with no trace of his usual ease, head high and eyes carefully fixed on the mansion as if to avoid looking at anyone.
Myar Mal gritted his teeth. His gaze had also been focused on the battle scene, but he didn’t answer straight away. What kind of spell made kar-vessár hesitate so much when we were all but defeated?
“Yeah,” said Myar Mal finally over his shoulder. “Go.”
Tayrel Kan nodded sharply, his face impenetrable—except now I was sure, the scars were deeper and redder than just a moment ago—and he scurried away. The last kites returned to the camp and were ushered to the ground. The clangor was still coming from the mansion, but it was dying down. I wondered how many of our people were still alive.
For a long moment, nothing else happened. I looked around discretely, trying to locate Tayrel Kan. The camp was awake now and buzzing with activity. Members of ten Cohorts lined up on their bikes, ready to charge. We, from Seventh, were to stay and defend the camp in case something went wrong. I wasn’t sure when that information appeared in my mind.
A rumble tore through the air and I saw a flare of light shoot from one of the tents. I looked up. The sun-gate was open now, not wider than a human’s arm, but all around it, the sky darkened, and I could make out strange shapes swirling outside.
Outside. They were going to pull matter from the Outside. The sudden revelation sent a shiver down my spine, I was not sure if from fear or awe. I knew Dahlsi were powerful—that Tayrel Kan was powerful—but this… this was rewriting the sheer fabric of reality. It was more than I thought possible.
A small rock fell at my feet. I stared at it, my mouth agape, as if it was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen.
“We better take cover,” said Myar Mal.
I noticed a slight glittering of a magic shield. Just in time; seconds later we were hit by a downpour of rocks. But it was nothing, merely gravel. Bigger pieces, round, amorphous, and spear-like, were concentrated at the manor. I saw the red-tiled roof caving in and the mast with Tarvisian flag being knocked down. Finally, a wagon-sized boulder struck the gate and pushed it in.
A moment later, a stone javelin fell a few steps from us.
“Fuck!”
I snapped to the present. It wasn’t gravel hitting us now, but proper projectiles, some as big as my fist. The shield flickered under the assault.
“They’re diverting the spell.” A female’s voice came from beh
ind Myar Mal. I recognized the woman who transferred my consciousness into the golem. I couldn’t remember her name. She stood shoulder to shoulder with Myar Mal, closer than I thought was appropriate, and if her crossed arms, slumped shoulders and wide eyes were anything to go by, it was the last place she wanted to be.
“Back up, everyone,” ordered kar-vessár. “To the tents and put up the shields.” The next projectile brushed his arm and he jerked away.
Vessár-ai were scrambling to retreat, with rocks big enough to kill raining at our heads. But I stood, petrified, my heart hammering, adrenaline burning in my veins. I couldn’t say I was surprised. Tarvissian magic wasn’t as ubiquitous as Dahlsian, but it was powerful. If there really was a sorcerer in the mansion, sooner or later he was bound to find a way to protect himself.
“You,” Kar-vessár yanked my arm, snapping me to attention, “go to Tayrel Kan, tell him to stop. Now!”
I remained motionless, unable to tear my eyes from the object I saw over his shoulder, knowing there was nothing I could do…
“Amma!”
Faster than a striking spell, Laik Var leaped and shoved the sorceress out of the way. A disgusting crunch tore through the air as the stone javelin broke through his chest.
“Papa?” Amma La looked at him, her face and clothes splattered with blood, grass-blue eyes wide with shock.
“Go!” Myar Mal pushed me, breaking through my shock.
I turned to run, not looking, guided by the memory of the pillar of light. It was a miracle I found the right tent. I stumbled inside, almost tripping on a brazier. Tayrel Kan stood in the center, surrounded by three vhariars, all drowned in a cold, magical luminescence making their skin blue and the scars black.
“Tayrel Kan,” I yelled.
He didn’t seem to notice. His hands were outstretched toward the sky and his eyes burned like little moons.
“Tarvissi are diverting the spell. You need to stop it now!”
A rocky spear tore through the tent and hit the ground inches from my foot.
“Damn it!” I cursed, jumping aside. “Wake up, you damn imp!”
No reaction. I reached out, hoping to shake him out of this trance, but a surge of energy ran up my arm, burning it to the shoulder. I yelped in pain. Desperate, I looked around, searching for something—anything—to aid me. My eyes fell on the brazier.
“I’m sorry,” I said, then lifted the thing and threw it at the sorcerer.
Chapter 11
“How the fuck did that happen?”
Myar Mal’s screams must’ve been perfectly audible all over the camp. Tayrel Kan leaned back in the chair and lit his tchalka. His head pounded, but the magic helped heal the bruises and burns from being hit with the brazier. Sadly, abusing it caused its own set of problems.
“You tell me, you designed the spell,” he replied, not even bothering to look up. He sucked in the lungful of smoke and a cold numbness flooded him, dulling the pain and cushioning the tangible anger radiating from kar-vessár, even through his shields.
“Tayrel,” Myar Mar growled with a clear warning in his voice.
The sorcerer let the smoke out.
“You told us to focus on the strength, so we did,” he explained. “Directing the spell wasn’t our priority, so we left it to chance. They simply took advantage of that.”
“Oh, so it’s just an oversight.” Kar-vessár straightened, his tone so caustic it could corrode his sword if he wore it. “An oversight that got people killed, including one of my best vessár-ai—”
“I thought you’d be grateful,” Tayrel Kan cut him short, lifting his eyelids for the first time and looking Myar Mal in the eye. The commander’s face was reddened and lips pressed so tightly they turned white. He looked beautiful when he was angry—though the sorcerer had enough survival instinct not to say it out loud. “He was a pain in the ass.”
“That’s beyond the point.” Myar Mal’s lips twitched in disgust. “Although I do see how you, of all people, aren’t bothered by friendly fire.”
Tayrel Kan felt as if someone drew an icy dagger through his heart. His smile fell.
“Perhaps you spend so much time in the city, you forgot,” he said with deceptive calmness. “But people die. It’s in the job description.”
“No.” Myar Mal pushed away from the table and shook his head. “Not like that.”
Tayrel Kan only leaned forward, following him, gaze fixed on the man’s face. “Things happen, Myar. No matter what you do, you can’t save everybody.”
“Enough.” Kar-vessár raised his hand in protest, then, as if having second thoughts, clenched it before finally pointing at the sorcerer. “You’re going to Sfal.”
Tayrel Kan scoffed and leaned back, crossing his arms. “Fuck you.”
“As commanding officer—”
“Command your dick! Look, now we know they have a magic-wielder, and he’s one powerful son of a bitch. As long as he’s out there, I’m the best chance you have to win this fight. When I get my hands on him, I’m gonna grab him by the balls and drag him all the way to Sfal, so you can tell him exactly where he hurt you. Until then, I’m not moving an inch.”
For a moment, they stood motionless, sizing each other up. Until this point, Tayrel Kan kept up his facade, but now, under the commander’s gaze, he couldn’t help parting his lips slightly, as in invitation. The argument was a farce. They both knew he would do anything, if only Myar Mal said a word.
But he said nothing, and Tayrel Kan stormed out.
Chapter 12
Amma La sat motionless in front of the healing tent. Blood stained her coat and hands, strikingly bright against white skin. She did everything she could to save her father, fix his heart, his lungs, his spine. But it was too much…
Myar Mal stood a few steps behind her. He reached out, wishing he could touch her, console her; but his hand froze mid-way. Few seconds later, it dropped uselessly at his side.
There was a time when he would walk to her and hold her. When he would whisper in her ear and tell her everything would be all right. And she would lean back onto his chest and believe him, if only for a moment.
But now the only thing he could bring himself to do was ask, “Do you want me to come with you?”
She didn’t answer. Her head was turned slightly, revealing her pale, sunken face and red-rimmed eyes, magnified by glasses. But she never looked at him.
After what felt like an eternity, her lips twitched and she asked with a dry, dead voice, “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I can take a moment for you.”
“You never do.” She paused. “Don’t bother now.”
Chapter 13
Ridden with guilt, I took Tayrel Kan to the field hospital. The frailness of his body terrified me. He always seemed emaciated, but he weighed almost nothing in my arms; his ribs were prominent even through his suit, his stomach not flat but sunken in, his hipbones sharp and protruding. I feared I might crush him if I squeezed too tight.
But it was when I dropped him in the field hospital, that a real dread descended on me. There were so many people here… I saw Malyn Tol with blood dripping down her temple, her eyes hazy. Argan Am with face covered in burns, a hand with conjoined fingers the only defining feature.
I saw Amma La, numb with shock, sitting beside a shrouded shape and my heart clenched.
I fled to the hills.
The rain of rocks stirred the ashes that were now falling in black petals. If that wasn’t a funeral setting, I didn’t know what was.
If the info they put in my head was correct, we lost all of our kas’shams, as well as over half of our aerial forces, and an untold number of people on the ground. But my thoughts kept circling back to Laik Var. I was right by him when that happened. I could have…
What?
I wrested my thoughts away from my vessár. But the second subject my mind came up with was not much better.
My father.
He was a rough, almost callous, man, but I kne
w that in his own way, he loved me. Sometimes he seemed more interested in his animals than the people around him, and in that regard, I was just like him. He died shortly before I joined Mespana, and however dirty that made me feel, I wouldn’t be able to do so if he lived. Bah, I wouldn’t even dare to express such a wish! I would probably do as he said, marry a girl he chose for me, build a house, try to have children.
His death put an end to such plans. I was free. I was… relieved.
Did that make me a bad son? A bad person? I loved my father and had great respect for his words and deeds, even if they weren’t always pleasant. I tried my best to mourn when he died, and I failed to understand why I couldn’t…
Why couldn’t I feel back then like I felt right now?
And there was Amma La. The daughter of Laik Var. How could I not notice? She had the same grass-blue eyes and prominent nose. But what gave him an aspect of almost regal authority only made her look like a witch from old tales.
I recalled the moment I first saw them two together. She didn’t call him father. Wasn’t that ironic? It made me wonder… if there was someone, somewhere, for whom Haneaith Tearshan was what Laik Var was for me.
How strange it all was!
I wondered if talking to someone, like Myar Mal suggested—although regarding a different issue—could help me clarify things. But I couldn’t do that. It was too shameful, too… wrong. I wasn’t in the mood for company, anyway.
Sadly, not everyone understood that.
“Got tchalka?” I asked, too tired and resigned to protest.
Without a word, Tayrel Kan procured two pieces of reed, lit them with a flicker of his fingers, then handed one to me. It seemed less unpleasant than the first time, and the relief came faster. I knew it wasn’t real and when it passed, it would leave me more disturbed than before, but I didn’t care at that point. We smoked in silence for a moment.
“Laik Var was the only person who stood up for me,” I said finally, not able to keep my feelings bottled any longer. Was. Not is, not anymore. It sounded surreal. The words left my mouth, but my brain refused to process them.
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