But I felt nothing. They were enemies. They would slaughter me without remorse, so why should I hesitate?
“Evens, back on your bikes.”
I didn’t turn to see if my orders were followed. I didn’t turn to see how many of my evens were no longer able to follow. All I cared about was pushing on.
I climbed back on my bike.
Once again, ssothians were trying to overtake the rest of us and this time, I didn’t stop them. Tarvissi dragged heavy furniture from upper floors to form a provisional barricade where the gate used to be, but the ssothians barged through it like battering rams. The enemy pelted them with bolts, but I doubted that they dug deep through the fur. A shame I didn’t have more of them in my Cohort.
The first of our bikers also approached, but they needed a moment to dismount, and the enemy took this opportunity to rain bolts and crystal balls at their heads. Some Mespanians tried to aim at the invisible shooters, but most of their spells bounced off the walls.
I got an idea.
Just before reaching the battle, I jerked my bike upright and jumped off of it. The momentum carried it on, straight into one of the windows. It exploded—not enough to break through the wall, but if the screams coming from the other side were anything to go by, just enough to burn a few assholes.
“Odds to defense; evens attack,” I commanded and saw a wall of fire rising before our troops.
Saral Tal appeared beside me, conjuring a wall of flame. I switched my helmet to magic vision and from that moment on, the battle became a blur, as muscle memory took over. Just like I was trained: walk, kill, move on.
That’s why I joined Mespana. It was easy. Mechanical. Walk, kill, move on. No drama. No nuances. No making a fool of myself. Just me versus them. Kill or be killed. Simple.
Walk, kill, move on.
I lost track of time. My universe shrank to contain only the nearest enemy, until they fell and another took their place. My sword snapped at some point, stuck in one guy’s ribcage, but I just grabbed the one he dropped—shorter and heavier than a Dahlsian blade, but I could work with that—and moved on.
Walk, kill, move on.
Until my visor exploded, and a myriad of glass shards bit into my face. Vaka made everything more intense, even pain. But before I could as much so grunt, a kick in the chest sent me tumbling. I fell on my back, the stolen sword slipping away. I opened my eyes—miraculously, none of the shards got to them—to at least see the one to kill me.
Well, fuck.
Karlan Peridion towered over me, grinning like a maniac. He clutched a weapon I’d never seen—a spiky ball connected via a long chain to a wooden handle. That’s what he must’ve hit me with. Or rather brushed—a proper blow would most likely turn my head inside out.
He took a swing, and the spiked ball rushed at me, but I rolled out of its way. I tried to send a distress signal—no answer. Saral Tal, I thought. Where was he? He was supposed to be my defense. But all around us there were only corpses. The clangor of battle still sounded in the distance, but here, there were only two of us.
Another swing, another roll. I tried to kick his shin, but he evaded and swung at me with the sword he held in his left hand. I felt it brush my suit, but didn’t have time to stop and check the damage. The spiked ball flew toward me. I pulled back, then raised my wand. Before I used it, a perfectly marked stroke of the sword cut it in half.
“You really should stick to farming, Tearshan,” rasped Karlan.
At least I wasn’t the only one struggling for breath, I thought irrationally.
“A pitchfork is a right tool for you, not a sword.”
His grin got wider. I crawled back, feeling around for something to use. We were in the side yard, though I didn’t remember how we got there. Bodies littered the ground, their hands still clutching uselessly at their weapons, but before I could get any of them, Karlan attacked, forcing me to back off.
“It’s a shame your old man died,” he said, taking another swing. “I’d love to kill him, too, avenge my father. Alas, you’ll do.”
Another swing, another roll.
My ribs caught something, sending a flash of pain through my body. With a striking clarity I realized I was going to die.
And despite everything, calmness descended over me. It was over. Nothing more I could do.
Peridion stood over me, grinning. He lifted his spiked ball, ready to crush my skull.
“I’ll cut your head off and hang it over the gate for all to see. That’s how peons who don’t know their place end up.”
My hand, which apparently didn’t get the memo from my brain, grasped something.
Without thinking, I grabbed it and thrust it forward. Peridion’s face widened in shock, and his mouth hung open, sputtering blood. Only then did I look at the object I held.
I burst into laughter.
A pitchfork. Somehow we made our way to the stables, unused for some time but still cluttered with old tools.
And so it came that Karlan Peridion, facing the most advanced human civilization in the universe, was killed with a fucking pitchfork.
I wasn’t able to stop myself, I laughed and laughed, all pain gone, the battle around us all but forgotten.
Finally, though, I exhausted my mirth and the pain in my side came back. Peridion collapsed beside me—his eyes were glassy, but he was still wheezing. My hit wasn’t clear; I probably only pierced his lungs. He had some time to reconcile with his gods.
I grabbed the shaft of the pitchfork and used it to lift myself, but my head spun and I barely managed to keep myself upright. Something cold and wet was dripping down my side, and when I looked down, I saw blood.
So Karlan had hit me after all. And judging from the amount of gore, it was more than a graze. My brain must have blocked the pain at the time, a typical reaction during high-stress situations. Argan Am didn’t even feel his hands burning until long after they were gone…
I snapped awake. What was I doing? I was bleeding out, and I stood there like an idiot, ruminating. I had to heal myself. Fast.
Red spots danced before my eyes as I reached into my pouch. I should probably sit down. But then I could never get up again. Finding what I needed was difficult with rapidly numbing fingers, but when I tried looking down, blood dripped into my eyes, reminding me of my shattered helmet. I took a moment to take it off; it was useless anyway.
Finally, my fingers closed around a familiar shape and I felt relief. I took the package out and started unwrapping, but as soon as I did, the clay slid from the foil and fell to the ground.
Fuck!
Deep breath. I can’t give up. It’s just a graze; it’s not lethal. But if I lose consciousness here, I may never regain it. I have to focus.
I clenched my fists so much it hurt. There. They were working fine. This time I didn’t have to look, having already located my medicine pouch. All I had to do was be careful. Use the other hand for support. That’s it. Then roll it. All right, that’s enough. Press it into the cut—a surge of pain blinded me for a moment, but it was good; it meant I was alive. I put my left hand over the wound and started an incantation. My mouth was numb, my tongue felt like lead, and the words came out all wrong. Panic prickled my mind as I realized I might not be able to cast the spell.
But then a wave of heat ran through my body and my head cleared. I tore my hand out and looked down. The wound was sealed. A piece of suit fused into my skin, but at least I wasn’t bleeding out. Nothing I could do for my face; the wounds were too shallow for clay, and the complex healing spells were beyond my scope. I only tried again to wipe the gore from my eyes, but the sharp pain made me realize what I took for blood was actually a strip of skin.
I took a deep breath, readying myself for what was to come. When I pushed away from the wall, the world spun, almost sending me back to the ground. I took a moment to steady myself. Behind me, Karlan Peridion was still wheezing. I could end his misery. Or heal him and take him as a hostage.
I walked awa
y.
The battle was still on, but I had no intention of joining it. I was only hoping I wouldn’t encounter any more Tarvissi. My wand was broken and I was too weak to wield a sword. I had to find my way out.
A tingle ran down my neck.
Innam Ar’s warning ringing in my ears, I tried to get down, but my body refused to listen. It was all for nothing, I realized with dread. They weren’t going to kill me with a spell; that would be too obvious.
My legs buckled, and I fell on my face with a groan, sand biting into my wounds. A second later, someone stepped into my view, and I glimpsed the edge of a silver sash.
Myar Mal was right. The traitors were among us.
The guy bent to pick up Peridion’s sword, and, for a moment, I caught his face. I didn’t recognize him. I wished he would speak, then perhaps I could identify him. But he was silent. No gloating, no super-villain speech, not even a grunt. I guess I wasn’t worth the effort.
He walked back to me. He was going to kill me—no, murder me. And the only thought in my mind was, who the fuck is this guy?
His feet filled my view now. He didn’t show any inclination toward turning me around. I was gonna die from a sword to my back. In old legends, that was the death of a coward; I wondered if he knew?
A surprised yelp sounded above me and the threads of the spell loosened. I jerked back and pulled myself to a sitting position, to see my would-be-killer suspended in the air, stretched with magic. When I looked around, I spotted Myar Mal, hands raised and surrounded by a white gleam.
Of course, he was a sorcerer.
“Raison Dal-Aramek,” he stated coldly, “I have to say I didn’t fancy you to be power hungry. Or you’re just campaigning for someone else?”
“Fuck you,” rasped the captive.
Myar Mal smiled joylessly and twisted his hand in a studied movement. The prisoner shrieked in pain.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get your friends in time. I guess you were the one who got the nut. Was that the one Aldait Han dropped?”
The vessár didn’t speak, but Myar Mal didn’t seem like he expected an answer, anyway.
“One thing bothers me, though.” He cocked his head. “How did you get it to me? I don’t remember picking up new meds before the battle, and no one had access to my food or drink.”
Raison Dal made a rasped sound. It took me a while to realize it was laughter.
“You think I did that?” he asked. “Try someone closer.”
Myar Mal’s face remained blank, but his arms slumped. “Speak clearly.”
“I wasn’t the only one who wanted you dead. You have a lot of enemies, Myar Mal. Entire families, I’d say…”
Myar Mal paled.
“No,” he rasped.
Raison Dal chuckled. “Oh, yes. You saw the hatred in her eyes. You know she blames you. And you know she’s right.”
“No!” Myar Mal yelled and pushed his hands forward, sending his prisoner hurling into the wall. He then let out another yell, haunted and full of anguish, then fell to his knees. His head slumped, fingers digging into his scalp. Despite being surrounded by dead enemies and having uncovered the conspiracy to end his life, he looked utterly defeated.
There was only one person Raison Dal could be talking about.
I was at a loss. Should I go to him? Try to comfort him? But what could I say? I barely knew him; I certainly didn’t know Amma La. That traitorous asshole could be lying about her involvement, but even if he was alive, he was in no state to tell. And Myar Mal must’ve at least suspected something, given how easily he accepted her betrayal.
What the fuck could I say to that?
“Myar Mal,” I stumbled forward, fighting legs that still tried to buckle under me.
“Leave me,” he rasped.
I fled.
* * *
Too late, I realized Myar Mal might not have left the mansion alive. I read somewhere men tried to take their lives less frequently than women, but were more often successful. He certainly had the means. And more than enough reason. But was he capable of such a thing?
Tayrel Kan was wrong. Myar Mal’s love for Amma La was real. Nothing less could justify such suffering.
I realized if the kar-vessár took his own life, I would be the only one who knew about her involvement in the conspiracy. Shit, I could be the only one who even knew about the conspiracy! How much would my word mean against hers?
I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t even look where I was going. My body was weak, my movements erratic, and when I stumbled, I had no strength to arrest my fall. When my vision cleared, I saw Saral Tal. The enemy sword cut through his helmet, shattering the visor before getting stuck in his jaw. Splotches of dark red marked the pale blue sash of nami vessár.
I was so tired. With limbs as heavy as iron, I reached out and closed his eyes. Then I heaved myself to my feet and moved on.
Walk,… , move on.
All I wanted to do was crash on my bed and sleep. Maybe cry a little.
“Vessár!”
I was in the main yard. I wasn’t sure how I got there. A Dahlsi soldier stopped me almost immediately and I squinted, trying to remember his face.
“The enemy has surrendered,” he said, gesturing to some two dozen people gathered at the center of the yard. It took my fogged brain a while to realize why they seemed so out of place among Dahlsi soldiers.
“Tearshan! By Vhalfr!” One of the captives ran to me, then grabbed my hand.
“The merge is not far from here,” whispered Taneem Kiovar. “Let us go. No one needs to know. Come on, Tearshan,” he pleaded. “We’re from the same nation.”
Were we? I looked at his face: it was covered in soot, eyebrows burned off, and eyes wide in fear. I studied it, searching for any sign of affinity, but all I could see was the face of Saral Tal, cut in half, pale blue sash tainted with dark red in a perverse inversion of the Dahlsian flag.
I wrested my hand from his grip.
“The merge is blocked from the other side,” I said wearily and watched hope drain from his face. I turned to my troops. “Myar Mal’s orders were clear. No survivors.”
“Vessár?” A Dahlsi soldier was watching me, rolling his wand between his fingers uncertainly.
But what could I do? It was an order; I was as bound by it as him.
I turned my back on Taneem.
“No survivors,” I repeated, feeling hollow.
Chapter 24
The last spell was cracking. Using Tayrel Kan’s body, Myar Mal pushed one more time and the colorful lines, invisible to everyone but him, flickered and vanished. He started walking. He was on the top floor of the mansion, far away from the yard where the real Myar Mal watched Aldait Han struggle with Peridion. The true enemy, the magic-wielder who turned their spell against them, was ahead. Hidden in his lab and surrounded by ephemeral barriers, he still radiated more power than any human sorcerer.
Except Tayrel Kan.
Controlling two bodies was difficult, and it it didn’t leave enough brainpower to process sensory input from both. That’s why it took him a while to smell the smoke—and another to determine where it was coming from. He frowned. Then he sped up.
Too late.
The workshop was filled with flames. He extinguished them with a flick of the hand, then waved to clear the air. The only thing revealed was scorched remains of furniture and a small pile of strangely misshapen bones.
On the other side of the mansion, Aldait Han collapsed to the ground and Myar Mal slipped his consciousness to deal with the threat. Tayrel Kan swayed and slid along the wall, too tired to scream.
Chapter 25
Amma La let out a long puff of smoke.
“So, you know,” she said.
“I don’t believe it.”
She chuckled. The air inside her tent was heavy with smoke and regret, and yet she seemed comfortable, sprawled in the chair with her legs stretched before and crossed at the ankles, her back turned to Myar Mal, who stood at the entrance
, not daring to step in.
“I’m sorry.” There was not even a hint of remorse in her voice.
He flinched.
“Why, Amma?” he pleaded. He never did, but now he couldn’t help it; he needed to know, to understand. He knew things were not going well—he knew it for a while—but he still hoped they would work things out as soon as the rebellion was over. Was he really so wrong?
Amma La drew in a lungful of smoke before she replied. “Maybe I just wanted to take something from you for a change.”
He sighed in defeat, the weight settling in his chest. “So that’s it. It wasn’t enough that Laik Var blamed me for your falling out…”
“We quarreled over you, there’s no way around that. And now we can’t even do that, because you ignored the danger and got him killed.”
Her tone was flat, and yet her words felt like nails driven to his heart.
“Amma—” Myar Mal sucked in air before continuing, “I made mistakes. Big ones. And you are right, Laik Var’s death is on me—”
“Oh, don’t feign remorse,” she spun around to face him, “everyone knows he was in your way.”
“I never wanted him dead. By Vhalfr, Amma! I urged you to reconcile with him! I said I would step back—”
“And you really thought you could just do that? Step back?” She laughed, a shrill, manic laugh. “You beautiful, innocent thing! How could I ever live without you?”
“You tried to kill me!”
For a moment there was no answer as the woman hid behind another whiff of smoke. Only now Myar Mal noticed dozens of tsalka butts littering the floor and his heart clenched.
“I just thought…” she started, but trailed off. Myar Mal kept silent, giving her a chance to collect herself. Wishing, against everything, there was a logical explanation. “If you died, I would be free.”
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