by Allen Snell
“I will not!” Micah shouted, pounding the back of his fist into the stone wall behind him. Stubbornness warred between the siblings. “I won’t leave any more of my people to die. Or to abandon every village along their path of ruin. These surrounding homes are all they have left. We have the might to stop them, and so we will.”
“Well, you sold me,” Garen said, glancing around the room. He saw the foreign officials sitting at the throne-room table. They quietly waited on their king to return. Garen saw a goblet on the corner nearest him and walked toward it.
“Excuse me?” Micah called after him.
Garen stepped beside a heavy-set man who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Garen shouted back to Micah, “You said you thought the Apatten were a favorable match for the Centralians. And now, whoever murdered the noblest man I’ve ever known is tipping the scales. I’m going to balance that for you.”
Micah’s face went a new shade of red. “You are absolutely not. I told Naia the same thing. You aren’t foot soldiers. You can’t go marching off to war and expect to be safe in the fray. That’s how spirits fell into terrible hands the first time. I forbid it.”
Garen snatched the man’s goblet off the table and took a gulp. The white wine was dry and bitter, burning his throat. “Whew, you don’t water your stuff down here, do you, Amiri? I was hoping for something a little more refreshing, but I suppose it’ll do.”
“Garen!” Micah shouted, his voice nearly growling with demand for respect.
“Come on, you of all people should understand how this works. I’m going to let you hate me so that we can protect the kingdom. Sound familiar, Kiron? And then, I’m going to put my sword through the first person to conjure a stray stone or gust at me.”
“If you—” Micah started, but another voice cut him off from the band around his wrist.
“Urgent news from Kartik!”
Garen was less familiar with the location, but he recognized it as one of the towns along the relay chain. Micah’s head snapped down and away to his wrist. “Let me hear it directly.”
Micah touched a blue stone in the band and the sounds of chaos and shouting filled the room. One voice was discernable above it all. “—relay post Kartik. A tunnel from the ground has opened. Gray-skinned creatures are pouring out by the hundreds. We are under immediate attack.”
Garen slammed the goblet back to the table. “Yell at me later. I’ve got a war to win.”
Chapter 28
The shouts of all the kings in the world couldn’t stop him from slipping away. He vanished into the void between realms where every soul connected into one finite spot. Every soul but Drake’s. For the briefest second, he tried reaching for it again, imagining his friend and trainer. The emptiness held nothing for him. He forced his thoughts to return to General Tragus. He barely knew the man, but even his soul’s thread stood out from the crowd. The confident, stern leader. Loud, commanding, and worth standing beside—as long as you don’t want to feel important.
He arrived at Tragus’ side and the grassy plains came into view. Garen’s eyes couldn’t focus on them. The distant brown peaks of the Te’ens were stationary, but the grass was a blur. The realization hit him, followed immediately by the ground.
He shared the same momentum as the wind-running general. His shoulder cracked into the dirt and sent him flipping end over end. Other soldiers ran past, unaware of the gruesome impact taking place. Garen impulsively shot out a gust of wind, trying to cushion the next impact. He was spinning too fast to regain control. The spell provided little resistance as his knee took the next blow. It crunched hard enough to wrench the breath from his lungs.
Shouts and steps approached Garen. “Did you see that?”
“It looks like he’s moving.”
“He can’t be alive. Every bone in his body must be broken.”
Garen slowly lengthened his panicked, shallow breaths until he could speak. “Both. You can be both,” his voice cracked.
“Spit and souls, he is,” a gruff voice shouted. They ran the last stretch to him. “Captain Renyld, are you alright?”
Garen, you need to lie perfectly still. You have a shattered bone between your neck and shoulder, Kallista said.
“How bad is—OAAWH” Garen screamed as he leaned against it. He felt the bones grind against each other.
Bad. Neither you nor I could heal this within the day. You need to return to Micah.
“After an exit like that? No chance.”
A few more Centralians noticed them and stopped to assist. Garen made it halfway to his feet, trying to keep his left shoulder still. He felt the swollen joint in his left knee and couldn’t stand the rest of the way.
There is one other option, although this will be the closest I’ve ever come to killing you.
Garen took a soldier’s outstretched hand and pulled himself onto his feet. He had to balance entirely on his right leg. The tiniest amount of weight on his other knee was excruciating. “Do your worst.”
The soldiers shared a look of confusion. Before Garen could explain, the pulsing agony throughout his body stopped. He stood painlessly on his feet. He rotated his arm without tensing up.
Garen laughed. “I think you had it backwards. You didn’t kill me. You made me immortal.”
And that’s the thought that kills you. Your bones and joints aren’t healed. I’m making your body lie to you.
“Which will hold me over fine until I can actually heal it.” Garen continued to gleefully test his range of motion.
“Sir, who are you talking to?”
Garen shook off some of the dirt from his tumble and laughed again. “No one. I’m just crazy.”
“Regroup with the others,” a distant voice shouted. “We’re seeing signs of conflict ahead from Kartik.” Several of the soldiers sprinted back off without hesitation. Garen motioned for the others to join, too. They hesitantly conjured the wind in their steps to catch up to the others. Garen ran after them.
Idiot, Kallista whispered.
“Since when do you care?” Garen shouted. “Did I miss the part where you’re actually willing to help me?” Garen knew he should practice communicating internally at some point, but speaking without sound wasn’t nearly as satisfying.
You did. It was the first moment you decided to fight Therov. If his host kills you, it’s my soul he’s going to torture.
“Alright, so why not leave me helpless in the dirt back there?” Garen said, passing the other recruits as he ran.
She hesitated. He needs to be stopped. I no longer have the luxury of believing someone else will solve that problem for us. But more than ever that means you should contain your recklessness. You don’t even realize how close to buckling that leg is.
Garen stopped and sighed. “Alright, what’s your way? I’m definitely not spellshifting to anyone in motion.”
No. You need to start thinking of yourself as an extension of the elements, not a slash-and-stab brute with the occasional misdirection. You practiced light-shifting long distances with Karna. Try that without running at all.
Her criticism made sense to him. He tended to see others run, so he ran. When someone met him with a sword, he brandished his. It hurt his head a little to think outside of the basics of movement and fighting, but he had to admit—he was playing by rules that no longer applied to him.
It felt unnatural to shift himself into light without springing forward off his feet. His body went from a gradual step to a speed faster than he could comprehend. And as he resumed physical form, he tried to remember that peaceful stride. His foot touched the ground lightly. He was surprised by his ability to maintain both extremes.
He paused between steps to observe his surroundings. He passed over the decorative paths of stones pulled from the stream. These farming estates outside the town didn’t appear to be under any distress. Each step overtook more ranks of wind-sprinting soldiers, all of them behind General Tragus. He kept his physical form long enough to hear the hollering and
cheering among the soldiers behind him, watching him shift his way past them to the front.
The walls of Kartik appeared on the horizon with his next step. The hand-laid placement of the bricks was testament to their age. He shifted right up to the wall and immediately heard the screams on the other side. Garen moved alongside it, searching for the nearest entrance. He heard the frustrated sigh inside his head again.
“If you want to help me, do it. Your silent judgment is going to get people killed.”
Ignore the wall. Stretch it apart. Or shift above it and back down. Stop bowing to every obstacle in your way.
“I can see why you and Karna didn’t get along,” Garen said, remembering his grandmother’s advice on boundaries. But Kallista had her point. Garen transformed into light and reformed in the sky above the town. He fell for less than a second before he slipped back into light and reformed along the ground, no more impact than a normal step would have made. The commotion came from further in. He shifted onto the top of a thatch roof and shot from one to the next until he saw them.
There were no fires or explosions like Vikar-Tola. Apatten ran out of the tunnel’s mouth and scattered through the dirt roads of the town. Their stone-like skin and vivid purple eyes were as horrifying as he remembered. The opening itself was four shoulders wide. If the tunnel stretched across the kingdom, all of Garen’s fears were confirmed. This was earth magic on the level of a Spellsword. Drake’s murderer was already using his gifts to march an army east.
What baffled Garen was why they had emerged into this town. Destroying the first relay made sense. It would take days longer to correspond with the Western Kingdom and work together. But they had already broken the chain. Why sever it further?
A decent number of bodies surrounded the tunnel’s exit. The poor fools in this town’s militia already met their fate. The remaining people of Kartik were fleeing in every direction. The Apatten didn’t pursue civilians. Instead, they sprinted straight from the tunnel into nearby buildings like their lives depended on it. One ran down the street away from the others and passed below Garen into a seemingly unimportant building. The sign above the door read “Gin and Jackal.” The tavern had no windows. Garen stepped off the roof and shifted into the doorway. The room lay still. Two of the six wooden tables had been flipped onto their side. Chairs were scattered, some snapped into pieces. Garen counted five bodies lying motionless on the floor. The undisturbed pools of blood were the only orderly shape in the room.
He could hear the sounds of rummaging from the back of the tavern. Garen crept inside until he could see the source. A dozen Apatten ravaged the cooking area. They stuffed handfuls of vegetables, fruits, and even raw meats into their mouths. They wore plain sackcloth. The Apatten had no insignias or ranks pinned to the fabric. Their trousers were equally simple, tied with a linen scrap to belt broadswords at their side.
Garen made no effort to hide his presence. The first creature to turn and search for more food caught a glimpse of him. It let out an unintelligible shout and readied its sword. Others noticed the intrusion and crammed their last handful into their mouths.
Purple eyes glowed in anticipation. It lasted only a moment. The nearest sprung forward. The stab was easy to parry, but the Apatten stepped beside him smoothly enough to thrust again. Garen spun his blade to knock it away. The movements reminded him how capable these creatures were with a sword.
Garen committed to the center of the fray and met blades with one more. His surroundings offered a few opportunities. A pot of unattended water was boiling over the hearth. While he kept the nearest at sword’s length, Garen directed the scalding water out of the pot and into the faces of two Apatten moving toward him. Their gray skin hissed beneath the screams as they dropped to the ground.
A kitchen knife soared through the air directly at Garen’s head. He noticed it in time to shift into light toward the one who threw it. He reformed too early and cracked his knee into a cutting table. The vibration shook him off his feet and onto his side. Strangely, there was no pain to accompany it. He needed to stand but had no idea if his leg would support him.
Another Apatten brought its sword down on him. The clutter of stools and tables didn’t give him room to roll out of the way. Garen shifted into light while lying flat on the ground. He reformed horizontally in the air behind the Apatten. Garen thrust his blade into the creature’s back. He pulled up on the lodged sword and landed on his feet. Two more charged in. Garen pulled his katana from the stunned creature’s chest and locked blades once more.
Similar to before, one had the wisdom to step through a parry and pressure him from the other side. Their movements and strategy weren’t perfect, but it was ten times what they should know. They moved like a band of seasoned fighters. Tarn must have passed on more than just his chiseled jaw.
Garen needed something other than swordplay to clear the room. While one Apatten took the full fury of Garen’s strikes, another took a ball of concentrated flame to the chest, singeing its sackcloth and flesh alike. The creature shrieked pitifully.
Garen exchanged feints with the Apatten challenging him. He heard the sounds of soldiers shouting outside the building and was thankful the real aid had arrived. He might be able to finish off these few, but what would that accomplish? It meant nothing compared to the lives at stake outside. Garen light-shifted to the kitchen entrance. He pulled stone up from deep in the ground. It shattered the floorboard as it walled off the room. He made it thick enough to contain them for a while. It was a moderate toll on his depth, but it was still better than being chased.
Garen stepped back into the sunlight and saw a break in the wall he hadn’t noticed before. It was far wider than anything he was capable of. As Centralians poured through, he remembered what the combined effort of a hundred souls could accomplish. Across the open market, Apatten charged one after another from what appeared to be a storehouse, most of them with the stains of fresh berries smeared along their hands and face.
Before blades even met in the square, he saw the ground jut and shake under the Apatten. Some merely tripped. Others were knocked into spikes of stone waiting for them. Two of the Centralians in front released a cone of flame. The fires combined in magnitude and incinerated twenty more. Doors flew open around the square. Every Apatten ran toward the onslaught.
Garen witnessed the mayhem while moving toward their ranks. He smiled in pride at the Centralians’ use of magic to keep the fight in their favor. It wasn’t hard to find General Tragus. He stood a head taller than any of the men not covered in garish, gray skin. He shouted for his troops coming out of their wind-sprint to rush into the town and begin expanding their perimeter.
The Apatten seemed endless, but right now so did Tragus’ soldiers. He saw Garen approach and waved him over. Garen felt his leg wobble and remembered to step lightly. He shifted directly to the General’s side, happy to not be sent tumbling this time.
Tragus shook his head. “I’m guessing that’s how you beat our men here. Spirits hope King Micah doesn’t know you’ve joined us. But first, report. What’s happening in there?”
“They’re eating everything they can find, only attacking those in their way. Now I think someone is commanding them to charge our men. You were smart to split the wall that wide and retake the market, though. We’re able to group tightly here, and the open ground between us and the Apatten is letting magic pick them apart.”
Tragus looked back to the hills they came from, then to the wall. His voice quieted, barely audible over the shouts of battle. “Garen, that wall split open as I arrived. I assumed it was you.”
The ground shook below them, this time more violently. Garen tried to stabilize himself against Tragus but nearly lost his balance. He pulled them both onto a disc of wind. He saw several other Centralians follow their same instinct, trained well not to trust the ground. He didn’t see the hundred other soldiers who previously held the square.
The dust cleared and revealed a crater spanning half the
market. The pit went only ten feet deep, but it contained a mix of Apatten and Centralians. The fight continued on more chaotic terms than before. A few soldiers tried to climb out. Apatten stood along the edge, intent on keeping them below.
“Regroup outside the walls!” General Tragus shouted. A geonode glowing along his shoulder amplified the words into a booming command. “Spread wide and follow me.” Tragus conjured his own disc of wind and turned to guide his men from the pit. The ground shifted again. The dirt rolled back like the tide, pulling with it every cobblestone, shattered cart, and charred Apatten body caught in it.
Garen cupped his hands to shout to the disoriented soldiers climbing their way out. “Get out, now! Wind, anything, go!” Tragus looked back and saw the earth churning and rising. The mass of it grew and stretched further into the sky until it formed a wave of dirt and debris. It leaned forward and blocked the late-morning sun. A few Centralians stopped climbing to push against it. Their efforts were wasted. The mass hurled toward them. Garen could not stop it.
He recognized Elise among those pushing against the wave of dirt. She was close enough to hear his words and stop opposing it. She summoned her disc of wind and hopped on. It floated away from the churning mass. He could tell it was far too slow. Garen light-shifted toward the edge and cut down an Apatten standing between them. He tugged at Elise with a gust of his own. The force knocked her off the disc and shot her arms forward. Garen reached over the ledge for her hand. He grasped it tightly and pulled. The wave crashed.
A cloud of dirt and debris surrounded them. Garen coughed but refused to let go. He pulled at her hand but felt a greater resistance. He cleared the air around them with a gust. He could see her from the waist up, alive and struggling. The earthen wave had fallen across her legs. It was more than she could lift, but Garen helped shape the ground to the side so she could stand. She stayed prone. He tried to help her to her feet. She laid facedown, sobbing.