Heroes' Reward

by Moira J. Moore

  Taro and I had been given a tiny tent that I believed had been slapped together from strips sliced from wagon canvases. It left us even more isolated, as we were expected to remain in the tent when we weren’t attending the Emperor. We’d fallen out of the habit of talking even to each other. Making up meaningless conversation just took too much effort, and we were too afraid to discuss anything real, in case we were overheard.

  Standing around the Emperor all the time did have advantages, of a sort. We got to hear all of the reports from various officers, scouts, casters, and Pairs. It was the only way we could learn what was going on.

  Everyone gave positive reports, for the most part. Some were brave enough to include tiny cautions, but overall, it seemed everything was fine. I watched them closely, wondering whether they were all lying or if some of them were genuinely deluded.

  Because, while I didn’t know anything about military matters, Gifford’s efforts seemed to me to create nothing but a colossal mess.

  Maybe he would have no one left by the time we reached Shidonee’s Gap. Maybe that would be the best outcome we could hope for. No actual conflict and a harsh lesson that might force Gifford back into place. Maybe it would help everyone realise he wasn’t omnipotent and they’d start standing up for their rights.

  I could use the good example.

  The last report came from a starving scout wearing garments made almost entirely of patches. She looked ready to collapse. “Scout Fakin, Your Majesty,” she greeted him with a bow.

  Gifford didn’t seem to recognize her.

  Todin leaned closer to him. “She was sent to look in on Shidonee’s Gap, Your Majesty.”

  “Ah!” Gifford rubbed his hands together. “What news have you of the doings of the foul seditionists?”

  “The Triple S have left Shidonee’s Gap, Your Majesty.” The scout was so afraid of what she was saying, her words were slow and thick. “They have set out towards Erstwhile. When I left, they had reached Braidfast.”

  I was horrified. Why hadn’t they stayed nice and safe in Shidonee’s Gap? They had their own scouts, I was sure. Didn’t they know Gifford was running his forces into the ground?

  Perhaps they, like Gifford, didn’t want to appear to succeed due to the stupidity of the other side. Perhaps they didn’t want to sit there passively. Perhaps they wanted to show their strength by charging towards him.

  I hoped it wasn’t just pride. Pride was a stupid reason to risk that many lives.

  The scout was still speaking. “They have slightly more than two thousand soldiers – ”

  My heart sank. Barely more than half what the Emperor had.

  “- they have nearly eighty casters – ”

  Almost four times as much as the Emperor.

  “- they have close to one hundred Pairs.”

  Nearly five times as many as Gifford.

  The scout bowed low.

  Gifford went berserk.

  The tantrum he indulged in frightened me and embarrassed me all at the same time. No adult should behave that way, all that storming and shouting and throwing things about. He actually degenerated into claiming the circumstances weren’t fair. Who said that after the age of thirteen?

  “You should have reached Us earlier with this information!” Gifford raged at the poor trembling scout. He turned to Todin. “Have her flogged.” He clomped off, still shouting.

  The people he passed kept their eyes down.

  Once Gifford was out of sight, Todin looked to Green. And waited.

  Interesting.

  She returned the look for a moment, and then she put a hand on the crying scout’s shoulder. “The Emperor … is not well,” she said in a gentle voice. “This grave disappointment has prompted him to give an order I am sure he will regret later.”

  The scout’s eyes widened with hope.

  “Perhaps, for now, you should avoid His Majesty’s attention. It might be best if you joined the grenadiers. You will be more easily hidden within their numbers.”

  The scout nodded gratefully.

  “Go to the quartermaster. Get a uniform and something to eat.”

  The scout bowed. “Thank you, my lady.” Her voice was faint with relief.

  Green exchanged another quick glance with Todin before leaving, following Gifford.

  “This way,” Todin said to the scout. Looking much calmer, she left with him.

  Silence enveloped the rest of us. No one seemed to know what to do. Green had just reversed an order from the Emperor himself. In front of us.

  I had no idea what that meant. Maybe it wasn’t significant at all. Maybe Green had always soothed the difficulties Gifford created with his habit of instilling resentment and throwing about illogical orders, and I had just never seen it. Maybe the Emperor knew of it and, during his calmer moments, was fine with it.

  But I really didn’t think so.

  Taro and I returned to our tiny little tent. It was damp and it smelled bad, but at least it shielded us from the gaze of everyone around us. We didn’t have to pretend we weren’t terrified. That wasn’t much comfort, but we had to find it wherever we could, no matter how minor.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Two weeks later we had reached Cracked Plains, a city just beyond half the distance from Erstwhile to Shidonee’s Gap. This was not as far as Gifford had expected us to travel, and his displeasure was felt by everyone. We’d been plagued by more bad weather, and the shrinking rations had impaired the strength and endurance of the soldiers.

  Other settlements along the route had been stripped bare by Gifford’s caravan – we didn’t encounter any more that had been destroyed and deserted by their residents – but this wasn’t enough to return to the previous size of rations.

  We could see the results of the deprivation in the people around us. Cheekbones pushing through flesh, deep shallows under the eyes, fighting over food, claims of theft resulting in thrown fists.

  Everyone was eager to reach Cracked Plains, a proper city that had apparently enjoyed a prosperous year. I was as hungry as everyone else, but the thought of robbing even more people just made me sick.

  It was evening, so Gifford ordered the establishment of the camp, with the plan of waiting until the morning to make his speech and strip the city. The residents wouldn’t be able to properly witness his glory in the dark.

  It was only then that a scout returned and told us that the Triple S forces were settled not too far west of the city.

  Which meant a clash could occur at any time. I knew Gifford had no intention of actually discussing anything with the Triple S. My general fear descended into outright terror. A weight pressed on my chest and my breathing sped up so fast I sometimes saw spots.

  All those rituals I’d learned at the Academy to create serenity? Useless. Holding on to Taro? Completely without effect.

  This was worse than when I’d been riding with Fiona to attack Kent. Worse than being buried in an underground chamber waiting until Creol had time to kill us. Worse than anything I’d ever experienced before. I felt frozen and powerless.

  Taro and I were in attendance when Gifford announced, “We will launch our attack tomorrow morning, first light.”

  “Your Majesty,” Todin began hesitantly.

  “Your opinion is not needed.”

  Todin bravely persisted. “The troops have been marching without rest for over a week.”

  “Then they have been forged into hardy weapons.”

  “They won’t be at their best.”

  “Do you think the Triple S doesn’t know We’re here?” Gifford demanded.

  “They must.”

  “Then We will act first. We won’t allow anyone to claim We showed any shadow of cowardice. Deliver the orders.”

  So that was that.

  Taro and I returned to our tent, followed by our most constant companions, Postel and Mazin. And on the way I thought of a possible idea, some small way I could think of to help our people.

  I was sure there we
re some Triple S scouts among Gifford’s forces, but I couldn’t rely on their ability to escape and get to the Triple S with any news. Knowing a clash was likely, everyone would be particularly tense. How many would be able to sleep, to provide any spies a good chance to melt away?

  I had to try something myself. I couldn’t just sit there letting things happen without doing anything. Once we were back in our tent, I sat on the floor and began arranging some casting ingredients.

  I made a circle in the floor with clumps of grass, over which I poured a few tiny drops of red wine. From my scanty supplies, I sprinkled the lightest line of grains of salt over the circle, then in four rows within the circle, from the centre to the fringe. I took my common, blunt knife from beneath my belt and spat on it.

  I pulled in a deep breath. Focus. Focus. I could do this.

  “Be my focus, sharp and bright.

  Fold the distance, so thoughts can touch.

  Draw from the sky, the clarity of words.

  Help me seek, help me find.

  Shorten the paths, my mind to theirs.”

  Then I shoved the tip of the knife into the dirt floor, in the middle of the circle. “Liam Murdoch. Steina Desoto. Insada Hep. Arban Paris.” I listed off the names of all of the casters I had taught. Some of them had to be with the forces in Cracked Plains.

  “Hear me. My mind to yours. My lips to your ears.

  Hear me. Hear me. My mind to yours. My lips to your ears. Hear me.”

  I waited for the sensations that came with the cast.

  And felt nothing.

  I waited a little longer.

  And felt nothing.

  I looked at Taro, baffled. So, all right, fine, this wasn’t exactly the cast Browne had taught me, and I had experienced the unpredictable results an ill-performed cast could create, but I should have felt something. The words were right, the elements of the right ingredients were there. Sort of. Something should have happened, even if it wasn’t the right thing.

  “What’s wrong?” Taro whispered.

  I shrugged helplessly. I didn’t know what to do. I lacked the supplies to try the cast again.

  Was I just out of practise?

  I was good at this. I had trained for years. A few months without use couldn’t be enough to eradicate all of my skills.

  What else could it be? Why else would a cast fail?

  Then a possibility came to me. Damn damn damn.

  I assembled a small pile of gray ash, ground white stone, and ground quartz. “Flare,” I whispered.

  It was a child’s cast, one of the easiest I knew. There was no getting it wrong. But nothing happened, and I didn’t feel the buzzing of a spell being cast.

  Oh Zaire. I grabbed Taro by the shoulder and pulled him close. “Casts don’t work here!” I hissed into his ear.

  It was something I’d always known, at a theoretical level. Just as there were people who couldn’t cast, no matter how intelligent they were, no matter what other talents they had, no matter how perfectly they performed the steps, there were places where casts wouldn’t work. I’d never come across one, though.

  Gods, why did it have to be here? And why now?

  The Triple S’s advantage, as far as I could discern, was their larger casting unit. If they didn’t know casts didn’t work in Cracked Plains – and it was possible they didn’t – they’d be walking into a situation much more dire than they could have anticipated.

  And there was a very good chance any Triple S spies among Gifford’s ranks didn’t know it, either. Even if they could escape, they wouldn’t be able to give the Triple S the information they needed most.

  The entrance flap of our tent was thrown open and Postel and Mazin strode in. “Thought if we waited a bit we’d catch you at something,” Mazin said with satisfaction.

  Postel grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. “Green’ll give us something when we tell her you’ve been casting,” he said. “Something better than watching you two.”

  I wondered how they’d choose to execute us: flogging, beheading, or hanging? Something out in the open for all to view. The ignoble end of Source Shintaro Karish and Shield Dunleavy Mallorough.

  “We can get you something better than more work,” Taro promised, all out of nowhere.

  What the hell?

  Keep your face blank.

  Mazin snorted. “What have you two got?” he asked derisively.

  Taro rose to his feet. And smiled. That delicious, flirtatious little smile. When we’d first met, that smile had engendered in me a certain amount of disdain. I had come to love it.

  Postel’s facial expression sort of softened. I fought down my own totally inappropriate smile. Taro certainly hadn’t fallen out of practise.

  “Don’t you know who I am?”

  Mazin frowned with uncertainty.

  “The Stallion of the Triple S. I don’t believe you haven’t heard of me.”

  And Mazin clearly had. “So you’ll sleep with anything that moves. What good does that do us?”

  Taro gave no indication that he found that common claim offensive. “Oh, it is so much more than that. Clearly you have no idea.”

  “What then?” Postel demanded.

  “You wouldn’t believe the benefits I can procure. And not just people to roll, much as I enjoy that. Don’t you know? Pairs can take anything they want, from anyone they want. Not just food and clothing. Jewellery, as elaborate as we can find. Art. Carriages covered in gold, and the finest horses to pull them. And we don’t even have to keep them. We can give them to anyone we want. And the people we give them to, they can sell them. Do you know what you can buy with enough money? Things much better than a higher rank where you’ll still have to eat bad food and obey idiots.”

  Taro leaned a little closer to Postel than I liked. “And then there’s me. I can get things people don’t know they don’t have to give Pairs. Money? I’ve got piles of it. I don’t even spend it. I just like to look at it and know I took it away from them.”

  Postel’s grip on my arm loosened and he took a step closer to Taro.

  Mazin yanked him back. “Green can give us titles and land,” he countered.

  “She hasn’t given titles or estates to anyone who isn’t High Landed.”

  That was true. Would Mazin know that?

  “The Triple S can give you land,” Taro lied with a tone of smooth confidence.

  “The Triple S doesn’t have land.”

  “Haven’t you been listening to Gifford and Green? The Triple S has been taking land for years. They’ve been threatening settlements, demanding money and goods if the residents wanted us to channel their events. When settlements refuse, the Triple S creates events and destroys everything the residents have, and takes the land anyway. And then they use the money to lure in a whole new bunch of settlers. Settlers who are loyal to the Triple S. More loyal than they are to any monarch.”

  They weren’t dragging us out of the tent. Good sign, right?

  “And what about all of the casters and soldiers the Triple S has? You heard the report, you know they’re there. Why would any of them support the Triple S against the Emperor unless they were convinced the Triple S can give them something the Emperor can’t? Or won’t?”

  Mazin snorted. “You want us to let you go on your word your people will give us something if they win?”

  Taro smiled again. “No, I’m suggesting you come with us.”

  Did they have to? Why didn’t he use that smile to persuade them to stay behind?

  I wasn’t going to say anything, though. I wasn’t even going to move. I didn’t want to draw their attention from Taro’s influence.

  “Everyone’s used to seeing you with us,” he said. “No one will question us, no matter where we go. With you with us, everyone who sees us will assume we’re acting on the Emperor’s orders.”

  “And then we get nailed down by your sort,” said Postel.

  “Not when I tell them how well you’ve treated us.” Taro winked. �
��Showing us extra care, getting us extra food. And they’ll see for themselves that you helped us escape. We’re their favourite Pair. Out of gratitude, they’ll give you something more than Green ever would.”

  They finally started looking like they might be swayed, their posture relaxing, their frowns softening and appearing more contemplative than hostile.

  They weren’t particularly bright. I could think of a dozen other questions they should be asking before taking such an enormous risk. A huge concern they should have was the fact their alleged reward would rely on the Triple S being successful in whatever the hell this all was.

  “They have a lot more casters than Gifford does,” Taro reminded them. “They can kill from a distance, without risking themselves. This all comes down to the casters.”

  Had these two had much exposure to the casters? Did they know what casters could do, and what their limits were?

  Taro continued to cast his own particular sort of spell. “Dunleavy just told the Triple S casters Gifford’s plans. That was the cast she just performed. They’re getting ready right now. Do you want to fight in the dark? Aren’t you as exhausted as everyone else?”

  Postel traded glances with Mazin. After a moment, Mazin nodded at the entrance, and they took a step towards it.

  We’d lost them. “Wait!” I said desperately.

  “Shut up!” Mazin snapped. “Don’t try sneaking off. We’re not going far.”

  I guessed that meant they were going to talk about their options. We still had a chance.

  We’d done it. Taken an irrevocable step. If Mazin and Postel reported us to anyone, Gifford – and certainly Green – wouldn’t believe any protestations of innocence from Taro.

  How the hell would we get out of there?

  It was only a short time before Mazin and Postel returned. They were scowling and moving stiffly, their steps short and abrupt.

  Postel grabbed my arm and jerked me towards the entrance.

  That was it, then. We’d taken a gamble and we’d lost.

  Taro was usually a better gambler than that.

  Oh, gods.

  I could barely breathe. I blinked tears from my eyes.