by R. K. Thorne
It might be best if he just stayed here a while. Yes. He should just stay here. And never come down.
He glanced over his shoulder. The road, the mages, the fighting—he could hear it, but none of it was in sight. So he technically wasn’t in the thick of things up here. But he was probably visible from the forest floor. Yes, much as he might like to never move again, and much as he had absolutely no desire to climb down—or fall from—this tree, this was probably not a smart place to hunker down and figure out what had happened.
How many had he taken out? How many were left?
As he eyed the tree for the next best branch to move toward, he tried to remember. His first hit hadn’t taken anyone out. After that, perhaps two, then. If they’d been seriously hurt, which they might not have been. So maybe none. And he’d left Siliana with them, pretty much defenseless. Great.
Unfortunately, there was no near branch. Anything would be a bit of a drop or a leap. Now that he had a moment to breathe, the face from the cloud came back to mind.
Queen Tena. His great-grandmother, the one who’d visited him in the dream not so long ago. She must have been an air mage too. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? Maybe even a star mage, with those diamonds on her brow.
Unfortunately, he didn’t think star magic was going to help him now. At least not for getting out of this tree. Although the sun was setting fast, and night would be soon on them, and then the stars might have their chance.
Speaking of trying out new things, he could probably try to shimmy down this tree and hope he didn’t break a leg in the process, but considering he had no idea where Siliana was and that wasn’t looking at all easy, he summoned up the strange burbling spring of air again.
He stared out at it. He knew it was there; he’d created it. He could feel wisps of wind hitting his face. But it still mostly looked like empty space. Maybe he should try climbing. He crouched down on the branch, getting ready drop down and swing from it. Of course, if he lost his grip, he’d be plummeting yet again toward the ground. And his shoulders were none too excited about the idea.
He couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He’d always preferred the faster, riskier routes in training exercises. Ah, well.
He closed his eyes, groped for the spinning funnel of air, and jumped.
The air caught him awkwardly, like being tumbled about by a dozen gusts of wind all going in the wrong direction, but bit by bit he lessened the gusts, lowering himself down and away from the tree.
He hit an elbow off one branch he flailed just a little too closely to, but in the end he managed to hit the ground with only a modicum of force that was more awkward than painful.
Rolling to his feet, he straightened and scanned the dimming forest around him. The animals were still quiet, but he sensed no one around, no movement, nothing. A hill provided some denser foliage off to his left. If he could, he’d find some shelter there, open a window, and see what he could see.
Jaena slumped against the wall that ran around Ranok. She might as well go back inside. The gate was only a few yards away. But returning would mean admitting defeat. She could pause here, with the shouting and murmuring of the market and the scent of ripe apples, baked goods, and cooking meat around her.
She’d left her braids free yesterday without much thought, and now they were digging into her back and getting who knew what on them. She reached back, swung them over her shoulder, and sighed.
“It’s hopeless,” she said softly, rubbing her forehead.
“She’s tough,” Tharomar said, joining her in leaning against the wall, their shoulders touching. His eyes scanned the market around them cautiously, not looking at her. “Just because we can’t find her doesn’t mean anything.”
“And if she’s dead?” She was too exhausted to even sound upset. They’d helped search every room of Ranok and even part of the city with some of the guards, and they hadn’t slept a moment. They’d searched all evening and through the night, and nothing. She could barely tell if she was feeling fear or anger or sadness at this point. She was certainly tired.
“She’s not dead, Jae. Don’t think like that,” he said.
“We don’t know that.”
“We don’t know either way. But if they wanted to kill her, they could have just left her there on the floor. Why bother transforming someone else to look like her?”
She nodded grudgingly. “True. I’m still worried.”
He folded his arms, propped a foot against the wall, and sighed. “I am too.”
“Do you think we’re in danger?” she said, more softly now. “Do you think they were after just her or… all of us?”
He glanced around the market again. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Two people leaving the main crowd and heading toward Ranok’s gate caught Jaena’s eye. They didn’t look like the type to have business at Ranok—not that Jaena did, either. She looked more the part now that she’d been living in clothes borrowed from Elise’s attendants and the steward, but she still felt very out of place.
The man wore a rather ridiculous hat, the large feather bouncing as he walked. One that big was probably from Detrat, Farsa, or even the Southern Kingdoms. A trader? She eyed him with envy. In another life, perhaps. But as he walked, bottles and pouches also clinked at his belt, and many of the bottles sloshed with liquid behind purple, blue, and red glass. A healer of some kind?
The girl wore a dusty, brown, shapeless mass of fabric, and dirt smudged her face. She carried black cloth slung over one arm, a trim of bright blue peeking out from time to time, and a handkerchief in one hand.
While the man looked comfortable, it was the girl who raised her chin and approached the guards, obviously believing herself equal parts brave and suicidal.
“I’m here to see Arms Master Floren,” the girl said.
Jaena’s stomach sank. Beside her, Ro straightened, stepping away from the wall as he listened.
“On what business?” the guard said, clearly skeptical.
“We’re here in response to her request,” said the man, his voice stiffly formal and dramatic. But it sounded less natural than put-on, dramatic.
“Her request for what?”
“The proclamation,” the girl said. “And she gave me this.” She held out the handkerchief.
The guard squinted at it, then looked at his partner. He shrugged, “It’s good stock, embroidered within Ranok. She’s probably telling the truth.”
The girl scowled at him as if this was a huge affront to her honor and not completely normal skepticism. Of course, Jaena knew the other reason the guards were hesitating. They were wondering if these people could have had something to do with Miara’s disappearance. Of course, if these two did have something to do with it, this seemed an odd time to approach Ranok and ask to see her.
Ro waved at the two of them, surprising Jaena by his sudden motion. “Hello, there. I believe Arms Master Floren is indisposed this morning.”
The guard looked relieved to have someone else break the news to the wild eyes glaring up at him. The girl turned her glare on Ro.
“What do you mean? The order said to come here.”
The man cleared his throat. “When I spoke with her outside my shop,” he said slowly, focusing on the guards, “she said we could also see her lieutenant, a Jaena Eliar, I believe?”
“Lieutenant?” Jaena blurted, straightening.
Ro elbowed her in the side. The girl looked like she would object, but Ro spoke up first. “Well, you’re in luck, because this is Jaena Eliar right here. We’d be happy to speak with you on Miara’s behalf.” He gave a little bow that seemed entirely unnecessary, but the girl’s face shifted from completely closed to simply wary. “If that’s all right with you, Tian.” He raised an eyebrow at the guards, who gave friendly nods. Just how many of the guards had he befriended?
“Excellent. Thank you so much, gentlemen,” the man in the hat said to the guards, then ushered the girl toward Jaena.
They
were mages, weren’t they? Or at least the girl was. That was why she was so afraid.
“Actually, would you prefer to speak inside?” Jaena asked.
“Yes,” the girl said quickly. The man glanced at her amicably and shrugged.
“Come on, let’s go.” Jaena motioned for them all to follow her. She wasn’t entirely sure inside was any safer for anyone. But it was a start. “You already know my name. And you are?”
“Sestin, of Sestin’s Drams,” the man proclaimed with another grand tip of his hat. “I make and sell remedies of all sorts.”
Did he have a remedy for missing friends? She doubted it. “Remedies? What sorts are all sorts?”
“Oh, poultices and potions. Herbal remedies, mostly.” He smiled, and his eyes glittered with mischief. “And some not herbal at all.”
“And I’m Wessa,” said the girl.
“Wessa?”
“Just Wessa,” she said coldly, keeping her head pointed straight, although her eyes darted around, looking for danger. What had her so spooked?
Abruptly Jaena realized she wasn’t sure where she was taking them. Since they still didn’t know who’d attacked Miara, how could she know where was safe? She gritted her teeth, then led them to a secluded corner of the grounds between the stables and the barracks.
“This is a quiet spot. Not many around. How is this? I’m guessing that’s what you wanted?” she said to Wessa.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you looked scared as a rabbit that wandered into a kitchen.”
Ro smothered a laugh, clearing his throat at the end of it. Now she should be elbowing him in the kidney. “You’re mages, right?”
Wessa eyed him. Sestin said, “Of course,” earning him a glare from Wessa. “What? We said as much walking up to the door and asking for the Arms Master.”
“I know. But I’m not sure if I trust her, let alone these people. Or you.” She jabbed a finger at his chest, and he shook his head.
“I’m a creature mage,” said Sestin, waving off Wessa’s concerns. “Been practicing most of my life, hiding it behind herbals. People are much less inclined to ask questions when you get the job done when no one else could. And when you give them a little bag of lavender and something they’ve never seen before to justify it.” He smiled brightly. “She’s one too.”
Wessa shot him a glare but didn’t deny it. “I met Arms Master Floren briefly at the Sapphire Temple,” she said stiffly.
“Met her? The way you described it, you saw her, turned, and ran like… well, like a rabbit.” Sestin grinned.
“I was frightened. I thought she might be Devoted.”
“She’s not,” Jaena said quickly.
“None of us are,” Ro added.
“I figured. I didn’t believe the proclamation, but then three Devoted were ejected from the Third Temple and sent packing back to Takar.” She bit her lip.
“So is there some way we can help?” asked Sestin. “Even if the arms master is predisposed this morning?”
Jaena looked to Ro, and he gazed back, his expression the same as hers. Do we tell them? Scare this already-scared one off so soon? She could sense Wessa’s tension building even now.
Jaena looked down at the dirt-packed ground, rubbing her forehead, her eyes. Was there something? There must be. But she was so tired, and her brain felt like it was floating away on a cloud.
“How much training do you have?” she finally managed.
“Nothing much formal,” Sestin said, “but I’ve figured out a lot of healing on my own. At least, I think I have.”
“Nothing,” said Wessa. “But I do have a few other friends who are mages. I might be able to convince them to come too.”
“All right then.” Jaena sighed, then looked to Ro. “Wunik?”
He nodded. “Can’t hurt to learn a few things.”
“You could take that advice yourself,” she said, smiling for the first time in hours.
He smiled back but dodged answering as he turned and beckoned for them to follow.
12
Calm
Aven pushed aside the branches of a spruce near the edge of the cliffside and eased in toward the tree’s trunk. He sank to a seat on a low branch. The heavy boughs bobbed lazily in the growing darkness, almost welcoming, and they provided thick cover once inside.
Here, the air was fresh and bright with the scent of pine and fallen leaves, still crisp with an edge of snow, probably because of the storm he’d brewed up. He’d fought his way through at least six feet of evergreen brush to get to this spot, with the hope that the intense light of the farsight spell wouldn’t be visible to his enemies with all the dense, dark branches and needles in the way. The generous boughs also blocked the wind, which would have been freezing even if he weren’t soaked.
His gambeson was too thick for wetness to have seeped all the way through, but his trousers, his boots, his neck had all been near dripping when he’d reunited with the ground. That was a big problem. He’d have to start a fire to warm up and dry off if he didn’t like the idea of freezing to death out here, but that could tip someone off to where he was. And of course he couldn’t start a fire here, inside the tree, so that meant more wind along with less cover.
But first—he needed to see what he was up against. What had happened. Who had survived.
He calmed his nerves and opened up the window of light.
What he could see was bleak. The road they’d been following was littered with the dead—both horses and people. Nothing moved except a few lost horses milling around, awaiting the return of their riders. Riders who most likely were dead and rotting nearby. No one had even tried to bury them. Not that that surprised him given how long it’d take twelve people to bury that many, but… By the gods, so many. Curse those mages for showing no respect, slaves or no. Those men and women shouldn’t have died. They’d been good people who’d been trying to do something right.
Or at least do their duty to him. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
It’d happened so fast. How much of the regiment was dead? All of it? Had they bothered to capture anyone? He struggled to think if there was some way this disaster could have been averted. What if they’d brought every mage they had with them? But that would have left Panar completely undefended, and what then? They’d have been even in numbers perhaps, but not in training. And they’d still have had the low ground, the exposed position, and the enemy would still have had the element of surprise.
Akarian forces needed mage scouts to go on ahead and spot enemies both magical and mundane. He’d had the thought before, but they didn’t have the numbers for it. He made a mental note that Kavanar could be using such scouts, even if Akaria wasn’t.
Notably, the wagons were gone. Not broken, not abandoned, but gone. Tracks and hoofprints lined the side of the road, and some bodies had been cleared to make way for the wagons to get through. Others had not been cleared and simply been crushed. He gritted his teeth.
The wagons held food supplies, yes, but also a large amount of armor. Wunik had said Kavanar appeared short on that. Aven certainly hadn’t wanted to be the one to supply them with it, by the gods.
The thought that someone had tipped the enemy off returned, persisting in his gut, although he could just as easily imagine this had been an opportunistic attack. They might have seen the regiment leave through farsight. This was one of the main roads north, the one Aven’s forces would likely take. The mages could have found a good spot and waited.
But the idea itched at him. Something about it wasn’t right. If this had been an opportunistic ambush, would they really think to take the wagons? Perhaps. Or had that somehow been part of the plan?
Aven slowly guided his view of the road north in the growing darkness. It was black enough he feared he’d miss the wagons, but as it turned out, the darkness helped him find them. The huge blazing fire and the camp circled around it were hard to miss, about a mile or so north of the carnage.
; He eased closer to the fire, and he spotted brown cloaks and colored tunics, like those on the mages he’d seen. Four stood by the fire, speaking with… Akarian soldiers.
Aven caught his breath.
As his view swept closer, he stopped and glared. One soldier speaking and standing in front of a group of others was none other than Jenec, Dyon’s lieutenant. Who’d been privy to all their plans. Who’d made half of them.
Who’d clearly been leery of mages, and Aven hadn’t done a single thing about it, hoping to win the lieutenant over eventually.
Another time he’d waited to act. He’d hope to convince the young man in the long run. And this was the result. A thousand good soldiers dead. He cursed under his breath, a stream of swearing that went on and on. What could he have done differently? Banned anyone from planning who didn’t support mages? Would that even have helped? Any of them could have simply lied. Aven sighed. It was too late to change it all now.
He peered further around the camp. A dozen men—a dozen armed Akarians—stood guard around a group of figures seated on the ground, and peering closer, he caught sight of Dyon’s scowl. His heart leapt—at least the old curmudgeon was alive. And apparently not in on the betrayal, thank the gods, because he looked more prisoner than bargainer. Another form sat on the ground behind him, and there was a flash of red—Siliana? Although how could a creature mage be bound? Perhaps she was simply waiting to try to escape when there weren’t so many guards to sneak past. Even a fly could be swatted, he supposed.
Well, that told him everything he needed to know. He was headed to that damn camp. But first, he’d look at one more thing.
He slid the farseeing window up and higher into the sky now, racing along the road north that they should have been traveling, and then slightly west, until he found the southern stronghold.
His stomach dropped like a slab of ice in his core. What he saw was worse than he’d have ever guessed. The entire hold was on fire, wooden fortifications blazing orange fury into the night. Men and women had spilled from the open keep doors, but none of them were moving. They’d tried to get away, but failed.