Catalyst Moon: Incursion (The Catalyst Moon Saga Book 1)

by Lauren L. Garcia

  Stonewall gripped the reins – and the chain that ran between her cuffs – tighter, and chose only to acknowledge part of her words. “I'm glad to hear that you don't wish to escape. It makes my job easier. Right now, I'll take what I can get.”

  She made no reply and they traveled without speaking for a while. At times, the sound of the horse's hooves was barely louder than the wind shuffling through the tall, saffron-colored grasses.

  When the sun began to dip below the horizon, she spoke. “We should set up camp.”

  “It's barely dusk.”

  “We had an agreement, Stonewall. 'Take it slow and stop early.'” A trace of wryness crept to her voice. “Something tells me you're a man of your word.”

  To prevent himself from chuckling, he bit the inside of his cheek and glanced around the open grassland. “This isn't a good place to spend the night. We'll be too visible.”

  “Hmm.” The mage scanned the horizon, then pointed to a spot to their left. “Beyond that hill, the ground dips rather low. It might hide us a little.”

  Every sense alert, Stonewall led the horse off of the road. The sound of the wind was nearly overpowering, but it was not yet dark enough to completely obscure his vision and he could detect no danger. The hillock curved around an odd, bowl-shaped indent in the ground, nearly as deep as Stonewall was tall. Grass covered most of the hollow, though a few rocks peeked from the edges.

  “That's strange,” the mage said as they approached. “It reminds me of that...crater I almost fell into. What do you suppose it is?”

  A gust of wind cut across Stonewall's face. “It'll keep the wind at bay and keep us hidden. That's all that matters to me.”

  “Aren't you curious?”

  “I can't afford curiosity at the moment.”

  She sighed. “That's a shame.”

  However, when they reached the edge of the hollow, he realized the indent was even large enough to accommodate their horse. Thank Tor for a bit of good fortune after such a wretched day.

  Night was quickly approaching but they were not equipped to make a comfortable camp. All they had was his gear and what he'd found in the saddlebags: a few dried rations, a mend-kit, a water flask, fodder for the horse, and a thin blanket. He decided it would be easier for the mage to dismount at the edge so he could lead the horse down into the hollow.

  As he helped her from the saddle, she gave him a look he recognized, but he shook his head. “I won't remove them.”

  “Have you tried to piss with your hands bound?”

  She couldn't possibly be serious. He held her gaze. “The cuffs stay on. But I'll turn my back.”

  With that, he turned away, but not before he caught her rolling her eyes. The chain tugged a bit, but not alarmingly so, and soon she'd called the all clear. Neither spoke much after that, save a few perfunctory words as they made their way into the hollow and set up what camp they could. Stonewall put the mage in charge of divvying up the food while he tended to the horse. As the magic-user sat nearby, nibbling on some jerky, Stonewall stood by their mount's head and cupped his palm as he poured a bit of water within, then offered it to the dapple-gray, who drank greedily. When she finished he gave her another palmful, smiling to himself as she sucked it down.

  “You're good with her.” The wind wasn't so strong here, and he could hear the mage's voice in the twilight.

  The horse finished and Stonewall stroked the back of his hand down her velvety nose. “I've always liked horses,” he said, glancing back at the dark-haired woman. “Better than people, sometimes.”

  He hadn't meant to say the words, nor had he expected the mage to smile. Her nose and cheeks were ruddy from the wind, which made the expression seem even brighter. His stomach did a strange sort of flip that made him look away, until she held out a strip of dried meat.

  “You need to eat, too,” she said.

  After one last pat on the horse's neck, Stonewall accepted the jerky and sat an arm's length from the magic-user, keeping the chain that connected her cuffs firmly in his grasp. The blue sky had faded to an inky purple and the first few stars began to wink into existence. The air cooled by the moment as the wind toyed with the grass around them, though the dip in the land kept the worst of it at bay.

  Having finished her meal, the mage now hunched beneath the blanket, rubbing her upper arms. Stonewall had nothing besides his armor; the initial burn from the hematite had long since faded.

  “If I'm cold,” she said. “I can only imagine how miserable you are. Can we have a fire?”

  He grabbed a tuft of ragged grass and let it fall, to be scattered by the wind. “There's no fuel here.”

  “I...” She trailed off uneasily, then seemed to reach a decision. “I can help with that. I promise I won't try anything silly, but there's no point in–”

  “You've done more than enough magic for today,” he broke in, repeating his earlier words.

  At his sharp tone, sorrow etched across her features. “Do you really hate mages so much? Or is it just me? I thought, back before the Canderi attacked...well, at least you deigned to speak to me.”

  “I swore an oath. Even if you claim you don't know how you brought us here, the fact remains that you did. And now I'm alone – again.” A chill skated through him, one that had nothing to do with the wind. “No, Mage Halcyon, I don't hate your kind, but do you blame me for not entirely trusting you – or your magic?”

  It was her turn to look away; the movement of her body tugged the chain in his hand. “You're free to do as you like,” she said softly. “But you're not alone.”

  Stonewall took a deep breath and tried to keep his reply calmer than he felt. “I know it's cold. I don't like it either, but I can't do anything about it right now. You'll survive. We both will. And we'll be at Whitewater City before you know it.”

  She, too, seemed to have to collect herself and exhaled deeply. “As you say. Are you going to keep watch all night? Or will you allow yourself a moment of rest?”

  “Don't concern yourself with me, Mage Halcyon.” He looked away from her. “You should sleep if you can.”

  “'Kalinda.'”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “My name.” She settled down, wrapping the blanket around her body. “It's 'Kalinda,' though I prefer 'Kali.'”

  He nodded acknowledgment, but made no further reply. She sighed, then shut her eyes and seemed to immediately fall asleep. Once he was sure she had, he looked up. Atal had set hours ago, but the second moon, misshapen Seren, hovered at the horizon; the smirking sliver seemed to mock the whole world.

  Abruptly, Stonewall rose to check the horse again and peered over the edge of the hollow. At first, only stars and rippling grass greeted him. He thought he caught movement, but after a long, careful look, he saw nothing more than the vast, empty plains and rolling hills. Still, it was unsettling. But if he wanted to investigate, he'd have to either free the mage or bring her along, which would no doubt cause more trouble than it was worth.

  After several more minutes of watching the empty plain, he decided it'd been nothing more than cloud shadows, or some of Seren's trickery. Night offered some concealment, but there was nowhere to truly hide here.

  Satisfied, he took a seat again, trying to ignore the growing chill in the air by scanning the rest of the sky for familiar constellations and calculating how far away they were from Whitewater City. They could probably make the journey with what supplies they had, but it would not be pleasant for anyone. He was used to this sort of travel, but the mage struck him as one who'd spent most of her life indoors. Even now, curled beneath the blanket, she shivered beneath the moonlight that danced across her face.

  Well, there was nothing he could do about that now. Stonewall prepared to wait out the night.

  Hours later, in the deepest part of the night, Stonewall looked up to the hollow's edge, where moving shadows blotted out the stars.

  FOUR

  Meanwhile...

  Dry was a distant memory for Milo, for hi
s hematite armor was soaked through with rain. Each clop of the carriage horses' hooves sent flecks of mud across his gear as he and his five squad mates slogged through the mire. An earlier storm lingered in the form of mud, drizzle, and general sogginess, while moonlight shone upon the pale mist that wreathed the trees on either side of the road.

  On top of it all, Milo's arse was numb from a day seated upon the unforgiving wood of the mage-carriage. Some dinner would have improved his mood, but the sentinel squad was hours from the Whitewater City garrison.

  His stomach groaned, loud enough to hear above the intermittent drizzle. But nothing was supposed to distract sentinels from their duty. Focus on the task at hand, he told himself. Not on your hunger. You're a sentinel, now, for Tor's sake. Act like one.

  Despite his mental efforts, the groan turned into a snarl. Beacon, the squad's mender, cast him a knowing look from his place riding alongside the carriage. Strands of coppery hair managed to escape the helmet's confines to frame Beacon's face.

  “I can hear your guts from here, Mi,” Beacon said.

  In the flickering glow of the lanterns attached to the carriage, Milo cast a quick glance at the three others in their squad. His twin sister, Flint, rode with Lieutenant Dev a few paces behind the carriage. Lieutenant Dev's back was straight as a pine and his body hardly moved with the motion of his horse. Flint, as always, faced the road ahead. Rook, the scout, held her customary forward position about a quarter mile down the road.

  Luckily, none were close enough to have overheard Beacon's comment.

  Milo straightened in his seat, ignoring the increasing numbness in his lower half. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  A smirk was evident in Beacon's voice. “How long ago did you finish your rations?”

  Milo flushed beneath his helmet. “I dunno...”

  “Before the storm?”

  That was barely two hours ago! Milo thought. “Aye, but–”

  “Before those bandits attacked?”

  “Well...that was around midday, but...” Milo couldn't help that he was fond of jerky, nor how easy it was to eat several handfuls at once.

  “It wasn't back when we ran into those Sufani nomads, was it?” The mender's voice turned thoughtful. “It did take a while for Sadira to heal them–”

  “Beacon, I haven't eaten since breakfast!”

  The mender chuckled. “That was, what, an hour after we left the village this morning?”

  Milo adjusted his hold on the bundle of reins. “Something like that, I suppose.”

  “Aye, I'm certain you're starving, then.” Despite his teasing, Beacon leaned to one side, rummaging through the leather bag slung about his shoulder until he withdrew an apple and tossed it to the younger man.

  The apple was dry and bruised from being knocked about in the bag, but Milo finished it, seeds, core and all, within a few bites. His stomach quieted and he sighed with relief as Beacon regarded him.

  “Better?”

  “A little,” Milo replied. “I think I could eat a whole basket of those and still be hungry.”

  “Mi… you could probably eat an entire cow and still be hungry. That's what it's like after your first Burn; you're famished all the time, and that first big dose of hematite is still like fire in your blood. It'll ease up eventually.” He glanced around them before adding, “You're welcome.”

  Milo flushed again. “Er...thanks, Beak.”

  The mender flashed him a broad smile before nodding to the road ahead. “We've got a few hours before we'll drop the mages back in their bastion, and I doubt Dev will want to stop for a meal. You'll survive?”

  The words slipped out before he could stop them. “Aye...if I don't die of boredom.”

  Beacon gave an exaggerated sigh. “Sometimes I envy you burnies all the energy that comes with being a new sentinel. You and Flint actually seemed happy when those idiot bandits tried to ambush us.”

  “It was something to do, and it gave me a chance to get off of this sodding carriage.” Milo shifted again. “Want to trade jobs?”

  At this, Beacon cast a glance at the mage-carriage, though Milo knew it was impossible to make out the mages themselves. Two mages had been selected for a healing mission to a small village: Gideon Echina, and the pale-haired Zhee woman, Sadira. Even though Beacon wore a helmet, Milo thought he caught a glimpse of…something on the mender's face as he studied the carriage, some look of consideration that seemed out of place.

  The expression faded quickly and Beacon faced forward once more. “Sorry, burnie,” he said, nudging his horse. “It's hard enough keeping you lot alive and well. The honor of driving the sodding carriage is all yours.”

  Before Milo could reply, the sound of hooves lifted above the patter of rain as Rook, the scout, brought her horse around to meet the rest of the squad at the mage-carriage. “Someone's out there,” Rook said. “A sentinel, riding alone.”

  “You're certain it's a sentinel?” Lieutenant Dev asked.

  Rook nodded. “Aye, ser. It's dark, but I caught a look at her gear. She seems injured.”

  “Very well,” Dev said. “Let's go.”

  The squad converged on the newcomer, whose head jerked up as if she'd not noticed them until this very moment. Her helmet was missing, her fair hair was streaked with dirt and blood, and portions of her gear were badly damaged. She had several cuts and bruises on her face, but her eyes were alert.

  “Well met, sister in sacrifice.” Dev said the traditional greeting calmly.

  “Whitewater City,” she replied in a hoarse voice. “How far away am I?”

  “A few hours,” Dev said. “But you're in no state to–”

  The newcomer shook her head. “I have news... I must hurry.”

  “Your news will keep while my mender tends to your injuries.” Dev dismounted, prompting the others to do so as well. All but Milo. “Remain at your post,” the lieutenant said when Milo dropped the reins.

  Rook took the unnamed sentinel's horse after Beacon and Flint stepped forward and helped her to the carriage. “Milo, shove over,” Flint muttered as they approached. “How do you always take up so much room?”

  “I can't help that I'm bigger than you,” he replied as he slid to the side to allow the newcomer a place to sit. As Beacon began rummaging in his mender-bag, Milo looked at his sister. “Bigger and stronger,” he couldn't help but tease.

  Flint's bright blue eyes, just like Milo's own, rolled skyward. “I can still take you down with a few moves. Don't make me prove it – again.”

  “Cut the chatter, you two,” the lieutenant said as he approached the carriage. Dev had removed his helmet to reveal a sheen of fair, close-cropped hair. He turned his attention to the new sentinel, where Beacon was in the process of checking her wounds. “My name is Lieutenant Dev. We're from Whitewater City. Tell me what happened.”

  “I'm Gray. I was part of two squads bringing a mage from Starwatch to Whitewater Bastion. Yesterday, a group of Canderi raiders attacked us on the road – just a few leagues from here.” Gray ducked her head. “As far as I know, I might be the only one who escaped alive. There could be another, but I can't say for certain.”

  Milo's thoughts reeled. Two whole squads...gone? Sentinels were the best warriors in Aredia – no, the continent. Two squads overcome, even by the fiercest Canderi, was unheard of. A chill crept across his skin, one that had little to do with the cold and damp.

  The lieutenant broke the stunned silence. “Where is the other sentinel? And the mage you were escorting?”

  Gray flinched as Beacon pressed an herb poultice to her cheek. Milo could sympathize; he knew how fiercely those things stung. “I don't know,” Gray said. “Last I saw, Stonewall had taken the mage and was fleeing on horseback. I was riding a few paces back to cover him when...”

  She trailed off, frowning. The lieutenant cleared his throat quietly, and she took a deep, shaking breath. “When they...vanished.”

  For a moment, the only sound was the light slap
of rain on mud. Then Dev said, carefully, “What do you mean, 'vanished?'”

  “Just that, ser. One moment, Stonewall was ahead of me, with the mage; the next...they were both gone. I thought perhaps they'd left the road to avoid the Canderi, but I couldn't find them when I tried to follow. The Canderi pursued me for a while, but I managed to lose them in the forest. When I returned to the mage-carriage... there was no one alive.”

  It was almost too much for Milo to wrap his mind around. Beacon seemed to feel the same way, for he'd gone perfectly still in the act of pressing the poultice to Gray's cheek. Rook had removed her helmet; her freckled face had gone pale.

  “Ea's balls,” Flint whispered.

  Dev's expression was grave as he considered this information. At last he exhaled. “Was the mage bound with hematite?”

  Gray straightened. “Of course she was bound! I put cuffs on the sodding mage myself.”

  “Not very well, it seems,” Flint muttered.

  “You weren't there,” Gray replied darkly. “It was magic. It must have been.”

  “But how?” Milo asked. “Even if she wasn't bound, no mage can just make people...disappear. Right?”

  Beacon shook his head. “It's unheard of. And she certainly couldn't have done magic on one of us.” He pressed the poultice to Gray's skin again. “Odds are they're still in the forest. Perhaps this Stonewall fellow is injured, and the mage saw a chance to bolt.”

  “I know what I saw,” Gray snapped, jerking away from the mender. “They vanished.” She looked at Dev. “There's more, ser. There was something unnatural about the Canderi. They fought like demons.”

  “That's how they all fight,” Rook said, frowning.

  “Aye,” Flint added. “Canderi are all sword and no brains.”

  A troubled look crossed Gray's face. “I've faced down my share of blue-eyed warriors before, but I never saw any like this. They weren't...normal. They were too fast, too strong. Their eyes...burned. Like stars.”

  Silence fell over the sentinels. Milo tried to keep his thoughts off of his face, but he couldn't help a frown of confusion. Whoever heard of Canderi with burning eyes? It sounded like something out of a glimmer-story. Perhaps Gray was hurt worse than she looked. Beacon must have thought the same thing, for he took off his glove and pressed his hand to Gray's forehead as if checking for fever. Gray shook him off again, this time adding a glare for good measure.