Behind the rasp it was a cold voice, chillingly reasonable. It sent a shiver of fear down his back. It was a demon. It had to be. No human could ever sound so unemotional, so distant while doing such violence. His throat closed up in absolute terror.
Swallowing blood from his broken nose and split lips, Bolivar asked, “Talk about what?”
The chuckle that answered was empty of all emotion. “We’ll start with your cousin Isabel and see where we go from there.”
#
When Bolivar awoke, the study was tinged with the soft, yellow light of pre-dawn. It was pain that had finally knocked him out, an agonising build-up of cuts and broken bones that finally, when he’d blurted out the last secret, had swamped his mind, suffocating him in blessed darkness. Of course, it was pain that woke him, as well, bringing all the horrible memories of the night before with it.
The demon hadn’t been kind, ruthlessly pulling truthful answers to all of its questions from Bolivar’s flesh. Everything hurt, especially his heart.
“Forgive me, Karyme,” he whispered through swollen, lacerated lips.
A muffled grumble answered.
Shock made him jerk and he slipped out of the chair, numb legs letting him fall to floor. On his stomach, back ablaze with fresh, tearing agony, he managed to lift his head toward the growing but restrained protests.
A woman lay in the far corner. His blurry eyesight and fear made him think it was Karyme, but then he registered her black robe, trimmed in Leon yellow, her thick braid of dark hair.
His Bone Mage.
Tears stung his eyes. She was bound securely but the demon hadn’t hurt her. No. It’d brought her here so Bolivar could be healed as soon as possible, and in private.
The past night’s terror wouldn’t have to be known by anyone other than him and the mage.
And Bolivar’s demon.
#
Despite the constant overhanging clouds and the rain that changed from light drizzle to insistent downpour with no notice, David knew exactly when the sun set. He felt it in his chest, in the same place he felt the growing pull of his duty. He could barely sit still, his body itching to move, to fulfil the task of taking Prince Ramiero back to his father. At the same time, he knew the cover of darkness would be his best chance to get back to the camp and through the surrounding Alarians. The duty, too, seemed to understand this and had let him rest through the day, but now the sun was down.
“I’m hungry.”
David ignored the petulant whine. He was becoming quite accomplished at it, having practiced for most of the day. There had been moments, becoming more frequent as the day grew longer, he’d regretted not killing the other man when he’d first arrived. Then, it would have been self-defence. Now, most would probably call it murder.
Air Mage Vendaval scuffed at the dirt and small rocks on the floor of their cave. “Are you sure you don’t have anything to eat?”
“I’m sure.” David had lost count of the amount of times Vendaval had asked. He, too, was hungry, but unlike Vendaval, he knew it wouldn’t kill him to miss a meal or two, or a dozen. Thinking he’d live long after the Air Mage perished of hunger twisted his lips into something like a smile.
Arriving at the cave the day before, David had disarmed the mage with pathetic ease, knocking him senseless before he could call up a gale to throw at David. Seeing the dirty, torn robes of a mage, David had left him alive, thinking here was an ally. When Vendaval had awoken, they’d made perfunctory introductions and Vendaval had immediately decided David was his to command. A night of ignoring him had disabused the mage of that idea. Now Vendaval seemed to think they were brothers-in-arms, a pair of heroic survivors.
Vendaval came and stood beside David, arms crossed as he gazed out at the grey evening. “I wonder when the sun will set.”
“It’s set already.”
The Air Mage glanced at him, the automatic sneer wiped away almost as soon as it had begun to appear. “Are you sure?”
“Certain of it. It’ll be dark enough for us to move soon.”
Nodding as if he understood an unspoken message in the words, Vendaval leaned against the opposite side of the cave entrance. After a long moment, he asked, “Move where?”
The pressure behind David’s eye had only grown worse through the day. He had to wonder, though, if it wasn’t due to Vendaval’s incessant vacillating between panicked timidity and overbearing confidence. His vision had not returned and he was starting to worry it might never recover. All of his other injuries were healed after a day of rest, a fact Vendaval’s self-absorbed conceit had kept hidden from him. The Air Mage believed he was sharing a cave with a minor church official, nothing more.
But the growing pressure in his eye socket was quickly outstripped by the increasing pull on him by Duke Ibarra’s task. He’d dithered about long enough, it seemed to say, time to get moving.
“I’ll head back to the camp, see what I can find out,” David said, his gaze never leaving the curtain of rain before them, and beyond it, the camp. “You will head north to the next battalion.”
“What?” Vendaval grabbed David’s arm, trying to turn him around. David didn’t budge. “You think I’m going to walk all the way to the next camp? Without food or water?”
David snorted. “I don’t think you’ll be short of water. You’re an Air Mage. Fly.”
Vendaval spluttered in horrified indignation. “I can’t fly that far. No Air Mage can!”
“Mage Aire could have.” David hadn’t associated with mages in a long time. Being amongst Tejon Company again had shown him just how much they’d changed from the mages of centuries gone by. They seemed weaker, less willing to test their limits or sacrifice themselves for the common good. Gone were the days, apparently, when a mage would throw themselves against the odds simply because they were the one who had a chance of actually surviving.
“Mage Aire?” Vendaval snorted. “That demon-spawned freak was reckless and thoughtless. No one should have ever attempted the things he did. Far too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” David spoke mildly. “You’re in the middle of a war and you won’t do something because it’s dangerous?”
It was more like he was on the outskirts of a war, not in the middle of it. Vendaval was with a supply company, not a frontline unit. He’d run the moment things went from bad to very bad. Now he was more than willing to hide in a cave and justify his cowardice.
You couldn’t shame a man like that into action.
Before the mage could mount an indignant reply, David said, “We don’t know what’s happening in the camp. Alarie forces are in control of it, but we don’t know who might be still alive, what the enemy are doing there, why they attacked. I’ll scout the camp, find out what I can. But most importantly, someone has to warn the other battalions. Someone has to go for reinforcements.”
Vendaval swallowed, looking between David and the wet world outside. “But the evacuated dirigibles would have reached Orrego Battalion. Reinforcements will already be on their way. Probably arrive tonight.”
David thought about the exploding land-yacht and the fiery remains of dirigibles streaking across the sky. “Don’t count on those dirigibles having reached their destination.” He could feel Vendaval beginning to give in to David’s confident tone. The Air Mage liked to sound important but in truth, he needed to be led, told what to do and how to do it. Perfect military material. “Don’t fly the whole distance in one go. Take as many rests as you need. The most important thing is that you get there. In this rain, it will be easy to be turned around. Cross over this ridge line and follow it north-east. When you’ve covered about four leagues, head north. That will take you to the next battalion.”
Vendaval wasn’t entirely convinced but David ignored his continuing protests, contemplating his own task instead. Eventually, the grey light darkened further and it was time to go. He slung on his long coat, settling the abused leather into place over the perforated steel plates. As damaged as they were,
they were still better than nothing, and until he found a weapon or two, it was all he had. The tiny knife Vendaval had pressed to his back at his arrival had been returned to the mage. He needed it more than David.
“You’re going now?” The Air Mage’s voice wavered between worry and indignation.
“As you should be.” David stepped out into the rain. His hair was soaked in moments. No doubt the rest of him would be wet through by the time he reached the camp.
“But...” Vendaval sighed and came to stand beside him. “Over this ridge and follow it north?”
David nodded. “Good luck, Mage Vendaval.”
“Saint Ciro protect us both,” Vendaval muttered and turned to look for a way upwards.
Following the path he’d arrived by, David descended the rocky slope, took what bearings he could from the hills and headed out. His body had fully recovered, the last bullet coming up in a blood-clot-riddled cough that morning. Even with a lack of food he knew he could jog most of the night, sprint if needed, fight when required and keep going until he’d completed his task. It was cold comfort.
It was tough going, however. After a night and day of near constant rain, the ground was saturated. Mud sucked at his feet, holding on with cold embraces. There was no wind, just a steady downpour of water that, as predicted, worked past the coat, through his clothes and stuck the material to his wet skin. Much more of this and there would be chafing.
He’d been jogging for about an hour when a small, dark shadow darted through the rain ahead of him. David slowed. There was no more movement. Perhaps it had been a stray herd animal, lost in the rain.
It moved again, to one side now, coming in close and then sliding away swiftly. It was small, narrow, moving upright. A native child?
A soft, skittering sound came from behind him. David spun, hands out, searching the shifting darkness. His curse allowed him better eyesight in the dark than most but with the rain and loss of one eye, his advantage wasn’t so keen.
The attack came from his blind side. It launched out of the night with a high pitched scream that tore through his body like a hundred fine-pointed knives. He flinched, muscles twitching so that when it hit him, he went down in a graceless heap.
David managed to get hands on his attacker, finding rough skin over a narrow, childlike frame. It screamed again, the sound piercing. Hands gripped his arms, nails digging in deep. A flattened, ugly face snapped at David’s neck and chest. Feet scrambled at his thighs, scratching at the heavy material of his pants, getting caught in the many pockets so the creature squealed and thrashed in frustration. The plates in the coat helped protect him from the long, sharp teeth but the claws cut into his arms.
David rocked, trying to work up the momentum to roll over. It was hard with a furiously strong, frantically struggling beast the size of a ten year old child doing its best to eat his face. He couldn’t keep a grip on it, the rain making both of them slick and the mud oozing all around so every surface was slippery.
The teeth aching pitch of its voice sizzled through David’s head. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t work out how to fight this thing. His body flailed about instinctively, barely managing to keep the creature from falling on him completely, from getting a hold on anything that could cause major damage. But instinct wasn’t the best option when he’d never faced anything like this before.
The other presence inside awoke, unfurling like a velvet curtain coming down all around him. The piercing ache of the creature’s vocalisations were muffled enough David’s mind began working again. It wasn’t hard, once the creature’s most disabling weapon was out of the question, to get the upper hand. Yes, it was disproportionately strong; yes, it had blades for fingernails; yes, it had a wide mouth full of distressingly sharp teeth; but, in the end, it was smaller than him, lighter, less intelligent and, when David managed to roll it under his body and force its own hands down to its chest, the means of its own death.
The flat, keen knives it had for thumbs sliced into its skin and muscle with little trouble. Its lungs were pierced so its screams turned wet and ended with a great gout of blood. With a twist, both thumb-blades entered the heart. The creature was dead within moments.
Gasping for breath in the continuing rain, David sat back and let the water wash the splattered blood from his hands and face. The battle excitement began to fade and the pain came in its wake, a dozen stinging points in his legs and arms, the deeper ache of a strained muscle in his back and, sadly, increased pounding in his head. The dark within his right eye began to pulse in time to the pain.
Shunting the pain aside, he studied his opponent. It was the same as the skeleton hanging in the yard. A native creature of little consequence.
David heaved himself to his feet, back twinging. Stepping away from the body, careful of his footing on the treacherous ground, he twisted and stretched, feeling the pulled muscle ease even as the myriad minor wounds began to close.
He reached the outer edge of the Alarian forces quicker than he’d thought. What had taken two hours the day before last had taken just over half that time tonight; a good sign he was healed from the night of the attack.
The land around the camp had been cleared of all but the most stubborn of thorny plants which grew low and thick. It meant little cover as David worked his way around the outer perimeter. The rain was very useful in this regard, but made it so very hard in most other matters.
There were no helpful fires to estimate the numbers of soldiers. No way he could judge the amount of tents. The rain had obliterated the tracks of those regiments that had marched in. The only consolation was that the Alarians would be damp and miserable.
In these conditions, he wouldn’t discover much from outside the perimeter. There was nothing else for it.
Time for some invasive reconnaissance.
Chapter 28
Gabriel dreamed that each time he said a prisoner wasn’t lying, Lieutenant Carufel would take them out and shoot them. With each gunshot Gabe became more and more frantic, wanting to find the erratic pulse, the sweaty palms, anything to mean they lied and would therefore live. In his dream, they bought him Dina and she didn’t lie and the lieutenant was leading her out when he woke up.
He lay in the narrow cot in Ismael’s tent for a long moment, breathing hard, staring at the dark ceiling. It had only been a dream. Those he’d proven innocent were still alive, out there in their cold, hard-floored huts hating him. They weren’t dead. He’d stopped the killing. Dina was alive.
A gunshot sounded.
Gabe yelped and tossed on the cot, tangling the sheets around his legs. His heart pounded in his chest like a rhythmless drummer. For a moment he thought maybe he hadn’t been dreaming. Maybe it was all real and they’d just...
Another gunshot, distant and muffled, accompanied by shouting and a blast of horns that was repeated around the exterior of the camp. Closer was a rising din of voices and jiggling armour.
Whatever it was, it was happening in the outer camp. Gabe swung off the cot and trotted to the front of the tent. It was, naturally, suitably guarded.
“Hey,” he called through the canvas, “what’s going on?”
“Nothing to bother you,” one of his jailers snapped. “Get back and shut up.”
There was alarm and resentment in the soldier’s voice. Seems rushing to see what all the fuss was about was more desirable than guarding one Bone Mage. Deciding not to bother the men responsible for not only keeping him inside his tent, but for keeping him safe from any revenge his fellow Delaluzians might want to extract on him, Gabe went back to bed and tried to work out what was going on.
Was it the rest of Ibarra’s army finally arrived to save them? The idea set Gabe’s pulse to thrumming in both hope and anxiety. Had a dirigible made it through? Perhaps Vendaval was still alive and had reached Orrego Battalion. Gabe snorted. If the Air Mage was still alive he was probably curled up in a ball somewhere, scared of his own shadow. But Vendaval wasn’t the only Delaluzian unacco
unted for. David was out there somewhere.
The furore died down. Gabe strained to hear more but apart from the occasional horn, there was no more weapons fire, no more desperate shouting. If it had been the de Ibarra army, it wouldn’t have been over so quickly, surely.
Still, hope kept Gabe awake, waiting for something, anything. There was nothing and he spent the last few hours till dawn wondering if it had been David. Assaulting an enemy army alone would probably be something he would do.
Du Serres arrived after breakfast.
“What happened last night?” Gabe asked.
“Nothing important. Just a drill.”
Gabe cocked an eyebrow. “A drill with weapons fire?”
“Indeed. Much more impressive than a bunch of boys running about with sticks yelling ‘bang’ at each other.”
“Much,” Gabe agreed dryly.
The first interviewee was herded into the tent. Gabe sucked in a deep breath as Dem was positioned in the chair opposite the general. The boy glared at the general, then at Gabe, then at the ground. At the touch of Gabe’s clammy hand on his neck, he jerked away. Gabe didn’t know if it was because he didn’t like the touch of the wrinkly skin, had something more to hide, or, like everyone else, thought Gabe was a traitor.
“Shall we begin?” du Serres asked.
Gabe settled his hand against Dem’s neck and the boy faced the general, defeated.
“Is your name Demetrio Teodulo Rivera Guzman de Covadonga?”
“Yes,” Dem said, his pulse steady.
“What is your relationship to Prince Ramiero de Ibarra?”
The boy’s heart stuttered, lungs closing down over the air trapped inside them. He was worried, scared. He didn’t want to answer the question.
“We are...” he began, then shuddered to a stop. “We were friends.”
Through the panic, Gabe felt the truth in the statement. Dem believed he’d betrayed his lover. He didn’t care that the information had been torn out of him through threats and pain. All he knew was Rafe wouldn’t be missing, wouldn’t be hunted by a battalion of Alarian soldiers, if Dem had kept his mouth shut. Of course, once Rafe was found, their relationship would be over.
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