She looked back for a second at Gormer, who raised his hands up over his head and bellowed. The light from his eyes glowed white as he charged the guards.
“A bear! Where did that thing come from!” the guards screamed.
“Shoot it!” someone else advised in a panic.
“You shoot it,” his companion replied. “I only have to run faster than you!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Somewhere in the Forest Near Keep 52
Astrid ran hard behind Moxy. They leaped over fallen logs and creeks. Moxy jumped from tree to tree, scrambling up the trunks and launching herself from branches like a squirrel while Astrid followed on the ground. Even without Woody on her shoulders, she wasn’t sure she could duplicate half the moves Moxy made.
Her night vision was just as good, though. Energy from the Well had her seeing and hearing nearly more details than her mind could handle. She was glad when Moxy finally landed in a crouch in front of her and lifted her nose to the dark, forest canopy.
“We lost them,” Moxy said in a low voice. “I’m going back to find Gormer. I can still smell his blood.”
Astrid smelled it, too. The sickly iron smell came as soon as he created the charging bear illusion. It was the same smell she detected when he called out to his bandit friends with his mind when they first met.
Astrid set Woody down in a bed of moss and lowered herself into a full lotus position by his side. She placed a palm on his forehead. It was cool. Her heart cringed at the thought of him waking up and realizing anew what he had witnessed. She meditated with the night forest, allowing all sensation to flow through her.
Astrid popped from the lotus and into a crouch when loud footsteps approached. She took position in the shadows by a huge pine and waited to be sure it wasn’t the enemy.
Luckily, it wasn’t.
Gormer stumbled along using Moxy as a living cane. He collapsed beside Woody, reeking of vomit and blood.
“My fucking head,” he moaned, blood caking half his face.
“Your magic is killing you,” Astrid said.
“Fuck you,” Gormer replied. “They already told me that in Arcadia, and in the Heights, and at the New Dawn.” His palsied hands searched desperately in his baggy tunic.
He appeared to have many pockets beneath the baggy shirt. Astrid pulled up the tattered, brown garment to catch a glimpse of some kind of vest made of leather straps and cloth pouches.
Gormer rolled away from them and backed himself against a tree. He pulled out a flint lighter and a pipe and began smoking opium.
“What the fuck!” Astrid hissed. She moved to stop him, but Moxy stood between them.
“It’s evil,” Moxy said. “But he needs it.”
“Saved your asses, didn’t I?” Gormer replied. “Don’t thank me all at once.”
“You could have followed us,” Astrid said. “What you did was suicidal.”
“What I did was fucking awesome,” Gormer slurred and giggled. “You know what a rush it is to make some dumb fucks think you’re a bear? Try taking everyone’s money in a card game by making everyone think they have a losing hand. Best thing in the world.”
“You are corrupting Magic,” Astrid declared. “That’s why it resists you. The Well calls on us to draw from it. Trust in the well, and observe its intention, as The Well sustains all life. Defend The Well, keep it always pure. If you don’t obey this, you are a fool.”
“I’m much worse than a fool,” Gormer said, drifting off into a nod. “If you only knew what I’ve done.”
With Woody and Gormer passed out, Astrid and Moxy stared at each other with their night vision and shook their heads.
“How did you find these people?” Moxy asked.
“The same way I found you,” Astrid said with her lopsided smirk.
“That explains it,” Moxy replied.
Astrid meditated until morning while Moxy came and went through the night. She seemed to be nocturnal. The forest Astrid found relaxing, but the tossing and turning of the tortured sleepers she watched over added unease. She rose and opened her eyes to the dawn.
She found Moxy in one of the low branches, crouched down and gnawing on some kind of small rodent. Somehow, Astrid wasn’t shocked. The pixie licked her fingers as she crunched on the last of the bones.
“They’re waking up,” Moxy said.
Gormer rose to his feet and stumbled off to a nearby creek to wash the dried blood off his face. Woody had been awake for a while, but just lay there, slowly blinking up at the rising sun through the trees.
“It wasn’t a dream,” he said. “I saw her hanging by the lamp post.”
“No,” Astrid said. “It wasn’t a dream.”
“No trial. They don’t even do that in war, here, Astrid,” Woody said. “And it’s my fault. I told her and her crew to watch the road.”
“No,” Astrid said firmly. “It is not your fault.”
“I was in charge. She was my responsibility,” Woody replied.
“Responsibility and fault are two different things,” Astrid said.
Woody said nothing for a while, then he sat up. “What about the body? We can’t just leave her hanging there.”
Astrid didn’t know what to say. Gormer did. “We can and we will. They want us to come back. They want us to lose our shit over this. I’ve seen this before.”
“So, what do we do, nothing?” Woody asked, rising to his feet.
“No. We don’t do everything they want us to do. It’s a short list,” Gormer replied.
“I don’t get it,” Astrid said.
“I mean the only things they want us to do is obey them and pay them. Stop doing both, and they will lose their shit. Get another village to refuse? Get the whole region to refuse? Then you’ve got something. They’ve already broken their own laws.”
“We need to get back to Argan,” Astrid said. “It’s going to take a while without the horses.”
“They’re gonna freak out when the horses come back without us,” Gormer said.
Gormer was right. They encountered a bandit search party half way back to Argan. Before then, Woody remained completely silent.
“We panicked when the horses came back without you. We sent out searchers at dawn,” the teenaged boy said atop his horse. His face was painted in green and brown, and he wore bits of plants and vines all over his clothes.
“Run straight back and tell them we are OK,” Woody said. “If you see anyone official, you run faster. You hear me? Don’t let anyone see you.”
The boy, seeing the fear in Woody’s eyes, obeyed immediately. The three ran most of the way back to Argan. They only walked when they couldn’t run anymore, then after a short restful pace, ran more.
When Astrid came out of the woods, she stopped dead in her tracks. “What the hell,” she said. “Are they… ”
“Harvesting… ” Gormer said. “That field is full of fully grown rye and oats.”
“It’s a miracle!” a young woman said, running up to the three. “The giant went to sleep in the field. When we woke up, the crops were fully grown again! We get a second harvest, even the hot peppers!”
Astrid went looking for Vinnie right away. Gormer stuck with Woody, and Moxy melted back into the woods.
Astrid found the big man in the scribe’s workshop conferring over vials of colored liquid.
“Hello, Astrid,” Vinnie said, as if she had never left.
“Did you miss me?” she asked.
“Always,” Vinnie replied. “But you missed the most astounding magic I’ve ever seen.”
“What’s happened here is impossible,” Jordane the scribe said. A beaming smile split his angular, gray face into an almost comical picture of joy and pallor. “Only it happened.”
“But what did happen?” Astrid asked.
“Overnight, the crops grew again. No seeds, no planting. Everything that grew before grew again, right down to the sugar beets.”
“Do you think it was Charlie?” Astrid i
nquired.
“Most definitely,” Vinnie said. “He walked out of the field fully healed—without a single mark. He seems a little taller, somehow.”
“Where is he now?” Astrid said.
“He’s just standing in the trees like one of them,” Jordane said. “Just watching.”
“And eating pine cones,” Vinnie said.
“Pine cones?” Astrid said, blinking.
“Nevermind that,” Vinnie replied. “We’ve tested the pH levels across the whole field in a grid pattern. It’s perfect for each crop.”
“Yes,” Jordane continued. “Our field is divided into sections for beets, cabbage, rye, oats and as of this spring, hot peppers. The pH was never ideal for any of those crops, but it is now.”
“I’ve never seen magic like that,” Astrid remarked.
“There’s a lot of that going around,” Vinnie said. “I’ve never seen someone use fire magic the way that Tarkon did today.”
“I should say the same for you and what did you call it? Earth magic?” Astrid said to Vinnie.
“But Astrid, your magic seems to be very similar to what the locals here call the ‘Movers,’” Vinnie replied. “Lungu and his inner circle practice magic that increases their strength and they seem to have the ability to move objects without touching them.”
“I can’t move objects,” Astrid replied. “But when my intentions are correct, I can draw great strength and healing from the Well.”
“It’s beginning to feel that we were all drawn here for some reason,” Vinnie said.
“Well, duh,” Astrid said. “I tried to tell you that early on. This is the nature of the Well. It gathers itself under us when it is needed most so that we can draw from it. The Well drew me here.”
“There is a logical reason behind this,” Vinnie said. “Not a mystical one.”
“I fail to see the difference. We’ll just have to agree to disagree on that,” Astrid replied. “It’s not our primary issue. We have more pressing problems to resolve. One of Lungu’s top guys just executed a young bandit girl. He hung her from a lamp post outside Keep 52. No trial.”
“No trial?” Jordane gasped. “That is unheard of. Even when there is a war between the Protectorates, there is some form of hearing where the causes are called out to the people.”
“So, this guy—I think his name is Clarence—he is going off-book on this?” Astrid asked.
“If you mean ‘not sanctioned by Protectorate law,’ then most definitely,” Jordane replied. “Clarence is Protector Lungu’s only son.”
“And all this simply because a couple of villages refused to be taken advantage of?” Astrid said. “I just want to be clear on that.”
“Protector Lungu doesn’t tolerate disobedience,” Jordane said.
“Has anything like this ever happened before?” Astrid stepped closer to the scribe.
“Yes. About twenty years ago, after Lungu’s father passed The Chair to him, there was a… conflict.”
“Don’t leave me hanging,” Astrid said, waving her hand in a beckoning circle. “What happened?”
“Several villages in the south refused to pay the increased tribute. They were immediately dissolved. Lungu assigned them to Compliance Officer Jank to manage. The rest of the villages fell in line when they saw what happened.”
“And he’s been keeping steady pressure on his villages ever since,” Astrid said.
“Well, yes,” Jordane said. “You guess correctly.”
“One of two things has to happen now,” Astrid said, folding her arms across her chest. “Either Lungu has to back off, or he has to go.”
“He has about a hundred Movers, each with four or five hundred regular soldiers in their estates,” Jordane said.
“Where do those ‘Movers’ and those soldiers come from?” Astrid asked.
“They come from the villages,” Jordane said.
“Exactly,” Astrid replied.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Keep 52, Lungu Protectorate
Commissioner Krann stood in front of his desk with his swagger stick under his left arm and his hands clasped behind his back. Clarence listened, mildly amused to the lecture on the history of the old ancients and how administrators were the ‘good, strong bones’ that held law and order together.
“… and so your summary execution of the bandit girl strains the bounds of that order,” Krann concluded.
“Duly noted, Commissioner,” Clarence replied with a tight, dismissive smile. “I’ll surely keep that in mind as I administer my own brand of order.”
“Your own brand?” Krann practically shrieked. “Law and order is not some kind of wine label. I must tell you that this attitude is precisely why I have drafted a strongly-worded letter to Protector Lungu himself enumerating my many objections to your behavior here.”
All trace of amusement dropped from the Lieutenant’s face. He waved his hand downward and the door slammed closed. Krann didn’t flinch, but raised his pockmarked chin to the much taller man.
“You write your little letter, Krann,” Clarence hissed, stepping forward. “Scribble numbers in your little ledgers, too. But let me give you a lesson on how things work in the here and now. Nobody has ever towed the line without the whip. This is the whip hand.” Clarence held up his black-gloved hand and made a fist.
Krann felt the invisibl hand close over his throat and squeeze, but still showed no fear. “I’ve been around men like you all my life,” he gasped. “You come and go while people like me keep working. Always working, tireless. You have your raw power, but I and people like me are the system. The system will be here long after we are dead.”
Clarence let go and stepped back. He shook his head, then let out a gale of genuine laughter. “You are fucking crazy is what you are,” Clarence said. His anger evaporated in the face of Krann’s inexplicable obstinance.
He thought for a moment. “You are a fanatic. I’ve never seen fanaticism like this from a pencil pusher. It really is quite amazing. I mean, I’ve seen this in Energetics—with their mental magic— and from some of the mages from the Vasile Protectorate. But never have I seen this sort of thing from a bureaucrat.”
Krann just stood there, eyes blazing some weird type of cold, gray fire.
“You really believe that bullshit, don’t you, old man?”
“Of course,” Krann responded. “I have the weight of history behind me.”
“And you are more upset that I didn’t follow procedure than you are about me killing that girl?”
“What is a life without service to order?” Krann asked.
“Incredible,” Clarence said with a snicker. “Are all the Commissioners like you?”
“Mostly,” Krann answered flatly. “But you will find I am a better example than most. My family has served the Protectorates since the beginning.”
“I look forward to reading your letter,” Clarence said. “I’ll ask Protector Lungu for it after he’s read it. I’m sure it will play well in his offices.”
Clarence left the office door open when he left. He found Jank in the hallway waiting for him.
“You look like shit, Jank,” Clarence said.
Red and purple welts covered Jank’s hands and face. “I’ve been stung by bees and hornets, but your generous contract is just the salve I need.”
“A true businessman, after my own heart. Once you have Argan under firm management, we can work something out for Blue Creek. That’s another village this Astrid woman tampered with. I’m going to punish every village she sets foot in.”
“Speaking of that mammoth bitch,” Jank said. “I found one of my men that she tied to a tree at one of the day camps. He had a note in his pocket.” Jank held out a crumpled sheet of hemp wrapping paper.
“This woman loves her missives,” Clarence said, snatching up the paper.
To the authorities:
This man is guilty of torture and attempted rape.
If he is not punished, I will assume that this Prot
ectorate condones his actions. I hope this is not the case. If so, you will hear from me again.
Astrid
Clarence folded the note carefully and slipped it into a pocket on his armored sleeve. “She left another note for Assessor Pleth. Gather six men and meet me in the courtyard. We’re going to pay Pleth a little visit.”
Clarence was happy to see that Jank had already made good on parts of his contract. His men were already present in force on the Toll Road below Keep 52. They rode in pairs in their black armor with the polished plates of light steel on their chests, shoulders, and arms. They were visible every few miles.
“Your men are well-equipped,” Clarence said, noting that all of Jank’s men carried short swords, and one of the patrol pairs carried a crossbow.
“I invest wisely in my company,” Jank said. “You need the right tools for the job.”
“What about the men?” Clarence asked.
Jank shrugged. “They are the most important tools.”
Clarence laughed. “I do so enjoy working with you, Jank. I can’t wait until you start billing the villages in this region for the extra security. My bank accounts will never be happier.”
Jank gave a courteous, political smile, but he was not looking forward to paying Clarence the kickback money for the contract. He started doing the math in his head about how much more he would have to charge the villages to make up for the losses. He also wasn’t looking forward to the loss of another assessor who was very effective at collecting extra tribute.
The Pleth homestead stood at the edge of Lungu Fortress proper. The house had a good view of Lake Bicaz a couple miles away. They could see the southern wall of the fortress built from pieces of the ancient dam that once made the lake much larger.
Two small children playing in the yard froze when they saw the men on horseback approach. The front door opened and Pleth himself stepped out in his casual attire. His mouth was full and a half-eaten apple fell from his hand when he saw eight men staring at him over his white picket fence.
“Go inside, children,” Pleth said after spitting out a mouthful of apple.
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