Firestorm

by Lucy Hounsom

  ‘To me!’ Hagdon called, catching Avery’s eye. She gave a shout of her own; the remaining Republic formed into a wedge and began to fight their way across. He did his best to cut them a path. Just before he reached them, a ragged man threw himself into the sweep of Hagdon’s sword. Bellowing in surprise, Hagdon tried to pull back, but the steel scythed right through the prisoner, cutting him almost in half. Hot blood spattered across Hagdon’s cheek and he found himself retching.

  The aberration fell at Avery’s feet. She looked at him and then up at Hagdon. ‘I didn’t mean to –’ Hagdon spluttered, wiping the blood from his face. ‘He fell –’

  ‘I saw,’ Avery said shortly. Sweat and blood stuck her auburn hair to her forehead. ‘I know we were cornered, but was this a good idea? I’m not sure they understand which side we’re on.’

  Hagdon watched the prisoners, as they hurled themselves recklessly into the Sartyan ranks. ‘Mercia must have been persuasive to get them to fight at all. They’re half-dead – look at them.’ Despite his words, he didn’t want to look, not when he’d put so many of these people here himself. No doubt Avery was thinking the same.

  The inmates at least gave Brégenne some breathing space. Hagdon saw her, aglow with Lunar energy – failing now with the imminent dawn – lashing out with whip-like light. Where it touched, skin turned blue as if burned by ice rather than heat. Irilin backed her up with runes that, upon exploding, tangled around legs, bringing their victims crashing to the floor. A group of inmates who seemed more cognizant than their comrades were noting where each rune struck, moving to the downed Sartyan and stabbing them repeatedly. So much for the possibility of prisoners, Hagdon thought. How many of these would throw down their weapons without Jauler to lead them?

  Quite suddenly he became aware of a man watching him – an aberration leaning on a pikestaff. He surveyed the carnage beneath heavy brows, dark skin wan with months – years? – spent in Parakat’s cellars. He didn’t join the fighting, though Hagdon could tell from his stance that he knew how to hold a weapon.

  Across the hall, Kait suddenly gave a cry of triumph. ‘This is how it’s done, old woman,’ she tossed at Brégenne. To her opponents’ consternation, she threw down her swords and extended her hands. Blades of light appeared in each. She ducked a swing from a Sartyan, straightened, lunged, and ran him through, sun-sword hissing as it met flesh. Brégenne was watching through narrowed eyes. Only a faint silver glow remained around her; Irilin’s had already winked out.

  Before Hagdon could move to cover them, Nediah strode through the keep’s open doors, aflame with light. He’d promised – reluctantly – to stay clear of the fighting until dawn. He searched the chamber until he spotted Brégenne and something in his face eased. With one hand, he shielded the Lunar Wielders. Then he crooked the fingers of his other hand, dragging it through the air. A flaming wall roared up from the stone, penning a group of Sartyans behind it. Hagdon nodded his thanks.

  Renewed by the Solar, Kait was relentless. Even the aberrations paused to watch as she continued her bloody dance. Hagdon took care of the few who escaped, all the while keeping an eye on Jauler. The lieutenant was now backed up against the fortress wall, flanked by a dozen officers.

  ‘Terms!’ Hagdon yelled.

  Jauler glared at him. ‘No terms. I’d sooner die than join a traitor.’

  ‘Oh you’ll die,’ Hagdon assured him coldly. ‘I meant for your men.’

  The lieutenant’s glare wavered a little. ‘They will do as I order them.’

  ‘Join you in death? When they have a chance to live?’

  When Jauler didn’t reply, Hagdon addressed the rest of the Sartyans. ‘Your captain is dead. Your lieutenant’s fate is sealed. To you, however, I offer a choice. Join the Republic, as Mercia has done, or join the corpses in the chasm.’ He swept them with his gaze. ‘Those you helped put there.’

  One of the Sartyans, a woman, spat. ‘Your hands are no cleaner than ours, General.’

  Hagdon could see hate in the prisoners’ faces, in the sunken eyes of their leader, leaning on his pikestaff. It didn’t matter. They didn’t have to follow him, only the banner he carried.

  To his surprise, Irilin stepped forward. ‘My companions and I are like you,’ she called to the aberrations, ‘Wielders from what was once Solinaris.’ Hagdon heard whispers at the name; the fortress of the sun still carried the power of myth. ‘Rairam has returned,’ Irilin continued, her voice strengthening, ‘and we are one world again. This is our chance for a new Acre governed by all.’ She held out a hand, palm up. ‘We are here to offer training to all aberrations – today you’ll leave that name behind – if you’ll agree to join us in the fight against Iresonté. United, we can break the power of the Fist. We can start again.’

  In another time and place, such a speech might have roused something, but not here in a chill fortress at the top of the world. Not from dying people who hadn’t seen the sun. The woman who’d spat at Hagdon began to laugh. ‘“Break the Fist”? Little girl, the Fist is unbreakable. There is no force to match us.’

  ‘Match this,’ Kait snarled. Before Hagdon could stop her, she hurled one of her swords, end over end, towards the woman. It shrank as it flew; when it pierced the Sartyan’s forehead, it had the wicked blade of a small stiletto. Everyone heard the thunk as it struck, watched the woman’s eyes roll up to the whites. She toppled into her companions, blood weaving down the bridge of her nose.

  Kait splayed a hand. More golden knives appeared between her fingers. ‘Anyone else?’

  With last looks at Jauler, the Sartyans, as one, threw down their weapons. Kait smiled. ‘Never fails to get results,’ she remarked to no one in particular. The golden stiletto had vanished from the dead woman’s skull, leaving nothing but a neatly cauterized hole.

  ‘Assistance appreciated,’ Hagdon said to her. He nodded at Jauler. ‘Would you mind securing him?’

  Kait looked faintly disappointed, but waved a hand. Chains yanked Jauler’s arms to his sides, locked his ankles together. He fell back against the wall with a curse. ‘Put him in a cell for now,’ Hagdon said to Avery. She muttered a few quick words and a couple of the Republic dragged Jauler away.

  With the lieutenant’s exit came exhaustion, as if his presence had been the only thing keeping Hagdon awake. He leaned on his greatsword, hoping it looked casual. Too old for this. Carn would have chided him for the thought. What would his bondsman have made of this mess?

  Hagdon realized his mind was flitting and pulled it back to the present in time to watch the man with the pikestaff impose himself between a group of aberrations and the corralled Sartyans recently released from Nediah’s fire-wall. The prisoners’ eyes were narrow, hungry; Hagdon had seen that look in men before. ‘No,’ he said at the same time as the man with the staff. They looked at each other, the prisoners looked at them. For a moment, there was silence.

  ‘No more killing,’ the dark-skinned man said huskily. His voice was dry, cracked, as if he’d not had occasion to use it much – Hagdon supposed he hadn’t. His accent belonged among the people of the far west, Katakan or even Eranian. He was a long way from home.

  ‘They would kill us,’ a ragged woman said. Her hands opened and closed convulsively, as if she imagined curling them around a Sartyan throat. ‘They have killed us.’

  ‘Killing them in turn will not make it better,’ the man told her.

  ‘I don’t want it to be better, Reuven. They took my children, slit their throats in front of me.’ Tears stood in her eyes, but her voice remained hard and cold. ‘I want them to end, as I ended.’

  There were murmurs of what sounded unhappily to Hagdon like agreement. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

  But Reuven – if that was indeed his name – placed a heavy hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘Cowie,’ he called and a man came forward. Curls of dirty blond framed a face that would have been young were it not for the lines Parakat had scored upon him. ‘Take Narissa away from here.’


  Cowie nodded, gripped the woman by the arm and steered her, a little forcibly, through the reinforced doors of the keep. The woman didn’t struggle, but went empty-eyed. As soon as she was gone, some of the tension left the other prisoners. Hagdon breathed out, relaxed his grip on his sword.

  ‘The rest of you—’

  ‘I will look after them,’ Nediah said.

  Irilin came forward. ‘This is Nediah, one of the Wielders I told you about,’ she said to Reuven. ‘He’s a healer. Please let him look at your people.’

  Reuven studied Nediah in silence before finally nodding. When he turned his gaze on Irilin, however, it was frosty. ‘You failed to mention the identity of your so-called “commander”.’

  Irilin held her ground. ‘I thought you’d have refused to help us.’

  Reuven shook his head. ‘Or refused to believe you?’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘I do find it hard to believe that a man who so industriously upheld the banner of Sartya would turn freedom fighter.’ His eyes flickered from Hagdon to Avery. ‘Or that said freedom fighters would accept him as commander.’

  ‘Desperate times,’ Avery said noncommittedly. Every so often there came a moment like this where Hagdon wondered if she’d prefer to see him tossed into a shallow grave.

  No more than you deserve. ‘We have all done things we regret,’ he heard himself say.

  Reuven’s face darkened. ‘You say that to me, to these you condemned to a slow death—’

  ‘I had little to do with Parakat.’

  ‘But you had the ear of the emperor. You had power.’ Reuven advanced on him. ‘You were in a position to stop the persecution of innocent people simply because they – we – are different.’

  ‘It may have looked that way,’ Hagdon said quietly, ‘but my prison was as real as yours, even if you couldn’t see it.’

  Reuven lifted the pikestaff. ‘Don’t you dare compare your life to ours, Sartyan.’

  ‘People are dying while you stand and argue.’ Nediah’s eyes were steely. ‘We need to move the injured somewhere warm. Bring me hot water, linen – whatever supplies you can find. It will take me a while to tend to everybody and these wounds need to be cleaned as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ Kait offered at once.

  ‘Me too,’ Mercia added, but she stumbled as she came over, hand clasped to her side. There was an ugly rent in her chain-mail and blood dampened the padded shirt she wore beneath it. When Nediah made to touch her, she held up a hand. ‘I can wait. Others will not.’

  ‘We’ll need litters,’ Reuven said, reluctantly breaking their standoff. Hagdon guessed it was not the last he’d hear on the matter.

  ‘Bring me some canvas and poles,’ Kait said, wiping some of the blood off her face. ‘I’ll make litters to carry them.’ She glanced at those aberrations still standing. ‘Perhaps some of you can help me?’

  They looked at her blankly. ‘Or perhaps not,’ Kait muttered.

  ‘We aren’t experienced in using our gifts,’ Reuven said with a glance at his fellows. ‘Many are scared to try.’

  ‘That’s something we can help with.’ Brégenne came forward. ‘It’s why we’re here.’

  Reuven’s eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you came looking to recruit for your war.’

  ‘I would be lying if I said that hadn’t played a part.’

  ‘An honest answer.’ Reuven knelt beside an injured man. He draped the prisoner’s arm around his own neck and lifted him as if he weighed nothing at all. He was clearly stronger than his years suggested. ‘What about them?’ Reuven nodded at the Sartyans.

  ‘They’ll cooperate,’ Kait said. ‘Won’t you?’ The menace in her voice was very real.

  ‘They’re part of the Republic now,’ Hagdon said, ‘whether they like it or not. No unit would take them in for fear they’d been compromised.’ From the bitter looks on the soldiers’ faces, they knew he spoke the truth.

  Irilin found Hagdon an hour later in the armoury, after he’d shed his mail and washed the bloodstains from his skin. Now he was making an inventory, pleased with the number of weapons stored here. Hagdon took a practice swing, tested the sword’s edge with a thumb. One thing you could say about Sartyans: they knew how to care for equipment.

  ‘I thought you might be hiding here,’ Irilin said, closing the heavy oak door behind her.

  ‘I’m not hiding. My presence upsets the prisoners, especially Reuven. And Nediah’s right – healing the injured needs to be our first priority.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll ever accept you?’

  She had a habit of asking uncomfortable questions. Hagdon stared at the blade, at his own distorted reflection. He didn’t answer. He didn’t know the answer. When he looked up, Irilin was watching him. She saw everything, saw through him.

  ‘Why did Kait call Brégenne “old woman” earlier?’ It was a rather obvious change of subject and he winced.

  ‘Oh, she was being petty,’ Irilin said. She’d changed clothes too, Hagdon saw – just a simple tunic and trousers, but they suited her. Blond hair coiled freshly washed on her shoulders; whenever she moved, he caught a faint scent of soap. It made him unreasonably nervous. ‘Brégenne’s a bit older than Nediah and Kait.’ Irilin paused to consider. ‘At least sixty, I think.’

  Hagdon fumbled his handling of the sword. It slid through his fingers and clattered unpleasantly on the flagstones. ‘What?’

  ‘You didn’t know Wielders age a lot more slowly?’

  ‘I thought it was only Shune,’ he said with a frown, bending to retrieve the blade. ‘Is it true for aberrations too?’

  ‘I suppose so. We live longer as a result of our power. The archivist in Naris – Master Hebrin – it’s rumoured he’s approaching two hundred and fifty.’

  ‘Does that mean you—’ He broke off.

  Irilin fiddled with her hands. ‘Yes.’

  Hagdon wished he hadn’t changed the subject after all. The thought that Irilin would remain young while he grew old and died was oddly painful. He resettled the sword in its rack.

  ‘Do you remember how we met?’ she asked suddenly.

  Taken aback, Hagdon blinked. ‘You ambushed my unit.’

  ‘Ambushed? We were your captives. We were just trying to escape.’

  When he turned, she was leaning against a weapon rack, in an empty space between two shields. ‘Really.’ Hagdon came over. ‘You could’ve used that shadow cloak of yours to slip away unseen into the night. But instead you set fire to my supplies, panicked my horses and caused all-out chaos.’

  Irilin opened her mouth and closed it again. ‘You grabbed my hair,’ she said.

  ‘And you scratched me, as I recall.’ Hagdon smiled. ‘Like a cat.’

  Instead of laughing, Irilin stilled. She raised a hand. ‘It was here,’ she murmured, tracing his left cheek. Hagdon shivered under her touch. Before he knew it, he’d reached up and covered her hand with his. She flushed. He was all too aware of how close they stood – he could feel the heat of her body, the pulse that fluttered in her wrist.

  ‘Irilin,’ he whispered.

  Her lips parted and she leaned in, her eyes large on his face. In them he saw himself, scarred and creased with the cares he carried, the burdens of a life lived with a sword in his fist. The sight was like cold water and he pulled away. ‘I can’t.’ He took her hand from his cheek, returned it to her. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Irilin’s brow creased. He immediately wanted to smooth it away. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because –’ There were so many reasons – his past, his responsibilities, the war that bound them both. But what he said was, ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  Irilin stared at him. ‘Hurt me?’

  ‘I can’t be trusted.’

  So tender a moment ago, her expression hardened. ‘Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?’

  ‘You don’t understand. Nothing is right with me, Irilin.’ Hagdon did not look away. ‘You deserve better.’

  ‘An
d what about what I want?’ she flared. ‘Does that count for nothing?’

  ‘You’re young. You have your life ahead of you – a life I could never share.’ The words pained him, but he forced himself to continue. ‘You’re a Wielder. We come from different worlds.’

  Irilin shook her head. ‘It’s all the same world now.’

  Why was she making this so difficult? Hagdon felt the heat in his face, the way his heart still raced. It would be so simple to reach out, to draw her to him. They were quite alone here.

  He shuddered and thrust the dangerous thought aside. ‘I can’t,’ he said again, and the hand Irilin had half lifted fell to her side. It was better this way, Hagdon told himself, fighting the regret that dragged at him; she just needed to realize it. As he all but fled the armoury, he thought he heard a sob. He brushed a hand across his eyes and kept on walking.

  23

  Gareth

  ‘Now that is a lot of army.’ Yara lowered the brass eyeglass, handed it to Argat. ‘Take a look, Cap.’

  Argat screwed up his mouth, as if he’d been forced to chew on a bunch of lemons. ‘I’ve seen quite enough of them. They snake all the way back to that plain we flew over an hour ago.’

  It had been a week since Gareth and Kul’Das had left Paarth and their mysterious pursuer behind. He glanced at the gauntlets, wondering if they were the reason he’d been followed. Who knew how many people would recognize them on sight? I ought to be more careful. The thought of losing them, of their being stolen, caused him physical pain.

  ‘May I?’ Gareth asked. He held out a hand for the eyeglass and, though they stood within an arm’s reach of each other, Argat tossed it to him. The captain went out of his way to avoid touching the gauntlets. Ironic, Gareth thought, for a man who’d bargained so hard for them. He raised the eyeglass and it dutifully showed him just how much trouble they were in.

  Iresonté had made good on her threat. The Fist moved fast, faster than an army its size should be able to move. They had almost reached the red valley where, according to Irilin, Shika had lost his life.

  Life and death were now intimate friends. He knew how mutable they were, how fragile. So it was hard to believe that Shika was out of his reach. No living, no dead thing, should be out of his reach. Grief rose like a bubble, popped on the sharp surface of his thoughts.