She jumped in surprise. Gnarrl stood a few paces away, eyes wide and fixed on a point above and behind her.
She’d been so focused on her little shower she only just felt the presence then. Intense and immense, it reminded her of when another Geist used their affinity around her. In the past, she had to be examining their spirit with her own to sense it—but she didn’t use her magic now. What could be projecting its affinity so powerfully?
“Turn around,” Gnarrl murmured. “Slowly.”
Heart pounding, she obeyed. At first she saw nothing.
“Use your Geist,” he said. “But do not reach out with it. Only hold it inside you.”
She did as instructed, and a gasp broke from her. Wonder and terror flooded through her. An enormous animal crouched on the ledge just above her. Easily the size of a horse, yet feline in shape, it was poised as if to pounce. Its glowing gaze shifted from Gnarrl to her and back, as if choosing which one of them to make a meal. Its aura of spirit affinity blazed like white flames along its back, at least to Halli’s eyes.
“What do I do?” she whispered. The creature rose, head tilting. She stifled a squeal.
“If it touches you with its Geist, you must touch it back.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Then it is going to kill us.”
The animal stretched its head out until its nose almost touched hers. The chameleon fur along its body shifted to a dark blue as it sniffed her. She would’ve run if she hadn’t been paralyzed by fear, or warned by Gnarrl.
Then a gentle, soothing probe of spirit brushed against her. She immediately reached out with her own magic and returned the caress. Their Geist mingled, two invisible hands grasping one another. Her fear swept away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of her surroundings and her oneness with them. The animal opened its maw and lapped her face with a rough tongue. She couldn’t contain her delighted laughter.
The animal backed away, its camouflage again obscuring its head, and vanished into the forest without a sound.
“Azaria’s mercy upon us,” Gnarrl said in a reverent tone. “You … you just bonded with a Geist panther.”
She smiled at him. A part of herself now glided through the forest, the apex of her domain. The exhilarating sensation made her feel as if she could run without stopping for weeks.
“What does that mean?” she asked as Gnarrl’s words finally registered.
Gnarrl hummed to himself. “They are an embodiment of the forest’s spirit. It has seen you and accepted you as one of its own. You are blessed. Sometimes, legends say, with orocs who have bonded, the beast returns to see blessed ones safe. I do not know if it is the same with humans.”
“Who else in the clan has bonded with one?” Halli asked. “Have you?”
He shook his head. “No oroc of the Rocmire has bonded with a Geist panther since I was plucked from the life tree, seventy years past.”
***
Chapter Twenty-one
Malec Haldenfeld
Malec watched the camp wage an invisible war with itself. Every day since his brief fight with Riktos, the Admired split further—an unspoken rift forming between Sibyl’s faction and those who sympathized with her subcommander. He saw it in the way certain Admired didn’t quite meet his eyes, the way conversations hushed whenever Sibyl drew near, in the subtle repositioning of cots and bedrolls, and how certain groups never shared fires or meals anymore.
An inevitable battle for leadership drew closer, and with every Admired who abandoned them for Riktos, that end neared faster. Despite his beastly nature, it seemed Riktos had a polished tongue as he convinced the Admired, one by one, how much better things would be with him in charge.
Malec spent his days working at the makeshift forge, aiding the Admired blacksmith, Thardin, as he repaired and honed long-abused weapons and armor. As he helped with the forge, he made a habit of secreting discarded slivers of metal in his clothes. When Riktos came for him next, he would be ready.
For the most part, Malec and Pavil made do with what they had, having little time, and even less in the way of resources, to craft new gear. Not that Malec believed weapons would prove much use against Riktos. Laquin, the only other Archon in the camp, paled in comparison, and even though he could dampen, it’d do no good against projectiles launched outside his sphere of influence.
Their main advantage lay with Sibyl, who’d at least know when the attack approached. While Malec and Pavil were amongst the strongest Affinities in the camp, they lacked experience and technique. When the traitors struck, they’d likely target the boys first to subdue or eliminate them as a threat. At least, that’s what Malec figured Riktos would do.
He held an axe blade steady with his affinity while Thardin pounded away at the hot metal. Keeping busy helped him ignore the tension in the camp. Even those Admired who supported Sibyl had started to blame him for the troubles. Malec assumed Riktos’ dislike of him had just been a convenient excuse to seize control. It wouldn’t be long before those who pointed fingers at his and Pavil’s backs left to join Riktos as well.
Pavil spent the days in practice, quashing the emotions of small woodland creatures. The way he explained it, quashing proved far more difficult than amplifying, since it defied the reason for an emotion’s existence in the first place. To amplify, he just added fuel to the fire, so to speak. Quashing required combining a powerful magnitude with a subtle touch—and it could have disastrous effects if the victim discovered they were being manipulated. Pavil had learned that lesson with Laney when he’d tried to quash her annoyance with him.
Malec smiled at the memory. He’d give anything to hear her complain about something now. Anything. His friends’ faces played through his mind, and his chest ached with each one. Sven, always looking out for everyone. Katerine, with her witty comebacks and sultry smile. Halli, with her eternal kindness. Laney, innocent, yet forever grumbling. And Tetra, the closest to a brother Malec ever had. Tetra, who had always asked him to play when they were little, who had invited him to dinner countless times, who had even fought those bullies beside him during the festival and laughed away the nasty bruises after they lost.
Tetra, the one who never gave up and who always made good on his promises. Malec stared into the forge fire, remembering watching from a distance as the Bicks house collapsed in upon itself. Tetra had died first, and Malec hoped he had at least died fighting.
Malec lost his concentration and the axe head danced around on the anvil. After the third time Thardin missed it with his hammer, he frowned at Malec.
“Ye need a break?”
Malec just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“All right, off ye go then.” Thardin grabbed a pair of tongs and secured the axe head.
Malec left the forge and poured himself a mug of water to soothe his throat. Splashing a bit of the water on his face, he surrendered to the thoughts about his friends.
Tetra … He wanted to die fighting, too, but he never thought the end would come so soon. At least he didn’t stand alone. Pavil had always been there as well. While not as reliable as Tetra or the others, he had stayed by Malec’s side, and he cared. Maybe that’s all they needed to win in the coming confrontation.
A yelp drew his attention. Pavil sprinted past, half a dozen furious squirrels giving chase.
Maybe not. Malec took another drink and then saluted the sky with the mug.
“See you soon, Tetra.”
***
Chapter Twenty-two
Malthius Reynolds
“How far do you think he’s gotten?” Andros asked, scanning the battle-scarred field below the castle’s southern wall. His voice was hard, angry.
Lord Drayston deferred to Major Reynolds, who cleared his throat, trying to sort all the factors out. “Depending on what time they cleared the castle, and assuming they’re on foot, I’d wager they’re anywhere from a third to halfway to the Rocmire by now. That’s also assuming they haven’t stopped and aren’t overburd
ened, which would appear to be the case, Captain.”
Andros nodded, face grim.
“Andros,” Drayston said, “I’m terribly sorry this happened. This is a first, I can assure you. It’s not like my men to slip up so profoundly.”
Andros turned to Reynolds. “I hear one of your men is also missing, Major?”
“Yes, Captain. He reported in at midnight but went missing from his post this morning when the guard changed.” Reynolds’ eye twitched as he considered various methods of strangling the corporal, when next they met.
“I do hope Tetra didn’t do something foolish so he could leave the castle undetected,” Andros said.
“No, sir.” Though Mikkels would wish the boy had just knocked him unconscious after Reynolds finished with him. “Corporal Mikkels left a letter addressed to myself and Lord Drayston.” Andros raised an eyebrow. “It states the corporal’s desire to protect your nephew and his sense of duty to free the other children from captivity, if at all possible, should they still live.”
“Does this Corporal Mikkels realize he could spark a war if caught?” Andros asked.
“It sounds like desertion to me, Andros,” Drayston said. “He’ll be stripped of his commission and tried when we find him. I’ll see to it personally.”
“With all due respect, my lord, Captain,” Reynolds nodded to each. “Kellian Mikkels is a good soldier and a good man with a promising future ahead of him as a Tidus in the king’s armies. He wouldn’t leave his post without a convincing reason. He was there when we discovered Jaegen and he helped save Tetra from the orocs. I have no doubt Mikkels was impressed by the boy’s courage in pursuing those who burned his home and killed his family. Hells, we all were. I suspect he saw no other way to protect the boy from his own foolishness. In truth, I probably would’ve made the same decision if I’d been in Mikkels’ position. Perhaps then I’d be able to sleep at night without the dead of Jaegen haunting me.”
Andros and Lord Drayston remained silent, and Reynolds feared he’d just earned himself a place among the greenhorns … again. Neither of them looked pleased with his words.
“How did they leave the castle without anyone seeing them?” Andros asked after a time.
“They went through the tunnel in the northeast tower,” Bealdred said as he topped the stairs.
“How do you know this?” Drayston asked. “And how did they get through the ice mask?”
Bealdred chuckled. “I saw ’em leave.” He shrugged. “As for the ice, Tetra’s a Graviton, and a strong one, too. Little git broke a Glasmere lock without much effort. Damned thing’ll take me a month to fix.”
“You watched them leave?” Andros asked, voice tight.
“Sure ’nuff. Though, I did think it a bit odd they left through the tower. The north gate is only, what, thirty paces away?”
Reynolds shifted in place. Fortunately, Bealdred didn’t fall under his command, so any actions the blacksmith took didn’t reflect back on him. At least, not directly.
Andros glared down at Bealdred, one of few men Reynolds knew who could perform such a feat. “You didn’t think to stop them, blacksmith!?”
“Was I s’posed to? I didn’t know Tetra was a prisoner.”
“Bealdred,” Drayston said in reproach.
“Calhein,” Bealdred replied in the same tone.
Suspicion replaced Reynolds’ initial shock, and Andros’ squint indicated he worked through the same emotions. Who did this blacksmith think he was, speaking to a lord with such familiarity? While Bealdred ranked as a Graviton Archmage, and a Dreadknight, no less, there had to be something more between the men to explain their casual exchange.
Drayston just shook his head, more annoyed than insulted.
“Master Blacksmith,” Andros said, words clipped. “May I ask why you are just now coming forward with this information?”
Bealdred smirked. “Had to give ’em a good head start. Otherwise they’d be rounded up and back here already, and we wouldn’t have to go get ’em.”
Drayston groaned. “Bealdred, please.”
“Not this time, Calhein.” Bealdred waggled a finger at him. “Major Reynolds and that corporal have the right idea, I’m fearin’. You already forget you made a promise to the git? He’s lived through more pain an’ loss than most men see in a lifetime. We owe it to Tetra—to all the survivors of Jaegen—to at least try and bring ’em back.”
The blacksmith waved his arms. “If it starts a war, let it come! Blame the orocs, sure as they deserve it. Those in Jaegen were our folks, and we’re just willin’ to let them die, forgotten for the sake of a false peace? One we all know sure ain’t lastin’ too long, even if we get it? We all swore oaths to protect country and king, not the other way ’round. And this here is as rough and tumble a countryside as you can get. What say we go protect it, eh?”
All four fell silent as Bealdred’s words sank in. A breeze whistled over the battlements.
Then Andros harrumphed. “The king’s orders specify that no Drayston forces are to enter the Rocmire without his permission. However, he didn’t mention anything about his own forces.”
“Now you’re thinkin’ like a general, Captain,” Bealdred said, grinning wide.
“Permission to accompany the captain, Lord Drayston?” Reynolds asked. “As a temporary assignment, of course, and if he’ll have me.”
“I cannot risk the king’s wrath, Reynolds. I’m sorry.” Andros said.
Reynolds sighed and pulled the Drayston Hawk badge off his chest. “Lord Drayston, I hereby resign my commission.” He handed the pin to the lord of the castle.
Drayston looked at each of them in turn, lips pursed. He pushed Reynolds’ hand back, still clutching the insignia. “Voids take it. Very well. Major, you are hereby assigned to Captain Andros’ command—Corporal Mikkels, too, if you find him—until he relinquishes it, or you die. May the Aspects guide you, gentlemen.”
Andros bowed slightly. “Thank you, Lord Drayston.”
“My lord.” Reynolds saluted.
“I’ll have a word with you in my study, Bealdred,” Drayston said, starting down to the courtyard.
“Right away, my lord,” Bealdred said, following after.
Reynolds watched him go, trying to scratch an itch of recognition that refused to go away. Yet the blacksmith wouldn’t be the first to hold secrets in his past. Secrets often came in two forms, though—uncomfortable truths one might wish to avoid being public knowledge, or dark knowledge that could get a man killed if held on for too long. He hoped Bealdred’s didn’t turn out to be the latter.
***
Chapter Twenty-three
Pavil Serevin
The forest had grown quiet, an expectant hush that made Pavil’s ears itch. Even the birds and insects went silent, as if scared off by the near-palpable tension throughout the Admired camp.
Pavil sat on a stump near one of the fire pits, changing the bandages over a nasty gash in his ankle. The ridiculous nature of the injury unwound Malec’s tension. Sibyl had given Pavil a salve made from a mixture of mashed leaves, which reduced the pain and prevented infection. Aber, the one Geist in the camp strong enough to heal the injury, had gone over to Riktos’ side the day before.
Watching Pavil, Malec chuckled. “Rocmire squirrels have a nasty bite. If you are going to get your ass kicked by squirrels, at least they are Rocmire squirrels.”
The rest of their faction lounged around the forge, six in all, including Jaimson, Thardin, and another Admired. Then Sibyl bolted upright.
“They’re coming,” she said. The others exchanged worried looks, but she growled. “I’ve had enough of this. I won’t be caught flat-footed in my own camp. My camp.”
She rose, daggers at her hips, and stamped toward the other side of the clearing. The others scrambled after her, weapons drawn. Pavil’s stomach twisted in knots. It’d be nice if he could quash his own fear and amplify his bravery, but, unfortunately, being aware of his affinity at work made it impossible for hi
m to manipulate his own emotions. He plodded alongside Malec, who held his now-straight sword and looked more serious than Pavil had ever seen him before.
Riktos and his men filled the central clearing, spread out in a line, eighteen in all. Sibyl stopped a few paces away, fingers dancing over her dagger hilts.
“This doesn’t have to get messy,” Riktos said. “Give us the boys and walk away, Sibyl.”
“You’ve already made a mess of everything,” Sibyl shot back.
“The men needed real leadership. Now they have it, and it’s time to trim the fat.” He cocked his head at Malec and Pavil.
The knots in Pavil’s stomach tightened. He reached out with his Pathos, gently probing the emotions of Riktos’ men. Most of them wanted to keep the peace, but a few wished for more, their hearts coiling with violence and lust—though none nearly as dark and deformed as Riktos himself. Revulsion and anger welled up within him. How dare these people ruin what Sibyl had made? How could they not see the wrongness of their actions?
“Pavil and Malec have proven themselves valuable members of the Admired.” Sibyl worked her gaze down the line. “Which is more than I can say for some. You do realize you’ve pulled the dampeners away from their most important task for this little gathering, don’t you?”
“That’s a pointless waste of time,” Riktos said. “No animals will come near a camp this big.”
Sibyl laughed. “You think the dampening was for animals? If a single oroc hunter is anywhere in the area right now, we’d be finished. Did you never figure that out?”
Doubt flickered into being within many of Riktos’ men. Pavil focused on this and tugged at it, spooling it out and trying to wrap them up in second guesses.
“They’ll be back to it soon enough. Once we’ve dealt with—”
“With us useless ones?” Sibyl asked. “The ones who’ve provided the camp with a month’s worth of food?”
Riktos wore a wicked grin. “Actually, you’re right. There’s still a use for you, at least.” Several men joined him in laughter, and a couple made crude gestures.
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