by PT Hylton
Benjamin wasn’t sure how to answer that one. In truth, he’d absolutely hated Arcadia’s methods. They only allowed a select few to learn, largely based on their status in society. It was just a way of giving the rich another leg up on the poor. But this was a diplomatic mission, and Benjamin knew the council admired Arcadia, so he decided to try a different tack.
“I thought the rigorous classes were good, and the focus on applications. But I would have liked to see more individual attention for each student.”
The council members were leaning forward, listening intently now.
“What do you mean?” Ulf asked.
Benjamin thought a moment before answering. Explaining these things to people who didn’t use magic could be tricky. “Every magic user is slightly different. One might be better at destructive magic, another at levitation. The Arcadian Academy taught everyone the same things, making sure each graduate was competent in every area. I would have preferred to focus on each individual student’s strengths. If someone had a skill for destructive magic, they could help them hone it to perfection rather than forcing them to learn a hundred other techniques they would never really master.”
The city council was nodding along with his words.
Sofia smiled at him. “And what about you? What’s your specialty?”
He held up his hand and his eyes went black. A fireball appeared, hovering above his hand. He focused on increasing its size, making sure every person at the table could feel the heat coming off it. “I’m a blacksmith. My specialty is fire.”
He let the fireball hover for a moment, then tossed it straight up. Just before it hit the ceiling, he made it disappear.
The city council members exchanged looks, then each of them nodded to Otto.
Otto turned back to Jarvi. “Despite our disagreement on whether the fight against the Barskall is our responsibility, we are willing to provide you with some sailors.”
Jarvi was so surprised that he didn’t reply.
Syd, on the other hand, had no trouble finding her tongue. “Some? What does that mean?”
“Five hundred to start,” Otto said. “If more are needed next year, we can discuss upping our contribution.”
It was all Benjamin could do not to laugh in surprise. They’d been hoping for two hundred sailors. Five hundred would make a massive difference. And he’d been so worried about this discussion! Maybe this diplomacy thing wasn’t as hard as he’d thought.
“We do have one requirement, though,” Otto continued.
Jarvi’s eyes narrowed. “And what might that be?”
“It’s one we need to discuss with Benjamin. Alone.”
Benjamin recovered from his surprise, then exchanged a glance with Jarvi. He turned to Otto. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
***
The wagon rolled through the tunnel, with only the light of the single lantern guiding the way.
Abbey couldn’t believe they’d trained the horses to walk through this darkness. It was narrow enough that she could see both sides of the tunnel in the lantern light.
Beside her, Olaf let out a near-constant stream of curses. His tone had Abbey worried that he was edging toward full freak-out.
“Would you relax?” she asked. “If the horses aren’t spooked, why should you be?”
Olaf’s expression wasn’t visible in the darkness, but he must have been glaring at her. “Relax? You do realize we are under the damn ocean right now? The water could come crashing in on us at any moment.”
Liv let out a laugh. “Not likely. This tunnel is ancient. It was in use long before the Mad Days, and it’ll still be in use long after we’re all dead and gone.”
Olaf scoffed. “That’s supposed to make me feel better? Everything ancient in Holdgate is crumbling.”
Abbey wondered how people had even built something like this tunnel. They must have had construction methods far beyond the understanding of today’s society. So much had been lost; it was a shame.
She didn’t spend long thinking about it, though. After a few moments, a pinprick of light appeared ahead.
“Oh, thank the sea,” Olaf groaned.
The soldiers in the wagon laughed.
“Typical Holdgatesman,” one of them said. “Scared of his own shadow.”
“If I could see my shadow, it would mean we had actual light.” Olaf paused for a moment before continuing. “Wait… You think Holdgatesmen are cowards?”
Now it was Abbey’s turn to laugh. She’d spent so long with people thinking she was weak because of her Arcadian heritage that it was nice to see the shoe on the other foot.
Another soldier said. “You just haven’t seen what we have. Here on the Farrows, you need to be made of sterner stuff.”
As funny as it was to see these men giving Olaf shit, he was Abbey’s crewmate and she couldn’t let the insult pass. “Whatever Olaf’s faults, cowardice isn't one of them. I saw this dumb bastard stand shoulder to shoulder with old men armed only with pitchforks against hardened stormship sailors during the battle of Holdgate. How about you see what we can do before you question our bravery?”
The soldiers were too surprised at the response to answer.
As they approached the tunnel’s exit, the sounds of fighting reached them. Men’s voices were raised in shouts of battle fervor and cries of pain. Abbey felt a now-familiar thrill bubbling up inside her. Here were men and women who wished to harm the people of Kaldfell, and Abbey was about to face off against them.
Liv spoke in a strong, formal voice that indicated she’d said these words many times. “From where do we draw our strength?”
“The sea!” the soldiers in the wagon answered in unison.
“And where is the sea?” Liv asked.
“On all sides!” the men cried.
“And with the sea on all sides, who can defeat the soldiers of Farrow?”
“No one!” the men shouted, even louder than before.
“You’re damn right,” Liv barked. “Certainly not the sea-cursed Barskall.”
The wagon broke out of the tunnel, and Abbey blinked hard against the bright light. Her eyes adjusted after a moment, and she took in the battle around her.
Barskall warriors ran around wildly attacking in unpredictable rushes. From the way they moved, Abbey knew they were all drunk on seiderdrek, the potion that increased their strength and speed to near-inhuman levels and kept them from feeling pain. It also increased their aggression to the point where it overrode logic. Their eyes glowed a dull brown color.
Their chaotic attacks and the unrestrained fury of their strikes took Abbey back to the first time she’d faced them in the city of Bode, on the night she’d discovered that Tor and his crew were Storm Raiders.
The Farrow soldiers, on the other hand, were the picture of discipline. They stood in tight formations of twelve soldiers each, attacking small groups of Barskall along the perimeter of the battle. Each man and woman carefully defended the backs of their fellow soldiers.
The men in the wagon bed poured out and formed up. Abbey realized there were twelve of them.
Olaf looked at Abbey. He gripped his sword tightly as his brow furrowed. “What do we do?”
Liv answered before Abbey could. “Work the perimeter. Try to drive them toward our soldiers. Their primary weapons are chaos and confusion, so our goal is to bring order to the fight.”
“Order, huh?” Olaf replied skeptically.
Liv smiled wryly. “Yes. We prefer to wipe out our enemies in an organized fashion.”
There was a moment of silence, and Abbey suddenly realized the eight other sailors from Thunderclap were all staring at her as if waiting for her to tell them what to do. It surprised her. Some of these sailors had been working stormships for close to a decade, and Abbey didn’t even have a month under her belt.
On the other hand, she’d been the one to discover the Storm Raiders. She’d boarded Thunderclap alone in Bode and set it on fire, and she’d killed Tor on top of the wall on the
Holdgate shore. And then there was the way Captain Roy and Dustin called her over whenever they were discussing important matters. That hadn’t gone unnoticed by the crew.
She technically didn’t hold a higher position than any one of them, but because of what she’d done and how the captain showed her respect, they were looking to her to lead. And she wasn’t about to let them down.
She took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll head along the western perimeter of the fighting and drive them northeast. If they want to retreat to their ships, fine. Otherwise, they’ll be forced up against the Farrow soldiers.”
“A sound plan,” Liv interjected.
“The key is that we stay together.” Abbey pointed at the soldiers on the beach. “See how they’re formed up into little clusters? That’s what we need to do. Stay shoulder to shoulder with your neighbor. Barskall warriors don’t feel pain, at least not while they’re drunk on seiderdrek, so a wound isn’t going to slow them down. Don’t stop attacking until they’re dead. Let’s do this thing.”
She leaped out of the wagon and trotted toward the western perimeter. It took everything in her to not look back to see if her crewmates were following. She wanted to exude confidence, but if they didn’t want to join her, fine. More glory for her.
When she reached the perimeter she stopped, and her crewmates filled in around her. She nodded toward five Barskall warriors. “There! Let’s go!”
As one, they charged.
The Barskall turned to face them, their eyes alive with seiderdrek-induced bloodlust. They ran to meet the nine stormship sailors.
Of the nine, only Abbey had ever faced the Barskall, and she could tell by her crewmates’ reactions they were surprised by the speed of their opponents.
Abbey knew she couldn’t afford to hesitate, and she didn’t feint or parry as she might against most opponents. Here she had to be brutal.
She thrust her sword into the midsection of the first Barskall, then pulled back her sword and hacked at his neck as he fell.
“Damn!” Olaf shouted. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
“It’s a bit late for that. Stop talking and start stabbing.” Abbey spun toward the next Barskall.
She knocked his powerful swing away, deflecting it toward the sand at their feet. His momentum carried him forward, putting him a step off-balance. That was all Abbey needed. She put her sword through his heart, and the big man fell.
Pulling out her sword, she glanced toward her crewmates, who had just finished dispatching the last of the other three Barskall. “You all better get moving. I’m not about to slow down just to leave you some enemies to kill.”
Olaf pointed to their right flank. “Abbey, look!”
She turned and saw a group of ten Barskall rushing toward them. “Shit. Let’s look sharp, because this is about to get a bit more interesting.”
As the Barskall raced forward, she noticed one of them was lagging behind the others. The straggler suddenly raised his sword and sank it into the back of the Barskall in front of him.
What the hell? Abbey thought. But there was no time to analyze the situation, since the Barskall were almost on top of them.
With the traitor having taken down one of his own, it was now nine to eight. Abbey liked those odds better, but these guys were powerful.
“Don’t rush it,” Abbey told her crew. “Let them attack, and watch for an opening. They’re damn strong and damn fast, but also damn sloppy.”
The enemy reached them, and a Barskall woman with jet-black hair honed in on Abbey, a crazed smile on her face as she swung her sword wildly.
Abbey easily dodged her first attack, and her second. On the third strike, Abbey saw her opening and stabbed the woman in the arm, quickly following the strike with another to the woman’s chest.
Abbey looked around; her crew was doing almost as well as she had.
Olaf stood over a downed warrior, a proud smile on his face. “Ha! See that? And my father said I’d never amount to anything!”
Abbey rolled her eyes. “Can we deal with your daddy issues later? We’re not done here.”
A soft male voice came from behind her. “Are you from a stormship?”
She spun, sword at the ready. If the speaker had wanted to, he could have stabbed her in the back. Abbey cursed herself for letting down her guard even for a moment.
The man who’d spoken was a short, stocky Barskall with a bald head.
It was the traitor; the one who’d stabbed a warrior who had been charging Abbey and the crew.
“Are you from a stormship?” he asked again.
Abbey blinked hard, surprised at the man’s soft voice and his question in the middle of the battlefield. “Yes. Why do you want to know?”
As the man breathed a sigh of relief, Abbey realized what separated him from every other Barskall she’d met. He didn’t have brown, glowing eyes, which meant that he wasn’t drunk on seiderdrek.
“Oh, thank the merciless seas,” the man said. “I can’t believe I’ve found you. I’ve come so far and risked so much.”
“Who the hell is this guy?” Olaf gripped his sword tighter.
The Barskall raised a hand. “Please. I’m not here to fight you.”
“Then why are you here?” Abbey asked. “Talk fast.”
The warrior stared at Abbey, entreaty in his eyes. “I’ve come to ask for your help.”
CHAPTER SIX
When the others had left, Benjamin sat alone at the table with Otto. After a long moment, Otto made a request. “I wonder if you’d be willing to take a walk with me. I have something to show you.”
Otto led Benjamin out of the building and down the street. They stopped at a large, ancient-looking structure that must have been built before the Mad Days. It was adorned with three spires that reached high into the sky, and the main part of the building had a domed roof. Otto opened the door and led Benjamin to a large, empty hall in the main section of the building. There was nothing in the room. No tables, no chairs.
“What is this place?” Benjamin asked. Even though he spoke softly, his voice echoed through the empty hall. The room was massive; hundreds of people could fit in here.
“It was once a holy place. A house of worship. Now it’s nothing.”
Benjamin noticed that while the hall was empty of chairs and tables, it was also very clean. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be found, and even the large window at the end of the hall looked as if it had recently been washed.
“Perhaps it’s nothing at this moment,” Benjamin replied, “but it’s not going to stay that way.”
Otto nodded, a sly smile on his face. “Very good.” He stopped at the center of the hall and turned to Benjamin. “Algon has never had a distinct identity. Technically we’re part of the Kaldfell Peninsula, but in reality we have little in common with the northern cities. Our concerns are quite different than theirs.”
“And yet you face the same dangers. The Barskall won’t care if you don’t identify with Holdgate. They’ll devour you just the same.”
Otto waved the thought away. “Yes, yes, I understand. That’s why we agreed to send sailors. But that’s short-term thinking. We fight off the Barskall, and then what? Our children do the same? And their children, forever?”
Benjamin met the councilman’s frosty gaze. “If your house is on fire, you don’t worry about your plans for next summer. You put out the damn fire.”
“Fair enough,” Otto allowed. “But if your home catches fire every night without fail, perhaps you begin to question your way of life. Do you know Algonians aren’t allowed to apprentice as Storm Callers?”
“I do,” Benjamin replied. Storm magic had been developed in Holdgate, and the city wouldn’t teach outsiders. It was a stupid practice in Benjamin’s opinion, especially when they were shorthanded and trying to fight off the Barskall.
“Our city was left behind in the magical arms race after the Age of Madness,” Otto said, using the Arcadian term. “We
have storm magic to the north of us and physical magic to the south, not to mention the mystics and druids. We have self-trained magicians who can do little tricks here and there, but we don’t have a signature style to put us on the map. To put it bluntly, we don’t have an identity: something that will bring business and make young people dream of living in Algon.”
“That’s understandable,” Benjamin agreed. In truth, he thought the whole idea was pretty dumb. You couldn’t just wish for new forms of magic. It happened with years of study and development. Unless the Founder himself was going to pop in and teach them some new style, Benjamin doubted there was going to be an explosion of magic in Algon anytime soon. “But what’s any of this have to do with me?”
Otto held up a hand. “Please, bear with me a few moments longer. I’m getting to that, I promise. But first, tell me what you’ve heard about recent events in Arcadia.”
Benjamin furrowed his brow. “Nothing. I’m a blacksmith in Holdgate. We don’t get much news of the goings-on down south.”
Otto grunted. “I was afraid of that. Truth is, I don’t have the full story myself, but it sounds like everything has gone to shit. Their once-orderly society has taken a chaotic turn. I’m hearing rumors of even stranger things. Dragons and such.”
Benjamin chuckled at that. Some people would believe any crazy rumor.
“One thing is certain,” Otto continued. “The Academy of Arcadia has lost its former glory.”
The blacksmith raised an eyebrow. “How’s that possible? With the stranglehold Adrien has on that city, there’s no way he’d let that happen.”
“I believe the stranglehold was exactly the problem. The people got fed up with it, and honestly, I can’t blame them. I never understood why they only taught a select few or why they declared magic unlawful for those not trained at the Academy. It was lunacy.”
Benjamin tilted his head. “Really? You don’t strike me as a ‘power to the people’ type.”
“I’m the ‘skill above all else’ type, actually. If you let everyone compete, talent will rise to the top. It only makes sense.”