Storm

by Lauren L. Garcia

  No matter how much he wanted to.

  “There’s no sodding way the High Commander will let our garrison go without hematite much longer, especially after Heartfire,” Flint was saying.

  “Perhaps, but Argent often has his own agenda,” Rook said.

  “What d’you mean?” Milo asked.

  Spots of color crept to the scout’s cheeks but her voice was steady. “Nothing. Just that there’s no telling what he’s got planned.” She smiled at the twins. “I’m sure he’ll send more, soon. He doesn’t want us to be without any more than we do.”

  Stonewall saw his own doubts mirrored in Beacon’s face, but didn’t want to worry Flint and Milo any more than necessary. “I know of a sentinel who…stopped taking hematite, and survived.”

  The others goggled at him. “That’s not possible,” Beacon said, shaking his head. “Unless she didn’t take it very long. The twins here could go without it for the rest of their lives and survive, as they’ve only had one true dose. But the rest of us…”

  Stonewall made a quick mental calculation. “He took it for over ten years.”

  “How did he manage to go without?” Rook asked, frowning.

  “I’m not sure,” Stonewall admitted. “I haven’t…gotten the details.”

  “Anyone we know?” Beacon asked, stroking his beard.

  Ea’s tits and teeth. Stonewall swallowed. “Sort of. He’s my brother.”

  Milo’s jaw fell open. “Your brother! You said he was dead.”

  “I was wrong. I saw him with my own eyes a couple days ago.”

  More startled glances passed between the squad. Rook stared at him, brown eyes wide as she whispered, “Your brother… He’s the mage. The renegade Talon captured during Heartfire.”

  “A mage?” Flint said, gaping at Stonewall. “And a sentinel? How’s that possible?”

  “Wish I could tell you,” Stonewall muttered.

  “Sweet Mara’s mercy,” Beacon exclaimed. The words echoed through the empty courtyard. “Ea’s tits, Stonewall. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I thought he was dead,” Stonewall replied. “But when I saw otherwise… And given the circumstances of his…reappearance, I just…” He looked at his boots. “I wasn’t trying to keep the truth from any of you. I can barely accept it, myself.”

  A broad hand rested on his forearm. “Drake, right?” Milo asked.

  “His birthname is Bahar, but now he goes by Drake.”

  Milo nodded. “Well, despite whatever else, it’s good that Drake is alive, right? I mean… You get another chance to be a family.”

  A family. Stonewall quelled the bitter laugh that rose in his throat. “Doubtful.”

  “Aye, given that Drake will probably be shipped off to Argent before too long,” Flint said.

  Icy dread coursed through Stonewall’s veins. “Probably,” was all he managed.

  Beacon ran a hand through his hair, glancing across the empty courtyard before he looked back at Stonewall. “All other things aside, if your brother has information on how to get by without hematite, I’m eager to learn it. Never hurts to be prepared.”

  “We’ll get more,” Milo said, though the words fell flat.

  Stonewall met Beacon’s gaze and said carefully, “Even if the garrison gets more hematite, I’m not sure I’d want to remain.”

  Silence fell over the squad. Another cold wind blew, rifling hair and sneaking beneath armor. Just when Stonewall thought he’d made a misjudgment, Beacon exhaled. “Nor am I.” The others looked at him, but his gaze had gone distant again. “There are people out there who need help. Help we can give them – us and the mages. That’s the entire reason I left my family and joined the sentinels: to make the world a better place. If Talon won’t listen to you, I’m not sure what other recourse we’ll have.”

  “But we can’t just walk away,” Rook whispered. “Even if we managed to survive without hematite, Argent will find us. He won’t rest until we’re all Forsworn and dying in the mines of Stonehaven.”

  “There are worse fates than death,” Stonewall said. “And I don’t plan on going down without a fight. But this is all speculation, anyway.”

  “You don’t sound convinced,” Beacon replied.

  Stonewall shrugged. “I’m working on it.”

  The burnie twins exchanged worried looks before Flint squared her shoulders. “You’re all getting nervy for nothing. Argent will get us more hematite and Talon will let us try to cure thralls – eventually. You’re all worse than the sodding cinders,” she added in a mutter.

  Milo nodded, his expression too bright, too hopeful. “She’s right – mostly. Once you get more hematite, you’ll feel better.”

  Beacon gave the lad a grim smile. “I hope so, Mi.”

  The crunch of boots on gravel drew everyone’s attention to the direction of the garrison. Captain Cobalt, flanked by five sentinels, strode towards them. Two cinders, Slate and Redfox, were also close on the captain’s heels. Stonewall gave a silent hand signal and his squad immediately formed a neat line behind him, everyone standing at attention as the senior officer approached.

  Cobalt’s gaze swept over the practice dummy before landing on Stonewall. “Good, you’re all kitted up. Come on. There’s trouble at the bridge gates.”

  Stonewall saluted, bowing low. “Certainly, ser. What sort of trouble?”

  The captain opened his mouth to reply, but Slate broke in first. “All we know is it involves our sodding hematite shipment. We should already be gone.”

  Cobalt gave the cinder a dark look. “Mind your tongue. You’re supposed to be on bastion patrol, remember? You’re staying here.”

  “He’s on edge,” Redfox said. “We both are, ser. Let’s just go, already. Please.”

  “You’re staying here, too, Red,” Cobalt shot back to the older woman. “You’re both too much ‘on edge’ for my liking.”

  Neither cinder objected, though they cast dark looks in Cobalt’s direction. For his part, the captain glanced back at Stonewall, who saw past the helmet to the haggard weariness in the officer’s bearing; Cobalt’s scar stood out almost white against his gaunt, gray face. Stonewall squared his shoulders. “We’re glad to assist, ser. Just point us in the right direction.”

  *

  Cobalt stepped onto the bridge first, scanning ahead to get a sense of what he was leading his sentinels into. His heart hammered so hard, no doubt Stonewall could see it pulse beneath his cuirass. But the sergeant only stood at his side, squinting down the bridge toward Whitewater City’s outer gates. The overcast sky and mist from the churning river blurred Cobalt’s vision, but not enough to obscure the swarm of people on the bridge. Beyond them, he could make out the top of a mage-carriage and a few gray-armored figures. Shouts and cries of anger blended with the White River’s rumble.

  “Thank Mara, you’ve arrived.” It was Lieutenant Faircloth and a handful of his fellow city guards.

  Cobalt jerked his chin toward the mob. “What’s going on? The message wasn’t clear.”

  “The dregs won’t let the carriage any farther down the bridge,” Faircloth replied. “They’re all in an uproar about the thralls, and…” He trailed off as several of the other guards shifted uneasily. “We thought it was best that you handle the situation, serla.”

  “You thought right,” Cobalt said. Ea’s tits. We should be mounted. That’s what he got for setting off in a rush. He was as dumb as any burnie – or addled from lack of hematite. “Have they been violent?”

  “Not yet, Captain, but I wouldn’t let down my guard.”

  No kidding. Cobalt nodded thanks to the lieutenant and looked at Stonewall. The other man straightened, entirely business. His squad followed his lead. Thank Tor the burnies at least were still in decent shape; Milo, Flint, and several others were some of the only sentinels not feeling the loss of hematite. Perhaps the new sergeant would use this opportunity to make amends for his past transgressions.

  “What in the blazing void are we wait
ing for?” Slate growled, shoving past the sergeant, one hand reaching for his sword. “Those shits have our hematite and we’re sodding standing here with our thumbs up our asses.”

  Red was at his heels. At least she had the decency to shoot Cobalt a contrite look. “Punish us later, ser. But let us help you now.” Both cinders smelled so strongly of biri smoke that Cobalt’s eyes watered and his stomach twisted with nausea.

  “You need our help, Captain,” Slate added.

  Vigil, Cobalt’s second-in-command, rounded on the cinder before Cobalt could. “Shut your mouth, Slate, or I’ll do it for you.”

  Slate glared at her, but kept his silence.

  A haze of red swam across Cobalt’s vision as he stared at the cinders. How sodding dare they go against his orders now? Bad enough half the bastion mages had cut loose; bad enough the garrison’s forces weakened each day. Now even his most trusted, loyal warriors had turned against him.

  Stop sniveling, he scolded himself. They’re cinders on their last legs. This has nothing to do with you. Besides, both Slate and Redfox were skilled. He needed them – and they knew it. Damn them both for knowing him too well.

  Still.

  “Three months of stable duty for each of you,” he said. “And you’d best behave now, or else. We move on my command.” He added his most stern glare, the kind that made burnies tremble in their boots, but Slate only shrugged, gaze already shifting to the carriage ahead.

  Cobalt ordered Stonewall and the rest of the sentinels to set out across the bridge. Several paces out, the air cooled as mist from the White River coated Cobalt’s gear and jaw. The scent of freshwater mingled with the scent of leather and sweat from the sentinels. Ahead, the mob of civilians surrounded the mage-carriage, shouting obscenities at the sentinel escort and making the horses dance in their traces.

  “Are we authorized to be…aggressive, ser?” Vigil asked as they walked.

  Cobalt placed his hands on his dagger grips but did not draw the weapons free. “Yes, but try not to. Our priority is getting that hematite to the garrison.”

  “These people are frightened,” Stonewall added. “I can’t blame any of them for it, after Parsa.”

  “That’s no excuse to threaten us,” Cobalt replied, frowning. “Cut the chatter, Sergeant, and focus on your duty.”

  The mob had surrounded the carriage at the middle of the bridge, preventing it from crossing. Cobalt could not see the sentinel escort’s horses; perhaps they’d left the creatures outside the main gates. When the sentinels were about halfway to the mob, the folks on the outer edges noticed them and began nudging their companions. Soon all attention had turned to the newcomers and the jeers quieted. Cobalt gave a silent hand signal that Vigil and Stonewall would relay to the others. Continue with caution.

  When he drew closer, he scanned the sentinels who had escorted the shipment, searching for a familiar face. He caught a flash of silver amidst one set of hematite-embedded armor, and then he spotted Fain’s square jaw beneath his helmet. One of Silver Squad, here? The High Commander must have taken Talon’s message to heart if he’d sent someone from his personal, elite squad.

  Fain’s gaze fell on Cobalt, too, but the other sentinel did not move. He had drawn no weapons, but none of the civilians had gotten too close anyway. Without shifting his gaze, Fain spoke to the carriage driver, a burly fellow who gripped the reins. The other members of the sentinel escort stuck close to Fain and the carriage, agitation clear in their stances. That did not bode well.

  “Oh, look,” a woman in the crowd drawled, her crimson hair bright against the gray stone. “More hemies.”

  A blond woman next to her crossed her arms. “They must really be afraid if they’re sending reinforcements.”

  Several others muttered agreement and a few moved closer to the mage carriage. The driver jerked the reins, and one of the horses half-reared. “Back off,” the driver snapped. “Or–”

  “Or what?” A man with an auburn beard regarded the driver with a mildness that rose Cobalt’s hackles. “You’ll attack us? We’re civilians, you know. Innocents.”

  “Aye, and victims of your stupidity,” the blond woman added.

  The red-haired woman raised her voice to carry across the crowd. “We demand justice for those slain at Parsa!”

  “Justice!” the blond woman echoed.

  The crowd took up the cry and began to shove closer to the carriage, much to the driver’s ire. But it was Fain who spoke. “As I have said, your anger is understandable. Rest assured, High Commander Argent is working with the Pillars to determine what happened at Parsa, and how to ensure it does not happen again.”

  “It can’t happen again because everyone at Parsa is fucking dead,” someone from the crowd cried, with others calling agreement. “And you sentinels were sodding useless!”

  “What good are you if you can’t protect us from mages?” the man with the auburn beard added.

  A dark murmur rumbled through the civilians. Some reached for the horses, making them jerk their heads up, nearly pulling the reins from the driver’s grip. Cobalt met Fain’s gaze again. Fain made a rapid, sweeping gesture and Cobalt signaled his understanding. He glanced to either side to ensure that Vigil and Stonewall had done the same. Both nodded to him. We’re ready.

  The silent communication only lasted seconds. Most people in the crowd were fixated on Fain, the sentinel driver and mage-carriage, but a few—the man with the auburn beard, included—noted the exchange. But before they could react, Cobalt and his sentinels shouldered through the center of the crowd, causing folks to step aside enough so that the driver could direct the carriage horses forward. Once the hematite was safe, the sodding guards could make themselves useful and deal with these rabble-rousers as they saw fit.

  But the carriage still had to cross the bridge. Cobalt signaled Vigil, Stonewall, and the rest, and they turned to lead the carriage back toward the city. Fain called to his companions, who surrounded the vehicle from behind.

  Shouts of anger mixed with more jeers and catcalls, but—thank the One—none of the civilians dared try to stop the sentinels’ increased numbers. Many folks in the crowd hurled insults like rotten fruit, but nothing more harmful. That was fine. The dregs could moan all they wanted, but the garrison would get its hematite. Cobalt would make sure of that. The carriage trundled further onto the bridge and the crowd thinned, with some folks falling back and some darting ahead, though all still shouted obscenities and curses at the sentinels.

  Two of the most outspoken, the women with blond and red hair, offered the most virulent swears, while walking in front of the mage-carriage. Cobalt kept an eye on them in case they thought to do more damage than alarming the horses. Neither was armed – that he could see.

  Stonewall glanced over at Cobalt. “Should we get them out of the way?”

  “Not yet,” Cobalt said. Although the drive for hematite beat away at his brain, he forced himself to keep his pace and voice steady. Easy. Careful. This situation was a tinderbox waiting for a spark. A few more civilians slipped past the sentinels to the bridge ahead of them, slowing their walk to a snail’s pace.

  Cobalt glared at the burnie twins, whom the civilians had slipped between. “What’s the matter with you two?”

  Flint scowled at him from beneath her helmet. “Aren’t we not supposed to use our weapons?”

  “So use yourselves. You’ve armor for a reason, girl. Don’t let the dregs shove by. And you, Milo.” The boy snapped to attention. “You’re the size of a sodding house. No one should get a chance to pass you.”

  Milo flushed and moved to walk on the outside, right beside the stone bridge’s railing, thereby blocking anyone else from coming up behind him. Cobalt shot Stonewall a dark look. “Your burnies are sloppy.”

  Before the sergeant could reply, Vigil called, “Slate! Get back!”

  Cobalt whirled around in time to see the cinder barreling through the civilians in front of the carriage. The sky was gray, but Cobalt still ca
ught the flash of steel from Slate’s daggers. His stomach dropped to his knees. “Slate! Stand down!”

  But the cinder ignored him, instead shoving aside the mob, including the two women who seemed to be the ringleaders. The man with the auburn beard was in the cinder’s path. He raised his hands as if in surrender, but Slate gave a wordless cry and sliced into the fellow’s leg.

  One of the ringleaders shouted “Ben” as the man cried out and stumbled to the ground, but Slate was already past him, leaping for the carriage.

  All this had taken only a second or two. The sentinels tried to rally around the vehicle and the horses, who tugged at their traces, but the brief distraction—and the sight of a civilian’s blood—gave the mob the chance they’d been waiting for. Cries of outrage echoed off the bridge, carrying down the river, and the mob surged past the sentinels toward the carriage – and Slate. Cobalt, once surrounded by allies, found himself only with Stonewall, fenced in by angry faces.

  Ea’s tits! The situation shouldn’t have come to this! Cobalt gritted his teeth and drew a dagger. Stonewall followed his lead and the two men stood back-to-back, just ahead of the carriage. The mob had shoved the other sentinels, including Vigil and Fain, either back down the bridge or ahead, but Slate had clambered up into the driver’s seat, brandishing his dagger.

  “It’s ours, you stupid, filthy dregs,” he cried. “Go to Nox’s void, all of you!”

  “You first,” the red-haired woman called back.

  Cobalt caught a flash of blond as someone ducked in front of the carriage. The next thing he knew, the carriage shuddered as the horses broke free, and someone else grabbed their reins to lead them down the bridge and out of the way.

  Out of the way of what? Blood hammered through each vein but Cobalt kept his head. He’d faced thralls and lived. He’d faced mages and walked away. He could handle some angry dregs. “Get back,” he called, lifting his dagger. “Get back at once, or you’re all under arrest!”