Storm

by Lauren L. Garcia

  “As you dealt with Eris Echina?”

  Heat flooded Talon’s face and neck. “What do you mean, serla?”

  The Circle priest gave her the chiding look one would give a child caught pilfering sweets before supper. “Don’t play innocent, Talon. It doesn’t suit you. I know what happened on Heartfire. The gate guards are loyal to the Circle, and they do love their gossip.” His features hardened. “And since High Commander Argent is not here to deal with your failure, I can only assume he does not know of it – yet.”

  This, at least, she could defend against. “He knows, serla. And he has seen fit to let me handle the matter myself.” Not exactly true; she’d only sent the letter off a few days ago and had not yet received a reply. But Iban didn’t need to know that detail. Determined to maintain her composure, Talon raised her chin. “In the meantime, Eris may be gone, but I have one of her allies: the renegade mage who orchestrated her and the others’ escape, and who stole our hematite shipment before Heartfire.”

  This was the card she’d been waiting to play. Sure enough, Iban leaned forward. “Where is this mage?”

  “Safe and sound, bound by hematite in one of the garrison cells.”

  “Along with the rest of your mages, I hope?”

  Surely, he wasn’t serious. Talon cleared her throat to be certain she could speak normally. “The mages who did not flee Whitewater Bastion are collared. But we don’t have enough cells to accommodate all of them.”

  “The creatures don’t need to be comfortable,” Iban replied. “Just locked away.”

  The thought of Foley behind bars made her sick. Bad enough she had to keep her own father shackled like some beast; a better, more gentle man there had never been than Foley Clementa. Talon knew her voice trembled, but for once, she didn’t care. “The collars will suffice for now. Only myself and Cobalt carry the keys, and no mage can work magic on hematite.”

  Iban studied her before shrugging once. “As you say, Commander. Back to the renegade mage; what have you learned from it?”

  It. Foley would have winced, but Talon kept her features impassive. There was no time for sentiment, nor time to savor her tiny victory. “Not much,” she admitted. “Other than he seems to be kin to one of my sentinels – and is a former sentinel, himself.”

  Iban went still, his voice dropping to a lower register than Talon had heard before; a distant rumble of thunder. “Kin to whom?” he asked.

  “Sergeant Stonewall.” Talon’s jaw clenched like she’d tasted something sour. First the moron took up with a bastion mage, now he was a renegade’s brother. At this point, if the idiot turned out to be a mage himself, she would hardly be surprised.

  “The name is familiar…” Iban considered. “Ah, young Milo’s officer.” His brows drew together. “Did this ‘Stonewall’ have a part in the Heartfire escape?”

  This, at least, she could answer with clarity. “He was in Parsa at the time. Later, I brought him to the renegade mage, and got the impression that neither had seen or spoken to each other in several years. Apparently, Stonewall believed the other man to be dead.”

  “Assuming he wasn’t dissembling.” Iban’s tone was far too calm for comfort. “I imagine Stonewall is locked in a cell, too?”

  “No, serla.” Heat swam through her body as the Circle priest’s eyes widened.

  “Why in Atal’s name is he walking free?”

  Something seized Talon’s heart; fear, perhaps, or anger. Not at the thought of losing Stonewall—he’d caused more trouble than he was worth—but at the idea of stretching the Whitewater garrison’s numbers any further. “Because he’s walking. Unlike most of my cinders, not to mention those under my command whom thralls have murdered. Our numbers are dwindling, serla, and that’s not going to change without the Circle’s intervention.”

  Iban gave a genuine laugh. “Your subtlety knows no bounds, Commander. Very well, then. You’ve followed orders; you’ve earned compensation.”

  He withdrew a key from his desk, went to the locked cabinet, and worked the latch. The massive doors swung open to reveal shelves stocked with hematite vials resting in wooden holders. Talon’s mouth watered. So much hematite! Iban’s supply could stock her garrison for months.

  Iban collected some vials into a single pouch and then presented the bundle to Talon. The moment she felt the weight of the vials within the muslin, she could not suppress a shiver of longing. But when she peered inside, her heart sank.

  “Can’t we have more, serla?” she asked as he settled back at his desk. “The city guards dredged the river, but found no trace of Slate’s body – or our hematite. As I have said, our need is–”

  “As I have said,” Iban broke in. “This is all I can give you, now. However, I anticipate more will become available once you carry out your next set of orders.” He held up one of the papers on his desk. “The fleet rider brought this before dawn. It comes directly from the Pillars.”

  Cold swept over Talon like sleet. So here was the heart of his summons. “Orders for us?”

  He offered the paper to Talon, but she could only stare without comprehension at the little symbols of Aredian script. “Argent didn’t write this,” she said. “No sentinel did.”

  Iban chuckled. “No, Commander.”

  Blood beat in her ears and her fingers tightened around the paper’s edge. Only years of training in self-control allowed her to set it back on his desk, unharmed, although he must have noticed how the paper fluttered as her hand shook.

  “What does it say, serla?” she asked.

  “What I have already told you,” Iban answered. “The Pillars fear that the Assembly will divide our country further. The queen can’t have the dregs sowing chaos from within while the barbarians from Cander attack us from without. Thusly, the Pillars have asked every member of the Circle to help stand against this new internal threat while our queen turns her attention to the northern barbarians.”

  When Talon found her voice, it wavered. “The Assembly haven’t been sighted in–”

  “A group of known Assembly folk were spotted in Oreion not a week ago,” Iban interrupted. “In the company of Sufani nomads.”

  “The ones who stole our hematite?”

  “Perhaps. Until now, the Assembly has only ever been reported in Indigo-By-the-Sea Province, but Haril—my counterpart there—is enmeshed in the troubles of the upper-tiered merchants, and has done little to root out these vermin.”

  Which left Iban in a position to do more – and to gain favor with the Pillars. Understanding coalesced in Talon’s heart. “What must my sentinels do, Serla Vellis?” she asked.

  He drained his tea and set the cup down with a soft clink. “Forget Eris Echina and any other renegade mages. Forget the thralls. As of this moment, your highest priority is rooting out the Assembly, starting with their heretical Sufani allies. Don’t look so scandalized, Commander. You will be fulfilling the Pillars’ deepest desires.” A knowing gleam appeared in his eyes and his next words were hushed. “This is not common knowledge, but it is nearly time for the Pillars’ transfer of power to their successors.”

  The Pillars were older than water, so this was not a complete shock. No wonder Iban wanted to be in the Pillars’ good graces; surely every member of the Circle clergy hoped to be selected for the honor. “Have they chosen their successors?” Talon asked.

  “Not yet. But completing this task would be a great boon to the current Pillars as well as those who will come after. And need I remind you of your stolen hematite? You should be glad of a chance to settle the score.”

  “The renegade mage is already captured,” she managed. “I’m positive he was working with the Assembly. Is he not enough to satisfy the Pillars?”

  “One errant mage?” Iban shook his head. “No doubt, it’s better to have that creature behind hematite, but it is not the greater threat our Pillars fear. Dissension, disharmony, chaos…” His expression darkened. “Those are the true enemies of our people. The Assembly is weak now, in its
fledgling stages, but its influence is spreading. Several of the wealthier Indigoan merchants have been calling for their governor to pressure Queen Solasar into disbanding the tier system altogether. They claim it’s bad for business – among other ridiculous notions.”

  “I hadn’t heard,” Talon admitted.

  “No, you wouldn’t have,” Iban replied. “Because your focus is where it should be: the mages. You are always dutiful, Commander, but the scope of the larger story eludes you.” He leaned back in his chair to better regard her. “I know that look on your face. You believe I’m in the wrong for not considering the thralls the true threat, but you are small-minded. This is not a slight against your intelligence, but merely a byproduct of your focus. There is balance in all things, after all. We must have peace in the realm if we are to survive. The Pillars realize that sometimes the price of that peace seems unsavory, but they feel—as do I—that the future will confirm the rightness of this decision.”

  Talon’s thoughts chased each other in circles. “Does Argent know of the Pillars’…plans?”

  “Argent was informed this morning.”

  Gods above and beyond, this was more information than she’d anticipated. The future will confirm the rightness of this decision. How many times had she harbored similar feelings, albeit on a smaller scale? To give herself something to do, she reached for her cup of tea. By now it was cold, but she took a deep drink anyway. “Will there be a war?”

  “I dearly hope not. The Pillars are working to avoid such a catastrophe, but we cannot ignore the possibility of war – twice over.” He sighed. “Civil or with Cander, if war comes, and if the Queen realizes we will not defeat our enemies without magic, your sentinels may find themselves at the front lines.”

  She took a shaking breath. War. Politics. All of it more than she ever wanted to think about. “We’ll do our best, serla.”

  “You’ll have to.” Iban nodded to the muslin pouch, still in Talon’s grip. “For now, keep your focus restricted to your orders. The renegade mage and his kin will keep for a while longer. It is curious, though, that a Forsworn sentinel could survive so long without hematite. I suppose magic played a part. How did the creature manage the feat? Did he steal your shipment to sate his craving, or sell hematite to…recreational users?” Iban’s face darkened. “We’ve had more reports of people using ruthless.”

  “The renegade is reluctant to share any information,” Talon said. “But I’m confident that, with time, I can–”

  “No need to question the dreg further. Just send it to Lasath once you’ve carried out your orders and you have the numbers for escort duty. The renegade might know where others of its kind are. The Pillars will want to find the creatures – and I know they will be interested to learn the trick of this traitor’s survival. Send Sergeant Stonewall as well. Any connection to a renegade mage—particularly one with such a unique history—must be investigated. And…” A faint frown touched his face. “Send the mage who believes it can ‘cure’ thralls, too. The one who attacked an innocent in supposed self-defense. I assume she’s locked away?”

  “Of course, serla,” Talon replied. Halcyon was locked inside the bastion, after all. “Though it’d be easier to end her life now and be done with the trouble she’s caused.”

  Iban shook his head. “All unusual magical activity is to be reported to the Pillars. You know that.” He lifted a dark brow. “I’ll refrain from asking why you did not do so, sooner, if you comply and send Halcyon to the Pillars as soon as you can spare sentinels to escort her.” He exhaled and sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers before him. “But for now, your priority is the Sufani. Bring in as many as you can—and anyone else who you think could be working with the Assembly—and you’ll have more hematite than you can handle.”

  Impossible, Talon thought, but kept her expression neutral as she lifted the bag. “Very well, serla, but this isn’t enough to keep us going even for now. We need more.”

  Iban’s smile held no warmth. “Then I suggest you get to work.”

  *

  Milo squinted in the sunlight as he watched the passers-by outside Mara’s temple. He was close to the fountain; every now and then, droplets landed upon his armor, reminding him of mist from the White River. By now, clouds had overtaken the sky: pure white shaded with pale-gray, blocking the glittering sunlight. His breath fogged in the chill air. Despite the sacred ground beneath his feet, his meeting with the Circle priest had destroyed any peace that lingered in his heart. The dark looks many civilians cast his way didn’t help. A few folks even spat in his general direction, albeit not directly on the temple grounds – that would be sacrilege. But he got the hint.

  It’d been stupid to come here alone. No wonder the commander wanted them to walk back together.

  “Milo.”

  He fell into parade-rest at Talon’s voice as she strode up and signaled him to follow. But instead of heading back to the garrison, she wound her way toward the docks on the river’s edge. But why?

  Thank Mara, he didn’t have to wonder long. They reached the docks and Talon’s pace slowed as she walked along the river, her gaze distant as she turned her face to the ferries, skiffs, barges, and other boats that cluttered the harbor. No one could travel down the White River’s falls, of course, but plenty of trade took place upriver, with Whitewater City often being the final stop on many a merchant’s travels. If Milo squinted against the glare of the sky, he could make out the thick hemp net strung across the river, between the city and the far shore, to prevent any unlucky boats from tumbling down the falls. Here, the water’s roar was louder than he was used to. If he closed his eyes, the sound drowned out all other thoughts.

  The commander’s voice broke him out of his trance. Blinking, Milo looked at her. “Sorry, ser?”

  A faint smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “I asked if you were feeling any ill-effects from a lack of hematite?”

  “Oh.” He shook his head. “Not that I can tell, ser.”

  “Good. Can your sister say the same?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “And how are you, in general?”

  He opened his mouth to lie, but couldn’t form the words. A group of sailors unloaded a cargo skiff nearby and thankfully did nothing harsher than cast a few glowers at the sentinels. “Not good, ser,” Milo said, wincing. “Everyone hates us. And I can’t blame them.”

  Talon’s watchful brown eyes flickered to the sailors before resting again on Milo. “People are afraid and angry. With the mages hidden in the bastion, we are the easiest targets for those feelings.”

  Milo watched the rippling river, uncertain how his words would be met. “We killed those people at Parsa, ser. Yes, it was in defense of the mages. Yes, it was because somehow, those villagers turned into thralls. But still.” He put a hand to his armored chest. “I killed civilians in their own village. In their own temple.”

  Aye, and the same place he’d fought to protect mere months ago. The man his sister had loved had died to keep Parsa safe. Now the village was a skeleton of itself. His eyes pricked with heat at the memories crashing over him: blood and steel; terror and desperation. His sword hung heavily at his side.

  “Everything’s wrong,” he whispered.

  “Aye, Parsa was a tragedy, and I’m sorry you had a part in it. But Milo,” she rested a hand on his right shoulder, urging him to meet her gaze, “there is a pattern to all things that we cannot see. Sometimes, the only good we can do is serve that pattern, even if its design and purpose are beyond our understanding.”

  Milo clenched his teeth, for her words had struck true. Faith. Perhaps it was a luxury for some, but it was all he had now. “Yes, ser.”

  She lowered her hand. “Sometimes it’s easy to walk this path. Sometimes, our troubles are simple to solve, and it’s easy to know that what we do is right and just and good. But most of the time, our path is a difficult one. Do you remember why we carry the weapons we do?”

  Milo gripped his dagger
s. “Two daggers for defense,” he recited. “One sword to subdue – but only as a last resort.” Subdue: a polite way of saying “kill.”

  “That is what we use our weapons for,” Talon said. “But do you know why?” Milo shook his head and she continued. “Two daggers to represent the dual nature of our role in the One’s world. We protect those who cannot protect themselves; we guard against those who could use their power for evil.”

  Talon’s sword slid soundlessly from its scabbard. In the daylight, Milo could see how her weapon, though clean, was nicked and scarred far more than his. “One sword,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Because there is one truth we must always bear in mind: we are here to keep balance. The greater good must always come before our own desires, for our duty is, and always will be, to the One.”

  True words, if ever there were any. Milo nodded and Talon sheathed her sword, and then gestured to the street that had deposited them at the docks. They began to make their way back to the garrison.

  Not until they were out of sight of the river did the commander speak again, her voice casual. “How are you faring under Sergeant Stonewall?”

  The mention of Stonewall drove away Milo’s gathered calm. He kept his gaze on the cobbled streets, lest he crash into anyone. “Very well, ser.”

  “Did he offer you counsel after Parsa?”

  “He did, ser. Good counsel, too. But Parsa was…” He swallowed. “Difficult.”

  “Sometimes the difficult missions are the ones that strengthen bonds the most.” She was silent as they walked and her hand stole to a muslin pouch tied to her belt. “Has the sergeant done or said anything you find unsavory?”

  A flush crept up Milo’s neck as he recalled the journey back from Parsa. But as Mage Halcyon had said, the connection between her and Stonewall didn’t really matter, did it? Milo and Flint had spoken about it all later, and Flint claimed not to care…but then, she wasn’t the best barometer of morality. Beacon, too, hadn’t opposed to the idea, but Milo thought the mender had his own interests at heart, given how flustered he got around Sadira.