Storm

by Lauren L. Garcia

  “Sorry, Beak.” But Stonewall’s fingers closed around the stone and he pulled it close, savoring the small weight and cool, smooth surface.

  Beacon was quiet as he worked, leaving Stonewall to his thoughts, which was rarely a good thing. Kali’s glittering eyes… He would remember that sight for as long as he lived, which wouldn’t be much longer, if his current state was any indication. She’d seemed so certain she could handle the Fata possession, and he’d believed her – like a fool. Now she’d be lucky to outlive him by days rather than years. He clutched the stone she’d given him as a peace-offering and stared into the shadows of his room, the weight on his chest crushing out all breath, all hope. They’d gambled and lost. But what else had he expected? That they could have ridden off into the wild, to live happily ever after, like in all the stories?

  Another lance of pain made his breath catch. “Sorry,” Beacon muttered. “I’m trying to hurry. She told me I only had a few minutes before she sent Cobalt in after me.”

  “Has the captain returned?”

  “Aye, about an hour ago.”

  Stonewall frowned. “How long have I been here?”

  “Most of the day. It’s evening now. Be ready, this will be unpleasant.” Another sharp pain, made worse by the already-tender skin of Stonewall’s side. Beacon cleared his throat. “Their mission was a rousing success. A bunch of Sufani are now guests in our detention cells. Poor bastards. But among them were three of our missing mages. I hope Talon’s happy.”

  “I thought they’d have all fled south by now.”

  “One of them had just given birth. I think the only pregnant mage here was Sirvat Amaris?” Beacon sighed. “Anyway, they’re all in our cells. Including the babe. Talon even ordered a collar on the little thing. Can you imagine?”

  The disgust in Beacon’s voice was plain, and Stonewall found he shared the sentiment. “Talon’s a coward.”

  “No argument here.”

  Stonewall’s memories of their escape attempt were clear, although he wished he could forget. “What happened to the city guards?” he asked. “The two that Kali…”

  He couldn’t finish the thought.

  Beacon sighed and sat back, the sound of cloth against his hands grating in the small room. “Dead.”

  Stonewall closed his eyes, letting the pain wash over him. Pain was the body’s way of telling him something was wrong, that the balance was off. Message received, he thought. “You and Rook… What will Talon do to you?”

  Something cold and wet pressed against Stonewall’s side, and the familiar, sweet scent of thalo gel cut through the stink of sweat and blood. The worst of the burning began to fade to a dull throb, and he sighed in relief.

  “Apparently Rook and I will be spared from your fate if we ‘renounce’ you, and pledge our loyalty to our dear commander,” Beacon said as he smoothed the healing gel over Stonewall’s wound.

  Carefully, Stonewall twisted around to see the mender. “Will you?”

  Beacon frowned at him. “What do you think?”

  “I think you should do whatever it takes to avoid my fate.”

  A faint smile tugged the corner of Beacon’s mouth as he set the jar of thalo away, wiped off his hands again, and reached for a bandage. “Ah, so falling in love with a mage is off the table.”

  “If you’re wise.” Stonewall shifted to let Beacon wrap the clean linen around his torso. “But some things can’t be helped.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “And even if I could,” Stonewall added, rubbing the stone with his thumb. “I wouldn’t change anything.”

  Now Beacon went still, his gaze resting on his open satchel. “Nothing?”

  “Well…I’d not get caught.”

  Beacon chuckled again and began to pack his bag. “Smart man.”

  “If I was, I wouldn’t be here.” Moving still hurt, but not as much, thanks to the thalo, as Stonewall twisted around to face Beacon properly. “I’m serious, though, Beak. You and Rook…do whatever you must to survive. Mi and Flint, as well. Will you tell them for me?”

  Beacon toyed with the bandage roll before stuffing it in the bag with the other supplies. “I will. But…” He sighed and looked at Stonewall again. “Rook’s in a bad way. She’s tougher than all of us, but I think she’s been hiding how sick she really is. I should have noticed,” he muttered, scraping a hand through his mussed, coppery hair. “But I was distracted.”

  “And sick, yourself,” Stonewall added. Now that the worst of the pain had subsided, he felt the gnawing desire for more hematite along with an unrelenting chill. No doubt it would only grow worse as time passed, until his body couldn’t handle the want any longer. Despite the sweat that coated his skin and dampened his tunic, he shivered.

  “Aye.” Beacon stared at his trembling hands and Stonewall winced, thinking of the needle those hands had wielded only minutes ago. No wonder the stitching had hurt.

  When Beacon looked at him again, his eyes were hard. “What’s the point of all this? Innocent people are suffering needlessly. Why aren’t the thralls everyone’s priority? Why won’t the Pillars let us work with the mages, rather than against them?”

  Stonewall opened his mouth, but he had no answer. He shook his head.

  Beacon gathered the lantern and his mender’s satchel, and began to rise. He had to brace himself against the wall for support. “Well, perhaps now that the Pillars have their Sufani, they’ll send more hematite.”

  Stonewall’s heart sank. “Milo and Flint couldn’t get any?”

  “Hard to say. I haven’t spoken to either one. Talon’s got them either running errands or stuck to her side like shingles on tar. It’s the same with Hornfel and the other burnies.” Beacon set his bag over his shoulder and looked down at Stonewall. “The Circle’s pulled out the garrison staff, as well.”

  “What for?”

  Beacon grimaced. “After that incident with Slate, the Circle fears for their safety. A few of the most loyal folks have remained, but the rest are gone; reassigned or who knows what.” He sighed. “We could use their help, now more than ever.”

  Worse and worse. Stonewall made to ask another question, but a quick knock came from the door’s other side. “Beacon? Have you finished?”

  “Nearly, Captain,” Beacon called.

  “Everyone’s assembled. Commander Talon wants to get started right away.”

  “I’m sure she does,” Beacon muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “One moment, ser.” Beacon rolled his eyes, then looked at Stonewall and mouthed, I’m sorry.

  Stonewall held out his hand. When Beacon reached down, Stonewall grabbed the mender’s forearm and whispered, “Thank you, brother-in-service.”

  “Well, ser, you’re about as patched up as I can manage,” Beacon said, much louder than before. He rose shakily and nodded to Stonewall before going for the door. “I’m coming out, Captain.”

  With that, he stepped out. Stonewall caught a glimpse of candlelight flickering in the corridor before the door closed and his world went dark.

  Twenty-Two

  Milo trailed after Commander Talon out of the garrison and into the courtyard, Flint at his side. Torches snapped in the chilling wind, their lights too weak to do more than press against the encroaching darkness. His scabbard slapped against his leg as he walked, creating a jarring jangle in the freezing air. The commander’s brisk strides carried her toward the center, where the other sentinels and the remaining handful of garrison staff had already gathered. Where Stonewall waited too, kneeling upon the flagstones between Captain Cobalt and Vigil.

  The moment Milo caught sight of his sergeant’s—former sergeant’s—bare head and hands bound behind his back, his stomach churned and his body went cold. A group of mages huddled behind the bastion gates, watching the sentinels through the iron and hematite bars. Beacon and Rook were nowhere to be seen. Beacon’s hushed words, spoken in haste, rang through Milo’s mind: Do what you must to survive.


  Talon’s long strides soon brought them to the others. Milo’s heart sank at the dismal number of waiting sentinels: the infirmary was full to bursting with sick or worse, and the common room was not much better. Eighty-odd sentinels normally called the Whitewater garrison home. By Milo’s reckoning, only a few dozen had assembled on this cold nightfall.

  He couldn’t decide if fewer sentinels around was a good thing or not. These were men and women Stonewall had fought besides, bled for, shared ale and laughter and stories with. But these were the same sentinels who shot looks of disgust at Stonewall, who only stared at the garrison wall before him. Even some of the kitchen staff who had come out glared at the former sergeant.

  Commander Talon swept past the neat rows of sentinels and went to stand about ten paces in front of Stonewall, the garrison wall at her back. She made a subtle gesture, and Milo and Flint flanked her. Milo could feel Flint’s impatience radiating off her like heat from a fire. He shared the sentiment, but was too nervous to look anywhere but straight ahead, toward the garrison’s main entrance.

  At last, Talon lifted her voice. “Bring him to me.”

  Cobalt and Vigil hauled their prisoner to his feet. They brought him forward and shoved him back to his knees, barely a sword’s length from Talon. Stonewall wore his off-duty soft clothes: a plain wool tunic, breeches, and his boots. A fringe of stubble covered his jaw, and his face contorted with pain at each step.

  “We all live in the shadow of magic,” Talon began. “Such that it is easy to forget how dangerous those who wield it truly are. Recent events have confirmed what the Circle has always taught us: that mages cannot be trusted to act in the best interest of others. It is,” she hesitated, “an unfortunate truth, but an inescapable one. At the end of all things, our duty is our oath: honor, service, sacrifice. We uphold the tenets of the One; we serve the good people of Aredia. Often, we do these things at the cost of our personal happiness, because such sacrifice is necessary to protect innocents from those who would do them harm.”

  She pointed to Stonewall. “One of our own has broken his oath and shattered the bonds of trust that bind us all.”

  An uneasy murmur rippled through the audience. Stonewall stiffened at the commander’s words but did not look surprised. And why would he be? He must have known this was coming.

  “Stonewall,” Talon said. “You are accused of unethical fraternization with mages: both the renegade and one of our own bastion mages. Do you deny this?”

  “In part, ser.”

  The other sentinels shifted in confusion and Talon frowned. “In part?”

  Stonewall met Talon’s gaze. “Love can be inconvenient, but it’s not wrong.”

  Flint exhaled through her nose, a sound Milo recognized as his sister’s approval – and amusement. Commander Talon, however, did not share the sentiment, for her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Then you are a bigger fool than I realized. But,” she added, her words ringing off the walls, “you have performed great services for the people of Aredia. Your prowess in battle is proven and you are a godly man. Therefore, I shall give you a chance to redeem yourself and reaffirm your oath – as much as you can.”

  Startled mutters swept over the assembled group. Milo could not help but glance at Flint in shock, and found his twin frowning deeper than ever. His heart hammered beneath his cuirass and he started at the sound of boot steps. Everyone looked over at the garrison, but Milo saw only shadows. Then, like some specter from a nightmare, four sentinels came into view: Hornfel, Stout, Haste, and Shard. All but Shard were burnies, although Shard was not long past her burnie days. Hornfel and Haste were burly fellows, but the man they led outmatched them in size and muscle.

  Drake’s skin was darker than Stonewall’s, but the planes of his face echoed his brother’s. A hematite collar rested around his neck and hematite cuffs clinked at his wrists. But even bound and weakened from his time in the garrison’s cell, he moved with the confidence of a warrior. As Drake drew closer, his gaze flickered across the sentinels, Talon, the gates, everything, assessing the situation as best he could. When his eyes fell upon Stonewall, they widened. Drake halted, only to have Haste prod him forward.

  Stonewall’s features remained impassive, but when he spotted the next mage prisoner, he tried to jerk upright, only to have Cobalt shove him back into place as Stout and Shard brought Mage Halcyon out. Both women were strong in their own right—Shard had bested Milo many times in sparring sessions—but neither one seemed to want to touch the mage more than necessary. Halcyon, like Drake, was cuffed and collared, which seemed like overkill as she limped along. Her gaze was on the sky, where no stars nor moon shone through the thick cloud cover.

  Milo searched for signs of possession, but the mage’s dark eyes looked normal. Even so, Milo shuddered at the memory of the bridge—was it only this morning?—and the eerie light he’d seen flash in Mage Halcyon’s eyes. Was she a thrall? Was that the illness Stonewall had tried to warn them about?

  Milo risked another glance at Flint. Her expression remained hard and cold as a blade. He gathered his own resolve, schooled his features to match Flint’s, and readied himself for whatever was about to pass.

  The other burnies brought the mages before Stonewall, whose gaze darted between the magic-users before he glared at Talon. “What would you have me do to redeem myself?”

  Drake shot Talon an incredulous look. Mage Halcyon, however, held still, not even seeming to breathe.

  There was a smile in Talon’s voice. “Surely you can guess.” When Stonewall did not reply, she gave a deep, long-suffering sigh. “Very well. I shall spell it out for you.” She placed one hand on Drake’s shoulder, making him tense. “This man stands accused of theft of our hematite, aiding bastion mages in an escape, and felonious uses of magic. He has confessed to his crimes; the Pillars plan to judge him accordingly.”

  Talon then gestured to Mage Halcyon, but did not touch the dark-haired woman. “By now, all of you have heard of how this mage murdered two city guards in cold blood. In fact, she–”

  “Kali acted in self-defense,” Stonewall broke in.

  “That may be so,” Talon agreed, to Milo’s shock. Judging by the astonished glances that passed between some of the others, he was not alone in the feeling. Talon, however, remained cool as ever. “But her behavior on the bridge proves her to be a thrall.”

  Silence swept over the group as if propelled by the same winds that tugged at hair and nipped at every piece of exposed flesh. Silence, save Stonewall’s protests. “Nothing is certain, Commander. And if indeed Kali is…ill, she believes that magic can cure–”

  “Mage Halcyon is a thrall,” Talon broke in, somehow calmer than before. “But you are right, Stonewall.” Again, the audience shifted with uncertainty. Flint even shot Milo a wide-eyed what in Ea’s balls is going on look.

  Talon turned to glance at Halcyon, and Milo caught the tiniest half-smile on the commander’s lips as she spoke again. “Nothing is certain. And it may be that Mage Halcyon has a role to play in the One’s world. It’s not for me to decide.” She withdrew her sword and offered it to Stonewall, hilt-first. “So I shall let you.”

  She nodded to Cobalt, who, after a brief pause, released the former sergeant’s wrists, swaying a bit as he did. Stonewall accepted the sword and leaned on it to stand. His voice was quiet. “What game are you playing, Talon?”

  The commander stepped out of sword’s reach and spread her gloved hands to indicate the two mages. “Pick one. The two of you will immediately be released from my custody; no questions asked, no one following. You have my word on that, Stonewall.”

  He watched her, his light-brown eyes cast in shadows. “What of the other?”

  Talon nodded to the sword. “You will send the other to their next life.”

  None of the sentinels moved, but the mages muttered in alarm and confused murmurs rippled through the remaining garrison staff. This was…unorthodox, to say the very least, but cruel as well. Maybe Talon hoped to later
claim she gave the former sergeant a chance to repent. It didn’t really matter right now. Milo was afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loud, lest Talon realize the true allegiance within his and his sister’s hearts. Despite how he could see his breath, sweat pricked beneath his gloves and trickled down the small of his back.

  Stonewall clutched Talon’s sword as he stared her down. Flint shifted, no doubt thinking he should stab the commander and be done with the whole mess, but Milo knew their former sergeant too well. Stonewall was a warrior but he was not made of his namesake. He was no stone-hearted killer. Besides, even if he knew that Milo and Flint would not raise arms against him—and he would be right—Cobalt, Vigil, and the rest of their squad remained within sword’s reach, along with Hornfel and the other burnies.

  No, Stonewall was not a murderer. And even if he was, he was not a suicidal one. Probably.

  But would he really kill one of these mages? Milo’s heart stuck in his throat as he watched the former sergeant glance between his lover and his brother. Kalinda’s head drooped, her hair falling into her face like a dark curtain, but Drake remained unbent.

  “Of all the shit I’ve encountered here,” the renegade mage said. “This stinks the worst. Elan. Don’t be stupid.” He jerked his chin to Kalinda. “Take your girl and leave this sodding place. We both know I’m not worth the trouble.”

  Stonewall studied him briefly, and then nodded, straightening. He hefted Talon’s sword in his bare hand. Milo’s blood went cold as if all the hematite in his body had burned out at once. Torchlight gleamed upon the sword hilt; a few stray snowflakes dusted the blade. Stonewall took a deep breath, raised the sword, and flung the weapon at Talon’s boots, where it clattered upon the flagstones.

  “I swore an oath to the gods,” Stonewall said. “Not to the Pillars. Not to the Circle. Not to you.” He lifted his chin, his eyes blazing with defiance. “And we both know your word is worthless.”

  No one breathed. Milo didn’t even blink when something icy touched his nose: more scattered snowflakes had begun to fall.