A Sea of Broken Glass

by Sonya M Black

  That was certain to get the Inquisitor’s attention.

  Another long minute passed while magic crackled in the air in an invisible exchange of blows. The music crescendoed in a frenzied staccato. A shimmering wave of power danced around the building. Gold and green flames taunted red and black while the dissonant notes fought for dominance. Slowly, the music shifted. Michel felt the moment when the Inquisitor lost the battle. Oboes and drums overrode the squeal of an out-of-tune violin. A sure sign the Inquisitor was incapacitated.

  That was Michel’s cue. He stood, brushed off his pants, and straightened his jacket. Time to rescue Mistress LaRoche.

  The brick jailhouse squatted on the edge of Greendale like a demon waiting for its next meal, ugly and uninviting. Michel rapped on the heavy wooden door. The window of opportunity to get the girl out would be slim since Tolbert probably wouldn’t remain out of commission for long.

  A Guardsman opened the door and looked Michel over, his eyes pausing at the silver pin on his collar that identified him as a paladin.

  “You here for Mistress LaRoche?” the Guardsman asked.

  Michel nodded.

  “Come on then.” He opened the door and ushered Michel inside.

  “What will happen to you?” Michel asked.

  The Guardsman’s gaze darted around. “I don’t plan on sticking around to take the blame for an escaped prisoner, if that’s what you mean. No sense in getting myself hanged.”

  Guardsman Prachett didn’t want to be on the bad side of the Inquisitor. Smart man.

  A door to the left swung open, and Inquisitor Tolbert leaned out, using the frame to hold himself upright. Sweat beaded his pasty grey skin, and his shoulder-length blond hair fell free of its black ribbon. His eyes widened when he saw Michel.

  Void take it! He should have been out longer than a few seconds.

  “What are you doing here?” Tolbert hissed.

  Michel held his arms open and grinned. “I’m here to help. I was passing through and heard rumors about a witch.”

  Tolbert waved Michel off. “You’re in over your head, Durant. Go back to the Bastion and let your betters deal with the real problems.”

  Michel kept smiling as he stepped closer. “Betters? You were never my better. You know how to lick boots, but that’s about all you’re capable of.”

  Tolbert’s face turned red. “You little—”

  Michel’s fist collided with Tolbert’s stomach, doubling him over. He grabbed Tolbert’s head and held him down while he delivered a knee to Tolbert’s face. Once. Twice. Three times, and the Inquisitor crumpled to the floor, blood streaming from his nose and mouth. Michel checked for a pulse. “Still alive. Shame.”

  He glanced into the room. Tolbert’s favorite torture devices were laid out neatly next to a chair. Anger burned in his veins. He understood Bran’s desperation to get Mistress LaRoche away from Tolbert if that was what she’d been subjected to.

  “We’ll need to tie him up,” Michel said. “Where is everyone else?”

  Prachett helped Michel drag Tolbert to the chair. “The rest of the Guardsmen are off duty. Tolbert wouldn’t let more than one of us in the jail house at a time.”

  “No wonder, if he bribed the judge.”

  “Horrible man,” Prachett said as he secured Tolbert’s arm with a thick leather restraint. The look of distaste on his face spoke volumes.

  “Get rid of those.” Michel nodded to the items on the table. “I don’t want him to be able to cut himself loose.”

  “With pleasure, sir.” Prachett disappeared into the hall, taking the offending tools with him.

  Michel touched the bone handle of the blade tucked into his boot. A knife to Tolbert’s heart would remove a great many difficulties. He pressed his fist into his thigh. It was tempting, but he served the Light. Tolbert’s murder would be a step into the Darkness.

  Prachett returned with a smug smile. “That’s done.”

  Michel picked up a dirty rag from the nearby table and shoved it into Tolbert’s mouth. “Take me to Mistress LaRoche.”

  “She’s this way.”

  Prachett led him further down the hall, fiddling with the keys on his belt. He opened a door and motioned Michel inside.

  Michel peered around the door frame. It wasn’t a young girl that met his gaze, but a full-grown woman. He could see where a man might feel bewitched by her high cheekbones and rose petal skin. Honey colored hair fell around her face, cut short in ragged chunks, probably as a means to humiliate her. It hadn’t worked. Sky-blue eyes met his with a hard glare. Even in a worn linen shirt and old wool trousers, she presented an elegant picture. There was a strength to her. She’d hidden her hands behind her back as Michel entered. What was she up to?

  Michel offered her a graceful bow. “Mistress LaRoche, Lord Bran d’Idris has requested your presence at Raven’s Keep. I’m charged with your escort.”

  03

  My Heart lies in ruins and ash, buried in a wasteland where once there was life. These desiccated sands birth Darkness and demons. Taint and lies. It has become corrupted and foul. Light help me, what have I done?

  ~Excerpt from “The Lady and the Darkness” as translated by Sir Gwilam Cavanaugh

  The man standing in the doorway rose from his elegant bow. I glimpsed a rapier and a pair of pistols before he hid them with his great coat. He was a handsome specimen with black curls pulled back in a queue and stubble that lined his swarthy, broad jaw, but there was an arrogance in his demeanor that set my teeth on edge.

  I hid my hands behind my back, clutching my makeshift weapon. I’d only managed to sharpen the handle of my spoon slightly by rubbing it against the stone wall. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. I’d planned on using it on the Inquisitor when we got to the train station, but I might need it sooner.

  The stranger looked me over with amber eyes that saw too much.

  “Who are you?” I loaded the question with as much distrust as I could.

  He blinked once, then a second time, and a look of consternation passed over his face. “Sir Michel Durant, at your service.” The silver pin on his collar told me he was a paladin which could be good or bad.

  “Who did you say sent you?” I asked.

  “Bran.”

  “And how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  Michel held out his hand, a stone resting in his palm. “It’s a present from the Lord of Ravens to his little lark.”

  My breath stopped as I grabbed the stone and ran my fingers over the well-known lines of it. I gripped it to my chest, feeling the familiar surge of peace from the magic it held. Cre had made this for me. I’d left it on my dressing table when I was arrested. Relief loosened the knots in my stomach. Bran had held up his promise. I was still wary of this man, but his words were a code Bran and I established long ago to confirm which paladins to put my faith in.

  “Shall we be going?” I asked.

  One dark eyebrow rose. “Of course.”

  “I’ve got some supplies for you,” Guardsman Pratchett said, from the hallway.

  Michel turned and patted the Guardsman on his shoulder. “We’ll grab it on the way out.”

  “What’s the plan?” I wrapped the battered shreds of my dignity around myself. To appear more put together than I felt.

  “We’re catching the train, but first—” In a movement too fast for me to counter, Michel grabbed my hand and pulled it from behind my back. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the makeshift weapon.

  “You won’t be needing that.” He took the spoon and dropped it on the floor. “Take this, instead.” He pulled a knife from his boot and pressed the ivory handle into my palm.

  My fingers closed reflexively around it. “Why…?”

  “I won’t have you completely defenseless. Ready?”

  I nodded, unable to find words to express my surprise and relief. Sir Michel was not what I’d expected.

  Prache
tt led us through the silent hallway. There’d been no other prisoners since my capture. Not even the town drunk. Even the Guardsmen avoided the jail. No one wanted to be on the bad side of Tolbert.

  I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder as Michel rushed me down the hall. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  “Durant?” Inquisitor Tolbert’s voice echoed in the hall. “Untie me, you demon-cursed wretch. I’ll see you hanged for this.”

  That voice. My breath came in shallow pants. Michel grabbed my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. A hint of song wound from him to me as he pulled me down the hall toward the front door. I’d been alone and terrified for so long, that the simple touch of his hand was a beacon of comfort. The magic intensified the feeling, melting the icy fear that lodged itself in my chest.

  The Inquisitor’s yells grew more frantic as if he knew I was on the edge of escaping his grasp.

  “Here, Mistress.” Guardsman Prachett passed me a greatcoat with a deep hood, and after I’d fastened it, he handed me a leather satchel. “You’ll be needing this.”

  I yanked the hood up and tucked the knife into a front pocket of the coat. “Light bless you, Guardsman.”

  Michel took my hand again and steered me outside and down the road. I blinked in the bright afternoon sun and drank in my surroundings.

  All the streets were the same. The neat picket fences, the tidy yards. Cherry trees filled with blossoms. The birch and elms that lined the streets were covered in fresh, green buds. Everything was unchanged from the day before. Yet, all of it held a mystic quality, and was far more beautiful due to that. Freedom had never felt so good. I wasn’t completely safe yet, but was closer than I had been in eight weeks.

  I wanted to pull away from Michel but knew that it would be pointless. “Where are we headed?”

  “Raven’s Keep.”

  With his words, the bell at the station rang out the news of an incoming train.

  Michel’s magic continued to wrap around us. I couldn’t see the it. Not with the collar on my neck, but I felt the music. Was he hiding our trail?

  No, that couldn’t be. The mellow violins of his magic signified an affinity for water, not earth, which meant he wasn’t a Cloak. Shields used air magic so the water magic meant he was a Sword. I hadn’t had many dealings with Swords so I wasn’t sure what to expect.

  I kept my hood pulled low, avoiding the eyes of those few townsfolk brave enough to be on the street. Our escape was too easy. Surely, Tolbert had something waiting for us. Someone to spring out of the shadows and drag me back into that Void-cursed pit.

  I spotted a Guardsman on the street corner. “Sir Michel—”

  “I see him. Just act like you belong. We’ll be fine.”

  Aeron had taught me how to sneak through a crowd undetected, but my nerves, and the knowledge that the Inquisitor knew I was escaping, made me careless. I bumped into Mistress Cabbot, her eyes widening when she peered under my hood. She looked over my shoulder in the direction of the Guardsman.

  I held my breath, waiting for her outcry.

  Mistress Cabbot’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she turned back to her business.

  Only seconds had passed, but it felt like an eternity.

  The station was a hub-bub of activity when we reached the platform. Michel pushed through the press of people exiting the train, elbowing his way forward. I waited for the alarm to sound. For Guardsmen to close in from every direction and surround us. Every passing look made me huddle further into the depths of the greatcoat. We would be discovered. I was sure of it. My mouth dried, and I clutched the satchel in a steel grip. It felt as if every eye was on me.

  The jail’s alarm clanged and created a wave of stillness that spread across the platform like ripples on a pond. My heart stopped, and I shared a look with Michel. He shook his head and pressed forward. I stuck close to his side and looked for ways to escape should the worst happen. The fields of flax across the platform held promise.

  “All aboard!” The conductor’s voice acted like a whip on the people around us, driving the crowd on the platform toward the train.

  Michel helped me to board and then searched for an empty compartment. Birds beat frantic wings in my stomach. When would we be found out?

  “Here.” Michel pulled me into a small compartment that held two cushioned benches that faced each other with luggage racks overhead. He made a quick check of the tiny space. Drawers beneath the benches held blankets for overnighting on the train, and a slender door slid back to reveal a tiny wash closet.

  I sat on the edge of one bench, every muscle and nerve in my body tense as I waited for my inevitable recapture. The leather satchel I held was a flimsy shield between me and the rest of the world, and I clutched it to my chest. The train whistle shrieked, and I nearly climbed out of my skin.

  A Guardsman stepped onto the platform, his eyes searching the crowd. Another appeared near the ticket counter. I counted my heartbeats. One. Two. Three. Held my breath and huddled back in my seat, certain we would be discovered.

  The door to the compartment slid open, and a woman in the standard blue wool of a conductor’s uniform stepped inside. “Tickets, please.”

  Michel dug in the breast pocket of his jacket and passed her two tickets.

  She glanced at them before punching the ends. “Enjoy your journey.”

  The door slid closed behind her, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  Michel sat across from me, stretching out his long legs. He pulled out a watch and checked the time. “Just a minute or two until the train leaves.”

  “What about the Guardsmen and the alarm?” I asked.

  “They don’t have the authority to stop the train so we’ll be fine.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?” The quizzical look on his face was almost comical.

  “Helping me escape.” My fingers played with the brass latch on the satchel, pushing it open then closed.

  “It’s my job.”

  The whistle blew again, and the train lurched into motion, slowly gaining speed as it pulled away from Greendale.

  “How do you know Bran?” I asked.

  “We’ve known each other for a very long time,” Michel said. “Has Bran told you what you are? Why this is happening?”

  I didn’t want to talk to this man. He may have rescued me, but I didn’t know him. Didn’t know how much I could trust him. I stared out the window, refusing to meet Michel’s gaze. Silence stretched like brittle glass between us, the clatter of the train on the rails filled the empty space.

  Michel cleared his throat. “Mistress LaRoche, my job is to protect you. What has Bran told you?”

  I held the satchel tighter. Should I tell him the truth? Could I trust him with it? The Darkness could use me as easily as the Lady. Not that I was willing to let either have me. That would lead to the end of the world.

  Whose side was Michel on? Bran had sent him, but how much did Bran trust him?

  I slipped my hand into my pocket and played with the knife. Michel’s eyes followed the motion, but his face gave no hint as to what he thought. It wasn’t much of a weapon. Not against a fully trained paladin. No, if Michel was going to help protect me, then he needed to know what I knew.

  “I’m the last of the Lady’s line. The last vessel.” The words came out in a near-whisper.

  Michel held his breath for a moment before letting it out in a rush. “So he told you. That makes my job easier.”

  I swallowed the lump of fear that clogged my throat. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “I know.” He sat up and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “More than just Tolbert will be after you.”

  Ice crawled through me. “Demons.”

  “The Inquisitor’s interest in you can’t be a coincidence.”

  “Do you think he’s working with the Lady or the Darkness?”

&nbs
p; Michel shrugged. “I can’t say for sure. There are…other possibilities.”

  “That’s not a comforting thought.”

  He offered a wry smile. “No, I don’t suppose it is.”

  “What happens now?”

  “We take the train to Easton,” Michel said. “Aeron is waiting for us at the Mining Outpost.”

  The thought of seeing my Cloak brought a bittersweet smile to my lips. “I haven’t seen Aeron in months.”

  One of Michel’s eyebrows raised. “How did he become your Cloak?”

  “Bran wanted him to teach me how to fight.”

  Michel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Light preserve me. I suppose he taught you to pick locks and prowl rooftops.”

  “Bran wouldn’t let him teach me how to prowl rooftops, but he did teach me how to pick pockets and locks.” I rubbed my fingers. The knowledge had served me well after I was captured. It was the main reason the Inquisitor had broken my fingers. I escaped that first night by using my hair pins to pick the locks on my cell.

  Michel grimaced. “Well, at least things won’t be boring.”

  The fear that had gripped me ever since the Inquisitor took me from my home nagged at the back of my mind. “Why was it so easy to get away?”

  Michel stared out the window, the countryside a passing blur. “I don’t know. It worries me. What’s in the satchel?”

  I opened the worn leather bag. “Clothes. Boots. And my healing supplies.”

  Michel motioned to the wash closet. “You should change.”

  I plucked at the worn pants I’d been forced to wear while in jail. It held the scent of my fear and anger. It would be good to be rid of them. I made way carefully to the wash closet. The rocking of the train caused me to stumble slightly, and I gripped the luggage rack to keep myself steady.

  The wash closet was barely large enough to stand in. The lavatory and wash basin took up all the room. I set the satchel on the basin, pulled out the clothes, and with some inventive maneuvering, changed into wool trousers, a fine linen shirt, a leather over-corset, and a riding jacket, then laced my boots on.