by K. M. Hade
“Are you insane? A pony? We have enough problems!” Blood hisses to me.
“Ponies aren’t bad luck, you dolt.”
Smoke ducks around us and very seriously offers this bit of wisdom: “Then why do they pull the God of Misfortune And Unwise Wishes’ Wagon of Ill Repute?”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, and if they’re so wicked, why do we use them to teach children to ride?”
“To teach them to cope with adversity in the face of uncaring deities, of course. You’ve heard the story of the Lazy Little Lord and His Ten-Tooth Pony, right?”
“Time to ride out.” ScatheFire claps his hands. “Smoke’s about to start preaching.”
Rot swings astride his familiar.
I sigh and turn to Arrem, who is trying not to smirk, and Jela, who has come out of the barn. A storm flickers in the southern horizon, and a wind pulls at our hair. “I don’t have any right to ask anything of you, Master Arrem, but I need a favor. A large, dangerous one.”
Arrem lips shift with a sly grin. “What sort of favor, Lady Heart?”
I offer him the tube containing the rubbing and the slip of conjured crystal. “I need this to get to the Capital. Before I do. To my parents.”
For a brief second, he hesitates. Imperial Mages aren’t permitted personal correspondence. It will be easy to trace the tube back to Arrem. But I have a plan for that too—if I get the timing right. And live long enough.
He takes the tube. “Of course, Lady Heart. You aren’t an Imperial Mage, so I don’t see how you aren’t permitted correspondence.”
Jela nods. “I believe they threw her out of the Academy.”
“She’s wearing a cavalry officer’s uniform.” Jela gestures to me, then takes the tube. “I better deliver this by hand to the Capital. I’m certain any delay will incense our employers.”
“Please be careful,” I say.
Arrem waves it off. “I’ve been in your parents’ employ since you were in swaddling.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever see either of you again. Thank you. For everything. Always.”
Arrem clasps my hands. “We’ll meet again, Lady Heart. Don’t think we won’t. Now ride and strike without hesitation.”
“Excellent, we’ll leave the horses here,” ScatheFire says as we trot up the road. We’re about ten miles out of the Capital and passing through a sprawling little town. He points to a large, low barn off to the side. It’s a livery stable where travelers (and the occasional Imperial Mage) leave their remounts, then carry on into the Capital itself. Getting stabling closer to the Capital for any number of horses is a bit onerous, so people will leave their strings at liveries if they’re just ducking in and out of the city for a night or two.
We’ve ridden hard from TasselWood via the main roads (since we have so many horses) and hadn’t had problems. I’ve been wearing my cavalry armor and keeping my hair dark with wild berry juice and tucked up under my hat, and when we’ve occasionally had to stop, I merely hang back and act like a cavalry officer stuck traveling with some Imperial Fells. Nobody pays us much mind.
The bounty slips we see posted are the same as the ones we saw in the ruined lands, but they are looking for a Blood-Rot-Smoke-ScatheFire team, possibly in the company of a Crystal Mage. They are not looking for an Atrament or a cavalry officer, and our numerous high-quality horses, armor, and gear also don’t mark us as criminals on the run. Not that the places we go are the sort of places looking to pick a fight with six presumably hardened criminals.
So if anyone suspects who we are: they don’t ask.
We’ve made it to just outside the Capital with very little difficulty. This close to the Capital, the bounty bills aren’t even present—they’ve probably been taken a while back and not replaced.
Smoke, however, does point out the obvious. “They are going to be looking for us, and we are close enough to the Capital they could have Mages down on our asses within a few hours.”
“They aren’t looking for him.” ScatheFire points to Atrament.
“I have never secured… whatever it is we’re doing here,” he says.
Poor Atrament. Because nobody is looking for him, we’ve been having him go into towns and such to scout and secure things.
We step off the main road. Smoke dismounts and shrugs off his surcoat. He throws it across horses to Atrament. “You know the drill.”
Atrament reluctantly shrugs on the surcoat. It doesn’t quite fit him, but it’s close enough, and the dark smoky leather doesn’t look out of place. I reach into my saddlebag and toss him the coin bag we’ve brought from TasselWood.
“Tell the livery master you’re part of a Fell Team reporting to the Capital and need to put up the remounts and gear for two nights,” Blood instructs him.
He grimaces and tucks the coin purse under his cloak. He summons more shadow and murk, and we head off two by two down the road and then the lane leading to the long, low barn.
“Go on,” Rot hisses to Atrament, shoo’ing him with one hand.
Atrament reluctantly rides his horse towards the barn. After a second, he shouts, “Halloo!”
“He’s a work in progress.” ScatheFire sighs.
“He’s trying,” I hiss back.
A few moments later, a worn-looking hand with two stablerats comes out of the main barn. Atrament dismounts, his murk and shadow swirling around him, and the two stablerats duck behind the hand. The hand pauses, then continues to approach. “What can I do for you, Mage?”
Atrament’s voice doesn’t carry when he’s using his powers, and the two stablerats have slid off to the side to hold each other while they eye us. Atrament and the hand are counting horses by pointing to them.
“Those are chargers,” the hand says. “What’re Mages doing with chargers?”
Blood nudges his horse forward one step and gestures dismissively in my direction. “She’s a cavalry officer out of Dauntless company. She joined up with us thirty miles ago but refuses to tell us why. Some shit about orders.”
“My orders aren’t your business, Fell.” I sneer Fell, and my mail jangles and flicks in the light as I flip him my middle finger. My mare snorts and swishes her tail, attention going straight to Blood. She’s like a cat that sees prey. Chargers have to be a special kind of mean to face Blight, and mares are especially nasty. They’re bitches in the picket line, but when it’s time to fight, she will fight, and this mare in particular is always itching for a fight.
Blood rolls his head on his neck. “We’re all in the same army, leather-mare.”
“Unfortunately. Nothing’s worse than having a bunch of Mages in the line with you. You lot get knocked off your horses and expect us to fetch it for you.”
“If horses and pointy sticks were effective, they wouldn’t bother making Mages. So go fetch my horse and we can all go home alive.”
Wow, Blood talks some shit. Going to have to deal with that later.
He’s already looking forward to it.
Blood smirks. “High-bred spare-parts who got stuffed into the cavalry because Mummy and Daddy didn’t want to pay your dowery. Piss you off I’m the Mage, and you’re lance-fodder?”
I unhook my pony line and yank my hat down low over my face. “I’ve got my orders, and don’t have time to sit and bicker with a bunch of Fells. You two rats can handle some chargers, right?”
The bigger of the two grasps the line in wonder, ignoring me in favor of my black charger snorting at him doubtfully. The littler one eagerly informs me, “Yes, ma’am!” And ducks past the bigger one for a closer look at the bay behind him. “Are you really with Dauntless company?”
“Do you think I’m a liar wearing a stolen surcoat, rat? I want my horses curried and rubbed to a shine. And I swear to the God of Misfortune and His Team of Ten-Eyed Ponies if I get back and don’t see them shining, stuffing themselves on good hay and with clean water, I will tie you up in their haynets and let them eat your fingers.”
They barely hear me and are just saying yes
ma’am, yes ma’am as they break up the pony line so they can get the horses into the barn. They’re quick and deft and seem to know what they’re doing. Without another word, I heel my charger. She pivots neatly on her haunch and canters down the lane with a swish of her tail.
The Fells catch up with me in a mile, laughing their heads off, although Atrament just seems relieved it’s all over and he’s out of Smoke’s surcoat.
“Did he suspect a thing?” I ask.
“Not a fucking thing.” ScatheFire chortles. “Just another group of the usual Imperial douchebags. He was impressed with your horses, though.”
“And by impressed, he means jealous,” Smoke says.
“I really will put a person up in a haynet if my horses aren’t sorted when I get back.” And I fully intend on getting back. I’m not doing this to fail.
30
CRYSTAL
I shimmy my mail into place and secure my belt over my hips. Then it’s time for my dark green surcoat, and then my bandolier, and my sword over my back. I shift a bit to settle everything into place.
Nobody speaks as we gear up. It’s always quiet before a battle. The Fells are no different: calm, experienced, detached from the incredible danger we’re going into. And it’s not the kind of danger or battlefield any of us have trained for.
Nobody’s nervous. This is a thing that’s going to happen, that needs to happen, and that’s just the way of it.
I shove my comb at Blood. “Brush my hair out.”
“You don’t want to keep it in a plait?” He’s got his hair tightly plaited against his skull, and the long tail arranged in a severe, intricate knot.
I nod.
He unbraids my hair and shakes out the strands, then combs it neatly, and gathers it up at the base of my neck with a leather thong. “Here, at least keep it tied until your big moment.”
“You read my mind.”
“I think that’s how it’s supposed to work.”
ScatheFire leans his shoulder against the wall in front of us. “You look like a woman I wouldn’t want to cross.”
I wink at him.
“You also look like the sort of woman I’d love to convince to take that armor off,” he adds. “At potentially great peril.”
“I look forward to the convincing. And providing the peril.”
“So how do you plan on accommodating all of us?” Blood runs his gloved finger under the edge of my hauberk’s sleeve. “Are you going to put this back on so each of us has the pleasure of watching, or are you going to sit us all down and perform for us?”
Smoke, Rot, Blood, and ScatheFire warm and swell within me at the thought. Atrament shifts, intrigued but bashful and unsure, like he needs permission to entertain those new fantasies.
“Because things might get… rowdy,” Blood whispers the word against my lips, “if you force us all in the same room.”
I eye him through thick lashes, lips parted, daring him to give in to the brewing desire that belongs to someone—maybe it’s him—that he kiss me.
He pushes away from me, a smirk on his blood-red lips. I run my hand down his chest. He’s cleaned his deep red armor to a shine, and plaited and geared for a fight, with his familiar curled tightly around his ear, he’s every shred a Fell Mage.
He is my Fell Mage.
I go to each of them in turn, admiring something that catches my attention. The electric green of Rot’s gambeson around his neck, and the faint whorls of bright green the armorer had stained into his armor. Smoke’s acrid softness, and the scent of burning pine and sandalwood that he brushes against my nose when I touch his shaven jaw. ScatheFire’s fire-and-stone eyes, his familiar shoved into his boot, and stripped of his armor, but we’ll get that back, and how raw and fearless he is. And finally, Atrament, with his ribbons of dark and unbound, living hair, in black leathers and a black tunic, the tiny knot of Aether just visible under the linen, and the almost fearful tremble inside me.
He’s afraid. He’s never been to court. He hasn’t been blooded. And he fears he’s a demigod that will just get thrown back into the Pit to make more little demi-gods and monsters.
“Done admiring us, Pebbles?” Rot pretends to brush some dust off his armor.
“You are a lot to take in.” I wink at him.
He blushes. The others snicker.
We head out of our shitty little tavern. The patrons cower over their drinks and don’t look at us. The serving maids busy themselves under their counter.
Our horses are crammed in the little livery out back behind the tavern. We saddle and bridle quickly. Blood grabs each of the stableboys by the arms and in bandit cant says something to them that makes them stammer something in reply to the effect of yes, sir.
“What did you tell them?” I ask as they disappear into a dark corner to count the coins he gave them.
“That if they ever told anyone they’ve seen us, you’d turn their pricks into crystal and hammer them off.”
“That’s awful!” I look around to try to apologize to the kids, but they’ve disappeared.
Blood shrugs. “I’m not a nice person.”
“You aren’t, I think,” I grumble.
“Focus, Pebbles,” ScatheFire says. “And we’re about to go shout at a lot of very not nice people.”
“Because if they were nice people, we wouldn’t even be here,” Rot mutters. His familiar stamps out of the stableyard and down the filthy ally towards the main street.
We ride single file down the narrow roads of the low quarter, then move to two-by-two. People look as we pass, but pay us no real attention. No one attempts to stop us. The late summer sunlight takes on an orange-yellow glow as the sun slides towards afternoon.
The Palace itself is surrounded by a vast chasm on all sides, and is fed by three long, graceful bridges. There is no wall, just a low stone border planted with flowers and vines that sprawl over the edge into the chasm. The bottom of the chasm is too deep to see. The number of bodies the chasm has claimed over the centuries is impossible to say.
The guards at the bridge cross spears as we trot up. There is no gate to the bridge, just two tall stone columns that have large Aether-lanterns burning in braziers on top. Below the lanterns is a space containing a big bronze bell. Two guards monitor the bridge, while two more are underneath the stones in small burrows. Each holds a rope that goes to the bronze bell and passes through a small hole in the door to the burrow.
I rein my mare to a stop. She stamps, snorts. I swap my reins to one hand, pull the thong holding my hair in place, and shake out my hair. I reach backwards for the hilt of my sword. “We have business with the imperial court. We will pass.”
“You will not,” the guards say, peering at me, faces trying to register recognition but warring with disbelief.
“I escaped the Pit to bring this matter to the court. Do you think you two will stop me?” I draw my sword and level it at them.
They snap their spears apart and jab. My mare snorts and rocks back on her heels. She’s had plenty of spears pointed at her before, and it just means she’s going to get to do her favorite thing: kick people.
“I say again, we have official business with the court.” I lower my voice to a growl.
“You have a bounty on your head!” the one on the left shouts.
Their spears crumble into fetid sludge in their hands. One of the velvet ropes tugs, ringing the bronze bell once before Rot disintegrates the rope. He says, “The bells are warded!”
Anticipated. I flick my spurs into my mare. She leaps forward, smashing the guard on the right aside. The Fells follow. Hooves clatter on the stone bridge.
“Ride!” Blood shouts.
More bells begin to ring.
I put my spurs into the mare. She stretches into a gallop across the chasm-spanning bridge. Ahead of us, more guards form up at the gates. The mare raises her head, ears forward, happiness in the way her mouth and body feels, fierce anticipation. I cast a warding circle under her, extending a shield up t
o her chest. My thread hums and sings, the Fells are right behind me, a pool of endless, depthless magic in a myriad of colors.
The mare hesitates six strides out from the guards, as if asking stop or go?
I prick her with my spurs. Go.
Gleefully violent, she charges into the wall of bodies.
There are screams and shouts. They scatter, stumble like twigs. She strikes one in the chest with a foreleg, flinging him back like a doll. There’s a terrible crunch. She slides on the stones, sparks splintering out from her shod hooves, and she spins left as I deliver a blow to another guard with the flat of my blade. The mare knocks down another guard with her shoulder. Rot charges his familiar through the hole, clearing it wider for the other Fells to gallop their horses through into the exterior gardens.
I rein the mare around again, kick a guard in the face, she kicks one in the leg, and then she bounds off towards the other horses.
A bolt of fire smashes into the ground in front of her hooves. She skids, half-rears, and lunges to the left, then the right as another bolt hits the ground. I raise my hand, casting a dome of magic over us, and a bolt smashes into us again.
Three Aether Mages on the upper balconies of the palace walls have answered the bells. An Inferno and—
Lightening splinters and cracks above us.
“Shit!” I shout, dropping the reins so I can fling up wards under all the Fells and snapping crystal shields around all of us. It just barely blocks the lightening, which jumps between all of us.
That would have been bad.
I hold the wards and shields in my hand as a Storm and Inferno smash us again with their combined magic, and the ground turns into ice. The horses scramble and slip.
“Dismount!” Rot bellows. Another round of Inferno, and Storm throws up ice chunks and water that instantly re-freezes under us, trapping our boots and horses in the muck.
ScatheFire’s green-purple fire rushes over the ice, freeing us. Smoke summons a massive curtain of acrid clouds to obscure us, but it comes at a price: we can’t really breathe or see.
