by RJ Metcalf
Chapter Six
Finn
Finn DoPonce plucked three small leaves off the sage and laid them out on the cloth next to him in the garden. He lifted the supple branch and pulled two more, then gathered the fabric and carried the greens into his house, cautious to not bruise them as he set them down next to his pile of lavender. Deft fingers tied the herbs in place to dry, and he wiped his hands on his pant legs as he walked back to his desk.
Running into Slate had been a pleasant surprise, and he’d meant it when he said he’d make something for his friend’s allergies—Finn wasn’t masquerading as an ordinary herbalist for nothing. Slate had really matured to be quite the young man, with many admirable traits. Finn shuffled some papers on his desk and paused, his mind grasping the thought. Slate was young, but responsible. He knew Finn, and while he didn’t know much of Finn’s life, he had to be aware that Finn was more than he seemed. Would Slate be someone who could take up Finn’s mantle?
Finn settled in his chair, considering the idea while he ran his hand over the worn wood of his desk. Someone had to keep an eye on the keystone, and while Finn carried that burden without complaint now, the idea of moving closer to his son and daughter-in-law was an attractive prospect—if only he could. But if he were to take Slate under his wing, teach him his secrets, then maybe … Finn shook his head, regretful.
He trusted Slate, yes. But he couldn’t ask Slate to take on those dangers. What if the same men who’d killed Julia found Finn now? What if he passed the ring to Slate, and they found Slate? He was no sage. He wouldn’t have the same power to defend himself, to defend the lodestone. The entire southern Terrene could be endangered, just because Finn was selfish enough to want to be with his family.
Better that his family live without him, and have a chance to live their lives to the fullest, than for him to be with them and risk the barrier coming down. No life could be lived to the full while enslaved.
He had to stay where he was, keeping his head down. The Monomi may guard the citadel where the keystone was housed, but even they didn’t fully understand the magic of it—though they knew it better than almost anyone else. He’d continue his solo vigil of the keystone from a safe distance, and with that, he’d best protect his loved ones.
Finn tugged a fresh sheet of paper over and picked up his pen, dipping it into the inkwell. For now, he could pen a letter, and appreciate the gift of letters and correspondence from afar.
Chapter Seven
Cole
Lieutenant Cole Harris found a broken barrel on the side of the main street of Selvage and sank down to lean against it. It creaked in protest against his weight, and then shuddered again as another body collapsed into it on the other side.
“Jerky?” A dirty gauntlet moved into Cole’s line of vision, holding out the offered food.
“Thanks.” Cole shucked off his own bloodied glove and plucked the jerky from the hand, uncaring of the grime. He glanced around the barrel to see Roney adjacent to him, and Cole waved the jerky in a salute of thanks. Cole leaned his head back against the barrel. “I hate this.” An oily curl of smoke wafted by them, and Cole swiped away the tears that stung his eyes.
“The jerky? Or this slaughter business?” Roney stretched his neck and groaned when it audibly cracked. “I hate the murder. But the jerky is good. I can attest to that.”
Cole snorted before biting off a chunk of the dried meat. It was nice to have a flavor other than the dirt, smoke, and blood in his mouth from the battle of the long day. He chased the bite with a gulp of lukewarm water from his canteen, gnawed another bit of jerky and stretched out his legs as he watched two of his men walk down the street, stepping around two deceased townspeople as they swept the street for any signs of life that they’d missed. Cole averted his gaze from the small child’s blank stare.
“The situation, obviously. This is wrong. How many families did we just murder? Reformers, yes, but innocent people too. And for what? The land line? The attack on the royal envoy?” Cole lowered his voice. “Or is it just because the prince has lost it?”
The barrel shifted against Cole’s back, and Roney scooted into view. Roney shook his head. “It’s still hard to believe they were dumb enough to attack the envoy. Foolish move. But Prince Richard choosing this retribution business isn’t any smarter.”
Cole stared at the burning building down the road. Flames licked out the broken windows, and the roof glowed orange before cracking and caving in, shooting sparks into the air. “Seriously. Got a friend in the royal guard. Not too long ago, he mentioned the prince acting crazy about the rebels. Then this order came from him, and, well …” He gestured at the devastation around them. The market stall next to the collapsed building caught the blaze, and the wind shifted, assaulting Cole’s sinuses with the scent of burning broccoli.
“Well, if this is what the foreseeable future is going to look like, I may just plan to retire when my time is up and move to a quiet little province under Prince Brandon’s leadership, and find me a pretty wife.”
Cole snorted. His idea of a pretty wife had been married for over a year to another man. Roney or no Roney, Cole would stay in the military. He had no other options. The barrel moved behind Cole’s back again, and Roney stood, stretching.
Cole rose as well and twisted to work the kinks out of his stiffening spine. “I suppose we should find the captain and get this over with.”
It should have been a beautiful near-spring day. This morning, the sky had been a brilliant blue, the first sprigs of grass had poked through the ground, and the air had a fresh, crisp bite to it. But now the sky was a smoky red brown, the sprigs of grass were watered with blood, and the air was foul with the smell of burning bodies.
This should never have happened. Cole scanned the milling soldiers until he spotted Captain Stevens, his broad shoulders contrasting to the comparatively small armored man next to him. Some things never changed. The captain had been a mountain of a man back when Cole was just another kid at the orphanage, and even though Cole was an adult, Stevens still towered above him. Nostalgia tugged at Cole’s heart for a brief moment. He would have been nothing if it weren’t for Captain Stevens taking an interest in him, essentially raising him.
The brawny captain stood next to his horse, a severe frown pulling on his face as he surveyed a map. Just beyond, a road stretched into the distance, evergreen trees growing on the left side and fields for planting on the other.
“Rested enough?” Captain Stevens didn’t even look up as Cole approached. Stevens traced a line across the map and tapped it twice before his eyes flicked up to Cole. “I don’t expect an ambush here, but those trees are thick and hard to see through, so we’ll have to be cautious. Scouts reported that people have been through the pass recently. It could be from the cowardly rebels fleeing, or from them planning something devious.”
Cole studied the trees and plowed fields, glanced at the map, and nodded. “There were fewer combatants here than I’d expected.” His stomach twisted and he clenched his jaw, continuing. “So we hunt down who we came for. What’s the plan, sir? Mount up and ride through till we get to the pass and make plans as we hear from our scouts?”
“You got it, son. I’m hoping we’ll find them in the pass where we can use the bottleneck and hammer them on two fronts.” Captain Stevens grinned at Cole. “I’m picking some of the best men who can hold their own, just in case things actually go according to plan for once. So good luck.”
Cole huffed a laugh. “You always take the best for yourself. What else is new?”
Stevens’s armored hand clasped Cole’s shoulder and gently shook him. “Ah, someday you’ll be able to take the best for yourself, once you’re captain of your own men. You’ll get there.”
A grimace pulled the traces of mirth from Cole’s face. “Thanks, but hopefully that’s a ways away. I don’t think I could lead my men half as well as you.” Cole stretched out his neck and barely resisted the desire to scuff his boot against the grou
nd. “Especially in the face of such orders.”
“You’ll get there.” The hand fell off his shoulder as Captain Stevens crossed his arms, his dusty armor clanging with the movement. “This is a hard mission. There’s no denying that. I know how it’s affecting everyone. Let yourself be angry about it, Cole. Use it for the battle. And then let it go.”
Cole stared at the packed dirt road and missed Stevens’s reaching out until the captain ruffled Cole’s hair. Cole swore and batted Stevens’s hand away.
Captain Stevens laughed heartily, shattering through the crackling of fire that had settled as the background of the dead city. “Time to go.” Stevens turned on his heel and whistled for attention to the hundred men mingling around them.
“Alright, lads! I’m going to come through and pick those who will ride with me. We don’t know what to expect of these rebels as we move forward, so we’ll need to be quick to react to anything that changes. Don’t get complacent. If I pick you, mount up by my horse. Everyone else will be led by Lieutenant Cole. If the rebels are in the pass, we’ll ambush them there, using my handsome self as bait.” The men chuckled as Captain Stevens continued, tapping select men as he passed by.
Stevens looked into the eyes of the soldiers as he passed by. “We’ll ride hard until we’re within a few miles of the pass, then check with the scouts to determine what our next course of action will be. The sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can go home.” Captain Stevens twisted to look up into the sky. “We have maybe six hours left of good light. Let’s finish this before dark.”
Cole swung himself up into his saddle and nudged his horse to trot over to his mentor. “Ready, sir. Your men first.” Stevens held his forearm out, and Cole rapped his gauntlet against it.
The clang of armor rang out, and Captain Stevens looked back to the mounted men. “For Doldra!”
“FOR DOLDRA!” the men roared back.
Cole waited until Stevens led his men onto the road, then kicked his horse into a gallop after them, dust billowing into choking clouds.
The day stretched on, and Cole’s spine stiffened under the weight of his armor as he roasted in the late afternoon sun. He tightened his grip on the reins to hide the tremor in his hands as his mind flashed through bloody memory after bloody memory. What I wouldn’t give to be back at the Crimson Hawk, enjoying a good, cold drink … or five.
A shout ahead broke him from his reverie, and he shook himself free of the last vestiges of his foggy mind. He rode forward, passing the edges of his men, intent on reaching Captain Stevens’s side to see what the fuss was about. But he didn’t have to go far. Dead scouts lay in the middle of the compressed dirt road, two of their bodies resembling pincushions stuffed with arrows. A small crater pocked the earth with remnants of a scout scattered around it. Cole gagged.
He looked over to Captain Stevens, knowing that his surprise and anger was mirrored in his father-figure’s face. Before they could say anything to each other, an eerie thumping pounded, stopped, and started again. Where is that coming from? The forest? A billowing yell sounded behind him, and Cole whipped around in his saddle to peer back.
Trees splintered apart as a pack of draconic creatures burst through the forest, running on thick, stubby legs. Cole’s heart sank as he recognized the typically peaceful dragons: skrull.
They had the unique ability to harden their already thick skin to be impervious to attack, and from what Cole could see, these had their cranial domes and spiky backs hardened. And unlike the skrull that were sometimes used by farmers to pull their plowshares and equipment instead of oxen, these quadrupeds were not tamed, nor calm.
The dragons surged through the coppice with their sloping, flat heads down and braced to ram the horses and men in the middle of the column. Rebels poured down the slight incline, following the dragons’ lead while several archers stayed back by the forest line.
How the bloody Void the Reformers had dragons on their side was beyond Cole’s current ability to process. Right now, he had to figure out how to keep his men alive.
Stevens scowled and shouted to Cole. “They must have a bard somewhere! Kill the bard—he’s controlling the dragons. Go!” He rode into the chaos without looking back to confirm that Cole was obeying. He knew what Cole knew: Cole would obey him without hesitation.
Cole looked through the jumbled mess of men for Roney. He made eye contact and pointed to him, then motioned to four other men under his direct command. Cole worked his way through the battle and led his small group up the hill the skrull had come from. Once his soldiers drew close enough to hear him, Cole stood in his stirrups, peering through the foliage for rebels before turning to address his group. “They have a bard. We find him. We kill him. Skrull will likely leave. Split off in groups of two. Roney, with me.”
The three groups burst into the forest, and Cole cursed as he wove his horse around thick trees and underbrush. A bard could be anyone, anywhere. Somewhere close to the battle to see the beasts and control them, but what was his range? And how did the Reformers find a bard who was skilled enough to control skrull? Until now, they had limited resources. What changed?
A pounding rhythm sounded from Cole’s right. Pulse throbbing, he shouted and turned toward the sound, Roney just behind him. Cole gritted his teeth. Screams and shouts from the battle echoed in his ears. His body ached to get back into the thick of it. To be with his men. Captain Stevens. Kill this Void Born bard and return.
He paused to look around, his heartbeat now matching the thump of the drumbeats. His horse shifted under him, ears flattened. There! A man sat on the ground to Cole’s right, his face and clothing painted to blend in to the shadows of the forest. The bard pounded on two cylindrical drums in his lap, his eyes closed in concentration as he sang whatever spell he was using to control the skrull. Four poorly armored rebels stood guard around him, swords shaking as they watched Cole, their eyes glinting with determination and fear.
Cole shouted again, leaning over his horse as he galloped straight at the rebels. He tightened his grip on his sword, then swung. He caught the first man by his collarbone and yanked upwards, blood spraying from the neck and shattered cheek. Roney stabbed the second a moment later. Two more of Cole’s men broke through the trees and came toward them, bellowing challenges and oaths. The remaining two guards shouted in reply and charged forward with reckless abandon. Cole’s nearest soldier, Ozly, blazed past the rebels, sword nearly bisecting the third man. Despite his shaking hands and weapon, the final Reformer moved fast enough to dodge a swing by Jake, but he missed Roney riding up to slice into his skull from behind.
Without the guards, the bard was defenseless enough that Cole didn’t mind dismounting to finish his business. Sticks and leaves crunched underfoot as he marched up to the nearly helpless man. The bard had finally broken from his spell and dropped his drum, backing up against a tree, dagger in hand. Cole didn’t have time to draw out the fight and let the man think he had a chance at survival. He picked the wrong side. He gets to live and die by the consequences. A shallow slice to the legs made the man drop his knife, and a simple stab in the ribcage and twist of the sword finished him. Cole jogged back to his horse and mounted up, naked sword in his hand dripping blood. He pointed to where the sounds of battle still echoed and his men followed him into the fading evening light beyond the forest.
The ground was painted in blood, fragmented viscera, and battered, ripped bodies. To their left the battle still raged, but now the weaker dragons were fleeing, while the strongest, biggest skrull continued to fight. Why stay? Bloodlust?
At least half the rebels who’d followed the dragons in the attack were already dead, and Cole surmised that those who remained weren’t going to survive much longer. And his men now faced better odds, being better trained and armored against both man and beast. The skrull added to the chaos of the battle—uncontrolled and free to maim and kill anyone and everyone—but the Reformers were easy targets compared to his battle-hardened men.
Cole and his small crew rode into combat. Soldiers and rebels ebbed forward and back in the rhythmic motion of battle. Patches of unbloodied dirt hung in the air, obscuring the battlefield. Cole blinked grit out of his eyes. He couldn’t see Captain Stevens anywhere. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. He gestured at Ozly and several nearby soldiers and pointed to the dragons. If they took care of the beasts, the rest of his men could focus on the rebels they came for.
Orange tinted the sunset by the time they finished off the skrull and dragged the last of the Reformers from the forest. Cole still hadn’t seen Stevens, and far too many fallen men and horses littered the ground alongside dead skrull and Reformers. But now that the enemy had been taken care of, they could finally search for those still alive and in need of medical attention.
Did they even have a mani-med alive at this point to take care of the injured? He hadn’t seen either of their healers since the ambush started.
“Lieutenant!” A man shouted from behind Roney. “You need to come here!”
Cole yanked off his helmet and turned to see the soldier kneeling next to an injured man in their military colors. Cole’s heart sank. He knew that yellow arm band.
Cole beat Roney to Wood’s side. Roney whipped a lightweight blanket off his horse and dropped to his knees next to the ensign. He wrapped the rough green fabric around Wood’s shoulder, pulling the ensign’s dangling arm back to his chest. Wood sucked in a ragged breath, and Cole couldn’t bury his surprise to see the soldier was still alive, let alone conscious.
Cole knelt next to him and grimaced when he realized he was kneeling on a disembodied hand. He swallowed hard, knowing that there was no way Wood would survive his injury. Not this far from the Garrison. Not without any mani-med. He grasped Wood’s uninjured shoulder. “Hang in there, we’ll get you fixed up.”
Wood’s face was paper white as he clutched at his nearly severed arm, shivering despite the blanket. “We were … overwhelmed.” His voice was weak and raspy, and Cole leaned in to hear him better. “They got Captain Stevens … you weren’t … back … yet. They thought … I was dead.”
