“Coward!” the Mover screamed. She drew both hands up from her waist and thrust them out, palms forward.
She had been saving her energy for close-contact hits. Now she was angry, and risked the entire fight on a single all-out attack.
Astrid dropped to one knee and braced herself, and the telekinetic blast broke over her like a heavy sea. A blue flash blinded her, and her skin crackled with blue static. Her ears rang, but she was still in place.
That was new and different, Astrid thought as she slowly rose. The shockwave had blown books from shelves and knocked the other guard to the ground.
“Impossible…” the Mover sputtered. Saving her energy had been smart, but the strategy had failed her.
“Guess not,” Astrid said with a shrug.
Three punches and one kick to the head later, the second Mover was down and out forever. She knocked out the other guards after taking their swords away. They’d had the good sense to not fight back too hard. They were low-level, poorly-trained soldiers, so killing them would have been easy.
They’d be prisoners soon.
She didn’t spare any more words on the jailer. She just went over to where he still lay on the floor and snapped his neck.
She turned toward the wheezing man she’d tackled. He had propped himself up against a couch, and blood was trickling down his chin. He coughed twice and blood spattered the gold embroidery of his tunic.
By process of elimination, she knew exactly who he was. “So you’re Rupert Danut. You invited some very bad company into your home, Rupert.” She gestured to the dead Movers. “Those fools were about to get you into some serious trouble.”
“Queen Bitch curse you, whore,” Rupert spat. “I will avenge Protector Lungu. You are a usurper, unworthy to take his place. Those who follow the ways of the Matriarch and Patriarch will defeat you.”
Astrid arched an eyebrow and shook her head. While she was growing up she had heard the worn-out legends of the Matriarch and Patriarch, but she’d never put much stock in them. She was sure of one thing, though—in all her travels, she had never heard their legends used to justify terrible behavior like this.
Astrid’s Order followed the words of Ezekiel the Prophet as taught by his many faithful disciples. The teachings of those wise people had revealed the secrets of the Well to her great-grandfather.
She found this man’s words to be very confusing indeed. It sounded as if he believed that he and Lungu followed the path of the gods. This was the first time she had encountered beliefs like his since coming to the Protectorate.
“I don’t know much about the Matriarch and Patriarch, but I’m pretty damn sure they wouldn’t approve of you acting like an asshole in their names.”
She paused to let that sink in, then told him, “I’m not going to kill you. Why would I? Besides the fact that you’re extremely rude, that is. You’re unarmed, wounded, and weak, so you’re no threat to me. You’re defeated.” The man looked confused. “I’m not like Lungu,” Astrid explained. “I give people a chance to do the right thing. I have a Code.”
Rupert just shook his head. “Your Code is weak. Only strength makes one worthy of the Protector’s Office. The strong hold sway over the weak. That is the way, according to the Matriarch and Patriarch.”
Astrid sighed. She just didn’t know how to address such perverse and misguided notions. “Well, I’m certainly stronger than you. Like it or not, I’m the Protector now. Maybe you should just do what I tell you.” She smirked.
“Your Code didn’t prevent you from killing two honorable mages,” Rupert lamented.
“Those two died because they didn’t know when to quit. They could have killed me! You and those two sleepy-heads over there?” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Not so much.”
Rupert just sat there with glassy eyes, and Astrid sighed. “I’ll send a medic for you,” she promised. “Be good. Don’t go anywhere. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
She took three running steps and dove through the window.
She spread her arms like useless wings. The drop was far enough for her to have long and detailed thoughts about gravity and inertia.
She didn’t quite understand why she had jumped, but she knew she would survive the fall. Time seemed to slow, and the air rushing around her face felt like strong water currents. She spread her fingers and moved her hands to make little adjustments in her trajectory.
But her flight was too brief to complete the strange thought.
She had lined up on the slate roof of a carriage house, and another flash of blue light nearly blinded her when she crashed through it. She rolled as she hit the straw-covered floor and hopped up to the sound of screaming horses.
“Shit!” she exclaimed. “Sorry, horses!” OK, Astrid, she scolded herself, no more impulsive moves like that one.
She kicked open the heavy stable doors and ran into the courtyard.
Somebody had apparently raised the alarm, since nearly a hundred guards were rushing around the area frantically. Many of them still wore portions of their Civil Guard uniforms.
Astrid was about to take cover when the ground rumbled, then shook. Buildings swayed, and everyone paused in shocked silence.
“Earthquake!” someone screamed.
“Nope,” Astrid declared to nobody in particular. A huge smile spread across her face. “It’s Vinnie. Just in time, too.”
She turned toward the massive wooden compound gates just in time to see them explode into splinters when four hundred and fifty pounds of scientist-mage burst through.
He batted crossbow bolts from the air like annoying flies, and more bolts bounced off his immense belly. Astrid knew he didn’t have long; his magic made his flesh harder than stone for a few minutes, but after that he was as vulnerable as anyone.
The Forge Monk Tarkon ran up beside Vinnie. He pulled his pistols from their holsters and there were deafening reports as he conjured explosions in the onion-shaped chambers at the ends of his weapons to drive hot steel. His simultaneous shots shredded two charging guards.
Vinnie waded into the rush of guards, punching, kicking, and throwing men around as if they were ragdolls. Behind him, Astrid’s army streamed through the broken gates and quickly outnumbered the defenders.
“Surrender now!” Astrid shouted, using the Well to enhance her voice. “You don’t have to die for a shitty job. The choice is yours!”
The defenders found themselves outnumbered twice over. A few more crossbows fired, then the clatter of swords hitting the ground rang throughout the courtyard.
“Damn,” Astrid declared, “it’s nice to have an army.”
CHAPTER TWO
High in Lungu Fortress
After a good night’s rest, Astrid awoke mid-morning to bright sunlight filling the room. The night before she had drawn much energy from the Well, and while the Well might be an infinite source, her body was not.
She needed food.
Astrid pulled herself from beneath the furs and blankets she’d thrown on the polished black marble floor. She preferred to sleep on a hard surface, and she absolutely refused to use Lungu’s bed.
Even with new linens and blankets, she couldn’t bring herself to sleep where that man had once laid his head. She had only taken his chamber at the insistence of Vinnie, who had urged her to keep up appearances.
“You killed the Protector,” Vinnie had said, “which makes you the Protector. You have to own it, and that means owning all the Protector’s stuff—including his private chambers.”
That had been three weeks ago. She’d done what he asked, and now it was time for a change.
With a yawn and a stretch, she turned toward the massive arched window that looked out over Lake Bicaz and the sprawling fortress wards below. Hundreds of two and three-story buildings puffed smoke from stone chimneys as residents woke to greet the day.
The streets were already busy with horse-drawn wagons delivering goods to the many shops. Here and there people pushed carts do
or-to-door, dropping off milk and groceries.
“A whole city down there,” Astrid observed to herself. Her remark seemed to get lost before it reached in the vaulted ceiling sixteen feet above.
She turned her head at the sound of the chamber door opening and smiled at the slight young man who wheeled in her breakfast cart.
“Hello, Tomas!” The boy froze. Astrid tried not to frown as she continued. “That smells delicious, thank you.” She’d been working on him and the other servants for weeks, but they still cowered, stumbled, and stammered around her. It made her sad and angry at the system that had done this to them.
“Yes, Protect— I mean, Astrid,” Tomas replied in a monotone. Using her first name seemed to pain him physically.
Astrid did allow herself to frown then. Tomas braced himself.
“OK, Tomas,” Astrid shifted into a resolved, yet reserved grin, “I’ve had enough.” She walked over to the cart and whipped the metal dome from a tray. Even as ravenous as Astrid was, there was enough food there for four people. She surveyed sausage, eggs, bacon, ham, toast, and apples. She shook her head. Too much, yet not enough, she thought.
“Is…is it to your liking, Astrid?” Tomas asked in a quavering voice.
“Yes. Yes, it is,” she replied firmly. “Perfect as usual. I want you to go right now and get your partners—all the chamber servants.” There were four, including Tomas. “Bring them here right away.” Tomas froze.
If they’re used to stern, Astrid thought, I’ll give them stern. “Now, Tomas,” Astrid ordered.
Astrid waited until Tomas had rushed through the antechamber and out into the wide hallway, then wheeled the cart out of the bedroom and toward a table under a massive window.
She shook her head. “Big enough for a dozen people,” she observed aloud. “But only one chair.”
She almost felt pity for the late Protector. He must have been a lonely creature, she thought. It took her a few minutes to gather four more chairs from around the Protector’s suite.
She’d just arranged the chairs when Tomas arrived with the other three servants; another boy and two girls.
“Come here,” Astrid commanded. They obeyed and stood in a perfectly straight line. “Sit down.” They looked at each other. “Do as I say, now.” She ordered, letting her voice soften. They sat down before the food.
Their eyes widened when Astrid put plates in front of them and started to serve them.
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” one of the girls exclaimed. “Is this some kind of punishment? What are you doing?”
Astrid finished distributing the food, then stepped back. It was obvious they were accustomed to cruel tricks and head games. That made her sad beyond words. Astrid put a hand on her hip and looked up at the ceiling while she considered her words.
“You know what this is?” came her reply. “This is too little, too late.”
“I don’t understand,” Tomas said, near tears.
They all sat there and waited for her to do something terrible.
“I should have done this weeks ago,” Astrid explained. “You have my deepest apology. I’ve not been true to a very important principle. I want you to listen carefully to part of my code: Always honor and serve those who serve under you.”
Astrid pulled up a chair and sat with them. The oldest couldn’t have been more than fourteen. She fixed a plate for herself and waited.
“You’re not a servant,” one of the girls said.
Astrid was glad the girl challenged her, since that implied progress. “Well, sure I am. Everyone serves someone. But you say that like it’s a bad thing. I just serve differently than you. Right now, I’m asking you to prepare food and bring it to me because I don’t really have the time to do that for myself. Your work is valuable to me, and I thank you for it. Because of you, I don’t have to think about my next meal. I have the luxury and privilege of clean sheets and a tidy living space. You make that possible.”
Tomas scoffed. “But I could never serve as a warrior like you.” He folded his arms across his chest and glared.
“Well, Tomas,” Astrid said. “Why not? You’ve shown courage by speaking your mind.”
His eyes fell to his plate, then he began eating. Astrid didn’t move for fear she would disturb them. She watched as they took tentative bites and blinked back the mist in her eyes. They got past their fear.
It was wonderful to see them eat.
When she was sure they were off to a good start, Astrid joined them. At first they cast anxious eyes her way, but in the end, good food won the day.
“Ahem,” a soft voice came said over her shoulder. The youngsters didn’t notice.
Astrid turned to see Vinnie’s round, rosy-cheeked face with his pointed beard and handlebar mustache. He was peeking through the cracked-open double doors.
Astrid excused herself with the gentle command for the attendants to finish their breakfast, then continue with their workday.
“Come on in,” Astrid offered as she came to the door.
“Don’t want to disturb you all,” the big man replied, “even though there’s food involved…”
Astrid smiled and replied, “I’m still in my nightclothes.” She gestured at the soft undyed loose cloth of her tunic and pants.
“Better get into your official garb,” Vinnie replied with a note of friendly sarcasm, then his voice grew serious. “We have work to do.”
Back in the bedchamber, Astrid threw on wool tights and another tunic that were not much different than her sleeping clothes. She slipped on her studded leather top, bracers, leather pants and the trusty calf-high boots that had seen many seasons.
They were more repairs than boots, but she was extremely fond of them. They’d preserved her toes for three winters in the wilderness.
“There,” she declared as she looked in the mirror. “That’s my ‘official garb.’”
She and Vinnie left the Protector’s suite and were met by George and Merg, who had become the leaders of Astrid’s personal security.
“Here’s my palace guard,” Astrid teased.
Where George was tall and lean, Merg was short and round. They’d met in battle, and had been together ever since.
She was happy for them, and also a bit relieved. After he’d found Merg, George seemed to have abandoned the massive crush he’d had on Astrid.
They headed down a curved stone staircase that spilled them out into a wide hallway.
Merg wore two swords on her broad hips and casually plowed through the crowd that closed in on them. The throng shouted questions with what sounded like a single chaotic voice. Many of the rabble were administrators in the former Protector’s service, who required guidance and orders.
She stopped in their midst and shouted, “Please! I’ll get to you all. I just need your patience.”
“When?” someone shouted. Astrid recognized him as the new Commissioner of Keep 17. “I have urgent business that needs answers!”
On the one hand, Astrid took pride in being an accessible leader. On the other hand, she had never wanted to be the leader of what amounted to a small nation.
Her hands were full.
If she’d had two more hands, she could have held the buckets of shit that her good deed had left behind. As it was, all she could do was juggle the tasks.
The heavy, ornate doors closed behind her, turning the cacophony into a dim murmur.
“Lungu was a sadist and a masochist,” Astrid mused as she moved over to the desk where stacks of paper were piled. “The sonofabitch kept his living quarters right upstairs from his business chambers.”
Behind the piles of parchment hid a familiar face. Gormer leaned back in the office chair with his feet propped up on the desk while he chomped down on an apple.
“Hey, boss!” Gormer said with a Cheshire cat grin. His full mouth caused the glib greeting to come out in hissing, slushy tones.
“Yeah,” Astrid said, placing fists on hips. “If you want to sit in that chair,
you’re welcome to all the work that comes with it.” Gormer hopped up immediately. “Didn’t think so,” Astrid grumbled.
She smiled despite herself. Gormer, an ex-grifter and mental magician, always had that effect on her. He was as annoying as a saddle-sore, but somehow managed to be amusing. She often wondered if his wiseass comedian routine was subconsciously part of his magic.
“I definitely don’t want the job,” Gormer replied.
“Oh, shit,” Astrid exclaimed. “You’re up to something. I can tell by that damn look on your face.”
“I thought it was the tone of my voice that gave that kind of stuff away,” Gormer replied.
“That, too.” Astrid sighed. “But let’s hear it.”
“Pleth,” Gormer declared. “Let Pleth be your surrogate.” Astrid blinked rapidly. “What, he hasn’t earned your trust?”
Astrid gaped at the question. Pleth was a former Assessor whose job had been to squeeze tribute out of the villages of the Eastern District. He had once been a despicable, selfish man. Once.
But in the past few months, after receiving the most generous bequests of mercy and forgiveness that Astrid and the Village of Argan had ever shown, Pleth had turned himself around.
She’d rarely seen anyone rise to the occasion like Pleth had. He and Gormer had been instrumental in saving Astrid from the hangman’s noose.
“He’s a friend,” Astrid said. “It’s a really great idea, but—”
“Why the hesitation?” Gormer demanded.
Astrid sighed again. So many things ran through her mind, and she latched onto the one that seemed most relevant. “Too much, too fast. It’s not a matter of trust; it feels too close to his old life. I don’t think it’s right to put him in that kind of situation. He’s already done so much.”
“Power corrupts,” Vinnie interjected. “He might backslide.”
“That’s my concern,” Astrid agreed. “Why put that kind of stress on him?”
A flash of anger crossed Gormer’s face, then he relaxed and smiled. He pushed aside a stack of papers and leaned on the edge of the desk. “You saw my anger just then?” Astrid nodded. “It’s because I’ve seen his heart. Doubting him pisses me off. I’ve been in his head. Forced my way in, in fact.” Gormer stopped short of mentioning that the forced mind intrusion had been necessary to save Astrid’s life. “You told me once that I’d believe in myself when I needed to. You took a chance. I came through.”
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