“The road looks clear,” Astrid remarked as she rode beside Merg and George. A group of fifty Dregs rode behind them, composed of a mix of woods people and Civil Guard. It was getting harder to tell the difference between the two.
“Clear of snow and goat-cocks,” Merg declared.
“Is that the name we’re going for?” Astrid asked.
“It does seem a bit awkward,” Merg said. “But I think Gormer is right. Asshole is overused and calling them that insults that very useful orifice.”
Astrid reined in the laughter that threatened to dump her off her horse. “I didn’t know you had such a way with words.”
“Just call them ‘the enemy,’” George growled. “Because that’s what they are.”
“Oh, calm down,” Merg replied.
“This is serious business,” George shot back.
Astrid jumped in to defuse the argument. “No sign of the enemy,” she said. “But since the recent chaos, we haven’t had as many sentries on the road.”
“Yeah,” George added. “How would we know where the enemy is? We’re short on Civil Guard. Quite a few quit and went over to the other side.”
“Hopefully Pleth will get a handle on how many we’ve actually lost,” Astrid replied as they drew near the keep.
The familiar sight of the alehouse with its chimney billowing smoke greeted them as they approached the gates.
The call to halt and be recognized came from a wary guard, but he realized it was Astrid before she had the chance to reply.
“Welcome to Keep 52,” the guard exclaimed.
She was pleased to see a woods person doing the job of a Civil Guard. They had captured the keep about a month ago, and so far it had been a model of cooperation between those once considered bandits and the people who had been tasked with arresting them.
The man largely responsible for this ran into the courtyard as Astrid dismounted.
Woody looked both happy and harried. “Astrid!” he exclaimed, giving her a bracing hug. He gave the same embrace to Merg, but for his longtime friend George he imbued the affection with extra violence. The two men pounded each other on the back and beamed while they gripped each other’s arms.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Woody exclaimed. “I know there’s some bad shit going on, but…man, I missed you all.”
“I feel the same way,” Astrid admitted. She hadn’t realized it until she saw him again. They’d been through a great deal in a very short time.
Recent events had uncovered Woody’s leadership talents and he had become indispensable at the keep.
“I never had the chance to thank you properly for your part in my rescue,” Astrid said.
Woody’s face grew serious for a moment and there was an awkward pause before he put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Well, are you going to thank me?” Astrid looked confused for a moment. “Oh, that was the thanks.”
“Horse’s ass,” Astrid said, and stepped in and gave him a solid slug on the shoulder.
“Come on into my office—” Woody began.
George snorted and Woody shot him a look.
“You have an office.” George couldn’t resist. “You push papers…”
Woody rounded on him with fists clenched at his sides.
“Boys!” Merg barked.
George and Woody flinched to a stop. The face-off lasted a couple of seconds before George cleared his throat and said, “I’m sure it’s a nice office.”
Woody turned on his heel. As they walked, he said, “Vinnie is safe. He sent word. The caves took some damage from a raid.”
To Astrid’s surprise, they veered away from the stone and marble administration building and headed to a collection of heavy tents. The tents were set up between the admin building and the warehouses.
Woody pushed open the flap of the largest tent. “Well, hurry in. You’ll let all the heat out.”
They filed in and looked around. The tent must have been a twenty-five-foot square, but nearly every inch was taken up by long tables with papers, weapons, scrolls, ledgers, and reports.
There were very few chairs. A narrow wood-framed cot sat not too far from the small but effective wood stove that kept the tent warm.
George stood in the middle of the tent and looked around. “I recognize that arrow hole,” he remarked, pointing to the wall opposite the main entrance.
“That’s right,” Woody said proudly. “We shared much loot and beet wine in here.”
“You had your tent brought in from the Eastern Ridge?” Merg marveled.
“We had some extra labor just after we captured this place, so I asked some of our people to bring it here. I just had to set it up when Astrid put me in charge.”
“A good move,” George said, looking around with a huge smile. “It is a nice office.”
“You didn’t want to work in the admin building?” Astrid wondered.
Astrid looked around the table-crammed space and was about to say something snarky when the flap opened.
A short broad man with a bushy beard stepped through. Astrid could tell right away that he was not from there.
He wore an expensive-looking green cloak over light armor that consisted of an upper chest piece and shiny chain mail that draped over a narrow waist. The armor featured a strange steel collar that covered his neck.
What he lacked in height he made up for in bulk. Even under the cloak the bulge of biceps was apparent.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the man said.
“No,” Woody said, and flashed the man a smile that told Astrid the man was all right. Woody didn’t like many people. He was hard to win over. “Astrid, this is Jiri Petran—”
“Petran?” Astrid exclaimed in surprise.
“Of the Petran Protectorate,” Jiri confirmed with a slight bow.
“What brings you to Keep 52?” Astrid asked, and instantly regretted it.
A look of surprise crossed Jiri’s face for a moment. “Well, I was on my way to call on you for our official visit. I’m so glad to run into you here informally.”
Astrid had forgotten that she was to meet with Jiri tomorrow at the fortress to discuss official business. Her question made that painfully obvious, but his reply had allowed her to save face and she took the opportunity. She was already starting to like him, but she had to be careful.
“I was just about to give Protector Astrid my report,” Woody said. Astrid winced visibly at the title, but she supposed it was necessary to keep up appearances. “We can start with what happened to you on the way here.”
Woody moved to a table that was large enough to accommodate them all. He scooped up scrolls and papers and dumped them on another table.
“I need a rake to organize all this shit,” he grumbled.
Before he sat, he brought over a cutting board with a sizable wedge of cheese on it.
“Great idea,” Jiri exclaimed. He cut several pieces from the wedge and handed them around. “The finest product of my land.”
“He brought a hundred pounds of it,” Woody exclaimed. “Half a wheel!” He could hardly contain himself. Woody had a thing for cheese. He’d almost murdered Gormer when the man had stolen some of his personal stash.
Astrid took a bite, and to Jiri’s great pleasure had to agree. “This is delicious. Firm, and just sharp enough.”
“Winter cheese,” Jiri explained. “Hearty.”
“So tell me,” Astrid began, “what happened to you on the way here.”
Jiri paused for a moment and looked up at the tent ceiling in that way people did when they were choosing words carefully. “Don’t mince words. I appreciate directness.”
Jiri sighed. “Of course. Relations between Petran and the Lungu—ah, this Protectorate have long been touchy at best and contentious at worst.”
“I don’t take offense easily,” Astrid said. “I’ll tell you again: don’t hold back.”
Jiri nodded and came out with it. “We fought with a Mover and a small pa
trol on the road. I knew the man…Lieutenant Morgon was his name. He…took offense that I was on my way to you for an official visit.” Astrid cocked her head and Jiri laughed. “It’s a long story, but Morgon and I have history. I’ve bested him in several non-fatal blood disputes, the lowest order of conflict resolution among people of my rank.”
“Basically a boxing match,” Woody said. “It’s one of the few things I respect about the magic users.” Jiri smirked and raised an eyebrow and Woody cleared his throat. “No offense.”
“I understand,” Jiri said. “It seems that things are changing, and people like Morgon have trouble accepting that change. This morning I gave him yet another lesson.”
Woody laughed and slapped the table. “You gave her the soft version,” he exclaimed. “I sent out an escort to meet him, Astrid. He reported that this guy,” Woody stabbed his finger at Jiri, “and eight of his soldiers kicked the living shit out of twenty guys, including a Mover.”
Jiri cleared his throat. “Only seventeen on the other side, actually,” he corrected in polite tones. His tight smile betrayed the modest correction.
“No deaths?” Astrid asked.
“Broken bones,” he replied, cracking the knuckles on his broad hands. “We’ve been fighting each other for a long time. It’s almost a ritual.”
“It is a ritual,” George said. “I’ve seen your type in action.”
“I suppose so,” Jiri said. “But I will be direct, and you can do with this what you will.” Jiri stood up from the table. “In the name of my father, Protector Norvic Petran, I offer allegiance to you as the new Protector.”
To Astrid’s surprise, Jiri drew a jeweled dagger from his belt and cut his palm. He walked over to the stove, where he opened the door and placed his hand inside for a second. When he withdrew the hand, it was covered in flames.
“Fire magic,” Astrid said. “You should meet this friend of mine—”
“I pledge by blood and fire,” Jiri continued.
“Oh shit,” Woody said. “That’s serious.”
“Of course,” Jiri replied with a smile. He made a fist, and the fire that covered his skin went out. “My father and I have waited a long time for there to be a change for the better. We believe you represent that change, Astrid.”
“I look forward to working with you,” Astrid told him with a reserved smile.
Jiri studied her for a moment. “Of course. I’ll go see to my fighters. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
With that, Jiri left the tent with his green cloak flowing behind him.
Astrid looked at Merg and glanced at the tent flap and her guard jumped up and slipped outside for a few seconds.
“He’s headed back to the big building,” Merg reported.
Woody chuckled. “Afraid he’d be listening outside?”
“Yes,” Astrid replied flatly. “Do you trust this guy?”
“Do I trust people in general?” Woody asked with a wry smile.
Astrid gave him a sharp look. “You trust me, right? Compared to me, how much do you trust him.?”
Woody considered this for a moment. “Half.”
Astrid missed having a mind reader around, but she couldn’t take Gormer everywhere.
“I’ve got people on him,” Woody replied, then launched into his report. “We’re spread thin here and we could use his help. My tribe, George’s tribe, and some of Sally’s people are still around.
Astrid sighed. “We lost half the Civil Guard throughout the Protectorate. A lot of them flat-out quit, and we think a good number of those went over to the other side.” Then Astrid remembered the troops who had once belonged to the late First Lieutenant Raluca. “What about Raluca’s people?” she asked.
“You mean the former Movers and soldiers under the command of the first lieutenant you killed in a duel? Those people?”
“I take it you don’t trust them?”
“About as far as I can throw them,” Woody replied.
“Let’s start building trust with them. Put them on patrols with some of your people. We’ll test them slowly.”
Woody didn’t look like he liked that idea, but he agreed anyway.
“Well,” Merg said. She squinted at Astrid from across the table. “I guess you don’t need to go rushing off on a mission to find Vinnie now.”
“I guess not,” Astrid leaned back in your chair and Merg kept squinting. “I want you to send up to the caves for Moxy. We need her here.” Then Astrid thought back to Merg’s pointed comment. “What? You didn’t think we needed to go find Vinnie?”
“The big man can take care of himself. But more importantly, you’re out of the fortress,” Merg said, breaking into a smile.
“Am I that transparent?” Astrid replied with a smile of her own.
“Yes,” Merg replied. “To me, anyway. Thanks for getting us back into the woods.”
“I had to get out of that place,” Astrid said. “I left it in good hands.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
What Strange Things are These?
Vinnie brought all the gems he had gathered into the working chambers of the caves. Several caverns were used for making weapons, tanning hides, smithing, and many other industrial purposes.
One of the smaller caverns was given to Vinnie so he could set up a workshop that produced crossbows of his own design. Just weeks ago those crossbows had been instrumental in the battle for Keep 52.
The weapons featured a charging lever that the user could operate from a standing position. The lever drew back the bow and allowed loading and firing the weapon at twice the speed of an ordinary crossbow.
He turned one of the weapons over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. It differed from his original design; this model was much better. It still followed the basic features he had implemented, but the woods people had improved it.
He smiled and set the weapon down carefully on a small table against the wall away from the main benches.
He laid all the gems out in three neat lines in order of size. The stones were light green in color; different from the clear stones embedded in the walls of the rest of the cave.
Vinnie paced around the table with a fountain pen and a parchment notebook. He drew sketches of the stones and described them in excruciating detail until he was satisfied.
“How do I approach you, my friends?” he asked them. “What are you?” He picked up a fist-sized stone. “At first look, you are an ordinary emerald of the pale-green variety.
He brought the gem closer to his eyes, then set it down on the bench. He pulled a magnifying glass from his backpack and looked closer.
Except for its size, the stone could not have looked more ordinary. Back home just one such stone would make him a rich man.
He placed the emerald in his left hand and his eyes turned black as he summoned light to shine from his palm.
Vinnie gasped. He felt the magic move from his hand into the stone, which began to vibrate.
He let that go on for a few seconds, then set the stone down back in the neat row. Its color had changed to deep green and it glowed with a rich light. Three other stones around it pulsed, then glowed dimly.
“What in the world? They store magical energy.”
Vinnie snapped his fingers as an idea came to him. He went down the lines and pushed all the stones together so that each touched the next.
Starting with the smallest stone, he reached out his index finger and made it glow. Once again he felt the energy move from his finger into the stone. One by one, the emeralds turned deep green and gave off light.
But with each stone that lit up, more energy left him. He tried to pull his hand back but found he couldn’t. It was locked in place.
“Huh,” he mused. “Interesting.” He pulled harder, but still his hand would not obey him. “Ah, OK, friends. Stop please.”
He wasn’t sure why he was talking to them—they were just rocks—but they drained him faster and faster until he felt light-hea
ded.
He was only able to extract himself by a force of will that shut off the magic.
“Never tried to stop using magic before. That was interesting.”
The massive transfer of magic made him feel weak and tired, more so than displacing a tunnel through solid rock.
“What are you, my friends?” Vinnie asked as he bent down low over the stones. Their glow pulsed up and down the line as if a wave had passed through them.
On a whim, Vinnie pulled out one of the stones at random. The wave stopped before the missing stone. The gem before the gap pulsed brighter, and the wave went back the other way. Soon all the stones glowed evenly.
That was when he noticed the one in his hand glowed slightly brighter.
“Talking to yourself now?” Moxy’s musical voice filled the cavern.
“No, I was talking to my new friends here.”
“Even worse,” Moxy said. Vinnie tossed her a gem and Moxy caught it, then held it up close to her nose. “It sure is a pretty thing.”
“They are,” Tarkon said, coming out of the shadowy passage. “It’s obvious that the fucknuggets who attacked us were after these, but why?”
“It appears that these things can absorb magical energy. I suspect one of these was inside the weapon that… I never saw who hit me.”
“I did,” Moxy said. Her claws extended involuntarily. “It was a woman. If I ever see her again I’m going to gut her like a pig.”
“If we see her again,” Vinnie said, “I would ask you to refrain from killing her until she answers some questions.”
“OK,” Moxy said. “She talks, then I kill her.”
Tarkon laughed and gave Moxy a kiss. “That’s my Pixie.”
“Yours?” Moxy asked with a hand on her hip.
“Just an expression,” Tarkon said. “Isn’t it?”
Vinnie tossed the Forge Monk a stone and it instantly glowed brighter. Tarkon dropped it and jumped backward.
“It pulled magic from me,” he gasped.
“What were you thinking at that moment?” Vinnie asked, and Tarkon hesitated. “Be forthcoming. It’s important.”
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