Catalyst Moon: Breach (Catalyst Moon Saga Book 2)

by Lauren L. Garcia

  He swallowed.

  Without another word, Talon turned on her heels and stalked through the interior gates, making her way back to the garrison. Early though it was, the city was beginning to bustle. Travelers—frips and dregs alike—stepped out of her way and the city guards saluted as she strode by, though she didn't give any of them so much as a nod.

  No more hematite. Even if Gossan’s squad rode at a full gallop, it would take several days—at least—for them to reach Lasath, and probably another week or so for a second shipment to be arranged from Stonehaven Province, nearly three weeks journey from Whitewater City. All of that assuming there were no complications or delays anywhere along the chain. Perhaps, if Argent's own garrison in Silverwood Province was well-enough equipped, he could send some hematite along to hold them over, but she had no way of knowing the state of his vault. She could always beg the Circle again to send more, but they had not been receptive to her last request about a fortnight ago. Her follow-up messages to the highest-ranking Circle priest in the city had kindly advised her to speak to her commanding officer—Argent—or simply gone unanswered. No, she could not hope the Circle would come through for her sentinels any time soon.

  Best-case scenario, it could be a fortnight before any more hematite arrived. Talon's steps quickened. She'd have to stop by the vault and get a clearer idea of exactly how much trouble they were actually in.

  ***

  A great deal, as it turned out. Beneath the flickering sconces on either side of the door, Talon stood at the center of the vault that held the garrison's stores of the precious metal and surveyed the empty shelves. Only one shelf held a wooden trunk with iron and hematite latches, the twin triangular symbol of the sentinels burned on the exterior. Within the trunk were thirteen vials of hematite chips.

  As of a fortnight ago, when she'd brought in Gray and the new sergeant, the garrison now boasted eighty-seven sentinels.

  Heaviness settled over her shoulders, dragged her arms, and turned her bones to lead. Eighty-seven.

  Some said it was a sentinel's curse to feel the press of time more keenly than those who lived without the burn, but Talon had always welcomed the sharpness, the urgency. A lack of time made her steps quick and her mind quicker.

  But in this moment, she would have given almost anything for another spare day – even an hour.

  “Commander?” Cobalt stood just outside the door, back straight, helmet tucked beneath his arm. He would have been the picture of a perfect officer had his pale eyes not darted through the room, landing, like hers, upon the single trunk. When Talon turned to him, he straightened further—how he managed such a feat, she could never determine—and reoriented his gaze upon the wall over her shoulder.

  She stepped toward him, enough to make him move further into the stone corridor as she locked the vault door. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Forgive the interruption, ser, but Sergeant Stonewall's squad returned last night. Everyone's assembled in the common room, as you requested.” Cobalt cleared his throat. “Another induction?”

  “They are protocol, are they not?”

  “Yes, ser, of course,” he replied quickly. “But… well, we just had Gray’s a couple of weeks ago. And the new sergeant’s squad did just return from a long mission. They could use some rest.”

  Talon frowned. “Protocol is protocol. They can rest later.”

  “Ser.” Cobalt nodded and glanced at the locked door again. There was a question in his gaze, but the rest of his face remained blandly neutral as ever.

  Talon began to hurry down the corridor, the captain at her heels. “I've something urgent to attend to, but I'll be there in a few minutes.”

  He nodded, and then shot a careful glance her way. “Mica heard the gate guards talking…. Is it true the shipment was stolen?”

  Already? Bad news flew on rapid wings. Talon ignored the question. “Why was Mica gossiping with city guards?”

  “He's off-duty this morning and has a few friends among them.” Cobalt's voice sharpened; she heard the urgency behind his words. “Ser… is it true?”

  The corridor swept them past the garrison's hematite-embedded cells. All were empty. Talon prayed they would stay that way. She paused when they reached the door that led to the main body of the garrison. With the cells empty, there were no guards on duty, so she and her captain were alone. Behind the wooden door, reinforced with hematite and iron, she could hear nothing; the other sentinels were all waiting for her. So many counted on her. Would she fail them?

  She met Cobalt's eyes. “Aye, it's true.”

  His breath caught. “Ea's tits and teeth.”

  “Indeed,” she replied dryly. “Apparently a band of Sufani rabble was enough to overtake and rob an entire squad.” She considered Sergeant Gossan’s report and grimaced. “But they weren’t working alone; a wild mage assisted them. Though what a mage would want with hematite is beyond me.”

  She made a mental note to warn the city guards that they might have an outbreak of ruthless on their hands. Most non-sentinels knew better than to ingest hematite recreationally, but people could be stupid; most often, any stolen purified hematite ore was sold as a drug called “ruthless.” Talon knew too well how addictive the rush of power and strength that hematite provided could be. Ruthless, indeed.

  “A wild mage.” Cobalt frowned. “Thought we’d rooted out the last of those vermin in this province.”

  “Apparently not.”

  The captain squared his shoulders. “We’ll find the renegade mage, ser. In the meantime, how much hematite do we have left?”

  Though he was not the most charismatic man in the province, Cobalt was a fine second-in-command; he assessed the situation at all angles, discarded what he could not currently quantify, and moved the talk forward in order to find a way to proceed.

  Nevertheless, none of the weight left Talon's shoulders, and a familiar, nagging sense of deprivation began to worry at her. How long had it been since her last burn? “Thirteen full doses.”

  He nodded. “The burnies can go without for another few months at least. We can divvy the rest up between the cinders until…” Here, he paused and regarded her, a question in his eyes.

  “Aye, I must alert Argent at once, so I'll be a few more minutes.”

  “Understood.” He reached for the door, then paused. “What should I tell them, ser?”

  Nothing. Everything. It didn't matter; the end result would be the same. “Nothing, for now. I'll brief everyone shortly.”

  He did not reply, only frowned thoughtfully. Talon bit back her impatience; he was not a man prone to idle fancies. But still. “What is it?” she asked when he did not speak.

  “Is that… wise, ser?” he asked slowly. “Won't it cause a stir? Shouldn’t we keep them in the dark unless absolutely necessary?”

  This, at least, was an easy answer to come by. “Secrets have a way of coming out eventually,” she said, nodding to the door. “It's best to keep them to a minimum.”

  ***

  Barely three hours after Stonewall and his squad arrived back at the Whitewater garrison, he found himself standing with the others in the sentinels' common area, fighting back a relentless assault of yawns. Stonewall's squad waited at the edge of the room, near the door to the scullery, though Stonewall himself stood a little apart from those under his command, more so than any of the other officers. The air was stuffy from the presence of the eighty-odd sentinels who called the garrison home; many of them, Stonewall and his squad included, had not bathed recently, so the air was stale and sour. His burning side and rumbling stomach added to his discomfort, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into his rack for eight, ten, or twelve hours.

  He was not alone in this feeling.

  “What in the blazing void was the point of Cobalt rushing us all out of bed just to fucking stand here?” Flint muttered behind him. “Bad enough we've been gone nearly a fortnight and have bastion pat
rol later today. Why couldn't he have just let us sleep? And for that matter, why aren't we in the training yard? You lot stink.”

  Beacon sighed. “Well said, burnie.”

  “Shut up, frip.”

  “What? I was serious!”

  “You're never serious. About anything.”

  “Oh?” Beacon scoffed even as he gripped his right wrist, where Stonewall knew a third tier mark rested above his sentinel mark. “Say that to me next time you're bleeding from your gut and need me to save your sorry ass. And don't call me a frip.”

  “If you don't want me to call you a frip,” Flint replied darkly. “Don't walk around with your nose stuck in the air.”

  Beacon's reply was equally acerbic. “Our past lives don't matter here. We're all in this together. We're on the same side!”

  “Easy for you to say,” Flint shot back.

  Rook groaned. “Ea's tits, it's too early for your bickering.”

  “He started it,” Flint shot back, just as Beacon accused her of the same.

  Around them, the other sentinels cast looks toward the squad. Some merely rolled their eyes; others frowned in disapproval; a few nudged their neighbors, whispering words Stonewall could not make out. Nevertheless, he felt their gazes shift to him, and rightly so. He was the squad leader. It was his duty to keep his sentinels in line.

  So he tried. He gave them his best glower, though neither seemed impressed. “Hopefully whatever this is will be over soon, and we'll be able to go back to sleep. In the meantime… shut it. Or else.”

  Beacon and Flint each faced forward, though the young woman muttered, “Or else, what?”

  “For Tor’s sake, just be quiet,” Stonewall hissed.

  Uneasy silence followed, until Milo murmured, “Flint, I'm sure the commander had a reason for ordering us to gather in here.”

  “Hopefully not another induction,” Beacon replied softly. “Gray’s took forever.”

  Rook groaned. “Ea’s tits, an induction. I’m sure that’s what this is. She loves ‘em.”

  “Oh, gods above, please, no,” Flint muttered. “Who’s it for? And why does she do inductions at all? No one bothers with them anymore.”

  “So worldly, yet so young,” Beacon replied in a wry voice.

  Flint glared at him. “Shut it, frip.”

  “I told you, don’t–”

  Here we go again. Stonewall gritted his teeth. “All of you, sodding behave.”

  Perhaps the gods took pity on him, for footsteps sounded down the corridor, and everyone fell silent. Stonewall's eyelids were leaden and his body cried for sleep, but he held still, as was proper. Though his posture—feet relaxed and hands clasped behind his back—mirrored the others', Stonewall felt conspicuous. After all, he was still a stranger here.

  Through the common room's few high windows, the sky was a muted pink, interspersed with streaks of gold from the highest clouds as they captured the rising sun. When the sharp whistle sounded from the doorway, Stonewall automatically slid from parade rest to attention: left foot stepping to become perfectly parallel with right, hands resting on the grips of his daggers. The common room rang with the sound of boots on the ground as every other sentinel moved in unison; surely the din would carry through the walls, above the noise of the waterfall, all the way through the garrison and into the surrounding city.

  No one spoke as Commander Talon and Captain Cobalt entered the room. Cobalt's steps were brisk and he did not wear his helmet, so his scarred cheek was plainly visible. Talon was nearly as tall as the captain but her steps were graceful as the two of them strode between the rows of sentinels until they stood before the center hearth. The instant Talon faced the collected sentinels, they saluted her in a single, fluid motion: crossing their arms over their chests and bowing once before standing at attention, waiting.

  Talon saluted back. Her bronze hair gleamed faintly. Her helmet was clipped to her belt, but otherwise she was fully armored. She stood tall, outwardly the picture of strength and calm, but from Stonewall's vantage point he could see apprehension within her gaze as she surveyed the group.

  The thought was fleeting, though, for her eyes fell on him and she motioned him forward.

  Hoping he'd mistaken the gesture, he glanced around to see if someone else moved, but no. He looked back at the commander, who frowned. “Sergeant Stonewall,” she said, loud and slow, as if addressing a simpleton. “Come here. Now.”

  Oh, no. Oh, sweet Mara’s mercy, not me. Not now.

  A few of the others snickered. A few more rolled their eyes. From Talon's right side, Cobalt gave him a look that clearly said, move your ass, fool.

  Fighting back the urge to grimace, Stonewall maneuvered through the crowd and went to stand at Talon's other side, silently praying for a quick end to whatever was about to happen.

  The commander addressed the assembled sentinels. “The One is not kind, but the One is fair. Just over a fortnight ago, we lost one of our own. We mourn Dev, our brother in sacrifice, even as we honor his memory. But there is balance in all things, for the One has granted us a new brother in service. Today, we formally welcome Sergeant Stonewall into our ranks.”

  Talon glanced Stonewall's way and he straightened, though inwardly he winced. Was the commander really doing an induction now? Two weeks after his transfer? Who really did inductions anymore, anyway? The last time he'd seen one performed, he'd not been old enough to grow a beard.

  A few others in the audience cast knowing, resigned looks at one another – and finally at Stonewall. None of them looked particularly pleased, nor could he blame them. Gray, the only other surviving member of the squad who'd escorted Kali from Starwatch, glared openly at Stonewall. Of his own squad he could only make out that they were embarrassed at this turn of events. A sideways glance at the captain showed that Cobalt's brow was furrowed and his mouth pursed into a thin line, though he seemed to catch himself and smoothed all displeasure from his expression as Talon continued.

  “Sergeant Stonewall has proven himself a skilled warrior, and has agreed to step into the void left by Lieutenant Dev.” She looked toward Stonewall's squad as she added, “Treat him with respect; obey his command; honor his word.”

  She turned to Stonewall fully, expectantly. Shit. He was supposed to do...something. Ea's tits and teeth. A faint smile tugged her mouth and she inclined her head, eyes darting to his knee. Right.

  He knelt and her voice rang against the walls. “Do you swear to guide those under your command to the best of your ability?”

  “I swear it, Commander.”

  “Do you swear to use your authority only to protect the innocents of this realm?” Talon's voice was steady.

  Stonewall willed his own to match, but his voice sounded weak in the stuffy air. “I swear it, Commander.”

  “Will you hold true to the teaching of the One; will you keep your honor and break no oath?”

  “My word is my bond, Commander.” Everyone's eyes were upon him and he could practically feel their assessment as he spoke. The entire moment was surreal; he prayed that he'd wake any moment, sweating and nerve-wracked, but relieved it was all a dream.

  This was wrong on many levels. Drake had been the one slotted for command, while Stonewall had been content to follow his brother's lead. But you're alone now, he chided himself. You must do better.

  “The One is fair, but the gods are demanding. Only your best will be accepted.”

  “I will give it, Commander Talon.”

  “Return to your squad, then,” she said. “And be quick. I've other matters to discuss.”

  Face burning, Stonewall rose and hurried back to the others, none of whom now met his eyes.

  ***

  Talon waited until the new sergeant had rejoined the ranks before she continued. “There is no easy way to say this, so I'll just have to spit it out. We were scheduled to receive a shipment of hematite today. However, those transporting it were ambushed, and the hematit
e was stolen. I've just sent a letter to High Commander Argent, but I fear it will be at least a month before we receive another shipment.”

  Discipline crumbled as murmurs of disbelief, anger, and concern ran through the sentinels. “We’ll have to start licking our swords,” Redfox, one of the older cinders, muttered. “Or break apart the cell walls.”

  Some of the others chuckled uneasily, though Beacon shook his head. “Hematite’s poisonous, certainly, but you’d regret ingesting any untreated ore, like that used in our weapons or gear.”

  “Aye,” added Mica, another mender. “It’d be a quick death, but a very, very painful one.”

  “Any hematite’s better than none,” Redfox replied, gripping the pouch where she stored her personal supply.

  Talon allowed them their nervousness before glancing at Cobalt. The captain pulled off his gloves and gave a sharp whistle, the kind that echoed, and they snapped to attention as they had before. Talon inclined her head in gratitude; he nodded.

  “As such,” she continued. “You are ordered to bring what you have to Captain Cobalt, who will see that it is kept safe. Speak with your menders and commanding officers regarding your last dose and when you are due for another. From there, we will distribute according to need.”

  Some of the older cinders still glanced at one another warily; more than a few sentinels in general fidgeted with their belt pouches. All of them grew still at Talon's quelling look before she continued.

  “This should go without saying, but I'm making it an order: Under no circumstances are any of you to breathe one word of this to the mages. This is why I wanted you to come here, rather than the training yard, which is too close to the bastion for this meeting. Those on bastion patrols, escorting missions, and shadow duty are to mind your tongues; there will be no gossip or speculation on this matter when you're within earshot of mages. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Commander,” they chorused, though several cast nervous glances over their shoulders, in the general direction of the bastion gates.

  A female sentinel, Rook, removed her helmet, which was enough to draw the commander's attention. When Talon nodded permission for her to speak, she asked, “But won't they know, ser? Won't they sense, somehow, that our abilities are… less than before?”