Catalyst Moon: Breach (Catalyst Moon Saga Book 2)

by Lauren L. Garcia

  Flint shook her head. “That's not the point, Mi.”

  “Yes it is,” he replied. “Besides, they started this mess by stealing our hematite.”

  “Quiet, all of you.” The sergeant's voice broke upon them like a wave over rocks, startling the squad into silence. Stonewall heaved a great sigh, removed his helmet, and rubbed his forehead. “I don't like it either, but we have our orders.”

  “But, ser–” Milo began.

  Stonewall cut him off with a dark look that sent another wave of anxiety through Milo's guts. “We have our orders,” he repeated, and replaced his helmet. “Just do your jobs, and let me worry about the rest. Rook, why are you still here?”

  The sound of her name snapped the petite sentinel into action. Without saluting, she hurried for her horse.

  ***

  Within the sleeves of Drake’s hooded coat, his hands clenched into fists while he fought to keep his voice light. “As I said during our first meeting the other day, the Assembly works for everyone, Aderey. All people; all tiers.”

  Ben nodded. Unlike Drake, he wore no semblance of calm, but the genuine article. “The Aredian tier system causes nothing but hardship and strife. It flies in the face of the One's edict of balance.”

  Across the makeshift table, the Sufani man exchanged glances with his wife, Ytel. The other nomads stood behind them, silent and still, save for the ripple of their jewel-toned robes in the afternoon wind. Other than Aderey, none had elected to reveal their faces.

  There were no tents or caravans here. A few horses nickered, the sounds almost drowning out the rush of water from the nearby creek. The remains of a midday meal had cooled long ago, but Drake picked at a chunk of bread, growing stale and flaky along the crust. Silence was the worst. Shouting, fighting – fine. Those he knew how to handle. But it was beyond vexing that the Sufani simply looked at him as if he were either blind or very simple. At least Drake had convinced the nomads to allow the Assembly folks to carry their weapons. Surely that was a sign of progress over the last few days.

  At last, Aderey shook his head. “Equality is a noble goal, but also, I fear, an unreachable one.”

  “Even if you convince the queen, the Circle will never accept you,” Ytel added sharply. “We worship the same god as they do, but they call us heretics simply for believing the One god is the only god.” She sat straight and rigid, almost as well as a sentinel, and her dark eyes seemed to be habitually narrowed in suspicion.

  Ben gave a conciliatory nod. “One step at a time, I'm afraid. Right now, we're simply hoping to gather as many like-minded folks as we can. As for the Circle,” he stroked his beard in thought, “I have hopes that they will eventually see the righteousness of our cause.”

  “Aye,” Drake added. “There can be order without division.”

  Aderey glanced at Drake. “Strong words.”

  “True ones,” Drake replied.

  The Sufani man's gaze sharpened to a sword point. “I do not disagree with your cause, but I must think of my people's well-being. We are ostracized enough as it is. Throwing our lot in with you does not benefit us; much the opposite. Nor can we remain scapegoats for you simply because aspects of our culture suit your purposes. ”

  “Then stand with us,” Drake heard himself say. “Openly.”

  Perhaps it was not the answer Aderey expected, for he blinked in surprise. Ytel, however, leaned forward, glaring. “You have done enough damage to our people. We will stand on our own, as we always have, and you will not trouble us again.”

  Anger swam through Drake's veins, hot as his first Burn. Had even a trace of hematite lingered in his blood, there would have been no hesitation, only action. But before he could reply, Ben put a hand on his forearm. “Of course, we will respect your wishes–”

  “This is bigger than all of us,” Drake broke in, pulling his arm away. “What we're doing is for the greater good. Surely you can see that?”

  “I see young people with strong passions,” Aderey replied calmly. “I could once lay claim to both of those things, but no longer. Nor did I reach this age by relying solely on hope,” he added pointedly, looking at Ben. “Or righteousness. Those ideas are weak axles waiting to break, my friends.”

  Ben frowned. “Perhaps, but–”

  A Sufani woman broke from the tree line, darting for the table and shouting in her native Sufa. Her deep indigo robes rippled with her stride and she gripped her hunting spear as if at any moment she’d have to use it. The moment Aderey and Ytel caught sight of the dark-clad figure, they leapt to their feet.

  Years of training spurred Drake to action. He was on his feet before Ben and the rest of the Assembly members could react, reaching for daggers that were not at his hips. Bandits? Or worse… thralls? He had never encountered the monsters; would that change today? His heart raced with the prospect of a fight and he moved to grab his spear, but Ben's hand stopped him.

  Aderey whirled to Drake and Ben, eyes wide. “She says there are sentinels. Coming here.”

  Drake heart froze at the word sentinels. “Here? Why?”

  “I don't know.” The Sufani woman looked over her shoulder at the forest; the movement caused her indigo hood and veil to shift, and Drake saw Aderey's face mirrored in hers.

  “How many?” Drake asked.

  She said something to Aderey in Sufa, then shook her head, seemingly unconcerned about her exposed features. “Only three.”

  Drake started. “No more? Squads travel in groups of five or six.”

  “Three,” she repeated. “On horseback, perhaps half a mile away.”

  “Sentinels haven’t bothered us before,” Aderey said, glancing at Drake.

  Ben also shot Drake a stern look and Drake grimaced. He had apologized—profusely—for wearing Sufani robes while he and his friends had stolen the sentinels’ hematite, but apologies were worthless now. Would these innocents pay the price for his stupidity?

  “I’d rather not take the chance now,” Ytel replied, no doubt thinking the same.

  The younger Sufani woman nodded and looked at Aderey. “Father, we can take them!”

  Aderey shook his head. “No, Leal.”

  “But–”

  “We don't have our usual numbers,” he said, cutting her off. “And your mother’s right: we can’t afford to take a chance they’re out for our blood. I'm not inclined to see our people massacred today. Leave, now. Take your mother; she's not well enough to ride on her own.”

  Ytel protested in Sufa, but Leal, scowling, grabbed the older woman’s hand to lead her away. The other Sufani were already moving, rushing for their mounts and hurrying into the trees.

  With a sickening drop in his gut, Drake knew what the Assembly needed to do. He lunged for his spear and motioned to Rilla, Brice, and Edel, who'd accompanied him and Ben to this meeting. “Stand your ground,” he ordered.

  Eyes gleaming, Rilla hefted her spear. Brice nocked an arrow with shaking hands. Edel scowled. “We should leave!”

  “We brought them into this,” Drake said, jerking his chin at the fleeing Sufani. “We'll make sure they get out of it.” To Aderey, he said, “We'll cover you.”

  But the Sufani man held still even as the rest of his people scattered. Aderey scanned the tree line, expression more apprehensive than afraid.

  Ben had also risen. He carried no weapon, nor did he seem frightened. “Are they coming for the hematite?”

  “Impossible,” Drake said, ignoring Aderey's frown. “They couldn't have traced us…” Even so, guilt swept through him, until a crash in the woods made him tense. He raised his spear. “You're no fighter,” he said, turning to Ben. “You must go with them.”

  But it was too late. Three mounted sentinels burst from the trees, spread in a wide arc across the clearing, charging toward the Assembly. Brice’s arrow struck a female sentinel’s thigh; the armored woman shouted but kept her seat. Heart racing, Drake swept his eyes over the squad, as he always did when he
encountered sentinels, hoping and dreading to see a familiar face....

  This time, he did. Helmet or not, Drake would have recognized his little brother anywhere. His heart lurched at the way Elan—still Stonewall—clutched a sword, mouth set in a grim line as he urged his horse toward Drake, his three Assembly companions, and Aderey, who still stood clustered together. Easy targets, Drake realized with a sick twist of dread. This moment could not be his and his brother’s reunion!

  He whirled to Ben and Aderey, shoving them both hard. “Go,” he said. “Get out of here!” Ben tugged Aderey's arm and they darted for Ben's horse, but there was not enough time. “The river,” Drake called, hoping Ben would understand.

  But he could not watch them go, for the mounted sentinels were bearing down upon them. Drake barely had time to tug his hood over his face, not caring that it distorted his vision; that was a risk he was willing to take. The three sentinels converged on their targets, forcing Drake, Edel, and Rilla to race for the stream after Ben and Aderey. The remaining horses scattered, their drumming hoof beats echoing the pounding of Drake’s heart. More arrows hissed through the air. Shouts and curses followed. The noise and chaos threatened to overwhelm Drake, but he shoved aside his instinctive panic and gripped his spear with pale knuckles as he ran. Some ruthless, ravenous part of his mind burned with desire for hematite-strength in his veins – if not for courage, then for added speed.

  “We can fight,” Rilla called to him, her voice was almost lost in the thundering hooves.

  No. Drake had spent too many of his days in violence; he would not fight now. He would not raise arms against his brother. “The river,” he called again.

  “Are you mad?” Edel replied. “It’s freezing!”

  Ea's balls and Seren's light, Drake was loathe to use his voice again, but he had no other option. “Just sodding go!”

  “Brice!” It was Rilla, who’d glanced over her shoulder. “Those bastards are taking her!”

  Drake spared a moment to follow her gaze and his stomach knotted at what he could make out between the pursuing horses and their riders. Two sentinels, on foot, were wrestling the red-haired woman to the ground. A petite female sentinel wrenched Brice’s bow out of her grasp while the other sentinel, a burly, black-haired fellow, struggled to bind Brice’s hands behind her back.

  What in Tor’s name were they doing? Someone shouted his name and he realized he’d stopped running. Fool, he cursed himself. His old officers would have had him mucking out stalls for a month if he’d still been a sentinel. Drake jerked around to see that one of the mounted sentinels had broken off his pursuit of Edel and Rilla, swerving toward him.

  Stonewall.

  Shit!

  Drake knew that if they’d captured Brice, they might want to capture him as well – especially if they knew he was the mage responsible for their missing hematite. Nothing for it now. He definitely had to stay out of the sentinels’ custody.

  Drake hefted his ironwood spear and reached into the pouch at his belt as he sprinted toward his brother, praying his hood would conceal his features well enough. Legs pumping, muscles burning with the effort of keeping this pace, Drake gritted his teeth, scooped up a huge handful of cloud dust, and tossed the violet powder directly at his brother's horse – and his brother. Stonewall swore—quite creatively, Drake had to admit—and his horse reared in sudden distress, nearly unseating him.

  Nearly. Elan had always been the better rider. Even coughing purple cloud dust, Stonewall remained in the saddle and urged his horse forward again, driving Drake with the others to the river. That was bad, but not as bad as it could be. This tributary of the White River was not as swift or wide; Drake knew he could swim across if he had to. But would the others manage?

  Drake spotted Aderey and Ben, already shoulder-deep, swimming gamely across the river’s expanse. Having no other option, Drake plunged in after them, praying that Stonewall and the others would not release more arrows. Icy water surrounded him, the shock of it sucking the air from his lungs. Only when he was up to his waist did he get a chance to look behind him again, searching for the sentinels.

  “Brice!” Rilla shrieked even as her brother dragged her into the racing water. “Let her go, you sodding, blazing fools! Let her go!”

  “Come on, Ril,” Edel cried. “You’re no match for them!”

  Three mounted sentinels stood on the shore, daggers drawn, forming a wall of horse and hematite between the fleeing folks and Brice, who hurled obscenities in the distance. Drake’s heart seized at the sight of his brother sitting tall and straight in his saddle, gaze fixed upon him.

  Someone grabbed Drake's arm and pulled. He whirled, spear poised to strike, but it was only Ben, soaked and shivering, bleeding from a scrape on his forearm and his blue eyes wide. “Drake, the river is shallow enough to ford here. We must go.”

  Was it his imagination, or did Stonewall freeze at the sound of his name? Could he even hear Ben’s voice from this distance and over the rushing water?

  Fear overtook Drake's entire body, filling him with a heat stronger than even hematite’s burn. Fear, as it always did, made him flee. Mara forgive me. He gripped Ben’s offered hand and they began to swim.

  The sentinels did not pursue.

  ***

  Drake. Alive?

  Stonewall leaned against Frost’s saddle horn, chest heaving, head spinning. It couldn’t have been… Surely, his eyes were playing tricks on him.

  No. He shook his head to clear it. His brother was dead. He knew that as well as he knew his own name. The “Drake” he had seen in the chaos must have been a hallucination; the other man’s face had been covered and Stonewall had not gotten a clear look at him other than to note his bulk and dark skin. Besides, even now, Stonewall’s eyes burned from the sodding dust that the fellow—not Drake—had thrown at him and poor Frost. No, his eyes were not to be trusted.

  Squinting, Stonewall tried to make out the last of the Sufani as they swam across the stream, but his eyes itched and watered, and he couldn’t catch more than a glimpse of the nomads’ robes. Frost snorted and shifted beneath him, reminding him of his duty. At least she didn’t seem to be feeling any ill-effects from the dust, but he would look her over as soon as he could. With a sigh, Stonewall wiped his eyes again, patted the mare’s neck, and turned her back to the others.

  He’d been the only one to remain so long by the stream to watch the fleeing Sufani. Beacon had dismounted so he could tend to Flint’s wound, while Milo and Rook secured their captive. Captive. Stonewall’s guts roiled at the sight of the red-haired woman glaring at Milo above the gag someone had shoved in her mouth. After he dismounted, he shot a questioning glance at Rook, who flushed.

  “She was… loud,” Rook murmured. “I was worried she’d draw unwanted attention.”

  “Have you searched her yet?” Stonewall asked.

  “Haven’t had a chance,” Rook replied.

  Milo held the woman’s arm but did not look at her. He glanced at Stonewall, his mouth set in a hard line too old for his face. “Ser, can we please just go?”

  In response, Stonewall looked at Beacon. The mender had kept Flint in her saddle, but had managed to remove the armor covering her thigh so he could see her wound. “How is she?” Stonewall asked.

  “I’d be a lot better if he’d stop prodding at me,” Flint growled, hands clenched into fists around her reins.

  “I need to get her back to the garrison.” Beacon’s voice was flat and his expression blank. That did not bode well.

  “Right.” Stonewall nodded to Milo and Rook, who stood on either side of their prisoner. “I’ll take her now, and drive the carriage once we’re back in Oreion. Mi, you ride double with your sister; keep her steady. Rook,” he pointed in the direction of the road, “make sure the way is clear.”

  As the squad began to collect themselves, Stonewall regarded their captive once more. No telling if she was part of the Assembly, but the woman could not h
ave been a Sufani. If she was, she was the first he’d seen not swathed head to toe in robes. As Stonewall took her bound wrists, she met his eyes. Hatred poured from her gaze; a poison that soaked his heart. No one, not even a mage, had ever looked at him that way. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s not personal. We were just following orders.”

  If looks could have killed, he’d have dropped dead right there.

  Swallowing tightly, Stonewall pushed the woman toward Frost. She resisted at first, bracing herself against the ground, but he was stronger. He could have carried her, but thankfully she cooperated after a few moments of struggle. Tor help me, he thought as they reached his mount.

  Rook slipped away first; she and Milo had left their horses by the road, in an obliging farmer’s field, and she now moved on silent feet through the trees. Milo and Flint followed, riding double atop Flint’s gelding. The young woman’s face was white and damp with sweat, no doubt from the pain. Beacon was next, his shoulders sagging, his eyes downcast. He paused once, glancing back at Stonewall. “Need any help, ser?”

  “No, I’ll be fine,” Stonewall replied. “Stay close to Flint. I’ll catch up.” Beacon only looked at him, and Stonewall sighed. “That’s an order, in case you were wondering.”

  “Yes, ser.” Beacon turned away.

  Stonewall and the not-Sufani woman reached Frost a moment later. Heart pounding, he pretended to fiddle with Frost’s girth as he watched his squad disappear into the trees, back the way they had come. When they were out of sight, he looked back at his prisoner. “Are you armed?”

  Pale blue eyes met his and he could practically hear her thoughts. Die, sentinel scum.

  He sighed. “Right.”

  Quickly as he could, he searched her. Other than a knife tucked in her boot, she had no weapons. The bow and quiver of arrows still lay in the dirt in the clearing where the sentinels had ambushed the Sufani. Stonewall tossed the knife into the woods, well out of her reach, and regarded her again. “Anything else?”

  She stared at him. Now that they were alone, some of the hatred in her gaze had given way to fear. A sick feeling spread through him at the understanding, but he kept silent. At last she nodded once, jerking her chin toward her bosom. Or course. Thank Tor the second knife wasn’t tucked too far between her breasts; he carefully slipped it free and hurled it away in the opposite direction he’d thrown the first.