Broken Skies

by Amy Hopkins

  The soldier who’d attacked her was caught off guard. When Bette attacked, he was less surprised—but only because he was dead before he’d realized she was there.

  Bette jerked her head around. The remaining soldiers stood, hands in the air, faces terrified.

  “I can’t move!” one whimpered. “I can’t move! Something’s got my body!”

  Julianne stepped outside, eyes white, knuckles tight on her staff. She gestured while murmuring something. The seven men walked to Francis, who calmly held out several lengths of rope. Silently, the soldiers began tying each other up.

  “Oy!” Bette yelled. “Not that one!” She pointed at Patrick, who suddenly dropped his rope, shook himself, and scrambled away.

  His eyes darted around.

  “Oh, grow some balls, ye pussy. It’s what ye get for ruinin’ me clean shirt.” Bette held his gaze until she was sure the panic had eased, then turned to Julianne.

  “I see,” the mystic said. Two more men were released from her psychic prison. “Bette, I’m still a little tired from yesterday. Could you address the ones who are injured?”

  “Address them how?” Bette asked, hopefully.

  “Non-lethally,” Julianne said.

  Bette’s face fell, but she snatched up one of the dropped ropes and walked over to a groaning soldier on the ground.

  Her eagerness returned when she realized it was the man who’d started the fight with Sharne.

  “And what did ye do to me troop leader, ye scum-shitting crap-licker?” she asked as she bound his wrists to his ankles.

  “Frigid slut,” he grunted through his broken mouth.

  “Now that doesn’t even make sense,” Bette said. She left him with a swift kick to the skull, shrugging when Julianne caught her eye. “What? I tripped!”

  Julianne snorted, but didn’t say anything.

  “Now,” Bette said, resting fists on her hips. “Are ye goin’ ta tell me what the fuck just happened, and why me good pants are all caked in goat-fucker?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sharne rested the steak gingerly on her face, reclining on a bed behind Francis’s office. “I feel like such an idiot.”

  “Sounds like the bastard deserved what he got,” Bette said.

  “I don’t regret that. I just can’t believe I let one of the pricks knock me out cold!”

  Sharne had explained why the fight started. She’d been going to start her shift, when she had come across one of the soldiers hassling a young village girl. When Sharne had caught his attention, he’d simply walked up and grabbed her ass, pulling her close and trying to kiss her.

  Thoroughly revolted, Sharne had shoved him off and given him a lecture, then told the entire troop to get the fuck out of Tahn.

  They’d thought that was hilarious.

  The fight broke out, and Sharne had eventually been taken down by a punch to the jaw.

  “And what’s yer story, then?” Bette darted a glance to Patrick, who’d shamefacedly brought the meat and tried to slink away.

  Patrick sighed. “I knew they were dicks. Plenty of rumors—always are about men like us, but this was different. Not stories spread in bars, but whispers in the street. I couldn’t get anyone to actually drop a name, though.”

  “Too scared?” Bette asked.

  He nodded. “I tried to offer protection, but fear won out.”

  “So ye thought ye’d let us clean up yer mess?” Bette’s disgust was clear in her voice. “Ye thought ye’d risk my soldiers?”

  “Risk?” Patrick laughed. “I’ve seen them fight, Captain. There was no risk… uhh, of death, anyway.” He turned to Sharne. “Sorry about your face, though.”

  Sharne groaned. “It was worth it.”

  Patrick raised his hands. “See? I knew your lot would kick their asses. And really, I don’t think I could have stopped that fight breaking out even if I’d wanted to.”

  Bette narrowed her eyes, unhappy that she might just have to agree with his logic.

  A shadow filled the doorway, and Lord George lumbered in. “Next time, my boy, take your concerns to someone who can deal with them, eh?”

  Patrick nodded. “I owe you an apology for that, Lord George. I didn’t want to catch you between rumor and hearsay, but I guess keeping quiet didn’t make things any better.”

  “That’s right. If I’d known, I’d have sent for a mystic and cleared it up right away.” Lord George rested a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Thank you for stepping up when it counted, though. I saw you fighting.”

  “Ye call that fightin’?” Bette scoffed. “Ye need a week in the trenches with Sharne, here. She’ll have ye fightin’ like a real man.”

  Patrick laughed nervously. “Maybe.”

  “Fantastic idea.” Lord George looked around, beaming. “Sharne, if you return to Muir with me and train up some of our aspiring soldiers, it may fill some of the gaps.” George pursed his lips.

  The ‘gaps’ had just increased. Bastian had taken on the task of interrogating the offenders, but it was unlikely any would find a place back in the guard again.

  “We can deal with the numbers later,” Bette said. “Got plenty to keep us busy in the meantime.”

  “Yes.” Lord George sighed. “We do need to finish our meeting, and I believe Sharne here needs to rest. Shall we retreat?”

  Bette lingered for a brief moment once the men had left.

  “Sorry, Captain.” Sharne winced at the pain of speaking.

  Bette chuckled. “Ye did well, lass. How do ye feel about goin’ to Muir?”

  “Me? In the big city?” Sharne thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess, as long as it stops old George from having to hire on more dick wipes like those guys…”

  “That’s the spirit.” Bette stepped outside and gently closed the door, hoping Sharne would have the sense to sleep.

  “And there was no mention of how a portal might be closed?” Francis was saying as Bette took her seat.

  “No,” Julianne said with a sigh. Her head ached from the burst of magic she’d used, and she made a note to thank Danil and Bastian for taking over as soon as she’d called them. “We might have to count on our first attempts failing.”

  “Garrett loves ta play with things that go boom,” Bette interjected. “He might have an idea or three. Of course, they might be really fuckin’ terrible ideas…”

  “It’s Garrett,” Julianne pointed out. “Of course, they’re terrible ideas. But, it might be just what we need.”

  “Aye,” Bette agreed. “But don’t let him know that. His head’s already big enough.”

  “If we can’t blow it up, maybe we can wall it off?” Francis asked. “I’ve seen them come through—it looks difficult. If they were to encounter a solid barrier, maybe that would make it too hard to push through.”

  “A reasonable suggestion,” Lord George said, looking to Julianne.

  “That might work,” Julianne said.

  “And if it doesn’t?” Francis asked. “We need a plan C. Any ideas?”

  Julianne frowned as heads shook around the table. “Actually… I might. Or, not an idea as such.” Her conversation with Bastian replayed in her head.

  “Spit it out, lass,” Bette said.

  “I think the varks are sensitive to mind magic,” Julianne said. “Remember how Bastian said they may even be susceptible to it?”

  “What? Like a human?” Bette screeched. “Not a bat-slapping chance! A druid would have more chance at magicin’ ‘em, wouldn’t they?”

  Julianne shrugged. “Not necessarily. The creatures beyond the rift are somehow linked to our nanocytes.”

  Blank looks surrounded her. “The tiny things in our blood that give us magic are called nanocytes,” she explained.

  Bewildered nods didn’t give her any more confidence.

  “We’ll take your word for it,” Lord George said. “Though, I admit I don’t understand it. Not at all. But, if you can take this information and formulate a plan, I won’t argue.”


  “At this point, I don’t know how it will help us, but I plan to investigate further,” Julianne said. She fiddled with the tablecloth.

  “Am I to assume we shouldn’t discuss this plan with Marcus?” Francis asked carefully.

  “What? Yer plan’s half-cracked, ain’t it?” Bette slapped her knee, laughing. “Bitch knows ye won’t be able to keep ‘im in the dark. That lad has a nose fer yer crazy ideas!”

  “She’s right,” Julianne admitted. “I’ll tell Marcus when he gets back. He won’t be impressed, but we need to know more about the varks, and whatever else might be out there.”

  “We won’t need to know more if we can stop them coming altogether,” Francis pointed out. “Why don’t we try the safer plans first?”

  “Ye think lettin’ Garrett loose with a cask of powder and a match is safe?” Bette asked.

  Francis sighed. “This isn’t going to end well, is it?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Danil led the surly rearick towards the tiny tavern. Mary was outside, lighting the lanterns as dusk settled.

  “Evening, Mary,” he called.

  “Evening, Danil, Garrett.” Mary hung the last lantern on its hook. “Dinner, or just drinking tonight?”

  Garrett mumbled something under his breath, and Mary sighed. “I’ll pour the drinks. Danil, don’t you let him go crazy tonight, you hear?” She wagged a finger at the mystic.

  Danil laughed. “I promise I won’t, Mary. And despite my friends festering mood, we’ll eat, too.”

  When Garrett protested, Danil shuffled him past. “You’re mad as hell, and you need a few stiff drinks. If you don’t eat, you’ll end up puking in the bushes again. If Mack catches you, he won’t let you live it down for weeks.”

  “It was three months since last time!” Garrett whined. “And he still brings it up every time I raise a mug to me lips. Soft-cocked cheese monkey.”

  Danil lifted an eyebrow in response to the half-hearted insult, and guided Garrett to a table in the corner. He hoped Mary’s wouldn’t be busy tonight.

  “Look,” he began. “I know you’re angry, but—”

  “Angry? The bastard made a pass at one of me guards! And grabbed her ass!” Garrett snarled. “I’m not angry, I’m fuckin’ livid.”

  “Sharne ground his face in the dirt—and his nuts. She’s fine!”

  “Aye, but that’s not the point, is it? And Patrick, the gall o’ the bastard. Bringin’ ‘em here!” Garrett crossed his arms resolutely. “Ye won’t change me mind about that one, I’m tellin’ ye.”

  “His hands were tied,” Danil said. “Come on, Garrett. If someone came up to you and said half your soldiers were lecherous bullies, but wouldn’t say who it was, what would you do?”

  “I’d drown the fuckin’ lot of ‘em,” Garrett snapped.

  “Here, maybe. What about back in the Heights?” Danil knew the rules and regulations in Garrett’s hometown were a lot tighter than on this side of the Madlands, especially for a low-ranked guard.

  Garrett pouted. “It’s not the same.”

  “It’s not that different, either.” Danil raised a hand to accept a mug from Mary, forgetting to look up, though he grasped it perfectly.

  She slapped his hand. “Just because you don’t need to look at someone, doesn’t mean you don’t owe them the courtesy of doing so, young man.”

  Danil grinned sheepishly and turned to give her a look, letting his eyes clear for a moment even though it meant darkness fell over him. “Sorry, Mary.”

  “With eyes like that, it’s no wonder that Polly is knee deep in love with you,” Mary sighed.

  “I know you can’t resist my sparkle,” Danil joked.

  Mary slapped him gently again before disappearing back behind the bar.

  “He should have done differently,” Garrett said, refusing to let the matter go.

  “Garrett, he didn’t know who was causing the trouble. He didn’t even know for sure if they were!” Danil pushed Garrett’s mug in front of him.

  The rearick’s nose twitched as bubbles drifted up to tickle it. “Gut feelin’. If he don’t have it, he shouldn’t be leadin’ no one.”

  “You’ve got that because you were trained well and brought up through the ranks in a structured environment,” Danil said patiently. “Patrick is a farmer who was abandoned by his lord. He’s got trust issues, a guilt complex, and a really bad dose of insecurity in his new position.”

  Garrett lifted an eyebrow at that. Then, unable to resist, he snuck a sip of his drink. His eyes closed as he savored the thick mead.

  “And I suppose ye’ve been searchin’ through his head, then,” Garrett said once the drink had slid down his throat.

  Danil nodded. “The man is as twisted up as wool on a spindle, but he’s trying, Garrett. You can’t hold him to your standards.”

  Garrett sighed. “Fine. Ye prick. I’m only givin’ in so ye stop yer yappin’, by the way.” He took another swallow of his drink. “Drink as good as this should be enjoyed in silence.”

  Danil sat back, pleased he’d convinced the rearick. He spotted Mary and hailed her over.

  She waved back, but stopped at the door to greet Mack, Carey, and Lewis. When she came over, Danil asked what she was cooking for the evening meal.

  “Brisket and roots tonight,” she said promptly.

  “I’ll take a plate, please. I don’t think Garrett is hungry, though.” Danil bit his lip, trying to keep a straight face.

  Garrett was still staring in Mack’s direction, eyes smoldering. “What? I’ll eat, damn ye. A big plate, thanks, Mary.”

  “Wise choice, my friend,” Danil said with a snigger.

  “Garrett!” Mack spotted the two men sitting in the shadowed corner. “Come to fertilize the bushes again?”

  “Get fucked!” Garrett called back, before turning to Danil. “Can’t ye make him forget that?”

  Danil rubbed his chin. “It wouldn’t be a very ethical use of my magic.”

  “Oh, and that trick ye did on Polly to make ye… proportions change was ethical?” Garrett waited expectantly.

  Danil blushed. “How did you hear about that?”

  “Polly told Bette.” Garrett drummed his fingers on the table. “I haven’t told a soul… yet.”

  Danil opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed deeply. “You’ve got me over a barrel. Just… don’t tell Jules. Of either thing.”

  “Aye, I’m sworn to secrecy!” Garrett said gleefully.

  “And you owe me a favor. Deal?” Danil said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Anything ye want!” Garrett gestured for him to get it over with.

  “Hey, Mack!” Danil called. “Tell me about that time Garrett threw up in the street.” He whispered something afterwards too low for Garrett to catch.

  “Sure! We were drinking, and he… um… we were…” Mack faltered and scratched his head. “What were we talking about?”

  Carey snorted. “I think Danil just bamboozled you. You were telling us your fortieth rendition of the night Garrett puked his guts out.”

  “Garrett puked?” Mack asked, bewildered. “Was he sick?”

  “Ahh, fuck,” Garrett muttered. “Ye giant smokin’ asshole.”

  Hoots of laughter filled the tavern. Lewis slapped the table. “He made you forget! Ha!”

  “Forget what?” Mack wore a worried expression.

  “Garrett got piss drunk one night, oh, just before the winter started to break.” Lewis rubbed tears of laughter from his eyes. “He went too hard, too fast. You caught him heaving his guts outside on Mary’s rhododendrons. Every time you’ve seen him with a drink since, you’ve reminded him.”

  Garrett’s face was a ruddy, angry red. He rose, chair sliding back noisily. “Ye prick! Ye set me up!”

  “Hey!” Danil raised his hands defensively. “I did what I said! He forgot!”

  “Oh, I forgot, alright,” Mack yelled. “But I won’t forget this!”

  Garrett collapsed into his chair with a gro
an. “I suppose I fuckin’ asked for that.”

  Danil couldn’t hold his laugher in anymore. He held his sides, heaving for breath. “Never… never try to… blackmail a mystic,” he wheezed. “Especially not a prick like me!”

  Garrett downed the rest of his drink in one long swallow, then slammed it on the table. “MARY!”

  Mary yelled out from the kitchen. “Hold your horses, meal’s coming!”

  “Bring me a Bitch-damned jug of that mead!” Garrett demanded.

  A moment later, Mary stalked out juggling two plates and a pitcher of mead. She carefully set the plates down, then held out the jug.

  “Hurry up, lass,” Garrett said.

  Mary smiled sweetly, then tipped the entire jug over his head. “By the way, there’s a thirty-percent surcharge on jugs tonight, and an extra fee for bad manners.”

  Garrett opened and closed his mouth like a fish, too shocked to answer before she walked away.

  Danil just stared, disbelieving, his view of the events skewed from watching through Garrett’s eyes.

  The room was quiet until Mack spoke up, his voice low but clear in the silence. “I don’t remember Garrett heaving his guts up, but I’ll wager this is a much better story anyway.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  George climbed into his carriage and signaled he was ready to go. Julianne leaned down from her horse.

  “You’re sure you can make it from the portal road to Muir with six men?” she asked dubiously.

  “One of these men is a woman,” Lord George pointed out. “I think that tips the scales.”

  “I’ve been through the rest stop since it was fortified,” Sharne said. “It’s very secure, so we’ll be safe to spend the night. The bulk of the remnant trouble is down our way, anyway.”

  Julianne nodded. “Let’s move out, then.”

  They rode fast, stopping only when three remnant barred the road with hungry looks. Sharne slid off her horse and ran in with Patrick on her heels. The four men left in the guard quickly caught up, and the remnant were easily dispatched.

  When they resumed travel, Julianne lightly brushed Patrick’s mind. He was quietly going over the fight with his soldiers, pointing out the strengths in Sharne’s technique and picking up some of the weaknesses displayed by his own men.