by Keri Arthur
The shelves of old guns and other odd bits of machinery soon gave way to the even older, medieval-style weapons Jon had mentioned a week ago. But it was the glass swords that drew me; having used the knife a number of times, I could certainly see the benefit of having a longer blade. I picked up a couple, testing their weight and feel, but most of them were too heavy or too long for someone my size. But on the shelf close to bottom I found one that was perfect. Once I’d also found its scabbard, I headed back.
“What have you got this time, lass?” Jon said.
I grinned and showed him the sword. “The knife has come in handy, so I figured something bigger might be doubly so.”
He snorted and shook his head. “You’re definitely certifiable. But it’s yours if you want it.”
“And I do.”
I signed out the sword, the ammo, and the weapons, and then went over to requisitions to grab a new earwig—one that was multi-tuned, enabling communications between the various outposts and us when we were on escort duty. The speeder had been lifted up from the underground garage by then, and the heat from her engines rippled the air as she hovered in the middle of the courtyard. The speeders were triangular in shape and could carry up to four people across both land and sea faster than any other vehicle in the armory. But they were not without their problems, and were extremely fragile. Even rough weather could tear them apart.
Trey, Kiro, and two other men I didn’t recognize came out of the inner gateway as I approached the vehicle. The captain appeared and handed Trey a ledger. Once the vehicle was signed over, Trey motioned me to get in. I did so, placing all the weapons and the ammo in the storage bins before climbing into the driver seat. Trey spoke to the captain and the other three men for several seconds and then climbed in behind me.
As I closed the main door, the two strangers approached the gatehouse and a heavy rumble began to fill the air. The retaining wall sitting against the back of the gate began to slide away, until a clear enough path appeared for the gates to be opened and the speeder to go through.
“Ready?” I asked, as I punched in the coordinates.
“Hit it,” Trey said. “Push this damn thing as fast it can go.”
Which was precisely what I did. The speeder shot out of Winterborne, gathering speed as it accelerated over the remnants of the first wave of dirt. Dust plumed behind us, a beacon that would call to any Adlin left out here. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t catch us on foot and they didn’t have the knowledge or the technology to do anything else. Trebuchets might have provided a problem had the Adlin been able to mount them onto a vehicle or at least fire them with some sort of accuracy, but they didn’t.
We shot through the darkness, the whine of the engines filling the air. The tension in the man behind me grew with each mile that passed, until it felt like every breath was filled with it. I wanted to tell him that it would be all right, that his daughter would be all right, but after what had happened at Winterborne, I dared not. We had no idea just how far this treachery might reach. He might trust the witches stationed at Winterborne, but witches weren’t the only ones who could destroy machinery and open gates. A single soldier armed with several well-placed bombs could achieve the very same thing. A week ago, I wouldn’t have thought such a betrayal possible, but my perception had certainly changed.
We didn’t see any Adlin and the sensors weren’t picking up any evidence of movement. I had no doubt they were out there somewhere, just as I had no doubt they’d been sent to Blacklake solely to retrieve the other bracelet.
The Blacksaw Mountains soon loomed large in the front windscreen. Trey leaned over my shoulder and said, “Can you contact Blacklake from here?”
I glanced at him. “You can’t?”
He half smiled, though it didn’t lift the tension from around his eyes. “I took the earwig out when I left Blacklake. The Reaches gentry don’t wear them, and I didn’t want to stir too much curiosity.”
“Good idea.” I triple tapped the earwig to get the right communicator and then said, “Blacklake, this is Nightwatch eight-three inbound from Winterborne with Commander Stone. Are you hearing me?”
Static was my only reply. I frowned and tried again. “Blacklake, this is Nightwatch eight-three, relaying a request for a status update from Commander Stone. Please reply.”
More static.
Trey swore and scraped a hand across his chin. “Either communications are out or they’re under attack and haven’t the time to reply.”
“I can’t see any indications of an attack on the sensors, Commander,” I said.
“Which might just mean they hit Blacklake at the same time as they did us. Can this thing go any faster?”
“No.”
He swore again and sat back. I didn’t say anything. I just concentrated on keeping the speeder on track and out of the way of anything that could rip its underbelly apart.
The faint glimmer of lights appeared on the horizon. Some were flickering, some weren’t, suggesting the source was both electrical and fire. The sensors began to beep softly—not because we were nearing our destination but because there was movement out there in the darkness. Adlin, but not huge swaths of them.
“What do you want me to do, Commander?”
“Swing around to the right,” he said, “and come into Blacklake from the other side of the river. The Adlin aren’t likely to have crossed it, no matter how desperate they are.”
I made a long sweeping curve to the right. While our course initially took us away from Blacklake, it was evident even from this distance that the outpost had taken a serious hammering. Smoke billowed from the gatehouse and, if the sheer size of the rubble that had been blown across not only the moat but also the ground beyond it was anything to go by, at least half it had come down. There were also fires raging within the outer bailey, the glow of them turning the skies above Blacklake a bloody red.
I hoped it wasn’t a sign of what was waiting for us within.
The glimmer of the Black River came into view, although in truth it was more a lake than a river in this section, given the outpost had dammed and widened it for defensive purposes.
We skimmed across its surface, the dark water pluming high on either side as I directed the vehicle to the rear of the settlement. The walls here were at least intact and there was no indication from the radar that the Adlin—or anyone else—had reached this side.
I eased the speed and engaged the stability struts. As they unfolded from the sides of the vehicle, Trey hit the release button and opened the door. The smell of smoke and burned flesh immediately hit, and my stomach churned. Whatever else had happened here, there’d been casualties.
Trey moved back to the weapons locker and opened it up. “A sword?”
I smiled at the disbelief in his voice and shut the engines down. “Trust me, it’s not a normal sword.”
“I can see that—it’s made of glass.”
“The same as my knife, which severed an Adlin’s leg with one quick cut.”
He looked skeptical, but handed me the weapon, a rifle, and an ammo loop. He took the other guns, strapping them to his legs before slinging the second rifle and ammo loop across his shoulders. With a glance at me to ensure I was ready, he exited.
I leapt across to the bank then followed him along the base of the wall to the smaller rear gatehouse. The acrid stench of smoke still stung the air, but it was the hush that was more unnerving. There were no alarms, no sound of voices. And maybe it was simply a matter of the sheer thickness and height of the walls stopping any such sound from reaching us, but it was nevertheless worrying.
Unlike the gateway at Winterborne, this was protected by a heavy metal portcullis. It was at least forty feet high and double that in width, which meant that even a sleuth of Adlin would have had trouble shifting it. There were no electronics visible, no obvious way to raise the gates or communicate with those inside, but beyond the portcullis, in the small covered area between it and the main gate, there wer
e several cameras. Whether they were working or not was another matter.
“Do you want me to try hailing them again?”
He shook his head and squatted down in front of the portcullis. “Communications must be down. Otherwise, they’d have responded to our presence by now. Give me your knife.”
I did so. After brushing away the dirt and grime from one of the stones, he jammed the knife’s delicate edge into the small gap between the stones and twisted it sideways. There was a soft click, and the stone slid to one side, revealing an ancient-looking scanner panel.
“That,” I said, accepting my knife back, “is a rather ingenious hiding spot.”
“It was apparently the brainchild of a commander some two hundred years ago, after some of his men had been stranded by a lockdown and subsequently slaughtered by the Adlin.”
“The lake hadn’t been created at that point?”
“No. That came with my predecessor, after a particularly dry year left little more than a trickle of water in the river.”
It undoubtedly provided them with a secondary source of drinking water, too. “Will the scanner still work if comms and power are down?”
“It should. Both gates can be operated on emergency power.”
He placed his hand against the glass and then pressed one of the buttons on the side. After a moment, the screen came to life and his hand was scanned. A light flicked from red to green and the portcullis slowly began to open.
Trey closed the scanner, scuffed dirt back over the stone to cover its presence, then ducked under the portcullis and strode to the rear gate. It, like Winterborne’s, was made of black stone, though the large patches of lichen and moss that decorated the surface of this one suggested it wasn’t often in use. He hit a stone to the right of the doors and the portcullis dropped back into position with a clang. He pressed a second stone, and a noise not unlike a bass drum’s beat began to boom out from behind the main gate somewhere.
“A doorbell?” I said, amused.
He glanced at me. Though a smile twitched at his lips, it failed to ease the tension in his eyes. “It’s a door, so why shouldn’t it have a bell?”
I snorted softly, but was stopped from replying when a gruff voice said, “ID number?”
I glanced around but couldn’t immediately see where the demand was coming from.
“593714ST,” Trey said.
“Voice and number correlation. Good to have you back, Commander.”
With a heavy rumble, one of the big doors began to slide aside. There were armed soldiers on the other side, but they relaxed the minute they saw us.
“Hansen, report.” Trey stepped through the gap and began striding down a long, dark corridor lined with both weapon and oil slits. While both were considered to be rather old-fashioned these days, if they’d been in place at Winterborne, perhaps the Adlin wouldn’t have gotten as far as they did.
“The main gatehouse has been breached,” Hansen said as he fell in step beside the commander. “There are twenty-seven known casualties so far, and three dead. The inner wall remains secure and the Adlin have been repelled.”
Meaning, I hoped, that the bracelet was still here and safe.
“No civilian casualties?” Trey’s voice was clipped. He was asking about his daughter, even if he didn’t come out and say it.
“No, Commander. And your daughter is safe. We haven’t as yet given the all clear to the raid shelters though.”
The tension that had been holding Trey hostage almost immediately lifted. “And the gates? How were they breached?”
“A blast of some kind,” Hansen said. “Lieutenant Ruma has just sent a recon team out.”
“Under full cover, I hope.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“And communications?”
“Were partially destroyed when the gatehouse fell, and finished off by the Adlin.”
Trey grunted. “I want them restored as a priority, Hanson.”
“Aye, Commander.”
We came out into the inner bailey courtyard. There were several fires burning and people everywhere, some of them ferrying wounded to the small inner bailey hospital, others either trying to put out the fires or clean up rubble. The inner courtyard might not have fallen, but it had certainly been hit—and by something more than just trebuchets. The missiles the Adlin had used during their last attack on this place certainly hadn’t been capable of the damage done here. It almost looked like the stone had spontaneously blown apart—and the only people capable of causing that sort of havoc were earth witches of extreme power. Trey trusted those under his command, so did that mean someone else had slipped in here? For the most part, the outposts—other than West Range—weren’t used as vacation spots, but it wasn’t unknown for the kin of those serving at them to visit from time to time. Could one such visit have led to this destruction?
If the wind knew the answers to any of my questions, she certainly wasn’t saying. In fact, she was being remarkably mute. But maybe she was still grieving for Hedra’s soul.
No, the wind said. She is a betrayer, and unworthy of our collective grief. But we cannot fully answer your questions. She forbade us.
She? Hedra, you mean?
Yes.
If you deem her a betrayer, why do you still follow her wishes?
Because the order carries the weight of three, and while one lives, the order holds.
Meaning Saska, I gathered, given she was the only one left of the three women who’d been wearing the bracelets. Can she countermand the order alone?
No. Only death will break the binding.
And I certainly wasn’t going to kill her. Saska might be a part of whatever the hell was going on, but she was also our only real hope of finding answers. And maybe now that Hedra was dead, she’d be more willing to talk.
Two soldiers saluted the commander as we neared inner gatehouse tower and then opened the heavy metal door. Trey bounded up the stairs; I followed, not sure what else to do. But that uncertainty had no sooner crossed my mind when he glanced back at me and gave me a nod. It was almost as if he’d heard the thought, which was decidedly odd considering he wasn’t even wearing an earwig. And while I could talk to the wind, he couldn’t, so it was unlikely she’d passed on the inner question.
Another two soldiers stood watch at the top of the stairwell. Trey pressed his hand against a scanner to the right of the heavy metal doors and, once they’d opened, strode inside. This room was basically a smaller-scale version of the one in the outer bailey. My gaze immediately went to the wide windows that lined the front of the room. The damage was even more extensive than it had looked from a distance. It wasn’t only the left half the main gatehouse that had fallen, but a good twenty or more feet of the wall on that side. It would have taken one hell of a powerful explosion to cause that sort of damage, which surely meant that while the Adlin might have been involved in the attack—and they certainly had been given the number of bodies below in the courtyard—they weren’t the brains behind this whole event.
We desperately needed to find out who actually was.
Ruma turned around as he entered. “Glad to have you back, Commander.”
He nodded. “Any idea how the breach happened yet?”
“Unfortunately yes. We think we caught the perpetrators on video before comms went down.” Her gaze flickered to mine and, just for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of hostility. “Grant, on the main screen if you please.”
“You saw them, and didn’t stop them?” Trey said.
Ruma nodded. “You’ll understand the lack of urgency when you see the playback, Commander.”
He crossed his arms and waited. The big screen sitting above the main viewing platform flickered then came to life; what appeared was a nighttime view of the outer courtyard, with the main gatehouse front and center. Music and laughter could be heard—no doubt the equinox celebrations in full swing—but on the screen all was quiet. Aside from the watch officers making regular patrols, th
e courtyard was all but abandoned.
“Skip to the important part, Grant,” Ruma said.
The playback rolled forward at speed. At nine fifteen and thirty-four seconds, two figures appeared. They were dressed in black and were rather small in stature, appearing as little more than shadows in the night-held courtyard. Silver glinted on the wrists of both of them and my stomach began to churn.
They paused for several seconds, looking around carefully; one of them glanced briefly toward the camera, her face pale and thin. Shock coursed through me.
Not just because her entire face and every bit of visible skin was lavender-gray, but also because she couldn’t have been any older than ten or eleven.
“No,” I said in disbelief. “Two children can’t be responsible for all this destruction.”
“These two aren’t ordinary children.” This time there was no denying the hostility in Ruma’s gaze. “They’re stained, for a start—”
“Ruma,” Trey said, with just a hint of reprimand. “Enough.”
She glanced back at the screen, but anger still vibrated through every part of her body. Why was it when the unstained did something bad, no one thought to tar the entire community with the same brush, and yet the opposite was true when it came to us? Life wasn’t fair, I was well aware of that, but it was nevertheless frustrating.
I returned my gaze to the screen and watched the two children run across the yard and disappear inside the gatehouse. For a second there was no further movement, and no sound other than the ongoing celebrations. Then a rumble began, softly at first but gradually getting louder, until it seemed as if the earth itself was screaming. And perhaps it was, because a few seconds later, it heaved upwards with such force that one part of the gate sheered away from the other, and the section of wall connected to it was blasted away. Dust, earth, and metal exploded through the air and, for several more minutes, there was nothing else to be seen. When the debris settled and the dust began to clear, the gatehouse was down, the alarms were sounding, and the Adlin were pouring through the broken section of the wall.
“And the children?” Trey’s voice held little in the way of emotion.
