Kiran and Severin jumped in side by side. Fought their way to the cave's end.
Ten sappers remained. Kiran flung arrows through several. Severin's sword hand was slow. Aching.
He cut through a man with eyes green as a summer forest.
Abel...he thought. Looking away as his sword pierced through the man's belly. Abel screamed. Groveled as he dropped to the ground.
Severin turned on his heel. Cut through muscle and bone. Saw an arm flop to the ground. Watched wrinkles grow around an older woman's mouth as she threw her head backward and hit the ground. A cloud of dust erupted around her.
Severin approached. Brought his sword up. Flung the blade down. Ripped through her throat.
Dianne...he knew her too. He shook her image from his head. Turned.
An arrow ripped past his ear. Squelched as it hit its target. Biting through a man's blinded eye.
Another man fell to the dirt. Another man Severin knew.
He couldn't think his name. He simply clenched his hand around the hilt of his sword and walked towards the chasm's opening. Plunged his sword through the young man's throat.
I turned you away because you were blind...I remember...
Gritting his teeth, he shook the thought away.
“All clear!” Kiran's twin called in garbled commonspeak.
“Save for one.” Kiran hissed.
Severin rushed to the back of the chasm. Stood over a man they both knew. Kiran pulled an arrow between his thumb and forefinger. Angled his head as his bowstring sang.
He hissed words in his native tongue. Held the arrow still.
Severin kneeled before the man. Age wrinkled his face, making it leathery. He shivered in a ball, hugging his knees to his chest. Brown eyes bore into Severin's. Blood dripped from his temple, “Officer Fabien...” an acquisitions officer. Picked by Severin's own hand, “...this is how you repay me?”
The man trembled. Couldn't speak. Began to sob.
“Who put you up to this?”
Kiran hissed, “Does it matter? We know how it happened. Kill the head of the snake and the problem is solved.” his bow string breathed, “We cannot let him live.”
Severin kept his eyes trained on Fabien. Normally, Severin would be all for it. But being placed in a leadership position while Ludovic was gone changed things, “Ludovic needs to know about this. We need to question him. Find out who put him up to this.” the words felt strange coming out of his mouth. Though his blood boiled—Fabien had been a friend. A soldier in the old guard with Severin back at the eastern citadel. A man under his command even back then. From so long ago.
He couldn't bring himself to kill an old friend.
There has to be a reason!
“No.” Kiran decided, “We're so close to our goal for Safrana—if Ludovic sees this it'll change him. He won't be the leader my people need—,”
“And how about the truth of things, Kiran? Someone put him up to this. Someone who wanted the Spears gone.”
“You aren't sure of that.”
“I know this man well enough.” he grunted. Looked into Fabian's eyes. Narrowed his own. Knew.
Fabien reached forward. Froze. Brought his hand into himself, “If you let me live—I'll tell you everything,” he pleaded, “please. This was not up to me. It wasn't!”
Severin glared over his shoulder, “See—” he froze. Came face to face with a bolt head.
Ignoring the bolt head aimed for his face, Severin narrowed his eyes, “The people know what happened. We need the truth, Kiran. Ludovic needs to know what happened here!”
“No. They don't.” his voice became cool, his face stone, “They'll believe whatever we tell them.”
“I will not lie to my friend!” Severin roared, going for his sword. Meeting the eyes of Kiran's twin as he set his crossbow. Prepared to shoot.
Kiran sighed heavily, “I know you won't.”
Another explosion sounded within the chasm. Black dirt rained. Stone crumbled upon stone.
Fabian laughed maniacally. Madness bubbling from him like froth.
And the bolt flew.
TWENTY-NINE
Marceline
The sinkhole cut through the center of the courtyard, gaping like a festering wound. Mist and gas escaping from it like puss and blood.
Kiran swore that the men and women who had attacked the very foundation of Fort Endure were unnamed. Faceless even.
But Marceline knew better.
She shook her head. Walked the length of the sinkhole's edge. Listened to the bustle of the courtyard as the skeleton of a rickety wooden bridge was slowly placed across the hole. It would be months until anyone could safely cross it. Months before they found the true attackers. The true heart of this demolition.
Both Kiran and Severin had survived the attack. Though, while one was wide-eyed and talkative, the other was quiet. Mute. Sleeping in a perpetual dream Ludovic's apothecaries could only describe as a coma.
Beneath his breath, Ludovic wished Vidonia were here. Wished she were still alive.
“She'd be able to fix him.” he hissed to himself.
Kiran caught on but said nothing. He knew nothing of their failure that day, but in the days to come Marceline was sure Ludovic would fill him in.
Today, Marceline pretended to know nothing. Feel nothing.
Her agents were dead. Vidonia was gone.
Who was she to train anyone else? To fill someone else with the confidence and belief that they would be able to protect themselves? Save their own life?
She shook her head. Spat into the hole.
Maybe the world would be a little different if she fell in there. If the world forgot she existed.
Marceline looked down. Watched a swirl of white mist dance.
If you die, the Masters will come after them. If you die, the blood price will fall to the Spears.
Eyes fell on her. Bored into her back as she stared into the bottomless depth of the sinkhole.
Have you forgotten the Master's words already?
Reine is still out there. You have not failed.
Your agents have died, but you can train new people. Clara, Adelaide, and Talon can live on in them.
And Marceline turned. Eyed the mismatched gathering of her recruits as women and men bowed to her. Curtsied and inclined their heads.
Get back to your training, Marceline told herself, revert back to your roots. Make them better. Make them stronger than they have ever been before.
Forgive yourself.
Her attention flitted to a muscular woman with red eyes. Blonde hair.
Remy.
Her large eyes were soft. Apologetic even.
Everyone must know, then. Of our failure.
Marceline stiffened. Straightened her back. Hardened her eyes.
You will be better.
She picked people out of the crowd. Looked at the gathered people pointedly. Met the wavering eyes of old women and young men.
Marceline inclined her own head and watched hundreds of others return her nod. Replying with solemn glances. Silence.
They believed in her. Now, it was time she believed in herself.
MARCELINE TRAINED. Woke up some mornings in a cold sweat with a sky darker than a wraith's stained heart. She saw Talon, Adelaide, and Clara falling. She saw them hitting the bottom of the colossal gorge that separated the eastern citadel from the west. They were weightless, like feathers. But they hit the ground hard. Like stones thrown from a window. Like birds with broken wings forced to fly. They flew.
And smacked the ground hard.
She woke up to bones crunching. Women snoring in her room. Recruits. Recruits she'd use to replace Adelaide, Clara, and Talon.
Marceline woke them too when she couldn't sleep. Sent them out into the hallways and into other recruits rooms. Forced them to wake too. Made them run the length of the courtyard and back, shivering. Always shivering beneath the dark of night as their breath pumped through aching lungs.
Marceli
ne braved the cold with them. Ignored her lack of sleep. Ground fought with them during the day and ran with them at night. Her new methods of training became tiresome to many. Draining. Deadly to some. Exhaustion was a silent killer. An abrupt one.
One young woman fell out of formation on a night run. Dropped to the ground and simply froze. Two final puffs of steam emerging from her nostrils as her eyes glazed over.
Marceline watched with tired eyes.
She'd rather they died in training than on the battlefield.
When the sun crested the horizon that day, she slipped away from her recruits. Left a single woman in charge, a wicked creature. A woman from the Isles of Solitude that reminded her of Adelaide during her final days in the Spears.
Could Adelaide have known her fate?
Marceline shook the question away as she walked the halls of the fortress's main building, making her way to the sick bay.
She's dead now. Should it matter?
White doors stood before her. Towering over. They stood like gates.
With a shove and a grunt, Marceline barged her way inside. The place had a metallic scent to it. The chamber was too spacious, with too many beds and a scarcity of caretakers. People slept. Moaned and rolled over. Women wearing white tunics smeared with vomit or blood rushed from bed to bed, feeding, cleaning, crying.
Marceline despised the smell of death.
Approaching a caretaker, Marceline blocked her path.
The woman's eyes widened, “Are you looking for the commander?”
Marceline replied with a smile.
The woman simply pointed up the walkway to a wall of four red doors, “The first one.” she spat before sprinting away.
Weaving her way through the sea of cots, she came to the door. Opened it.
Severin slept in a room all his own. He looked weak. Placid.
He's never been this quiet.
The silence made her heart slow. Her stomach drop.
The air seemed thicker here.
Slowly, she approached the bed. Stopped midway.
Ludovic sat in a chair at the edge of the bed, looking at her. Watching.
Marceline met his eye. She hadn't seen him since returning to the fortress. Part of her was glad for it. His face reminded her of the great bridge. The explosion.
Had she been avoiding him?
Marceline looked down at her hands. She had nothing to give Severin—she didn't even like him. Then, why—why was she here?
“Sorry.” she whispered. Turned on her heel.
Who was she to invade his privacy?
He had already lost one friend, and here he was. About to lose another.
IN THE EVENING, LUDOVIC brought her dinner.
Standing from the unlit corner of her small study, Marceline watched the tall man let himself in. He wore a smile. Pasted it on his face like a mask.
“It's like you,” he looked around the room for her. Found her in the corner, “...never eat.”
He couldn't laugh. Not this time. He sat their plates down and took the same seat from before. Watched her intently as she came to her desk and sat.
His eyes lingered on the unlit corner of her room. He saw a pack. A small one.
Marceline gritted her teeth.
“You leaving?” he simply asked.
She had no choice but to lie, “I would never.”
He bit his cheek. Smiled tightly. Nodded his answer. Couldn't speak.
They ate in silence. Carefully. Marceline kept her eyes on her plate, avoiding eye contact. But following his eyes every time they moved to her pack.
I would never leave willingly.
She shook her head. Sighed lightly into her food. Found she had lost her appetite. Her will to hold anything down.
Ludovic finished abruptly. Looked squarely into her face. His eyes were soft. Bright. They spoke volumes. Broke her heart.
Carefully, he reached across the table. Cupped her chin with his rough and calloused hand. He felt her face. Her skin. Brushed his fingertips lightly across her cheek. Tenderly.
“I don't want to lose you too.”
Marceline had no words. Clamped her lips shut. Afraid of what she might say.
Her heart hiccuped. Danced.
No one had ever cared for her like this. Everyone she knew saw her as a tool. A means to kill or protect. Never before...
“I...” she shut her mouth.
Ludovic shot to standing. Left the room in a storm of angry blue fabric.
Marceline stood. Teetered. Almost lost her balance.
Her breath hitched painfully in her throat.
SHE DIDN'T SLEEP THAT night. Couldn't.
When dawn came, orange light cresting the horizon in a thin golden sliver, she collected her pack and left the alchemist's tower. Held tight to her dagger as she braced herself against the onslaught of cold that bit at her.
Approaching the bridge, she stopped. Choked the hilt of her dagger and held its sharp tip up.
From high above, a figure dropped to the cobbles. Slipped from the overhanging roof of the bridge.
Marceline breathed heavily. The figure was but an inch from the point of her dagger.
Kiran towered above her in a lengthy black capote that hid his thin frame. He huffed, “You're not going alone.”
“I'm not going anywhere.” she snapped. Dropping her dagger into her belt, she attempted to shove past him. His body hit her. His bones heavy as stones, “Now, move.”
“I know your type, Marceline. You won't give up until your mission is complete.”
Marceline scoffed, hating her small stature, “Did Ludovic put you up to this?”
“Pft!” he spat, “The man's got enough weighing him down—no.”
“Then what? What do you want from me?”
He leaned in. From beneath his wide hood, she caught a glimpse of sharp eyes, “You're going to bury your people right?”
She stiffened. Nodded her lie.
“I need to take care of Vidonia. Just, allow me this.” he whispered, “Please.”
She thought on this. Bit her lip, “You want to bury her?”
“I need to burn her. She's a hetaera, Marceline. A non-human. It's only right that I be the one to put her out of her misery.”
“You're saying...” Marceline breathed.
“She's still alive. Reliving the pain of death over and over. Yes.”
The air stilled. She shivered. Sighed and relented.
“Fine.” she hissed, “But if I tell you to turn and go back, swear to me that you'll heed my command.”
He smiled. All teeth, “You aren't Ludovic.”
“Swear to me, Kiran.”
“Elves do not swear,” he inclined his head, “but I will promise.”
“Fine.” Good enough.
Kiran moved, letting her pass. Followed her across the bridge and through the courtyard. They climbed the southernmost wall, scaling it near the portcullis, and slid over. Their labored breath coming out in white puffs.
Whoever attacked the fort—they weren't nameless.
They were agents of the Bann—sent by the Masters.
And they were losing patience.
THIRTY
Marceline
They made it to the gorge separating the two citadels of Safrana by midday.
Getting there had been easy. Climbing down the smooth sides of the wide opening proved to be more tasking, requiring intense concentration on both of their parts.
By the time they made it to the slate colored rubble filling up the massive gorge, the sun was at their backs. The great orb ready to dip below the horizon and give way to the moon.
Kiran spent hours delving into the gray slate rubble, pawing through pieces of stone there. Picking up a bit of steel here. Marceline watched the skies, awestruck. Unable to look down at her feet without thinking of her agents who died here. Without thinking of their expressions as they fell.
The hate they must have felt. They must have felt utterly betrayed...
She remembered her dismissal clearly. Gerard had seemed unrepentant.
Marceline hawked. Spat.
“You almost done here?” she asked, turning to look at Kiran as he stooped in the rubble.
She hadn't come to bury her people. She knew it would have been a waste of her time. They were somewhere here, buried beneath this mess of stone and steel. To her, there was no point in searching.
“She must be...farther beneath,” he grunted, lifting up a massive stone before throwing it to his side, “far—far—beneath.” he sighed. Hung his head and shook it. Looked to her with those sharp eagle eyes of his, “It's pointless, I guess.”
“Are you done?”
He nodded. Standing tall.
“Then go back.”
Kiran widened his eyes. Snorted, “Without you?” he barked a sudden burst of laughter, “Ludovic would have me ousted.”
“Then he did put you up to this?”
Kiran narrowed his eyes. Approached her slowly, gliding over the rubble, “You aren't here to bury your people.”
Marceline bit back a laugh.
“That much is obvious.”
She avoided his gaze, “Go back, Kiran.”
“I can't. Not without you.”
“You promised—,”
He stood over her. Towered. Looked down with disgust, “What are you really here for, Marceline?”
“Her charge, who else?” piped a different voice. One that made Marceline do a double take, “It's our nature, elf.”
Lucius.
Hissing a sigh, Kiran turned as Marceline remained silent. Dropped her hands to her thighs, her eyes wide. Unseeing.
Lucius?
A river of dark hair was pulled back. Tight. Tied into a long, flowing, tail. A tattered black cloak hid his clothing, but she spied boots. A knife at his belt, the steel dark. Obsidian.
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