by Amy Hopkins
Bastian chuckled as he left. The old man was getting grumpier by the day, and yet he refused to leave. Everyone in the damn town knew it was because he was worried about them. His tough, bristly exterior seemed to prickle most at the people he respected, or cared for most.
Julianne was the only one who seemed able to tolerate him most days, and even she had her limits.
Swinging a leg over his horse, Bastian wondered if he should wait until Artemis actually showed up at the pending class. Then, he shrugged. Artemis knew the stakes.
Bastian had no doubt he would have let himself be talked into it eventually, but the young mystic had an ulterior motive. He did want Artemis to form a part of the new school, if he could convince Julianne to let him help set it up.
He squashed down the fear that his idea would be taken away from him. He knew Julianne wouldn't do that. She encouraged ownership of ideas, and he knew he was technically qualified to do pretty much anything he wanted as a mystic, now that his own training was over and he had gone on his pilgrimage.
More and more, he thought of Tahn as his home. As he travelled through the city towards the gate, he was filled with pride at how far the people had come in the past weeks. They repaired months of damage to buildings and farms, and had bonded together, helping each other heal after such loss.
His heart swelled further when he saw the wall. The stark white barrier reached high enough to slow anyone, but a physical Mage who had the power to propel themselves over it with magic.
Along the top, metal plates attached coils of barbed wire. Bastian squinted and made out thin spikes pointing up beneath the wire. Anyone who made it to the top of that wall would be in for a painful surprise.
Bastian cupped his hands to his mouth and took a deep breath. “Francis?”
“North end!” A man called back, pointing to the left.
Bastian tugged on one rein and turned his horse that way, heading down to a cluster of people and… “What in the frozen hells of the Bastard’s grave is that?”
The ‘that’ he referred to was a bear. As Bastian watched, it rose on two feet to grasp a dangling rope in its mouth. Then it fell back to all fours and ambled backwards.
As the bear pulled at the rope, a huge, white, wall partition slowly lifted. Men stood on either side, guiding it into place. Within minutes, the defensive wall around the village had even extended by several feet.
“Lilly?” Bastian called, spotting the young girl watching the display.
She waved at him distractedly, not taking her eyes off the hanging wall section. “Let it go, Snuffy.”
The hollow thud reverberated through the dirt below Bastian’s feet as the wall slotted in, falling to the ground. The men stepped back and one leaned forwards to give it a tentative shove.
“All good, Francis. You ready for another?”
“Snuffy wants to eat, first. And he'd like to roll around in the sun. It’s such a lovely day.” Lilly rubbed the bear’s head.
“Of course, Lilly. Tell Snuffy he has our thanks.” Francis stepped out from the small circle of men warily watching the bear.
“He knows,” she said. “He can smell it on you.”
Francis turned his head, giving one armpit a reflexive sniff. He wrinkled his nose, then shrugged. “You’ve spoken to the wolf pack? You’re sure they’ll dig for us tonight?”
Lilly nodded. “Just don’t forget to leave out the meat. They’ll have to take time away from the hunt, and they'll starve over winter if they don’t get enough to eat.”
“Lilly, if they can do this for us, I’ll give them a whole buck every week until snowfall.”
Lilly threw her arms around him and he rocked back, unbalanced. “Thank you, Francis!” She ran off to hurry Snuffy away from the wall.
Francis caught sight of Bastian and wandered over, shaking his head. “Can’t say as I expected to have a beast and a little guild on my construction team, but I can’t say as I’m complaining, either.”
“Are you sure feeding wolves is the best idea?” Bastian asked. “I know Lilly cares for them, and she can control them to a degree, but if their population increases…” he let the statement hang.
Francis shrugged. “We’ve always had a great many in the forest around Tahn. Used to lose so many lambs we were ready to give up. Too scared to let the kiddies play outside, too.”
“And then?” Bastian sensed a story.
“Well, Lilly came along. Kept getting a thrashing for sneaking out to the woods. She said the animals wouldn’t touch her, but we didn't really understand then. Her pa took her to see the mangled corpse of a lamb they’d attacked that morning. It got tangled in a fence and they couldn't drag the body off.”
“That’s a bit… much. How old was she?” Bastian asked.
Francis wiggled his fingers, counting. “Five, by my guess. She was hysterical. Bit her Pa on the hand and when he let go, she bolted like a scared horse. Came back three days later, covered in dirt, lost her shoes, but happier than I’ve seen her. Never saw a wolf or lost an animal since.”
Bastian reeled at the thought. “Five years old and she spent three nights in a forest full of wolves? Her parents must have been beside themselves.”
Francis glowered. “Let’s not touch on that. Don’t like speaking ill of the dead.”
Bastian nodded in understanding. He had heard Lilly’s parents described as ‘odd’, but not in a way that suggested fondness. “Well, I’m glad Lilly’s safe now… but I need to steal you away, my friend.”
“I have a job set by the Master herself.” He darted a glance back at his wall, pride etched on his face.
Bastian nodded. “I know, and I won’t keep you too long. But if we can harness that power you’ve got, it could be invaluable in battle.”
Francis chewed his lip as he thought it over. Then, he nodded. “Fair enough. I want to help in any way I can.”
He turned back to direct the men he had been working with to take a break. “We’ll start again at three,” he instructed.
Bastian took Francis to a yard behind the town hall. An old shed stacked with hay bales made a wind break, and Bastian shrugged off his robe in the heat. He dropped it on a pile of loose straw, then gently stretched out his muscles.
He rode almost daily now, a requirement to get around the sprawling village. That didn’t mean his muscles had learned to appreciate it yet.
“So, do I need to do the meditating thing again?” Francis asked dubiously. So far, he had only managed to conjure a small flame and only once.
“Do you remember what happened just before you made the fire last time?” Bastian asked.
Francis shrugged. “I was trying not to think about it. Didn't want to burn Ma’s house down while I was sleeping.”
Bastian chuckled. “I promise you, it won’t. You can’t cast accidentally. It requires concentration and focus.”
Francis didn’t look convinced. Still, he waited patiently for Bastian’s instructions.
“Artemis says you need to make a gesture, do something with your hand. You don’t remember what your fingers were doing last time?” Bastian asked.
“Nope.”
Swallowing down frustration, Bastian tried another route. “Ok, we’ll start with meditation. Instead of the calm, though, I want you to hold out your hand and imagine a flame.”
Francis lifted his arm. Bastian waited. After a few minutes, Francis dropped his arm.
“Sorry. I can’t hold it up no more.” He looked defeated and they had barely begun.
“Look, Francis, I know this is hard. You’re trying to do something that even I can’t comprehend. You can do it, though. I saw you. We just need to figure out how.”
Francis kicked at a clump of dirt. “If I don’t, those bastards will hurt our town again, won’t they.”
Bastian grabbed his arm. “You think I’d let that happen? That any of us would? Why do you think we’ve been riding you so hard, pushing you through all those mind-clearing exercises and flick
ing your shields with imaginary stones until you’re ready to punch us?”
Francis yanked his arm back, face flushed. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know we can’t win, I know a few weeks of fucking about ain’t gonna do squat against those people. They’re not weak, or stupid. You don’t think they can just walk on in here and fuck us over again in a heartbeat?”
“Francis, you’ve come so far—”
“Not far enough!” Francis raised a clenched fist, holding it back with an effort. Then, he spat out a growl as he opened his hand and let it fall. “I’m sorry, Bastian. I know you’ve tried. It’s not that you failed, it’s that you never had a chance in the first place.” He turned to go.
“Francis, please. I—” Bastian paused. “What’s that smell?”
“What?” Francis glanced back, caught by the unexpected question. Then, he jumped, eyes wide. “Fire. FIRE!”
Bastian spun. The pile of dry grass he had tossed his coat onto was now burning, the flames already a foot high. “What in the hell?”
He ripped off his shirt and slapped it at the flame, Francis beside him trying to stomp out the embers. When the last flickers were gone and the ash had stopped smoking, they leaned against the wall, exhausted by the rush of activity.
“If that had reached the feed shed, we’d have been in some serious trouble,” Francis commented.
“Bloody stupid place to teach you to shoot fire,” Bastian said. “I take the blame.”
Francis laughed. “You think that was me?” His smile fell away as Bastian simply stood there. “It wasn’t. I mean, I didn’t do anything.”
“The hell you didn’t. You got angry, Francis.” Bastian kicked himself for not realizing sooner. The first time Francis had cast a fire spell, he had been burning up inside, thinking about the New Dawn and all they had taken from him. This time, he had been thinking about what they might do next.
“That thing I did with my fist,” Francis said. “You think that was the thing?”
Bastian shrugged. “It was a thing. The spell you cast this time wasn’t the same as the first one. Then, the fire was in your hand. This time it was like you threw it. Not a fireball, because we’d have seen that.”
“I guess I maybe did feel something. Like… a letting go. I was trying to let go of the anger, but it felt… different.” Francis lifted his hands and gazed at them in wonder. “I really did that.”
“Well, it didn’t start itself.” Bastian pinched when Francis flexed his hands. “Before you try again, maybe we should head somewhere a little less flammable. And maybe have some water buckets nearby, too.”
“There’s a pond in one of the fields at Ma’s. The wall, though—you mind if I go back and finish? Master Julianne asked me to make sure it got done.”
Bastian nodded, seeing lines of fatigue around Francis’s eyes. Though it was only a tiny fire, he was far from used to creating energy like that from nothing. He would need to tread carefully, lest he burn the man out. “That’s fine. I have to go see to some things anyway. We can try again at first light.”
Francis nodded, then reached out a hand. Trying not to show his nervousness, Bastian shook it firmly. Francis’s skin was cool and smooth, with no sign of the damage it had just done.
“Thank you, Bastian. I know we Tahn folk can be a bit ornery sometimes, but we do appreciate what you’ve done.”
“I know, Francis. I know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Julianne and Marcus slowed as they approached the city, dismounting as soon as the gates were in sight. Unlike Tahn, the residents of Muir were wrapped inside the high stone walls, protected by heavy iron gates that were guarded by soldiers in sparkling armor.
Julianne picked off the last of the grass that clung to her clothes. They had spent the night sleeping under the stars, opting to leave the tent rolled up so they could enjoy the last of the warm weather, and make an early start in the morning.
“Well, it seems someone is certainly profiting from the nearby towns,” Marcus commented. “Not one bloody soldier seen in Tahn, and these bozos are prancing about in gear that looks like it hasn’t seen a day of battle.”
As much as Marcus hated Adrien, he at least had to admit that he had protected the smaller towns and estates around Arcadia well. Of course, they were mostly inhabited by Adrien’s elite class of nobles.
“Steady on,” Julianne said. “We don't want to get kicked out before we even get in.”
“Can’t you just waggle your eyebrows and hocus pocus them?” Marcus asked.
“I already have,” Julianne said calmly. He looked up to see her eyes shining white. “But it’ll be a lot more work with you making a ruckus. Just move slowly and quietly.”
Marcus did as she asked, carefully walking his horse past the gatekeepers. The soldiers didn’t show any sign of their approach and Marcus held his breath as they stepped inside.
The town was bustling with activity. Horses trod the roads, some decked out in shiny leather and brass, others ridden with worn saddles and old ropes for a harness. The ground was hard, the flop of hooves suggesting that underneath the veneer of dirt, the roads were cobbled.
“Marcus, you look like you’re about to pop,” Julianne giggled.
He let out a whoosh of air. “I was being quiet, like you said!" he protested. He nudged his horse down one of the wider roads through the city.
“Do you want to visit the brothel now, or later? We’ll have to find a place to stay, and I need a way to speak to George Senior on the quiet, too.”
“The… what?” Marcus asked, sure he had heard her wrong.
“The brothel.” She arched an eyebrow. “What, scared of a few girls?”
“I… just…”
Julianne burst out laughing, gripping her saddle so she wouldn’t fall off her horse. “Oh, Marcus. The look on your face is just priceless! I planted a suggestion in Little George’s head to tell his favorite prostitute everything he knows about the New Dawn, and any action he’s taken since he got back.”
Marcus sagged in relief. “I thought… never mind.” The pink in his cheeks made her laugh even more, causing a few passers-by to look over, frowning at the odd behavior.
“You… actually thought… I’d send you off to get serviced by some poor girl in a sex factory, while I wait… patiently outside?” Julianne heaved breaths in between her shaking words, dissolving back into laughter as soon as she was done.
“No! I mean… Hell, Jules, give me a break.” The pink was now purple and Marcus tugged at the neck of his shirt, trying desperately to cool his face.
Coughing, Julianne desperately gathered her senses and slipped into a meditation. She broke it twice, unable to suppress her mirth. Finally, she was calm.
Still, she couldn’t resist one more jab. “Anyway, it’s not like we’ve never spent time in a prostitute’s room together before.”
When she had been outed as a spy, posing as Stellan, a trap was laid at the local Arcadian brothel. Julianne had been frequenting it to keep up appearances, lulling the girl to sleep once she was in the room and planting false memories in her head.
“I hate you,” Marcus mumbled. The color in his face hadn’t subsided. “And I need a drink. I bloody well deserve one, putting up with you. I’ll find the inn and you can find the bloody hooker. Don’t wake me up when you come in.”
Julianne pressed her lips together tightly, holding back another jab at Marcus about “waking him up when she came in.” Though their relationship hadn’t passed beyond a few kisses and some flirting, the tensions sometimes lay thick enough to cut with a sword.
Resolving to behave herself in case she dug a deeper hole than she was ready for, Julianne caught Marcus by the arm. He watched as her eyes flicked white for a bare moment, then cleared as she disguised them.
She stared vacantly, occasionally tipping her head a little in one direction, then another. Finally, she blinked and smiled. “Take that road. Don’t stop at the first place, keep going. It’s not too
far.”
“Bloody woman,” was all Marcus said before he kicked his horse into a trot and disappeared into the throng of people and horses in the street.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Julianne regarded the clean, white building in front of her. The front door was small and unassuming, with no signage to signal what lay inside.
Not for the first time, Julianne shook her head. She wanted Marcus there with her, and wasn’t happy at the idea of him running about town alone. He had never come up against the New Dawn directly, and although his innate gift for mental shields should protect him, she preferred to play it safe.
Julianne took a slow breath, slipping into a meditative state. She lowered her eyelids to hide the whiteness and centered herself. She felt the connection with the world around her.
The sun warmed her hands and face. The cobbled stones under her feet pushed hard lumps through the soft soles of her shoes. Her nose filled with the scent of horse, sweat, and sex, while her ears vaguely noted the chatter of the townspeople, the clang of a distant metal worker, hoofbeats, singing, and a loud crow.
Opening her eyes, Julianne muttered a quiet word. She stepped forwards, crossed the road and knocked loudly on the door. To anyone in the street, however, she was no longer the white-robed woman who led the mystics of the Heights.
Instead, anyone watching would see a young man with dark hair and green eyes, one who had a smug twist to his mouth and an arrogant posture.
A small peephole slid open. Brown eyes peered out, regarding the well-dressed man in fine silks and dropping to the fat purse hanging from his belt. Julianne gave the pouch a tap, and the coins inside clinked loudly.
The peephole snapped shut. A moment later, the narrow door swung open.
“Welcome to the House of Friendship, sir.” The woman batted her eyelids and twitched the sheer cloth of her dress.
Julianne cocked an eyebrow, acting unimpressed. “I’m not here for friendship,” she growled in a man’s voice.
The girl smiled seductively. “Whatever you’re here for, we can provide. That is, of course, if you can afford it.”
