by Jeff Kish
Ospif uncharacteristically pauses. “W-Well, I’m sure they had their reasons.”
“They certainly did,” he agrees, “but what they’re doing to Di is evil. Turning her into a soldier and making her fight is…” As he trails off, he squeezes his eyes shut and says, “They’re monsters, every one of them.”
“Just what is this blather you keep spouting about Di being a soldier?” Ospif harshly asks. “She’s a thirteen-year-old runt! Talented or not, they wouldn’t draft a child without first drafting every able-bodied student at the Academy.”
“They didn’t draft her, they kidnapped her,” he snaps back. “Besides, she’s stronger than you think. She…” he trails off, rubbing his injury beneath his cloak.
“Great mercy, was Di the super specialist to whom you were referring earlier?”
Era can’t help but laugh. “She’s as strong as a commander, which is why that general guy wanted her.”
“General Graff, himself?” he asks with surprise.
“General Graff…” Era repeats, memorizing the name. “What he did is unforgivable. I’m going to rescue her.” Ospif clearly doubts his words, but the sincerity in Era’s eyes brings him to silence. A cool breeze sweeps through the area, providing much-needed relief in the heat of the afternoon. Era breaks the silence to ask, “How did you know her?”
“Di was a study partner of mine,” Ospif replies. “We were blue robes together, and we were both set to accelerate through the ranks. Then I heard they caught her cheating on an exam. As if that girl needed to cheat!”
Era raises his brow. “She was really that smart?”
“Indeed. Despite our age difference, she and I were studying the same discipline, and we worked closely for about a year. After that incident, the professors removed her from our project. I wasn’t about to wait for her, naturally, so I pushed on and became a green robe. I hadn’t seen much of her in the weeks leading to her departure.”
“Some friend,” Era grunts.
“I was never her friend,” he says. “We were academic colleagues. There is quite a difference.”
“Yes, I saw that when I met your dean,” Era says with dismay. “The jerk showed no remorse that Di was taken. He dared to label it convenient. That one of his students was kidnapped!”
“By the military,” Ospif reminds him. “Just what were we to do, assemble a militia and storm the barracks?”
Era’s hand returns to his left shoulder as memories of the strike that took off his arm continue to haunt him. He breathes deeply and mutters, “A real friend would do that.”
Ospif scoffs. “Only if he were stupid.”
Era can’t help but agree, allowing the conversation to end. Eventually, Jem returns, allowing Era to make a round. The two trade off several times, neither one caring to make any more conversation with the young Haran.
As the horizon shifts to a soft orange, Fire emerges from the brush to find her three traveling companions waiting. In her hand is the sack of money, now filthy from being stuffed into a rotten log for three days. She removes the bandanna from her head and wipes away the sweat on her brow. “No one came. Looks like my hunch was off.”
Era whoops. “That’s a relief. I thought we were in for another confrontation.”
Fire doesn’t seem as enthusiastic. “I still have my doubts, but we don’t have the luxury of waiting. With no soldiers in sight, we’ll take the ship as planned.” Looking to Ospif, she says, “You’ll come with us into the city, but you’re not worth the added fare.”
“You mean to say you’re finally letting me go?”
“Trust me when I say that no one is more excited than me,” she sneers.
“Don’t be too sure of that,” Jem offers.
“Well, it’s about time,” Ospif says in disdain. “I’d have words about you lot being on the run for the rest of your lives, but it seems you managed to get that far long before our unhappy meeting.”
“We won’t be dodging soldiers much longer,” Era says. “So go ahead and report us. Let them know they lost us to the Allerians. That should sting.”
Fire looks expectantly at Jem. “You’re sure you want to tag along? You’re costing me a lot of coin.”
“That’s exactly why I’m coming,” she smugly replies.
“Good thing the Academy was so generous,” says the mercenary as she shoves the heavy bag of money into Ospif’s hands. “Let’s move. Stay quiet and keep on the lookout.”
The group hikes swiftly through the woods as the summer sun sets. Fire leads them away from the main path until they find a crumbling section of the city wall, where a narrow hole allows the invaders to slip into a sparsely-populated part of town.
This district is a far cry from the main thoroughfare and beachfront. Thick with dilapidated homes and the stench of sewage, it is little wonder why the town’s government has never bothered to patch the hole they just used. Children wearing little more than rags scurry away from the intimidating bunch. The few adults visible are sprawled out on their backs in the alleyways, whether drunk or dead is impossible to tell.
Era glances back to Ospif, who is unsettled by the display of poverty. The Academy student keeps his eyes lowered, trying not to notice the unsanitary living conditions the affluent city tries to hide. He maintains this stance until they exit the quarter, and the sounds of the nearby marketplace begin to swell.
Fire expertly guides her group into the busy shipyards using only the most isolated of backroads, and they find themselves behind a towering stack of cargo crates. The smell back here isn’t much better than the impoverished area, but Fire doesn’t seem to mind. After a quick scan of the docks, she signals for her allies to wait and disappears into the crowds, leaving Jem to keep their hostage at knifepoint.
As they silently wait, a fly buzzes by Era’s ear. He swats it away, only to spot a pile of rotting garbage nearby, which explains the stench. He hopes Fire returns before Ospif starts to predictably and loudly complain, and the thought makes him wonder if he shouldn’t gag their hostage.
His attention consumed by his mental musings, Era fails to notice an attacker leap from the crates above. He lands and kicks Era to his back while a startled Jem reacts by shoving her hostage aside and hurrying to help. However, another assailant spins around the crates and takes aim with his open palm, and he blasts Jem’s backside with a powerful jet of cold water. She stumbles vulnerably toward the first aggressor, who grabs her arm and swings her into the wall of crates.
Ospif instantly dashes from the scene, but his path is cut off by yet another foe, this one with a club drawn. Ospif drops the bag of money and throws his hands into the air. “M-Mercy! I beg you!”
The operative readies his weapon to strike, but Fire appears and elbows him in the head, instantly dropping him. She flings one of her steel, needle-like spikes at Jem’s aggressor, who yelps as it sinks into his thigh. In response, the water maker aims his palm at Fire and unleashes another powerful jet that sends her careening backward.
Taking advantage, Era stomps on the spike protruding from his foe’s thigh, prompting a high-pitched shriek from the operative before Jem delivers a sharp kick to the back of his head to daze him.
Fire hurries to her feet as a fourth opponent barrels into her. He grabs at her hair, only to grip her bandanna which comes loose in his hand. She snatches it in a panic, but he maintains his hold until it rips in two.
Furious, Fire retrieves another spike and stabs it into her aggressor’s shoulder. He screams out as she mercilessly smashes his head into her knee, which drops him to the ground. Snagging the other precious piece of fabric, she shouts, “Let’s go! Now!” while shoving the money bag back into Ospif’s trembling hands and dragging him toward the docks.
Era and Jem don’t hesitate to obey, and their remaining opponent gives chase. Bystanders shriek as they plow their way through the crowds. Fire retrieves a spike from her pouch and flings it backward, expertly placing it between her allies and hitting her target in
the arm.
“HEY!” Jem screams at the close call. “Don’t you dare do that again!”
Fire ignores her and flips two more spikes back, again narrowly missing her ally and this time pegging their pursuer in the leg, making him tumble. Jem shoots Era a death stare, causing him to wonder why she always blames him for Fire’s actions.
Arriving at the ship, Fire rushes to a middle-aged sailor near the boarding plank. “How long till we leave?”
“Ship’s almost set,” he says gruffly while stroking his thick, gray beard. “S’quite a commotion you’re stirring thar, missy. Best not be any trouble aboard or the cap’n’ll string ya from the nets by yer toes.”
Fire glances back to find the crowd settling down, with many still staring their way. Their wounded aggressor has taken back to the shadows, but it should be easy to keep watch from the deck of the ship. “The sooner you get us out of here, the less trouble there will be.”
The experienced seaman eyes her carefully before nodding his head toward the boarding ramp. “So long’s you got your coin, you can board.”
Fire grabs the bag from Ospif and stomps up the ramp without another word. Jem follows, but as Era starts up he gets swung around by a frantic Ospif. “Hey!” Era barks. “What are you-”
“You can’t leave me behind!” Ospif pleads.
“What? I thought you wanted us to leave you behind.”
“Not now! Not while there are shady curs waiting to leap out and slit my throat! They’ll capture me and torture me!”
Era glances to the ship. “I mean, do you really want to go to-”
Ospif doesn’t wait. He shoves Era aside and scrambles up the ramp. Reasoning Fire will deal with it, he casually joins Jem on the deck as she watches out over the docks. “Any sign of them?” he asks.
“Nah, they’ve disappeared,” she says. “Who were they? They weren’t soldiers, that’s for sure.”
Era glances back to Ospif, who has taken up a hiding place behind one of the masts. “Ummm… where’s Fire?”
“She scurried below deck, probably to pay our fare. Why?”
He grimaces as the sailors scramble about, preparing for departure. There is little time to resolve the Ospif issue, yet he somehow only manages to respond with, “No reason.”
The vessel catches a strong wind and lurches toward open waters as town guards arrive on the scene. The townsfolk point them toward the departing ship, and Jem sticks her tongue out and shouts, “Good riddance!” With that she turns and immediately sees Ospif as he comes out from his hiding spot. “ERA?”
He has no time to answer before Fire emerges from the companionway and expresses her own disbelief. “What is the royal pain doing here!?”
Behind her is the stocky, weathered captain bearing a handkerchief over his balding scalp. “Just wot’s this now? Four passengers?”
“No!” Fire growls as she charges Ospif and grabs his collar. “This oaf is getting off.”
“I am not!” he yells. “You dragged me into this, and you’re getting me out!”
“Am I?” The assassin unsheathes her dagger and pushes it into his neck. “Pretty sure they won’t charge me for a dead passenger. Your choice.”
“Far as I’m concerned,” the captain interrupts, “he’s already used our services. Which means you owe me more venni. A huner’d fifty outta do it.”
Jem’s eyes bulge. “H-Hey, weren’t we agreed on a hundred each?”
“We aren’t paying a single venni more,” Fire responds, “because I’m personally throwing this extra baggage overboard.”
“You can do what you want with ‘im, but yer paying for him being on this ship.” The captain crosses his arms as his burly sailors turn their attention to the scene. “Or should we take yer coin and toss ye’ all overboard?”
Her forehead vein about to burst, Fire withdraws the asking price from her bag, dropping each coin into the captain’s hand with as much aggression as she can muster. Once paid, the old captain happily pockets the coins and limps down the companionway, waving his hand in the air as thanks.
Eyeing Era, Fire shakes the bag to make it clear how few coins are left. She then motions to Ospif and mutters, “I’m using him for target practice later.” With that, she marches furiously to the other end of the ship.
Era breathes a sigh of relief. “Well, that could have gone worse.”
“WORSE?” Jem shouts. “We just lost a hundred and fifty thousand venni! What were you thinking, letting him aboard?”
“Hey, he followed you, too!” Era complains. “What was I supposed to do, throw him off the boarding ramp?”
“For a hundred and fifty, I would have thrown you off the ramp,” she mumbles as she also storms off.
Era watches her leave and turns to his expensive friend. “You’re not going to be popular with those two. Ever.”
The youth watches as his homeland grows distant behind them. “That’s quite alright. I’m rather repulsed by them, myself.”
* * *
Commander Talkem moves swiftly through the halls of the barracks, bothered by the general’s continued insistence on scheduling sparring contests between his commanders and prized new weapon. It won’t be long before it will be his own carcass on the ground, judging from previous such events. The runic’s combat prowess seems only to be growing each week, and her elemental powers are unlike anything he’s ever seen.
Though Talkem often finds himself at odds with his superior’s priorities, Graff’s obsession with tracking and locating the remaining runics is certainly the right decision. The other commanders seem to be oblivious to this newcomer’s relevance to military operations, yet, the more Talkem sees of her, the more he is convinced that obtaining runics would create the greatest consolidation of power since the first Elemental War. Boasting even a few of these elemental monsters could triple the strength of Valvoren’s might.
He finds the great sparring hall deep within the catacombs and enters to find one other already waiting. “Well, well, if it isn’t the mysterious masked man, himself!” the youthful officer exclaims. He runs his fingers through his straight, brown hair and asks, “Just what are you hiding under that mask, anyway?”
The experienced warrior remains expressionless. “Commander Fayna, it is always a pleasure. It seems we’re still awaiting the rest.”
“I actually just spoke with the boss, himself,” Fayna says. “Demo’s been rescheduled. Something big took high-and-mighty Galen and Little Miss Priss to Maaman.”
Talkem’s brow furrows. “Perhaps another weapon?”
“Who knows?” he grumbles as he finds a chair and sits. “We’d be the last to find out, seeing as none of us knew about the first. Do we even know how many there are?”
“Based on the symbols in the cavern, there are supposedly four,” Talkem replies as he places his hand to his chin. “And if they’ve already found another…”
Fayna slams his fist into his palm. “It was my turn to fight her! She got the best of the Raging Flame at the last demonstration, but he doesn’t have the blood of a Fayna!” Flexing his muscles, he boasts, “If you weren’t aware, there’s been a Commander Fayna for three generations! We’re a robust breed.”
“Erm… yes, you’ve mentioned that before.” Talkem resists the urge to further respond, knowing well that Commander Galen is leagues ahead of the brash commander in hand-to-hand combat. Instead, he calmly says, “Well, if the demonstration has been canceled, I will take my leave.”
“Unless you’d rather spar?” Fayna chides as he leaps to his feet, bouncing from foot to foot. “Been a while since I’ve fought anyone worth defeating. We’ve never gone all-out on each other!”
Talkem raises a hand. “I’ll pass. You have too much youthful energy for me. I wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Lies and lies,” he retorts. “Old Man Graff promotes the strongest, which means you’re strong.”
“I’m the most senior of the commanders. My prime is long past,” he says with i
ndifference as he retreats. “Good day, Commander.”
Talkem closes the doors behind himself to ensure the hasty brawler won’t immediately give chase. He moves briskly back to the main floor of the barracks and into the palace, which is attached to the northern wall. After checking his pocket watch, he moves into the outer courtyard. The garden is abandoned, and he positions himself between two tall bushes. Thanks to the cancellation, he is early, yet he knows his accomplice is likely already nearby.
After a lengthy wait, Talkem tenses at the presence of another. His hand moves to his waist, his fingers resting on his blade until an arrival turns the corner and comes face-to-face with him. The woman is dressed in a military uniform, marked with the same rank as Talkem, and her dark red hair is tied in a ponytail that extends past her shoulders. “Oh, Commander,” she says in a quiet voice. “Are you taking a stroll as well?”
Talkem is convinced his peer’s vacant expression is a deceptive ploy, and the tension thickens as he chooses his words carefully. “Commander Marmela, it is a pleasure to run into you out here. Indeed, with the demonstration canceled, I thought I would clear my head with a walk. It seems you had the same idea.”
“The demonstration was canceled?” she asks with surprise. “What a shame. It is always stimulating to see the skill the young runic displays, is it not?”
He hesitates but acknowledges the comment. “It is a sight to behold. It seems our forces have been bolstered in a powerful way.”
As Marmela takes her leave, she says, “Good day, Thayo, and do avoid the shadows; even these hallowed gardens can harbor sinister men.” With that, she returns to the palace entrance.
Only after she disappears completely does Talkem remove his hand from his blade. “Accursed meddler,” he says with scorn as he turns to one of the bushes. “Of all my peers, she fills me with the most caution.”
“That woman?” a voice from within the foliage responds. Talkem’s darkly dressed ally reveals himself and picks the twigs from his tunic. “A rabid fox would have more bite.”
