- Mika Stag to Erti Stag, from Year One: Correspondence in the Corminian Kingdom
“Where you going, Forning?”
Evitt put a hand on his stomach and turned, grimacing. “I need to spend some time over the hill.”
His tentmate laughed. “Somebody always gets sick off the squirrel stew.”
Evitt walked over the small hill bordering the army camp. He used the latrine, then walked back up the hill. But before he reached the top, he stopped behind a tree, made sure no one could see him, and activated his mind gift. Clenching his teeth against the pain, he changed direction, heading toward the command tent.
The night before, Colonel Stemming had been pleased when Evitt had volunteered to join the army. The man would certainly be less pleased if he realized Evitt was now approaching to eavesdrop.
Evitt hadn’t wanted to enlist, but he didn’t know what else to do. He had no money to get home. Autumn was getting colder, and he feared he’d starve or freeze to death if he tried to make it back to Savala. So he’d signed up, determined to use his new role to help the resistance.
It might not be as good as reconnaissance at the palace, but he could pick up plenty of information here. First, he had to figure out how the mission to the Meadow had gone. The team should be back any minute; they’d been gone a day and a night. What was taking so long? His stomach curled at the thought of the soldiers returning with Tavi and her friends as prisoners. How big was the Meadow, anyway? Had the Golds been able to hide?
Evitt approached the command tent. Keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible, he walked all the way to the entrance, where two soldiers stood guard. The flaps were tied together, and there was some sort of cloth behind them that kept him from looking through the cracks.
He didn’t hear anyone inside. But he needed to see. He walked around the tent. Two soldiers guarded each side, but they couldn’t see him. On the back of the tent, Evitt found a small tear in the cloth where he could peek in. He smiled, crouching so it was at eye-level.
The colonel was alone, writing at a lantern-lit desk and taking occasional sips of tea from a surprisingly delicate cup. After a few minutes with no action, beyond the slow lifting of the teacup and the dip-write-dip-write of Colonel Stemming’s pen, Evitt considered leaving. But it wouldn’t hurt to stay until his magic was almost gone. (Well, it might hurt a little; his back was already getting a crick in it from bending over to see through the torn fabric. But he could handle that.)
His instincts served him well. Within two minutes, a voice penetrated the tent’s fabric. “Colonel, a runner just arrived from the team that left yesterday. The rest of them will be here soon.”
Evitt jolted at the words, moving the tent a bit. He took a quick step backward, hoping none of the guards had noticed the shifting canvas.
“Thank you,” Colonel Stemming called through the tent wall. He stood, tugged on his uniform jacket to straighten it, and strode toward the tent’s exit.
Evitt followed the colonel through the camp. At first, the tents were in neat rows. But the last hundred or so were arranged haphazardly, more in clumps than in rows. These, according to whispers around the camp, belonged to the soldiers General Talger had brought with her.
When the colonel reached the camp’s edge, he kept walking up and over a hill. Evitt knew the risk of continuing; his magic might wear off. But he had to hear what had happened on the trip to the Meadow. He gritted his teeth against the pain and invited it to stay longer.
They reached the top of a second hill, where two soldiers stood on lookout. One of them pointed and told the colonel, “They’re almost here, sir.”
Far down the road, about thirty people walked toward camp. They were positioned in three rough lines with one person ahead of the rest. Probably the general. It didn’t look like anyone was being led against their will, and Evitt breathed out a long, silent sigh.
The colonel’s brow wrinkled as he watched the group. “I’ll meet them halfway,” he told the lookouts.
Evitt stifled a groan. There was nothing between them and the soldiers besides grass and open road. Nowhere for him to hide. And if he stayed with the colonel, his magic would likely wear off.
He had to keep his long-term goals in mind: Gather enough information to help the resistance, and find a way to get it to them. He pivoted and walked back toward the camp. As soon as he reached the tents, he hid behind one and released his magic.
Colonel Stemming descended the hill. As he drew closer, he could tell it was Talger at the head of the haphazard contingent of troops. She walked in a breezy, casual manner, not disciplined at all. Where had the king and queen found this woman?
Stemming had served in the largest office of safety in Tinawe for three decades, eventually leading its officers, before the king had come to power. When he’d heard about the coronation, he’d been apprehensive. He knew how much turmoil a change in governance could bring. In Tinawe, even controversial mayoral elections had resulted in minor riots, which his safety officers had dealt with swiftly.
Keeping the peace was Stemming’s top priority; it always had been. Through his years of service, he’d learned that men and women could adjust to different styles of leadership, as long as everything was peaceful. He imagined this was just as true in a nation as it was in a large city. So when King Relin and Queen Camalyn were crowned, he’d taken a leave of absence from his position and traveled to Savala, promising his wife he’d send for her if his trip to the capital became permanent.
Once there, he’d offered his services to the new monarchs, expressing his desire to help keep order in the new kingdom. They’d asked him to work with their fledgling army. Stemming had been relieved to hear Cormina was finally preparing for the nation’s defense. Just because there hadn’t been war in centuries didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. Sometimes he thought the Blessed relied too much on magic’s goodness, assuming that because magic was good, people would be too. He’d long believed Cormina was setting itself up for invasion by neglecting to maintain an army.
So he’d found a place in the country to train a growing group of soldiers. They’d responded well to the same techniques he used with his safety officers, learning not only how to fight but also how to be disciplined and orderly. They’d all practiced with black powder weapons, Stemming learning alongside them.
Knowing their stores of black powder were limited, they’d been cautious in their practice—unlike this new general, who’d gone through who knew how much black powder in just a few weeks. Stemming shook his head and let out a frustrated breath.
He drew nearer to Talger and her soldiers. She’d chosen only troops she’d brought with her for her team, ignoring the well-trained men and women Stemming had commanded for months. Increasing his pace, Stemming soon reached them.
“Stop,” Talger said, holding up a casual hand. The troops behind her halted.
“How did it go?” Stemming asked.
Talger told him about traveling to the Meadow with the duke. She then described their experience at the gate, where the elder who let them in had promptly trapped them behind a wall of scorching heat. Talger grinned at that part.
Stemming didn’t see the humor in it. “A wall of heat? Did you find a way past it?”
“The heat cooled enough for us to get through, but by then, most of the residents were gone.”
“Gone?”
“Most of them. We found a couple dozen people, give or take. One of them told us about the community’s evacuation plan, and he took us to their meeting point, but we couldn’t find any exit there. We searched for hours.”
“They disappeared?” Stemming asked.
Talger nodded. “You ever heard of a gift that can make hundreds of people disappear?”
“No, General, I haven’t.” He cleared his throat. “Did you collect taxes from the remaining residents?”
For the first time since Stemming had met her, Talger looked a little uncomfortable. “We didn’t,” she said.
&
nbsp; “Why not?” Stemming asked, his voice sharper than he’d intended. When the general shot him a glare, he said, “Your pardon, General. But wasn’t that the purpose of the mission, to collect taxes? Just as the king and queen requested?”
The general grabbed the strap that held the hand cannon on her back. “We were also ordered to make it clear who’s in charge now.”
“It sounds like you made that clear, if they were frightened enough to evacuate,” Stemming said.
Talger squared her shoulders. Stemming watched her shifting expression, and he could see the moment she decided to defend whatever she’d done. His jaw clenched.
“There were a couple of dozen people, as I mentioned.” Talger lifted her chin. “We showed them who was in charge.”
That phrase again. Stemming stepped closer and said in a low voice, “What did you do?”
“Step back, Colonel,” Talger commanded.
He complied. It hadn’t been his intention to intimidate her, but he was much bigger than her, and he could see how it might appear that way. All he wanted was to keep this conversation private. Not that it mattered. Whatever had been done, the men and women behind Talger had taken part in it.
“I think it’s wonderful you’re so concerned about the people there,” Talger said, her tone contradicting her words. She raised an eyebrow. A challenge. “They didn’t suffer.”
Colonel Stemming, who’d prided himself in teaching safety officers to keep the peace with the least force necessary, felt anger bubbling in his chest, hot and fierce. He directed the rage into his left fist, which he clenched so tightly, his forearm ached. “You killed them,” he stated.
General Talger turned toward her troops. “Soldiers!” Her voice, loud and inexplicably cheerful, made a mockery of what she and the colonel were discussing. “Well done,” she told the soldiers. “You’ve served your king and queen to the best of your ability. Head back to camp now.”
Stemming watched in silence as the soldiers relaxed and smiled, continuing down the road toward camp, their voices rising in lively conversation when they got past their superiors. It was the first time he had ever been shocked speechless.
“Colonel,” the general said, her voice cold.
He looked at her but said nothing.
“I’m the general,” Talger said. “I’ve spent time with Chief Minister Burrell. I know what he wants this army to do, and I am leading them in that direction.”
Colonel Stemming narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Chief Minister Burrell? I don’t care what he wants; I care what the king and queen want. And I can’t imagine—”
She cut him off. “The king and queen want what Chief Minister Burrell wants.” She smirked. “Trust me on this.”
Then she held up one of her hands, took a quick breath in and out, and grimaced as gray light entered her hands and mouth. She inhaled, then blew out slowly. Stemming jumped back just before the resulting stream of flames could reach his uniform. She pushed out the rest of her breath. The fire stopped.
“It’s a new era,” the general said, her lips and surrounding skin still exuding that strange, gray glow. She was settling into her leadership role now, with the confidence of someone who’d convinced herself she was in the right. “We won’t meet our goals without some well-considered violence. It’s an army, for Sava’s sake, not a diplomatic committee. I’m the leader, and I’d like your help, if you can follow me. Can you, Colonel?”
Well-considered violence? Stemming almost ripped the colonel’s squares off his sleeve and threw them at Talger’s feet. But the thoughtful, patient part of him, the part of him he’d cultivated for so long, told him he could do more good if he stayed in leadership. Surely this incompetent general would eventually fail. He needed to be ready to rein the soldiers back in once she was gone.
His throat resisted when he tried to speak, but he coughed, then forced the words out. “Yes, General. I’ll follow you.”
“Wonderful.” She flashed him a smile. “I’m tired of tents. Tomorrow we’ll move into the Meadow.”
Chapter Fourteen
I am accustomed to sitting with you in the evenings, on the porch or before the fireplace. I did not realize until you left how much I love hearing you talk about what you did all day or what you have planned for the next day. I treasure those words now, all the precious, dull details of your life.
I still sit, but without you, it is not the same. I want to know where the army will go, and what you will do tomorrow, next week, next month. But I am aware you cannot share such plans with me, so I ask you this: Can you tell me the mundane details of your day? Are you warm? What did you eat for lunch? What do the insects say to you at twilight?
- Sharla Stemming to Colonel Kav Stemming, from Year One: Correspondence in the Corminian Kingdom
“It’s really cold.”
Tavi sat in front of a beautiful, hot fire, wearing three ridiculously unmatched layers of clothing, with Tullen’s arm firmly around her shoulders, but she couldn’t seem to get warm. Winter was over a month away, but a cold wind had blown in the night before, and it hadn’t let up. She glanced at Tullen, who, like Ash and Sall, was sporting a week’s worth of warm whiskers. It was almost enough to make her wish she were male.
Ash stood. “We haven’t had any fighting practice in two days. That’ll warm us up. Come on, Tavi.”
Tavi lifted her eyes to him. “You really want me to fight you?”
“Can you honestly tell me you don’t want to hit me?”
That was a good point. When she practiced fighting with someone else, she often imagined she was fighting Ash. She might as well take him on. Show him what she’d learned. She flashed back to the day when he’d caught her rescuing Narre in the farmhouse. He’d grabbed her, accidentally breaking her finger. If she’d known then what she knew now, she would’ve gotten away—after leaving him on the floor. She was sure of it.
She stood. “Let’s do it.”
A few cheers rose up, and several Golds moved to make room for them.
Tavi and Ash faced each other. “Magic or not?” Ash asked.
With a smirk, Tavi said, “My all gift will protect me whether I want it to or not. We may as well both use magic.” She knew how dangerous overconfidence was, so she forced the corners of her mouth to stop twitching upward. But with the extent of her gifting, Ash’s magical hands didn’t stand a chance.
“Go!” Narre shouted.
This was a new part of their training; if someone shouted, “Go,” the fight started immediately, whether the combatants were ready or not. It caught Tavi off-guard, but her training with Officer Andisis kicked in. Her swift feet kept her out of Ash’s reach until she could activate her magic.
But Ash’s was active by then, too. She hated the sight of that gray glow; it played a role in too many of her negative memories. But she shoved those thoughts to the side, smiling at the comfort her gifts brought her. “You’re right,” she said as she and Ash circled each other. “I already feel warmer.” He laughed.
He came at her first, crouching and lunging to take her down. Stunningly bright light burst out of every part of her, and instead of connecting with her, Ash rammed straight into her magic.
He ran several steps backward, eyes wide. His hands and forehead, both of which had connected with her, were bleeding from dozens of tiny cuts. “What in Kovus was that?” he asked.
Tavi laughed. “You know what it was.”
“I do, but I didn’t expect it to be so violent.”
“I’ll heal you after I win.”
That made him smile. “We’ll see.”
Tavi sent magic from her feet into the ground underneath him, shaking it. But he seemed to dance on the shifting dirt, rather than falling, and when she tried to send in more magic, she met resistance. The ground stilled.
Time to try more traditional methods. She approached and swung with her right fist, trusting that he’d block it. An instant later, her left fist came up toward his gut, but his magical han
ds were far too quick. He grabbed her wrist.
He wasn’t hurting her, so her all gift didn’t activate. She shoved her knee upward, toward his stomach.
Ash’s training with Konner had served him well; he sensed the attack and jumped back. In doing so, his grip loosened, and Tavi pulled away. She shook the wrist he’d held, not because it hurt, but because his blood was on it, and that was disgusting. Seeing the motion, he smirked.
They went back and forth for several minutes. Twice, Ash almost fell when Tavi shook the ground beneath him, but both times, resistance stymied her efforts. Focusing on her speech gift, she asked, “Who do you think will win this fight?”
Compelled to answer honestly, he replied, “I think I will.”
The response shook her confidence more than she cared to admit. She made the ground tremble once more and took advantage of Ash’s lack of balance, rushing in to tackle him. He tried to block her with his quick hands, but he was moving too much, and she brought him down.
She stopped shaking the ground, focusing on her fighting skills instead of her magic. Straddling him, she tried to bring her forearm down on his neck, which would end the fight. But his hands were too fast; he blocked her without harming her, and then he flipped her over. She squirmed away before he could pin her down, then pushed herself back onto her feet. He leapt to his feet, too.
Ash came in low again, then brought one fist up, high enough to hit her chin. Tavi blocked it. He took a large step back, and she followed, lunging toward him.
A moment later, she was flat on the ground on her belly, the wind knocked out of her, having tripped on something. Then she felt Ash atop her back, his hands on her neck. He didn’t tighten his hands at all, but according to the rules of the fight, he’d won.
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