Capture (The Machinists Book 4)

by Craig Andrews

  Allyn’s first thought was that Sedric had somehow escaped, crawled through another hatch. But no, they would have seen him. They would have heard a hatch squeal open. Frustrated and disheartened, Allyn climbed back out of the vehicle.

  “He in there?” Nolan asked.

  Allyn shook his head and turned his attention back to the manor. The other two BearCats had already arrived, and two full squads of Knights stormed forward, reinforcing the battle.

  “Don’t,” Nolan said.

  Allyn looked at the man, realizing he’d taken a step toward the manor.

  “It’s over,” Nolan said. “We lost.”

  “We’ve still got people in there.”

  “The retreat has already been ordered. It’s over, Allyn. We have to go.”

  “But…”

  Allyn turned back to the manor and saw ten or so dark shapes running away from it toward the forest. A few more appeared behind them, but didn’t pursue. Muzzle flashes popped, and three of the retreating shapes fell. Then more gunfire. Two more shadows dropped as the rest entered the relative safety of the forest.

  Elsewhere more gunfire rattled, but it was like the last weak breath of a dying man. The end of a hard-fought life. A hard-fought battle. And like the dying man, the magi had lost.

  “Come on.” Nolan grabbed Allyn by the arm and dragged him toward the BearCat. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Nolan threw open the hatch and pushed Allyn inside then climbed inside himself, closing the hatch behind him.

  “They were booby-trapped,” Allyn said, strapping in.

  “Yep.”

  “This one wasn’t?”

  “It was.”

  “Then how?”

  Nolan looked at Allyn as he fired the vehicle up. “Canary.”

  “She intercepted the signal?”

  “Who knows?” Nolan said, kicking the BearCat into gear. “But whatever she did, it worked.”

  The BearCat rumbled away from the battle, and soon, they were speeding down the driveway, quickly coming to where it intersected with the road. Smoldering magi vehicles littered the road, but in the wreckage, there was also life.

  Allyn jumped out of the vehicle, rushing to the aid of the injured magi. They found three and quickly loaded them into the BearCat before racing back down the road.

  “The rendezvous point is up here,” Nolan said. But when they got there, there wasn’t any magi anywhere.

  Allyn peered into the dark forest from the seat of the BearCat, hoping to see some sign of life. “Where are they?”

  “Maybe they’re all—”

  “No,” Allyn interrupted, refusing to believe they were dead. He rummaged around his seat.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A flashlight.”

  “Here.” White balls of light illuminated in Nolan’s palms.

  “Perfect,” Allyn said. “Come on.”

  Allyn and Nolan slid out of the BearCat and moved toward the tree line. Full night had fallen by now, and Nolan’s energy blasts lit their way. Allyn wielded too, the coils of energy casting an eerie red glow across the scene.

  Spotting sudden movement in the trees, Allyn readied a pair of static charges.

  “Here!” a voice shouted. Male. Pained. “It’s okay! It’s Allyn and Nolan!”

  A dozen or so figures emerged from the trees, and a flood of relief washed through Allyn. They’d found the surviving magi. He rushed forward, taking an injured magi by the arm, leading him to the BearCat.

  “Where’s the rest?” Nolan asked.

  “This is it,” someone responded. “This is everyone.”

  Chapter 17

  Allyn froze in the doorway of his bedroom as his eyes fell upon his bed, where he and Nyla had slept the previous morning. The sheets and comforter were still rumpled, her pillow still turned lengthwise in the way she preferred, the room still smelling faintly of the lavender soap she used.

  Had used.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there, but the longer he did, the more difficult it became to move. He was exhausted, beyond exhausted, and upon returning to the Klausner Manor, he’d been immediately ushered into the arch mage’s private quarters with the rest of the War Council.

  For an hour, they interrogated him about the battle. What happened? Why didn’t we see this coming? How did so many in your squad survive when the others did not?

  The questions came in hard and heavy, and Allyn answered them numbly, wishing more than anything that they would leave him alone. It was an irrational thought, and he knew it, but couldn’t they see he wasn’t in any condition to speak? Couldn’t they see he was grieving? In shock? Suffering?

  At some point, the questions ceased, and the other members began speaking amongst themselves. They talked tactics, morale, and different paths forward, always coming back to ways to keep the various Families among the Order safe. Allyn paid attention to little of it. There was a vote, the decision was ratified, then messages were crafted and sent. Finally, very late into the night, Allyn had been able to return to his room.

  Only now that he was there, he couldn’t bring himself to crawl into that bed. He didn’t understand it. He and Nyla were fond of each other and had found comfort in each other’s arms, and though his feelings had grown in the previous days and weeks, he wasn’t in love with her.

  Was I?

  Tearing his eyes away from the empty bed, he crossed the room and curled up in the armchair. Even then, the bed demanded his attention, forcing him to remember the woman who had slept with him in it. He felt the softness of her breath, the tenderness of her touch.

  It was too much. He rose, turned the chair so that it faced the window, and crawled back in. Finally, with the bed out of sight, if not entirely out of mind, he was able to fall into a fitful, restless sleep.

  At dawn, the early morning sunshine accosted him like a screwdriver to the temple. He groaned, blinked, and attempted to stretch his stiff body. For the briefest of moments, he forgot all about the day before. About the blood and carnage. About Nyla’s death. About the council’s decisions. But all too quickly, the memories came flooding back. With them came a surprising feeling. His mix of emotions from the night before had solidified into something much more useful.

  Anger.

  Still wearing his torn and bloody compression armor, Allyn stalked the Klausner Manor, searching for the arch mage. He found him in the formal dining room, enjoying a private breakfast of fresh fruit and oatmeal. His Elemental Guard flanked him and attempted to push Allyn back out of the room, but when Allyn started to make a scene, the arch mage quickly relented.

  “You look terrible,” Arch Mage Westarra said.

  Allyn grunted his agreement, sitting down at the table across from the arch mage.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Westarra asked. “I can have—”

  “No.” Allyn leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “I need to talk to you about last night. I was… I wasn’t in a good place and am having trouble remembering the details of the council’s decision.”

  “Oh,” Arch Mage Westarra said. “I see. Unfortunately, Allyn, I don’t think this is a good time.”

  “I disagree.”

  Westarra leaned back in his seat, tapping his finger on the top of the table. He glanced at the guards behind him, nodding slightly as if taking comfort by their presence. “The problem is, Allyn, after yesterday’s setback, the council has decided on a more conservative approach. As such, it’s been decided your services are no longer required.”

  Allyn blinked. Surely he hadn’t heard the magi leader correctly. “Are you… are you… firing me?”

  Westarra gave him a tight smile—Allyn wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a comforting gesture, or if the arch mage was
attempting to hide his amusement. “I’m not familiar with the term,” he said, “but if you’re asking if we’ve relieved you of your council duties, then yes, you are correct.”

  “But…” Allyn searched for the words. “Why?”

  “Why? Why?” He looked Allyn up and down, a sense of disgust radiating from him, and Allyn suddenly wished he had taken an extra minute to change. “Surely you don’t have to ask that question.”

  “You’re blaming me for yesterday?” Allyn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s bullshit, Your Grace. With all due respect, that’s complete fucking bullshit.”

  “Well”—Arch Mage Westarra pushed his plate away—“I—”

  “The entire council agreed on that plan,” Allyn continued. “You agreed to it.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You’re not going to pin this on me. You’re not going to make me the scapegoat.”

  “Allyn,” Arch Mage Westarra said calmly, “I am the arch mage. I will do whatever I deem necessary to keep this Order intact. If that includes making accountable those who are responsible, then I will. Please know that what I do is not done out of spite or malice, but for the good of the Order.”

  Arch Mage Westarra stood, dropping his napkin on his plate. His guards fell into step behind him as he moved toward the exit.

  “This is bullshit!”

  Westarra stiffened and turned from the doorway. Any semblance of warmth or compassion was completely absent from his face. He stepped toward Allyn, stopping only inches from his face. “You’ve been through a trying time,” he said softly enough that only Allyn could hear. “And I’m willing to look past these lapses in decorum, but like you, my patience is wearing thin. I suggest you embrace the magi qualities you’ve learned and control your emotions. Failure to do so will result in severe consequences I’d rather avoid. Is that clear?”

  Allyn glared at the arch mage defiantly.

  “I said,” Arch Mage Westarra said, raising his voice, “is that clear?”

  “Yes.” It was all Allyn could do to mutter the word.

  Arch Mage Westarra raised an eyebrow, apparently unsatisfied with the response.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Great.” Flashing a smile that didn’t extend to his eyes, Westarra turned then disappeared from the room.

  Fuming, Allyn watched, and for the first time in he didn’t know how long, he felt lost.

  “Arch Mage Westarra did what?” Liam asked. “He can’t do that!”

  “He’s the arch mage, Liam,” Allyn said, as if that explained everything. “And I’m pretty sure the council voted on it after I left. Their decision is bullshit, but it’s final.”

  “Wow.” Liam rubbed a hand across his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Allyn felt bad for his friend. After little more than two days on the job, he was already facing unexpected challenges. Allyn took a sip of his tea and watched as Liam paced back and forth in his room. Allyn had sought out the new McCollum Grand Mage after he’d been able to calm down.

  “Do you want me to talk to him?” Liam asked.

  “I’m not sure what good that would do,” Allyn said. “I’m pretty sure I pissed him off, so it’s probably best we give him some space for a little while.”

  Liam stopped and faced him. “What did you say?” There was a sense of dread in his voice.

  “I’d rather not get into it.”

  “Allyn—”

  “I know, Liam. I was pissed, okay? I screwed up.” His tone bordered on disrespectful, which he instantly regretted. Being insolent on purpose was one thing, but to do it by accident was inexcusable—especially in the infancy of Liam’s rule. Whatever happened during these first few weeks would set the precedent for Liam’s reign, and Allyn wasn’t about to damage the still-wet foundation. “I’m sorry… I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

  Liam barked a sarcastic laugh.

  “Getting kicked off the council was frustrating,” Allyn continued. “Humiliating. But you know what the worst part of it is? I know what they’re doing is wrong. Consolidating forces? Sure. I get it. But abandoning any chance of an offensive? That’ll just delay the inevitable. It’ll be a war of attrition, Liam, and we’re not prepared to fight it.”

  “Not all hope is lost,” Liam said. “Your sister should be back any day. She might have learned something that’ll change their mind.”

  Allyn shook his head. “That’ll be the day.” But the idea did give him a flicker of hope.

  Liam sat on the arm of one of the nearby armchairs, leveling a firm expression on Allyn. “Even if she doesn’t,” he said slowly, “I need to know… Can I count on you?”

  “Count on me to what?”

  “To fight. To follow the arch mage and the council’s orders, whatever they are.”

  Allyn’s first instinct was to be irritated that Liam would question him after everything he’d done, everything he’d sacrificed. But when the flash of annoyance didn’t grow to anything more, Allyn realized he didn’t feel as committed to the cause as he had. But that was crazy. He had fought countless battles for the Order—why would now be any different?

  He chalked it up to the aftereffects of recent events, but even then, something didn’t sit right. Something had changed—he just didn’t know what.

  “I…” Allyn paused. “I think so.”

  Liam drew his lips together in a line and folded his arms in front of his chest.

  “I’m sorry.” Allyn looked away, his face suddenly burning. “I wish I had a better answer.”

  “It’s the truth,” Liam said. “And it’s even more important to tell it when it’s difficult to do so.”

  It was a subtle dismissal, an invitation to cut the conversation short, and Allyn would have taken it if his legs hadn’t felt like lead. The very thought of moving was exhausting, and even if he did find the strength to rise, where would he go? What would he do? Nyla was gone, Kendyl hadn’t returned, and Jaxon was distracted by his father and the council. Liam was the only person Allyn had left, even if their relationship was changing.

  “It’s been a long couple days,” Allyn said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  “I know,” Liam sighed. “I still can’t believe Nyla is gone.”

  Allyn took a sip from his small mug, hoping the warm fluid would wash away the lump in his throat. It didn’t. “Do you remember when you asked me who was in my room after the celebration?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It was her. It was Nyla.”

  “Oh,” Liam said. “Oh.” His face flushing with color, he looked away, likely embarrassed by his own embarrassment.

  “We were dancing, and… I don’t know. It just felt right. I hadn’t felt that close to someone in a long time.”

  Liam watched Allyn, his apprehension clearly displayed on his young face. Allyn knew he was putting him in an uncomfortable spot, talking about something that Liam had no experience with, but he had no one else. Besides, he wasn’t looking for Liam’s advice; he just needed to get the words out.

  “I obviously didn’t know about you two until now,” Liam said. “But I had noticed a change in her as well. Whatever you felt, she felt too. It’s the first time I’d seen her truly herself since…”

  “Baylis.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you believe in God, Liam?”

  He shifted uncomfortably, no doubt at the abruptness of the question.

  “I only ask because I’ve never heard any of you talk about it. Never seen you practice any religious ceremonies or…”

  “It’s a complicated question,” Liam said. “Magi and religion have had a very troubled history. But if you’re asking if we believe in a higher power, then I think you’ll find our beliefs aren’t too much d
ifferent from yours.”

  “I don’t know what I believe,” Allyn said. “My mother did, but I lost my faith after she died. I couldn’t understand how the world would be a better place without her. How leaving two children orphaned could be part of God’s plan. But there’s something comforting about the idea. And maybe that’s why I’ve never been able to turn my back on it completely. I need to believe there’s something more. That I haven’t seen my loved ones for the last time.”

  Liam remained quiet, the way he got when he was deep in thought.

  “For Nyla’s sake, I hope there is a God,” Allyn said. “That would be the only good thing about this. She and Baylis would be together again.”

  Liam met Allyn’s eyes. They were red and brimming with tears. Allyn looked at the floor and took another sip of tea. It was getting cold.

  “Have you heard when there’s going to be a funeral for the fallen?” Allyn asked.

  “No,” Liam said. “Not yet. It’s still early and there’s a lot of magi to… recover.”

  Recover. The magi prided themselves on never leaving their fallen behind, but in the most recent flight, it had been all they could do to save the living.

  “When will that happen?”

  “I haven’t heard,” Liam said. “It’ll have to be soon, though.”

  “When you do, please let me know. I want to be there when… I want to help.”

  “Of course,” Liam said then repeated softly. “Of course.”

  Arch Mage Westarra presided over the funeral the following day. Despite Allyn’s desire to be among the recovery party, he’d been singled out and excluded, while nearly every other magi capable of wielding had been conscripted into service. The arch mage had given him a bullshit excuse, of course, something about it being easier if the architect of the strategy that had led to their deaths wasn’t present.