The World Awakening

by Dan Koboldt

“Who’s going?”

  “Every able-bodied man sober enough to pull a bowstring. We leave at first light.”

  Every able-bodied man. He tried not to think about the words, but they repeated in his head, over and over. “You know what? That sounds like fun.”

  “That’s the spirit, Denzel.” Jass slapped him on the shoulder. “You any good with a bow, by the way?”

  “That’s for the goats to worry about,” Logan said. And maybe Lieutenant Kiara.

  Chapter 21

  Side Entrance

  “All great illusionists know how to build trust in people and use it against them.”

  —Art of Illusion, April 7

  Quinn and Moric returned to Valteron City in the dead of night. It had to be two or three in the morning; even the gas lamps over the street corners had gone out. Law-abiding Valteroni citizens were in bed behind locked doors. No one else moved as they slipped across the city square toward the base of the palace steps.

  “Do you remember this place?” Quinn asked.

  Moric grunted. “It’s where we first met.”

  There had been thousands of people in the square that day, to see the announcement of a new Valteroni Prime. “What were the odds of that happening?”

  “Too slim to believe,” Moric said. “I must have offended the gods.”

  They kept to the shadows as they skirted the wide stone staircase that led to the palace’s main entrance. The walls surrounding the palace proper had to be twenty feet tall, with steel spikes jutting from the top like fangs. Quinn felt fairly certain he’d have remembered fortifications like that last time. It looked more like a maximum security prison than the centerpoint of Alissian capitalism.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” Quinn asked.

  The white stone wall seemed to have no end. He’d even lost sight of the palace by this point, and wouldn’t be terribly surprised if they ended up in the harbor.

  Or in Tion.

  “A side entrance. The fewer people who see us here, the better,” Moric said.

  A minute later, he paused at an unremarkable section of wall and slapped it three times with the palm of his hand. Quinn thought maybe he saw a spider, and did it out of instinct. Except for two things: Moric was creepily fond of spiders, and a little cutout opened in the wall at head level.

  “Moric and Quinn, to see the Prime,” Moric said.

  “Security question,” said a husky female voice from the other side. “What nickname did the Prime give you?”

  “Must we do that one?” Moric glanced back at Quinn. “I’m with company.”

  A guardswoman materialized behind them in the street. She crouched low and brandished a wicked-looking spear at the small of Moric’s back. Quinn considered himself a decent hunter and woodsman, but he’d no idea how or when that woman snuck up on them. One second they were alone, and another she was there. Where did she come from? The nearest building was no less than fifty yards away.

  “Fine,” Moric said. He turned to the window in the wall and whispered something.

  “Louder.”

  Moric sighed. “Raincloud!”

  Quinn snickered faintly, and Moric shot him a look that quelled any humor. The little door banged shut. Then a vertical crack appeared, and a narrow door swung open. Maybe two feet by six feet, just enough for them to enter one at a time. Orange firelight flickered in the courtyard beyond. Moric entered first. Quinn followed, with the warrior right on his heels. He looked back and thought he recognized her from the knife-throwing game, but couldn’t remember her name.

  Not that it would have helped. She shoved him the last couple of steps so that he ran into Moric. They stumbled out into bright torchlight. Quinn tried to shield his eyes, but rough hands pinned both arms to his sides. More guardswomen. One of them pulled a wide band of cloth over his eyes and tied it firmly against the back of his head. Another one frisked him with absolutely no sense of propriety, confiscating both of his knives.

  “Good to see you again,” a woman said.

  Alethea. “Wish I could say the same.”

  “Would you like a gag as well?”

  “Never mind.”

  “That’s better.” She slid a hand beneath his shirt, and brushed her fingers across his abdomen.

  “I’m pretty sure you already searched there.”

  “One can never be too careful.” She put her lips close to his ear. “Did you miss me?”

  Uh-oh. He cleared his throat. “On second thought, I’ll take the gag.”

  Quinn would have killed to see what the Valteroni palace looked like, but that wasn’t in the cards, at least for this visit. The heavy cloth and tight knot suggested that Alethea knew her way around a blindfold—a useful tidbit he filed away for later—and prevented him from using any of the tricks stage magicians could deploy to sneak a peek. Still, he had enough practice to pick up on some key details—mostly by focusing on his other senses instead.

  The temperature warmed a few degrees as they crossed a threshold, which meant they’d come indoors. Their boots clicked on a hard, unyielding surface. Too smooth to be tile, which meant marble or waxed granite. They took two left turns, walked up sixteen wide steps, took a right. Walked down a long corridor past the soft tinkling of a fountain—a sound he’d recognize anywhere, given how pervasive that was in Vegas—and past a room with a familiar musty smell. Old books. We must be getting close.

  At last they were told to halt while the guards knocked on a door. The mustiness was fainter here, and nearly masked by the overpowering smell of burning lamp oil.

  Then someone untied Quinn’s blindfold and pulled it away. They stood in a sort of study chamber, four rectangular tables with four ladder-back chairs each. Holt sat in one of these, perusing a hide-bound book like the world’s oldest graduate student.

  He finished reading something, closed the book with exaggerated care, and smiled. “Welcome, friends. I trust my guards were not too rough on you?”

  “They’ve frisked me so many times this week, I’m—” Quinn began, and broke off at the sound of a soft thump against the far wall. A muted shout followed it, then silence. Maybe I’m imagining things. “Losing track,” he finished.

  “And we hardly expected to be bundled in here like common thieves,” Moric said.

  Richard spread out his hands in apology. “Unfortunate necessities, I’m afraid. We’ve had some security concerns of late. Apparently I’ve lost my magical protections . . .”

  “Good point,” Moric said.

  “Maybe we should have Richard out to the island sometime,” Quinn said. “Let him try our security practices for a change.”

  Moric tapped a finger against his lips. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  They both spoke in jest, but Richard’s mouth fell open. “I would love to visit the Enclave,” he said.

  “I was kidding,” Quinn said.

  “What if you weren’t kidding? I’ve always wanted to visit there.”

  “Unfortunately, the Enclave is for magic users and their families only.” Moric gave a tight smile. “We have security concerns of our own.”

  Richard’s face fell, like a kid who lost his ice cream cone. “Maybe someday.”

  “Maybe,” Moric said, though his tone made it clear the world would have long gone cold when Richard set foot on the Enclave island.

  Richard stood, and gestured to the three empty chairs beside his table. “Come, sit. Tell me that things went well in Felara.”

  They settled around the table while a pair of liveried servants brought in refreshments—smoked fish, puff pastries, and gods be praised, a silver pitcher that steamed with the promise of caffeinated brew.

  “Rainswood was holding a wyvern’s egg,” Quinn said. “You could have told me that’s what it was.”

  “I could have, but that wouldn’t have been much of a test, now would it?”

  “He’s missing a snake, by the way.” Quinn shuddered just thinking about it.

  “He’s usually
missing the odd creature or two.” Richard poured coffee into a delicate porcelain cup and slid it across to Moric, in the manner of old friends. “So, where is it?”

  “It hatched before we could get it here.”

  Richard’s face fell. “That’s a shame. I had plans for that egg.”

  “It started to hatch on us, so I had to call an audible. We dropped it into the middle of the camp outside the gateway.”

  “Oh, ho!” Richard grinned. “Not a bad idea. What happened?”

  “What do you think?” Moric asked. “The mother showed up and tore the place apart.”

  “Fascinating creatures, aren’t they?”

  “That’s one word for them,” Moric said.

  Richard poured a cup of coffee. Bless the man, he slid it over to Quinn. “I think we can both agree that Quinn’s proven himself reliable.”

  “His sense of mischief knows no bounds,” Moric said.

  Sounds like a passing grade to me. Quinn paused. “CASE Global still had a lot of soldiers in the valley. And siege equipment. More of both coming through every day, I’d imagine.”

  “They have a significant investment to protect here,” Richard said.

  “I’m worried about what happens when they decide to move south.”

  “Yes. Well.” Richard took a sip of his own coffee. “If they try to move south, they’ll find the Kestani border closed.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “A simple matter of diplomacy. Yet another strategic tool that our former employer never learned how to use.”

  Kiara might find that inconvenient, but it won’t stop her. “They’ll try another way.”

  “We only need to stall them. Captain Relling will have the fleet in position soon.”

  “You’ve co-opted my harbormaster?” Moric asked.

  “She volunteered, and we can use her.” Richard looked at Quinn. “In the meantime, I hope you’ll continue making life difficult for them.”

  “Absolutely.” Quinn flashed a grin. “Raincloud and I can handle it.”

  Richard chortled. “I believe you.”

  Moric pretended not to notice. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to participate in the troublemaking this time around. I have an urgent mission of my own.”

  “May I ask what?”

  “Research.”

  “It can’t wait?”

  “This pertains to the gateway that brought you here in the first place. I may know something of its origins.”

  “Oh, do tell,” Richard said.

  Moric shook his head. “It’s too soon to say. But important enough that I should pursue it.”

  “I’d argue that defending ourselves against an invading army is important, too,” Richard said.

  “Anton can take my place. He and Quinn get along rather better than I’d realized.”

  Whoops. Quinn didn’t look at him. How much does he really know?

  “Anton is overseeing the assembly of the Caralissian forces,” Richard said. “Alliance or no, they’ll take orders better from one of their own.”

  Quinn cleared his throat to break in. “What about Jillaine?”

  Moric’s glare could have shattered a mirror. “Absolutely not.”

  “Who is Jillaine?” Richard asked.

  Moric looked suddenly uncomfortable. “My daughter.”

  Richard’s mouth fell open. “You have a daughter?”

  Moric wouldn’t look at him.

  Strike while the iron’s hot. “She’s very talented,” Quinn said.

  “I’m sure she is,” Richard said.

  Moric’s jaw tightened. “All the more reason to keep her as far from this as possible.”

  “Why?” Quinn asked. “We’re a good team.”

  “Too good, I should think.”

  “Relax, Moric,” Richard said. “You needn’t worry. Quinn already has a girl he’s head over heels about. He told me as much when we met.”

  Well, crap. Quinn felt his cheeks heating. He looked down at the floor, but not soon enough.

  An awkward silence ensued.

  “Oh,” Richard said. “I see. Well . . . all the more reason to believe he’ll look after her.”

  “This does not persuade me,” Moric said.

  “We need all the help we can get, Moric. And I daresay that any daughter you’ve raised will be able to take care of herself.”

  Moric sighed. “Very well. But I want her well protected by mundane means as well. An armed escort.”

  Quinn couldn’t help but notice that Moric wanted her protected, not them protected.

  “I can arrange that,” Richard said.

  “Not some half-asleep green recruits, either,” Moric said. “Experienced fighters who know what they’re about.”

  “I’ll give you my very best,” Richard said.

  Quinn saw it coming a moment too late. Oh, please don’t say it.

  “The Tukalu warriors,” Richard said. “There is no finer protection than that.”

  “Well, I’m satisfied.” Moric clapped Quinn on the shoulder. “Are you?”

  Quinn forced a grin. “Absolutely.”

  As in, absolutely screwed.

  Chapter 22

  Eavesdropping

  “Collaboration fosters deeper insight.”

  —R. Holt, “Research Team: Budget Justification”

  Veena waited impatiently in a tiny room in the Valteroni palace, doing her best to ignore the Tukalu warrior who lounged beside the door. She didn’t know the woman’s name, but thought it might be Alethea’s younger sister. The quiet one. The one who, until recently, had often volunteered for nightly guard duty outside of Richard’s chambers. Now there’s a downside I never saw coming.

  She lifted the leather flap in the wall in front of her and peered through the dime-sized hole beneath. The room beyond had four wooden tables cozily lit by oil lamp, an exorbitant yet delightful policy Richard had instituted when he took over as Prime. The man himself hunched over a table with his back to her. Someone who didn’t know him well might think he was sleeping, but Veena knew his deep-in-a-book pose anywhere. He didn’t even need the reading glasses from the prototyping lab—he’d been fluent in native Alissian script for years.

  She let the leather flap fall back into place, and continued to ignore the Tukalu temptress. A bodyguard, Richard had called her, without saying why he suddenly thought her in danger. She hounded Veena’s steps like a stalking wolf, everywhere she went. Even here in the palace. Now she shifted away from the door and up against the wall, as if she knew how irritating her proximity could be.

  The door banged open a moment later, making Veena jump. Admiral Blackwell halted midstep and began to apologize. Then he recognized her, scowled, and squeezed past her to the empty chair. “They’re here.”

  “Finally. I was beginning to wonder.” Veena reached up to lift her flap again.

  Blackwell caught her arm at the wrist, and not gently. “Give it a moment.”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  He held her in his iron-vise grip for a few more seconds, then released it.

  She settled herself again, and resisted the urge to rub her wrist. She settled for a glare before she nudged the leather flap aside. There was Alethea, shepherding some blindfolded people into the room to meet with the Prime. Two of them. The only thing that Richard had told her was that these were important visitors, and he wanted her to listen in to the meeting. To see and hear, but not be seen or heard, he’d said.

  “Why aren’t you in there, anyway?” she asked.

  “The Prime didn’t want me to be.”

  “Hm. Surprising.”

  “For some reason, he seems to pay far more attention to his new advisers than his old ones.” He turned his head enough to openly look her up and down. “Can’t imagine why.”

  “Maybe if you offered a less violent suggestion for a change, he’d be more inclined to listen,” Veena said.

  “Some problems can’t be solved by talking.”


  “We need every tool at our disposal. And every ally we can trust.”

  Blackwell looked like he wanted to spit again. “If you think we can trust these magicians, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

  “You sound as if you’ve been burned by one before,” Veena said, and instantly regretted it. The admiral winced at hearing the word “burn.”

  “We should put a crossbow bolt into each of them while we have the chance.”

  “Shoot first, and ask questions later.” Veena shook her head. “That’s your answer for everything.”

  “It’s kept me alive this far.”

  He was so condescending with every word that she couldn’t resist making a little snort of amusement. “Barely.”

  She went to lift her flap again, which is why she wasn’t looking when he lunged at her. The Tukalu warrior moved faster than she thought possible. One second she was leaning against the wall. The next, she’d caught Blackwell’s arm two inches from Veena’s face. Gods, he almost hit me.

  “Let go of me, you heathen—” he started.

  He broke off with a bellow as she changed her grip on his wrist and bent his hand backward at a right angle. “How dare you!”

  “I think you should step out for some air, Admiral.” She dragged him bodily from the chair to emphasize the suggestion. He had no choice but to stumble with her, or fall and risk breaking an arm. Veena ducked out of the way as she dragged him out the door. Somehow, the warrior even managed to hook a foot and pull it closed behind her. Veena took a moment to catch her breath. She’d known the admiral blamed her for the mishap at his keep, but never imagined he would resort to violence against her.

  The door opened again to admit the Tukalu woman. She closed it quietly, and then resumed her slouch against the wall like nothing had happened.

  “How did you know he was going to do that?” Veena asked.

  “Big men move a certain way, especially when they’re about to strike a woman.”

  “What did you do to him?”

  She shrugged. “I helped him find his way out.”

  Veena’s head still spun with the idea that the admiral had openly attacked her, tried to strike her right here, fifteen away from Richard. No wonder he assigned me a guard. If she hadn’t been here, if she hadn’t been ready for him . . . Veena didn’t want to think about what could have happened. “Thank you.”