Catalyst Moon: Incursion (The Catalyst Moon Saga Book 1)

by Lauren L. Garcia

  Fully-armored, taller and broader than herself, Stonewall was solid no matter what, but soaking wet he seemed to have tripled in bulk. His weight nearly wrenched her arm from its socket as the river tried to pull him away. But his loss was a price she was unwilling to pay for her safety, so she refused to let him go. Their eyes met; his were barely discernible through the water and the darkness, but she saw a flash of fear within them before the horse clambered to the shore at last.

  The moment she touched ground, Kali slid from the horse's back and collapsed onto the gravel. Stonewall landed beside her, coughing.

  They lay panting before she managed to gasp, “Didn't I tell you to 'hang on?'”

  ***

  Still breathless, all Stonewall could do was stare at her before laughter bubbled up from his chest. The rush of energy he'd felt during the battle and the following flight left him giddy. He was not the only one. Kalinda's laughter joined his and they lay beside one another on the shore, hysterical in shared relief.

  But the giddiness faded after a few moments, leaving only exhausted reality. The evening sky was a bit less overcast, holding a few early stars and the sliver of waxing Seren as the moon began to descend towards the horizon. Atal had set hours ago. The wound on Kalinda’s temple was starting to bleed again, and her hair and clothing were plastered to her body. A gust of wind aggrandized his aches and turned his armor into ice. It was imperative to get them both warm and dry as soon as possible, but first, he'd have to get up.

  Along with being freezing, his gear felt a good five times heavier than normal, so it was something of a struggle for Stonewall to pull himself upright. “Are you–”

  “Did they–”

  Realizing they'd spoken at the same time, they exchanged faint smiles before he got to his feet, offering her his hand as he did. She rose as well and they looked downriver, where the Canderi had been swept away. Thank Tor, there was no sign of further pursuit.

  The dark-haired woman shivered at his side. After everything that had happened, he was at a loss for words, so he clung to simple, familiar things. “You used magic again... Did it strain you overmuch?”

  “I'm fine.” She hesitated, then shook her head. “I would have felt better about the entire ordeal if I knew how to swim.”

  He knew he gaped at her, but he was too tired to care. “You don't know how to swim?”

  “I grew up in the mountains!”

  “There are no rivers or lakes in the mountains?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Plenty, but I was in no hurry to freeze my ass off.”

  Still dumbstruck, Stonewall shook his head. “And you saw fit to destroy the bridge and plunge us headlong into the river?”

  “I never said it was a good plan.” She pointed to his neck. “Oh, look – you're bleeding from a new place.”

  He winced at the memory of the bite of the claymore; he'd received worse injuries before, but this one would be painful once the rush of energy in his blood faded completely.

  “I can manage for a bit. Right now we need to get to Oreion.” He stepped over to examine the horse, who snuffed along the riverbank. She seemed unharmed, though he'd have to check her over completely once they reached the city. No doubt the poor creature was more exhausted than either human.

  While he gathered the reins, Kalinda limped further away from the river bank, scanning the ground. “How far away are we?”

  A gust of wind cut straight through his armor and he could not suppress a longing for sun-warmed streets and sugar sand. “A few hours,” he replied as she picked up a fallen branch. “If we hurry.”

  She shivered, too, but only nodded before turning her attention to the branch; within moments, a small flame crackled at its tip, illuminating her face enough to reveal how the ghost of a smile touched her lips and how her eyes caught the dancing fire. How easy she made it look. He looked back where the bridge had stood; all that remained was a single pillar at the river's edge. The demon-Canderi had vanished – drowned or merely carried away, he did not know.

  Dangerous, his mind urged.

  But when she met his gaze again, there was only weariness in her face. Her voice was wry. “I've done my part,” she said, lifting the torch. “Please tell me you know how to get where we're going.”

  For now, the answer was clear. Stonewall pointed at the road ahead. “Let's move out.”

  ***

  They both made the journey on foot. Given Kalinda's limp, it was a slow several hours. By the time they reached Oreion, it was full dark and Stonewall was never so glad to see a township in all his life. Since they'd left the river the air had only grown colder. Kalinda's torch cast a little heat, but by now they were both shivering. If they didn't get warm and dry soon, they'd be in real trouble.

  So it was with weary but relieved steps that he led the horse to Oreion's main gates, where a handful of guards huddled before a small fire within an iron barrel. When they caught sight of Stonewall, two of them strode forward, holding up their hands in a gesture for him to halt.

  “Let me do the talking,” Stonewall murmured to the mage.

  “I was going to,” she replied, tugging her cloak over her wrists.

  Stonewall raised his hand both in reply and to let the guards see from his sodden armor that he was a sentinel. Indeed, the first guard, a woman in her middle years, nudged her companion, a younger woman.

  “Well met, Serla Sentinel,” the first guard said, offering a bow.

  He nodded in reply. “And you, ser.”

  She glanced at Kalinda but only addressed him. “A bit late to be traveling, is it not?”

  “I've had some...trouble on the road,” he replied, resting a hand on one of his empty dagger sheathes. “But I'd hoped to spend this night under a roof. Have you heard of an inn called the Jessamin?”

  “Aye, it's a nice little place.” The first guard stepped aside to allow him passage, but the second frowned.

  “It's after dark,” she said to her companion. “Only fourth tiers and up are allowed into the city now. We should check their marks.”

  “Are you blind?” the first guard replied. “He's a sentinel.”

  “So?”

  The first guard's lips thinned beneath her helmet. She glanced at Stonewall. “Excuse us for one moment, Serla Sentinel.” Before he could reply, she grabbed the younger guard's arm and hissed, “You want him telling the Circle how we wouldn't let him past the gates?”

  The younger guard scoffed. “But the law–”

  “The Circle is above the law,” the first guard broke in. “And this sentinel is under their protection. I'm not about to lose my mark – and my hand. How about you?”

  The younger guard rubbed her right wrist and glanced back at Stonewall, who kept his gaze mild. At last she sighed. “I didn't realize...”

  “What the fuck do they teach you in Greenhill?” The first guard shook her head and returned to Stonewall. “My apologies for the delay, serla.”

  “It's no trouble,” he said mildly.

  “We'll take you to the Jessamin,” she added, jerking her chin towards the gate.

  He nodded. “That would be most appreciated. Thank you.”

  As the two guards turned to lead the way, Kalinda murmured, “So there are advantages to traveling with a sentinel. I was starting to think it was all kidnappings and demon attacks.”

  He bit back a laugh. “Don't get complacent; the journey's not over yet.”

  TWENTY

  Every sentinel in the men's barracks was asleep.

  Save one.

  Knees folded before him as he leaned against the wall, Milo studied the moonlight through the barrack's window. From his bunk's position beside the window – the least desirable bed in the room, as he'd learned from the constant drafts – he could make out the edges of the silvery halation as Seren traveled across the sky. Had it not been for Beacon's wheezing, whistling snores, the room would have been downright peaceful.

  Peaceful. Milo bounced his knees against his
blanket. What good was peaceful when hematite ran so hot in his veins that all he wanted to do was move? He considered tending to his weapons again, but his sword was clean enough to eat off of and his daggers were polished to a mirrored sheen.

  He sighed.

  Beacon's snore cut off mid-wheeze. “Mi...”

  The copper-haired sentinel blearily regarded Milo from the next bunk. “What?” Milo asked.

  “Shut up.”

  “I didn't say–”

  “Then hold still,” Beacon replied, nodding to Milo's bouncing knees, beneath which his bunk was squeaking softly. “You're making enough noise to summon the sodding Fata.”

  “I thought you didn't believe in those old stories,” Milo said as he urged his legs to be still.

  “It's a figure of spee...” The mender's words fell apart with his yawn. “Speech,” he said when he finished.

  Milo couldn't help but chuckle. “At least I'm not snoring.”

  “I don't snore, burnie.”

  “Then you were doing a fine imitation of someone who does.”

  “Ea's tits, I'm too knackered to debate this with you now.” Beacon rolled over and pulled his blanket to his face, muttering. “Should've made you and Flint run laps around the garrison yesterday while us grown folk enjoyed the chance to rest.”

  The mention of his sister made Milo look out the window again. Was Flint awake too? They hadn't spoken since Dev's funeral, in part because he didn't know what to say. Selfish. Should he leave her to live her own life? Was that what she really wanted?

  Suppose he did leave...what would become of him? What shape would his life take?

  He could be a sentinel anywhere; all he had to do was ask for a transfer. If his own sister didn't want him around, he had no reason to stay. Right?

  Beacon's snores gradually rose in pitch from a whistle to a wheeze as the mender drifted back to sleep. With another sigh, Milo shifted so that his head was on his pillow and shut his eyes. Maybe he could at least nod off for a minute or two...

  He jolted awake. A deep, thrumming groan filled his ears; the sound reverberated through his whole body as if he'd swallowed a swarm of hornets. Gods above, Beacon, he thought, willing his eyes to open. And you complain I'm too loud!

  But Beacon was awake and upright, buckling on his gear. Beyond him, the other men were doing the same. The room was a flurry of creaking leather and the flash of steel caught by moonlight. The buzzing alarm drowned out their voices. Milo's blood began to burn in response.

  Not snoring, then, but the garrison alarm. Trouble in the bastion.

  “You're in luck, burnie,” Beacon said when Milo sat up. “Get ready. Sounds like we've got work to do.”

  Several minutes later, Milo and the eighty-odd other sentinels in the Whitewater garrison stood in the main courtyard, where Dev's funeral had taken place only days ago. Milo tried to catch Flint's eyes, but she resolutely ignored him and faced forward.

  Flint had beaten them there, so Beacon bent to her ear as everyone assembled. “What's going on?”

  She shook her head. “I don't know. Vigil was on duty in the bastion earlier; she said everything was fine when her watch ended. Have you seen Rook?”

  “She's not with you?” Beacon asked, glancing around.

  “Do you see her?”

  “Here I am,” Rook said, slipping through the others to stand with the squad. “What's going on?”

  “We've been over that, already,” Beacon replied. “No one knows. Where in the void were you?”

  The freckle-faced sentinel ignored him and pointed forward, to where Commander Talon strode to the center of the courtyard, helmet tucked under one arm, expression like cold iron. What murmurs there had been silenced abruptly as she faced the group.

  “Two mages have escaped the bastion,” the commander said without preamble. “They were just seen near the Merchant's District.”

  Astonished looks passed between squad-mates, and Milo caught more than a few mutters of, “How?”

  Another question, though, rose above the rest.

  “Who?” asked Captain Cobalt.

  Commander Talon's voice was dark. “The mages attempted to cover their faces, but the guard caught a brief glimpse, nonetheless: a man and woman, each somewhere in their mid-twentieth summer. The man has dark skin and the woman is pale, with green eyes.”

  Milo could not quite place a name to the rather broad description, but Rook started beside him. “They sound like the Echinas,” she breathed.

  “I knew it,” Flint muttered. “Gideon's a known troublemaker. No doubt his wife is the same.”

  “Aye, that fellow is a regular firebrand,” Beacon added.

  But the commander's next words cut off any conversation. “One member of the city guard is badly burned.” Flint shot Beacon a reproving look, and the mender grimaced as the commander continued. “No civilians have been reported injured, but the guards were unable to catch the mages before they fled.”

  There were no murmurs now. The air seemed to sharpen, as in the moment before a lightning strike. Milo's blood thrummed in his ears; an echo of the alarm that had finally stopped. He rested his hands on his daggers and fought the urge to take off for the city on his own.

  “There's no telling where they might have gone, but chances are, they'll head for the main city gates.” Commander Talon nodded to a group of officers who stood to her right. “Sergeant Thom; take your squad to the bastion and find out exactly who's missing. Captain Cobalt and Lieutenants Archer, Wren, and Ferro will take their squads to the main gate. I want the rest of you to search the city.” Her voice hardened. “We must find the mages before they harm anyone else. Dismissed.”

  ***

  The crowd at the River Redcap was mostly fifth tier merchants and laborers unwinding after a long workday. Eris spotted a table of youths that she pegged as a group of slumming fourth tiers, given the quality of their clothing. Aside from them, however, The River Redcap was a decent little pub – except for the ale.

  A moment's concentration allowed Eris to examine the particles within the ale before she set the mug back on the table-top. Each movement felt painfully deliberate. Surely every person in the crowded, smoky room knew what she was. Indeed, every sidelong look, every hushed whisper from another patron seemed aimed at her and Gid. No doubt Commander Talon and her hemie lackeys would burst through the door any moment, wielding their cuffs and swords, and demanding that the mages return to the bastion at once!

  She resisted the urge to pull her scarf over her face and instead took a deep, calming breath.

  Gid's broad hand covered her fingers. “It will be well,” he murmured. “We're just here for a drink and a bit of conversation – minding our own business.”

  “'Minding our own business' didn't work so well an hour ago.”

  “You're still cross about that?”

  “Yes,” she hissed, dropping her voice. “Because of you, every sentinel in the sodding province will be searching for us.”

  He was silent a moment. “That guard had it coming.”

  “Aye, but was it necessary to burn half his face?”

  “Come now,” Gid said, chuckling. “I'd hardly say half. Perhaps a third...”

  “Gideon.”

  He sighed deeply. “If I hadn't distracted those guards, we might be stuffed in the deepest hematite cells in the garrison.”

  Her skin crawled at the thought of the cells. Nevertheless, she kept her voice sharp. “We could've just bolted.”

  Gid flashed a smile. “Ah, but my way was much more fun.”

  Eris shook her head and glanced around the room again. “Now there are more reasons for the hemies – for everyone – to think ill of us.”

  “They'll think ill of us regardless of what we do. May as well make a bid for our freedom while we have a chance.”

  Movement by the door made both mages glanced over. Through a haze of pipe smoke a wiry man shuffled into the room, heading for the bar. Eris' heart seized when she ca
ught sight of a pair of daggers strapped to his hips...

  ...but he shifted as he placed his order with the bartender, allowing lamp light to trail over battered leather armor that bore no trace of hematite. No sentinel, nor a city guard; possibly a mercenary. Either way, he did not seem interested in anything other than his drink. She and Gid were probably safe – for now. She tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but her chest was tight.

  “There,” Gideon murmured, drawing her attention back to the door, where another figure had stepped into the crowded room. “That's our man.”

  Eris narrowed her eyes as she took in the newcomer. He was taller than Gid, broadly built and clad in a mishmash of gear that looked as if it had seen better days. A few steps inside the pub threw him into better light as he paused and surveyed the room. His skin was rich brown; he looked to be a few summers older than Eris, perhaps in his late twenties. His dark hair was close-cropped but not quite neat enough to be respectable and there were traces of stubble on his chin.

  Gideon slid out of his seat. “Would you like a refill, love?”

  “Not really,” she replied, wrinkling her nose.

  Gid took her mug and shot her a wink. “Well, allow me, anyway. I'll be right back.”

  He slipped to the bar, where – if his gesticulations were anything to go by – he made a show of running into his old friend that he hadn't seen in years, whom he then invited to share a drink with himself and his lovely wife. Their contact agreed. After the men acquired more ale they made their way back to where she waited.

  Gideon extended his hand to her. “Eris, love of my life, this is my old friend, Drake.”

  Drake dipped his head and shoulders into a half-bow of greeting. “Very good to meet you, Ser Eris.”

  “You as well.” Eris nodded as he slid into place across from her and Gid, who'd taken his seat beside her.

  “No Sufani garb today?” Gideon asked.