Lance blustered, clearly upset at the accusation.
“I’ve done everything I can to make the people of New Galen happy.”
“Including armbands labeling them as outsiders, quarantining them inside their town?”
Lance let out a huff.
“They wear those of their own accord,” he said, something Kael knew for certain was a lie. “As do they refuse to venture beyond New Galen’s streets. The refugees are frightened of assimilation, Speaker, of becoming one of us. They hold on to the notion of being a separate nation, and so long as they do, they’ll be angry, isolated, and eager for violence. Men of Galen think with their hearts instead of their heads. Do not blame me for the flaws they were born with.”
Marius started to answer, but before Kael could hear it a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him about. He caught a glimpse of gold armor and red robes, and then a mailed fist slamming his face. Pain exploded throughout his body, his vision a black sheet dotted with red light. His legs went weak, and he collapsed through the door and into the room with Lance and the Speaker.
Kael thought he might pass out, his consciousness swimming around and about like a drunk fish, but he fought through. Eyes watering, he watched as Marius leaned over him, analyzing him like a newly discovered puzzle.
“I recognize this young man,” he said.
“Kael Skyborn,” Lance said. “He’s a friend of Clara’s.”
The Speaker’s face was a mask, but it cracked ever so slightly at the mention of his name.
“Skyborn?” he whispered, rising. “How interesting. Take him alive.”
A shadow fell over him as the soldier knelt, mailed fist striking once more, this time to the temple. Kael experienced a single moment of clarity, a realization of just how fucked he was, before the pain hit and he passed out for good.
CHAPTER
9
It was a long walk to the Aquila Forest from Lowville, but thankfully Bree found a merchant traveling northward from the docks, and she hitched a ride in the back of his wagon. Even better, he didn’t seem to have any idea who she was. Left alone to her thoughts, she lay on her back, surrounded by rucksacks, and stared at the blue sky streaked with thin white scars of clouds. The calm was a welcome respite from the pressure that had robbed her of sleep the night before. It had been bad enough with Argus wishing for her to be the face of the resistance. Now to have Johan request the same, for her to be the igniting spark for the movement he’d built over the past few years...
Bree sighed. It was enough to make her wish she could hop off the wagon, run to the docks, and vanish to one of the other islands, just a nameless woman in the crowd. The cowardly impulse didn’t last long, but it was fun daydreaming of a peaceful life in a new land. A land where Center’s soldiers didn’t patrol the streets, and her knights didn’t occupy the skies. Though if Johan was right, Weshern wouldn’t be the last to experience such subjugation.
“We’re almost to Warwick,” the merchant called over his shoulder from the front of the wagon. “I’ll be stopping for a few hours before I continue on to Middleton, if you’re still needing the lift.”
“Warwick is close enough,” Bree said. “And thank you.”
The merchant, an older man with long white hair, waved her off.
“Think nothing of it,” he said.
Warwick’s proximity to the Aquila Forest granted it a lucrative, but tightly controlled, lumber trade, and from the moment she stepped foot inside Bree was immediately assaulted with traders in slender stalls offering her utensils, dishes, and even dolls and toys made of finely carved and stained oak. She kept her head down, ignoring them, no matter how rude or polite they were.
The lumber camps were a hectic bustle, dozens of shirtless men hacking and sawing, using a variety of instruments to accomplish what appeared to be the same basic goal: turning larger pieces of wood into smaller pieces. Bree skirted the limits of the camps, moving farther south so she could enter the woods unseen. The grass was soft beneath her feet, and she welcomed the return to solitude. Eye to the forest at all times, she searched for one of the signs the resistance had hidden that marked paths leading to the camp. It took a few minutes, but she found one, three small, connected circles cut into the bark, then slashed through the center. A broken chain.
Bree passed the marker, entering the dense oak forest. She quickly found a trail worn into the brush and followed it. Twice she lost the path, the first time finding it again due to another unbroken chain carved into a tree. The second time she crossed a thin stream and saw no sign of where to go. Picking a direction, she began walking. After only a moment she heard a voice cry out from up high.
“Halt,” a man said, perched on a tree branch. He held a bow, arrow half-cocked and aimed at her chest. Bree raised her hands above her head.
“I’m one of Argus’s Seraphs,” she said.
“Your name?” the scout asked.
“Breanna Skyborn.”
The arrow immediately relaxed.
“The Phoenix?” he asked. “Bloody hell, forgive me. I didn’t recognize you.”
He hopped down from the branch and offered her a gap-toothed grin.
“You’re forgiven,” she said. “I was trying to find the camp. It’s a little harder on foot than when flying in.”
The scout chuckled.
“Fair enough. Follow me, my lady, and I’ll show you the way.”
The scout led her to Camp Aquila, which despite her short absence, already looked to have grown considerably. Dozens more tents filled the area. She saw logs cut and dragged into loose circles for seating around dormant campfires. The beginnings of several little buildings lay in piles, slabs of wood cut and prepared to build.
“Where’s Argus?” Bree asked the scout.
“At his tent. Do you know where it is?”
“I do.”
The man bowed, then let her be. Bree passed through the camp to find the former commander sitting on a stump, sword before him, cloth in hand, and a cup of vinegar at his feet.
“Welcome back,” Argus said. The cloth slid up and down the blade, slow and steady. “Are you ready to be our Phoenix?”
“Not quite,” Bree said.
Argus paused, and he pulled the rag away to dip it in the vinegar.
“A shame,” he said. “So why did you return?”
“Johan Lumens visited my home last night.”
Argus paused.
“Is that so?” he said, careful to keep his voice even. “What did that self-proclaimed revolutionary say?”
“He believes our resistance is only the beginning, and he’s pledged to help in any way he can. He...he also left a chest full of elements at my aunt’s house.”
Argus dropped the rag, and a hungry look entered his eye.
“At what price?” he asked.
“Freely given,” she said. “I glanced over them before I left. There’s at least thirty prisms of each element, other than light, which I guess to have an extra twenty more.”
Bree could see the numbers twisting in Argus’s head, readjusting what he thought he had available to him.
“I’ll send men to collect them right away,” he said, hurrying to his feet. “This changes things, Bree. If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk with Rebecca.”
Bree watched him go, trying not to be upset by how easily he dismissed her. Deciding some exercise might cheer her up, she crossed the camp toward the training field, hoping that Brad would already be there.
It wasn’t Brad that she found at the clearing for training, but instead a far less pleasant face.
“You came back,” Saul said as he slowly tilted his body to the right, arm reaching for the ground. The stretches were designed to both strengthen the muscles needed to perform their aerial maneuvers with the harnesses, as well as relieve any tension and tightness developed from such use.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Bree asked.
Saul stood, then stretched in the other direction.
“Plenty of reasons
,” he said. “Cowardice. Hopelessness. Realizing this whole charade is doomed from the start. Things like that.”
“Is that what you think this is?” she asked. “A doomed charade?”
Saul paused his stretching, and he wiped away the sweat that had collected beneath the bangs of his dirty-blond hair.
“You asked for reasons,” he said. “Not if I believed any of them. Though you’d still be hard-pressed to find someone who thinks we have a real chance of success.”
“Argus thinks we do.”
“Good for him.” He resumed stretching, this time bending down to reach for his toes. Saul grunted from pain occasionally as he talked. “Tell me, Bree, if you thought all this was hopeless, would you still keep fighting?”
Bree crossed her arms and frowned. It wasn’t a question she needed to think on for long. She’d felt the sentiment from the very beginning, no different from when she donned Dean’s wings and chased after his murderer.
“Yes,” she said. “I would. Even if we don’t succeed, it’s still right to try.”
“Consider me of equal opinion.” She must have given him a look, for he immediately turned defensive. “What? Does that surprise you?”
She shrugged.
“After the Archon banished your parents, it does a little.”
Saul stood to his full height, pulling back his shoulders in rapid circular motions.
“I told your brother, and I’ll tell you,” he said. “My parents raised me to be loyal to Weshern. Nothing Isaac or Avila did will ever change that. Now are you here to train with me, or just insult my honor?”
Bree felt guilty for her assumption, and truth be told, she’d neglected most of her stretches and exercises since leaving the academy.
“I’ve got a few hours to kill,” she said. “Let’s train.”
As she began loosening up, Saul walked over to a nearby tree. Leaning against it was a crude rack containing more than a dozen wood training swords. He grabbed four, and he tossed two at Bree’s feet.
“Swords?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Elements are a rarity now,” he said. “I have a feeling we’ll need our swords far more than ever, and I never had the chance to train with them like you did. If you’re willing to teach me...”
Bree picked up the swords, feeling awkward as she twirled them in her hands. She’d never trained anyone at swordplay before, always instead the student. She wasn’t sure how to go about it, particularly since they didn’t have near enough time to be patient.
“Let’s start with a spar,” she said. “I’ll try to critique as we go.”
“Fair enough,” Saul said, readying his swords. Already she could tell his stance was wrong.
“Spread your feet wider,” she said. “And pull your right foot back a little.”
Saul did as he was told. Bree twirled her swords again, then nodded to begin. She started slow, at least what she thought was slow. Her wooden weapons danced in, both from the same side. Saul blocked the first, the other coming in too high. The wood smacked against his shoulder with a loud crack. Saul stepped back, and he swore.
“Every time you miss, it’s going to hurt,” Bree warned. “We can do stances if it becomes too much.”
“You nearly broke my jaw with a broom handle,” Saul said. “I think I can handle a few smacks to the arm.”
Bree froze, but to her surprise, Saul just laughed.
“Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for that,” he said. “Consider me biding my time until the moment is right.”
“And when might that be?”
Saul shrugged.
“If I knew, I’d tell you. Now are we going to spar or what?”
He settled back into his stance, and Bree was pleased to see his feet in the proper position without her having to tell him twice.
“Spar,” she said. “But I’m warning you, I’m going to enjoy every single hit I score.”
“Fair enough,” Saul said. “Just know when I hit you, I won’t be holding anything back.”
Bree grinned at him.
“I might be worried if I thought you’d hit me even once.”
Saul launched into an offensive, likely hoping to surprise her, but he was clumsy and straightforward compared to the grace Dean used to exhibit. Snippets of their training together flooded Bree’s mind, and her easy smile vanished. She nearly missed her block, but as their swords connected, she intensified her focus, hoping to use the spar to block out the painful memories. She shoved Saul’s blades outward, then rapped his chest with a hard thud before dancing away. Saul grimaced. Bree had no doubt left a bruise. He returned to his stance, no hesitation, no complaining.
“Again,” said Saul.
They sparred for more than an hour. True to Bree’s word, Saul never hit her once.
* * *
The Rea Brook flowed through the Aquila Forest, thin and rapid. Bree lay submerged up to the neck, enjoying the cold. She’d worked up a sweat sparring with Saul, and though he’d never scored a hit, he’d still improved immensely over time, forcing her to give effort toward the end. Saul had taken well enough to sparring that she had no doubt he’d have become one of the better fighters in their class if he’d had the chance.
For the most part Bree was alone, though occasionally a man or woman came by to fill a bucket from upstream. Bree had begun ignoring them, her eyes closed as she relaxed. Another approached, but this time did not go upstream, nor did they enter the water.
“I hope you didn’t wear yourself out,” Argus said.
Bree snapped her eyes open to see the commander standing above her. She fought an instinct to cover herself. Her pants and jacket lay in the grass beside the creek, and she wore only her thin underclothes.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Saul’s the one who’ll be sporting bruises for the next week.”
Argus nodded. No amusement, barely even a recognition of Saul’s name. Not good.
“I’ve received word,” he said. “The elements are on their way, divvied up among more than a dozen runners I trust to avoid Center’s watchful eye.” He gestured to her clothes near the creek bank. “Get dressed. We’ve set a plan in motion, and Rebecca thinks it’s time we fill you in. We’ll be waiting for you in the command tent.”
He left. Bree dunked her head underneath the water, came up gasping, and then rose to her feet. She had no way to towel off, so she rang out her hair, flung on her clothes, and walked dripping back to the camp. Men and women hurried about, showing more urgency than she’d ever seen before. Something was definitely up. Bree stepped into the commander’s tent, where Rebecca, Argus, and a stranger waited around a table with a map of Weshern unfurled across it. The stranger was a middle-aged heavyset man with a long black beard and a smoothly shaven head. He wore a shining set of spotless chain mail underneath his black tabard, the blue sword of Weshern sewn onto the front with intricate detail.
“Bree, I’d like you to meet Varl Cutter,” Rebecca said, gesturing to the enormous man. “He held the position of military general prior to Center’s occupation.”
“And as far as I’m concerned, it’s a position I still hold,” Varl said. He bowed to Bree. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Skyborn. I’ve heard plenty about you.”
Bree nodded politely. She’d heard of Varl only a few times in passing at the academy. For the most part, the Seraphim and the military guard did not interact. The military guard did the grunt work, patrolling the streets, ensuring the peace, and protecting the Archon. The Seraphim, on the other hand, took to the skies, deciding the fates of nations with their battles.
“I would not believe most of it,” Bree said. “People tend to exaggerate when they tell stories.”
“That they do,” Varl said. “Though my men’s stories tend to make me sound louder, dumber, and meaner. Consider yourself lucky to be pushed toward the better end of things instead of the worse.”
Bree smiled, deciding she already liked the former general.
“
Johan’s gift allows us to be far more aggressive than we originally planned,” Rebecca said, and she gestured to the map. “We can now safely arm every Seraph at our disposal, which means it is time to look to aiding Varl in doing the same for his military guard. While Marius has increased the overall military presence in Weshern, he has tried to do it incrementally to avoid further alarming the populace. I believe we can punish him for his caution.”
She pointed to the northeastern portion of the map of Weshern, where a crude fort was drawn.
“When Marius ordered the academy shut down, he also disbanded the vast majority of the military guard,” she said. “Fort Luster was forcibly evacuated. So far as we know, its contents have not been moved.”
“Which means all our armor and weaponry are still there,” Varl said. “I’ve got hundreds of soldiers eager to join your cause, but we’ve got nothing but our bare hands to do it with, unlike you Seraphs with your wings and elements. If we can liberate Fort Luster, we can haul out enough gear to outfit ourselves a fully equipped army. Once we do that, we can start hitting Center all over the island.”
“It’s a lot easier to hide a sword and a chain mail shirt than it is a pair of wings,” Argus said. “We can position men in every single city and target smaller groups of soldiers. Every casualty will add up over time, greatly increasing the cost of occupying our island as well as making it far harder to stamp out any resistance.”
“However, to ensure we have the time to unload the gear, we need to shift patrolling knights away from the fort,” Rebecca said. “With the increase of elements, we can afford to use such a feint. I’ve picked out three cities, all many miles away from Fort Luster. We’ll distribute half our Seraphim among these cities, with the goal of ambushing patrolling knights and eliminating them while they’re vastly outnumbered. Afterward, our Seraphim will flee to the far corners of Weshern, guiding their pursuers away from the true goal. The other half of our Seraphim will take part in the attack on Fort Luster, weakening it for Varl’s men.”
Bree frowned as she stared at the map, analyzing their planned attack.
“Aren’t you afraid of escalation?” she asked. “We’ve already killed several of their knights. If we assault Fort Luster...”
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