The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2)

by M. D. Presley

  Not bothering to catch her target’s eye, Marta traced a half-circle on the table with beer spillage. She expected the second step of the dance to take a long while to wind up, but the man meandered over shortly thereafter.

  “Buy the lady a drink?”

  “Wine. Red. Karlwych if they have it.”

  He smiled, but she felt little warmth. “The price is your name.”

  “May Oles,” she said without hesitation. He paused, Marta tensing. Home Guardsman or no, her dancing partner at least could not suspect she had a Listener of her own to detect deceit. “And I’ll expect the same courtesy for the courtesy I’ve given you.”

  Again he hesitated as she caught him glancing to the original man she spied. She missed the signal he received back, but he then sat down and completed her circle of condensation.

  “Serson, but you can call me Herschel.”

  She did not give herself away as he had by looking to Luca, only spying his grin from the corner of her eye. With nothing else to go on, she barreled on. “I’ve recently come across something someone must have dropped back west. A Tinker most likely. I’d like to return it to him provided there’s a reward.”

  “Don’t know too many Tinkers.”

  “You’d know this one. Famous, he is. Infamous even.”

  The man matched her dead eyes an admirable amount of time. “I’ll ask around, but do you have any proof to what you’ve found? You’re not the first to come looking for a Tinker.”

  “His device is quite peculiar. It only works if the spark box is held by a woman.” She could tell her statement meant nothing to him, but she was more interested in who he could pass it on to.

  “Meet me at the Abbey Inn tomorrow, and I’ll let you know what I find.” He turned to go, Marta calling out to interrupt his departure:

  “My drink. I was promised a drink. Karlwych red.”

  ***

  Marta scarcely took a sip of the poor substitute the establishment proffered, but it tasted far sweeter than the last one she sampled. Unwilling to risk becoming tipsy, she only took a second sip as she waited for several other patrons to leave so as not to tie her to her new conspirator before allowing their own exit.

  “Well?” she inquired soon as she was sure they were not being shadowed.

  “He keeps his thoughts tamped down well enough, so could be a Guardsman. His accent?”

  “Broad as a Meskon barn. Easterner, born and bred.”

  “Then it comes down to your name, May.”

  Though no Listener, Marta could still feel his unease. “What’s got your back up?”

  “You. You seem too sure of yourself when it comes to this.”

  “These subtleties are the water I was born to swim in.”

  “Same ones that got you caught?”

  Marta’s face soured and she almost touched her scar. Luca was not incorrect though, as her Cildra training turned out to be ineffective in the past. Seeking Hendrix had also proven certainly circuitous rather than the straight path her initial mission promised. If only it were as straight as the ley leading to Ceilminster. If only she could truly scent her prey and run him to the ground as the glassmen did. She found herself wondering why Caddie mattered so much to such a motley crew. Hendrix, Carmichael, the glassman, Graff, and even Luca’s matriarch were all intent on possessing her, yet Marta still could not fathom why.

  “Describe the device Simza built for Caddie.”

  “Again?”

  “Again and again until it makes sense.”

  “The altar was stone—”

  “Waer take the altar. It’s the device I care about. Tell me about the sphere.”

  It was neither the first time nor the tenth that Marta demanded this description, but she still pored through the details anew each time, and Luca was sick of it.

  “You want to understand it, you ask Simza. She’s waiting for you and Caddie back in Gatlin in case you ever want to go home again. Or better yet, ask Dorothy Kohl. She designed the damn thing.”

  “Of all your lies, the idea you dealt with Provost Kohl is still the hardest to swallow.”

  “I tell you marrow true.”

  “Then, if you’re such good friends, maybe you can tell me where she disappeared to.”

  Luca refused to rise to her challenge. It was unnatural to him to let silence descend, but he wallowed in as they departed the city. Everyone knew the provost of Ceilminster College disappeared during the Grand War shortly after unleashing her invention of the daemons, inviting speculation of Render assassination. Luca only wished he had some defining characteristic of the woman to toss out to prove his truth. Unfortunately, all he could remember of the woman was that he remembered nothing about her.

  ***

  Isabelle claimed her bedroll soon after they arrived without a glance in Luca’s direction. Dawn only a few hours off, he took first watch as Marta took to her bed. Caddie curled up beside her almost immediately, Marta’s arm soon surrounding the girl. Since her statement saving Luca’s life, the girl had refused to speak again despite Marta’s entreaties. Leading Caddie away from the other two, Marta inquired again and again as to the girl’s wording.

  “Families belong together” was a phrase her father had repeated twice in his coded message. Although, now that she considered it, it was more likely that detail was Carmichael’s doing. The letter made passing reference to events after the Grand War, meaning it was not her father’s hand that penned it. It was possible to find a forger to copy her father’s handwriting, but the possibilities were rare. Rarer still was the chance Carmichael had cracked the Cildra codex shared between Marta and Norwood Childress. The likelihood of both eventualities was too inconceivable for Marta to imagine, which meant she had to consider far less pleasant possibilities.

  As terrifying as the implications were, Marta realized she could not trust her own eyes when in Carmichael’s presence. In their penultimate encounter, he demonstrated abilities far beyond any other Whisperer outside of legend, and she found herself shivering when considering if, in addition to commanding others overtly rather than subtly influencing like most Whisperers, Carmichael could also control what others saw. That was patently impossible, but she could not dismiss any possibility when it came to her brother. And if he could indeed control what she saw, why repeat the same phrase twice?

  And where had Caddie heard it to parrot it?

  She assaulted the idea again from every angle to no avail. Caddie conveyed no chinks to Carmichael’s armor either, no matter how much Marta pried. She finally gave up, preferring to squeeze every last second with the girl. Stolen moments like these would soon be gone, so Marta reveled in their shared space. Her exhaustion taking her by hand and leading her to sleep, she found herself whispering.

  “Close, we’re very close to your father. You’ll see him soon, and he’ll be proud when you say hello. He’ll be very proud to see how far you’ve come.”

  Edging on unconsciousness, Marta thought Caddie asleep as well until the girl pressed closer. She did not respond, did not show any care as to being reunited with her father, and Marta wondered if she could truly give up moments like these.

  ***

  They found no trace of Hershel Serson upon entering the Abbey Inn the next night, but Marta paid that fact no mind as a man quickly caught her eye. Without any preamble, he traced a half-circle upon his table, one she was glad to see off in a lonely corner. Quite sure his underlings surrounded them among the other patrons, Marta took the seat beside him and finished the circle. He too bore the scars of war along his arms, but better yet, he met her gaze without flinching. She saw another survivor in him, which indicated he was no preening and pretending Home Guardsman.

  “Ed,” he offered, not bothering to ask after her identity. “You have the girl?”

  “Nearby, but not so near you’ll find her without us. I want to see her father first. We’re acquainted, and I won’t be satisfied unless I see them reunited myself.”

  He studied
her awhile, a finger idly tapping upon the table. “Everyone else wanted proof of payment first.”

  Although her face showed no trace, Marta mentally cursed herself. “Once I know your good intentions towards the family, I’ll assume it will extend to me and mine as well.”

  His finger continued to tap, the man oddly indifferent. “Bit late for a bonnet, ain’t it?”

  “I’m a modest woman.”

  Luca’s flinch at her periphery preceded Ed’s sudden lunge for her bonnet. Marta clamped down on his extended fingers long before they exposed her brand, it requiring all her restraint to keep from summoning her gauntlet and removing his offending appendage. Even without her Armor, she knew she could leave him broken before any of the suddenly interested men surrounding them could act.

  “It’s true, then,” Ed said with just the slightest hint of interest. “A traitor really is doing the good work. Shouldn’t be surprised, really. Quite a few of you kicking up trouble down south. Still, it’s convenient.”

  “I assure you,” she hissed, “nothing has been convenient of late.”

  “No, it certainly hasn’t.” Without disengaging her gaze, Ed tilted his head and his men reclaimed their seats. “You’ll still have to prove yourself.”

  “More proof than possessing the girl?” Marta shot back.

  “Yes. But just two little things. Letting go, the first.”

  Her rage wanted to rip him in half for demanding even more so close to her goal, but the clarity it afforded her allowed her to open her hand. “The second?”

  “There’s a glass heart the soldiers keep. We want it. You’ll get it if you want to see Hendrix.”

  “That wasn’t what we were hired for.” Luca interjected.

  “I don’t remember hiring you in the first place,” Ed answered, eyeing the Dobra. “What’s more, this is war. I’ve seen it go on since the first shot, and I’ll be stained if I’m not there when it ends. I’ve seen what happens when every weapon isn’t in hand, and so I want them all, every Tinker, Weaver, and musket we can get.” His gaze returned to Marta. “You proved yourself by getting the girl, that I won’t deny you. So I’d be ten types of simple if I didn’t send a traitor to do what she’s best at, May Oles.”

  He pronounced her name as if it had significance, Marta looking to Luca for elucidation. He offered a slight shrug that Ed noted. “You honestly have no inkling, do you?”

  “As to what?”

  “Who you say you are.” He offered a slight chuckle at Marta’s confusion. “Colonel May Oles, currently overseeing all of Meskon. Only a damned dunder would choose a twice-traitor to truck on, which means you two ain’t bear bastards. Means you haven’t been home a long while neither, though you’re clearly from the homelands. That made you worth a second look. You’ve passed muster, and I believe you’ve done what you’ve said. So I want more.”

  Luca’s eyes darted from Ed to Marta, but she ignored them as she considered the woman she knew from the Pit. May Oles was never anyone of import, just Joel Kearney’s prison wife, one he quickly discarded once the Traitors Brigade formed. She was insignificant, yet irritating, which was why Marta chose the name. She thought May Oles forgettable, but apparently the discarded woman had reenlisted after the Furies were disbanded. Like Marta, she had betrayed her homeland once because of Carmichael’s lie then again by choice when her homeland turned against her, only to then prove Marta wrong in her assessment of ability by rising in the ranks of the Newfield army to the position of colonel.

  And the idea that Marta had been using her name all this time would be laughable were it not so calamitous.

  But laugh she did, without humor and loud enough to jolt the men surrounding them up a second time. All attention unfortunately dwelled upon her again, but she could not stop. It was all absolutely absurd, and she could feel Luca wondering if she had gone mad even as she failed to stifle the convulsions riding her. It was perfect because her bumbling was something not even the plotting Carmichael could have foreseen.

  Finally getting under some semblance of control, she spoke. “When Sol hands you a treat this sweet, you eat. Can you get me a colonel’s uniform? Two army uniforms, actually, and a Whisperer who won’t wilt if things take a turn?”

  Ed tapped the table again as another laughing fit took her. She knew she was losing him, but she scarcely cared. “Put your spark box to the fuse,” she challenged between chortles, “unless it doesn’t have any charge left.”

  His finger ceased its tapping. “I have charge. Powder to spare too. And the aim to see it through.”

  “Then prove it by meeting back here in two days with what I want. Do that and I’ll bring you a daemon’s heart.”

  Chapter 28

  Maia 27, 566 (One Year Ago)

  He loved her, of that he was certain, but Luca feared Isabelle’s appearances. Each one meant another mission and another roll of the dice at avoiding Bo’s fate. Jaelle felt the same, again begging Luca not to accompany Isabelle. Unable to disobey Simza lest he lose his promised bride, Luca smiled reassuringly as he tapped his imbued Listener pin.

  “You’ll always be in my thoughts, and I couldn’t be in safer hands.”

  Jaelle dared warm his cheek with a public kiss before Isabelle led their horses to the train station. Their journey south on the Sagle Line took less than a day before they disembarked outside of Crispenhofen. A major trading hub founded by Mahnen settlers a century past, Crispenhofen fared far better than Gatlin by being spared the airship devastation. Despite surviving the Grand War unscathed, an airship still kept watch over the city, but they turned their backs upon it and Meskon too as they rode deeper into Rhea.

  To his surprise, Luca was glad to be rid of the Gatlin as he stretched out under the stars. The air was certainly fresher and did not contain the tang of ash still permeating the city. Despite the small size of their fire, Luca recalled the draw of the yogano of his youth and how happy he had been trading stories with the other successful traders. Such gatherings were gone since becoming Cousins, and while many adopted the Cousin tradition of beards, Luca did not.

  Watching Luca shave with the straight-blade knife kept at his waist, Isabelle smirked.

  “Jaelle likes me clean-shaven.”

  =Makes you look like a child, a girl. Real men wear beards.

  Luca shot her a look and received a laugh in return. Although taller now, Isabelle had hardly filled out in the intervening four years. Yet she no longer resembled the gangly girl he had rescued, owing in no small part to her decision to begin dressing in the Mynian fashion. With her white dress and dark layered hair, she almost passed as Mynian unless one looked close enough to catch her hazel eyes. Usually she reverted to Ingios garb on their clandestine missions, only wearing her Mynian disguise when confined to the cities, and Luca suspected she had not shed her pretense at civilization yet since they were within a day’s ride of their destination—Yuaco. To disguise their bond, she took to fluttering hand signals to Luca in the presence of gaji. The motions consisted entirely of nonsense, but they completed her cover and hid her Ingios origins.

  Isabelle needed her disguises to blend, but Luca preferred her out of her dress and in Ingios clothes. Although the cities were generally safe, harriers roamed the expanse of Newfield’s eastern interior. Some, consisting of disaffected Eastern veterans unwilling to accept defeat, called themselves the Covenant Sons and stole travelers’ property. Others took lives first and then property, which might explain why Simza sent them to acquire gunpowder. Where the muskets requiring this powder were still eluded Luca, but his mind remained on the harriers instead. Between the Newfield army and short distance to their destination, he did not expect attack. Still, Isabelle decked out for trouble would allow him to breathe easier.

  In good spirits, Isabelle rattled on all day about her dreams. Grackle calls were less annoying than her carrying on about her visions, and Luca only half-listened as she spoke about grasslands rolling on without end until they crashed into a blood-
red sea. Again unsure at her definition of “sea,” Luca interrupted:

  “How many days would it take to swim this sea of blood?”

  =Months upon months. Then months again.

  Realizing she had picked up the Acwealt word “months” somewhere outside the wolari, Luca contemplated her vision in silence as they rode.

  ***

  Their contact in Yuaco was one Selmer Crum, a former Covenant lieutenant who turned to banditry since the war. Word of his exploits cast the bandit as folk hero in the East, the famed Reed’s Wood Walkers therefore dispatched to Yuaco to bring him in. Sure his prospects at locating Crum with them nearby were nil, Luca availed himself to the tavern before contacting Simza through the ley. In spite of her tiny stature, Luca allowed Isabelle a sip of her own, the girl nearly spitting out the bitter drink. Only his second rum in, Luca found a limping man beside him. Sporting a red sash faded down to almost brown, the man looked from Luca’s Listener pin to his vest.

  “Dobra?” Luca gave the barest of nods and the man grinned, revealing yellow teeth. “Selmer Crum.”

  The man did not possess a penny weight’s worth of guile. Even after attempting to fortify his Mind, Luca still sensed his deceit. “No you’re not, Franklin Barber.”

  The man blanched a bit before his jaundiced teeth returned. “You don’t seem to understand the Sons none. I act in Crum’s name.”

  A few more mental proddings, and Luca understood the Covenant Sons’ system soon enough and accepted a meeting with the real Crum at the tree scarred by lightning shortly after dusk. Since his disastrous interaction with Tennant back in Orono, Luca insisted on conducting all deals within the confines of the town. Public transactions were always best, but owing to Crum’s infamy, he made an exception and appeared at the offered tree at dusk.

  After setting Isabelle loose ahead of time, that was.

  Crum took almost an hour before appearing, the same limping lickspittle that made the overture to Luca beside him. Earning his reputation during the Grand War, Crum possessed the discipline to keep his thoughts hidden. His companion did not, Luca soon concluding Crum had no intention of making a deal. Instead, he saw an easy mark in Luca.