Heartland

by Lucy Hounsom

  ‘Acre was never just a story, but if you’d asked me a few months ago, I’d have said it was a place none of us would ever see.’ She met the boy’s eyes squarely. ‘And Wielders don’t refer to their ability as magic. That’s for the cardsharps in the street. We channel the energy of the cosmos itself, which is as real as you or I and all around us.’

  ‘Could I learn to do it?’

  ‘Tomas!’ Astra barked before Brégenne could reply.

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ the boy mumbled to his plate. He didn’t say anything else, but continued to shoot Brégenne and Gareth covert glances.

  Brégenne raised her eyes to the window and froze. Outside, the sun waged war with rain clouds building in the west and their shadows passed over the white stone plaza that formed the centrepiece of the manor district. Four people were crossing the square. It wasn’t their nondescript clothes that marked them out, but the way they moved – with a confidence born of power.

  And the Solar envoi they followed.

  Brégenne assumed they’d made it invisible to those around them, but it was like a beacon to her. A sharply indrawn breath from Gareth told her he’d seen it too. She watched the dogshaped envoi lift its head, as if scenting the air. Then it turned and headed unerringly for Astra’s mansion.

  Brégenne pushed back her chair. ‘I need some air,’ she announced to the room, feeling her heart pounding. Her anger at the Assembly had pushed Alandred’s warning out of her head, but now it came rushing back, along with the names of the Wielders sent to bring her in. Of course they’d chosen to come for her in the day. ‘Gareth,’ she said, ‘if you’d accompany me?’

  ‘I hope you’re not ill, Lady,’ Astra’s husband said, also sliding his chair back and standing. He made to offer her an arm, but Brégenne waved him away.

  ‘I didn’t sleep well,’ she said. ‘I just need a walk to clear my head.’

  All three Marahans looked surprised at her abrupt exit, but there was no help for it. The servants watched her go with the same suspicious eyes as their mistress.

  When the two of them were out of the room, Brégenne began to stride down the corridor, hoping it was the one that led to the back of the house and the stables where Astra had housed their mounts. ‘That’s how they’ve found us,’ she muttered. ‘They’re using an envoi to track us.’

  Gareth frowned as he hurried after her. ‘I didn’t think that was possible.’

  ‘Oh it is,’ she said, as they turned a corner into a smaller, less grand passage. ‘Especially if you know your quarry well or have something of theirs to scent.’

  ‘We can’t escape them, then.’

  ‘No,’ Brégenne agreed after a moment, ‘but we can try to outrun them.’

  ‘Or we can fight.’

  She looked at him. ‘Listen to me, Gareth. These are masters we’re up against. You agreed to come with me and I know I haven’t fulfilled my part of the deal—’

  ‘Perhaps that’s a good thing,’ the young man said as they raced past a startled housemaid. There was a resolve in his face that bordered on eagerness.

  ‘No,’ she said again, more vehemently. ‘If you’re hurt, it’ll be my fault.’ She looked away. ‘I made enough mistakes with Kyndra. I don’t want to repeat them with you.’

  ‘I’m not Kyndra,’ Gareth said, wrenching open the next door before Brégenne could reach it. ‘I’m a Wielder of Naris, if you hadn’t noticed, and I can look after myself.’

  They burst into a kitchen already bustling with the preparations for lunch and Brégenne knocked a hanging string of garlic to the floor as she hurtled past. ‘Sorry,’ she called without looking back. She fixed her eyes on the yard that sat between the outspread wings of the manor. There was a woodpile beside neat stacks of lamp oil and coal, and two gardeners were re-positioning a tree in newly prepared earth. Beyond them the garden stretched away, dotted with patios and topiary. But no stables.

  Brégenne cursed. They wouldn’t get far without the horses. Perhaps the garden had a back gate they could use to circle around to the front of the house. They could pick up their mounts and –

  She made her decision, tugging Gareth in the direction of a nest of manicured trees that offered cover of a sort. Although she strove to calm it, Brégenne’s heart was pounding. It wasn’t fear for herself, though she knew she was entirely defenceless. It was fear of what Gareth might do if the Wielders caught them. She didn’t want to be responsible for the injury or death of those just following orders.

  They wove between the trees, making for the solid stone wall that circled the property. It was too high to climb, Brégenne saw now, and the clipped trees had no helpful branches to boost them up. She looked along the length of the wall for a gate, but there was none to be seen. She’d trapped them.

  Gareth put his hand on the stone and she knew what he was thinking. ‘They’re close enough to feel it, if you channel energy,’ she said.

  ‘We might not have much choice, but I’ve never tried to punch through stone before.’

  ‘There has to be a gate. They wouldn’t take garden waste through the kitchens.’

  But it was too late. Brégenne felt a prickling on the back of her neck and spun around. There they were, all four of them, striding across the grass as if they owned every blade of it. The dog-envoi at their side blazed brighter at the sight of her and Gareth standing penned against the wall and then it faded, its purpose spent.

  ‘Well met, Councilwoman Brégenne,’ Barrar said pleasantly. Being a fellow Lunar, he was not one she had to worry about. Instead Brégenne fixed her gaze on the Solars, Yve and Magnus.

  ‘I doubt I’m still a councilwoman after what I’ve done,’ she replied, striving for an air of her old serenity.

  ‘That is up to Lord Gend and Lady Veeta,’ Barrar said. ‘Our only orders are to escort you to the citadel.’

  ‘You and I both know I’m not going back to Naris.’

  Barrar gave no sign that her words perturbed him – if anything, his tone became more conciliatory. ‘Come now, Brégenne. None of us wants to make this difficult. And you’re currently in no position to resist.’

  ‘She might not be, but I am.’ Gareth widened his stance and planted his feet as if for a fight, but the only thing his declaration provoked was laughter.

  ‘Be silent, novice,’ Magnus said. He was a big man, though Gareth rivalled him in height. ‘You’d do better to contemplate the punishment that awaits you on our return.’

  ‘It’s like Brégenne said.’ Gareth matched Magnus stare for stare, despite a brief tremble in his shoulders. ‘We aren’t planning on returning.’

  ‘Listen,’ Brégenne said swiftly before the conversation grew any more out of hand, ‘I’m doing what Veeta and Gend are too frightened to do. Surely you must see the threat that Acre poses. If it comes to it, do you want Naris to stand alone against an army that nearly annihilated our predecessors – predecessors whose numbers were far greater and who had greater powers at their disposal?’

  ‘Whether we see it or not is irrelevant,’ Yve spoke up. ‘The Council decides our course.’

  ‘And you’re content to let them do so?’ Brégenne asked the blonde woman. ‘A situation that concerns not only the citadel, but the whole of Mariar?’

  Yve regarded her with unfriendly eyes. ‘That’s why we have a Council.’

  The statement was all the more ludicrous in light of their current stand-off. ‘You have a member of the Council before you,’ Brégenne said. ‘But suddenly my opinion counts for nothing.’

  ‘You were overruled, Lady Brégenne,’ Magnus answered her. ‘Council members Veeta and Gend have made it clear that the contempt with which you have treated our laws has put us all in danger.’

  Brégenne opened her mouth to retort, but closed it before any more words spilled out. It was no use trying to reason with them – the hypocrisy of the situation told her that. Her stomach was boiling over with anger and frustration. She couldn’t afford to go back to Naris – to lose what little
time Mariar might have. But that meant fight or flight, and fight was clearly out of the question. Gareth couldn’t defeat two Solar masters. That left flight, but even if they managed to escape the walled garden, where would they go that the Wielders wouldn’t find them?

  ‘The only way you’re taking me back to Naris,’ she said, ‘is in chains.’

  ‘If that’s what you want, Brégenne,’ Magnus said regretfully and she heard the familiar building roar of Solar energy.

  Gareth stepped in front of her, glowing, adding his own note to the Solar chorus, and Brégenne grabbed his arm. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you hurt for my sake.’

  Gareth didn’t look round, but kept his eyes on the two Solar Wielders. ‘Who says I’m going to get hurt?’

  ‘They’re masters, Gareth.’

  ‘You should listen to her, novice,’ Magnus said darkly. ‘Attacking us will only earn you a worse punishment.’ His face twisted. ‘Fighting an Inferiate novice is really no different from kicking a downed dog. I find it equally distasteful.’ And, whip-fast, he sent a concentrated ball of light at Gareth’s chest.

  Brégenne threw herself aside as Yve’s golden chain streaked for her ankle and so she missed the immediate aftermath of Magnus’ strike. When she looked up, the Lunars were standing outside the battle with their arms folded and Gareth was picking himself up with a groan. An ill-formed Solar shield lay splintered at his feet and faded into light as she watched.

  She gasped as the chain flew at her again and only just managed to avoid it with an awkward flip sideways. This couldn’t go on. She’d have to give herself up before Gareth was hurt. Already Magnus was preparing another stunning strike.

  Gareth’s face was pale but hardened as he regained his feet. In one swift motion, he stripped off his right glove. The gauntlet was a fist of ebony gloom amidst the sunlight.

  ‘What’s that?’ Magnus asked, squinting at it. The gauntlet looked less like a piece of armour and more like a part of Gareth’s flesh. The novice clenched his fist inside it and turned a face to Magnus that abruptly looked nothing like his own. Foreboding seized Brégenne … and the chain found her wrist. Its links tightened as Yve pulled and a second chain flew at her ankle. She swung sideways in an attempt to avoid it, but it wrapped around the leather of her boot and brought her crashing down.

  Perhaps it was the sight of her on the ground that caused Gareth to leap at Magnus, swinging his gauntleted fist at the Wielder’s jaw. For a second it looked as though Magnus would laugh at the tavern tactic, but Gareth’s fist connected and he staggered, blinking in surprise. His eyes widened as he raised a hand to his jaw. The flesh around the impact was darkening, shrivelling like a corpse’s. Magnus screamed and Brégenne watched in horror as the Wielder’s skin peeled back to show bone swiftly mottling with rot.

  Yve’s chain vanished as she ran to her companion, her hands already aglow with healing energy. Magnus’ face was grotesque – his eyes bulging, open mouth lipless, the rot climbing his cheek towards his hairline.

  Through all of it Gareth stood, his eyes dark. The expression he wore was not his own; there was a malevolence in it that spoke to Brégenne of some ancient wrong. But he roused at the sight of the Wielder falling to the ground, or perhaps the stink of putrefaction, for he took a step back and the alien look fell from him, leaving horror in its place. He watched as Yve desperately tried to stem whatever force was pulling Magnus’ face apart. Eventually the Solar energy began to re-grow the damaged skin and the Wielder’s cries eased to moans.

  They wouldn’t get another chance. Brégenne grabbed Gareth and tugged him away. The Lunars made to give chase, but perhaps their nerve failed; they were staring at the gauntlet glowing sickly on Gareth’s arm.

  Brégenne ran for the house, Yve’s shouts in her ears. She yanked Gareth along until the novice came fully back to himself and was able to run alone. There was an alley which they’d missed when they’d come from the kitchens – it ran alongside the mansion wall and led out into the plaza. The two of them dashed along it, dodging bins and buckets, leaping a low gate, until they found themselves in the sun once more. Brégenne glanced at Gareth; his face was pale and he looked ready to throw up, but they couldn’t stop here, not this close to the Wielders. As they crossed the plaza, their heaving chests attracting curious looks, the sound of running came from the alleyway. Brégenne glanced over her shoulder to see Yve and the Lunar Wielders. The woman looked shaken, but determined.

  ‘I can’t do it again,’ Gareth gasped.

  Magnus had come stumbling out of the passage. Yve’s healing had restored part of his face, but the power of the gauntlet was still visible in the shrunken skin. His other cheek was as bloodless as Gareth’s.

  Yve advanced on them, another chain glowing between her hands, uncaring of the shocked cries she elicited. The plaza was full of witnesses – not the quiet apprehension Veeta and Gend had in mind, Brégenne thought.

  Gareth was in no state to fight. All he could do was throw himself aside as Yve’s chain streaked for his ankle. It missed him by inches. The battle had drawn more observers from their homes and they stood gawking foolishly, unaware of the danger. ‘Get away from here!’ Brégenne screamed at them and in her momentary distraction was snagged by a chain. Magnus held the other end and, though his hands shook visibly, the Solar links were strong.

  A familiar whirring reached her at the same moment that a shadow blocked the sun. Brégenne looked up, disbelieving. An airship was heading for the plaza.

  Several moments passed before she recognized Argat’s Eastern Set. Observers had begun to point at it, shocked by the sight of an untethered ship. The hull gleamed in the sun and the whine of the propellers changed as the craft began to slow. What was it doing here?

  Brégenne strained against her bindings, Gareth backed up beside her, the Wielders closing in around them. She thought she glimpsed Astra, her face thunderous as she looked up at the rogue ship.

  The craft dropped lower and there was the captain himself at the rail, his dark eyes taking in the scene, noting Brégenne’s chain, the Wielders surrounding her. He must have made a swift decision for he shouted an order and two crewmen cast rope ladders over the side. They swung perilously as the airship approached.

  ‘If he thinks we can catch hold of those, he’s mad,’ Gareth hissed at her. ‘The airship’s coming too fast.’

  The Wielders weren’t looking at the Eastern Set. Their gazes were fixed on Brégenne – and on Gareth’s gauntlet. As it reached the far edge of the plaza, the airship dropped even lower until the bottom of the ladders swung around head height. Then it banked and made straight for them.

  Gareth gave her a wild glance and Brégenne steeled herself, aware of the glowing chain on her wrist. And then the ladders were swinging towards them, passing the Wielders, and she and Gareth leapt.

  She was almost shocked to feel the rope, rough beneath her curled fingers. Brégenne had only a moment to tighten her hold before the chain around her wrist pulled taut and almost yanked her off again. She held on with everything she had, feeling the resistance as the chain dragged Magnus along in the airship’s wake. If it weren’t for his injury, he’d surely have succeeded in ripping the knotted rope from her grasp, but whatever deathly power Gareth had used had taken its toll. Brégenne heard his scream of rage as the golden chain snapped.

  Immediately, she climbed up the ladder until her feet were secure. The Eastern Set gained height just before Brégenne’s boots scuffed the dome of the Assembly.

  Gareth hung on the adjacent ladder, a little colour returned to his face by the breeze. He was shaking his head in relief – or perhaps in disbelief at their unlikely escape. Brégenne twisted to look back as they crossed the walls of Market Primus and saw the four Wielders reduced to tiny, impotent figures. Then the ladders were hauled up until she and Gareth could climb over the rail onto the airship’s deck.

  Argat stood there, impressive in his leather captain’s coat, which flapped against the w
esterly wind. ‘Well, then, woman,’ he said to Brégenne. ‘Consider my debt to you paid. In full.’

  18

  Sartyan Camp, Encar, Acre

  Hagdon

  By the gods, it hurt.

  He’d almost have preferred the tearing agony when the surgeons first wrenched the bolt from his flesh rather than this nagging, aching pain that kept him constant company. Already a poor sleeper, he was lucky now if he caught an hour’s rest at a time.

  ‘Stop worrying at it, James. It’ll heal, but only if you leave it alone.’

  General Hagdon glared. ‘I’d like to see you in my place, Carn. That time when the dog bit you – I was tempted to issue an arrest warrant just so that I didn’t have to listen to your moaning.’

  ‘It was a wolf, not a dog,’ Carn protested. ‘And it got infected. If it wasn’t for that surgeon, I’d be dead.’

  ‘Clearly I paid him too much.’

  Carn gave him a look of deepest hurt.

  ‘I’m not cut out for this,’ Hagdon said, dropping into a folding chair. Charts, maps and reports were piled haphazardly on the table in his spacious tent, an empty brandy bottle holding them down against the wind that occasionally gusted inside. ‘What happened to the campaign days of clear objectives? We’d slaughter some rebels, secure the odd settlement.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m too old to get shot with crossbows.’

  ‘You’re thirty-six, James.’

  Hagdon said nothing, grimacing at a spasm of pain in his shoulder.

  ‘The youngest general in Sartyan history.’

  ‘Don’t give me that.’

  Carn folded his arms. ‘What I mean to say is you’ve done well for yourself. More than well.’ He paused. ‘If you asked His Majesty for leave, surely he’d allow it.’

  ‘Asking for leave,’ Hagdon said bitterly, ‘is asking to lose my position. Perhaps even my head.’

  Carn was silent and Hagdon looked up at him. ‘If that comes as a surprise, Carn, perhaps you ought to reconsider your own position.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the bondsman murmured. ‘My loyalty is to you first and the empire second.’