Dawn of Deliverance

by Amy Hopkins

  Sharne thought about that, then nodded. “If I do see the guy who broke into my house, I can’t promise he won’t end up with a spear through his other leg,” she warned.

  “Fair enough.” Marcus put an arm around her shoulders. “In fact, if I see the guy, I’ll hold him down while you do it.”

  “What makes you think I’d need you to?” she quipped.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Francis glared at the yellow rag, tied to a stick poking out of the duck pond. He looked around again, making sure none of the feathered residents were nearby.

  “Focus,” Trini said beside him.

  Trini was a fire user, and one of Madam Seher’s performers. Why she had agreed to take time out to teach Francis, he didn’t know. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though.

  He pushed out a fast, hard breath, eyes on the fluttering cloth.

  “Now,” Trini said. “Reach deep inside. Tug on that anger, or whatever juices your lemon. Gently, mind—you don’t want to blow it up, just start it smoldering.”

  Francis gently pulled up a memory of the army that had attacked Tahn. The fear of seeing the army and the exhilaration of the fight fanned his emotions and made his heart pick up speed.

  He let it fuel him while his eyes strained to bore a hole through the end of the stick. He stared so hard his eyes blurred, and the stand of trees in the distance became hazy.

  “Look!” Trini clapped her hands excitedly. “You did it! We did it! I’ve never taught anyone before. I didn’t think I could!”

  “You… didn’t?” Francis squinted and realized his eyes weren’t blurred. A tendril of smoke rose from the cotton rag and a dark edge lined a jagged hole in it. He watched it cool and dissipate.

  “How do you feel?” Trini asked. “You’re not tired, are you? Did you overdo it? Shit, Julianne will have my ass if I push you too hard.”

  “I’m fine,” he reassured her, though he couldn’t quite tell if his legs were shaking from the exertion, or excitement. “Can I try again?”

  She leaned in close, checking his eyes and holding the back of her hand to his forehead.

  “I guess. It’s not your first time, right? Bastian said you’ve set some pretty big fires.” Trini stepped back to give him some space.

  “Uhh, yeah.” Francis blushed, hoping Bastian hadn’t told her he had almost burned a barn down by accident. “I just couldn’t control it properly.”

  “Control is everything,” Trini explained. She folded her legs up and sat on the ground to watch. “If you don’t learn to pull back, you can burn yourself out. Well, not literally burn. I haven’t seen that happen, though I suppose it could, in theory… but you can end up an empty husk if you’re not careful.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Francis said.

  He tried to copy what he did before and this time, he noticed the smoldering cloth before Trini did. The edges of the burning end glowed and he clenched his hands, breathing fast.

  Acting on instinct, he splayed out his fingers in a burst and a flame sprang up, shooting to the top of the fabric, then dying as it ran out of fuel. A scrap detached and floated down, sizzling and smoking as it hit the water.

  “Woah!” Trini scrambled to her feet. “It took me weeks to be able to do that! I mean, I was only seven at the time, but still!”

  “You were seven?” Any pride Francis had at his sudden leap in learning dissipated.

  Trini laughed. “Yeah. Special case. My aunt knew Seher from way back, so when I started playing with fireballs as a kid, they shipped me off to her straight away.”

  “They sent you away because you were blessed?” Francis asked, disbelieving.

  “Well… it was more because I kept burning holes in my bedsheets,” she laughed, unworried about her parents’ choice. “It meant I grew up with magic, and I spent all day, every day practicing. I think Seher was afraid I’d burn her tent down if I didn’t get a handle on it fast.”

  “I guess. You don’t miss your parents?” Francis asked.

  Trini shrugged. “I visit twice a year. It’s fun, and I’m always glad to be back for the first few days. But Francis, have you seen what we do? Travelling all over, performing for people? It’s like, every kid’s dream, and we do it every day!”

  Francis shook his head. “I’ve seen some of the tricks you all do for the children, but we don’t really get many theatre-people around these parts.”

  Trini’s eyes nearly fell out of her head. “You’ve never seen a performance?”

  Francis frowned. “Well, there was that group that had puppets, but that was more for children. And the Queen’s Theatre. They mostly just lectured us about our sins and how Queen Bethany Anne was going to come and send us all to hell.”

  “Oh, you poor, deprived, art-starved man.” Trini leaped to her feet. “This is serious! I need to fix this.”

  She took off running, then stopped and turned back. “Keep practicing!” she yelled, before taking off again in the direction of town.

  Francis just shook his head, bewildered at her sudden disappearance. He turned back to the stick and realized there was nothing but a scrap of black thread left.

  “I suppose I had better do what she says,” he muttered.

  He tore a strip off his shirt. It was an old one and destined for the scrap pile anyway. He slipped off his boots and gingerly stepped into the cold water. As he waded out to tie the fresh cloth onto the stick, he let himself imagine where this could lead.

  When he had wet his feet tying Trini’s bright cloth up, she had dried the legs of his pants with a spell. Then, seeing his amazement, she had opened her hands to show him a flickering flame dancing on her palm.

  Not much use, though, except for drying clothes in the rain and starting a cooking fire, Francis thought. Still, when he started his breathing ritual to focus his mind this time, it wasn’t the thrill of oncoming battle that flared inside him.

  It was the rage and awe he had felt when he had used his magic properly for the first time. He had seen August, that slimy mind fucker prick, and rage had taken over. Francis had raised both hands, flicked his wrists up and whoosh. August had been consumed in flames.

  It had taken a full day’s rest to recover from it, but it had been so, so worth it. To see that asshole’s face melt after all he had done…

  The feeling of vengeance, the rush of delivering justice swept over Francis. Without thinking, he moved his hands as he had done that day.

  A flame erupted, the heat roasting his face and arms. It hovered over the water, flickering with impossible life. It flared, brightened, then shrank and dwindled to nothing as the power leached out of Francis, leaving him tired and spent.

  His knees gave out this time, and he fell back to sit on his ass.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. With surprise, he realized he had doubted what he had done that day during battle, wondered if maybe the mystics had tricked him, or made the fire seem bigger than it was.

  He had just raised a flaming tower over water, with nothing to feed on but a thin branch and a scrap of shirt. It had felt incredible.

  “Lucky I didn’t try it in the field,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. He felt like he had run across the horse paddock at full sprint. Twice!

  Francis staggered to his feet, realizing it was past lunch and he was damned hungry. Despite the tremor in his muscles, he could walk. He set off for home, and hopefully, a good feed and short lie down. It had, after all, been a very big day for him.

  As he reached the road to Annie’s, a familiar figure approached.

  “Ye feeling ok there, lad?” Bette asked.

  Francis nodded. “Never better,” he said with a grin.

  And what’s he been up to? Bette wondered, unable to see past Francis’s pale face and wobbling legs. Oh well, none of my business I suppose.

  She had enough to worry about, what with her position as the leader of the Tahn guard, her regular training sessions with the men, and now, Polly.


  Bette had to admit, Polly had surprised her. The girl might be flighty and all too obsessed with her looks, but she was a fast learner and not afraid to get her hands dirty.

  I wonder how fast she’d be progressin’ if she wasn’t so eager to impress a certain wee lad, Bette thought with a smirk.

  The whole town was buzzing about Danil and Polly’s fling, not that either of them had tried to keep it a secret. And not, Bette had to admit, that I’ve dissuaded her from sharin’ the gossip.

  When Bette and Tansy had agreed to tutor Polly in the arts of fighting, it had come with the benefit of an inside glance into the girl’s relationship. And every other aspect of her life—Polly wasn’t one to let silence exist, quickly filling any lapses of conversation with chatter.

  Bette thoroughly enjoyed it after spending so much time in the company of grumpy old men. Most rearick, in fact, were grumpy. “Right bastards, they are,” Bette said aloud.

  “Who’s a bastard?” Polly asked, falling into step beside Bette.

  “Och, I didn’t see ye there, lass. Gave me a right scare, ye did.” Bette grinned at her as they swung left, passed through a little gate, and came to the training yard.

  They were using Lewis’s old horse yard for training. He’d already had it set up with a small, fenced off area now used for sparring, and in a bigger space, some old horse jumps that Bette had stripped down and reassembled as an obstacle course.

  “What are we practicing today?” Polly asked.

  “You tell me. Can ye walk straight yet?” Bette asked with a snort.

  Polly giggled. The last training session she had come to had almost been cancelled after an all-night romp in bed that left her aching and barely able to walk.

  “All healed up. I bribed Mathias with a few treats for his bird,” Polly admitted.

  “Ye wicked thing!” Bette said. “He's got his hands full with those twit soldiers.”

  “Nah, he’s already finished with them. He said they were easy to fix, once he knew what they ate. I think he might have let it drag on a bit, though, just to fuck with them.”

  Polly pulled out a small purse and removed some pins. Sticking them in her mouth, she gathered her long tresses up on top of her head and began fastening it in place.

  “Bloody fools. Who trains an army and doesn’t teach them basic survival? Poisonous berries my ass. Their biggest problem is plain old stupid-headedness.”

  Bette waited patiently for Polly to finish. At least she had forgone the multi-layered dress this time, opting for tight pants that hugged her figure and a loose fitting blouse.

  “Are ye sure ye can move in those?” Bette asked, pointing at Polly’s bottom half. “It looks like yer about to bust outta the seams.”

  “They’re my favorite pair,” Polly protested. “And anyway, I don’t think anyone’s going to wait for me to change clothes before they attack.”

  “Aye, fair enough.” Bette stretched out, and nodded as Polly jumped in to join her as soon as she was ready. “Though, I don’t think they’re likely ta wait for ye ta do yer hair, either.”

  “They’ll just have to,” Polly said with a grin. “But really, I thought about cutting it all off.”

  “What? All those pretty locks?” Bette asked in shock.

  Polly's hair came down to her ass and curled in perfect ringlets at the bottom. Bette didn’t care much for ‘pretty’ hair herself, preferring a messy, frizzy style that gave no fucks, but knew Polly put a lot of effort into keeping hers healthy and clean.

  Polly shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll go back to selling the chance to yank on it. It’ll be nice to do something different.” Polly moved into a cat pose, tipping her head up to the sky. “Bitch, this feels good. I’ve been so tight the last few days.”

  “I don’t think yer boyfriend will be complainin’ about that,” Bette teased.

  “I make sure he doesn’t have anything to complain about,” Polly said primly, moving to stand, then lean forwards to touch her toes.

  “And he knows where to stick it even though he can’t see?” Bette asked.

  Polly tsked. “It’s not like any other man can see without a lamp on.”

  “Oh, aye.” Bette wondered how to broach the question she really wanted to ask. Unsure how to proceed, she instead told Polly to start performing the stances she had been shown.

  “Defensive… no, arm a bit up there. Aye. Now, step in to attack… no, not like that. Ye need ta go low, like this.” Bette demonstrated and Polly copied her perfectly. “Ah, ye got it!”

  “How about you and Garrett?” Polly asked in between instructions.

  “What about us?” Bette asked, cheeks heating up.

  “Have you gone low with him yet?” Polly waited for Bette to respond, but saw she was struggling. “You don’t know how to move things forward, do you?”

  Bette shrugged. “Not a damn clue. It’s like he’s afraid of me, and I don’t want the wee thing ta lose his breakfast if I go and say the wrong thing, ye know?”

  “Ah.” Polly walked over to pick up a blunt spear, then turned, ready for their sparring session. “Then, you need to make it seem like his idea.”

  “And how would I do that?” Bette asked, before thrusting her wooden sword forwards.

  Polly spun out of the way, easily dodging the attack. “Get him a bit drunk—not too much, mind, or he won’t remember the next day. Cuddle up to him and drop a vague reference to being sore. When he offers to rub your shoulders, say something cheeky.”

  Bette frowned, then swung the training weapon around her head. As she brought it towards Polly’s shoulder, she asked, “Like what?”

  Polly blocked the strike. “Something like—” she grunted, then shoved Bette’s sword off “—You can massage it with your cock, if you want. He’ll snort and blush, and then you act all shocked, like he just agreed.”

  “He’d go bury himself under a rock if I tried that!” Bette protested, moving back for another strike.

  “Not if you keep it light. And kiss him before he has the chance to run.” Rather than wait for Bette to attack, Polly tried to slip in, aiming the spear for Bette’s chest.

  The rearick slapped the spear away easily. “Are ye sure?” she asked, dubiously.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” Polly asked. She stepped back when Bette came running at her. Bette jumped, brought the practice sword down across Polly’s spear and barreled the girl to the ground.

  “I could break him,” Bette said with a wicked grin. “But that doesn’t need to be a bad thing, aye?”

  Polly puffed and gasped, trying to catch her breath as Bette untangled herself and stood.

  “Yer not wearing armor under there, are ye?” Bette asked curiously.

  In response, Polly rolled up her shirt. A sturdy corset covered her torso. “Nothing I wouldn’t wear on a normal day,” she explained.

  “Let me guess, they’re not goin’ ta stop and let ye strip yer underclothes off before they attack?” Bette chuckled.

  “If they did, they probably wouldn’t go through with it,” Polly said, swaying her hips. “I’d convince them to step down, let everyone go, and buy me a drink before they retreat.”

  Bette thought this was hilarious, bursting into laughter.

  “That’s enough fer today, I think,” Bette said when she caught her breath. “Yer learnin’, that’s for sure. We’ll turn ye into a fighter in no time.”

  “Really?” Polly’s eyes lit up. “I mean, you did just slam me to the ground without even thinking about it.”

  “Aye, I did, but I’m a professional. I can’t move as fast as ye do, but yer not as strong as I am. We’ll teach ye to use that ta yer advantage. That, and yer hip-wigglin’ distractions will get ye by in a pinch.”

  “Thank you, Bette,” Polly said, all trace of humor gone. “I mean it. I never thought I could be anything but what I was. You’ve shown me that’s not true, and I can’t tell you what that means.”

  “Oh, aye,” Bette s
aid, uncomfortable with the show of gratitude. “It was nothin’.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Danil wandered through the barn, Mathias beside him. Through the druid’s eyes, he saw the neat beds and tidy stacks of gear sitting on the clean-swept floor.

  “Seems they’re settling in,” Danil commented. The soldiers hadn’t even been in Tahn for a full day, and they had managed to set up the temporary shelter like an army barracks.

  “In some ways, they are,” Mathias replied non-committally.

  Danil paused, using his magic to make sure no one was nearby. “What do you mean?”

  Mathias sighed. “It’s not a big town. You’ve got the barely-recovered local residents already under strain from a sudden influx of refugees. Now? A highly trained militia has been thrown into the mix.”

  “A highly trained militia who is only here under our word,” Danil pointed out. “There aren’t enough of them to fight back if they get themselves thrown out. Surely, they realize that?”

  Mathias laughed. “Oh, they realize. And for a couple, they feel the shame of that, alongside the embarrassment of every local here knowing how they got sick. Bear’s Grape is a pretty well-known bush to anyone who’s spent more than a day outside.”

  “Ah.” Danil started pacing again. “Even the nicest of people can be dicks when ego is involved.”

  “Yes, your relationship with Polly would attest to that.” Mathias ducked as Danil threw a mock punch.

  Danil knew gossip about his initial argument with Polly had filtered through the town, though he had since heard a few embellishments that were not true. He did not, for example, ogle her with moonstruck eyes. He couldn’t even see!

  “No one is going to let me live that down, are they?” Danil asked. He had already given up trying to correct the gross inaccuracies in the story.

  “Nope,” Mathias agreed.

  “Well, then. I suppose we had better sort this little problem out before it turns into a big one.” Danil headed for the door, Mathias close behind.