by R S Penney
The tent flaps parted, and Dalen came in, opening his mouth to protest. He thought better of it and decided to help Tommy instead.
“Miri found you?” Tommy asked.
Dropping to one knee, Dalen began shoving books into a leather satchel. A scowl twisted his face into a haggard expression. “I heard,” he grumbled. “We’re leaving. Well, I suppose it’s about time.”
Somehow, even in what was essentially a military camp, Dalen still managed to look like a librarian. His beige pants and white shirt were clean and free of wrinkles; his brown hair was neatly combed.
Standing up, Tommy slung the strap of a bag over his shoulder. He nodded once to the other man. “I’ll go see to the horses.”
When he stepped outside, he found himself on an empty street lined with many other tents. Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the ceiling of clouds. The camp should have been bustling, but it was as silent as a tomb.
Well, except for Petra.
Zoe’s mother was a handsome woman with her hair tied up in an iron-gray bun. The brand had not yet been removed from her cheek. “Mr. Smith,” she said. “I’ve set Victor and Jimmy Potts to the task of gathering up our food supplies.”
“Very good.”
“Should we take down the tents?”
Tommy hesitated. Should they? It would take the better part of the afternoon to take them all down, and there was no telling when those Eradians would make their move. On the other hand, leaving them here would be a clear indication that someone had used this place as a campground. And there was always a chance, however remote, that the soldiers would find some clue as to where Tommy and his people had fled to. Tommy couldn’t say how since he had yet to pick a destination, but betting on misfortune was always a good move.
Anxiety began to well up within him. Why, oh, why had he ever thought that he could survive in a position of authority? “Only those we need for shelter,” he said. It was as good an answer as any other. “Leave the rest.”
“Very good, sir,” Petra replied.
Now, what he been planning to…Right, the horses! He was on his way to check on them when Sarah came running toward him from the outskirts of the camp. The girl was barely twelve years old and far too pale. “Mr. Smith, come quick!”
“What is it?”
“Where is Miss Nin Valia?”
Miri emerged from a nearby tent, removing her wide-brimmed hat and blinking in confusion. “Sweet Mercy,” she muttered. “What is it, girl?”
“I think we’re in trouble.”
They followed Sarah to the eastern side of the hilltop, into the thicket of trees that surrounded the camp. By the time they arrived, the girl was huffing and puffing, and Tommy was a tad winded himself.
Bent over with her hands on her knees, Sarah drew in a breath. “Look,” she panted, pointing into the distance. “Out there.”
Tommy took the spyglass from his coat pocket and lifted it to his eye. At first, he saw only a stagnant swamp that he could smell from up here, but it wasn’t long before the source of Sarah’s alarm became clear to him. There, on the edge of the marshlands. Another group of tents with black-coated men scurrying about like ants. The Eradians had boxed them in on both sides. There would be no getting out that way. They probably had encampments to the north and south as well.
“What is it?” Miri asked.
Tommy passed the spyglass to her. What had he done? How many innocents had he condemned to death? He had to stifle a laugh. What a silly question! The answer was ten. Assuming, of course, that the others hadn’t been captured after they fled his camp. Death or slavery: he had made that choice himself once. Better to die than to live your life in chains. He just hoped his friends felt the same way. “Gather our people,” he said. “Tell them to prepare for battle.”
“That one,” Desa said, pointing to a fine revolver in a glass-fronted display case. The shopkeeper, a short and spindly man in a white shirt and black vest, replied with an eager smile. He was a jittery fellow with a large nose that held up a pair of spectacles. “Very good, miss,” he said.
The shop wasn’t much to look at: wooden walls and wooden floorboards, a large counter where the tiny man sat cleaning his many guns. Large windows on either side of the door looked out on a muddy street where people hurried back and forth.
Hobbling over to the wall, the shopkeeper bent over and lifted a key in a trembling hand. He shoved it into the lock and jiggled it a few times. “Apologies, miss,” he went on. “I used to have help, but…”
In a brown coat and wide-brimmed hat, Desa leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. “Something happened?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “They quit?”
“They were stolen.”
“I wasn’t aware that people could be stolen.”
The shopkeeper opened the case and reached inside to retrieve the revolver Desa had selected. “Not people, miss,” he clarified. “Slaves. But that bandit…He freed almost every slave in this city.”
“Some would say he performed a service.”
The old man turned his head to give her a dangerous look. Satisfied that she would say no more on this subject, he returned to the task at hand. “Yes, the Lessenger is quite the weapon,” he said. “Hardly ever jambs up.”
Desa sauntered across the room, reaching into her pocket to pull out a handful of bills. She slapped them down on the counter. “Can’t say it’s ever happened to me,” she muttered. “Though I did have one melt on me once.”
“Melt?” the old man asked, returning to his place behind the counter.
A sly smile was Desa’s only reply to that. “No need to worry about it,” she assured him. “You might say it happened under extraordinary circumstances.”
The man took her money, tucking it away inside a drawer, and then offered her a few copper coins as change. He went through all the standard pleasantries, thanking her for her patronage, assuring her that he could acquire almost any firearm she could want, pointing out the low price of his ammunition. Desa took him up on that last one, buying two boxes. She was running low on bullets.
A bell jingled when the door opened, and then Kalia slipped into the shop, casting a glance back over her shoulder. “People out there are in a fury,” she muttered.
“It’s the bandit,” the shopkeeper explained. “Most businesses in the city have lost at least half their workforce.”
Kalia opened her mouth to argue, but Desa caught the other woman’s eye. She shook her head slowly. Upsetting the man with her own thoughtless comment had been foolish, and she didn’t need Kalia compounding her error. The people of Hedrovan had some repulsive beliefs, but this city was just a brief stop on their journey to the desert.
If things had been different, she would have gladly joined Tommy on his quest to free the slaves, but with the fate of the world in the balance, stopping Adele had to be her first priority. She had no time for anything else. Besides, her young protégé seemed to be doing quite well without her.
The floorboards creaked as Kalia shuffled across the room and frowned at the gun Desa had purchased. “You really need another one?”
“You can never be too careful.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” the shopkeeper put in.
Her plan was to carry two pistols on her person, one with Infused ammunition and one with ordinary ammunition. That should make it easier to switch between them. She would explain as much to Kalia at another time. The people of this city were quivering with rage and fear. Everyone kept talking about the bandit who used black magic to free the slaves. Exposing herself as a practitioner of Field Binding would be most unwise.
Heaving out a sigh, Kalia turned her face up to the ceiling. “Well, if your business here is concluded,” she huffed. “Perhaps we could be on our way?”
“Yes, I think it’s past time,” Desa agreed.
The gun shop was a blocky, stone building on a street lined with blocky, stone buildings. Carriages rolled past, their wheels leaving trails in the ev
er-present mud that coated every road in Hedrovan. It was even worse in winter.
Kalia pulled her into a nearby alley.
The woman was frantic, looking around as if she expected to find the City Watch closing in on her. “I did a little scouting while you were busy,” she whispered. “There are soldiers staying at the Golden Sunset and the Seaside Jewel. A man down at the fish market tells me they’re here to deal with the bandit.”
Closing her eyes, Desa let out a shuddering breath. “Tommy,” she mumbled. “Sweet Mercy, they’re going to kill him.”
“Desa, we have to help him.”
A wince came on as Desa shook her head. “We can’t,” she protested. “Kalia, we don’t have time for this. We have to get to the desert.”
The other woman’s eyes were a pair of augers piercing Desa’s soul. “You would leave him to die?” Kalia hissed. “After everything we’ve been through together?”
“I have no choice!” Desa growled. “It’s a handful of lives versus millions. Every passing day puts more people in jeopardy. How long will the Al a Nari hold out if we don’t stop Adele? And what about my people? Or those living on the other side of the ocean. The Eradians plan to spread their empire to every corner of the globe, and if they’ve found a way to control Adele’s power, then nothing stands in their way!”
“You really think one day will make that much difference?”
“I think we have to be practical.”
Backing away, Kalia rested one hand on the alley wall. She blew air through puckered lips. “Practical,” she murmured. “Somehow, I knew you would say that. You can go to the desert, Desa. You can leave today if you’re so inclined. But if you do, you will be going alone. I’m going to help my friends.”
Desa shoved her way past the other woman, striding to the mouth of the alley. She paused there, trying to stuff her anger down into the pit of her stomach. “If that’s how you feel,” she croaked. “Then I respect your decision. Good luck.”
“There is one other thing.”
When she turned around, Kalia had one shoulder propped against the wall. The poor woman looked as if someone had punched her in the stomach. “I overheard a couple soldiers chatting down by the pier,” she said. “One of them was afraid. There are a lot of rumours going around. Seems the bandit has been using Aladri magic to win his battles.”
“And?”
“And,” Kalia said, marching forward with grim determination on her face. “The other one said he had nothing to fear. Because their commander found a new weapon. Something even more powerful than Aladri magic.”
Desa felt her jaw tighten, a shiver passing through her. “All right,” she whispered. “Let’s go find Tommy.”
Another day in the cell. Four walls of stone, a stool for sitting. The Weaver was quite certain that if she were still human, her back would be terribly sore. But a little back pain was nothing compared to what this body had endured.
She sat upon the stool in a sleek, black dress, raven hair falling over her shoulders. The fingers on her right hand traced the rough scales on her left. What an odd sensation. Humans perceived the world in such a limited way. It was a wonder they were able to accomplish anything of use.
The power within her surged. Not at her command. It just flared to life, and reality twisted around her, her surroundings blurring and split apart. She was transported against her will to someplace she did not know.
It appeared to be a tent of some kind, a tent where her uncle sat at a small table, eating steak. By the sounds of people shouting outside, she suspected that she was in a military camp. The exact location was not important. Only one thing mattered.
Her eyes were drawn to the black crystal sitting idly next to her uncle Timothy’s plate. Somehow, her uncle had managed to calcify a fragment of the Ether that had been used to confine her for ten millennia. He literally carried a piece of her prison around with him. And since part of her essence was still trapped within that prison, so long as he had the crystal, she would be forced to obey him.
Timothy cut his meat with gusto, stabbing a small piece of it and shoving it into his mouth. He grunted, nodding with satisfaction. “Thank you for joining me, my dear.”
Spreading her skirts, the Weaver offered a deep curtsy. “My pleasure, uncle,” she said. “I take it you have need of my services.”
“I do indeed.”
She claimed the chair across from him, crossing one leg over the other and placing her hands on the armrests. Her predatory smile made Timothy pause. Good. Best that he remembered he held a captive wolf, one who might slip the leash at any time. “And who shall I slaughter for you today?”
“There has been a rebellion.”
The Weaver arched an eyebrow. “A testament to your skilled leadership, I’m sure.”
Leaning back with hands folded over his stomach, Timothy regarded her. “It seems the slaves of Hedrovan have decided to revolt,” he explained. “About a month ago, a stranger came to the city and freed them using Aladri sorcery.”
The Weaver bent forward, setting her elbows on the table and resting her chin atop laced fingers. “Interesting,” she said. “Tell me, why do you even care? Isn’t slavery illegal throughout most of the Empire?”
“Most but not all,” he confirmed. “Calvor Province still permits the practice.”
“Well, you will forgive a foolish, young woman for commenting on your policies, but this seems to be a waste of resources. Surely, my efforts would be better spent expanding the Empire’s reach. And you can return to your new post as a Member of Parliament.”
Timothy dabbed at this mouth with a napkin, his eyes shut tight as he formulated a response to her objection. “Lawlessness cannot be tolerated,” he said. “If these rebels are not brought to heel, it will encourage others to rise up.”
He lifted the crystal between his thumb and forefinger, its black surface catching the light of the nearby kerosene lanterns. “I am here because I am the one who discovered the means to control Hanak Tuvar.”
“Very well,” the Weaver sighed. “Let’s get on with it then.”
“Patience, my dear.”
She waited for him to finish his meal. If she tried to leave, he would only use the crystal to force her back into the chair. Patience was necessary. She could be patient if she had to. Yes, she could.
Rising from his chair, Timothy gestured to the tent’s entrance. “Shall we go?”
He led her out to a large camp where soldiers in black coats scurried about. Some of them ventured a glance at her as she passed, but none let their eyes linger too long. The part of her that was still human was mortified. For them to see her in this condition…Ugly and scarred. Were any of these the same men she had used to attack Aladar?
The sky was gray with only a few shafts of sunlight piercing through the clouds. Everyone gave her a wide berth, and well for them that they did. Timothy took her to the edge of the camp, to a swamp that stank.
Here and there, twisted trees rose out of the dark waters, but there was little to see except a high hill less than a mile away. Thicker trees on the hilltop blocked her view, but she was certain that was where the rebels had made their camp.
“Very well, then,” the Weaver muttered. “Let’s get on with it.”
She raised her hands, intending to call lightning down from the heavens, but nothing happened. The power within her would not budge. A glance to her right revealed her uncle standing by the water’s edge with the crystal in hand. It was glowing with faint, purple light. “Not so fast,” he said. “I prefer to keep you in reserve for the time being. No need to tip our hand to the enemy.”
“Why bother? I could destroy them for you in a matter of minutes.”
“I don’t want them destroyed,” Timothy answered. “I want them broken. I want tales of this battle to spread far and wide. I want them to know that even Aladri sorcery cannot stand up to the Empire’s might.”
She noticed that he had several cannons in a line, all pointed
at the distant hill. The Weaver knew little of warfare, but unless she missed her guess, those cannons would fire six-pound balls. Light artillery.
“We’re ready,” Timothy said. “Begin the attack.”
5
Tommy watched the Eradians through his spyglass, watched them lining up those cannons for a long-range shot. Men in black coats lit the fuses. He imagined that he could hear the soft hiss. “Steady,” Miri said. She was observing the battlefield through a spyglass of her own. “Nobody, panic. We’re in no danger.”
The cannons went off with a fearsome roar, each one flashing as it spat a ball at Hebar’s Hill. The recoil had them each rolling back a few feet. Tommy looked up to see those three balls rushing over his head to descend upon the camp behind him. Tents collapsed as they were struck.
“Steady,” Miri said again.
Most of his remaining followers had joined him on the western side of the hilltop. He had posted a few as lookouts on the east side, just in case the Eradians tried to sneak around.
Mrs. Potts was wrapped up in a warm blanket. Zoe was down on her knees, checking and rechecking every pistol and rifle they had brought to make sure they were loaded with ammo. Jim Potts stood beside Tommy with a bow in hand, as did Victor Wyatt. And then there was Dalen. The poor man knew that he was useless in a fight. So, he busied himself with checking the horse lines and supply carts. If they survived this, they would be leaving as quickly as possible.
Jim was tall, pale and lean with a thin nose and a mop of sandy-blonde hair. He did an admirable job of keeping his fear under control, but Tommy could tell he was nervous. And who wouldn’t be?
Victor was a few inches shorter, tanned with almond-shaped eyes and hair that he kept shaved. That one kept plucking the string of his bow, eager to be doing something. Anything!
Perched upon a rock with the spyglass pressed to her eye, Miri grunted. “Lommy,” she said. “I do believe it’s time for you to strike some fear into them.”
Tommy planted himself at the edge of the hilltop and triggered the Sonic-Source in one of his pendants. It would amplify the sound of his voice in one direction. Toward the enemy. “You cannot harm us!” His voice boomed over the swamp. “Your pitiful attacks are meaningless. Leave now, and we will spare your lives.”
