المجلد 8.5 - البارت الثاني

Not a Safe Life (Part 3)

Two men in fine robes strolled past the mouth of the alley. From their dress, the way they spoke, and the fact that they moved so casually after dark, it was obvious they were Alacryan mages.

I motioned for Jarrod to keep his head down until they'd disappeared around a distant corner.

Once the way was clear, we darted out of the alley and down the street, keeping close to the buildings in case we needed to quickly hide again.

We were heading toward the eastern edge of the floating city, where—hopefully—one of my father's contacts would be waiting for us.

Despite Father's hesitation, he'd been incredibly quick to organize everything once he set his mind to it. Jarrod had arrived at our house just after midnight, as I'd directed. He had hidden in our home for the last two days while the rest of us went on with our normal duties.

It was really exciting. I hadn't expected it to feel so good to do something to fight back—to resist.

We twisted and turned through the alleys, avoiding main streets wherever possible and listening carefully for any other night-time travelers, most of whom would certainly be Alacryan guards. If we were caught then it would all be over.

A scream pierced the chill night air, causing my heart to jump into my throat, and Jarrod flinched so bad he nearly toppled over. Our wide eyes met, and we waited. The rumble of low voices somewhere nearby followed the scream.

Signaling to Jarrod, I led us to the end of the alley we were crossing through, ducked behind a stack of weathered crates, and peered out into the road.

"—punishment for engaging in trade without a license is quite severe, you realize?"

The speaker was a stocky guard. His back was to us, so I couldn't make out his features, but he was obviously someone of authority. Three other guards ringed a thin woman who looked about fifty. She was on her hands and knees on the hard stone. Her entire body trembled.

A deep bark came from an open doorway nearby, and a large, gray mana beast—a shadow wolf, I thought—burst out, causing the door to slam against the side of the building. It snarled at the guards and lunged forward in defense of the woman, but four spells hit it at the same time.

The shadow wolf flipped in the air and struck the ground with a whimper, pierced by ice and burned by lightning. I could just see the broad chest heave once, then again, more slowly, and then the mana beast was entirely still.

The kneeling woman wailed, her tortured voice echoing through the city around us. She tried to claw her way past the guards to the dead wolf, but the man in charge grabbed her by the neck of her old robes and yanked her upright.

"Trading without a license and assault on a soldier of the Alacryan army? I'm authorized to execute you here and now…but I've heard the Testers at the academy need subjects for the live fire drills." He half-turned so I could see his profile, glowering at her as if he was holding up a particularly disgusting insect, not a human woman.

Then, he smiled. "Might as well be of some use before you go."

I met Jarrod's eye and mouthed, "Is the artifact active?" I knew it was—it had been since before we even walked out my front door—but felt an anxious drive to check anyway.

He held it up and nodded.

I wanted to help the woman more than I'd wanted to do anything in my life. Images of Jarrod and I rushing into the street in a blaze of spells played over in my mind, and for a moment I thought maybe we could even do it. If we took them by surprise, hit them with our strongest spells before they could bring up their defenses…but fear kept me where I was.

We looked on helplessly, our mana signatures hidden by the artifact Jarrod carried—another gift from my father—while the Alacryan soldiers marched the sobbing woman away. They didn't even bother to dispose of her bond.

I didn't move even after they'd gone well out of sight. I didn't move until Jarrod's hand on my shoulder caused me to nearly jump out of my skin.

"Sorry," he said quickly, his hand jerking away from me as if I had burned him.

I shook my head and pulled the hood of my cloak more closely around my face, hiding the tears streaming down my cheeks. "Let's go."

We met no one else until we reached our destination: a small storage facility that had been built right at the edge of the city. It was unused, belonging to a family that had been taken by the Alacryans early on, and it was also located in one of the poorer parts of Xyrus, meaning fewer patrols.

Something shuffled on the flat roof of the building. I had to push mana into my eyes and squint to see it in the gloom: a large, winged mana beast. It was lying flat, hiding as effectively as it could.

"What is that?" Jarrod asked quietly.

A voice answered from the shadows next to the building. "A blade wing."

The blade wing rider stepped out so we could see him, though his features were mostly hidden in the poor light. Despite the danger, he was grinning. "A beauty, isn't she?"

"If you say so," Jarrod said nervously, his eyes flicking between the mana beast's silhouette and me.

I took Jarrod's hand and led him forward. "You'll be fine. Father says Tanner was top of his class at Lanceler Academy."

The rider snorted, then quickly covered his mouth with his hand and gave us an apologetic look.

"The truth is," he said once we were standing right next to him, "if it weren't for the war, I'd still be at the academy and never would have been allowed near a blade wing. Despite everything that's happened, I can't imagine never having met Velkon up there and learning to ride…"

"And it's…safe?" Jarrod asked, his hand gripping mine so tightly it ached.

Tanner shrugged. "If you're talking about Velkon, yes, he's safe…so long as you don't do anything aggressive toward him—or startle him—or irritate him too badly. But if you mean our escape—the flight out of here—well…" He shrugged again.

I pulled my hand out of Jarrod's and pushed him toward the building. "Get going. A patrol could come by any time."

Tanner gave me a nod, then guided Jarrod—who kept glancing fearfully over his shoulder at me—toward a ladder that went up the side of the storage facility. My once-classmate's face was so pale it practically glowed in the dim starlight.

I stayed to watch them both mount the big blade wing. Its long, stony beak nipped at Jarrod when he first approached, but a few soft words from Tanner settled the creature down. When they were both on and strapped to the wide saddle, Velkon twisted around so it was facing away from me, then dove off the roof and flew straight down into the clouds below, soundless except for Jarrod's frightened yelp.

I glanced around nervously, but there didn't seem to be anyone nearby.

The thrill of success hummed through me. I'd done it.

Jarrod would be flown to a small village in the east of Sapin, near the Wall. With the mana-suppression artifact as cover, he would begin life as an orphan boy of no import, under the guardianship of a close friend of my father's.

Thank you, Father, I thought wistfully.

Without Father's aid, this wouldn't have been possible. He had found Tanner, the blade wing rider, and he'd called in a favor with the retired merchant who was to watch over Jarrod. He'd also pulled the artifact out of the auction house and gifted it to Jarrod without any expectation of reward or payment.

It had been easy. So easy, in fact, that I couldn't help but wonder if, with our privilege and wealth, we could do it again. How many mages suffered like Jarrod? How many could we help flee the city?

It would be our way of fighting back.




But What For?

JASMINE FLAMESWORTH

I moved forward on the wooden bench and leaned my shoulders and head back against the side of the tent, struggling to find a more comfortable position while I waited for the senior captain. The canvas was cool, and the gentle drumming of cold rain on the tent made me want to close my eyes.

The instant I did, however, unpleasant memories surfaced in my mind.

We had still been on the road when news reached us of Dicathen's fall, by way of a force of Alacryan soldiers that had blocked the road to Etistin. The Twin Horns and two other adventuring groups had signed on to guard wagons of weapons and goods heading from the Wall to Etistin. Some of the supplies probably even made it there, though not in our hands.

A boorish Alacryan mage had informed us that the war was over, that the Council members had been executed, and that anyone who laid down arms and returned to their homes would be allowed to do so. It was Helen who convinced us to do as they said.

I could feel my frown deepen as I thought of that moment.

Durden had been ready to go down fighting, his normally even temper having run away with him after Reynolds's death. Angela had been afraid, but she'd have followed Helen anywhere. Helen, though…our leader was always the voice of wisdom. She'd talked us back from the edge when Adam died, and again when Reynolds fell at the Wall, and she saved all our lives there on the road to Etistin.

But what the hell for? I asked myself for the dozenth time.

When the elf Albold later arrived at the Wall in the dead of night, looking for warriors willing to fight back against the Alacryans, the others had been more than happy to go with him.

But I couldn't.

There was a light scuffling as the tent flap was pushed aside. A young, severe woman poked her head in and said, "The senior captain will see you now."

I pushed myself up and adjusted my armor before stepping out into the rain.

The guard led me toward the large tent where the senior captain met with the Wall's other commanders. A thin, balding dwarf was just leaving. He flashed me a sad smile from under his wiry beard as he walked past. Jerimiah Poor, the Wall's almoner. He smiled often, but it was always a weary expression. I imagined that being in charge of hand-outs to the needy was a rather thankless job when everyone around you needed something and you had next to nothing to give.

The rain, though gentle, was bitingly cold, and it quickly distracted me from the dwarf. At least they let me wait in a tent, even if the bench was harder than Durden's head. A thin, humorless smile crept onto my lips at the thought. I'd have to tell him that, if I ever saw the big conjurer again.

The guard eyed me skeptically as she held the tent flap aside. "Jasmine Flamesworth to see the senior captain, sir," she said. I raised my eyebrows at her and smiled wryly, more of a sneer, really. Her gaze focused just over my shoulder as she waited for me to enter, and she let the flap fall behind me after I did, cutting out the misty gray light and forcing my eyes to adjust.

The big round table still dominated the space. In fact, the tent looked almost identical to when my father had occupied it, although the map on the table was gone, as were the neat stacks of paper. Senior Captain Albanth was sitting behind my father's ornate old desk. It was a cumbersome, unwieldy thing to have in a tent, but that was Trodius Flamesworth…

The senior captain was glowering down at a scroll. He groaned and shook his head as he rolled the scroll up, his eyes flicking to me as he did so.

I stood, waiting to be addressed, or perhaps invited to sit. I knew Albanth wasn't as slavish to military decorum as my father had been, but I also knew better than to assume he'd be welcoming of purposeful disrespect.

The senior captain grunted at his scroll. "We're experiencing shortages on everything except mouths to feed." The barrel-chested soldier stood up and made his way around the desk so he was standing in front of me. He leaned back on the desk and let out a deep breath, almost a sigh. "Which means I have plenty on my plate at the moment, and little enough time for friendly chit chat. What do you need, Flamesworth?"

"Work."

He frowned at me and crossed his arms.

"Work, Senior Captain," I repeated, careful to keep my tone respectful.

Senior Captain Albanth gave me an appraising look before shaking his head. "Plenty of work, Jasmine, but no coin to be had anywhere. If you just need to keep busy, maybe I can find something—"

"I need to eat," I said, more harshly than I intended. I clenched my jaw to keep from saying anything else as I waited for Albanth's rebuke.

The senior captain frowned, but he didn't reply right away. When he spoke again, his deep voice was soft. "I heard you once mentored the young General Leywin. Any truth to that, Flamesworth?"

I returned Albanth's frown but said nothing, unsure what he was getting at.

His lips quirked up into a wry smile beneath his beard. "I have an exceedingly hard time picturing that."

I felt my own frown deepen. "Why's that?"

"No doubt you are quite capable," Albanth replied, relaxing back against his desk and looking and me appraisingly. "It's just that I can't seem to picture General Leywin as a child. Something about that much power makes you think he must have sprung out of the earth as a full-grown man."

Then I realized why the senior captain had brought up Arthur.

His disappearance and probable death was a greater blow than the loss of any single battle, even the destruction of the Council's flying castle. He was the only Dicathian individually powerful enough to make a difference in the war, even more so than the other Lances. It was natural that people who understood this would want to talk about his loss, to mourn him in whatever way they could

When I didn't jump right into the story of my time adventuring with Arthur, Albanth continued. "I've never fought alongside anyone with a mind like his. I swear, he had the tactical prowess of a general five times his age. I heard…" Albanth trailed off and cleared his throat, as if he was about to share an unsavory rumor. "I heard he awakened at only three years old?"

I suddenly remembered Arthur providing me with an in-depth explanation of his sword-fighting technique when he was just three, shortly after having embarrassed Adam in a training bout.

My gaze fell to Albanth's feet and I adjusted my armor uncomfortably. "He was a strange child."

Albanth was watching me expectantly, but I didn't elaborate. What did he want me to tell him?

Silence lingered for several increasingly awkward seconds before I said, "Anyway, he was about what you'd expect. Was there some reason you wanted to know about him?"

Albanth seemed caught off guard by the pointedness of my question. He cleared his throat and pulled the curling scroll from his desk. "Just curious, I suppose. It's a shame, a damned shame he's gone." His eyes flicked from the scroll to me, then back. "Anyway, you say you want to help? There is one way. The Wall needs food. Without hope of continued supplies from Xyrus or Blackbend, or any of the little farming villages nearby, our only real source of food is the Beast Glades."

"And you want me to go hunting."

Albanth gave me something between a nod and a shrug. "It's more dangerous out there than it used to be, what with the mana beasts that survived the horde's attack lingering around, and others that came in to feed off the dead. It makes hunting difficult, and dangerous. But if you can bring in some edible mana beasts, I'll find you somewhere dry to rest your head at night. Deal?"

I turned around and lifted the flap of the tent before answering. "It better be somewhere I can get a hot bath.â€‌