Macarinth Stories

[Shinko]

So since there are so many Macarinth stories brewing, and there are more folks jumping in the Macarinthian waters, figured there might as well be a thread for them! This first post will serve as the index, mods and admins feel free to edit in links to your stories as they are posted. The index will be arranged chronologically by where in the timeline a fic takes place.

Central Index
Bonded Souls (~1305)
Into the Woods (1316)
Close to Home (Autumn 1322)

[Avery]

A collab between Shinko and Avery, this story takes place in the patriarchal, militaristic country of Macarinth! Enjoy!

Bonded Souls - Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

When at five years old little Ludwig Benigno had discovered he could make floating lights (and subsequently began entertaining his older and younger siblings with shadow puppet plays after curfew) his parents dutifully put his name forwards with the military-headed matchmen to be entered into the system for a pair bond. Soon enough, adult mages from the organization arrived, giving the young child a battery of temperament tests as well as gauging his magical potency.

Though periodically the mages checked in on him again, to see how he was coming along in personality as he matured, for the most part after that point there was no word. Ludwig soon dismissed the subject of his impending pair bond, preferring to focus on his toys or splashing in puddles after the rain, or any number of things far more interesting for a five year old. He turned six, and still there was no word.

Then, two months to the day after his seventh birthday, a man appeared at their door with a bright smile and very big news.

***

Since the first day he’d made his older sister’s rag doll change from taupe to blue at age four, young Deacon Azrael had been convinced: he was going to get the best partner ever. He drafted a long list of boys whom he’d deemed likely matches, culled from the children who lived nearby to him in Paddonfield, the well-kept mage’s quarter of the city of Igerna. The neighbourhood was the biggest of its sort in Macarinth outside Adara, its cobblestone streets dripping with all ilks of magically bent shops-- from wandmakers to craftsmen-- and Deacon’s parents ran a potion-brewing business, wholesaling their products to the local apothecaries and healers. As he grew older, most of his friends were mages, and the ones who weren’t he still furtively hoped would just be late bloomers.

“Deacon!” It was three days after his eighth birthday when his sister’s voice floated into his ears. Deacon looked up from where he was tiredly gnawing on a breakfast of oat bread to find Zoe with her nose pressed against the front window, which looked out onto the street. “Deacon, I think there’s matchmen outside!”

Deacon was on his feet in an instant, scurrying to his sister’s side. Peering straight down, his heart lurched in his chest as his eyes fell on a pair of dark-haired officials, wearing the distinctive pale blue livery of the crown as they talked with Deacon’s mother out on the street below, in front of the three-storey building that doubled as both the Azraels’ shop and home.

“You think they’re here for me?” Deacon murmured, his emerald green eyes going wide.

Zoe laughed. “Well they’re not here for me.” Zoe was eleven and had been matched for nearly four years. Her partner was the daughter of a wandcrafter; sometimes it felt to Deacon that Sera was as much his sister as Zoe was. Just like both of his parents’ partners were like a second mother and father to him; heck, sometimes he liked his papa’s partner better than his actual papa. “And I don’t think they’re matching the baby, either. Last time I checked, she’s not old enough to sit up, let alone get a mage partner, Deacon.”

The boy grinned. “I wonder who it’ll be.” A beat. “I bet it’s Darby. Or Bryon! Or--”

The matchmen and Deacon’s mother ducked into the shop; Deacon and Zoe pulled away from the window, lest they be caught spying when their mum ascended the stairs to call for Deacon a few moments later. Still, the blond boy was unable to restrain the look of pure delight that glimmered from all reaches of his body as he flounced down at his mother’s summons, nearly glowing as the matchmen introduced themselves.

“You’ve got my partner?” the boy blurted, bouncing on his heel as his mother shot the officials an apologetic look and chided his manners. “Sorry,” he added, blushing. “I’ve just been waiting a long time.”

The two men traded an amused glance, and one of them patted Deacon’s shoulder. “It’s fine, youngster. You have every right to be excited; all young mages should be on their matching day. We have your partner. He’s being fetched as we speak, and the two of you will be meeting to get your conduit bracelets and undergo the first ritual of power bonding at our headquarters.”

“We hope you’re ready, young Master Azrael,” the second man added. “As I’m sure your parents have explained to you, once you are bonded it is for life, and things will never be quite the same for either of you again- but take it from me that the experience is well worth the brief adjustment period.”

“Uh-huh!” Deacon exclaimed. “I’m all ready.” He squirmed. “Is it… is my partner Darby? Darby Kroft?”

“No, not Darby Kroft,” the second matchman replied. “You’ll see.”

The two matchmen brought Deacon, along with his mother, to their headquarters in the heart of Paddonfield, about a mile away from the Azraels’ shop and home. It was an unassuming building, standing out little from the rest that rose around it save for the banner that fluttered above the door, bearing the king of Macarinth’s sunburst seal atop a sky blue background; once the group arrived, the matchmen guided Deacon and his mother to a small holding room on the second floor, outside of the ritual chamber. The chamber, specially and meticulously designed according to a dizzying spread of both magical and superstitious specifications, would serve as the location for Deacon’s bonding ritual.

“Once you’ve met and had the chance to get to know your partner, both of you will be given your conduit bracelets and proceed into the chamber,” the matchmen explained. “There is a runic circle carved into the floor- a mark on each side with chalk indicates where you are to stand, and you will clasp the hands with the bracelets until the spell is done. Do you understand?”

“Uh-huh.” Deacon nodded earnestly. “I’ll be good. I’ve been practicing. With Zoe.”

His mother chuckled. “His sister,” she offered. “It’s been driving Deacon mad that she has a partner, and he still didn’t.”

The matchmen traded another amused look, then as one left the room the other replied, “Well his long wait is over.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the first of the matchmen returned, and following close at his heel was an older man with weathered, burn scarred hands- and clinging to the man’s pant leg was a little boy with hair so dark brown it was almost black, and equally dark brown eyes. He caught sight of Deacon, and with a hard gulp, offered the boy a shy smile.

“Deacon Azreal,” the matchmen said in unison, their voices heavy with formality. “Ludwig Benigno- we present you to each other as partners, in magic and in life, from now until forever.”

For a very long moment, Deacon only stared. Ludwig Benigno: he’d never heard the name before in his life. Nor had he seen the boy who stood in front of him now, fidgeting and anxious, his smile so fragile it might have been blown away by a ripple of wind. Only when Deacon’s mother reached down to give his shoulder a firm, prompting squeeze did the boy finally blink himself out of his stupor.

“H-hello.” His gaze drifted toward the man to whom this so-called Ludwig was clinging, presumably his father… and with a start, Deacon realized something else: there was no wand holstered there. Which meant… “Y-you’re not from Paddonfield, are you?”

“Um… nuh-uh,” Ludwig replied. “My family lives on the edge of town, near the Paynes Ford. Where the river’s really shallow.” He glanced up at his father, the back to Deacon and added, “Papa’s a blacksmith. He makes nails and tools and other stuff.” The boy shuffled his feet. “You’re from Paddonfield though, huh? ‘Cause your Mama’s got a wand and my sister said that’s where all the mages live.”

The Paynes Ford? “I… I… uh-huh,” Deacon stammered. “Mama and Papa are mages. And my older sister, and…” And everyone. It was easier for him to count the number of people in his life who weren’t mages than who were. “A-are you sure?” The boy looked toward the matchmen. “That… that he’s my partner? And not Darby or…”

Ludwig’s face immediately fell, and he looked down at his shoes. The boy’s father frowned, putting a protective hand over his son’s shoulder as the matchmen quirked their eyebrows. “We’re quite sure, Master Azrael,” one of them said. “The matchmen have deliberated long and hard, and of all the waiting boys in the county pool, young Master Benigno has been deemed your best match in power and personality.”

“... Oh.” Deacon gulped, as behind him his mother suddenly look mortified at her son’s behaviour, giving his shoulder a far less gentle squeeze. He flinched, eyes flicking between Ludwig and the floor, the grin he wore back at the Azraels’ shop now completely nonexistent. “I… I… don’t know him,” the boy said finally. As if this changed anything he added, “I’ve never even met him.”

“That’s not uncommon,” the matchmen pointed out dryly. “After all there’s a whole county to draw candidates from. Perhaps try talking to the boy? We’ve been doing this for some time, and I like to think we’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

Ludwig, for his part, was looking hard down at the floor, his small body now trembling. “I… I’ll work really hard,” he said, his voice thick. “I’ll study an’, an’, I’ll practice all the time. I promise.”

“I’m sure you will.” This was Deacon’s mother. “Deacon is very excited to get his partner. Aren’t you, Deacon?”

“... Uh-huh.” The boy sighed. “I’ve… been waiting forever.”

Ludwig sniffed. “‘M sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Lou,” Ludwig’s father said firmly. “I’m sure that Master Azrael will like you once he gets to know you.”

Ludwig nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. Tentatively he stepped around his father’s leg and approached his prospective partner. He opened and closed his mouth, seeming to be trying to think of something to say but coming up short. Deacon stayed silent, as well, only gnawing on his lip as his mother spared Ludwig’s father an apologetic smile.

“So,” she said crisply, “do you have any brothers or sisters, Master Ludwig? Deacon here has two sisters. One older and one younger.”

“Y-yeah,” Ludwig replied. “I got two older brothers an’ an older sister. And then two more sisters that’s younger. An’ Mama’s pregnant again. Everyone’s been real excited for the new baby.”

“Can they do magic?” Deacon asked, cocking his head.

“Nuh-uh,” Ludwig said with a slightly proud smile. “Just me. Belladonna’s too little to really know for sure yet, she’s just three, but so far it’s just me. An’ the testers said I was pretty strong too. What’d they call it again, Papa?”

“A lightning-strike,” his father supplied. “My grandfather was a mage, but as far as my wife knows there is no magic in her family.”

“How exciting,” Deacon’s mother said. “What a nice surprise!” She beamed at the boy. “You’ll have lots of mages around now, hm? You’ll have to get to know all of Deacon’s family. I think Zoe’s been nearly as excited for him to get his partner as he has!”

The matchmen smiled, and one of them strode forward to the two boys. “Well, no time like the present to begin the formal rites. Remember, once you are bound, the initial tie is very fragile. For the first month or so you boys will need to be in near constant proximity with one another to nurture it to the point that it can sustain a separation. You’ll be living with each other’s families alternating every other day. After a month you can separate again, but for no more than a day at a time and by no more than the length of the city- your bond is still fragile at this stage, and will remain so for at least another few years. Do you boys understand?”

Ludwig nodded, his brown eyes full of determination and not a little desperation, a motion that Deacon echoed. In his head, he slowly tabbed up all the siblings Ludwig had listed, realizing with wide eyes what exactly that meant for him, now that he was to spend half his time at the Benigno house. He opened his lips, as though to comment on it, but as if sensing her son had nothing positive to say, Deacon’s mother gave his shoulder yet another squeeze. The boy stayed silent.

When neither boy expressed any confusion, the matchmen reached into their pockets, and each pulled out a matching, rune etched silver bracelet.

“Deacon Azrael, present for me your left arm,” the first of the men intoned formally.

The boy obliged, gnawing on his lip as he did. “It goes on before anything else?” he asked.

“It’s a necessary element of the initial binding ceremony,” the second matchman explained. “Don’t worry, before long you won’t even notice that it’s there.”

He clasped the cool metal around Deacon’s wrist, and though the links in the chain were enough to leave plenty of room to expand the bracelet as the boy grew, for now it was fixed on a fairly tight setting. Once he was sure it was snug, the matchman took out a small object decked in runes and pressed it against the latch, which instantly melded with the rest of the bracelet, locking it in place. They repeated the procedure with Ludwig, who stared at the bauble in wonder- it was clearly the most expensive thing on his person aside from the wand holstered at his hip.

Their parents indicated to wait outside, the boys were then guided into the chamber with the rune circle on the floor, and directed to stand on the chalk markings as previously indicated.

“Now,” the first matchman said, “clasp your left hands together, and hold them until we tell you otherwise- this may feel a little strange, but not unpleasant or painful.” The children slowly obliged, Deacon’s palm clammy against Ludwig’s, before the man continued, “Now, we will begin the binding spell.”

For a time, the two boys didn’t really feel anything except each other’s hands, but slowly the runes all around them began to glow with power as the matchmen chanted. Then, the runes on their conduit bracelets lit, and the entire space of the circle underneath them flared brilliantly white, engulfing the children in light. Inexplicably, Ludwig found his gaze drawn directly to Deacon’s face- to his bright, emerald green eyes. As if by some inaudible prompting, their gazes lock, and there was a jolt-

It was indescribable. Their hands, clasped and sweaty, suddenly felt like they were as connected as if they’d belonged to one body. When Ludwig stared unblinking into Deacon’s eyes, he felt like he might have been looking directly into the other boy’s thoughts. Deacon, startled, gazed back unblinkingly, his stomach pitching like a picnic blanket picked up a gust of wind. He had known Ludwig for only minutes, but suddenly, he felt like he knew him. More than knew him. As if…

“It feels w-weird,” the blond boy stammered as the lights fell away, dying like a flame snuffed by a pail of water. “Really weird.”

“Y-yeah,” Ludwig agreed. “Like… like I’m inside your head. Or you’re in mine, I dunno.”

With his free hand, Deacon thumbed anxiously at his bracelet. “I w-wonder why they lock it on,” he said.

“M-maybe so we don’t lose it by accident?” Ludwig suggested. “It looks expensive.”

As he spoke, the matchmen approached the boys and smiled. “You can let go now,” he told them. “Let’s head back to your parents, and they can decide which home you boys will be going to first. Congratulations- your new lives start now.”

Ludwig swallowed hard, and let his hand drop from Deacon’s- though not without a strange, irrational pang of reluctance he’d not expected. With his hand back to himself, Deacon barely seemed to know what to do with it, gulping as he crossed his arms uncomfortable at his chest, then following mutely out as the matchmen led him and Ludwig from the room.

“All done?” The blond boy’s mother was all smiles as she reached out to ruffle Deacon’s hair. “Congratulations, sweetie.” She looked to Ludwig. “And you, too, hon.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ludwig replied with a tentative smile. “I… I really do mean it, I’ll try really hard to be a good partner for Deacon.” He glanced at the blonde boy, adding emphatically, “I promise.”

“Okay,” Deacon murmured, uncrossing his arms to fiddle again with the bracelet. It felt heavy on his wrist. Strange. Like a shoe that had suddenly acquired a rock, only he couldn’t just shake it out.

“So.” His mother lowered her hand to his shoulder. “Ludwig’s papa and I have been talking. About where you two will first spend the night.” She glanced to the man, at once now a stranger and near family member. “We’ve decided you’ll stay at the Benignos’ house first.”

Ludwig’s father nodded, smiling thinly. “You can see how our family lives, Deacon. Get to know the world outside the mage quarters.”

Ludwig fidgeted a little. “Where’s he gonna sleep, Papa? We don’t got anymore beds, with Francis and Joshua already sharin’, and Belladonna sharin’ with Nina.”

“He’ll sleep together with you in your bed, Lou,” the boy’s father replied simply. “You are bonded partners now, right? I’m certain such a thing is not unusual.”

“It’s very normal,” Deacon’s mother agreed. “And sounds like a good solution to me.”

“But…” Deacon did not look pleased. “Why can’t we come to our flat first?”

“Because,” his mum returned tartly, “this is what Master Benigno and I have decided, Deacon. And--” She tipped her son’s chin up, so that their eyes met. “You had best mind both Master Benigno and his wife, do you understand, young man? Just like Sera”-- Zoe’s partner-- “minds Papa and me. I don’t want you giving them any trouble, okay?”

Deacon deflated. “I won’t,” he said sullenly.

“Good.” She nudged the boy toward Ludwig’s father. “Now, shall we get going? Mama’s going to walk with you, just so she knows where their house is, and tomorrow you can show them where we live, okay? When you walk back.” The woman smiled to Ludwig. “We’re going to move a spare cupboard into your and Deacon’s room tonight. If you’d like to bring any clothes or-- well, anything you’d like, to keep at our place.”

“O-okay,” Ludwig replied, giving a quick nod. “Thank you, ma’am.” He gulped, then gave his new partner a shaky smile. “‘S okay, I’m easy to sleep with, Christa always said so ‘fore she started apprenticing with the apothecary and sleeping there. Joshua steals blankets and Nina snores, but Christa says I’m a real quiet, peaceful sleeper.”

“Let’s not start things off by bad mouthing our siblings sleeping habits, Lou,” the boy’s father said with an amused quirk of his eyebrow. Turning around he said, “But come on- let’s get you boys both set up.”

***

The Benigno house was fairly sizable, though it would have to have been to fit eight-going-on-nine people inside. It had one living room, two bedrooms, and a separate cookhouse, as well as a barn. Nearby, connected to the barn, was a wide enclosure, which Ludwig explained housed his mother’s sheep, but at present she was out grazing them in the hills.

Hurried introductions were made between Deacon and Ludwig’s multitude of siblings- three year old Belladona, six year old Nina, eleven year old Joshua, and thirteen year old Francis (the sixteen year old Christa was away at the apothecary)- and once that was done, the blonde boy’s mother left, planting a kiss atop her son’s frizzy hair before, after reminding him once more to be good, she strode back out the door.

Once all the introductions were over, Ludwig showed Deacon the bedroom they would be sharing- a rather small space, with two beds squashed into it.

“Josh ‘n Francis sleep in here too,” Ludwig explained. “Donna and Nina sleep in the room with Mama an’ Papa.”

“There’ll be four of us in here?” Deacon frowned. The room was so small he could reach out and touch both walls at a time, the two separate bundles of hay that comprised a pair of mattresses taking up nearly the entirety of the space. “At home, I’ve got my own room.”

Ludwig looked down. Sullenly he muttered, “I did have my own bed. But now we’re sharing.” He looked up again, his expression bleak. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know you wanted someone who was… rich and important and I’m sorry! B-but I really wanted to get a partner, so, so please can we… I dunno, have fun? The matchmen told me a partner’s s’pposed to be a friend for life.”

Guilt pricked in Deacon like a hot coal. “I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset, I just…” The child shrugged. “I’unno. Zoe got someone she already knew, and I’ve got lots of friends who aren’t matched yet, and…” He shook his head. “Are your mama and papa nice at least? ‘Cos Zoe’s partner’s parents are all strict. Sometimes she and Sera get switched.”

“Mama ‘n Papa are nice,” Ludwig said. “Francis gets his ear yanked sometimes ‘cause he’s a flirt, and the little babies get spanked, but I’m okay. There’s… there’s lots of us though, so they don’t always got time for everybody. ‘Specially since Donna’s so small.” He shrugged. “When I first started making little lights, I’d do shadow puppets for everybody. But they got bored of it. Mostly I just… keep to myself. An’ I don’t get in trouble.”

“Are we allowed to play outside?” Deacon asked. The area around the Beningos’ house, at the fringe of the city, was much more open and spacious than that which surrounded the Azraels’. “We could run around and stuff. And play ball. And hide-and-seek.” Finally, he brightened a little. “If your siblings’ll play, too, we could play good games.”

Ludwig brightened a bit as well. “We can go outside yeah, just not out of sight of the house. An’ we gotta tell a grownup first. But there’s lots of fun games we play outside.” He wilted a little. “But we gotta be careful around the fence. If you try to climb it Mama gets so mad.”

“I’m good at climbing.” Deacon grinned. “When we visit my uncle out in the countryside, me and my cousins climb trees. I can go super high.” He puffed up his chest. “One day, I’m gonna ride hippogriffs, you know. A pilot! In the army.”

At this Ludwig giggled, absently tapping his bracelet with a fingernail so that it made a soft clinking noise. “Well we’re both gonna be ‘cause bonded pairs gotta do a four year draft, but I wanna go in the army for real! Families are supposed to send one son, but Papa wants Josh to take over his smithy and Francis… He would rather make eyes at pretty girls.” The boy rolled his eyes. “But since I found out I was a mage I’ve really wanted to enlist. Papa says mages are super valuable to the army ‘specially bonded ones, and everybody looks up to the soldiers. They’re the best.”

He gave a small bounce. “Do you like playing soldier? Josh and Francis play it with me sometimes, and if you join we can have fair teams!”

“Uh-huh,” Deacon agreed. “Sometimes I play with my friends. In Paddonfield. Only the streets are crowded so we have to be careful or grown-ups get mad at us for runnin’ in front of carriages and stuff.”

“Ah, well there’s no carriages out here,” Ludwig said. “Sometimes there’s wagons, but just stay in the grass and off the path and you shouldn’t have problems with ‘em.” He made a face. “Though old man Addison yells as he goes by sometimes if he thinks we’re bein’ too loud. He’s a jerk.”

“We can pretend to cast spells at him.” Deacon’s green eyes glimmered mischievously. “With our wands! I only know a couple spells that Zoe taught me, but he doesn’t know that.”

Ludwig looked surprised. “I dunno any spells yet, except how to call light. I never thought of that.” He tilted his head. “What if he tells on us to Mama and Papa?”

“Old people just like to yell.” Deacon nodded sagely. “He prolly won’t tell.” The boy giggled. “And we’re faster than he is, anyway.”

Ludwig smiled, tapping on his bracelet again, a fingernail catching slightly on one of the runes etched into it. “Maybe.” A thought seemed to occur to him and he smiled, “Hey, you said you like climbing trees, right? Come on, I gotta show you the huuuuge oak tree we got in the back! Papa tied a rope to it and we swing from it into the ford sometimes!”

“Oooh. We can go swimming?” Deacon asked. “Mama and Papa never have time to take me. Not since last summer.”

Ludwig nodded enthusiastically. “Not when it’s too cold, but yeah! Come on, I’ll show you it!”

Ludwig proceeded to take Deacon on a tour of the open fields around the Benigno home. Though there were plenty of other dwellings in the area, there was still far more open space between them than there was between the buildings of Paddonfield, and soon the boys broke off the tour for an enthusiastic game of tag that only ended when Ludwig was sprawled on his back in the grass giggling and begging for mercy. Deacon had to admit his partner was at least fun to play with-- better than Zoe had fared with Sera, who refused to get so much as a dainty toe dirty. It wasn’t quite Darby Kroft, but… for a stranger, Deacon supposed it could have been worse.

Later that night, Ludwig’s mother returned home with her flock of sheep, and as indicated she had a small but noticeable baby bump. She greeted Deacon warmly, telling the boy that she hoped he and Ludwig would get along well, to which Deacon smiled politely if awkwardly and told her that he hoped so, too. The woman then ushered both boys back into the house, whereupon a few minutes later Lou’s father came in from the cookhouse with supper for the family; plain barely bread, unseasoned boiled carrots, and roasted potatoes. As his partner’s siblings clamoured for their servings-- earning a sharp reproach and a reminder that they had to say their prayers first-- Deacon eyed the food warily, his lips pursed.

“Is there stew?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. The Benignos had a small dining table, with a few chairs pulled up to it (none of which matched), but Deacon didn’t have to be an arithmetic genius to note that they were still several seating places short to account for all the people present. “Or… cheese?”

Ludwig shook his head, “We get vegetable stew sometimes,” he explained. “But cheese is too expensive. We milk Mama’s sheep when they have lambs but well… we need the milk more than we need cheese.”

“We get it at Woomas,” Nina put in cheerfully. “When the church sponsors a big public feast.”

“So… this is it?” Deacon asked. “For the whole night?”

Ludwig winced, looking down at his bowl (presently in his lap as he sat on the floor). The child’s father sighed, rubbing his face.

“Yes, Deacon,” he told his son’s partner. “Not everyone can afford to eat expensive, fancy food all the time. We weren’t born mages, and my wife and I have a lot more kids to take care of than your parents. We have to be careful with our money.”

“Oh.” Staring down at his plate, Deacon took a hesitant seat beside Ludwig, and was immediately joined on his other side by young Nina, who seemed far more enthused about the allotment of bread, potatoes, and carrots than her brother’s new partner did; as her parents looked away for a moment to share a knowing look between each other, the little girl snuck a bite.

“I saw that, Nina,” her mother called. “And since you’re so eager, you can lead the prayer, okay?”

The girl pouted her lips. “‘Kay.” Overdramatically, the clasped her hands in her lap and bowed her head. “Woo in heaven… please bless this meal…”

Her family joined along in the prayer, and Deacon mumbled the words beneath his breath with middling accuracy (his own family rarely, if ever, prayed before meals). Despite his ravenous appetite, he was one of the slowest to eat, the food far, far blander than anything he was used to. At least he had tact enough not to complain again, but even a blind man could have read the look of apparent distaste on his face as he finally finished off the last of the barley bread, dry and crumbly without any butter or toppings to lend it interest. Beside him, Ludwig was eating with an equal lack of enthusiasm, his stomach twisting with anxiety. Things seemed to have been going okay, but now Deacon was upset again.

Will I ever be good enough?

Once the meal was over, the Benignos sat together in the main room of the house, and by the light of a few candles they traded stories about their doings throughout the day. When Ludwig’s turn came to share, he gave a wobbly smile and said, “I… I had fun. P-playing outside with Deacon. I’m… r-real excited I finally got a partner.”

“We’re excited to have him, too.” Ludwig’s mother, young Belladonna half-asleep in her lap, gave an encouraging smile. She looked to Deacon. “And you, Deacon?”

“Um.” He fiddled with the bracelet on his left wrist; it still felt so heavy, so strange. “I’m… glad I got my partner, too. And… I liked playing tag. And it was nice to meet all of you.”

There was a return chorus of agreement from the rest of the family, and Ludwig’s father gave Deacon a measuring look. “I know this isn’t what you were expecting, son. And I know it’s not what you’re used to. But I hope you don’t hold it against Lou, and I hope you can become good friends in time.”

“I…” Deacon fidgeted, his cheeks going red. “I’m sorry if I seem mad or anything. I… I’m trying to be good. Promise. I just… didn’t think it’d be like this. That I’d get somebody I didn’t know.” He glanced, sidelong, toward Ludwig beside him. “And it’s weird ‘cos… I don’t know you. But I feel like I know you, since they did the spells. Except I… know I don’t. If that makes sense.”

Ludwig fidgeted. “Y-yeah. It’s weird. Like… when you see somebody on the street and you think you met ‘em somewhere, but you can’t remember who they are or where you met ‘em. And… and there’s kind of… this warm feeling, in here,” he indicated his chest. “Like… I dunno. Like you’re safe.”

Deacon nodded. “Uh-huh. I wonder if it’ll feel this way… forever. Or if it’s just ‘cos it’s new. I mean, Zoe and my parents and their partners have told me all about it but-- they said it’s also a bit different. For everyone. Every pair. ‘Cos the people are different.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Ludwig said, shifting a little restlessly. “It’s not… a bad. feeling. Just weird, ‘cause I don’t know you well yet.”

“You guys are gonna be bonded forever, right?” Ludwig’s brother Joshua put in. “So you have plenty of time to learn stuff about the magic.” He brightened. “Maybe you’ll be able to read each other’s minds some day.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes, “That’s dumb, Josh.”

“You can’t read minds.” Deacon laughed. “But my mummy says sometimes you can just… feel stuff. About your partner. Once you’re all bonded. Like-- one time her partner got sick, and Mama knew, even before she got told. She said she just had a feeling.”

“Ooooh, that’s cool,” Nina said brightly. “Can I learn that trick?”

“You’re not a mage, sweety,” the girl’s father pointed out gently. “Pair bonding is a thing for mages.”

“Awww,” the girl pouted.

“It takes a long time though, right?” Ludwig asked his partner. “‘Fore the bond’s totally done setting.”

Deacon nodded. “Zoe’s been bonded for four years, and hers is pretty strong, but it doesn’t get all the way done ‘til you’re a teenager. And that’s when you start trainin’ for the army.” He brightened at this prospect. “Zoe and Sera are gonna be healers. ‘Cos they’re girls and can’t fight. I think it sounds boring.”

Josh nodded in solemn agreement. “Healing is for girls.”

“Well we’re not gonna heal,” Ludwig said firmly. “We’re gonna be soldiers. And ride hippogriffs, just like you said.”

“I’m gonna be the best pilot,” Deacon bragged. “It’ll be so cool.”

“I’m sure you will, Deacon,” Ludwig’s father said with an indulgent smile. He sighed and stood, stretching. “For now, I think it’s time that all of you went to bed. It’s been a long day, and I think we could all do with some sleep.

There was some general grumbling of complaint, but in spite of this the children all rose and shuffled off to their respective bedrooms. Once he’d changed into a night shirt, Ludwig settled on the straw stuffed sheet that served him as a bed, scooting to make room for his partner. Deacon was slow-- almost sullen-- as he kicked off his shoes and clothes and shrugged into an old, oversized tunic of Ludwig’s father, which nearly reached his knees. The boy was biting back a scowl as he crawled onto the small mat beside Ludwig.

“I’ll need to bring my own stuff to wear at night,” he murmured. “And maybe extra blankets, too. So we don’t have to share.”

Ludwig sighed. “‘Kay. ...Maybe at your place I’ll just sleep on the floor. I can bring blankets and stuff. So I’m n-not bothering you.”

“No, it’s okay,” Deacon said. “My bed’s pretty big. And…” The boy hesitated for a moment, his eyes listing toward Ludwig’s brothers as the two boys curled up on their own hay mat. “I… think it’s better,” he whispered finally. “Um, Zoe said it was anyway. To be… near. At first. She and Sera tried sleeping in different bedrooms, and… she said they were both so jittery. That she’d wake up feeling all panicked, and she wouldn’t know why-- it was just like… her lungs got weird, and… she wouldn’t feel better ‘til she found Sera. And cuddled up.”

The younger boy seemed surprised by this, but after a moment he nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure.” He twirled the bracelet on his wrist a bit. Finally, he shifted a little to a more comfortable position, and muttered, “Good night, Deacon.”

“‘Night,” Deacon returned.

The boys fell asleep as far apart on the mattress as they could reasonably scoot, but by the time they awoke the next morning, Deacon was surprised to find that in his slumber he’d crept closer to Ludwig, so that their backs were lightly pressed together. And weirder than that, when he quickly startled away-- his stomach gave a twinge. Like it might when you say goodbye to a friend who’s going on a long, long trip.

Ludwig awoke not long later, and then, after a small breakfast of oat porridge, it was time for the boys to switch from Ludwig’s house to Deacon’s. Ludwig’s father walked them, and it was Deacon’s father who greeted the group, the man smiling broadly as he clasped hands with the strangers and introduced himself, then gave both Ludwig and his father a quick tour of the shop and flat above. The blacksmith was polite and cordial throughout, but poor Ludwig couldn’t help gawking a bit. There was so much furniture, and everything was so colorful, and well kept, and…

“I…” he gulped. “It’s really okay? If I stay here?” He looked down at his clothes, not dirty thankfully but fairly well threadbare from being passed down from Francis to Josh and then to him. He felt rather like a coal that had found its way into a pile of glimmering, polished diamonds.

Deacon’s father laughed. “Of course, Ludwig. It’s your home now, too. You’re a member of the family.”

“Oh-oh. Okay. Thank you,” Ludwig gave a shy smile. At least Deacon’s father seemed nice.

Soon enough Ludwig’s father left, and by early afternoon Ludwig had been introduced to everybody in the Azrael family, including Sera. That night, over a hearty dinner of lamb stew and sourdough bread, the boy also met the partners of both of Deacon’s parents, each of whom seemed just as delighted for Deacon to have been finally matched as his actual parents were. After learning that Ludwig had grown up so far in an environment largely bereft of mages, they told him he should feel free to ask them any questions he’d been curious about, an offer that Ludwig met by demonstrating no dearth of curiosity, though his natural shyness made him stumble over his questions a little at first.

They slept in Deacon’s bed that night, which as the older boy had promised was plenty sizable enough for there to be comfortable distance between the two boys. And yet, the next morning when they woke up, they found that once again they’d both drifted in their sleep, lying so that the backs of their hands were lightly touching.

Bonded Souls - Part Twol

SPOILER: Click to show

The following day, which would begin the two-on, two-off pattern properly, the boys stayed once again at the Azrael place. However, this time instead of staying for most of the day in the family flat, Deacon told Ludwig that he wanted to play outside-- and that he’d introduce his partner to his friends. “‘Cos they’ll be your friends now, too,” the boy said. “When we’re spending time in Paddonfield.”

The friends in question-- including Darby Kroft, with whom Deacon had so been hoping he’d been matched-- were about a dozen large in number, boys ranging in age from six to about eleven, and all except two of them were mages, with three other sets of pair-bonded children amongst the ranks. There were more names than Ludwig could reasonably remember at first blush, but Deacon assured him he’d be in the loop soon enough, before grinning as two of the older boys split up the group into teams for a game of ball.

“If a carriage comes,” Deacon cautioned, “you gotta jump outta the street, okay? They get mad if they hafta stop, and if it’s someone we know they’ll tell our parents, and then we’re not allowed to play for the next week.”

Ludwig nodded, absently clinking his bracelet. “Okay, I’ll remember.”

Ludwig turned out to be a fairly adept ballplayer, much to the other children’s delight; afterward, exhausted, the pack of boys plopped onto the curb in front of the apothecary that one of their parents owned, each nursing a fresh glass of carrot juice that the boy’s mother had made. It was a pleasant day-- warm-- and the breeze tickled at the back of Deacon’s neck as he swallowed a gulp of the drink, Darby on his left and Ludwig to his right.

“I can’t believe you got your match finally.” Darby was half-congratulating, half-griping. “And I’ve still not gone mine. I turn nine in two weeks!” The little boy, his dark blonde curls catching in the sunlight, sighed despondently. “I wish you and me coulda gotten matched, Deacon. We would have been perfect.”

Ludwig, who’d been in the process of taking a sip of his juice, froze with the cup partway to his mouth. He lowered it again, turning his head so that he was looking further up the road- and away from Deacon and Darby. He didn’t want the older boys to see the hurt in his face. Deacon, however, quickly seemed to realize that something was amiss, biting down on his lip as he glanced back in his partner’s direction.

“You okay?” he murmured, as Darby shifted his attention back to his juice.

"I'm okay," Ludwig lied. "I j-just thought I heard s-something over there." He turned back to his partner with a patently false smile, his seven year old acting skills leaving rather much to be desired. "M-maybe you friends wanna play with just y-you, should... should I go somewhere?"

“We can’t,” Deacon retorted. “That’s like-- rule number one. It’d hurt” And his parents would smack them both if they found out, but this rather was rather beside the point. “And I thought we were havin’ fun,” the boy added. “You said you liked to play.”

“I… I was, I do, b-but…” Ludwig stammered, wincing at the reproach in his partner's tone. Part of him wanted to just admit to what was bothering him. The part that instinctively trusted Deacon, and felt safe and secure around him. But here it was again, the reminder that he barely knew this boy. Deacon had his own friends, his own life, and Ludwig was a newcomer. An interloper. The one who’d gotten in the way of a long fostered dream between two good friends.

“...Sorry,” he said finally. “Never mind, I’m just bein’ stupid.” He forced a smile again. “W-we’re gonna be amazing together, right? We… We’ll be perfect.”

“Uh-huh,” Deacon said. “We’ll be real good.” He glanced briefly back toward Darby, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips, before he leaned in close to Ludwig, whispering into the younger boy’s ear: “And I’m a better mage’n Darby is, anyway. I bet that’s why they didn’t match us. And that means you’re a better mage, too.”

Ludwig felt his face heat a little, realizing that Deacon had already guessed the real source of his distress. But the reassurance was a comfort, and the younger boy found himself grinning back a little more sincerely. “If we’re both strong already, I bet… I bet once we learn to share power, we’ll be able to do anything.”

“We’ll be the best soldiers ever,” Deacon bragged. “Officers, I bet! With our own scimitars, and we’ll get to fight bad guys, and get medals, and it’ll be awesome.”

Ludwig nodded enthusiastically. “Y’know my Papa makes scimitars sometimes! Not for the army but for people who wanna use them for self-defense and stuff. We’re not allowed to touch anything but maybe tomorrow when we go back to my place he’ll let us come with him to the smithy and look.”

“Oooh.” Deacon pondered. “Maybe he’d let us hold ‘em if we’re real careful? I’ve always wanted to hold a scimitar. But Papa won’t let me hold his from when he was a soldier. ‘Cos it’s sharp.”

Ludwig gave a rueful shrug. “Maybe. I guess we could ask.” He set down his cup of juice and fiddled with his conduit bracelet. Someday, the little hoop of interlocking silver squares would allow him and Deacon to share magical power. Why they were soldiers together, using their spells against Macarinth’s enemies inside and out. He smiled, looking up at his partner again.

“You’ll be an awesome soldier, Deacon. And I’ll do my best to be just as awesome.”

***

Gradually, things settled into a steady, regular pattern for Ludwig and Deacon. They would spend two days with the Benignos, eating simple meals and playing in the fields or the river either alone together or with Ludwig’s siblings. Then they would shift to the Azraels’ flat in Paddonfield, playing games with Zoe and Sera inside or running amok with Deacon’s band of buddies in town.

During all of this, Deacon and Ludwig were never more than a room or two apart- and even being that far made them both feel an instinctive jitteriness, so that it was a profound relief when they were in proximity again. This made things complicated whenever they squabbled- as small boys were wont to do- and forced both pairs of parents to come up with creative means of separating them to cool down without actually physically separating them.

But when they weren’t clashing over whose turn it was to play with the best toy or some similarly inane thing, they came to realize that the matchmen perhaps had been on to something in pairing the two of them together. While in many ways they were opposite-- Deacon outgoing where Ludwig was shy, the latter as observant of rules as Deacon was willing to break them-- they also seemed to fill many of each other’s gaps, balancing out one another’s weaknesses and flaws. Deacon helped to bring out Ludwig’s bolder side, while Ludwig aided in keeping some of Deacon’s rambunctious ideas in check. If he’d had it his way at the outset, Deacon would have never ended up with Ludwig as his partner… but soon, the young boy couldn’t imagine his life without young Ludwig Benigno in it.

Ludwig found himself similarly unable to fathom how he’d once gone about without Deacon’s constant company. It was something that perplexed his siblings- “don’tcha ever get bored and wanna be by yourself for a while?”- but the other mages of the Azrael house understood and assured him it was totally normal, especially for the first few years of the bond. As he came to like Deacon and rely on his partner’s support, Ludwig became more and more determined to prove that even if he was not Darby Kroft, even if he was the poor son of a blacksmith and a shepherdess and not from a proud magic family, he could still be a good match for Deacon.

After the first month was over, the boys were allowed to separate for short periods, but often refused simply because it still wasn’t very comfortable. One month turned into two, then three, and before the boys knew it six months had passed since they were bonded to one another- and, only a few weeks after Ludwig’s mother finally gave birth to his newest sibling (another girl, much to Ludwig and Deacon’s mutual disappointment), Ludwig’s father announced one morning that he’d received word it was time for the boys to report to the matchmen again to have their progress evaluated and to undertake the next spell in the series that would fully bond them.

Deacon was excited as they walked from the Benignos’ house to the center in Paddonfield, a bounce to his step that frequently saw him listing a shade too far in front of Ludwig’s father, hence earning him the very mortifying punishment of having to hold the man’s hand until they arrived. Even so, he was all smiles as the matchmen welcomed them, peppering them with questions about what changes the spell would mark in him and Ludwig.

“Can we go further away after this?” the boy wheedled as the matchmen led them in toward the spelling chamber. “‘Cos that way we can play hide-and-seek better. In the woods near Luddy’s house.”

The two men exchanged an amused glance, and the taller of the duo remarked, “You should be able to go further away, yes, though still not too far. And you’ll probably notice that you’re more… attuned to each other.” The man winked. “You’ll see what I mean.”

Ludwig fiddled with his bracelet. “While we’re here can you make my bracelet bigger? It’s kinda tight now. Deek’s mama says it’s ‘cause I’m eating more at his flat and I’m ‘filling out some.’”

“Of course.” The second man smiled thinly. “We’ll adjust it at each of your appointments. And once you’re old enough, we can do away with the lock so you can adjust it yourselves.”

“I could adjust it on my own now,” Deacon suggested cheerily, as behind him Ludwig’s father snorted.

“I’m going to veto that,” the older Benigno said lightly. “I’m pretty sure if it were unlocked, Deacon, you’d have lost it by the morrow.”

“There’s a reason we don’t take chances with expensive equipment and rambunctious young children,” the second matchman agreed, laughing. “Years of experience, you might say.”

Ludwig glanced sideways at his partner with a crooked smile. “Told ya they’d say no. All the other kids still got theirs locked on.”

Deacon stuck his tongue out. “Well you never know if you don’t ask, Luddy.”

Soon enough the two boys did indeed get their bracelets adjusted, so that they fit comfortably once more. Then they were guided into another room, this one with a different rune circle from the first, and instructed to clasp their left hands. The boys did so, with far less nervous reluctance this time around- Ludwig had already discovered that being in physical contact with his partner felt oddly right, soothing in a way he couldn’t quite put into words. It was why the two of them found themselves touching if not outright huddled together when they woke up in the mornings, instinctively seeking comfort in each other while they were asleep. Even Deacon often found himself subconsciously reaching out toward Ludwig through the day, as if his body had a mind of its own: a skimmed hand here, a bumped elbow there. He didn’t mean to do it-- he just did it, like blinking or breathing or laughing when something was funny.

“I still don’t think I’d lose my bracelet,” the boy murmured dourly as the matchmen prepared to cast the spells. Ludwig gave his partner a broad smile.

“Nah, you’d just put it down and get in huge trouble when your Mama found it or saw you not wearing it.” Airily the boy added, “Remember when you get grounded I can’t go anywhere either, even when I didn’t do anything. I think the locks are okay.”

Any further conversation between the two boys was cut off as the matchmen began to chant. As had happened before, then runes on the floor slowly lit up, and the bracelets glowed as well. This time, when Ludwig felt that wordless compulsion to meet Deacon’s eyes, he felt a sensation far gentler than from the first spell. Slower. Not a jolt, a rush of his mind being shoved open all at once, but a gradual feeling. A warmth that spread from the point where the boys’ hands touched, up his arms, into his chest, down to his toes, and finally up into his head. Ludwig felt inexplicably relaxed and sleepy, as if he were huddled under a warm blanket on a comfortable bed. As the child continued to gaze without blinking at his partner, he felt like he could sink forever into Deacon’s bright green eyes, and Deacon returned the look, just as riveted-- not breaking it even once the series of spells finally diminished several minutes later, the lights dying away just as gradually as they’d come on.

“Woah.” Deacon’s voice was nearly reverent. “That was…” Almost reflexively, he trailed his free thumb over the silver bracelet. “I wonder if we’re bonded enough now to use each other’s magic. That’d be so cool.”

The nearby matchmen, who were wincing and flexing their fingers, chuckled at this question. "Sorry son, but while you might be able to get the link up, it would not be strong nor stable yet. You'll need a few more sessions before we get to that point."

"Aw." Ludwig looked crestfallen. "How come?"

"A lot of reasons- you're not bonded deeply enough yet for one," the matchman replied. "You're also not... synched, I guess? You'll need to spend a good deal more time in each other's company to really match up to each other's rhythm, so to speak. There's other reasons too, but they'd go over your heads."

With that, the matchmen led Deacon and Ludwig from the ritual chamber to a small room nearby, whereupon they gestured for the boys to take the two seats at one side of a small table before the adults sat opposite them. There was a sheaf of parchment on the table, as well as an inkpot and quill. The quill’s feather was dyed pale blue-- the colour of a Macarinthian military uniform-- and Deacon stared at it as the second matchman picked it up and dipped it in the ink.

“So,” the man said then, “we just want to talk a bit to you boys. Ask a few questions. Just to get an idea of how everything’s going so far.” He gestured to the paper in front of him. “And I’ll be taking some notes about what you say. Don’t be nervous-- there are no right or wrong answers. We just need full information to have on record, to keep better track of your progress. Sound good?”

In spite of the reassurances, Ludwig instinctively tensed. He wanted to think that he and Deacon were making good progress, he really did, but part of him was still afraid that his partner was only making the best of a situation neither of them could change. That if he could have, he’d have changed to Darby Kroft or one of his other friends in an instant.

Ludwig nodded hesitantly, though he instinctively nudged his hand sideways a little to brush the side of Deacon’s.

“Now then,” the first matchman said. “You two have been alternating families for about six months. How has that been faring? Everyone in your partner’s household making you feel welcome? Nothing too hard about the swap process?”

“It’s been good,” Ludwig said. “Deek’s parents are really nice, and his Papa’s partner showed me how to make stuff float with magic the other day. I have lots of fun when we’re over there.”

“And I like Luddy’s siblings,” Deacon put in. “His brothers are fun to play with. I always wanted brothers, but then Mama had the new baby and it was a girl. … And then his mama’s new baby was a girl, too. She cries a lot.” He paused for a moment. “My sister’s turning a year old next week, though! Mama said Ludwig and I can help her bake a cake to celebrate.”

“A cake?” The second matchman smiled. “That sounds exciting.” He looked to Ludwig. “You’re around a lot more mages now, aren’t you? Are you enjoying it?”

Ludwig nodded emphatically. "When all I could do was make lights magic was boring. My sister Nina asked me all the time why I had a wand when I couldn't do anything with it. But the Azraels show me lotsa cool stuff they can do with magic, and I really wanna learn it! I'm not old enough now, but soon!"

Brightening a bit he added, "And I like playing soldier with the other boys in Paddonfield. We pretend we're doing war magic like we will in the army. Though sometimes the older ones are dumb and use real sparking spells they learned, and we all get in trouble."

"Oh dear," the first matchman said, lifting an eyebrow. "Well if you were playing soldier I hope you were watching each other's backs like you will on the field one day. Partners can't be letting each other get hit by errant spells."

“We’re real good at covering each other,” Deacon bragged. “Better’n even some of the older boys. We’ll be the best soldiers. And we’re so much better magicians.” This was partially a child’s brag, and partially the truth: even untrained, it was clear that Deacon and Ludwig were both much more powerful mages than most of their Paddonfield playmates-- including Darby Kroft, who’d finally been matched last month (to a young boy called Taylor Montescue, who was barely six, and in Deacon’s opinion was ‘the most annoying kid in all of Paddonfield’... which made Deacon realize all over again that there were far worse things than being matched to a stranger like Ludwig).

Ludwig now seemed to bounce a bit at his partner’s enthusiasm, nodding. “I bet once we’re able to share magic we’ll be able to do anything,” he crowed.

“I’m sure you will,” the matchman agreed. “It seems you boys are coming along well- still quite a bit of work to do, but the bonding process is well begun.”

Ludwig couldn’t help but feel a sigh of relief escape him, something that was not missed by the matchman, who cast a sidelong glance at his partner. Looking back at the boys he added, “Now then, I suppose you’ll both want a basic rundown of what you can expect from today’s session with the magic?”

“Yes.” Deacon was practically vibrating in his seat. “Can we do anything cool now? That we couldn’t before?”

“Well that depends on your definition of ‘cool,’” the man replied. “But try paying closer attention to your partner in the near future and I think you’ll notice… little things you might not have. Little tics when your partner is in a good mood, or a bad mood, that you’ll be able to notice better in the future. Just… being better able to guess what the other is feeling.”

Ludwig tilted his head, glancing at Deacon, “And we told Josh we couldn’t read each other’s minds.”

Deacon smirked. “We should pretend,” he said. “That we can! And he’ll totally believe us. It’ll be so funny.”

The younger boy smirked. “It would be.”

The matchmen laughed. “Also, you’ll be able to go a little further now without triggering a negative reaction, though still not for a very long time. If you want and you have the option you can probably sleep in separate beds now, though not in different rooms.”

“It’s okay,” Deacon said quickly. “There aren’t enough beds at Luddy’s for us to sleep apart. And at my flat…” The boy shrugged. “It’s alright. I don’t mind him there.”

Ludwig, who had tensed a little bit, relaxed again and smiled. “I don’t mind either. I always shared a bed with my big sister before she left, and Deacon is easy to sleep with. Even if he clings when it’s cold,” the boy added, grinning.

“I do not.” Deacon scowled.

The second matchman laughed. “No shame in getting warmth where you can find it, son.”

“When you’re out on the field in combat, staying warm is essential,” his partner agreed. “Your pride is not worth frostbite.” They shuffled their papers. “I think that’s all we needed to cover for today. You two keep working on getting to know one another better and sticking close as much as possible to strengthen the magical bond. Do either of you have any last questions?”

Deacon shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Except…” The boy leaned forward. “How many more spells is it ‘til we can start training? To be soldiers?”

“You’ll start learning to use your magic when the older of you two,” the first matchman indicated Deacon, “turns ten. You’ll be able to enlist to start military training when Ludwig is twelve, though you won’t actually be allowed to see any action until you’re at least fourteen. You don’t have to start your draft at fourteen, mind, just before you turn twenty.”

“By twenty, I’m gonna be an officer,” Deacon said brightly. “Me and Luddy. Flyin’ hippogriffs and everything!”

Ludwig nodded, grinning hugely. “Deek and me will be the best soldiers there ever was!”

***

As the matchmen had indicated, over the next several weeks Ludwig began to realize that when he watched Deacon sidelong, he started to notice a pattern to the way he behaved. Little gestures, facial tics, and ways he held his posture that were consistent depending on his mood. The older boy would gnaw his lip when he was worried about something, or go lean forward in a conspiratorial way with his eyes lighting up when he had mischief brewing… And the more he noticed these things, the more Ludwing instinctively responded, trying to reassure his partner when he was worried or irritated, talk him down when he was angry, or take advantage of his good moods to engage him in fun games or activities.

On the opposite side of the bond, Deacon too was beginning to grow closer in-sync to his partner, the boy able now with merely a glance to parse out when Ludwig was feeling down, or shy, or needed a confidence boost. It were as if his partner was an intricate machine, and suddenly he’d been given his blueprints, able to interpret them with a simple once-over. The older boy had never quite understood what it was between his parents and their partners, or Zoe and Sera, but suddenly… it clicked. Snapped together. What it meant to be pair-bonded. What his life would be like, with Ludwig at his side.

Soon, he couldn’t ever remember why he’d ever wanted to be bonded to Darby Kroft.

By the time Deacon and Ludwig had been bonded for nearly nine months- Ludwig almost eight and Deacon coming up on his ninth birthday- their deepened bond combined with almost constant contact had started to show in a number of completely non-verbal exchanges that baffled Ludwig’s nonmage family. The two seemed able to read each other so well that all it would take was a glance and a pointed finger for Deacon to set them on some elaborate path of mischief, or a hard look and folded arms for Ludwig to make his partner back off from something he was about to do.

They’d gotten so used to almost constant contact, to being one another’s accomplices and best friends, that when Deacon awoke at the Benigno house one morning sweat-drenched and shuddering, a sudden cough wracking his chest, the boy immediately balked when Ludwig’s parents tried to go about sequestering him from the rest of the children-- including Ludwig.

“But why can’t he stay?” the boy moaned as Ludwig’s mother pressed a damp rag to his forehead. “I don’t want him to go.”

“Do you want him to get sick too, Deacon?” she asked gently, running a comforting hand through his sweat-dampened blonde hair. “I promise, we’ve got him sitting just on the other side of the wall, so it shouldn’t strain your pair bond and hurt you.”

“But he was already with me all night,” Deacon whined, fighting back a violent shiver. “He’ll already have caught it if he’s gonna get sick.” He whimpered. “Please?”

The woman shook her head. “He might not have- he’s seemed fine so far.” She sighed. “I’ll have to send Francis to your house, and let your parents know that you’ll probably have to stay here for the next several days. It’s not safe to move you while you’re this sick.”

The child blinked hard. “My head hurts,” he sniveled. “And my bones. C-can Francis tell Papa to bring me potions? W-we’ve got lots. At the shop. And…” A bellowing cough cut off any further words.

“I’ll have him ask for you, honey,” Ludwig’s mother promised. “Is there anything else he should bring that would help you feel better? A blanket or a toy?”

“M-my pillow,” Deacon said. “... A-are you sure Luddy can’t come in?”

“I’m sure,” the woman said, though not without sympathy. “But I’ll send Francis to get your things now.”

Ludwig’s brother did indeed make a run to Paddonfield, returning a while later with an armful of soft, feather stuffed pillows and Deacon’s father trailing at his heel. The man sighed as he looked down at his son, smoothing the boy’s hair before he coaxed several potions down the child’s throat.

“What I gave him should help with his fever and coughing,” the elder Azrael told Ludwig’s parents afterward. “And put him to sleep for a bit.” With a tired smile, he produced several more phials out of the leather satchel he wore over his shoulder. “Purple is for fever-- every twelve hours as long as you think he’s got one. And orange is for the cough; that’s only once a day. The clear as needed for sleeping. I’ll come ‘round this evening after the shop closes to check on him again, okay? Thanks so much for caring for him-- I agree, he’s in no state to be transported across the entire city.”

“Of course,” Ludwig’s father replied. “After all these months he’s like another brother for our little ones, so it’s no trouble at all.”

Ludwig, who was leaning against the wall that separated the main living space from the room he shared with Deacon and his brothers, gave a plaintive whimper. “Can I lie with him now? If he’s got something for the cough? I won’t catch it if he’s not coughing right?”

“Lou, no,” the boy’s father said with a tired sigh.

“The potions just help with the symptoms-- if it’s a catching sickness, it’ll still be catching,” Deacon’s father added. Sympathy, however, creased his brow. “I understand that you want to be near him-- I do. But it’s safer if you’re not, buddy, okay?”

Ludwig only whimpered, burying his face in his knees. Eventually Deacon’s father left, and throughout the rest of the day Deacon was either barely cognizant or deep in potion induced slumber. Ludwig meanwhile was inconsolable, refusing to be distracted from his vigil by the wall with board games or jackstones offered to him by Nina and Joshua.

That night Ludwig slept on the floor by the wall, curled up under his blankets. When in the morning his mother took Deacon some breakfast, again Ludwig plied her with desperate pleas to join his partner in the room and was again denied. The Benignos kept staunchly to their refusal, until finally that night their son started refusing to eat.

“You don’t understand,” he moaned. “I have to be there. I have to help. He’s my partner I’m supposed to be there! My stomach is all knotty just sitting here, I’m not hungry!”

Deacon was no less assuaged, the boy wheedling for his partner’s company whenever Ludwig’s parents came in to check on him. When Ludwig started rejecting food, as if in subconscious solidarity Deacon began to balk at taking the bitter potions, clenching his jaw and keeping his lips tightly closed as his partner’s mother attempted to dose him with yet another fever reducer. Ludwig’s parents were exasperated, and at first tried to hold out over the boys. But when Deacon’s fever again spiked, leaving him sweating through his clothes and panting as if he’d run a marathon, finally the Benignos caved. With Ludwig’s mother still sitting beside the mattress with a dose of potion, his father went out to fetch him.

“Deek?” Ludwig whimpered as he poked his head through the door a few minutes later.

Deacon sat up so sharply that his head spun, the boy clenching a hand to his temple in a dizzied pain. “Luddy.” He looked to his partner’s mother. “C-can he stay with me?”

She pursed her lips. “If you behave and take your medicine. He’s not coming a step closer until you do.”

Deacon bit his lip, struggling through a cough before he managed to stammer in reply, “... If I t-take it, he can sleep in here? ‘Til I’m better? And you won’t make him leave at all?”

It was clear that Ludwig’s mother didn’t approve but she gave a curt nod. “He can stay. But if he gets sick as well it will be both of your stubborn hides once you’re better.”

Ludwig started to dart forward, but his mother shot him a stern look. “Deacon is taking his medicine first.”

“The whole thing?” Deacon asked, his green eyes narrowed. “It tastes bad. And it stings my throat.”

“Ludwig can leave again,” she retorted sharply, glowering at Deacon. “It stings your throat because you’re sick. The medicine will help you to stop being sick.”

Deacon let out a raspy sigh but downed the potion without another word of protest, merely grimacing as it ached down his throat. Once he’d parted his lips to prove to Ludwig’s mother that he’d swallowed it all, the boy looked expectantly toward Ludwig, a fractured smile blooming between his pale, chapped lips. At a reluctant nod from his mother, Ludwig darted towards his partner, flopping down to sit at Deacon’s side.

“Deek, I’m sorry, I wanted to come but they said that I couldn’t,” he whimpered, grasping one of his partner’s hot, sweaty hands.

Deacon clung back, feebly. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “Not your fault.” Medicine dealt with, the boy leaned back again, burying his head into the pillow his father had brought him from Paddonfield. “Everything hurts, Luddy,” he whined. “I hate this.”

Ludwig scooted closer, worrying his partner’s hand. “I’m sorry, I hate it too. You look awful.” He bit his lip. “I’m not a good partner,” he murmured. “I didn’t know. That you were sick. You said your mama knew when her partner was sick, but I didn’t know until you started getting really bad.”

“She only knew once they were grown,” Deacon pointed out weakly. “Not when she was little.” He coughed twice, sharply. “L-last year Sera got sick, and Zoe didn’t know, either. And they’ve been bonded for almost five years now.” Reaching up to rub at his bleary eyes, he glanced toward Ludwig’s mother, who was still hovering nearby, looking none too pleased by her healthy son being so close to Deacon. “C-can I have water?” Deacon asked her. “To get the medicine taste gone.”

“I’ll get you some tea,” she replied, turning out of the room. Once his mother was no longer watching them like a hawk, Ludwig impulsively reached for Deacon and gave the older boy a tight hug.

“I’m still sorry,” he said softly. “I wish I could help.”

Deacon nestled into his partner’s hold. “Just stay,” he murmured. “I-I feel better than I did already. I just hope I don’t get you sick.”

“If I do, you gotta stay with me once you’re better,” Ludwig replied with a wobbly smirk. “It’s only fair.” He sniffed softly. “It’s weird, y’know? When we were first bonded it was scary kinda. I felt like I knew you, and I was safe with you, but I didn’t know you. But now I do know you and… and even though they fixed the bond so we can be apart more without it hurting, it still hurts. Just different. Does that make sense?”

“Uh-huh,” Deacon said. “We can be apart, but it’s… it’s nicer when we’re not. And when we are…” He coughed again. “I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like when we’re grown-ups. And all the spells are done, and we’re soldiers.”

“Papa told me stories when I was really little,” Ludwig mused. “About soldiers in the army, once they’re all done being bonded. About all the amazing magic they can do. But the stories… don’t really talk about this,” he gave his partner’s back a rub, as his mother did for him when he was sick. “About how… how close they must be.”

“We’ll be able to do anything,” Deacon said. “And… no one to keep us apart.” As his body gave an involuntary shudder from the fever, the boy smiled crookedly nevertheless. “I really hope you don’t g-get sick, though. Your mama’ll kill us both.”

“So will your papa,” Ludwig retorted with a grin. “He didn’t want me to come in here neither.”

Ludwig’s mother walked in with the tea then, and scowled slightly when she saw Ludwig and Deacon cuddled so close to each other. But she seemed to intuit that pressing the issue would only cause more uproar, and instead offered Deacon the mug of tea.

“Here you go. For the taste,” she said. “Do you need the sleeping potion too?”

“Nuh-uh,” Deacon insisted, sitting up to gingerly accept the cup. “The sleepin’ draught tastes so bad, too. I don’t want it.”

She sighed. “You do need to sleep though. You won’t get better by lying awake miserable.”

“Maybe I can help him sleep, Mama?” Ludwig suggested. “It’s… it’s kinda hard to explain, but when I’m upset or nervous, if I touch Deek I feel better. I think it goes both ways?”

“I already feel a bit better,” Deacon agreed. “Just ‘cos he’s here. So… maybe I’ll be a-able to sleep. Even though everything still hurts.”

“Well alright,” she said, still sounding dubious. “But if you haven’t slept by the time it’s time for lights out, you’re drinking the potion, you understand me?”

Fortunately, by lights out Deacon was out cold, Ludwig curled up and snoozing softly at his side. And although the boy still woke up occasionally through the night, fighting back coughing fits and his fever spiking yet again, in the morning his fever broke, and from there he kept improving further. Within another two days, his cough had subsided significantly, and the day after that, he was finally deemed well enough to make the journey back to the Azrael residence (though his father carried him for the duration of the trek).

Ludwig never did catch Deacon’s illness, and kept constant vigil with his partner, trotting alongside the older Azrael’s heel as they finally went back to Paddonfield again. He seemed almost afraid to let his partner out of his sight, and this after they’d only been bonded a year and had two sessions with the matchmen. Distantly, the young boy couldn’t help but wonder what the future, and further such magical rituals, would bring.

[Avery]

Hey guys! Another collab between Shinko and Avery, featuring the Macarinthian pairbonded broskis, Ludwig Benigno and Deacon Azrael. This story explores some of their time in training during the military, and helps to establish just why they were so impressively fluent in Valzick in the Phyzanna fic despite not being Valzick. Enjoy!

Into the Woods: Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

“Valzaim?” the young soldier griped, his jaw clenched tight as a spring as he paced back and forth across the claustrophobic barrack. “I can’t believe we’re getting sent to Valzaim!”

“’Least it’s not Fort Kenley?” mused the willowy red-haired boy who stood nearby, fiddling with the buttons of his overcoat. It was a pale blue trimmed with yellow thread, and embossed at the breastbone with a sunburst—the sigil of the Macarinthian royal family. The teenager went on, “You’re lucky, really, Deacon. It’s something new and interesting. You should be excited.” A pause. “I’d be excited.”

“If it’s so amazing, Michael, then you can go for me,” Deacon huffed, sweeping an agitated hand through his wheat-blond hair.

“I wish I could,” Michael retorted. “But even if the high command did let peons like us swap assignments, you know that my partner doesn’t turn seventeen for another nine months. By the time the two of us are punted off to our final training, you and Ludwig will already be done in Valzaim. On active duty. Proper soldiers.”

Despite his irritation, Deacon couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the mention of this fact. After all, ever since he’d shown his first signs of magic as a young child—and was pair bonded to similarly aged mage, Ludwig Benigno, soon thereafter—Deacon had lived for the moment when he’d finally, finally, get to be a proper soldier. He’d nearly cried with joy five years ago, when Luddy had turned twelve and the boys were allowed to begin official training. At the time, he’d declared it the best day of his life.

But soon, it had become quite clear that Deacon’s imagined life as a soldier was still but a speck on the horizon, years away at the least. Though the boys were permitted to start casual training at twelve, Ludwig was fourteen before they were allowed to move into their first barracks, fifteen before they got their toes wet with such excitements as performing compound battle spells or piloting hippogriffs, and it wasn’t until now—with Luddy’s seventeenth birthday just around the corner—that they were at long last being permitted to enter the final stage of preparation: a six month posting at a fort, the location of which had been hand-selected for them by their superior officers… and after which they’d be inducted officially into the Macarinthian military. Vetted soldiers after what had oft felt like a lifetime of anxious waiting.

For weeks now, Deacon had been obsessing over the potential places he and Ludwig might get sent. The luckier boys (in Deacon’s opinion) were those sent to the lively Forts Tammen or Cask, the first located not far from the always-sizzling borders with both Meltaim and Lange, the second by temperamental Synedon. The slightly less fortunate found themselves lobbed off to the smaller bases that were speckled along the quieter stretches of foreign border, and although Deacon wouldn’t have been thrilled by such an assignment, he also supposed that if worse came to worst, he wouldn’t have wholly minded such a base, either. After all, he’d heard that some of the outposts in the east, near Lyell, were located closeby to vibrant cities, at least. And Fort Pommel, by a very rural part of Lange, was brand new and rumoured to be luxurious compared to any installment else.

… And then, for the least blessed of them all, was Fort Kenley.

Fort Kenley was a miserable excuse for a citadel that was located smack-dab in the heart of Macarinth. It was so far from a border-- any border-- that Deacon was fairly sure it had a higher chance of getting attacked by drunken Macarinthian villagers than any invading foreign force. Nothing happened there. Nothing. To the point where Deacon’s older cousin Bryan, who’d tragically spent his six months at Fort Kenley, had once declared without a hint of sarcasm that the most exciting moment of his entire stay was when half the high command had come down with a stomach flu.

Needless to say, Deacon had been fervidly praying to be sent anyplace else but Fort Kenley… though on the other hand, mulling about it now, at least Fort Kenley wasn’t in Valzaim. Woo, he’d never even heard of anyone being sent to Valzaim!

“Luddy.” As the door to the shadowy barrack swung inward, Deacon spun on his heel, heart lurching as his partner stepped inside. “Woo, Luddy-- did you hear?”

Ludwig Benigno quirked an eyebrow in the way he often did when he felt his partner was being excessively dramatic. Though he was a year younger than Deacon, and for most of their childhoods he had consistently kept the top of his head even with Deacon’s nose, in the past three years the younger teen had shot up in height until he was absolutely massive. Now if they stood side by side, the brown haired, brown eyed Ludwig could easily rest his chin on Deacon’s wheat-blonde crown. Though presently rather lanky from all that vertical growth, thanks to their physical training Ludwig was already starting to fill out muscle mass to match his height. No doubt by the time he was fully adult he would be enormous, and he’d already cultivated a quiet, serious demeanour to match.

“Hear what, precisely?” he drawled. “All I’ve been hearing all day is the sound of Sergeant Langely griping at me because I accidentally came out for the morning run with my bootlaces mysteriously turned purple- thanks for that by the way.”

Deacon couldn’t even bring himself to smirk. “I’m serious, Luddy,” he needled. “It’s serious.” He swallowed hard, grim-faced. “We got our fort assignment.”

Ludwig’s expression sobered a trifle, his eyebrows furrowing with concern. There was a question in his eyes, one that he didn’t even have to voice for Deacon to read it- such was the nature of pair bonded mages. Though they could and usually did speak to one another in words, the two could read each other’s body language as easily as a courier read dispatches, and could go entire minutes communicating with one another without speaking at all.

“You’ll never guess,” Deacon continued, hunching his shoulders as he plunked down at the edge of his bedroll.

“He’s being sent to the Marble Theater,” the redhead soldier, Michael, joked, brow quirked as he watched his comrade stew. “You know, in Adara. To be an actor. Because I’ve never seen such an impressive dramatic range.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes, sitting down beside his partner and prodding the side of his head. “Out with it already, you know that suspense doesn’t make me tense and nervous, it just makes me want to bop you in the head until the great revelation falls out your open mouth.”

“Fort Pelagia,” Deacon said. “We’re being sent to Fort Pelagia.”

“Um…” Ludwig’s expression was one of blank nonrecognition. “...Oh no?”

“You don’t recognise the name, do you?” Deacon replied. His emerald green eyes flickered with such melancholy that he rather resembled a kicked dog. “I didn’t either, Luddy. When Captain Southers told me. And that’s because…” He leaned very, very close to Ludwig here, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “They’re sending us to bloody Valzaim.”

The younger teen’s eyes widened with surprised, and he stared at his partner in astonishment. After a moment he rubbed his forehead, muttering, “That’s… not good.” His expression completely deadpan, he looked Deacon square in the eye and said, “Your Valzick sucks.”

For a beat, Deacon said nothing, face still solemnly froze. Then, a scowl curving at his lips, he reached out and whacked Ludwig on the bicep, harder than he strictly should have. “This isn’t a joke, Ludwig! They’re sending us off next Tuesday-- two days after your birthday!” He knitted his brow in consternation. “I’ve never even heard of someone getting sent to Valzaim, Luddy. Bryan went to Kenley-- not that I wanted Kenley, don’t get me wrong-- and when my dad was our age he and his partner got posted at Cask, and… and when I saw Danny Sannico from back home when we had leave last time, he said that he went to--”

“Deacon,” Ludwig interrupted. “Simmer down, for Woo’s sake, you act like we’re being shipped off to Lange or Meltaim. Valzaim is our ally, right? So yeah, makes total sense we’d be expected to work with them sometimes. Frankly I should think you’d be glad to get sent somewhere exotic, you’ve always grasped at every opportunity presented to you for gloating.”

“That’s what Captain Southers told me,” Deacon replied. “When I asked him. He said that-- that it’s an experimental program, a mix of young Valzick and Macarinthian mages plucked from all across each kingdom, then brought together to train with each other. An effort to teach us cooperation, and expose us to each other’s magic styles, and view each other as… as…” He let out a frustrated hiss as he racked his memory for the wording, finally coming up with: “Brothers in the Woo. That’s what Captain Southers said.”

“All sounds perfectly reasonable to me,” Ludwig replied. “What’s your issue, then? I think it’ll be interesting to learn some Valzick magic and combat strategy. Give us both a leg-up.”

“Because I-- we-- have been waiting too long for this, Luddy. Too long to be experiments!” Deacon pursed his lips, petulant. “We were finally going to get to be at a fort-- not a crummy training camp, but a real, functioning Macarinthian fort. With real soldiers, and real problems, and… and...” The teenager shrugged. “And now instead, we’re going to be rooming awkwardly with Valzick strangers, in a Valzick camp, learning about Valzick combat.” He sighed. “I don’t see why it has to be in Valzaim anyway. If we’re meant to cooperate, why can’t they come here?”

“Stop right there, Deacon,” Ludwig said sternly. “Because you know what I hear? I hear a soldier questioning his orders and his assignment. Soldiers do not question orders, idiot. Not if they want to win battles, and make a good impression on superior officers, and progress their careers. I know you have big dreams. I know you have ambitions. So do I. We’ve shared all of those plans with one another since we were children. But as of this second, right now, we are peon trainees, and our job is to do as we are told.” His expression gentled, and he nudged his upper arm against Deacon’s. “Our time will come. It’s just not here yet.”

Deacon swallowed hard. “It’s… the leave, too,” he murmured. “How they normally give you a few weeks at the three month mark, to go home if you want to. But if we’re in Valzaim? It’ll be too far. I doubt they’ll let us, Luddy.”

Ludwig’s face fell a little. “Ah, Deek… I’m sorry. I know you want to see Yolanda, and little Theia too. But hey,” the taller boy gave Deacon’s shoulder a light punch. “Six months out- that’ll be right on time for her third birthday. You can bring her a souvenir from Valzaim as a present. Maybe a fancy Woocifix- I hear Valzicks make them really pretty out of seaglass.”

“If she even remembers who I am.” Deacon sighed. He hadn’t seen his only child in nearly seven months already, not since his and Ludwig’s last leave, over Woomas. “You’re right, though,” the teenager admitted eventually. “It’s not my place to question orders. And… at least I can impress Yolanda with my Valzick once I get home. Her grandmum’s Valzick, you know. And always rolling her eyes at my terrible pronunciation.” He grinned crookedly. “Last time we were home, I tried to talk to the old bat in her native language, thinking she’d be pleased. Only apparently I butchered it so badly that she cut me off after two sentences. She told me it was like listening to someone pierce their ears with glass. My sweet wife, meanwhile, was laughing so hard she cried.”

Ludwig smirked. “Well we are both about to get a whole lot better at the language. Hopefully next time you can actually get three sentences out before she stops you.” His expression sobered a bit, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly though? Deek, I know you grew up your entire life hearing about relatives being sent all these exotic places around the kingdom. But me? Nobody in my family has been much beyond the ford, let alone out of the city. To be going to Valzaim? It’s exciting and… also slightly terrifying.”

“Aw, buddy.” Now Deacon was the one to pat his partner’s arm. “Don’t you worry. Papa Azrael will be there for you.” Reaching up, he roughly mussed the younger boy’s dark hair. “Maybe I shall have to buy you a nice gift, too, dear child. Since Theia might not want to share. What will it be? A toy carriage? Blocks? A ball?”

“You are very lucky Ludwig puts up with you, Deacon,” chimed in the ginger, Michael, who’d been listening to the partners’ exchange with a thoroughly bemused expression. “I’d have knocked your teeth out ten years ago.”

“I think the matchmen picked me for the jerk in part because of my patient and docile disposition,” Ludwig remarked dryly. “Don’t think I’ve never been tempted, though.” Flopping backwards on the cot, he added, “I honestly feel bad for the poor saps in Valzaim. They have no idea what is about to be unleashed upon them.”

***

Fort Pelagia, located a few hours by hippogriff or two days by horseback beyond the Valzick border, was not exactly a sight to behold. Located in a low-lying valley, it was fringed on two sides by wilderness and on the other two by a rather anemic excuse for a village, which wasn’t walled and seemed to sport-- to Deacon’s vast horror-- three separate churches while simultaneously bearing only a single tavern to its name.

“I wonder if they’ll even let us off base,” the teenager murmured grimly, his back aching as he and Ludwig-- accompanied by Captain Southers, who’d orchestrated their posting here-- cantered into town about a week after Luddy’s seventeenth birthday. His voice deliberately low so that his partner could hear him, but Southers could not, Deacon added, “They’re a lot stricter here, aren’t they? In Valzaim. About… being Woo-like.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ludwig agreed. “Not that we’d reflect well upon the Macarinthian military if the impression we gave the Valzicks was that we spend all our time drunkenly carousing. I’m sure they… have some concept of fun. I hope.”

If there was fun to be found at Fort Pelagia, however, it was not hiding in Arch-Colonel Katsaros, the Special Forces officer who received the teenagers and Captain Southers at the base’s front gate. An ebony-skinned man of perhaps thirty-five, his eyes were dark as steel and his expression as sharp as it, the Valzick apprising his new exchange students as one might examine a possibly-rancid basket of fruit.

“I hope your journey was swift?” the man asked dully after he’d let Southers and the boys through the gate, and they’d stabled their horses. “You’re the last to arrive, you know. By nearly a week. The program’s due to start the morrow after next.”

“Yes, well.” Southers, himself not a man of great humour, seemed to be stifling an eye roll; absently, Deacon noted that the captain’s Valzick was a whole lot better than his own. “We were waiting for Cadet Benigno’s seventeenth birthday, as I discussed with you in our correspondences. I extend you my thanks in allowing us to cut it close-- when I received the order from my superiors to select a pair from within my boys to send you for the inaugural program, Cadets Benigno and Azrael were without a doubt my top choice. But unfortunately, our internal policy is very clear in that we don’t send mage boys to fort until the younger of the pair is seventeen.”

“Hmph.” The Valzick’s eyes flicked towards Deacon and Ludwig again. “Cadets Deacon Azrael and Ludwig Benigno- come forward.”

Ludwig’s eyes twitched slightly, a minute frown pulling at his lips. His name, when properly pronounced, sounded swift and whispery- “Lood-vig.” But it clung heavily to the Valzick’s tongue, coming out as a flat sounding “Luhd-wig.” It sounded… ridiculous, frankly.

And the brown-haired boy’s disdain was not missed by his partner. As both Southers and Katsaros stared at the pair expectantly, Deacon took a deep breath, fingers skimming Ludwig’s arm in a brief gesture of comfort before he acted to obey the command, his hand snapping to his forehead in a salute as he stepped forward. “Sir,” he greeted. Ludwig’s eyes danced for a split second towards his partner in gratitude before he echoed the gesture. Katsaros saluted in reply, and then let his arm fall, a silent signal the teens could do the same.

“So,” he said grimly, circling the Macarinthian mages. “You’re on top of the list, hm? Must be something impressive, to be worth keeping us waiting.” His eyes flicked down to the identical silver bracelets on both boys’ left wrists and said, “Cadet Azrael- you’re pair bonded, no? Fully?”

No, we just like to match. “Yes, sir.”

“They’re strong mages, and they’re very adept at using the bond to strengthen themselves even further,” Southers added. “They’re a true testament of the expertise of our matchmen, Arch-Colonel. How they choose individuals who will complement each other.”

“Oh?” Katsaros said. “I look forward to seeing it then. However,” he stopped in front of Ludwig, his eyes narrowed. “I’ve had a few issues with some of the pair bonds that already arrived being… solitary, shall we say? Seeming to think they don’t need anybody but each other. So let me make one thing perfectly clear- I have no issues throwing you both in separate stockades on on opposite ends of the base if you make fools of yourselves or try to show up your Valzick brothers- got it?”

Ludwig replied with an automatic, “Yes sir,” but it was plain- to his partner anyway- that the brown haired boy was aggravated by the condescension and automatic lumping of Deacon and himself in with cocky jerks just because they were also pairbond mages. Deacon, too, was clearly rankled, but at least-- for all his love of drama-- the blond boy did seem to know that this was not a circumstance in which he should run his tongue. Instead, he nodded, saluting briefly again.

Southers only sighed. “They’re decent boys, Arch-Colonel Katsaros. And…” He leveled a pointed look toward Deacon and Ludwig. “They won’t do anything to give their fatherland a bad name.”

“Good to hear,” Katsaros said cooly. “Very well then- I’ll assign someone to show you both around the base; I expect you to be washed up by the time the bell in that tower-” he pointed to a tall spire dead center in the middle of the base, attached to a building that appeared to be yet a fourth church, “-chimes the dinner hour. Present yourselves to the mess hall then.”

***

For all his bitterness about being assigned to Valzaim, over the next few weeks, Deacon did have to admit that it wasn’t wholly awful. Some of the other Macarinthians were nice, and their barrack was far less crowded than he and Ludwig were used to, with the program’s forty cadets (twenty Valzick, twenty Macarinthian) divvied into five tidy bunks of eight. Not to mention, some of the Valzick combat magic was interesting, and having spent most of their lives around pair bonded mages only, Ludwig and Deacon couldn’t help but find it curious to watch mages operating alone, their magic belonging to them and them only. After so long of being bonded to each other, neither boy could imagine it: what it would be like to have that power bound solely to you, that piece of yourself shrouded from everyone else in the world.

Deacon thought it seemed rather lonely. (Not that he dared to voice this to the Valzicks. He had taken a very keen interest in not-ending-up-in-the-stocks, recently.)

It was less easy biting back all snarky comments when the cadets ran various drills, which at times involved using ponies for the Valzicks and hippogriffs-- lent to Fort Pelagia for the duration of the program-- for the Macarinthians. When the drill sergeants’ backs were turned, the Valzicks mocked the Macarinthians about their shoddy flying, and the Macarinthians mocked the Valzicks about their sorry riding, and everyone tried to pretend like this all wasn’t nearly as awkward as it sometimes seemed to be, with vast cultural wedges serving to separate the two groups even if they did share a god in the Woo.

“I think my ‘griff was thinking of eating your pony for lunch, Cadet Spyros,” Deacon teased one afternoon about three weeks after the program’s commencement, as the clump of recruits wended their way toward the barracks after a long day spent sweating in the August sun. “She kept wanting to dive. Poor girl, what are you Valzicks feeding her-- church wine?”

“Or maybe she just kept diving because she knew her pilot was incompetent,” Apostolos Spyros retorted. A hazel-eyed Valzick who had already gotten caned once for picking a fight with another of his countrymen, Deacon found that Apostolos was a great deal of fun to torment; the dark-skinned boy was scowling as he added, “And she’d probably choke, anyway. Your hippogriffs are idiots, I swear.”

“‘Griffs are a lot like birds of prey,” Ludwig put in, his voice neutrally polite. “They may not seem terribly smart, but that’s only because they’re far smarter than any horse or dog. It just happens the intelligence comes with a streak of independence, so you need a firm hand to control them. Have to earn their respect before they’ll fully obey.”

“I wish they’d let us fly,” added a Valzick called Toby Barrow. Deacon had already gotten into a row with Toby, too, after he’d attempted to ask where Toby was originally from by pointing out that Barrow was not a Valzick name, then for good measure helpfully adding that the young man’s fair skin and sandy blond hair weren’t Valzick, either. Ludwig had promptly thumped Deacon for his lack of tact, and Toby had been occasionally glowering at the hapless Macarinthian since-- a behaviour he briefly indulged in now before he said to Ludwig, “Are they a stiff ride? They look stiff. I imagine they’re like a boulder against headwinds.”

Ludwig quirked an eyebrow. “You know a lot about flying. They can have some issues against the wind because of their weight, especially on the hindquarters, and the lack of tailfeathers makes for wide angles on turns. But I wouldn’t call it stiff, really. More like… solid. It’s comforting in a lot of ways to have that much muscle backing up your wand.”

One of the other Valzicks, a younger girl with her thick black hair restrained in a dozen or so minute braids, gave Ludwig a sidelong grin. “You make it look easy up there. Maybe if they won’t let us fly them you could take me for a ride sometime, hm? And my sister, too.”

“Oh, I uh-” Ludwig seemed at a loss for words, his face shading a delicate pink.

Deacon, however, only smirked. While he was still very much getting used to the fact that Valzaim allowed women in their ranks-- even mandated them, where mages were concerned, hence leading toward eight women amongst the twenty Valzick recruits at Pelagia-- there was at least one clear bright side: how quickly a pretty girl could make precious Ludwig squirm. Like a marionette’s strings being pulled.

“Ludwig would love to take you flying, Cadet Argyris.” Deacon thumped his partner’s shoulder, hoping his Valzick wasn’t nearly as bad as he still feared it might be. “Or-- Chryssa, isn’t it? Ludwig can call you Chryssa, right? Such a pretty name, in my opinion. I know it’s one of the most common names for girls in Valzaim, but you really wear it well, Chryssa, did you know that?”

“If we’re getting on a first name basis,” Apostolos Spyros drawled, “maybe I could use Lunkwig’s?”

The flustered expression instantly vanished from Ludwig’s face, and he scowled. “It’s not Luhd-wig, it’s Lood-vig. It sounds nothing like lunk.”

“Oops, sorry, my mistake,” Apostolos jeered. “I thought for sure Azrael couldn’t have been saying it right; what kind of awful mother names their kid ‘Ludwig?’”

At once, Deacon’s jaw tensed, his hands curling into fists at his side as he briefly debated whether or not the caning he’d certainly receive afterward would be worth sucker punching the insufferable Valzick. This was far from the first time some of the brattier southerners had poked fun at Ludwig’s squarely not-Valzick name over the past few weeks, and while at first Deacon might have been able to pass it all off as good fun, this… wasn’t. Not anymore.

And he could see how much it was starting to upset his partner.

Fortunately, before Deacon could earn himself a flogging, Toby Barrow spoke up for him. “Oh, shut it, Apostolos,” he said. “I’d like to see you go to Macarinth-- I’m sure everyone there would pronounce your name just perfectly.”

“And maybe you should go back to Tengiz,” Apostolos huffed.

“... Kyth. I’m from Kyth. Not Tengiz.”

“Ah, but every place but the dark bounds of his own stupid head has to seem foreign and strange to Cadet Spyros,” teased another Macarinthian called Morrow. “What’s the point in trying to tell ‘em all apart? When they’re all just so confusing and scary.”

Ludwig didn’t respond to this, only huffing softly and averting his gaze. He’d always had self-confidence issues, and though he’d mostly gotten over being shy and mousy as he aged, he still tended to internalize when he was upset. Because of this, Deacon had grown to know the subtle signs of his partner’s distress well. A crease of the brow. Dark eyes avoidant. Arms crossed.

He didn’t dare verbally soothe Ludwig in public-- especially not with Apostolos around-- but once they’d arrived back to the warren of barracks, Deacon lingered deliberately outside as the rest of the cadets filtered into their bunks. “We don’t have to be washed up for church until sundown,” he said gently, in Macarinthian. “I think that still gives us time to take a walk, hm?”

Ludwig rubbed his face, nodding wearily. As the two of them turned away from the barracks and out into the base at large, he continued avoiding his partner’s gaze. His voice very soft, he said, “It’s not just here in Valzaim, you know. I had people commenting on it on occasion in Macarinth too. Not as… that, but still commenting.”

“It’s a traditional name,” Deacon returned. “Old. But that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it, Luddy.” Freezing to snap into an automatic salute as a Valzick commandant brushed past, once the man was gone Deacon added, “You shouldn’t let idiots like Spyros upset you. He’s not worth it. And he only does it because he can tell it gets under your skin.”

“None of them pronounce it right,” the younger boy hissed. “I’m so Woo-cursed tired of being called ‘Luhd-wig.’ It makes me sound like a cheap toupee.”

“No, you’d be a very expensive toupee.” … This probably wasn’t the right moment for that. “Sorry. I’m… not trying to make things worse. I just...” Deacon sighed, suggesting after a moment’s thought, “What if you started going by something else? I mean, lots of people have nicknames, don’t they? Most of the time I completely forget that Sera”-- this was Deacon’s older sister’s bonded partner-- “is not, in fact, actually named Sera, but Seraphine. I literally haven’t called her that… ever, Luddy.”

Ludwig clicked his tongue, his expression pensive. “Well ‘Luddy’ has always been your thing. My parents called me Lou, but frankly Spyros would probably just twist that and start calling me ‘loser’ or something of the ilk.” His mouth quirked upwards in what might’ve been a smile if the expression was less self-mocking. “And Benigno is such a mouthful that even the drill sergeants trip over it half the time.”

He folded his arms. “Though it occurs to me that the apprentices at Father’s smithy usually shortened his surname- called him ‘Master Benno’ or something along those lines.”

“Oh, yes.” Deacon chuckled. “And it was all well and good when they did it, but when I convinced your little siblings to try, suddenly I was ‘teaching them disrespect’.” The blond sobered. “That… does have a nice ring to it, though. Benno. And simple to pronounce whether you’re Valzick or Macarinthian.”

“And if I tell people to call me that up front,” Ludwig added, cheering somewhat, “most of them probably won’t even comment on it. After all-” here his expression turned bitter again, “-who in their right mind would want to go by something as stupid as ‘Ludwig’?”

“The only stupid thing is that you’re letting petty bullies get under your skin.” Reaching out toward his partner, Deacon gave Ludwig’s arm a firm but gentle squeeze. “If going by Benno would make you happy, then of course I want you to be happy. But only do it if it’s for you. Not for a miserable mouth-breather like Apostolos Spyros. Alright?”

The younger boy smiled thinly, reaching out with his opposite hand to squeeze Deacon’s arm in reply. “Thanks, Deek. I do think it’d make things simpler in the long run, not just while we’re in Valzaim.” Reaching up to muss his partner’s hair, the newly rechristened Benno added, “But stop trying to set me up with Valzick girls, even if they do keep flirting with me for some inexplicable reason. In another few months we’ll get our marching orders and they’ll get theirs and I’ll never see them again.”

“It’s because you’re so cute, Benno,” Deacon crooned, elbowing his partner in the ribs with a crooked smile. “And what’s a little snogging ever hurt anyone? Come on, humour me-- after all, I’m married, so I have to live vicariously through you. … Although thinking on it, you probably should not follow through on that offer to take Chryssa flying on a lark. I think that’s how one ends up tied to a flogging post.”

“I had no intentions of it,” Benno retorted dryly. “I guess the fact that you’ve a wedding ring and I don’t rather limits their options, so I’m the go-to even if you are more exotically pretty with your blonde hair and green eyes, and less scowl-y than Cadet Barrow.”

“Who is also married, alas,” Deacon said mournfully. “I got a nice glimpse of his wedding band when I’m pretty sure he was briefly considering decking me after my um, what did you call it? Failure at knowing how to talk politely with other humans?” The Macarinthian beamed. “Anyway. Have fun with it, Benno. How many other military assignments are we going to have where you’ve got pretty girls flirting up a storm with you?”

“This sort of thing is exactly why women shouldn’t be soldiers,” Benno said, his face turning scarlet. “It’s a distraction, and they should be being protected, not doing the protecting.”

“There, there.” Deacon smirked. “Why don’t you go lodge your complaint with Arch-Colonel Katsaros? I’m sure he’d be pleased to take it for you. And Captain Southers would definitely not receive an angry pigeon about us disrespectful Macarinthians, nope.”

“I’ll keep my complaints to myself,” Benno said with an eye roll. “We need to make a good impression upon the Valzicks- show them that Macarinthian soldiers are the pride of the nation for a reason.”

Into the Woods: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

For all their obsession with religion and piousness, Benno had to give the Valzicks one thing- their beer was very, very good.

The single lonely tavern in the village outside the base was doing a brisk business one night about a month after Ludwig’s decision to go by Benno, with at least a quarter of the cadets from the joint training program enjoying a night of leave from within Fort Pelagia’s walls. The leave was a reward that had been granted the cadets by Arch-Colonel Katsaros, after they had been dispatched to an area plagued by rogue hillmen and managed to work together well enough to take the criminals down with no casualties more serious on their side than a few bruises.

“Action,” Benno said with a wide grin, elbowing his partner. “Real action at last. This is why we enlisted, am I right?”

“It was a bit of an unfair battle, I think,” Deacon quipped. “A battalion of war mages against hapless thugs… They’re still probably blinking off the shock.”

“‘Least it earned us ale,” chirped another of the Macarinthians, the young man grinning as he ordered himself another tankard. “Woo, I’ve missed ale. You Valzicks need less church, more ale.”

“I wouldn’t let the natives hear you saying such blasphemous things,” joked Toby Barrow, his blue eyes twinkling. “Though I will admit this is much better ale than I expected from a place like this. Best I’ve had since I lived in Valla.”

“Oh, lived in Valla, have you?” Benno asked curiously, his eyebrow lifting. “What’s that like? The have a church on every other block there?” He chortled in a way that made it rather clear he was enjoying himself- and his drink- very much.

“It’s… loud,” Toby said. “Exciting. And yes, a lot of churches.” He laughed. “My wife hated it. She said the noise gave her a constant headache. When I got sent up to train at a fort just outside Malte-- on the northern coast-- Gwen suggested we just move there permanently. It’s calmer there. Quieter.”

“And then you got sent here,” Deacon said. “Your wife upset?”

Toby shrugged. “She’s making do. And once I’m past training and posted on the border, at least Malte’s close enough where I can slip home every leave and see her, and the kids.”

“Oh, my Woo,” slurred a Macarinthian called Karsten, who was chugging his fourth ale a few stools down. “We’re having a fun night, and you guysh are babbling ‘bout your wives and kids? Looshen up a little, yeah?”

Benno glanced sideways at Karsten, grinning. “Ah, you’re just jealous. If they want to pine, let ‘em pine. Maybe if they get drunk enough they’ll sing sappy love songs at the ceiling for your entertainment.”

“You wish.” Deacon laughed, then elbowed his partner in the ribs. “Speaking of pining, Benno. If you may direct your eyes across the tavern… I think you’ll find someone staring moons at you.” The blond winked, watching as Benno craned his neck to look. “See? At the booth. With the three girls.”

Indeed, of the three female Valzick cadets who’d settled in the booth near the tavern’s front door, it became clear quite swiftly that one of them was shooting constant sidelong glimpses over her shoulder, toward Benigno. When she saw him looking back, her dark eyes glimmered. Her lips curved upward. After seeming to receive some encouragement from her tablemates, she crooked the tips of her fingers in a clumsy wave.

“That’s Chryssa, yeah?” Deacon asked, grinning back at the dark-haired girl. “Seems she forgave you for never taking her on that moonlit ‘griff ride, Benno.”

The younger boy flushed, lifting his hands in an approximation of a return wave. “Woo, I am too drunk for this, if she comes over here I’m going to fall over myself or something,” he muttered to his partner, though it was perfectly audible to their barmates.

“We’ll keep her away, then,” Toby said-- at the exact same moment that Deacon beamed and called out: “Chryssa! Come sit with us here. I’ll squish in another stool between Benno and me!”

Benno felt his face heat up even further as, her expression brightening further, Chryssa said something quiet and furtive to one of the girls across from her before sliding out of the booth and walking towards the boys- albeit with a noticeable stumble to her gait.

“Hey guysh,” she said, grinning at Deacon and Toby before fluttering her eyelashes at Benno. “Having fun?”

“Uh-huh,” Benno agreed. “It’s nice to have some ah, some time away from the base.”

Leaping up to drag over the stool he’d promised, Deacon smiled as he gestured for Chryssa to sit. “Benno was really impressed with you earlier, you know,” he said brightly. “When you and um-- I dunno, whoever that other girl is”-- he gestured vaguely toward the booth-- “worked together to take down that oaf of a bandit. Impressive skills, Cadet Argyris.”

“Well it’sh not quite what you and Benno can pull off with your pairbond magic, but we do our besht,” she said to Deacon, though her eyes were firmly on his partner. “That fire spell you cast to cut off their retreat was really something else- I didn’t think anybody could have shuch fine control over a spell that big.”

“Well one of us supplies the power and scale, while the other controls the magic,” Benno explained, and took another sip of his beer. “That’s how we handle a lot of the showier battle magic.” He blinked, then said, “Ah, would you like something to drink? I could get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m alright.” Chryssa batted her eyes as she took the proffered seat, her shoulder brushing against Benigno’s. “How do you like your drink, Benno?”

Deacon was struggling not to chortle. “I think he likes it well. Since it’s about his three-hundredth pitcher.”

“You Macarinthians are like fish, you even drink more than Cour--” Toby paused. “Um, Kythians.”

“Aw, but we hold it well.” Deacon sat again and took another swill from his own tankard. “Right, Benno? I bet you could even cast spells right now.”

“Spells,” Benno glanced around at his partner helplessly. “Like what spells?”

Chryssa tilted her head, so that her crown was so close to Benno’s cheek he could feel her frizzy hair tickling his skin. “Hmmm…” She gestured at the barkeeper, slurring, “Let’s have shome water over here, hey? It’sh warm.”

The man obliged, bringing a small pitcher of water over to them, and Chryssa batted her eyes at Benno again. “You were going to get me a drink, right?”

“Ah, of course,” Benno said, nodding. Water to wine- he’d learned this simple party trick when he was thirteen. He drew his wand, giving it a flick and muttering the incanation. As soon as the tip of the want touched the water, red flowed from its point like deep maroon blood, consuming the clear water in the pitcher.

“Steady there, buddy.” As his own magic twitched in response to the spell, Deacon laughed. Woo, he hadn’t felt Benigno cast so clumsily since they were children, the incantation a staggering bull rather than a gracefully leaping deer. “I can’t guarantee it’ll taste any good,” he added to Chryssa. “Trick wine is always crummy even at the best of times.”

“Shtill impresshive,” Chryssa announced. Eyes lingering on the pitcher for a moment, the girl then tilted her chin toward Benigno, leaning so close to him that he could feel the warmth emanating from her cheeks. “You have shuch pretty eyes,” she breathed. “Like… like… uhm...”

“Caramel?” Deacon suggested helpfully.

“Uh-huh! Yesh. Caramel.”

“Th-thank you,” Benno replied, his heart beating painfully fast at Chryssa’s proximity. “You have a really nice smile. And… and you’re pretty and…”

Anything further he might’ve stammered was cut off when, seeming to come to some inebriated decision, Chryssa closed her eyes and pressed her lips against Benno’s. Caught thoroughly off guard, he instinctively opened his mouth in response, and before either of them was fully aware of what was happening, Chryssa’s arms were wrapped around the Macarinthian’s neck and she was kissing him enthusiastically. Taking an experimental sip from the pitcher of wine, Deacon could not wholly refrain a look of utter amusement, as nearby Toby only rolled his eyes. Meanwhile, the girls Chryssa had left behind in the booth both appeared somewhere between entertained and mortified, one of them laughing beneath her breath as the other pressed a hand to her forehead.

“That was… shweet,” Chryssa said finally, as she pulled away for breath. “You’re shweet, Benno.”

“And definitely neither of you will be embarrassed in the morning, nope,” Toby put in dryly. “And rumours certainly definitely won’t be swirling through the fort.”

“There are worst rumours to be party to,” Deacon said. He waggled his brow at Benigno. “You okay there, Benno? You look…” Not finding the right Valzick word, he finished in Macarinthian, “Bewildered.”

“I… I, uh…” he stammered, indeed looking rather like he’d been struck over the head with a mallet. Fortunately he was spared further when one of the girls from the booth approached them, gently hooking an arm under Chryssa’s.

“Chrys, I think you need to lay down for a while,” the girl said firmly. “C’mon, you’re done for the night.”

“Bye Chryssa!” Deacon said cheerfully, waving as the cadet’s friend led her away.

Once the girls were gone, the tavern door swinging shut behind them, Toby chuckled beneath his breath. “I don’t think she’s the only one who needs to be cut off,” the blond said.

“I’m not that drunk, though,” Deacon objected.

“No, you’re just an idiot,” Toby agreed. “Him, however…” Standing, he took a firm hold of Benno’s arm. “Come on. I’ll see you home safe. And smack Deacon if he has any more boneheaded ideas.”

“What just even happened?” Benno asked as he stood, too dazed to resist Toby’s tug on his arm.

“I think you snogged a pretty girl,” Deacon said. “Or… she snogged you.”

“Something like that.” Toby began to steer Benigno toward the door, Deacon trailing merrily behind them. “Let’s just hope you can stay on your feet until we reach the barracks, because I am not carrying you, Cadet Benigno.”

“We can always hover him,” Deacon put in, beaming.

“Don’t make me take your wand.” Pushing open the door, Toby leveled a stern look toward the Macarinthian. “Now, come on. Your partner has a hangover to sleep off before reveille.”

***

The next morning, with Benigno indeed nursing a hangover to end all hangovers, rather than dividing the forty recruits up into smaller training squadrons as per usual, after breakfast Arch-Colonel Katsaros summoned them all to the fort’s central assembly hall. A cavernous room with soaring ceilings and row after row of hard benches, the cadets had only been amassed there twice before-- once on the first day of the program for an orientation, the second after one of the men’s barracks had been caught with a stash of illicit booze. That meeting had ended with Katsaros snarling at everyone-- even the thirty-odd recruits who hadn’t been involved-- and the guilty parties with stripes across their backs.

… Needless to say, everyone was nervous.

“You don’t think this is about the tavern, do you?” Deacon hissed into Benigno’s ear as they filed in and, at a curt gesture from Katsaros, took a seat upon one of the benches. “Because… we were just having a good time. Not doing anything wrong.”

Benno glanced sideways at his partner out of bloodshot eyes, frowning slightly. “We were on approved leave, it shouldn’t matter,” he muttered. With a wince as the door creaked unnecessarily loudly when another group filed in, he added in Macarinthian, “Though it might not have been a good idea anyway. My head feels like someone’s driving a scimitar into it.”

“Aw, I’m sorry.” Deacon patted the younger boy’s shoulder, as the door swung open yet again adding, “But don’t look behind you. There’s someone there you probably don’t want to see.”

As Deacon had probably known it would, this comment only got his partner to turn around and look up when otherwise he’d probably not have. The brown haired cadet instantly went crimson as his eyes locked with, of all people, Chryssa’s. She seemed equally mortified, breaking the eye contact and ducking her head to hurry past Benno without comment. Benno groaned, burying his head in his hands. “You are never going to let me live last night down, are you?”

“Regretting your choices, hm?” Toby Barrow smiled grimly as he plunked down beside Benigno. “Sorry, Benno. Tough break.”

“He snogged a pretty girl,” Deacon pointed out. “How’s that a tough break?”

“Probably because he now has to train with that pretty girl in a professional, military capacity for the next four months?” Toby quirked a brow. “It’d be like if you’d snogged me, Deacon.”

“I’m married,” Deacon reminded.

“And entirely missing the point,” Toby said, before he-- and all the other cadets-- quickly snapped to attention as Arch-Colonel Katsaros cleared his throat at the head of the room, the Valzick officer looking as humourless as ever.

“You have all been working together for two months now,” the arch-colonel intoned formally. “And while there has been some progress, in most respects you all could do with a great deal of improvement in your cooperation skills. That being said, the other trainers and I have decided to initiate a special training exercise, to begin in a week’s time. Teams of four, consisting of one pair bonded Macarinthian duo and two Valzicks, will be randomly selected, blindfolded, and flown on hippogriff-back to a location in the Valzick wilds. Your objective is to work together to survive, and within seventy-two hours make it back to a predesignated end point.”

He glowered over the assemblage. “This is not a competition to see who is the most competent out of your group, nor a race to see who can get finished fastest. It is a team building exercise. Your performance will be rated based on how well you work together, look out for one another, and utilize each other’s various strengths and weaknesses. You will be given some supplies to start out, but once they run out you will have to hunt and forage on your own. Work together, and you should have no problems. Waste your time squabbling and trying to show one another up, and all you’ll get out of it is thorough humiliation in front of the entire base when you fail.” He folded his arms. “We will leave at dawn exactly one week from today- until then, it will be business as usual- dismissed!”

***

“I’m going to tear my hair out if I end up with some of the stupider Macarinthians,” Apostolos Spyros groused over supper a week later, the night before the cadets were to be dropped in the Valzick wilds. “The wilderness with say… Lunkwig?” He smirked toward Benno. “Just put me out of my misery then, alright?”

“I’m pretty sure no one wants to get stuck with you, either, Apostolos,” Chryssa muttered from a few seats down, mashing the lump of gritty gruel in her bowl with the heel of her spoon.

“Bet you’d like to get stuck with Lunkwig, though, right?” Apostolos waggled his brow.

“No.” Chryssa’s cheeks burned, deep scarlet against a chocolate complexion; the girl had spent each lesson and meal since her and Benno’s drunken kiss awkwardly avoiding the Macarinthian, as Benigno had ardently returned the favour. “I want to end up with… Morrow and Jack, maybe.” This was another pair of Macarinthians. “Or… Dev and Karsten. Dev and Karsten are nice.”

Benno closed his eyes, his brows creasing and his face pointed firmly down at his bowl. Apostolos, not missing this, smirked even more widely. “Aw, what’s the matter, Lunky? Got dumped?”

The dark haired Macarinthian didn’t reply, only leveling a scowl at his tormentor, while Deacon bristled as stiffly as a rankled cat. His nostrils flaring, he leaned forward, hiking his elbows on the table as he shot a venomous glare toward Apostolos, who was seated kitty-corner from him.

“You’re just jealous because you’ve never been kissed at all, I bet,” the boy announced. “You can only wish a pretty girl like Chryssa would snog you.”

“Oh, my Woo.” Chryssa pressed a hand to her forehead, smoldering with embarrassment. “Stop trying to help, Deacon. Because you’re not helping.”

“Don’t worry, Chrys, you won’t get stuck with him or Benno. Or Apostolos, for that matter,” piped in her preferred partner, Dev. “I bet me and Karsten’ll be with you. And hey, maybe you’ll get teamed with your sister, too. That’d be fun.”

“I think I need some air,” Benno said, his normally baritone voice somewhat shrill as he pushed upright. Without waiting to see what anyone else said or did he stalked out of the mess hall, leaning against the wall once he’d gotten outside with a frustrated sigh.

If he’d wanted to escape Deacon’s presence, however, he’d failed, the dark-haired boy’s partner arriving only a few seconds after him. “I’m sorry, Luddy,” the blond said, the door to the mess hall thumping shut behind him. “I was just trying to help. But I just made everything worse, didn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault,” Benno muttered, some of the tension easing from his face at the old nickname. He looked up at his partner, blinking a little as the blonde’s face materialized hazily before his eyes. “It’s just… Woo, why does Spyros insist on being wherever we are? Does he not have anything better to do? I thought maybe I could at least, I don’t know, apologize to Chryssa for that fiasco once I worked up the nerve, so I’m not spending the next four months trying not to drown in awkward silence whenever she’s around, but…”

“Apostolos is a miserable cad who delights in making others upset,” Deacon said. “You, unfortunately, just happen to be one of his favourite targets.” The boy sighed. “We probably won’t end up with Chryssa, though. If it’s any consolation. I mean… the chances are like-- one in a billion.” … Or one in ten, he realised, but what he’d already said sounded a whole lot better. “Maybe three days apart in the wilderness will be good, even, Luddy. Time to get over the embarrassment, and everyone will have so many stories about their adventures when they get back, no one will even remember the kiss.”

Benno smiled thinly, his eyelids half-masted. Woo why wouldn’t Deacon’s face come into focus? Dismissing it, he replied, “That’d be nice. And at least this time we’re getting dropped together- remember how they separated us our first real year in basic at fourteen and had us survive while trying to get back to each other? That was awful, you were too far away for us to share magic. But at least it helped us realize we could sense each other from a distance, even your parents don’t have that with their partners.”

“I bet we’ll impress the Valzicks with our survival skills,” Deacon bragged. He leaned back against the wall, next to Benno. “Maybe we should just head back to the barracks,” he suggested. “Get a good night’s sleep before reveille. Woo knows tomorrow is going to be a long day, and to be honest, my head’s pounding, anyway.”

“Good idea,” Benno agreed. “Must’ve worked too hard today. I swear my eyes are prickling like someone filled them with salt.” He realized vaguely that his voice was starting to slur a bit, but shrugged it off as he pushed up from the wall. “Tomorrow's going to be a long… long…”

As he tried to keep himself upright, Benno’s world quite abruptly started to spin. He groaned, grabbing both sides of his head in his hands and staggering back against the wall. Deacon jumped, blinking hard against the dark, before he reached out a hand to steady his partner.

“You alright?” he asked, his stomach pitching. “Woo, you’re acting drunk.”

“Deek… I can’t shee…” he muttered, his eyelids drooping so heavily that only the faintest slits were visible behind them. He sagged on the wall, muttering, “Tired…”

“Woo.” Deacon gulped. “Let me… let me get someone. To help me with you.” Letting go of Benno’s arm, his partner took a step back toward the mess hall’s doors-- but as he did, his own vision abruptly skipped, the headache that had been throbbing behind his temple morphing into a dizzy wave. “What the…” Deacon stumbled forward. “What’s… happening?”

But there was no reply.

Ludwig had already crumpled to the ground.

Into the Woods: Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

His lousy bedroll had gotten awfully hard.

The thin cushion had never been quite plush, but at least it usually provided some buffer from the wood floor below, and a soft surface for Deacon’s head. Now, however, as his temple throbbed behind closed lids, he could feel every bump, bramble, and speck of dirt.

… Since when had the barrack floor been covered in brambles and dirt?

Eyes flying open, Deacon lurched upright, his head spinning as he did. Even dizzy, though, the teenager could immediately tell that he was not in his and Ludwig’s usual bunk, the boy surrounded not by plain gray walls, but towering trees. A sliver of sun just barely snaked its way in through the leafy canopy. The air was muggy, and smelled of maple, pine, and crisp, damp earth.

Where in the ‘Pit was he?

“Oh, thank the Woo, you’re awake.”

Still wobbly, Deacon whipped his head to the left, not sure whether to be terrified or relieved when he found-- of all people-- Toby Barrow, the blond Valzick sitting cross-legged in the bracken a few feet over. The man’s blue eyes were limned with heavy bags, and he looked as nauseous as Deacon felt.

“I thought you’d never wake up,” Toby went on. “You’ve all been out for hours.”

All? Who was all? A sick feeling still loitering in his throat, Deacon steadied himself just enough to take a better sweep of the surrounding area, his stomach seizing when he spied two forms stretched prone in the dirt a couple yards away, their backs to him. One a girl, from the looks of the long cornrows that cascaded past her shoulder-blades, and the other…

“Ludwig,” he breathed. Then Deacon lurched his gaze back to Toby. “Where are we?”

“In the wilderness,” Toby said. “You know. The team-building exercise?”

“I… I…” Wobbling to his knees, Deacon began to crawl over toward Ludwig and the girl. “I don’t remember getting here. Or… anything past…”

“Dinner?” Toby asked with a jaded sigh. “Yes. I’m starting to think that was deliberate. And I knew I tasted something bitter in that gruel.” A beat. “More bitter than usual, anyway.”

“... Oh, my Woo.” Deacon wanted to vomit. “They… drugged us?”

“Affirmative.” Toby scowled as Deacon reached Ludwig’s side. “After all, what’s the fun of dumping people in the wilderness when you can drug them, then dump them in the wilderness?”

“I… oh, Woo, I feel sick.” Gritting his teeth, he delicately turned Ludwig over onto his back, shaking the boy. “Lud. Luddy, wake up.” Nothing; Deacon shook harder. “Luddy, please?”

For several more moments, still Ludwig didn’t stir. Toby, watching Deacon, grimly called out that he’d tried that before-- on all of them-- and not to expect much, but Deacon was determined. He prodded his partner again, in the dead center of the chest. Then again. Then again.

… Ludwig sputtered awake. His eyes were filmy, and he moaned, pulling himself into a fetal curl and clutching at his stomach.

“Gonna throw up,” he muttered in his and Deacon’s mother tongue, his face looking not a little green.

“Not on me, pleased.” Deacon backed away as if he’d been slapped, his dizziness slowly ebbing. “Easy there, Benno,” he added. “Deep breaths, alright? Focus on your breathing.” He glanced back toward Toby. “Have we got any water?”

“I did take the liberty of riffling through all our packs, yes.” Toby jerked a thumb at the four canvas rucksacks he’d placed in a neat pile behind him. “We’ve each got a canteen, but they’re only half-full. We need to conserve water until we find a river.”

“He needs to drink.” Staggering to his feet, Deacon paced over to the supply packs, hefting one onto his shoulder before he returned to his partner’s side. “Here.” The blond opened the sack and rooted through the provisions until he came up with a small leather water bladder. “Drink, Luddy.”

The younger Macarinithian obediently opened his mouth, accepting a trickle of the water, before waving it away. “What happened?” he asked, trying to push himself upright on wobbly arms, his eyes still not coming into focus. “I c-can’t see anything, Deek, who’s that with you?”

“Toby Barrow.” Deacon recapped the canteen and dropped it back into the pack. “And… we’re in the wilderness, Luddy. Apparently the Valzicks are big on surprises.” His green eyes fell on the still form of the girl, and a frown tugged at the corners of his lips. Chryssa? But no. Chryssa’s hair wasn’t quite so long, nor was Chryssa nearly so thin. “Who,” the Macarinthian murmured, “is she?”

Benno followed his partner’s gaze, squinting as his eyes finally started to cooperate. “Dunno,” he admitted. “Maybe someone from one of the barracks we haven’t worked with yet? I don’t think I’ve seen her before. Is she okay?”

“I’ve been checking all your pulses-- she’s fine. Just… out.” Standing, Toby padded over to his compatriots. The man then crouched as he slowly eased the girl so that she was facing them, revealing a delicate-featured waif who couldn’t have been older than fifteen. “See, it’s Selene.”

“... Selene?” Deacon wondered if this name was supposed to mean something to him.

“Selene Argyris?” Toby cocked his head. “... Chryssa’s little sister?”

“Chryssa has a sister? Since when has Chryssa had a sister?”

“Since, um…” Toby seemed legitimately flummoxed, gaping incredulously at the Macarinthians for a moment before he lamented, “Oh, Woo. Katsaros is always griping about how self-involved you pair bonds are, but… I didn’t realise someone could be this oblivious. You don’t know anyone, do you?”

“We know you,” Deacon objected.

“Yes,” Toby agreed. “Because I look and sound different than everyone else, and you wanted to interrogate me.”

“... And we know Chryssa,” the blond Macarinthian added.

“Because she was practically lobbing herself at Benno, trying to flirt with him. You couldn’t have missed her if you’d tried.” Toby laughed. “But otherwise? Name five other recruits. Not from your barrack, not from Macarinth.”

“Well there’s Apostolos Spyros,” Benno said with a slight scowl as he remembered the unpleasant boy. “And there’s ah… there’s…”

A flurry of names lobbed themselves at the dark-haired boy, but he realized with growing consternation that they were all names of people in his own barracks, or of other Macarinthians in the program. For the most part he knew the Valzicks only by their faces, and could recognize them but not really identify who they were or tell anyone much about them personally.

“...Well they haven’t exactly been endearing themselves to me in such a way that I’m inclined to make friends,” he finished defensively.

“My point stands.” Toby shrugged, rolling his eyes at Benno and Deacon before his gaze abruptly snapped back toward Selene as the girl began to stir. “Ah, there we go.” He set a steadying hand on her shoulder, lest she wrest violently upright as the Macarinthians had. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Selene. Don’t try to sit up too fast, alright?”

“Toby?” she muttered, dark brown, almost black eyes sliding towards him. “What’s happening? Where are we?”

“Woo only knows,” Benno muttered, his eyes fixed firmly on a tree in the opposite direction from the Valzicks as he tried to get the squirming of guilt in his gut to ease. “The team building exercise apparently started well before dawn.”

“...Cadet Benigno?” she said, rolling over to face the Macarinthian duo and trying to sit up. “Oh Woo, of all the people…”

It hit Benno then exactly what was implied by Selene being Chryssa’s sister, and he blushed furiously. “Let’s just pretend none of that happened, alright? Please?”

“None of what happened?” Deacon asked, his foggy brain working much slower than his tongue. Then it hit him, and he swore. “Oh. Yeah. That! We don’t need to talk about that.”

Toby laughed grimly. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve being punted into this group, but I’m very sorry about it, whatever it is.” He sighed, offering Selene his hand to help steady her as she tried to sit again. “You feeling okay, Selene? You’re so small, I worry whatever they drugged us with will hit you harder.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, rubbing an eye with the heel of her hand. “Just woozy. It’ll pass.”

“You’re awfully clear-headed, I notice,” Benno noted, glancing in Toby’s direction. “I still feel like my brain’s trying to navigate through pottage to get my thoughts together.”

“I came to a few hours ago,” Toby said. “Fun moment, that. I think some people are just more susceptible to sedatives than others.” He shrugged. “At least I’ve had time to sort through the packs? Once I got over panicking, anyway.” Leaving the others, Toby ambled briskly back to the pile of supplies, hefting the three rucksacks Deacon hadn’t made off with. “All have water and a very little bit of food. The one Pawsy stole also has five maps in it-- each of them outlining the detailed topography of a small chunk of Valzaim, and with a hypothetical end point notated on each, so I’m guessing we’ve been dumped in one of the five prospects, and we just need to figure out which. Then another pack has a tarp for shelter, and the third has a bare basic medical kit-- for an emergency, I guess. And then…” Pacing back toward his comrades, Toby sat and shook off two of the packs before setting the fourth in his lap. As he pulled open the flap and plunged his hand inside, he finished, “Then, there’s this.”

“... A stone?” Deacon furrowed his brow as Toby came up with what, indeed, seemed to be a small stone: perfectly round and glossy as ebony, its whorled surface smooth like glass. It was far too perfect to be wholly natural-- this much was clear-- and the Macarinthian could practically feel the magic pulsing off of it. “Have you looked at its runes, Toby?”

“Yes. But I can’t make sense of them,” he admitted.

Benno frowned, drawing his wand and flicking it at the stone. A wad of runes, thick as taffy, materialized in the air all around the stone. Selene winced, muttering, “My eyes hurt just looking at all that. No wonder you couldn’t figure it out.”

“It’s complex magic to have on such a small object. The stone almost can’t hold it all,” Benno agreed. “Parsing it to figure out the spells would take extreme precision… Deek, synch in?”

“Alright.” Drawing his own wand, Deacon tapped its tip to the runes on his silver bracelet. Though there was no change evident to outward appearances, at once the boy could feel his partner’s magic aligning with his, the borders between their powers blurring like wet paint in the rain. “I’m still worried this will take too much time,” he mused. “We’ve got seventy-two hours, and as far as Toby tells it, we’ve already snoozed away at least three or four.”

“That doesn’t mean we should cut corners,” Toby said tartly. “They didn’t just give us this stone for giggles, Deacon. We need to figure out what it is.”

“I didn’t say we wouldn’t try.” He huffed a sigh. “Since you’re still dizzy, Benno, I’ll read? You parse.”

“Fine with me,” the dark-haired boy agreed. “Hold it steady Toby; nobody bump me, this spell is so tightly woven if my concentration jostles I might trigger something by accident.”

“We’re all mages, we know that,” Selene noted dryly.

“Quiet, please,” Deacon said as Benno gingerly raised his wand toward the web of runes. “I need to concentrate, too. There’s no use of him parsing if I’m too distracted to read.”

Toby bowed his head, mockingly. “Of course, your majesty. Your Valzick servants will be utterly silent as you do your important work.”

Benno wanted to object that he hadn’t meant to be patronizing, but only gave a slight huff of aggravation and narrowed his focus to the runes. It was tightly wound, to be sure, but not in a messy way. No, this was a very precise, carefully calculated tapestry, the runes placed ever so deliberately so nothing damaging to something else was touching that something else. Teasing it apart would require taking very delicate care not to disrupt that careful balance.

Feeling his partner’s magic swelling beneath his own, however, like an extension of his own soul, Benno felt the familiar sense that he’d come to recognize when the partners fully synched. The feeling that he was never and would never be truly alone, that no matter how daunting the task ahead, he and Deacon would always be equal to it as long as they worked together.

“Somebody spent far too much time casting this,” Deacon grumbled after nearly half an hour spent studying the clump. “Woo, I thought we were mages, not cryptographers.”

“You get anything useful yet?” Toby queried.

“I don’t know.” The teenager gnawed on his lip, thinking. “It’s… weird. A whole lot of if-then chains? But they’re not threaded with Bryar runes. So like… A might trigger B, and C might trigger D. But then it’s daisy-chained so if you trigger D before you ever hit A, it backwards-triggers B? I don’t even know.”

“Okay, so what’s the starting triggerpoint?” Selene asked. “One thing at a time. If we can figure out the first piece we can work out the rest.”

“It’s something external,” Benno muttered, his voice distant and almost sleepy sounding as he was still in a half-trance gently coaxing the runes. “There’s hooks reaching for some outside rune to link to.”

“An outside rune?” Toby tilted his head. “Like… what?”

“... A ward,” Deacon breathed after a moment’s more consideration. “It’s tied to wards.” The boy suddenly looked very excited. “That’s it-- that’s what this is. It’s to help us navigate to the end point. And proof that despite the fact they drugged us and dumped us unconscious in the wilderness, our Valzick superiors aren’t entirely unconcerned about us not-dying-in-the-wilds.”

“So it triggers when we pass some sort of ward?” Selene asked. “And does what? Wards usually send a ping to the caster when triggered, so I guess they’re to help the commanders keep track of us?”

Deacon nodded. “They’ve probably stretched wards over the path they think we’ll take. Checkpoints of a sort. And the daisy-chaining makes sense, too-- that way if for some reason you miss a checkpoint, it’ll still register when you cross the next ward. And if you’ve gotten to checkpoint two, say, it can automatically presume you’re past checkpoint one. So it defaults previous chains to complete if you hit ones further up the stack, even if you didn’t meet the unique parameters of the original if-then runes. And… there’s a second tracking spell in here, too, I think. Only tangentially related to the wards. A passive tracker.”

“And what’s that accomplish?” Toby asked.

“I think it’s set to alert them automatically when we cross the wards,” Deacon said. “But they layered in a fail-safe, too-- a ranged tracker that they can activate to pin-point exact location in an emergency. So like, say someone vanished in between checkpoints five and six. Once they arrive to checkpoint five, they can activate the passive ranged spell, and use it like a beacon to find your exact location.”

“... So basically, they can keep track of us. Great.” Toby, however, was frowning. “But I don’t see how that helps us, really. It’s not like we’ll know when we hit their checkpoints, will we?”

“Except…” Deacon outright grinned, and he nudged his chin toward the last of the convoluted rune chains that Benno was presently working to sort out. “Look, there. That’s an incomplete chain, part of the ward series. And the high command is too careful to accidentally leave an incomplete chain, don’t you think?”

“Pyer, Sak, Brovetch,” Benno muttered under his breath. “Cuts off in a Repth/Tain fork. Looks like…”

“The start of a flare spell?” Selene finished, her eyes widening. “Linked in to the rest of the triggers.”

Deacon laughed. “Yes. So if we put in another Pyer at the split, we can begin to finish up the chain and set the stone to flare on our end whenever we hit a ward.” He mulled. “What kind of flare should we do? Visual, tactile…?”

“Not visual,” Toby said quickly. “That’s way too easy to miss.” He stared down at the glossy stone, heavy for its size but so small that even petite Selene could have closed her fist over it. “Make it vibrate,” the blond Valzick suggested. “And one of us can keep it in our pocket at all times. Monitor it.”

“One of you guys do it,” Benno said, “Then I can slot it back in place and we can try to figure out where to go.”

“Maybe I should?” Selene offered. “So you two aren’t exhausting yourselves with too much casting before we even leave our start point.”

“No, I can do it,” Deacon said quickly. Woo, he wasn’t going to slink away from a spell and palm the hard work off on a fifteen-year-old girlchild. “I’ll set it to shake. Will just take a few minutes. Take it easy, Selene, okay? You have to still be dizzy.”

Selene frowned. “I’m fine, Cadet Azrael,” she said cooly. “Didn’t the arch-colonel say this exercise was about working together and not showing off?”

“He isn’t showing off,” Benno objected. “Just doing his share of the work.”

“I think you’ve both done plenty, parsing that mess,” Selene retorted. “Let me help.”

“If you want to help, then start looking through the maps,” Deacon suggested, whispering an incantation beneath his breath to begin building the rest of the chain. Adhering the Pyer rune to the Repth/Tain fork, he shot a thin smile at Selene. “See? I’m fine. Maps, Selene. That’s what we need.”

“I already struck one of them from the list of potentials,” Toby said. “Because we are clearly not in the rainforest north of Tengiz. Even if they could have flown us all the way there while we were drugged, this”-- he indicated the coniferous foliage that enclosed them-- “is not exactly jungle. But otherwise? I’m not sure yet.”

Selene looked far from placated, but with an exasperated eye roll she stood and stalked over to the pack, drawing out the maps. After only a few minutes she discarded a second map in addition to the one Toby had already removed, explaining that the area it marked was largely unforested plains. The third, fourth and fifth she frowned a bit over.

“Okay so… this is going to be tricky. All of these are in forests like the one we’re in now. One of them is in a forest in the middle of nowhere, but the other two are ah… more notable. This map,” she lifted one, holding it out to the boys, “puts us in the Synzaim Mountains- y’know the ones that cut all the way across the continent to Curdin?”

“Courdon, you mean?” Toby said quickly. He pursed his lips, staring down at the map. “I wish they’d give us start points, not just end ones. Though given that these are same charmers who drugged us and dumped us in the woods… I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“They probably want us to calculate,” Deacon postulated, adding a triple-Kahmin to the budding flare web. “This whole stupid exercise is about using our heads, not just surviving in the wild for a few days. That’s probably why they gave us the puzzle with this stone, too-- it rewards a group who thinks on their toes.” He sighed. “What’s the last one, Selene?”

“You’re not gonna like this,” she said, “And I really hope it’s one of the dummy maps but… the Galfras. The last map would put us in the Galfras Mountains.”

Benno’s head snapped around in surprise, and he almost jostled the rune he was holding out for his partner, wincing as a ripple hit him across the bond while he tried to secure his grip. “They wouldn’t,” he objected. “We’re still in training, nobody in their right mind would drop trainees right on the border of bloody Meltaim.”

“Why not?” Toby asked, a certain jaded melancholy to his tone. “In four months, we’ll all probably be sent to that same border. It’d make a certain kind of twisted sense-- trial by fire.”

Deacon bit his lip. “How’re we supposed to figure it out, then? Which of the three applies to us?”

“If one of the maps is a forest in flatland, we can knock it out or confirm it if one of us climbs a tree,” Benno suggested. “Get a higher vantage point. Then we can see if we’re in the mountains. We should probably do that anyway, see if we can spot any water.”

“Right.” Deacon added another Repth/Tain to the chain, starting off the last segment, which would determine the duration of the vibration flare when it went off. “Wanna climb while me and Benno finish this up, Toby?”

“Shouldn’t I go?” Selene objected. “I’m lighter, and checking the maps hasn’t exactly exhausted me any physically.”

Deacon frowned. “The drugs might still be in your system. I wouldn’t want you to get dizzy and fall.”

“Afraid I’ll fall on that fat head of yours?” Selene retorted, her eyes smoldering. “This is Valzaim, not Macarinth, Azrael. I don’t need to be protected because I’m some frail, demure woman-creature.”

As Deacon raised a bemused brow, Toby only sighed. “Can we not fight, maybe?” he asked pointedly. “Selene, he’s just trying to look out for your safety. But Deacon-- you’re the one who was whining about our time limit. And while I’d rather not put her at risk, I’d admittedly be a much slower climber than her.”

“Well, a little delay to guarantee her safety is perfectly alright with me.” Deacon sniffed. “I’d certainly not want someone thinking that way if it were my wife or daughter at risk.”

Selene rolled her eyes, and before either Toby or Benno could make any sort of reply, stuffed the maps back in the pack and made a beeline for the nearest oak tree. Benno gave voice to a squawk of protest, but Selene paid him no heed, rapidly ascending the low-hanging branches before any of the boys could object.

“Woo, that girl’s going to get herself killed,” Deacon muttered as he aligned the final few runes. “Maybe Chryssa would have been better, after all. You could have just kissed her, and she’d have stopped arguing.”

“Shut up!” Benno groaned. “Dear Woo, can we just drop that please?”

“We’re definitely in the mountains,” Selene called from somewhere high overhead. “And if your lordships can condescend to taking suggestions from a mere woman, I see a break in the trees at the base of a valley nearby that might be a river- we could fill our canteens there.”

“Alright!” Deacon called up, sealing the web he’d painted with the flick of his wand. “Any clues if we’re in the Galfras or the Synzaims, then?”

“Hard to say,” she called back down. “I grew up on the coast, I don’t really know much about the topography of either.” As she started to descend, she added, “We’ll probably just have to keep our eyes open for clues as we make our way towards the river.”

Into the Woods: Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

The river was a fair bit further than it looked, and the group of four had nearly finished off the water already in their canteens by the time they reached the valley. At least the temporary thinning of the trees meant they could see the sun more clearly overhead; it seemed to be sometime around noon.

“I don’t think we should walk much longer without trying to figure out where we are,” Deacon said as he crouched on the riverbank with his water bladder. “We haven’t been lucky enough to accidentally stumble on the right path-- or at least, the flare hasn’t gone off. And I don’t think aimless wandering will serve us well.”

Benno rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s so bleeding hot,” he griped. “Isn’t it nearly October?” He waded out into the water, leaning over to splash some of it on his face.

“Clearly the Woo is just looking out for us,” Deacon said dryly. “Wouldn’t want his little cadets to freeze.”

“Careful, though, Benno,” Toby added, recapping his canteen. “This current’s swift. And the water’s too brackish to see the bottom-- you don’t want to accidentally overstep a drop off.”

“My family’s cottage was right next to a ford,” Benno replied. “I’m an excellent swimmer. But don’t worry, I’m being careful. Shuffling my feet instead of stepping, as I was taught from Papa’s knee.”

Selene stood up straight after filling her canteen, glancing in Benno’s direction. A frown pulled at her lips, and she said, “Benno, there’s something in the water by your hip…”

“Hm?” The dark haired boy looked down, then jumped backwards with a yelped curse, sending the water splashing up away from his legs and making the fist-sized black head of a water snake recoil with a hiss of surprise. “Where the ever-loving ’Pit did that come from? It’s huge!”

Toby, after startling for a moment, laughed heartily. “Oh, and it’s got a friend,” he called as a second scaly head poked up from beneath the muddy water. “Careful, Benno, you might step on a nest.”

“I’m pretty sure water snakes nest on land,” Deacon said. He narrowed his eyes, looking at the twin serpents. “They’re not water moccasins, at least. We have those in Ignera-- where Benno and me are from. His dad never let us swim in one of the better lakes because of ‘em. Our friends would sneak off anyway, but we only dared try that once and only once.” He smirked at the memory.

“Yeah, and almost got bit,” Benno retorted, still backpedaling from the snakes. “And both of our hides got tanned when we got back. Woo, are those things following me?”

“Aw, maybe they just want to say hi,” Selene teased. She pulled out her wand, flicking it towards the closer of the two snakes and casting a hover charm. “Here, I’ll get it for… for…”

As she pulled the snake out of the water, its companion turned towards her with an enraged hiss- and abruptly, eight more dark heads shot out of the water, waving and bobbing, baring long hinged fangs towards the cadets.

And then the hover charm finally pulled up the tail of the snake Selene was hovering- revealing an overthick back half to the serpent that branched off into ten.

“It’s a hydra!” Benno snapped, as all ten of the heads fixed on Selene, the girl seeming transfixed by the weaving and writhing of the monster’s many necks. Her eyelids drooped, and in that instant the monster lunged.

Deacon didn’t waste a moment: as the creature set its sights on Selene, the Macarinthian barreled forward, arms seizing the girl’s shoulders as he threw both her and himself to the ground. Selene’s wand tumbled out of her hands and, charm broken, the hydra plunged back into the coursing river, landing with a spectacular splash.

“Benno!” Deacon snarled, his body shielding Selene’s, hands snared like irons around her biceps. “Get out of the water! Now!”

The dark haired Macarinthian was already bolting towards the shore, his every step sending a cascade of water up in his wake. The hydra’s heads rose up from the water again, hissing in rage, and it turned on Deacon’s partner, lunging towards him. He heard the noise and spun, firing off a frantic slicing spell that cleaved one of the heads coming for him in two down the middle- and within seconds both halves had formed into a new, complete head.

“Don’t cut its heads off, you idiot!” Toby snapped, drawing his own wand. “Haven’t you ever read about hydras!?” He gritted his teeth, firing off a temporary shielding spell that dropped over Benno like a shroud, and then spun toward Deacon and Selene. “Let her up, Deacon!”

“But--” Deacon sputtered.

“I said, let her up!” Toby’s voice was weighted with command one wouldn’t have expected from a mere military recruit. “Now!”

Selene, seeming to have snapped out of her daze, punched Deacon in the shoulder. “Let me up or I will kick you where it hurts, Azrael! You want you partner to die?”

“Of course not!” Deacon returned. Grunting then in obvious aggravation, he nevertheless yielded, releasing Selene as he sprung to his own feet. “Benno!” he shouted, drawing his wand and pressing it against his rune bracelet. “I’m synching, alright? Hang on!”

Casting another shield spell as the first began to dissolve, Toby followed it quickly up with a curse that sent the hydra flying a few feet back. “Selene, to my left,” he ordered. “Deacon, go in the water.”

“What?” Deacon sputtered. “Who put you in charge!?”

“Deacon, not the time,” Benno snapped. “You can get offended and huffy when I’m not about to get mauled by the most venomous creature known to man!”

“He’s the only one making any sense,” Selene added, darting towards Toby.

“If you get us killed, I’m going to murder you,” Deacon huffed, bracing himself as he plunged into the water. By the time he was shoulder to shoulder with his partner, the rushing water reaching over his hip, the hydra had recovered from Toby’s spell and was searing forward yet again, retreating only when Deacon shouted “Trántagma!” and it writhed as the jolt of a stunning spell seized it.

“Sure, if I get us killed, have at me, you moron!” Toby called. “Now begin with its heads! Benno, start left, Deacon, start right! Work toward center.”

“But you just said not to cut off its heads! That just seems to make it grow more heads!” Deacon snapped.

“Not if we seal immediately!” Toby, much calmer than anybody else present, flicked his blue eyes toward Selene. “Flank Benno. I’m flanking Deacon. And please, please tell me you know how to cauterize?”

Rather than answer verbally, Selene hissed a soft spell under her breath that made a single, smoldering ember dance from the tip of her wand. Her eyes were fixed on the hydra, her expression one of grim determination.

As he gathered the runes in his head for the slicing spell, Benno glanced sideways at his partner with a smirk. In Macarinthian he muttered, “Don’t get bit, alright? I still need your stupid butt if I’m going to fulfill all those dreams of military greatness.”

“On three,” Deacon said simply, bracing himself for the litany of intensive spells that would soon be tumbling from his lips. “Love ya, buddy. And if I get bit, please don’t tell Yolanda I got eaten by a snake-- at least make it a rogue enemy soldier, okay?”

Benno nodded. “One, two… now!”

A flash of sunny yellow light exploded from the wands of both of the Macarinthians, cleaving the heads from the right and left ends of the hydra’s body. Before it could start to regenerate, Selene bellowed a spell that sent a jet of flame from her wand, leaving the head Benno had removed a cauterized stump. Nearly in the same moment, Toby echoed her curse with a matching one of his own, sealing Deacon’s victim.

“Good!” the blond Valzick called. “Next, then!”

Soon, the group of four fell into a rhythm, cooperating every bit as well as Arch-Colonel Katsaros could have ever dreamed. They interspersed their slicing and cauterizing spells with occasional freezers and stunners, forcing the hydra back as its remaining heads sought furiously to regain lost purchase, needle-like teeth gnashing in rage, wet scales glistening beneath the hot afternoon sun.

“This is actually kind of fun!” Deacon managed breathlessly as he and Benno sheared off the monster’s seventh and eighth heads. “Like play-dueling in the ford with Darby Kroft and Danny Sannico when we were kids!”

“Please tell me I didn’t just hear the word ‘fun’ come from your mouth, Azrael!” Toby yelled after he unleashed yet another cauterization spell, an arc of fire flaring from his wand. “We are fighting a venomous river monster that almost ate your best friend, how in the hells is that fun!?”

“Macarinthians are insane!” Selene called to him, incinerating her stump as well. “They get a thrill out of this sort of thing.”

“It’s backing off!” Benno interrupted, electing not to dignify the remark against Macarinthian culture. “Stay wary, but I think it’s done.”

Sure enough, with only three of its heads remaining, the hydra seemed to have realized it was beat. The monster hissed one final, furious time, before sinking back into the water beneath. The mages stood at ready for a full minute longer, then Benno sighed with relief.

“I think it’s over,” he said. Then he hissed, glancing down. “My legs feel like they’re crawling with ants, it stings like the ‘Pit.”

“Hydra blood is poison,” Selene said, coming up to the bank. “The water and current will have diluted it but you should come out and let us look at it all the same.” To Deacon she added, “Both of you.”

“Yes, Mum,” Deacon said tartly, electing to keep his wand out as he waded back toward the shore. Not daring to plunk down until he’d made it several dozen meters away from the waterline, the teenager scowled. “If you knew it was poison, why’d you send me in the water, Toby?”

“Because Benno wasn’t getting out of the water alive with the hydra so close, and if we’d all been on the bank, we’d have either been tripping over each other, or a pair of us would have had to back up too far to accurately aim precision spells.” Toby pursed his lips. “You done complaining now?”

Deacon rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t complaining. Only asking.”

“Yeah, well. Enough.” Toby crooked his fingers at Benno, who was still loitering on the shore just a few steps out of the water. “C’mere. Sit. And both of you roll up your trouser legs so we can get a look at what’s brewing.”

The dark haired boy sighed and obeyed, climbing up the bank and sitting down. The skin of his legs was red as an apple, inflamed, and blistered in a few places. Fortunately not bleeding, but certainly not marks to sneeze at, and Deacon’s legs weren’t much better. It was like the time they’d accidentally rankled a nest of fire ants when they were eleven-- only then they’d been within screaming range of Deacon’s aunt, who’d immediately dragged the pair of them back to the Azrael home to get soothing ointments smeared on the bites. For some reason, Deacon didn’t think there was a fully-stocked apothecary hiding in these woods now.

“There’s some aloe in the one pack, but I don’t know how far it’ll get you,” Toby mused as he stared down at the burns. “I think they meant it for like… a sunburn on your nose. Not-- that. I doubt there’s even enough for one leg, let alone four.”

“I’d say we should wash the skin off, but that would require plunging back in the river with the angry hydra.” Deacon gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to itch the rash. “Unless we empty the canteens we filled just before it showed up. But then we don’t have anything to drink.”

“We could heal them?” Selene suggested. “But the burn healing spell is pretty expensive to cast and we just used a lot of magic in that fight- it’s only day one and we’re barely started.”

“I’m surprised you even know the burn-healing spell,” Benno admitted, quirking an eyebrow. “Usually only military healers get the high-cost spells, soldiers like us get simple pain relievers and quick triage charms.”

“So in Macarinth they don’t teach you anything but basic healing?” Toby looked genuinely surprised. “What are you supposed to do if you’re badly injured the field?”

“Healing’s for women,” Deacon said, as though this were an acceptable answer. “Not combat soldiers. And we know enough to stop bleeding, or-- you know, get someone out of immediate peril. Stable ‘til they can make it back to proper medics.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Selene said with an exaggerated eye roll. “How could I have been so stupid.”

“Our main adversary right now is Meltaim anyway,” Benno pointed out. “And those heathens use dark magic that can’t be healed.”

“Also, if you’re captured by a Meltaiman, you’re already as good as dead,” Deacon added. “So what’s it matter if you know elaborate healing?”

“That’s… that’s the stupidest argument I’ve ever heard.” Toby pressed a hand to his forehead. “But fine. If you guys don’t want Selene and me to heal you, we won’t. You got a diluted dose of the poison, so the worst pain should fade pretty quickly. Twelve hours. Maybe a day at most.” He finally resheathed his wand. “Though it’ll look like all the hells for a few days, I think. Like a sunburn-- it has to peel.”

“How lovely,” Benno remarked, wincing. “But no, I don’t think we should waste magic on healing it. We still have no bleeding clue whether we’re even in the Synzaim or Galfras Mountains, and we’re burning daylight.”

“Actually…” Putting his wand away and rolling his trouser leg back down, Deacon grinned. “Did you guys happen to notice the patterning on the hydra’s belly? When it was charging us?”

“Um, no.” Toby looked like he half-wished that he’d just left the Macarinthians as a sacrifice to the hydra while he and Selene tucked tail and ran. “I was sort of busy, you know-- trying to make sure it didn’t kill you.”

“Time’s a wasting, Azrael,” Selene added. “What’ve you got, spit it out?”

Deacon beamed up at her. “It was iridescent. The belly.”

“... Are you sure it wasn’t just wet, Deacon?” Toby asked.

“Yes,” Deacon said. “I’m sure. And you know what that means, right?”

“I didn’t even know you weren’t supposed to cut off the head,” Benno retorted dryly. “You’re still being a cagey idiot, Deek.”

“It’s a quartz-scale hydra,” Selene put in. “There are oh… four breeds of them or so? But only the quartz-scale’s got a shining belly.”

“Yup,” Deacon said. “And I remember back in basic training, during one of our magical beasts lessons-- our instructor told us only marbled hydras live in Macarinth.”

“That’s… fascinating?” Toby ventured.

“He also,” Deacon went on, “told us where the other variations live. And I’m pretty sure quartz-scale is the rarest one. Like, super rare. I remember that because he had skins from the other three to show us, but no quartz-scale. He said it was too expensive. Especially because people use the hides like leather, since they’re so eye-catching with the glimmer.”

“Alright, so you remember pretty examples of hydra-skin. Totally forgot the whole ‘don’t cleave off its heads’, but hey, at least you conserve your memory for the important things, right?” Toby looked about ready to deck Deacon.

“I’m the one who cut off the head,” Benno put in waspishly. “And I’m sorry, it was about to eat my Woo-cursed face and I was panicked.”

“Don’t apologise, I would have done the same thing,” Deacon soothed. Then, glancing back toward the increasingly-agitated Toby and Selene: “Northwest. I’m nearly positive my instructor said quartz-scales only live to the northwest of Macarinth. And that the other reason it’s so hard to get their hides is because the majority of their range is in Meltaim.”

“Meltaim…” Selene echoed softly. Then she cursed. “Are you sure? Please, tell me you might be misremembering or something?”

“I’m not misremembering!” Deacon huffed, indignant. “Benno was there, Benno can back me up. Right, Benno? Our theory classes, before we moved to the barracks? When we were like, twelve?”

“I honestly barely remember that class,” Benno admitted. “But that sounds right to me. So… the Galfras then? That’s where we’ve been dumped?”

“How lovely,” Selene said, throwing up her hands. “I’m stuck in the most hostile place in all of Valzaim with the idiot who drunkenly snogged my sister and his boyfriend. This is going to be so much fun.”

“She kissed me!” Benno sputtered, blushing hard. “I was minding my own business!”

“And you didn’t have to try to feed him to a hydra in retaliation!” Deacon added, finally rising again to his feet. “Talk about overreaction, Selene. What kind of idiot sees two snakes floating in a river and thinks ‘Gee! I’ll just levitate these real quick’!?”

“I was trying to get them away from him!” she snapped crossly. “Honestly, you two are impossible!”

“I am going to feed you all to the hydra if you don’t shut up,” Toby said. Heaving a sigh, he glanced up at the sky overhead, using his hand as a visor against the blaring sun. “Alright. So it’s probably-- half past noon, a little after. And we have maybe six or seven hours before sunset. Selene, give me the map again, please?”

With a soft huff, the young woman dug around in the pack, producing her map of the Galfras range and offering it to Toby. Benno stood as she did so, his wrist gently bumping against Deacon’s in an attempt to soothe his partner’s ruffled temper. While cracking an automatic ghost of a smile at the touch, Deacon quickly reschooled himself, forcing back an impassive mask as Toby studied the proffered map.

“Okay. So-- if indeed we’re in the Galfras, our end point is a village off the Koúrdisma River, about…” Toby glanced at the small scaling key etched on the scroll’s bottom. “Fifty miles south of where the mountains begin to flatten out, give or take. Given the terrain, they’re probably expecting us to walk maybe… thirty miles a day, maximum. Which means we can’t be more than forty miles up into the mountains.”

“So still pretty far from Meltaim?” Deacon asked.

“Yes, we’re quite far from Meltaim. Not far enough to make me completely comfortable, but…” He shrugged, still poring over the map. “Our issue right now is that we don’t know if we’re due north, northwest, or northeast of the Koúrdisma. We do know, however, that at some point we have to head south. So-- that’s what I think we should do for now: pure south. Once we clear the mountains, we can hopefully use further context to parse out where we need to go next. Unfortunately there aren’t many landmarks indicated in the mountains-- can’t find whatever river this is, for example-- but the flatlands are better marked, and we can use some of those notations to help orient us if we come across them. Like a few lakes to the southwest. And a cluster of village to the southeast.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Benno agreed. “I, for one, am all for getting further away from the border. And if north is where those hydras are, south is where I want to be!”

***

Fortunately their journey straight south brought the group of cadets away from the hydra’s lair, but less fortunately, it sent them traipsing back into the uneven terrain of the mountains, the sun soon lost again high above the dense canopy. They walked until a bit after nightfall, then made camp in a modest clearing with the tarp from the supply pack rigged against a tree to provide some shelter. Despite Benno’s lamentations shortly before the nearly-getting-eaten-by-a-snake incident, the heat had disappeared along with the sun, and a chilly gale now blew steadily.

“Cuddle up close, you guys,” Deacon said brightly as they bedded down for the night. “Don’t want to get frostbite, right?”

“If I have to hear your voice again before dawn, Deacon,” Toby retorted flatly, “then you will only wish you’d gotten frostbite.”

The next day broke with a steady rain falling, the rhythm of it almost soothing as the water pattered gently against the trees. Still heading dutifully south, the group moved quietly, with little conversation, and it was around noon that Selene finally broke the silence with an almost absent: “Has the stone flared at all yet, Deacon?”

“Hm?” Munching on a handful of nuts they’d scavenged a few hours prior, Deacon glanced toward the Valzick with a knitted brow.

“The stone,” Toby clarified from beside Selene. “You know, the one in your pocket. That you spent like, an hour reading then enchanting yesterday?” He rolled his eyes. “The stone.”

“Oh!” Gulping down his snack, Deacon nodded. “Yeah. No, it hasn’t flared. But I’m thinking the wards might be sort of-- zig-zagged? To account for different possible paths. So we probably just haven’t tripped one yet.”

Benno flicked his partner on the ear. “Or maybe you’re just a crummy spellcaster,” he suggested, his expression deadpan but a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

“Are you sassing me, young man?” Deacon asked. “Unacceptable, I tell you! Just wait until your father gets home!” A grin pulling at his lips, he reached out and thumped the back of his partner’s head. “Truly, you wound me, Luddy.”

“I thought you didn’t like being called that anymore,” Selene noted, quirking an eyebrow.

“Have you ever tried dissuading this brat from doing something?” Benno drawled. “And honestly, that nickname’s always been his trademark. It would be a futile effort to get him to ditch it now.”

“Cadet Spyros is equally persistent,” Selene replied.

“Yeah, and Cadet Spyros is a cad,” Deacon said. “I tease out of love. He teases because he’s a right prat who probably spends all his free time staring at himself in the mirror like a cockatiel.”

“You tease everyone, though,” Toby said. “Not just Benno. Including people I doubt you have much, ah, love for.” He coughed knowingly.

“Aw, and here I was, thinking us the best of buddies after you didn’t let a hydra murder me.” Deacon pouted his lips, halfway serious. “I don’t mean anything by it, Toby. My mocking. And if I’m ever going too far, just let me know, alright? You’ll hardly be the first to whack me for it.”

“Trust me, I whack him all the time,” Benno agreed. “I smacked him that first day he was talking to you, remember? He didn’t really mean anything by that either, he just has no concept of the brain going before the mouth.” The younger boy shrugged. “He’s always been like that- very poor impulse control. I think part of the reason we got matched together was because I have the personality to rein the idiot in. But really, if he goes too far, just tell him to back off and he usually does.”

“I see.” Toby didn’t seem wholly convinced. “I suppose I’m just from… shall we say, a different background? A loose tongue wouldn’t have gone well where I grew up. So I learned rather early to be less… I suppose I’ll be charitable and reuse your word, Benno: impulsive.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Benno said, his voice absolutely polite. “I’m not justifying his being rude, just saying that if you call him out he’ll stop.”

“And what about all the times I’ve called him out for treating me like a fragile flower that needs sheltering from the big bad wind?” Selene asked with an eye roll.

“That’s… different,” Deacon said, frowning. “I don’t tease you about being a woman, Selene. The decisions I make about you, they’re just…” He looked beseechingly toward his partner, pleading for silent help.

Benno sighed, scratching his head as he tried to think of how to explain what was, as far as he was concerned, common sense. “Women are afforded a lot of respect. Their job is to look after the next generation- the future of Macarinth. It’s a very important role. Sooo… they can’t exactly do that if they get hurt or killed in battle. Or in an accident or however else. So it’s a man’s job to do the dangerous tasks and put himself on the line because when it comes down to it, children need a mother more than they need a father. It’s only fair that if she carries and births and tends the child, we in turn provide for her so she can do it.”

“All my life, I’ve had it drilled in my head that I’m supposed to protect women,” Deacon said. “Keep them safe. Then Benno and I got shipped off to Valzaim, and suddenly I’m running fighting drills with them.” He shrugged. “I don’t think you’re a fragile flower, Selene. Far from it. I have no doubt you can hold your own… just like you did with the hydra yesterday. But--” The blond took a deep breath, hoping Selene wasn’t glaring at him as hard as he half-suspected she was. “If I have to make the choice between putting you in danger, and protecting you by putting myself in danger instead, I’m always going to make the second choice. That’s why I didn’t want you climbing the tree. And why I tackled you at the riverbank and didn’t want to let you up-- because if that stupid monster was going to bite one of us, I wanted it to be me.”

Selene frowned, arms folded. “You can’t keep doing that, Deacon. We’re supposed to fight as a team and rely on one another’s strengths. You can’t be forever jumping to my defense and putting yourself in the firing line for my sake. It cripples me and could cost us you in the long run.”

“But I’d want someone to do the same for my sisters. Or my wife. Or--”

“But she’s not your sister or your wife, Deacon,” Toby pointed out, gently but still quite firmly. “She’s your comrade.” The man narrowed his eyes, not without sympathy. “I understand where you’re coming from-- trust me, I do. And I think it’s honourable, to want to protect women like that. Woo knows, the idea of my wife fighting in active combat scares the living hell outs of me, just like I’m sure the idea of your wife fighting scares the hell out of you. But Selene is right. We’re supposed to work together, as a unit, and you treating her like a civilian who needs sheltering is not okay. Protecting your fellow soldiers is one thing. Stunting their ability to fight while simultaneously throwing yourself in harm’s way? That’s an entirely different matter.”

Benno sighed, folding his arms and looking away. “Maybe we aren’t exactly the most social but… we do hear people talk. About how Macarinth is barbarous and blood-thirsty and women there are treated as property for men to fight over. But it isn’t true.” He shrugged helplessly. “If you were sandwiched between Lange, Synedon, and Meltaim, with even Valzaim flitting into disconcertingly imperialistic phases at the drop of a hat, you would prioritize a strong military tradition too. Defending the homeland is considered honorable- every family is expected to send at least one son to the army, to protect our women and children, and the other civilians who can’t protect themselves.”

“Valzaim is your ally,” Selene said, her eyes narrowed.

“Valzaim’s conquered half the west continent, Selene,” Deacon said. “And don’t you think it says anything, that even this-- a military venture to build camaraderie between our kingdoms-- takes place solely in Valzaim? We’re headquartered at a Valzick fort. With Valzick instructors. Presently wandering in the Valzick wilderness, speaking Valzick.” He cocked his head, glancing toward the girl. “We’re allies, yes. Both children of the Woo. But it’s not madness to think things are only that way because Valzaim has bigger problems to tackle. Tengiz. Meltaim. Even Synedon. If Macarainth stopped being your kingdom’s content little follower? Your army would be beating down our door in a heartbeat.”

Selene frowned, looking down at the ground. “So is that why the Macarinthian recruits are so resentful? Because of being forced to play by Valzaim’s rules?”

“Some of them, most likely,” Benno admitted. “Others? No, it’s because we don’t like it implied that the system that’s kept our tiny kingdom from being crushed by three massive, landgrabby neighbors is somehow backwards and barbaric. You don’t like us binding you and telling you not to fight, right? We don’t like having our hippogriffs sneered at and our simple enjoyment of being good at fighting derided.”

“Let’s strike a truce, then,” Toby suggested. “I’m not stupid enough to think I can control how things go once we’re back at Pelagia, but… we really are allies here.” He gestured towards the woods that surrounded them on all sides. “I mean, we took on a bloody hydra yesterday, for all the gods’ sakes. And we want to arrive to our end point triumphant, right? Happy? Not… glaring at each other and getting into rows?”

“Right, of course,” Deacon conceded, shrugging as if this much was obvious.

“Good. Then-- no more treating Selene like a piece of delicate silk. And Selene, no more harping on the Macarinthians for being Macarinthians.” Toby smiled thinly. “Consider me your neutral eastern mediator. And I bloody well don’t mind smacking all of you if you keep fighting. Because it’s not just rude: it’s dangerous. In combat, we need to be able to trust each other. And I think the hydra proved that when a real problem arises, we can work together. Once we stop squabbling.”

Benno nodded slowly. “The whole point of this exercise is for us to try and put aside our differences and rely on one another so we can survive. That seems only logical to me.”

Selene gave a soft huff, but nodded. “Fine. Though don’t expect me to do any hugging like you two idiots were doing this morning when we all woke up.”

“We weren’t hugging,” Deacon objected. “We were just trying to stay warm, obviously.”

Toby smirked. “No, you guys were cuddled up like puppies. It was kind of cute, really. Reminded me of how my oldest brother used to snuggle with my nieces and nephews.”

Benno blushed hard. “It’s impulse,” he muttered. “Something about the pair bond. Can’t always help it.”

“Oh, is that why you guys are always touching each other even when you’re awake?” Selene asked, a slight smirk forming on her face now. “The other bonded pairs do it sometimes too, I’ve noticed, but not as much as you two.”

“Maybe we’re just communicating in a secret code,” Deacon suggested. His eyes were starting to glimmer, too, like jades beneath a wash of sun. “About how to take down the Valzicks. And their silly little prancing ponies.” He patted Benno’s back. “Although we’ll make sure to spare the pretty girls. They snog so nicely, don’t they, Benno?”

“Alright, you are done!” Benno snarled, his face twisted into a smirk as he grabbed his partner in a headlock. “I am going to take that wedding ring and make you eat it you jerk!”

Grinning, and making only a dramatic but ineffectual show of resisting Benigno’s hold, Deacon chirped, “Aw, but then how will you give it to Chryssa? I thought you were going to propose!”

“Just don’t have the wedding on a river,” Toby said dryly, daring to crack a smile where he usually might have rolled his eyes. “Benno might inadvertently invite a hydra. And that would be such a damper on things. Selene might ruin her bridesmaid dress.”

“Boys” Selene said with a dramatic, haughty lift of her nose. “You never think of anything else, do you? I’m surprised Benno hasn’t abducted a demure Macarinthian girl of his own to make babies with yet.”

The dark haired boy blushed, releasing his hold on Deacon with a self-conscious laugh. “Mages in Macarinth sort of get… arranged by their parents. But my parents aren’t mages so nobody bothered on my behalf, and I’m not home enough to do much wooing on my own initiative. Although at this point it’s likely any girls around my age are already paired off, so chances are it’s not gonna happen.”

“I tried to tell him ages ago that my parents would arrange something for him if he just asked, but poor Benno’s too shy to take up the offer, alas.” Straightening his rumpled tunic, Deacon tapped two mournful fingers over his heart. “So instead he just spoils the ‘Pit out of my daughter whenever we’re home. Remind me again, how many dollies does Theia own from Uncle Luddy? Five?”

“She’s like a mirror image of her daddy, but if he was sweet instead of being an arse,” Benno retorted. “Must’ve been the instinctive pair bond conditioning making me adore her beyond words without any rational explanation.”

“And you two say you like each other,” Selene noted with amusement.

“Oh, Benno definitely likes me,” Deacon said. “Otherwise he’d have drowned me in the dell behind his house years ago.” Beaming, he slung an arm around his partner’s shoulder and yanked him close. “And don’t you ever think I don’t like you back, Luddy. I am the best man at your forthcoming wedding to Chryssa, after all.”

Into the Woods: Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

“I wonder why the stone still hasn’t flared,” Toby mused that night, as the four cadets sat around a small, crackling fire. The rain had finally stopped, but the earth remained damp and the starless night was downright frosty, Toby’s breath fogging the air as he added, “We’ve gone at least-- fifty miles? Maybe sixty. We should have triggered something by now. Not to mention, we’re still in the bloody mountains. I guess my estimate was off, but I feel like we should be out of them by now, you know? Tomorrow’s supposed to be our last day.”

“Maybe something’s wrong with the stone?” Selene suggested, gnawing absently on a burdock root they’d dug up an hour earlier. “Should we check? Just to be on the safe side.”

“Alright. If you want.” Deacon shrugged, stifling a yawn as he reached into the deep pocket of his trousers and began to riffle through its contents. In short order he’d withdrawn, among other things, a damp book of matches, a metal toothpick he always carried, and a small brick of wand rosin-- but no stone. “Woo, Mum’s right, isn’t she, Luddy?” he mused. “I do need to clean out my pockets more often.”

“Why isn’t your rosin in a pouch?” Toby, looking amused than anything, ticked a brow. “I’m surprised you haven’t melted it into a sticky mess.”

“Speaking of my mum-- you sound just like her.” Deacon smirked, still rooting. He pulled out two coins, both Macarinthian, and set them absently aside amidst the rest of his stray belongings. “Why’d they make the cursed stone so small, anyway? Of course it’ll be the last thing I yank out, won’t it?”

“Everything in your pocket is soaked,” Benno noted, picking up the matchbook and looking into it absently. “...And this thing is mostly empty, the few matches still inside it are broken. Where’d the rest go?”

“I dunno.” But Deacon’s smirk had slowly started to invert into a frown. “I must have pulled it out already,” he said, eyes flicking toward the pile of soggy knicknacks. “Because there’s nothing left in my pocket but lint.”

“How could you have missed it?” Toby was frowning, too. “It’s small, but not that small.”

“I’m sure it’s right here,” Deacon said simply, sifting through the stack-- and freezing starkly after a moment. “Luddy,” he said then, his green eyes going wide as full moons. “My compass. Where’s my compass? The brass one. That your father gave me for my sixteenth birthday.”

Benno tensed. “You… you didn’t stick any of your stuff in the packs, did you? I mean you had so much junk in your pockets, maybe you shifted some of it around and just… forgot.”

“Oh my Woo,” Selene squealed, her hands clenching into fists. “The river. The hydra. Wh-what if…”

“No.” His heart skipping several beats, Deacon hefted up his pack from where it rested at his feet. He knew he hadn’t put any of his personal belongings in there-- not the compass, and certainly not the Woo-cursed flare stone-- but even still, he shook it open, hands trembling as he sorted through its contents. A canteen, half-empty. A sachet of acorns they’d collected that afternoon. A final link of dried sausage from the cadets’ original rations. And-- that was it.

That was it.

“No, no, no,” Deacon repeated, panic bursting in him as he dropped the pack and snapped his hand back to his pocket. He searched again, found it empty, and nearly let out a whimper. “It’s gone. It’s gone. Oh, ’Pit-- we haven’t had it in nearly two days!”

“So we could’ve passed checkpoints and had no idea,” Benno muttered, his dark eyes going wide. “Or we could be wandering in bloody circles and have no idea! ‘Pit, and there’s no way we can go back for it, it’s too far and that’s liable to get us even more lost!”

“We’re not lost,” Toby said quickly, though there was no missing the anxiety that was suddenly lurking in his eyes, too. “I mean, I’ve been casting directional spells every hour this whole time. We’re going south. Not heading in circles.” As if to illustrate this point, he drew his wand and pointed it upward, whispering beneath his breath: “Vóreios.”

Light bulbed from the tip of the rod, listing languidly for a moment as though suspended in space and time. Then, sharply, it banked back over Toby’s shoulder, pointing toward the copse of pine trees that rose behind the group of cadets.

“See?” Toby said, extinguishing the spell. “That’s north. And that’s where we came from. We’re going the right way. We are.”

“The arch-colonel is still going to tan our hides for losing the stone,” Selene remarked glumly. “That must’ve been so expensive to have enchanted like it was. And if we’re not pinging any of the wards they have to be wondering where the ‘Pit we are.”

“We’re bound to get a lecture for sure,” Benno agreed dourly. “But we have to keep moving- it’s our only real prayer at this point. At least if we get to the end point we still pass their test, even if they lost track of us for a while.”

Deacon sighed and winced all at once. “And hey, maybe once they hear about the hydra, we’ll get some extra points?” He swallowed hard, grim-faced as he began to drop his soggy belongings back into his empty pocket. “But…” Flicking his gaze toward Selene, he said softly, “We don’t mention that she hovered it, alright? Leave that out. We’re all going to get striped no matter what, there’s no use earning her extra.”

“For once, I’m not going to argue,” Selene said with a wince. In an undertone she added, “Sorry. About your compass.”

“Thanks,” Deacon replied. “It wasn’t worth that much, it was just… sentimental.” He shrugged. “And I’m sorry, too. For what it counts. That I didn’t think to take the stone out before I went into the river. And that I also didn’t think to bloody figure out why it wasn’t flaring for so long. I should realised something was wrong.”

“It’s okay,” Toby said. “We’re supposed to be a team, Deacon. You were holding the stone, yes. But it was up to all of us to think on our toes with it, and we all should have realised it wasn’t pinging. Plus,” he added, a trace of humour creeping back to his voice, “as much as I’m going to regret my life choices when I’m tied to that lashing post, I’d much rather face the whip than have Benno here eaten by a hydra. You didn’t have time to go sorting through your pockets, Deacon. You did what you had to in order to save your comrade.”

“I suppose nothing will be quite so apt for building team spirit as all of us sleeping on our stomachs and bemoaning our misery to each other,” Benno concurred. He flopped against Deacon’s shoulder with a tired sigh. “Let’s get some rest- tomorrow we face our doom.”

***

A day and a half later, there was still no end to the mountains in sight.

No matter how far south the four cadets travelled, the forest and hill country continued to stretch out before them, all of it looking so much the same that if it weren't for Toby’s directional spells they might’ve really thought they were wandering in circles.

It was a little after noon on their fourth day in the wilds when Benno, his shoulders shaking and his jaw clenched, stopped dead midstride. The other three checked themselves, turning to see the dark haired Macarinthian staring directly down at the ground, his breathing sharp and jagged.

“We’re lost,” he said flatly.

“We’re not lost,” Toby retorted. “The directional spells say--”

“Forget the bloody directional spells!” Deacon interrupted, panic anew pulsing in him as his partner had finally voiced what he’d been fearing since first they’d discovered the flare stone gone. “We’ve been walking for four days, Toby. Four days. The training exercise was only supposed to be three, and we were only supposed to be in the mountains for like… half of that, if even. You can’t deny that something has gone extremely wrong.” He dug his heel into the dirt below, gesturing sharply at the sloping forest that still rose as far as the eye could see. “This,” the blond Macarinthian announced, “is not flatlands, Toby. It is nowhere near the end point. We are lost.”

“What if we’ve been wrong?” Selene asked, her fists quivering. “I mean… they said we’d start at dawn, that we’d be blindfolded. But we weren’t were we? No, they drugged our food and dumped us unconscious. What if that’s not all they lied about?”

Benno blinked in confusion, then realization seemed to hit him. “You mean… this isn’t a three-day exercise?”

Deacon’s blood ran cold. Instinctively he wanted to deny it, insist that even someone like Arch-Colonel Katsaros wouldn’t go nearly so far, but the teenager stopped himself short as he realised it made a certain kind of sense. After all, half of military training was learning how to cope with high stress situations. Developing methods to expect the unexpected and keep yourself rational even when everything was falling apart. So what if Selene was right? What if the cadets had been short-sighted to think the lies had ended at the outset, that from then on everything else would go just as Katsaros had said it would?

“What… what if this is some-- test of our determination?” he ventured cautiously, feeling like he might be sick. “And our ability to keep our cool? I mean-- what if they told us three days but it’s actually way more than that?” Swallowing down bile, he went on a bit shrilly, “Oh, Woo. And that’d make sense with the tracking stones, too. I mean, what’s the point of going through such expensive enchantments for a three day jaunt through friendly wilderness? I’m pretty sure mine or Benno’s ten-year-old sisters could survive that. However, if you were unleashing a bunch of witless trainees into what you told them was a three-day mission, but was in fact far longer, and you wanted to be sure you could reach them quickly if they failed the ‘reacting calmly under pressure’ part of the test…”

“Except,” Toby said grimly, his throat bobbing as he gulped and reached for the pack on Selene’s shoulder to dig out the map, “that would mean we’re way further north than we thought. Like… scarily further.”

“No,” Selene whispered hoarsely. “Th-they couldn’t have… They dumped us unconscious, they wouldn’t have!”

“B-but Deek,” Benno said, his voice shaking. “You even said it. That hydra- where does it range?”

“Meltaim.” Deacon clasped a hand to his temple, suddenly very dizzy. “Most of their range is in Meltaim.”

“But why would they do that?” Toby insisted. “What use could they have of putting us in Meltaim? What, did they dump the other groups in Lange and Synedon? Ferry one off to the bloody jungles of Tengiz?”

“They could have done exactly that,” Deacon retorted. “And even more reason for the Woo-cursed tracking stones! Deposit your unconscious cadets in enemy territory, and you should probably keep tabs on them, after all.”

Selene abruptly spun around, darting behind a bush- moments later, the boys winced as the telltale sound of retching sounded from the patch of brush where she’d vanished. Tentatively Benno called out, “Selene? Are you alright?”

The only reply was a whimper; the lump in Deacon’s throat grew harder. Insisting to himself that he was only acting because Selene was a friend, not anything to do with her gender, he padded around toward her and braced himself against the sour smell as he placed a gentle hand on the small of her hunched-over back.

“You need water?” he asked her. “You can have my canteen if you want. Since I know yours was nearly out a few hours ago.”

“Th-thanks,” she replied hoarsely. “S-sorry. J-just. My Auntie. She was from a village in the Galfras. The r-raiders killed her, and took my cousin. I was nine.”

Pulling out his waterskin and handing it off to Selene, Deacon sighed in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Selene. I can’t even imagine that. But…” He steeled himself. “We’re going to be okay. We’re war mages, aren’t we? Soldiers. For Woo’s sake, you helped mutilate an eleven-headed beast of the ‘Pit a few days ago. If I were a Meltaiman, I’d be scared of you, not the other way around.”

She gave a very small ghost of a smile as she accepted the skin, taking a tiny sip and swishing it around in her mouth before spitting. She followed it up with a longer pull before handing the skin back to Deacon. “W-we need to find more water. Soon. If we’re going to be out here longer than we expected to be, we need to… change tack. Focus on our necessities, instead of just on walking as far and as fast as we can.”

“Right. Go into survival mode.” Deacon nodded. “Shelter, water, food. Start building up a surplus of rations. In case we hit a dry spell.”

Benno, coming up behind them, gave a gusty sigh. “You know, suddenly Fort Kenley seems like a dream assignment, doesn’t it?”

“At least we can one-up Bryan at family parties,” Deacon said sardonically. “Oh, you spent your fort assignment at Fort Kenley? Well, Benno and I got flung into the Woo-darned Meltaiman wilderness. And that was before the hydra showed up. More wine, Bryan?”

“Dear Woo, I wonder where Chryssa ended up,” Selene murmured. “I hope she’s okay.”

“I’m sure she’s… fine, Selene,” Benno said softly. “We’re all going to be fine.”

“We just need to keep our wits about us,” Deacon agreed. “And hey-- after the hydra, any Meltaiman we run across should be easy, right? At least they don’t regenerate their heads.”

***

The following afternoon, the four cadets decided, for the first time since they’d landed in the wilderness, that they might be best splitting up temporarily. This would allow them to better utilize their time, one half of the party hunting while the other half went out searching for water and foraging. They agreed to meet back up around dusk- using Deacon and Benno’s inherent ability to track one another at a distance.

Benno and Toby ended up going off together to try and do some hunting, while Deacon and Selene scoured the woods for fresh water and other edibles.

They eventually found a small spring, the water crystal clear and blessedly free of hydras, and knelt beside the bank to fill their canteens.

“Woo, after all of this, I am probably going to do an impression of Chryssa the night she kissed Benno and get positively smashed,” Selene mused. “I never imagined the Special Forces training would be this brutal.”

“Oh, you’re not having the time of your life?” Deacon said from beside her, screwing the cap back onto Toby’s canteen. “Weird. I always aspired to be dumped unconscious in the Meltaiman wilderness. Kind of a dream of a mine, you know? Become a soldier, get married, have kids… wake up full of sedatives in the Meltaiman mountains. All on the list.”

“I wonder what they intended to do if it turned out one of us had an allergy to something in those drugs,” Selene said dryly. “That would’ve put a damper in their elaborate scheme. Though I suppose they’d have figured it out long before they even got us on the hippogriffs and addressed it.”

“I wonder how they even picked who to send where,” Deacon said, as he moved on to filling his own waterskin. “Did they just drag us all off to the training yards and play eenie-meenie-minie-mo? You get to go to Synedon! And you get to go to Lange! And ooh-- you to Meltaim, yay!” He smirked. “Just think, Selene, you could have ended up in the Tengizan jungle with Apostolos Spyros. Aren’t you glad you woke up to my smiling mug instead?”

Selene rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what Spyros’ issue is. But maybe getting chased around by Tengizan jaguars will give him a badly needed reality check. A girl can dream, right?”

Deacon, however, did not reply, the boy gone suddenly-- rarely-- silent as he lurched abruptly to his feet. The canteen, still uncapped, tumbled from his hands, landing with a splash in the rushing river; Selene only just managed to reach out and snatch it up before the current carried it away.

“Watch it, we can’t lose this!” she snapped crossly, looking up at Deacon with a scowl. Her expression eased, however, when she noticed the look on his face- or, perhaps more accurately, the lack of one: Deacon had gone deathly pale, expression utterly frozen as something akin to panic danced in his emerald green eyes.

“Deacon? What’s the matter?” Selene asked tentatively, her voice hushed. “Did you hear something?”

He shook his head, jaw clenched tight. “No,” he managed. “No-- it’s just… it’s…” He spun on his heel, facing the dense forest that loomed behind them. “It’s Luddy. Something’s wrong with Luddy.”

“What?” Selene looked absolutely baffled. “What makes you say that? He’s nowhere around, probably miles off from here. I didn’t hear a scream or anything-”

“I just know, okay?” Without waiting to see if she’d follow, Deacon started sharply toward the trees, his stride verging on a sprint. “I need to get to him, I need to get to him--”

“Wait you idiot!” she snapped, shoving the canteens in her sack and darting after Deacon. “Even if you’re right, it won’t do him any good for you to go surging through the thicket and attract every predator in the forest! Not to mention any Meltaiman border patrols!”

“What if that’s what’s got him?” Deacon retorted, a bit too shrilly. “A bear, or-- or Meltaimans, or…” Rather than heed Selene’s advice, if anything Deacon hurried his pace further. “Either stay with me or don’t-- I don’t care, but I need to get to him now.”

“Deacon if you get us all killed over your random feelings-”

“It’s not a random feeling, and I’m not wasting time arguing with you,” Deacon growled. Eyes smoldering, he flicked a pointed look toward Selene, hissing, “Now do as I say.”

Selene bristled, grinding her teeth in fury. Part of her was tempted to dig her heels into the dirt and refuse to follow, galled at this self-absorbed Macarinthian who was, once again, putting his Woo-cursed pair bond over anything else. But even if he refused to learn anything from an assignment so desperate it had landed them in the backwoods of Meltaim, Selene was determined not to fall into the same trap. She followed, only snarling, “When we find him, you are getting a black eye, Azrael. Count on it!”

Deacon didn’t respond, merely shooting the Valzick one last poisonous look before he hunched his shoulders and focused his energy on weaving between the trees, pine needles crunching beneath his boots as he stalked. It were as if the Macarinthian was following the pull of an invisible string, his path seemingly random to all outward appearances but deliberate in his own mind, as though he were a predator on the trail of unseen prey.

“Almost there,” he muttered beneath his breath after perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, hands clenched into tense fists at his side. Before Selene could reply, the blond took a deep breath and ducked between a pair of knotty oaks, their low-hanging branches brushing against his hair. “Luddy?” he called out, loudly enough to make Selene wince. “Luddy, Toby, you there?”

“Pipe down!” Selene hissed, as almost simultaneously there was a sharp cry from beyond the trees of, “Deacon!”

The voice was Benno’s, and it was high and raspy with pain; Deacon didn’t waste another moment, frantic as he burst forward. “Luddy!” he repeated, heart hammering against his ribs. “Luddy, what happened, what…”

Any further words froze in Deacon’s throat as, trees surmounted, he found himself standing in a small clearing, its ground flat for only a few short paces before the earth abruptly gave away to a nearly-sheer drop off. Bile was rising in Deacon’s throat even before his gaze whipped toward Benno, the younger teenager sprawled on the ground only a foot or so away from the vertical slope, his dirt-streaked face written with pain as his left ankle pointed in a wholly unnatural position.

“Ludwig, oh my Woo.” Deacon dropped to his knees at his partner’s side, hands shaking as he pressed a hand to Benno’s clammy forehead. “Luddy, what happened, where’s Toby, are you okay?”

“He went to find you,” Benno replied, immediately pressing his face into Deacon’s chest. “We were g-going after a grouse. Didn’t see the d-drop off until I was almost on top of it.”

“You fell?” Deacon croaked, nearly throwing up as he glanced toward the incline. It tumbled down for what had to be at least twenty feet before flattening again. “Oh, Woo. Did you cut anything? Hit your head?” He smoothed his partner’s mussed hair. “What hurts, Benno?”

“B-broke my leg,” Benno muttered. “My arms and sides are raw and bloody. It… it doesn’t hurt as much, but that’s not a good thing, not from what they told us in basic-”

“Shock,” Selene murmured, her face pale as she looked down at the dark haired Macarinithian. “It means you’re probably going into shock. We need to get Toby back over here, how can we call him back?”

“He left these-” Benno indicated a pair of stones near his hand, without lifting his face from his partner’s tunic. “Tap them together and he’ll come back.”

“Selene, c-could you?” Deacon asked, not wanting to let go of Benno. To his partner, he added, “It’s going to be alright, Luddy. We’ll get you all fixed up. Promise.”

Selene nodded, wordlessly lifting the two stones and gently tapping them together. They warmed briefly against her palms, and she said, “I think that worked. I’ll do it again if he’s not back in ten minutes. In the meantime, Deacon do what you can to try and keep Benno warm. If he’s getting shocky it’s important not to let him get cold.”

Deacon nodded mutely, hefting up his partner’s pack from where Toby must have fashioned it into a makeshift pillow. “Let me cover you with the tarp, alright?” he said. Deacon gulped. “H-how did you get back up here anyway? Woo, please tell me you didn’t climb, Benno.”

“N-no, Toby used a hover spell to pull me up,” he replied. “H-how did you know something was even wrong? The pair bond?”

“It felt like I got punched in the gut,” Deacon confirmed, pulling out the tarp and smoothing it over Benno. “S-sort of like you must have felt that summer we were thirteen? And I agitated one of the potions Mum was br-brewing, and it exploded on me?” He smiled shakily. “You were all on the way on the third storey of the flat with Zoe’s baby, remember? S-singing him to sleep so Zoe could get some rest. And you still tore down the steps and were at my side in a minute. Even though I was too shocked to scream.”

Benno gave a tremulous laugh. “We should’ve known back then we were weird. You said your parents couldn’t feel when something was wrong with their partners until they were adults, but we were already sensing it.” He was shaking now, his entire body quivering against Deacon’s chest. “The sergeants in basic looked at us so strangely when we arrowed right for each other during the separation trial.”

“It’s because we’re both so handsome, obviously.” Deacon swallowed hard, still stroking Benigno’s hair. “That magnetic pull, we just can’t stay apart.” He let himself laugh, very softly. “I… think we should heal your ankle, Ludwig. While we’re waiting for Toby.” The boy glanced over his shoulder toward Selene, pleading: “C-could you? Please? I know you’re cross with me, but…”

Selene had been watching his exchange wordlessly, her lip bit, and at Deacon’s request she nodded. “Alright. But you’re going to have to help me set it first, otherwise we’ll just have to rebreak it after. Do you at least know how to do that?”

“Yes.” Deacon gulped. “I can do that.”

“Ohh, this is not going to be fun,” Benno noted, finally pulling away and clenching his teeth. “Do it quick, Deek, and I hope to Woo I don’t scream and draw a Meltaiman patrol to us.”

Deacon smoothed Benno’s hair one last time, then slowly drew his wand. “Well,” he joked, “at least I can nip that possibility in the bud? Sorry, Benno.” With as deep of a breath as he could muster, he pressed the tip of his wand against the hollow of Ludwig’s throat, murmuring: “Siopí.” Silence.

Despite the fact that Benno had had his ability to scream rescinded from him, there was no erasing the pain that consumed him as Deacon and Selene proceeded to set his mangled ankle. It took everything in him for Deacon to keep from shrieking out in sympathy, his gut in tangles and his palms sweaty as icy glasses of water. Woo, how Deacon hated this. Hated how callously the Valzicks had tossed their witless recruits into the wilds, how flippantly they’d played with their own soldiers’ safety.

“Hang in there, Benno,” he murmured as, Luddy’s ankle set, Selene moved on to more complex healing. “Almost done, and it’ll feel so much better after.”

Benno, his voice still silenced, gave a sharp nod, his eyes clenched shut and sweat coming down his forehead in rivers. Selene gently rested her wand against the damaged limb, muttering a first spell that she explained would repair any damaged muscles and ligaments, and then a second to heal the bone itself. Finally she leaned back, flexing her fingers with a wince.

“There’s still a lot of bruising that’ll probably be painful but I’ve gotten the worst of the damage.” She hissed softly as she slid her wand back into her holster. “Does that feel better, Benno?”

The dark haired Macarinthian nodded, his breathing evened out significantly despite the fact that he was still tacky with sweat, and by the time Toby ducked out from amid the trees a few minutes later, a significant bit of colour and life had returned to Benno’s complexion. Thank the Woo, thought Deacon, although his stomach remained in knots as he nodded in greeting toward the blond Valzick.

“Toby.”

“Deacon.” The man’s blue eyes were hard with exhaustion as he padded up to his comrades. “How’d you find him?”

Deacon shrugged. “I don’t know. I just… did.”

“Right.” Toby raked a hand through his sweaty, tangled hair, then added to Benigno, “Glad to see you looking less… corpse-like Benno. You feeling a bit better?”

“Much,” Benno agreed fervently. “I… still don’t know how far I can walk, but…”

“When you plunged over that drop off, Benno, I was pretty sure I’d just watched you die.” Sighing, Toby plunked down next to Selene, crossing his legs as he studied the injured Macarinthian’s scraped, dirty face. “Not that I’m glad you’re in pain, but I think I can live with us camping here for the night and letting you get your breath back a bit.”

“Agreed,” Deacon said. “Frankly, I don’t care about our Woo-cursed pace much. Not anymore.” He smiled grimly. “The arch-colonel did say it wasn’t a race, back at the start of things. Smug prat was probably talking in riddles even then, wasn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Benno replied. “I’m just glad he didn’t decide to be extra persnickety and split up the bonded pairs. This would be even more nightmarish if I had to spend the entire time wondering if you were alright and getting jolted when you got hurt.”

“I’d been meaning to ask about that,” Selene put in, sitting next to Toby. “I thought the pair bond just let you share magic, and then you were conditioned to be in synch with each other because you spent your childhoods together. I mean, that’s what I’d heard about the pair magic- Toby?”

Toby shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know much about it. I’ve only been in Valzaim for a little under two years, and pair magic isn’t really… a thing where I’m from. I’d never even heard of it before I came west. Or met anyone with a pair bond until I showed up at Fort Pelagia.” Shrugging off his pack and drawing it into his lap, Toby reached a hand in and pulled out the small kit of medical supplies they’d been allotted at the start of the journey. “This is a pain tonic, isn’t it?” he mused, turning a small phial of amber liquid over in his hands. “You want a drag, Benno?”

“I think I’ll be okay,” he replied, leaning his uninjured shoulder against Deacon’s. He gave a wan smile, adding, “That’s another fun thing about the pair bond, if we’re in contact it’s kind of… calming, I suppose? It’s been like that ever since we were kids and got strapped together the first time.”

“We were insufferable as kids.” Deacon chuckled fondly at the memories. “At first, when the bond’s still tender, being apart at all-- even by just a room-- is… torture. Almost physically painful. So we’d drive our parents mad… especially when we fought. Because obviously they’d have to separate us so we’d stop rowing, but then we’d be even more broody because it was like… having this itch you can’t scratch.”

“How’d that even work?” Toby asked, cocking his head as he dropped the potion back into his pack. “I mean… if you couldn’t be apart, you had to live together, didn’t you? But you have different parents. Families.”

“We’d alternate,” Benno explained. “How often depends on how close together the families live- you’re paired with a kid in your same district, and if that kid is also in your same city, you spend two days with his parents, then he spends two days with yours. But if he’s in another city it’s expensive to be going back and forth a lot. So the alternating happens every two weeks or so. By the time a bonded pair is grown they’re basically like an adopted member of their partner’s family.”

“It’s not like we’re… confused,” Deacon said. “I know that my mum is my mum, and Benno’s mum is Benno’s mum. But… I call them both Mum, when we’re in Igerna. And Woo knows, I’ve had my ear yanked and hide tanned by his parents just as many times as by mine.”

“You, a naughty child?” Here, Toby smirked. “I can barely believe it, Azrael. I’d have thought you a delicate little flower. Pliant as clay.”

Benno snorted, “No, that was me. I was… really skittish as a kid. No self-confidence. Obedient. Bit of a lamb follower if I thought it’d get me friends.”

“I’m surprised Deacon didn’t corrupt you thoroughly,” Selene remarked. “Or just overshadow you with his stronger personality.”

“That’s the beauty of it, I think,” Deacon said. “The matchmen don’t just… reach into a hat and lob together the first two names that come up. It’s intensive. An art. They train for years before they’re allowed to even begin to think of making matches. And they study everything about prospective matches. Magical strength, of course, but not just that-- personality is just as important, too. They want kids who’ll complement: fill each other’s weaknesses while amplifying each other’s strengths. And that’s why it can take years after you’re entered into the pool to find a match… and some kids, if they’re unlucky, might never find a match at all. Accounts for some of the fairly large age disparities between pairs, too-- because the older half waited years for the right mage to enter the running and then the matchmen to do all the legwork.” He smiled crookedly. “My sister Zoe’s oldest daughter was four when she got put in the pool. Matched as soon as she could have. My niece’s partner, though? She was nearly ten. And had almost given up on the idea of ever getting matched at all.”

“Decon was everything I wasn’t,” Benno agreed. “Confident, bright, mischievous, tons of friends, fairly wealthy- meanwhile I was shy, soft-spoken, obedient, lonely, and almost rock-bottom poor. Living with him exposed me to a wider social circle, gave me confidence, and helped me develop a sense of humor and adventure. Living with me taught him humility, restraint, and to not be a judgy arse just because someone’s different from you.” The younger boy smirked and prodded his partner in the cheek. “If you think he’s insufferable now, trust me he used to be a lot worse.”

“I’m surprised they can get kids so opposite each other to bond in the first place,” Selene said, still looking skeptical.

“Yes well the magic helps it along a bit,” Benno admitted. “It’s not just about bonding power- it bonds your psyche a bit as well. The whole process takes years to finish, but even from the first spell there’s kind of this… instinctive sense of trust and acceptance. Which believe me is extremely disconcerting until you get used to it.”

“It must be nice, though,” Toby said, a bit wistfully. “Once you are used to it. Having someone… so close like that. Who you can rely on. Trust. No matter what.”

“It is,” Deacon agreed. “At the fort, all you Valzicks get… condescending. Annoyed. Because we’re self-involved, and all wrapped up in each other, and everything like that. But it’s just so instinctive to us, after all this time. And in all our training back home, we’re taught to trust the bond. Focus on it. Strengthen it. Being in tune with your partner is seen as a boon, not something to shove a person into the stocks over.”

“But in the military, you have to be able to work together in a unit with other people,” Selene pointed out. “Not just isolate yourself and prioritize you and your partner over everything else.”

“It’s not that we’re trying to isolate,” Benno said. “Just that we understand each other completely, trust each other without reservations, and when, say, someone is being an arse and poking fun at your hard to pronounce name, who do you look to for help? A bunch of strangers who also pronounce it wrong as often as not or someone you know without fail will always have your back?”

“And it’s usually a benefit in battle, not a drawback,” Deacon added. “Being able to tap into each other’s power… knowing without a shadow of a doubt how at least one person in your unit is going to react to a situation…” He touched his bracelet, almost absently. “I know it’s not something a person who hasn’t experienced it will ever entirely understand. I mean, I grew up with two parents in pair bonds, and most of my extended family, too, and even then I didn’t completely grasp it until Luddy and I got bonded. But… I also can’t imagine my life without the bond. Not anymore. It’s like another limb. And I don’t care how much people tease, or judge, or anything like that. Benno’s a part of my soul. And I’m a part of his. And even if I could, there’s nothing I would ever do to change that.”

Selene frowned, a light of unease in her eyes. After a moment she said, “What… what happens if one of a pairbond dies?”

Deacon winced at the very notion, hand automatically grazing Benno’s shoulder. “It’s… unpleasant,” he said. “After his partner died, my granddad described it as losing a lung. You can still breathe, but it takes a lot more effort. And you can never quite catch your breath as you used to because there’s a part of you that’s just gone.”

“Well.” Toby sighed. “Hopefully neither of you will have to deal with that for a… long, long time. Gods willing.”

“Mmm,” Benno murmured in what might’ve been agreement if it had been more articulate. It wasn’t just his shoulder pressed against Deacon now- his whole head was slumped against his partner’s shoulder, and fatigue was written plainly on his face.

“Evidently contact with your partner isn’t just calming, but a potent sedative,” Selene joked. “That why you two are always piled up like puppies in your sleep?”

“I think that might just be his adrenaline finally slowing.” Deacon laughed, cradling Benno’s sluggish form in his arms as a parent might an ill child. “Take a good nap, Luddy. We promise we won’t frolic off while you’re unconscious and leave you behind to get eaten by bears. We’re civil, after all. Unlike Katsaros.”

Benno chuckled, glancing up at his partner with a lopsided smirk. “You better not. After all the times I stayed by you when you had the flu while we were kids.”

“Woo, you two slept together when one of you had the flu?” Selene remarked, eyebrows raised. She glanced at Toby and said, “I would not even do that for Chryssa.”

Deacon smirked. “Not even just the flu, either. When I was ten, Benno got measles, along with my sisters Zoe and Natasha. My parents had them all quarantined on the uppermost level of our flat and strictly prohibited me from going up there at all. They mage-locked the ‘Pit-cursed door. So of course, Woo’s honour…” He made the three-fingered sign of the woocifix. “I definitely didn’t spend the next day figuring out how to counter-curse it whenever they turned their backs. My dad was furious when he went up to bring the patients food and found me curled up next to Luddy. But did I care? Nope.” Patting Benno’s cheek affectionately, the blond finished, “Once Dad was done paddling me, the first and only thing I asked was if I could stay with Benno now that I was exposed?”

“I stand by what I said before,” Selene said dryly. “Macarinthians are crazy. But-” she glanced down at Benno, who had already slipped into a light doze, “it’s a kind of crazy I can’t help admiring a little. And here I thought it was just being able to siphon each other’s magic.”

“Oh, that’s just an extra perk,” Deacon joked. “You know, buy a loaf of bread, get a pat of butter for free?”

“Don’t you dare,” Toby said, “mention butter right now, Azrael. Not when we’re eating a dinner of burdock and mashed acorns.”

“Oh, use your imagination, Barrow,” Deacon teased. “You see burdock and mashed acorns. I see warm sourdough bread, still gooey in the middle--”

“Thanks for reminding me, I still owe you a punch, Deacon,” Selene growled, rolling up her sleeve. “Try not to recoil too much, don’t want to wake up Benno.”

Deacon laughed. “Oh, you’re not going to punch me, Selene. What would Arch-Colonel Katsaros say?”

“Punch, what punch?” Toby said wryly, as he very deliberately averted his gaze. “I saw no punch.”

“Aww.” Gently easing the slumbering Benno to the ground, Deacon pouted his lips. “I thought we had a truce, Selene. We were going to be in Ludwig and Chryssa’s wedding party together!”

“And I need to let Chryssa know she owes you a punch as well,” Selene said with a smirk. “Wanna talk about bread? Tell me how your teeth taste.”

“Alright, alright.” Deacon held out his hands in placation. “No more talk about bread. Promise.” He waggled his brow. “Maybe I’ll even give you some of my acorn mash. If you spare my poor pride. You wouldn’t punch the person who’s going to give you acorns, right? That’s um-- against the Woo’s… love. Probably.”

Selene seemed to think hard about it, then sighed exaggeratedly. “I wouldn’t want to give the Woo reason to be cross with me while we’re trapped in bloody Meltaim, so fine. You’re off the hook for now. But I’ve got my eye on you, Deacon, see if I don’t!”

Into the Woods: Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

“Something is wrong,” Toby announced four days later, as the cadets began their ninth morning in the seemingly endless wilderness. They were encamped in a heavily treed valley that fringed a sizable lake-- a lake they couldn’t find on the cursed map no matter how many times they studied it. “Either something’s going on the fritz with the directional spells, and we’re somehow going in circles, or… or…”

“Or what?” Deacon asked, rubbing at his bleary eyes. “The Galfras are huge, Toby. Hundreds of miles of difficult terrain. It’s possible we’re still just too far north.”

“Maybe,” Toby conceded. “But that would have meant they didn’t just drop us off into Meltaim, they dropped us off deep in Meltaim. And how would they have even pulled that off? Even if they flew in under the cover of darkness, they still had to get back out before the Meltaimans sighted their ‘griffs. Not to mention casting all those wards. And both of those would have taken too long for comfort if they’d tossed us into the northerly part of the range.”

“And besides, these mountains aren’t just miles and miles of empty wilderness,” Selene added. “The northern and southern ends of the range are dotted with villages, towns, and ‘Pit, even cities. If we’d been that far out we’d have seen some sign of it- a road or a hunter’s snare or even a woodsman’s cottage during one of our stops for water.”

Benno creased his brow, gnawing on his lip. “This has gone on too long with us complacently following the same plan of action,” he agreed. “We can’t just keep listing south in the hopes that something happens eventually, we’ve all already lost a lot of weight and if we’re out here much longer we’re liable to get sick from exposure.”

“What do we do, then?” Toby asked. “We can’t exactly shout ‘We quit!’ to the forest and expect Arch-Colonel Katsaros to frolic out of the trees to escort us home.”

“Well, we’ve been walking for nine days,” Deacon mused. “How many miles do you think we’ve covered?”

“Enough that I have blisters on my blisters,” Selene retorted. “And I haven’t been walking on a badly bruised ankle.”

Benno winced. “I’ve been managing,” he said. “But to answer your question Deek… far enough that we should’ve gotten to somewhere by now.”

“Unless we’re lost and going in circles,” Selene said.

“Why would the directional spell suddenly fail, though?” Toby objected.

“Because this is all a Woo-cursed experiment on how we deal with high stress situations?” Deacon suggested. “For all we know, they tampered with our wands somehow. And for all we know, we were never meant to reach an end point. Maybe they were going to extract us after say… a week. Only they couldn’t, because our bloody flare stone is at the bottom of a river somewhere. In the middle of a hydra’s den.”

“Oh, my Woo.” Toby suddenly froze as he seemed to realise something. “What if-- what if you’re right, Deacon?”

“Excuse me?” Deacon raised a brow.

“I just…” The blond Valzick hitched a fractured breath. “Say they did mean to extract us. Or… even if they didn’t, they got worried when we never hit any wards, and so they went to our starting point and tracked our stone to the river. And, indeed, it pinged as being lodged in the silt beneath the hydra’s den. A hydra that, if it surfaces, is missing eight of its godsdamned heads.” Toby gulped. “Now pretend you’re Arch-Colonel Katsaros. What do you assume: that your hapless trainees somehow got away after the hydra gave up, and their stone just happened to fall out of a pocket… or that they got in a tangle with a hydra, cleaved off some of its heads, then lost?”

“’Pit!” Benno seethed. “They might have written us off as KiA over a week ago while we’ve been wandering the mountains. And if that’s the case, there is no chance of a rescue, and likely no one waiting at our end point if it exists. We’re on our bloody own.”

“No.” Deacon clenched his teeth, throat suddenly trembling. “If they think we’re dead… no.” Panic pulsing in him, he whipped his gaze toward Benigno. “They’ll tell our families, Benno. They’ll tell Yolanda.” His voice raised by several octaves as he gasped, “My wife is going to think I’m dead!”

There was a loud, swift crack as, clenching her jaw, Selene slapped Deacon hard across the cheek. “Get a hold of yourself, soldier,” she hissed. “If all that is true, it is just more reason we need to not bloody panic, and figure out a way out of this mess. So you can get home to your wife. So Toby can get home to his wife. So I can get home to my sister. Now calm the ‘Pit down!”

Benno stared at Selene in open shock, as Deacon blinked in silent bewilderment for several moments, rubbing his cheek like a sullen child. It was thus Toby who spoke next, the Valzick’s voice very low as he murmured, “Selene, please don’t hit people, for Woo’s sake. But Deacon-- she’s right. If the command have given up on us, we’re on our own. We can’t panic, or we’ll end up just as dead as they think we are. We have to stay sharp. And we have to cooperate, not smack each other.”

Selene huffed softly, but backed away all the same. Benno brushed his wrist against Deacon’s, glancing at him sympathetically, before he nodded. “Right. So we need a plan. Something that isn’t just ‘keep heading doggedly south.’”

“We could follow a river,” Deacon suggested, lips pursed as he avoided Selene’s gaze. “Should lead us to civilization eventually, right? I mean-- assuming the directional spells are right, we should be in Valzaim now. Not that Meltaiman soldiers pay attention to borders, but any village we find would be Valzick. And we can alert the Special Forces from there.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Selene agreed. “And we’d have steady access to water.”

“Animals come to the rivers to drink as well,” Benno noted. “So we could hunt more easily. We’d need to be careful of any more hydras but at least now we have a solid method for tackling the things.”

“And as long as we’re just pausing to fill our canteens, not splashing in the water, we probably won’t rankle anymore we do come across,” Deacon said with a withering smirk toward his partner. “I think the poor thing was just sad you went swimming in her hidey-hole. She was sleeping, Luddy. So inconsiderate.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “Yes. We’ll stay out of the rivers. Probably a good tactic with or without hydras. It only takes a moment to get carried away by a current you misjudged.”

“Right,” Selene said. “I can climb a tree again? See if I spot anything.”

“Alright,” Deacon said. He gestured toward her pack. “Let me have that, at least? So it doesn’t throw off your balance.”

Selene rolled her eyes, but obliged. After a brief search, she saw a not-too-distant river that the four cadets managed to reach after a half-hour hike. As they were drawing close, however, Benno paused with a frown.

“Guys… you should see this.”

“Hm?” Deacon paused and glanced toward his partner. “See what?”

Benno pointed, a frown tugging at his lips. There was a footprint in the damp earth around the river- a bootprint.

“Doesn’t the Valzick Special Forces usually patrol these mountains astride ponies?” he asked warily, glancing towards Toby and Selene.

“They do,” Toby agreed, stiffening. “I mean… they have to dismount sometimes, but…”

“But it might not be the Valzicks,” Deacon finished softly for him, crouching to study the track. It wasn’t very old, still a perfect imprint against squelchy ground, and grimly it occurred to Deacon that even if it were from a Valzick who’d dismounted, there ought be traces of the soldier’s pony, too. Ought to, yet there weren’t. “Maybe… maybe it’s just a civilian,” he suggested as he stood again. “I mean, there are mountains villages, right? And… they have to get their water from somewhere.”

“Who’s more likely to be wandering the heavily forested wilderness, Deacon?” Toby asked, voice laden with dread. “A random civilian from a hypothetical village, or a soldier from a kingdom we know regularly illegally patrols these lands?”

Selene swore venomously. “Great. Add that to the ever lengthening list of things we need to worry about. You know I’m starting to understand why none of the Macarinthians were happy to get sent here for training.”

“I want to say something to lighten the mood and break the tension,” Deacon muttered. “But…” He shook his head, throat dry. “Even I can’t joke right now. This is… this is…”

“A nightmare?” Toby said grimly.

“Yes. But at least you wake up from nightmares. This?” Deacon pressed a hand to his forehead. “If we come across a unit of Meltaiman raiders, and we’re outmatched…” The blond boy flicked his gaze briefly toward Selene before he met Benno’s eyes, knowingly. “Benno and me will try to stave them off for a bit. Toby, too, if necessary. And Selene? I know you don’t like me treating you differently, but if it’s between all of us dying, and one of us getting away and getting home so our families don’t spend the rest of their lives not knowing what happened to us…”

“I'm not the one with a wife and child who need me,” she pointed out. “Frankly out of all of us I have the least people waiting on me.”

“I'm not married either,” Benno noted. “Deek, don't leave your daughter fatherless before she’s three. I can cover you; if you see an opening, go.”

“No,” Deacon said flatly, without skipping a beat. “I’d rather die a brave man than live a coward. And like the ’Pit am I going home to inform everyone that I left my partner and a fifteen-year-old girl behind to fight my battles.” A growl rose in his throat, but he shoved it back down. “Don’t suggest it again.” With a glower leveled at Selene, he added, “Either of you.”

“Dear Woo, Deacon.” Toby heaved a sigh. “All of you, really. We’re hardly facing down Meltaiman raiders this second-- enough of the gloom and doom, alright? Of course, we need to be cautious. But a little less making funeral plans, maybe? I don’t know about you guys, but I plan on all four of us making it home safe.”

“Nothing so far has really gone according to plan,” Benno noted glumly. “But fair.” In Macarinthian, he added softly to his partner, “I wasn't trying to accuse you of cowardice, Deek. I just… want at least one of us to live out all our big dreams. For you to see your wife and child again. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Deacon murmured, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Matching his partner’s language, he went on, “I know you didn’t… mean anything by it. I just… if we come across the raiders, we aim for helping--” He paused for a moment, knowing that if he said Selene’s name now, she’d understand it even though she didn’t speak Macarinthian. “Well, we help her. As any honourable Macarinthian soldier would. Agreed?”

Benno sighed. “Right. Of course.”

“You two going to share with the rest of the class?” Selene cut in. Benno only shrugged.

“I was apologizing, that's all.” He shrugged again, looking up at Toby. “For now, we should probably move on, hm? The less we stand around like targets, the better chance we have of getting somewhere safe.”

“Right.” Toby didn’t look convinced by the explanation, but at least he seemed to know it was a futile effort to press further. “Just be on the lookout for more tracks, alright? I don’t want us stumbling on any surprises.”

“I think I’ve had enough surprises for my entire bloody lifetime,” Deacon agreed.

“If we make it back alive,” Selene grumbled, “I propose we eat our meals staggered so if they’re drugged again we’ll know when one of us passes out. All in favor?”

“Or none of us can eat for a bit, and we can let Apostolos Spyros be our tester,” Deacon said. “Assuming he didn’t get gulped down by a Tengizan jaguar, anyway.”

“Glad to see you’re feeling well enough to joke again,” Toby said, rolling his eyes. “Now, shall we keep moving? The sooner we can find ourselves civilization, the better.”

***

Though they kept their eyes peeled, the cadets saw no more signs of human life through the rest of the day, at nightfall pitching their camp in a glen a few hundred meters off the twisting river. For the sake of vigilance, the four agreed to take turns keeping watch in shifts of two hours each, and it was during third watch-- Toby’s watch-- that all the rest startled abruptly awake as the blond Valzick let out a muffled cry of “Alert!”.

None of them had time to react before hands came down over their shoulders, and the bewildered trainees were hauled bodily to their feet. Lightning-quick fingers relieved them of their wands, as the cold bite of irons snapped against their wrists.

“Benno!” Deacon gasped-- earning him a palm clamped over his mouth. He thrashed against his capturer, straining wildly to at least get a look at them, but it was to no avail; the assailant only clutched him harder. Selene and Benno were restrained equally quickly, though the dark haired Macarinthian’s captor was having some difficulty with the much taller boy. Benno thrashed hard, forcing a second man to come up and help hold him.

“Hold still, by Woo!” a voice called out sharply- in clear, unaccented Valzick.

The cadets all froze as though they’d been slapped, stomachs dropping out from under them. Capitalizing on this, a second voice-- female, but just as quick with her Valzick-- snapped, “If you fight us, we will incapacitate you. Now identify yourselves.” She reached out and tugged one of Selene’s long cornrows, adding, “Let’s start with you.”

The girl swallowed hard. “C-Cadet Selene Argyris, of the Valzick Special Forces.”

There was a sharp intake of breath amongst the strangers, and the male voice that had spoken first said sharply, “You, the blonde in blue- name?”

“Cadet Deacon Azrael. O-of the Macarinthian army.”

The woman sighed. “And,” she said tartly, “I suppose the two of you”-- she jabbed a finger each into the smalls of Benno and Toby’s backs-- “would be Cadets Toby Barrow and Ludwig Benigno?”

Benno nodded warily, “Y-yes. That’s us.” Realization seemed to hit, and he felt hope flare up in his chest, “You’re… with the Special Forces?”

“Arch-Lieutenant Sophia Vangelis,” the woman confirmed crisply. “This is my platoon, and I’d thank you to remember that we are the ones asking questions, not you, cadet. Is that understood?”

Benno ducked his head, wincing internally, but still feeling immensely relieved. “Yes, Arch-Lieutenant.”

“You lot have caused us a lot of headache over the past week,” the man put in, his voice thick with irritation. “When we get you back to base you will have some serious explaining to do.”

“Now,” Vangelis said, “if we let you out of these irons, will you be cooperative, cadets?”

“Yes, Arch-Lieutenant,” Deacon forced out.

“And if we give you back your wands, you will not draw them without explicit permission from myself or my second, Arch-Sergeant Zabat?”

“Yes, Arch-Lieutenant,” Selene agreed, her arms quivering with the sheer force of her relief. The wands were duly slipped into the cadet’s wand-sheaths, and their handcuffs removed. The man turned to his superior, then after a quick, muttered exchange, turned to the cadets.

“We have hippogriffs waiting back in a valley nearby. We’ll be taking you back to Fort Pelagia to be evaluated for any pressing health concerns.” His eyes narrowed. “Then we will be having a very, very long talk about what the ‘Pit you think you’ve been doing all this time.”

***

If once upon a time the cadets had thought that Arch-Colonel Katsaros was the pinnacle of a humourless man, then it was clear they merely hadn’t yet suffered the privilege of meeting his commander. Summoned in from a larger base out west for the sole purpose of figuring what in all the hells had led to a squad of four nearly-minted cadets disappearing like smoke into a gray sky, Arch-Major General Yiannis Iosif stood ramrod straight as he studied the skinny, dirty, bedraggled trainees not an hour after their arrival to Fort Pelagia-- before they’d even been fed or allowed to sleep, let alone wash up from the wilds.

“So,” the man intoned, voice frigid as ice, “I never knew it was such a difficult feat, to navigate seventy-four miles in three days-- most of it through well-marked flatlands. You can guess, then, how astonished I am, that we found you ten days later and several hundred miles off course.” He smiled without the faintest trace of humour. “Tell me, cadets. What the ’Pit were you doing out there?”

Selene winced, glancing sideways towards the others. “We… we were trying to get to the end of the mountains, sir. But we must’ve gotten off course somehow.”

“I can see that,” Iosif said flatly. He tilted his head, dark gray eyes lethal. “Can we do an exercise, cadets? One that I think ought clarify things better for me?”

“O-of course, sir,” Toby squeaked, not daring to meet the officer’s gaze.

“Excellent.” The arch-major general reached into the pocket of his coat-- the garment so heavily draped with medals that it winked like a trophy case beneath the lit candelabra that illuminated the small meeting room turned interrogation chamber. “This,” the man went on, unrolling a scroll of parchment on the table in front of him, “is a map of Valzaim. Familiar, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Deacon murmured.

“Good.” Iosif raised a brow, finger deliberate then as he trailed it toward the border near Macarinth. “This is where we are,” he said. “Fort Pelagia. Now...” He slid the map toward the cadets. “Cadet… Argyris, let’s try you. I want you to point out where you think my search squad found you.”

“Um…” The young girl pointed with a finger to the segment of the Galfras Mountains that had been on their map, tracing a circle around it. “Somewhere around here, sir?”

“Try again,” Iosif rasped. He gestured next toward Benno. “How about you, son?”

“I… I’m not certain, Sir,” Benno replied. “I had thought the same as Cadet Argyris.”

“Hm.” After a moment’s pause, the arch-major general looked toward Toby and Deacon. “And how about you two? Wager any other guess?”

“N-no, sir,” Deacon said; Toby just shook his head.

“So what if I told you,” Iosif drawled, “that you weren’t there, but here?” His motion almost violent, he pecked a finger against not the Galfras Mountains, nor even anywhere in northern Valzaim at all, but rather, at the south of the Synzaim range. “More specifically,” the arch-major general went on, “you were located twenty-six miles north-northwest of the rural village of Vounóplevrá. Bugger of a village, Vounóplevrá. They have an issue with foreign banditry.” His voice went caustic. “Tengizan banditry.”

At once, Selene’s eyes flicked towards Deacon, a slight frown pulling at the corners of her mouth, though she dared not let free the scowl she so badly wanted to give in front of her commanding officer. It took every ounce of military discipline in him for Benno not do close his eyes and slam his head into the nearest wall, as Toby and Deacon merely went ashen. Like wax dolls, skin grey as ash.

“Any ideas, cadets,” Iosif prompted, “about how you ended up so badly misjudging your location and course?” When no one immediately volunteered, he narrowed his eyes on Deacon. “Cadet Azrael?”

“We… we…” Deacon thought he might vomit. “We assessed the maps. In our pack.”

“Ah, the maps.” Iosif cocked his head. “Five of them, yes? And three of them indicating mountainous terrain. So how, pray tell, did you end up settling on which corresponded to your location?” His eyes skimmed the cadets again, landing this time on Benno. “Cadet Benigno, your turn.”

Benno, knowing they were in for it regardless, sighed. “We… were attacked by a hydra sir. We thought that particular breed ranged only in Meltaim and northern Valzaim.”

“... A hydra. You-- determined on your location based on a hydra?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Deacon ventured. He suddenly regretted ever feeling clever at the time.

“What kind of hydra?”

“I-it was a quartz-scale hydra,” Toby volunteered. “Sir.”

“I see.” Iosif looked like he was either about to laugh or scream, eventually settling for a queer middle ground with a menacingly droll, “Do you know how rivers work? Cadet Argyris, your turn to answer.”

“They… carry water downstream from their origin point?” she said, not sure where this was going but fairly certain she wasn’t going to like it.

“Precisely,” Iosif replied. “And sometimes, they meet up with other rivers. They can wend and wind and stretch for… why, hundreds of miles, if you follow the flow from start point to end.” The arch-major general crossed his arms. “Now, hydras. Solitary creatures-- they don’t like to share territory, did you know that?”

“Yes, sir,” Toby said.

“So… when a mummy hydra and a daddy hydra mate, and the eggs hatch… well, Mummy’s not too pleased if her offspring stick around for long. Most of them will die. Others won’t-- they disperse,” Iosif said. “That means they need to find their own territory. Away from Mummy hydra. And Daddy hydra. And all the other claimed territories. Most of them will still stay within a fairly set range. Fighting away weaker hydras. Taking over the territories of those who die. But others? You could call them industrious. They forge their own way-- a new frontier. And what do you think that means, cadets?”

“I… I don’t know, sir,” Deacon said. Which was a lie. He was pretty sure he did know, and by Woo he didn’t like it.

“Quartz-scale hydras,” the arch-major general said thickly, “while, yes, found largely in Meltaim and northern Valzaim, have on occasion been found as far south as Tengiz. So, tell me again: knowing now that your supposition was false, what other reasons led you to believe you were in the Galfras?”

“N-none, sir,” Benno said softly, knowing that it was better to simply get it over with. They weren’t going to dance out of this by playing stupid, the only thing they could do was be honest and accept whatever was coming to them.

“Now, we tracked your stone to the bottom of a river, after which we kicked off the lovely feat of tracking you idiots by old-fashioned means-- I’m presuming you lost the stone during the tangle with the hydra?”

“Yes, sir,” said Toby.

“And since you didn’t pass any of our checkpoints, this was very early during your ordeal?” When this meted yet another ‘yes sir’, Iosif frowned. “I’d like to show you something,” he said, reaching back into his coat pocket to draw out two more scrolls of parchment, these ones much smaller than the last. Smoothing them out, it was immediately apparent what they were: “These are two of the maps from your supply pack. Do you recognise them?”

The cadets gave a shaky affirmative; one of the maps was the one they’d been following, the one of the Galfras Mountains. The other was the discarded map of the Synzaim range. For several moments, Iofis simply let the group stew, studying the crinkled papers. Then, still frowning, he steepled his fingers.

“Did you assess the maps before you set off for the river?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Deacon murmured.

“Which of you looked at them?”

“M-myself, sir,” Toby supplied. “Then Cadet Argyris, as well.”

“Alright.” Smoothly, Iosif slid the maps across the table, one toward Selene and the other toward Toby. “So, you knew you were in the mountains, presumably. And in a forested area. Thus, your next step was to compare and contrast. Figure out which map had features that applied to you, and which didn’t.” The arch-major general’s frown slowly turned into a thin smile. “Using your thumbnails, I want you each to score all the landmarks you see on these two maps. Roads, villages, terrain changes. Rivers.” He paused. “And then, once you’re done, we’ll take a look at both again. All together.”

Knot in his throat, Toby nodded mutely, gaze falling down toward a map he’d seen far too many times before: that of the Galfras Mountains. It took everything in him to keep his hand from trembling as he began marking the points of interest-- the same ones he’d described to the rest of the cadets nearly two weeks ago. A village here. Some lakes there. Mountains. Forest. Flatlands. Next to him, Selene did the same with the map of the Synzaim, pointing to the village that Iofis had noted, roads and passes leading out and through, lakes and rivers- one river in particular, towards the north end of the range and near a village, she lingered over with a trembling hand.

“Found it, did you?” Iosif said softly. “That’s the Prásinos River, Cadet Argyris. Located in steep, heavily wooded terrain in the northern part of the Synzaim mountains.” A beat. “Seventy-four miles southeast of the small town of Télosneró. If you’ll notice, Cadet Argyris, Télosneró on this map is marked with an asterisk.” He flicked his gaze toward Deacon and Benno. “Any guess why?”

“B-because it’s the end point, sir,” Deacon said, his throat dry as the Anvil Desert. “For this map.”

“Correct. Which means that anyone following this map would have found themselves with a relatively simple route northwest, following the Prásinos west until it ended in a lake about… forty miles away from where you were dropped off, or thereabouts. The thirty-four remaining northerly miles are, admittedly, more difficult, with fewer landmarks. But, using simple directional spells, it would have been nearly impossible not to stagger upon the road that leads toward Télosneró.” Iosif creased his dark brow. “We sent ten groups out into the wilderness, cadets. Seven of them made it back within the proscribed seventy-two hours. The eighth arrived about twelve hours late; the ninth had a member who slipped and hit his head, and even they eventually showed up at their end point a mere thirty-six hours past due. Yet when we found your group, you were hundreds of miles off course and somewhere around a week behind schedule. Do you understand how much strife, worry, and embarrassment you’ve caused?”

Benno had to fight not to stare straight down at his boots. Selene’s expression was entirely unreadable, though her dark eyes were shimmering with something between humiliation and fury. Toby, meanwhile, was only pale, sweat slicking his forehead as he tried in vain to swallow down the iron lump in his throat, and Deacon was alternately flitting his gaze between Iosif and the floor, cheeks red as hot coals. There was no excusing this. None. And all of the cadets knew it. Nor was there a way to make anything better: to take back the labour and cost that had been expended on their rescue, to save the face they’d lost, to sate the anger of the high-ranking officer in front of them now.

“Fifty lashes,” Iosif said coolly. “To be given in two sets of twenty-five, the second delivered after a fort healer has determined the first set to be adequately healed. You will be striped in front of the rest of the cadets and given only enough medical care to prevent infection.” He paused for a moment, letting the harsh punishment sink in, before he added, “Before the first flogging, you will stand before the cadets and trainers of this program and each issue a verbal apology for the distress caused by your disappearance. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” Selene murmured, looking like she was about to be sick. Benno had gone pale as milk, barely managing to stammer out his own affirmative, as Toby and Deacon, too, echoed their submission.

“Good,” Iosif drawled then. “For the present moment, you are to report to the fort triage to be assessed by a healer. If you’re deemed in adequate health, you may wash up and report to the mess hall for supper as usual. You are not to talk about what occurred until your formal apology ahead of the lashing. Presuming the healers give their all clear, the first flogging will take place tomorrow after reveille. Dismissed.”

Into the Woods: Part Seven

SPOILER: Click to show

Fortunately, the Fort Pelagia healers deemed the four cadets in reasonable health-- Benno’s ankle still bruised, and all of them a bit skinnier than they had been, but otherwise suffering surprisingly few deleterious side effects from their miserable wilderness excursion. Far less fortunately, this meant the group was given the all-clear to be flogged, the first whipping taking place beneath a cool October sun the next morning as the rest of the cadets watched grimly on.

Even before the worst of the pain lanced through him like a lightning bolt, Deacon couldn’t ever recall being so embarrassed in his life. This was not the scene he’d envisioned when picturing his life as a valiant soldier: shirtless and bleeding as his comrades stared at him, hands tied above his head, tears streaming from his eyes as he flitted in and out of unconsciousness. And the rest of the three didn’t do much better, Toby at least swallowing back his screams as he writhed but both Benno and Selene crying out until their throats were so raw they could no longer produce any noise. Not helping the matter at all, for Benno the mere wait for his turn at the post was agony, his chest feeling like it was splitting open the entire time his bonded partner was being beaten. He already felt so woozy that by the twentieth lash he’d blacked out entirely, and in turn when it was Benno’s time at the post, even though Deacon had been summarily hauled off for a healer to dress the wounds, each time he blinked into semi-consciousness he swore he could feel the whip still flaying against his skin.

Three weeks later, all four were flogged again.

Though once upon a time, during the earlier days of the ill-fated wilderness journey, Deacon and Benno never would have dreamed of willingly spending time with the whole wilderness group together afterward, in the wake of all the unpleasantness, they found their past selves proven wrong. The bond they’d forged with the two Valzicks was much thicker than they’d realised, and an understanding existed between Toby, Selene, Deacon, and Benno that others at the fort simply couldn’t understand. At least, then, for all else that had gone wrong, it seemed the Valzick command had accomplished something of their original goal in holding the exercise: Deacon and Benno no longer saw Selene and Toby as others, different, a stark world away from their own lives. They were their comrades. Their teammates. Their friends. And the Macarinthians were sure without a shadow of a doubt, in the way one merely knows things, that the two Valzicks returned the sentiment. (Even if Selene did still sometimes threaten to punch Deacon in the face.)

The afternoon after they were flogged for the second time, with all of them still laid up in the infirmary and swaddled tight with bandages, Benno was surprised to find himself waking up with something cold and wet pressed against his forehead. Blinking, he saw a familiar face looking down at his.

“...Chryssa?”

“‘Lo there, old pal.” Selene’s sister smirked down at the Macarinthian, readjusting the damp rag she’d pressed against his temple. “I got permission to check in on Selene, and you just looked so… sad. Like you were having a nightmare.”

He smiled thinly. “Th-thanks. How is she?”

“Out cold, but I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing.” Chryssa shrugged. “They didn’t hold back, did they? I’d hoped they would-- I mean, it was your second flogging, for Woo’s sake, but…” The girl sighed, sitting gingerly down at the edge of Benno’s cot. “Everyone’s been afraid to talk to you guys, since you’ve been back. As if they’ll somehow have guilt by association. But I think that’s pretty stupid-- it’s not like you can infect them into being terrible navigators.”

Benno winced, flushing crimson. “I suppose if nothing else we’re really good at wilderness survival. Made it over a week in the mountains without dying or even getting that seriously hurt except my falling and breaking an ankle. That’s an accomplishment, right?”

Chryssa laughed. “Sure is.” Sparing a glance toward the infirmary door, as if checking for any eavesdroppers, she leaned in closer to the Macarinthian and said, “You heard about the group that got in a day and a half late because one of their members hit his head, right? That was Apostolos’s group-- my friend Jayne was in it. What Apostolos made her and the others swear not to tell Arch-Colonel Katsaros was how he got hurt. Their official story was that a branch broke under him when he was climbing a tree to collect fruit, and he tumbled down. The truth? He got in an argument with Jayne over the best way to crack open macadamia nuts. So like any rational four-year-old, he chucked the whole pouch of them-- that they’d spent hours collecting-- into the river they were camping next to. Karsten-- you know, the ginger-haired Macarinthian, bonded to Dev-- told him that if he didn’t jump in after them, Karsten would throw him in.”

“And did he?” rasped a soft voice; Chryssa and Benno both skipped their gazes toward the cot next to Ludwig’s, where Deacon was lying on his side, sweat-stippled but conscious.

“Hi, Deacon.” Chryssa smiled pityingly. “Didn’t know you were awake. But, no-- sadly Karsten didn’t get to practice his throwing skills: before he could, Apostolos stalked off toward the river after the nuts, slipped on a rock, and whap went the old noggin.” She chuckled again. “But don’t worry too much-- Dev jumped in and saved the nuts.”

“Sounds like everyone got what they deserved then,” Benno remarked with a tired smile. “The group got to eat, and Apostolos got justly served for being ruled by his ego. At least I nearly killed myself getting food instead of chucking it. Woo I still feel like an idiot though…”

“If ever you feel like an idiot, Luddy, remember that I’m the one who had the hydra theory,” Deacon said with a sigh.

“Hydra theory?” Chryssa cocked her head.

“Oh, trust me. You don’t want to know.” Deacon winced. “Or… maybe it’s more that I don’t want anyone to know. Not that you won’t probably find out eventually because of Selene, but…” He shrugged, then immediately regretted it as the raw lash marks stung in protest. “All I know is I’ll be happy once this Woo-cursed program is over and Benno and I get to head back to Macarinth. If I ever set foot again in Valzaim after all this mess, it’ll be too soon.”

“I highly doubt they went to all this trouble to send us all here to never have us set foot in Valzaim again,” Benno pointed out dryly. “Although with the spectacular impression we’ve made the higher ups might specifically request never to see us again.”

“Aw,” Chryssa said, smirking. “And here I was, hoping you’d both come down for my wedding.”

Deacon blinked. “Your… wedding?”

The girl grinned, dark eyes glittering. “Well, yeah. Why do you think I’ve spent this entire program flirting with everything that moves? Because after it ends, I get to go home for a few months before getting sent to the border. After which I will, alas, be consigned to snogging the same guy for the rest of my days.” She patted Benno’s shoulder, very gingerly so as not to aggravate his wounds. “I’m a sixteen-year-old Valzick-- half our women are married by fourteen, you know. I’ve been betrothed since before basic training; Adrian’s finishing up his bootcamp now, too. We both agreed before we left that we’d get anything… wild out of our systems before we reunited.” She sobered a little. “Woo-- I hope you’re not… upset, Benno? I mean, it was just… harmless fun, right?”

“Oh, uh,” the dark haired Valzick flushed, but it was with a sheepish smile. “It’s fine, I… never figured anything long term would come of it anyway, we’re from different countries and after this Woo knows when if ever we’ll cross paths again.” Wistfully he added, “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing some of the folks here again. After they and we have all grown up and aren’t getting striped for stupid rookie mistakes anymore. See what we’ve all made of ourselves.”

Chryssa nodded. “That would be nice. Hey, who knows… maybe we can all have a nice reunion in the Galfras one day. On some joint venture to hunt down raiders. It’ll be just like old times-- you on your ‘griffs, us on our ponies…”

“And Apostolos Spyros whacking his head on a rock,” Deacon said wryly.

“Right. Perfect.” Sighing, Chryssa stood. “Anyway-- I should probably go. I’d hate to be late to church and end up with a punishment of my own.” She readjusted the rag on Benno’s forehead. “I’ll try to come back later if I can, alright? And maybe Selene will be awake then, too.”

“If I’m conscious when she comes to, I’ll let her know you were here,” Benno promised. “Thanks- have fun with the service.”

***

Their lash wounds eventually healed, but their pride was slower to recover, and by the time the program ended a bit after the New year, Benno and Deacon were more than eager to return home. Granted a one-month furlough before they were to begin their active service, during the journey back to Macarinth Deacon firmly declared that he planned to spend the entirety of the leave relaxing like a lazy dog, and Woo help anyone who tried to coax him into anything that resembled work.

“Noon,” he declared to Benigno as, after a debriefing by Captain Southers at the Macarinthian training camp they’d departed what seemed like a lifetime ago, the two of them headed back for Igerna. Since it was located less than a day’s walk from the base, they hadn’t been offered horses, and the frosty winter wind lashed against them as they neared the end of their walk. “Tomorrow, I’m sleeping in until noon. All cuddled up in bed with Theia and Yolanda.”

“Meanwhile I’ll be cuddled up with Donna because what are spare beds?” Benno remarked dryly. “All nice and cozy reminded of my imminent bachelor status. As my brothers cozy up to their wives elsewhere and you’re all warm and cozy in Paddonfield.”

“Aww. What kind of callous monster would begrudge cuddling with his baby sister?” Deacon laughed softly. “She’ll be so excited to have her heating blanket-- I mean um, big brother-- home. Poor little moppet, having only wee Melitta to snuggle.” Benno’s youngest sister was barely ten. “Speaking of Melitta and Donna-- remind me to give them the pretty glass marbles I bought for their late Woomas gift. I’ve had a bugger of a time not breaking them, I’d hate to forget.”

“I’ll see to it you don’t forget. You might have to-” here Benno gasped in mock horror, “walk that awful distance to Payne’s Ford to give them to the girls, but hopefully you can survive the exertion. Meanwhile I need to remember to give Natasha and Theia the ribbons I got for them both. I hope your dignity won’t be wounded by your baby sister and daughter both begging you to help them do up their hair.”

“Only if you promise not to laugh,” Deacon said. Tightening his hood against the cold, he couldn’t help but smile as the city gates of Igerna came into distant view up ahead, at the bottom of the rolling hill he and Benno were presently descending. “Ooh, look,” the mage said brightly. “No line. Our lucky day, right? The Woo’s most certainly on our side-- and it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that we’re the only blighters unfortunate enough to be out in this chill.”

“Hey, which of us is the one who has to hike all the way to the opposite end of town to the ford?” the darker haired boy asked with a smirk. “Which of us is sleeping tonight in a shack with poor insulation? Aaand which of us will be making a stop in just twenty minutes in Paddonfield and sleeping in a nice, warm flat?”

“Oh my Woo, Ludwig, if you want to spend the night snuggling with Yolanda, Theia, and me, just come out and say it.” Deacon laughed, reaching up to ruffle his partner’s wind-blown locks. “Seriously, though-- stop by the flat with me first? Mum and Dad are going to want to fuss over both of us.” He waggled his brow. “We both know you’re the son they always wanted, and I’m just the energetic exasperation who sort of looks like them.”

Benno chortled, “Sure, of course. I’ve missed them too, and I’d like to say hello to Zoe and Sera at their places as well before I head on out to the ford. Who knows, maybe I can cajole your parents into feeding me before I move on, we both lost some weight in the wilds we never quite got back.”

“Milking my poor parents for food?” Deacon clucked his tongue. “For shame, Luddy. I see right through you.” He slung an arm around the younger teen’s shoulder. “Woo, you’d be lucky to get out of the flat without Mum having shoved her entire pantry down your throat. Since we sent the pigeon ahead, I’m half-convinced she’ll be standing at the front door with a cauldron of soup in her arms. Waiting. Like a cat stalking a bug.”

However, when Deacon and Ludwig arrived to the well-kept Azrael residence about half an hour later, the door was locked and the first storey shopfront one had to traverse to reach the living quarters upstairs was dark and empty, as if nobody was home. The air smelled sharply of herbs and tonics, as it always did, and the sentimental aroma sent a wistful knot tangling in Deacon’s throat as he shut the door behind him and Benno.

“Where is everybody?” he mused as he tugged off his cloak, and stamped off the film of ice and salt that clung to his weathered boots. “I mean, the shop should still be open, shouldn’t it? It’s not even four. Woo, they’re lucky I kept track of my key.”

“No idea,” Benno remarked, looking around in confusion as he removed his overcoat and tucked it over his arm as he started to head up the stairs. “Maybe one of Zoe’s kids came down with something and they had to run out on short notice? But even so usually only your dad would handle that, no reason for your mum to not still be here to man the shop.”

“Unless they’re all sick? And contagious.” Deacon worried at his lip, starting toward the stairs. “I mean, it is winter, and flus go around, and…” He heaved a deep breath. “Only one way to find out, I suppose. C’mon, Luddy.”

With Ludwig at his heel, Deacon hurried up the steps, dread inflating in him like a balloon. The landing was just as dark as downstairs, but at least he could see light seeping out from beneath the door that led into the foyer-- something that made his pulse ease by just a little. Even so, his heart was fluttering as he closed his hand around the doorknob and twisted it.

“Mum?” he called softly as he stepped inside. “Dad? Yolanda?”

“Oh, hello there, dear.” Deacon’s mother, her pale hair plaited neatly over her shoulder, appeared in the doorway that straddled the foyer and living room. Spying Ludwig, she waved blandly. “Ludwig. Good to see you, as well.”

Deacon blinked. Why was his mother acting like he’d been away for an hour, not over a year? “Um. Hello?” he ventured, furrowing his brow.

His mother didn’t skip a beat. “Come, I need help with something,” she announced, turning on her heel to start back into the living room. “But take your boots off first-- I won’t have salt getting on my rugs.”

“Ah- s-sure,” Benno replied, his brows furrowing with confusion. It felt a little strange to hear someone using his given name and actually pronouncing it correctly after so long in Valzaim, but the way Deacon’s mother was acting was even stranger. Wondering if perhaps it was his presence, the younger boy added, “Did you… did you want Deacon alone, Mum? I’m not interrupting?”

“No, both of you,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the living room. “Don’t dawdle, alright?”

If he’d been uneasy before, now Deacon was outright anxious, his palms sweaty as he and Ludwig hurried to unlace their boots. Something was wrong-- something had to be wrong, his mother wouldn’t act like this otherwise. Was somebody sick? Had somebody died? Oh Woo, what if it was Yolanda… or Theia? What if--

Schooling himself, Deacon shoved the miserable thoughts away, waiting for Ludwig to finish with his second boot before both boys began toward the living room. Dread was a potent beast in him as Deacon stepped through the doorway, only Ludwig’s very close presence doing anything to soothe him.

“Mum?” the blond called again, green eyes swiftly surveying the familiar living space; his mother was nowhere in sight. Just the same old sofas there’d always been, and the coffee table, and Granddad’s ancient armchair, and…

“Surprise!”

The soldier in Deacon flared, and his hand automatically danced to his wand, as a chorus of voices burst through the air like an arrow fired from a bow. He blinked once, twice, thrice, his heart hammering in his throat, as he frantically tried to reconcile the sight before him; a pace behind him, Ludwig had fumbled a step backwards, one hand on the doorframe and the other lurching for his wand before his eyes caught up to his brain.

… Then it hit the teenagers what exactly was going on here, and both of them could only share a shocked glance between one another before each boy broke out into giddy, relieved laughter.

The room was littered with over a dozen people, all of whom had been hiding behind the various pieces of furniture. At the shout of ‘surprise’, even more celebrants filtered out from the kitchen around the corner-- faces Ludwig and Deacon hadn’t seen since their last leave, if not before then: both sets of parents, of course, and siblings, plus Yolanda and Theia; but also oodles of extended family and friends, from Sera, her husband, and children right down to cousin Bryan, the hapless soldier who’d spent his fort posting at Fort Kenley.

“Oh, you cads!” Deacon’s cheeks went warm as a hearth as Yolanda, Theia in her arms, bolted forward and pulled him into an embrace. Hugging her back, he added, “You had me thinking someone was dead!”

“Aw, did we scare our brave soldiers?” teased Deacon’s older sister, Zoe, a ruddy-cheeked infant clutched to her chest. “If so, you’re welcome. This was all Dad’s idea, but I am extremely proud to have helped.” She turned the baby out toward Ludwig and Deacon, grinning. “Say hi to your new nephew. He helped, too.”

Ludwig snorted with amusement, leaning over and smiling at the baby. “Teaching the next generation to be as corrupt as the first, I see how it is. Is your mother being an awful influence, little one?”

“Woo, dears, you’ve both gotten so thin though,” Ludwig’s mother tutted, bustling over to the boys and drawing them both into hugs. “That certainly won’t do, how will you scare away enemy soldiers if you both look like scribes?”

“We’ll have to fatten them up,” Sera agreed, laughing. “Woo, were you guys in Valzaim or a prison camp?”

“Well, actually… now that you ask...” Deacon beamed-- earning him an eye roll from nearly everyone in the room.

“Mummy says you’re still not ‘lowed to be lippy,” announced a young girl, her white-blonde hair tied in pigtails-- Deacon’s younger sister, Natasha. Swishing over to the pair, she patted Ludwig’s pocket. “Didja get me and Melitta gifts? Melitta thinks you would have, but I think you probably forgot.”

“Now who’s being lippy, Nat?” her and Deacon’s father asked, chuckling beneath his breath.

“But they missed my birthday!” The girl wrapped her arms around Ludwig’s waist, nestling her cheek against his stomach. “And Woomas. And Melitta’s birthday, too!”

“Your brothers are back home and all you want is presents,” Ludwig said, affecting a hurt expression. “So you really don’t love me after all!”

“Yes we do!” Melitta objected, squeezing around Sera to approach the boys. “But you brunged us stuff before so we thought-”

“You hear this, Deek?” Ludwig moaned. “Here we are back from foreign lands and all we get is demands. I thought our sisters loved us!”

Natasha giggled, still clinging. “‘Course we love you!” Her blue-green eyes twinkled. “Guess what, Ludwig?”

The young man tilted his head, quirking an eyebrow. “What?”

“I finally got matched!” Natasha trilled. “While you were gone!” Letting go of Benno, she turned toward the buzzing crowd of family and friends, beckoning over a mousy waif of a girl who was perhaps seven or eight, the child gnawing nervously on her lip as her jet black hair hung like a veil over her eyes. “This is Allegra! She’s not from Paddonfield, either. Just like you, Luddy! Her papa’s a butcher. And-- and she’s real ‘cited to meet you and Deacon, ‘cos I told her you were brave soldiers, and so good at magic you got sent all the way to Valzaim!”

Deacon couldn’t fight back an outright grin. “Well, hello there, Allegra. It’s very nice to meet you, too.”

Ludwig gave the nervous youngster a reassuring smile, offering a hand to her. “It’s good to have you in the family, Allegra. I bet you’re pretty overwhelmed with all the fuss, but I’m sure Nat’s making sure to look after you, hm? Just like her brother did for me a long time ago.”

Allegra nodded coyly. “Nat’s nice,” the girl murmured, rolling up her dress sleeve to fidget with the silver bracelet that was locked onto her wrist. “But we can’t do magic yet. Not like you.”

“Well, there’s still time to learn,” Deacon said sagely. His eyes glimmered. “Maybe Luddy and I can show you some cool spells before we head off again. I’ll have you know that we’re particular experts in the incantation known as vóreios.”

Zoe, bouncing her son as he began to fuss, cocked her head. “The directional spell? Why in the Woo would you be an expert in that, Deacon?”

“Oh, it’s a long story!” Deacon said. “I’d tell you, but I’m afraid both our mum and Luddy’s mum would end up smacking me by the end of it.”

“Well, now you have to tell us,” Deacon’s mother said, a brow raised. “Over cake, though-- Yolanda, Allegra, Natasha, and I didn’t spend hours slaving over the biggest sheet cake known to man for it to go stale.”

“We’ve got milk, too!” Natasha chirped. “And cider.”

“I helped ice the cake!” Melitta put in proudly. “All in blue and yellow ‘cause you’re finally gonna be real soldiers!”

“That sounds fantastic,” Ludwig replied with a grin, glancing sideways at Deacon. “And I’m sure my dear partner will love getting to tell everyone all the details of our… misadventure, shall we say?” He winked at his and Deacon’s younger siblings. “At least parts of it are good. We fought a hydra.”

“Did not,” Melitta gasped, looking up at her older brother in shock.

“Are you calling us liars, young lady?” Deacon teased, striding toward Melitta and hefting her up with one arm. Using his other hand to tousle her dark hair as she giggled and squirmed, the teenager could only beam when nearby, his mother crossed her arms and let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Come on, Deacon,” she said firmly. “Since you’ve clearly gotten so very strong, you can help me carve up the cake.”

“And then he can tell us ‘bout the hydra?” Natasha needled.

“Sure,” their mother agreed. “Then he and Ludwig can tell us all about the hydra.” A little humour creeping back to her disposition, she added, “It wouldn’t be my Deek, after all, if he weren’t dragging poor Ludwig into a world of trouble. I shouldn’t have expected any different.”

“Oh I think even you will be impressed by this little fiasco,” Ludwig drawled, letting his mother hug him close as the group filed towards kitchen. “I can tell you this much, Deacon is never going to be in charge of navigating us through unfamiliar terrain. I love him, but that is a mistake I will only make once.”

“You call it a mistake, I call it an adventure,” Deacon said blithely. “And love you, too, Luddy.” He smirked. “Now let’s get us that cake.”

[Avery]

'Nother collab with Deacon and Ludwig-- this one a rollicking adventure with natural disasters and cute animals. 8D So you know nothing can go wrong whatsoever!

Close to Home: Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

The dark haired mage was leaning against the window of the officers’ headquarters, watching out from the third story window as a pair of figures was escorted out of the fort gates, having just been released from custody. One of the duo was an unremarkable teenage girl with chocolate colored hair. The other was a teenaged boy with the trademark coffee-colored skin of an ethnic Valzick, and a wild bushy black hair and beard. And, though it was not visible with his back to the window, on his forehead was a Meltaiman blank brand.

“Those kids are ‘Pit-cursed lucky to have made it this far alive,” the mage remarked wistfully, absently clicking his fingernail against the silver bracelet on his wrist. “I would not have given them a snowball’s chance in an inferno of making it through the Galfras with Meltaiman elites hot on their tails. The girl looks about Allegra’s age.”

“Mm.” Seated at a cluttered desk that faced away from the window, his forehead wrinkled in concentration as he scribbled hasty notes on a scroll of parchment, the dark-haired mage’s partner didn’t even lift his gaze. “I’m glad the colonel at least listened to our recommendation to let them go-- sometimes I swear he has us interrogate people just to entertain himself. And pays our opinion absolutely zero attention when he makes his final decision.” He sighed. “And once I finish up with this report on our fun conversation, we can take our night of leave. Finally. I was thinking we could head to the village? Get a pint, maybe.”

“Sure, I’m up for that,” the first man agreed. Quirking an eyebrow he added, “Though really Deacon, if you were less of a smart mouth in interrogations the colonel might take us more seriously. The good-constable, bad-constable game works better when every other word from your mouth isn't dripping cheerful sarcasm. I swear the poor Valzick kid about wet himself.”

“It did work better with that idiot private last month,” Deacon admitted, sighing as he rewetted his quill. “You know-- the one who deserted and ended up having to be rescued from the custody of that Synedonese warlord?” He shifted in his chair, emerald eyes lifting toward his partner as he added, “But I couldn’t exactly just stop with it halfway through the interrogation and do a complete personality shift. And anyway, Luddy-- it’s all right, because I made my amends.”

“Oh boy,” Ludwig- usually known by Benno, a shortening of his surname Benigno- groused. “Is this going to get us hauled up for a lecture?”

“You insult me, Ludwig.” Deacon grinned lopsidedly. “But no-- it shouldn’t. It’s just the bannocks. You know, the ones we gave to Corporal Tomling and told him to give the kids at the fort gates. You think the miserly colonel who I’m pretty sure inventories individual quill feathers would have approved that if I’d asked? Nah. So I swiped ‘em.” He placed a hand to his heart. “What can I say? The bad-constable found out that kindness was lurking in him all along, just waiting for its moment to shine.”

“Ah, I see,” Benno said with a crooked smile. “I’m not the only one who saw a baby sister in the girl. I admit, she surprised me. She really does care about the blank kid. Most Meltaimans we pick up spit insults at nonmages and won't give the the time of day.”

“To be fair,” Deacon replied, “the vast majority of Meltaimans we pick up are soldiers who think that pretending the border doesn’t exist makes it so. Not… terrified children I half-wanted to take home to Yolanda so she could shove stew down their throats.” Glancing back down at the scribbled-upon parchment, the mage gnawed on his lip. “I think this just about does it. And once we submit it to the colonel… that tavern is all ours, Luddy.”

“Sounds good,” his partner said fervently. “Let’s get out of here before one of the idiot cadets on fort assignment blows something up and we get roped into spending all night cleaning it up.”

“Don’t curse it.” Deacon smirked, rising with the parchment. He gestured toward the doorway. “After you, good-constable.”

At the colonel’s office, the partners knocked once and waited politely before they were bade entry, any trace of wryness evaporating from Deacon’s face as he snapped into a salute at the colonel’s presence. Ludwig echoed the move, as did the colonel, the higher-ranking officer looking rather harried thereafter as he motioned for the commandants to shut the door behind them.

“I’m glad you’re here,” the man said, leaning back in his chair; he didn’t issue an invitation for Ludwig and Deacon to take seats of their own, and they didn’t ask. “I was going to send somebody to fetch you if you hadn’t turned up soon.”

“I, ah…” Deacon faltered, standing ramrod straight as he gave the colonel a shaky smile. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought we had until sundown to finish the report, sir.”

“Oh, it’s not about the report.” The colonel waved a dismissive hand. “It’s about a message I received about an hour ago-- sent by pigeon from Fort Burke. Banded red.”

Benno blanched. “F-fort Burke? That’s… that’s in Igerna District, isn't it? Where Commandant Azrael and I are from. And a red band, that’s…” He forced himself to say neutrally, “An emergency, sir?”

“Of a sort,” the colonel agreed. “There was an outbreak of serious storms in the riverlands the day before last-- spawning dozens of tornadoes across nearly a half dozen districts. Including Igerna. The city itself was spared, thank the Woo, but initial aerial surveys show that damage in the countryside was far greater.” His dark eyes hooked on the pair of mages. “As is his right in times of exceptional need, Lord Marshal Heeren appealed to His Majesty for extra manpower to respond to the crisis. King Aedan granted this request. As such, a levy was put forth to requisition subjects of Lord Marshal Heeren’s who are presently serving in the national army, and transfer them for the time being to the Igerna district militia-- to be used as desired by Lord Marshal Heeren until his need has been fulfilled. The names of all eligible lieges were submitted into a pool. Lots were drawn this morning.”

Understanding dawned on the dark haired mage’s face, and he nodded. “Our names were drawn, sir? We’re being requisitioned by the Igerna district militia?”

“You are,” the colonel confirmed. “You’re expected at Fort Burke by tomorrow at high noon-- a hippogriff will be provided for your transport, departing this evening at sundown. You have until then to pack any personal belongings you’d like to bring with you.” The man steepled his fingers. “Further orders will be provided to you by the militia commander once you touch down.”

“This… this evening, sir?” Deacon’s head was spinning. Woo, this was a world away from what he’d expected to hear when he and Ludwig had entered this room only moments ago.

“It’s a time sensitive crisis.” The colonel shrugged, unfazed. “And in this instance, I truly am just the messenger, soldiers. These are royal orders-- I’ve no say in them.” He let what might have been a faint smile tug at the corners of his lips. “Trust me, I’m no more pleased about losing my best interrogators than you are about being lost.”

Benno shook his head. “If there are people hurt or trapped after the storms, it's our duty as soldiers to save them. They might be dying while we dallied. It’s understandable, sir.” He tilted his head towards Deacon, adding, “And it isn't all bad. Igerna is our home.”

“A good perspective, soldier,” the colonel said. His eyes fell to the scroll of parchment still clutched in Deacon’s hand. “Now, if you’d like to just leave that here for me, you can go pack up. And…” The man chuckled beneath his breath. “I’d grant you permission to grab a bite to eat before you depart, but a little cook tells me you already had your fill of bannocks for the day, no?”

Deacon paled. “I, ah… well…”

“Woo-speed to you in Igerna, soldiers,” the colonel cut in lightly. “Dismissed.”

***

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Deacon murmured late the next morning, as his and Benno’s hippogriff coasted down into one of Fort Burke’s wide-open landing strips. “Woo, when’s the last time we were here even-- it was when we were cadets, wasn’t it? Before we got sent to Valzaim.” Stifling a yawn, he swung himself off the griff’s saddle, landing with a jolt on the ground below. “Never thought I’d be back here as a militia member, that’s for sure. Just warning you, Benno-- I might cry when they make us change from our dazzling blue-and-gold into Lord Marshal Heeren’s mildew green.”

“At least I’ll be able to reassure your mum that if soldiering falls through you still have a solid career in dramas,” Benno remarked absently. He dismounted behind his partner, both of them hurriedly saluting as a man in the uniform of a militia lieutenant colonel scurried up to them. The man saluted back, and both of the mages shifted into at-ease positions.

“Names?” the lieutenant colonel said briskly, consulting a thick wad of papers in his hand.

“Commandant Ludwig Benigno, and bonded partner Commandant Deacon Azrael, sir!” Ludwig replied sharply, in spite of his patent fatigue from the all-night flight.

The man shuffled his papers a bit, then made a noise of satisfaction. “Here we are. Just arrived from Fort Thamar along the northwestern Valzick border, no? Come along then, let’s see about getting you boys debriefed and kitted out.”

“Yes, sir.” As the lieutenant colonel turned on his heel to stride away, Deacon scrambled to fall in step behind him, Ludwig at his side.

Bypassing the buildings that had been earmarked for use by the king’s army-- and of which Ludwig and Deacon were thus familiar-- the lieutenant colonel took a tight but sprawling path across base, zigging and zagging until finally he reached a squat, unassuming hall near the fort’s far western perimeter. Entering with a clipped salute to the green-clad pair of sentinels who stood guard, he didn’t speak as he led Deacon and Ludwig into a large if airless assembly room. It benches had all been pushed against the outer walls, its tables dragged into a maze in the center. Several dozen people listed about, perhaps half of them clad in militia green whilst the rest, like Deacon and Ludwig, wore king’s army blue-and-gold.

“On-boarding stations,” the lieutenant colonel said briskly. “Give your names to the soldiers there”-- he jabbed a thumb at one of the tables-- “and they’ll direct you hence. You’ll receiving everything you need to know in this room-- squadron assignment, muster orders, uniforms, rankings.”

Benno had already started to obey automatically, as had become his habit, but the man’s last word gave him pause, and he blinked. “Ah… rankings, sir? What do you mean rankings? We already have rankings.”

“You have king’s army rankings,” the man said coolly. “You’ve never worked for the militia before; things here are very different. So your normal rankings do not apply.”

“So… we’re-- not going to be commandants, sir?” Deacon asked.

“You’ll be assigned whichever rank best combines your experience with our present needs.” The lieutenant colonel’s expression and voice were both flat. “Now, if you’ll head to the first station, soldiers. Your cooperation is appreciated.”

With no further ceremony, the lieutenant colonel spun and left, striding quickly back out the door through which they’d entered. Alone, neither Deacon nor Ludwig moved for several moments, as if they were still struggling to absorb exactly what the militia officer had just told them. Then, finally, Deacon turned his eyes on his partner, grim-faced.

“Please tell me,” he muttered beneath his breath, so that no one else would overhear, “that we didn’t just get demoted, Benno.”

“We didn’t, but we’re about to be,” Benno murmured, his annoyance plain. “Woo, no wonder nobody wants to retire to the militia after they rise above enlisted ranks. They’re so… casual about stripping the ranks we worked bloody hard to earn.” He sighed. “I hope at least they aren’t going to make us corporals again.”

“Don’t even suggest such a thing,” Deacon said dourly, he and his partner falling into line at the first station, behind a rather sleepy-looking boy who couldn’t have been more than seventeen, his blue-and-gold tunic rumpled and short hair impossibly frizzy. “At least it seems we weren’t the only ones summoned on no notice,” Deacon murmured. Eyes scanning the room, he pursed his lips. “Oh, Lud-- look over there. See that?”

The taller man followed his partner’s gaze, a slight frown ticking at his lips. “Women? What are- oh, Woo, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen the militia healers’ uniforms. Nothing like king’s army counterparts, are they?” He folded his arms. “I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise healers got drafted as well- people are bound to have been hurt, and if we’re digging through unstable rubble we might get hurt as well.”

“Mmhm.” Deacon raked a hand through his tangled hair as the exhausted teenager in front of them reached the head of the line. “Our moment of doom awaits,” he added at a murmur. “Although, hey-- maybe we’ll get a promotion. That’d be nice, right? I mean, militia isn’t as competitive as king’s army, so it’s possible.”

“Credit for optimism, at least,” Benno said.

Once they’d reached the head of the queue, the duo gave their names to the soldier filing the paperwork. He skimmed the paperwork, pursing his lips, while Deacon tried his best not to fidget where he stood, impatient as all ‘Pit.

“Says here you’ve had most of your experience along the Synedonese and Valzick borders. Fluent in Valzick. Spent the last year or so primarily working interrogations.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Not exactly much recent experience with digging through rubble and reconstruction.”

“We’re mages,” Deacon said. “We can levitate debris-- and in a pinch, we know basic healing spells as well.” He didn’t know why he was bothering to justify himself to this peon. Not when, in all likelihood, their rank had already been decided, and the militiaman was just rambling off the notes in front of him. Maybe it was pride. Or perhaps merely exhaustion ladled with a healthy dosing of aggravation. He added quickly, “So, ah-- experience or not, we have the skills to help. In whatever way Lord Marshal Heeren requires us.”

The man was unmoved. No doubt he’d been dealing with irate king’s army officers all day. He only continued to skim the papers. “Let’s see… ah, lucky boys-- you’ll be in unit VAW10-60, working directly under Lord General Jaxon and Lord Brigadier Rohan in the northwest quadrant.”

Lord General Jaxon and Lord Brigadier Rohan? ‘Pit, this just kept getting stranger and stranger. Given the title of nobility that preceded their militia rankings, Deacon presumed these had to be kin of Lord Marshal Heeren, the reigning head of Igerna district-- and close kin at that, since general and brigadier were impressive ranks in their own right. But why would lordlings concern themselves with personally heading foot units-- didn’t they have a massive cache of underlings for that?

If he had half a mind to inquire after the lords’ motives, however, he didn’t have the opportunity to do so, the militia soldier briskly continuing, “You have been assigned the ranking of Lieutenant.” He pulled one slip of paper out of the pile, offering it to Deacon. “Take this to the fellow next along the assembly line and he’ll give you your uniforms and let you know where to report to once you’ve eaten and rested up a bit.”

With a startled blink-- and his puzzlement over the lordlings’ appointment abruptly supplanted-- Deacon accepted the paper with a decidedly sour taste suddenly coating his mouth. Lieutenant. He and Ludwig had been demoted to lieutenants? Woo, they hadn’t been lieutenants in close to two years; it was a rank he never thought they’d don again, a rank they’d surpassed on a massive amount of hard work and tenacity. To be dumped unceremoniously back into it like their experience in the king’s army was but a trifling sidebar? He wanted to swear, clenched his jaw instead, and his steps were suddenly very, very stiff as he and Ludwig drifted to the next station.

Half an hour later, with their drab uniforms acquired and muster orders received (they were to report outside the militia mess hall the next morning at dawn, to be dispatched with their squadron to the city of Persis in the northern stretches of Igerna district), Ludwig and Deacon began tiredly toward their assigned barracks to sleep off the whirlwind past day. Neither man spoke as they walked, Ludwig’s arms crossed at his chest and Deacon massaging his thrumming temple-- and scowling every time he caught sight of his regalia, his overtunic so bereft of its usual laurels and pins. He felt as though he were missing a limb. A limb he’d laboured so cursed hard to grow in the first place.

“Deacon! Ludwig!”

Just steps from their quarters, both men froze in place at the sound of their names being called. And not just their names, Deacon realised, but their first names-- hardly usual military address. Flicking a brief glance of confusion to his partner, the blond mage then jerked his gaze toward whomever was speaking, and for a moment further befuddlement filled him when he found no one there. But then, after a beat more, he found them: a tall, rail thin girl of perhaps fifteen, her white-blonde hair hanging in a plait over one shoulder as she stood in the shadows between the partners’ barrack and the one beside it. A second, raven-haired girl stood beside her, around the same age if not younger, looking so very slight in her olive-green healer’s uniform.

“... Natasha? Allegra?” Deacon blinked once, then again, gawping at the girls as though he were half-convinced his eyes had deceived him. After all, what in all the hells would his baby sister and her partner be doing here? They were young, too young, to complete their civil service. Weren’t they? “Woo, why are you two here?”

Allegra shrugged, looking amused. “Same reason you two are, I expect,” she replied. “Helping with the tornado relief efforts.” She winked at her partner’s brother. “You’re not nearly as shiny and jingly as the last time we saw you.”

“The militia demoted us,” Benno groused. Frowning, he added, “When was your birthday, Allegra?”

“Three weeks ago,” she said. “We’d barely finished filling all the paperwork and being formally assigned to a post when the storms started. It’s been chaos ever since.”

“We were going to serve the first six months in Igerna proper,” Natasha added with a sigh. “As on-call healers for the troops Lord Marshal Heeren has garrisoned at his castle. We were really excited-- it’s so close to home. But the day before we were to report for duty, the storms hit, and well…” The girl shrugged.

“Woo.” Deacon sighed gustily. Like bonded male mages, females were required to give service back to their kingdom in exchange for the pricey investments it had made in them. Unlike men, though, women served in a non-combat capacity as healers-- and while male mages weren’t done with their training until the younger of the pair was seventeen, since the girls only had healing to learn, not both physical and magical combat, they were sent afield at just fourteen. Further, though male mages were required to spend at least a year in the king’s army before they could transfer to the closer-to-home militia, females were allowed the choice of either from the outset, and the postings they could receive were far more eclectic. “I can’t believe I forgot about your fourteenth birthday, Ally. I’m sorry. I hope it was nice?”

“It’s fine, I know you’ve been busy, Deacon,” she replied with a smile. “And yeah, it was pretty fun. Sera and Zoe chipped in together to let me pretty up my wand a little.” The young woman drew the instrument in question, which her now-gone father- a butcher- had bought for her with his meager funds when she was young. It had always been a somewhat gnarled and crooked rod, with no ornamentation. It seemed that Deacon’s older sister and her partner had managed to provide Allegra with a lumpy but crystal clear chunk of rose quartz embedded on the tip.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Natasha chirped, smiling at her partner. “We spent like, half the day at the jewelers debating over what to get. I think Zoe was about to murder us by the end.”

Deacon chuckled. “It’s very pretty,” he agreed. “Just like its owner, if I do say so myself. Hopefully Zoe and Sera got a good deal on it?”

Allegra blushed, giggling. “Thanks, Deacon. Don’t worry, Uncle Cecil’s mum generously didn’t haggle too hard with them.”

“You’re going to bankrupt that poor woman,” Deacon teased. “Exploiting the generosity of an old jewel-maker? You fiend. I’m surprised Uncle Cecil didn’t cast a torture curse on you for scamming his poor mummy.”
“She does business with Paddonfield wandmakers and non-mage jewelry crafters, I think she’s fine,” Allegra retorted. Rolling up onto the balls of her feet, she chirped, “So! What’s your assignment, then? You guys been given a squadron?”

Benno glanced at the sheaf of paper in his hands. “According to this, we’re with squadron VAW10-60, which is about as intelligible as anything in the military. Supposedly we’ll be in the northwest quadrant with two gentlemen I can only assume from their titles are Lord Marshal Heeren’s sons.”

Natasha laughed. “No way.” Grinning crookedly, she reached into the pocket of her dress and fished out a crumpled piece of parchment. Its ink was smudged, but the stamp on the top was clear: VAW10-60. “Woo, it’s almost like they just… flung people into squadrons by alphabetical order or something. Tick off a list of a couple dozen soldiers, add a few healers, jam some high officers in charge, and voila!”

“So skeptical, my dear Tasha,” Deacon said-- but he was smiling, too. “I guess this means we’re your commanding officers, doesn’t it? Since I doubt the lordlings-- whyever they’re condescending themselves to a role a commandant or colonel would usually fill-- are going to want to get their hands very dirty digging the common folks out of rubble.” Reaching out, he ruffled his sister’s pale hair. “My dreams of bossing you about without Mum cuffing me for it: fulfilled at last!”

Benno laughed, elbowing his partner. “Now, now, remember to be professional, Lieutenant, we want to make a good impression on our superiors.”

“Woo, they made you lieutenants?” Allegra asked. “You been grumping up a storm, Deek?”

“I plan on crying myself to sleep,” he replied brightly. “My pride might not ever recover, Ally.”

“I think you’ve got more than enough pride, Lieutenant.” Natasha smirked. “And remember-- Mum might not be here to yank your sorry ear now, but you still have to see her next time you’re on leave.”

“Are you threatening me, Tasha?” Deacon gasped in mock horror. “How dare you? Insubordination, Battalion Healer Azrael! To the flogging post with you!”

Both girls giggled, and Benno ruffled their hair. “So how’s everyone doing? I gather your mum, Zoe and Sera are well, but…?”

“Michaela’s new favorite word is ‘no,’” Allegra said dryly, naming Deacon’s two year old daughter. “She’s been driving Yolanda crazy.”

“And just after Maegan finally got over it, too,” Natasha added with a laugh; Deacon’s second of three daughters was soon turning four. Turning her gaze toward Benno, the girl said, “Connor’s still a quiet little mouse, though. And the happiest toddler in the world whenever Yolanda lets him sit with her while she runs the shop books, or babysits brewing potions.”

Benno gave Natasha a proud smile, though it was one underscored by old sadness. “He’s always been such a little cling. If he turns out a mage I hope his eventual partner is a patient boy.” Glancing sideways at Deacon he added, “Or enough a jerk that he’s too intimidated to be a clingy duckling at first, am I right, ‘surely my partner is Darby Kroft’?”

“I shall have you know that my career as a psychic failed for a reason, Benno,” Deacon said primly.

“And so did your career as a commandant, apparently,” Natasha retorted.

“Now, now, you tread dangerously, Tasha.” Deacon glanced over his shoulder, at the path he and Ludwig had just traversed from the large hall to the barracks. “Say,” the man went on, “Luddy and I were going to get some shut eye, but… we haven’t eaten since yesterday. And it’s about lunchtime, isn’t it?”

“That’s actually where Ally and I were headed,” Natasha confirmed. “The mess is a bit of walk, but the food’s all right. At least, compared to some of the mush you’ve griped about. You made me think we’d basically be eating salted dirt, Deacon.”

“Depends on the month,” Benno replied airily. “Also you get better supplies in a fort than in the field.” Ticking his head to one side, he added, “You girls feel like showing your dumb brothers the way to the militia mess, then? I can scowl away any privates who get it into their heads you’re available.”

“Aw, don’t do that,” Allegra grumbled cheerfully, gesturing for them to follow as she set off. “It’s cute watching them trip over themselves. Tasha has so many admirers.”

“Does she now?” Deacon raised a blond brow. “You should point them out to me, Tasha. You know-- just for… knowledge’s sake.”

“Oh, you wish.” Natasha snorted. “And isn’t that awfully meddlesome, Lieutenant Azrael? Your underlings’ dealings are no business of yours.”

“Oh, but fraternizing is our business,” Benno put in cheerily. “Can’t have men with their minds not on the jobs. And protecting the poor, precious girlchildren is our sworn duty.”

“Here, give me those scimitars,” Allegra said, holding out a hand. “I need to pop those inflated egos.”

“Ah, why bother?” Natasha asked. “He might be a cocky prat now, but I’m sure a few days of digging through rubble will bring him back down to earth.”

Close to Home: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

It was brisk for September when squadron VAW10-60 assembled shortly before dawn the next day, Deacon shuddering slightly beneath his cloak as he and Ludwig made the long trek from their barracks to the spot outside the mess hall where they’d been ordered to report. Flirting with the sunrise deadline-- as they always did in cases like these, thanks to Deacon’s tendency to oversleep-- several dozens other soldiers had already arrived by the time the partners shuffled up, as had a handful of healers, including Natasha and Allegra; a quick rake of the militia-men’s tunics revealed only a few other commissioned officers beyond Deacon and Ludwig. None of them seemed to be ranked higher than he and his partner were… a fact that might have boosted Deacon’s ego some were it not for the pair of men who strode up on his and Ludwig’s heels, their livery so decorated with ribbons, medals, and pins that Deacon was surprised they didn’t jingle with each step they took-- and made all the more jarring by the fact that the elder of them didn’t look more than Deacon’s own age, if that. Both men had telltale silver rune bracelets around their wrists, plus wand holsters at their hips-- far nicer ones than either Deacon or Ludwig had, the supple leather of each embossed with matching likenesses of a roaring tiger. The House Heeren crest.

“Good morning,” the elder of them intoned, his light brown eyes inscrutable behind chestnut bangs as he scanned the assemblage, all of whom had snapped into hasty salutes at his and other man’s presence. Taking his time to salute back, he made his subordinates hold the gesture for a good, long while, his voice smooth as he then continued, “All of you here should have received orders assigning you to unit number VAW10-60. There are supposed to be sixty of you here, and at my count we have…” He glanced to the other officer beside him, tilting his head. “Did you get sixty, as well?”

“I did,” his companion agreed, smoothing back hair a shade of brown so dark it was almost black. “Looks like everyone is present and accounted for.”

“Wonderful. Then let’s not waste any time.” The man pursed his lips, eyes listing back toward the group of men and women. “My name is Lord General Jaxon Heeren. I am in charge of unit VAW10-60. My second, standing beside me, is Lord Brigadier Rohan Heeren. Our unit is being dispatched to the city of Persis in the northwestern part of Igerna district. Persis-- which, thank the Woo, was spared from any serious damage in the storms-- will serve as our base as we perform search, rescue, and recovery missions in impacted villages nearby. From the sixty men and women we have here, the unit will be subdivided into five squadrons of twelve-- two commissioned officers, eight subordinates, two healers. Lord Brigadier Rohan and I, meanwhile, will stay behind in Persis to ensure operations are running smoothly.” He looked again toward Rohan. “Anything I’ve forgotten, brother?”

“Just that they need to keep their eyes peeled for looters,” Rohan replied. Looking down towards the men he added cheerfully, “If you see anyone looking shifty or taking something from a ruined home or paddock, it is better to be over cautious than for some poor soul to come home after being dug out of a ruined building to find their entire life savings was stolen.”

Jaxon nodded briskly. “Right. This is a rescue mission first and foremost, but we’re also responsible for ensuring law and order if need be-- though hopefully, it won’t come to that. Now…” Reaching into the breast pocket of his overtunic, he pulled out a tightly wound up scroll. “Persis is about a twelve-hour ride from here by horseback. We’ll be traveling in formation by squadron-- squadron one at the head, five at the rear. Listen for your name as I read them now. I will not repeat myself. Unit one-- officer in charge: Lieutenant Tiernan Willifrid…”

As Jaxon continued to rattle off the squadron arrangements, Deacon alternated between rubbing at his bleary eyes and valiantly attempting to force back yawns, while Ludwig examined the faces of the militiamen around them, wondering who they would be assigned with. Natasha and Allegra were called early, as the healers for squadron number two, but it wasn’t until squadron four that Jaxon announced the pair-bonded mages. So apparently it wasn’t alphabetical, after all; as the soldiers arranged themselves into their companies, Deacon shot his sister and her partner a wan smile, wishing he could call out a dry joke to them but knowing much, much better than to do so within earshot of the lord officers.

The ride from Fort Burke to Persis was long, but it was pleasant at least, the breaking dawn bringing with it a sharp uptick in the temperature. The further north the battalion wended, the clearer the signs of the storm outbreak became: felled trees along the road; stretches here and there that remained flooded even days later; a pile of rubble atop a low hill that might have once been a silo, needles of hay now blown helter-skelter all through the tall grass around it.

Deacon and Ludwig were both beginning to grow saddlesore by the time they finally reached Persis and set about pitching camp in an open field at the south end of town, but they weren’t granted much time to rest-- only the night, and then it was up again with the sun the next morning, Lord General Jaxon announcing that unit four was to report to the village of Iachin, about ten miles to the northeast of Persis. No ground surveys had been done yet on the cozy hamlet, but a brief aerial evaluation immediately after the storms had not been promising. According to Lord Brigadier Rohan, Iachin seemed to have suffered a direct hit. Few buildings remained with all four walls, and those that did still looked battered. Casualties were already assumed.

The partners rode into the village with their unit, and sure enough the place was a mess. Benno hissed softly at the clear impression of brown dirt through the middle of town that marked where the tornado had touched the earth.

“I’m eternally glad nobody has figured out how to replicate something like this with magic,” he muttered to his partner. “That would be a disaster.” Looking around he said, “I’m thinking we split the soldiers up into two groups of four, and buddy-up so that each person has one other person accountable for their safety. Y’know so they don’t fall into a chasm in a debris pile and nobody notices. We should hold back on magic unless there’s something too heavy to lift by hand, and be within easy whistling distance of either group if they need help.”

“Agreed.” As they hitched the horses in what had once been the village square, tethering their mounts to the few trees that had not been upended, Deacon sighed heavily. “I take group A, you take group B, and we split the healers?” Daring a smirk, he leaned in closer to Ludwig, adding so that only his partner could hear, “If you let me divide, I promise I’ll play fair. And won’t saddle you with all the blank-eyed idiots.”

“I’ll trust you,” Benno replied in a mockingly grave voice. “Don’t betray me now, partner.”

As they set about working, it quickly became clear they were in for the long haul. While some uninjured civilians did come along to volunteer their help, and pointed out debris fields and wreckages they’d already combed through themselves, it was still a slow, laborious task digging through ruined buildings by hand. The rubble was balanced so precariously that it had to be jiggled out with extreme care and precision to avoid sending an entire structure collapsing in on itself- and any possible survivors.

They’d been at it for nearly three hours- Benno’s team clearing one building of only people already gone to the Woo’s domain- when a sharp, high pitched whistle from the half-collapsed farmhouse Deacon had charge of drew his partner’s attention. Benno waved at the soldiers in his group to bring them down from the pile they were presently sifting through-- it might have once been a barn-- then quickly made his way over to his partner.

“What’s up?” he asked as soon as he was in speaking range.

“Private Rasmussen here can’t follow instructions.” Crouched carefully atop a mound of debris inside the remains of the gutted house, Deacon jerked his hand at a rather befuddled-looking boy who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and who was stooping awkwardly a few yards away from him. “I told him repeatedly that he had to work slowly and watch where he was putting the debris he sorted through. That he couldn’t just fling it blindly. Private Rasmussen, however, must be in a hurry, because now… well-- look, Lieutenant Benigno.” Deacon pointed with his chin. “I’m pretty sure he knocked loose the one support beam that was still solidly standing by thoughtlessly chucking debris against it.” Directing a glower toward Rasmussen, he added, “The beam that’s helping to hold up the entire remains of the structure. The structure that he and the rest of his unit are inside.”

Benno sighed, rubbing his face. “Right. So you need my team to-” here he leveled a stern glare at the private in question, “-waste valuable time they could be spending saving other lives to keep the structure from falling in while your team finishes digging.”

“That is correct.” Deacon scowled. “Babysit the beam for us, will you? And if it starts to shift…”

“We’ll catch it,” he finished. “Good luck, and let Private Rasmussen know that we need to have a little chat with him when we break for lunch, hm?”

“You hear that, Private Rasmussen?” Deacon called cheerfully. “We’re going to have a talk!” He heaved a sigh. “All right-- Lance Corporal Denahue, move a few feet to your left, and I want you and Rasmussen to each take a side of that massive woodplank-- the one that’s got peeling green paint on it-- and tug it slowly forward… Private Searle, Private Maddey, if you could carefully move to ten o'clock and two o'clock and spot them... ”

The soldiers obliged, Rasmussen wearing a decidedly grim expression as he hooked his fingers over the gnarled slab. Following Deacon’s order, he and Denahue moved at a snail’s pace, carefully scooting the board toward them inch by inch as the designated spotters and blond lieutenant watched on with iron eyes, Deacon barely daring to blink. Woo, this was like a never-ending puzzle-- and one that might crush you like a bug if you made a wrong move. Even rune webs weren’t so unforgiving. And they didn’t give you splinters, either.

“Denahue, move a little more to your left,” he ordered once the plank was about a quarter of the way pried free. “You guys are sliding it a bit unevenly-- I want it to come out straight, not at an angle. You need to keep one eye on your partner’s progress or you’re not going to be able to maintain an even pace.” He flicked his gaze over his shoulder, to where Ludwig stood just outside the ruined house’s wreckage. “We still good with the beam, Lieutenant Benigno?”

“So far so good,” Benno called back. “Bit of dust coming out of the rafters though, be gentle with your digging.”

The words had scarcely cleared Benno’s mouth when a thin, high voice from somewhere below their feet warbled, “P-Papa? Are you there?”

Deacon’s heart froze in his chest, the mage’s entire body going numb. Frantically, he whipped his gaze forward again, eyes landing on the towering pile of debris from which Denahue and Rasmussen were delicately prying free the wooden plank. “Was I imagining that?” he murmured. “Or…?”

Rasmussen gulped, his throat bobbing. “N-no, sir, I heard it, too.”

“It sounded like a… a child, sir,” added Private Maddey, the teenager’s eyes gone wide as full moons. “’Pit. Are… are they below?”

“I don’t know.” Deacon forced a deep breath. “Lieutenant Benigno!” he called, willing his voice not to turn shrill. “If you could position your men to keep careful watch on all sides of the beam and come in here, please? Slowly.”

Benno nodded, giving a few curt orders to his team before picking his way towards his partner, terrified every misstep could mean dislodging some vital support and crushing the child. The little one, meanwhile, had started to cry.

“I’m thirsty,” the voice- female- rasped. “A-and Mama won't wake up. She’s on me and she’s hurting me, b-but she won't wake up!”

Deacon bit back a curse. “It’s all right, sweetheart!” he called, stomach flopping as Benno continued his ginger creep through the ruins. “We’re getting you out-- I promise!”

“Do we… do we keep pulling the plank, sir?” Denahue murmured.

“We need to get her out,” Deacon said. “And quickly-- she’s already been buried for… Woo, for days. But if we jostle the wrong part of this mound and send it caving…” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Maddey, Searle-- go around to the other side of the debris field. Begin sifting from that end while Rasmussen and Denahue finish with the plank. We can work from the perimeter in. And…” He flicked a quick glimpse outside the ruin again, eyes hooking on the two teenage girls who stood slightly back from the precarious wreckage and Benigno’s men. “Battalion Healers Whitney and Avage-- ready yourselves for a patient.”

“Azrael,” Benno called, switching abruptly to Valzick so the child couldn't understand. “You need to get her talking, calm her down. If she keeps crying like that she’s going to dehydrate herself even worse.”

“Right.” Deacon exhaled slowly, turning to watch as Maddey and Searle delicately began toward the other side of the rubble mound, Denahue and Rasmussen still working on the plank as they did. Then, using the same sort of voice he might have with his own children, the blond mage said, “My name’s Deacon, honey-- I’m a soldier, here to help get you out. What’s your name?”

There was a hiccup from below, then the girl called up, “S-Samantha. Mama ‘n Papa call me Sammy.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Benno said coaxingly, finally coming up beside his partner. “I’m Ludwig- Deacon’s friend.”

“A-are you gonna help Mama?” Sammy asked. “She jumped on me when the ceiling fell. A-and then she went to sleep and won't wake up.”

Deacon winced. “We’re going to do our best to help you both,” he said-- there was no use panicking the little girl further, even if the mage knew better than he’d have liked to that the odds were very, very slim for this child’s mother. “Who was in your house when the storm hit?” he went on. “Just you and Mama? What about your papa? Or any siblings?”

“P-papa was in the bedroom with a fever,” she replied. “But Dylas, my big brother, he’s in the army so he’s away lots.” She sniffed. “You’re soldiers. D’you know Dyl? He’s a corporal.”

“We don’t, but I’m sure he’s a really good soldier,” Deacon said. And Woo, the poor man had to be worried sick about his family if he’d heard about the storms. “Once we get you out, we can track down Dylas for you, how’s that? So you can give him a big hug, Sammy.”

Stomach still twisting, Deacon glanced again toward Rasmussen and Denahue; the soldiers had at long last gotten the plank free, setting it aside as they quickly turned their eyes to the rest of the debris field that had rested beneath. Furniture scraps, chunks of wall, roof shingles-- all the bones of the house were tangled together in a nearly unidentifiable mass, and it was difficult to figure out which item to tackle next. Perhaps they ought stick with the larger pieces for now, Deacon decided after a hurried moment’s consideration. And Woo, maybe if they were lucky Sammy would turn out to be wedged just beneath one such hunk, easy to pull out and spirit quickly away to the pair of healers who stood just outside the ruins--

“Rasmussen, no! No!”

Deacon’s heart lurched at the sound of one Ludwig’s sentries calling sharply out, the lieutenant’s gaze snapping from the mountain of debris to the soldiers who crouched before it. His stomach leapt into his throat as he registered the sight in front of him: Denahue kneeling patiently, hands to himself as he awaited further orders… while a few feet away from him, Rasmussen’s arms were outstretched, the teenager apparently having taken it upon himself to keep digging whilst his superior officers had mulled. The boy’s fingers were now curled over a piece of wood that was protruding from the center of the pile, his brow knitted in concentration as he gave it the same sort of swift tug one might have afforded an irksome splinter.

“Rasmussen!” Deacon snarled, horror and dread slamming into him.

But it was too late; the piece of wood jolted out, and Deacon could only blink in wild-eyed horror as, with a terrifying rumble, the entire pile above it shifted, tugging where it was still connected to the sagging roof. The sentries around the beam bellowed a warning as, lurched by the yank on its upper support, the already weakened pillar snapped at the base. It careened down towards the pile under which Sammy was buried, bringing the entire remains of the roof down with it as soldiers scrambled to get out of the way.

Panic lit within Benno, and with no time to think or to synch with his partner, he pulled upon his singular energies and snarled an incantation that properly should have been for a pair spell.

“Dhērai Liphṭa.”

Blue light exploded from Benno’s wand tip, streaming like water to flow around the falling debris. Within seconds the entire ruin was washed in a pale blue glow, the pillar and upper layers of rubble suspended in midair. Benno glared hard at the floating objects. The normal hover spell, Liphṭa, could hold a singular object up to about two hundred pounds- the weight of an adult man. The pairbond mage’s stronger version, Dhērai Liphṭa, was designed to be able to lift multiple objects at once with a higher weight capacity, by combining the strength of both mages and allowing them to split the mental burden of keeping all the objects airborne. However, Ludwig was holding the spell entirely on his own. With so much weight, with this many disparate objects, it took every ounce of his individual concentration. He didn't move, barely dared to breathe. His eyes flicked towards Deacon a desperate silent plea for help in his face before he glowered at the rubble once more.

Deacon didn’t waste a moment, swearing beneath his breath as he hastily drew his wand and tapped it once against the silver bracelet around his wrist. “I’ll hold it!” he shouted, hissing a spell beneath his breath. Light flared from his wand, a brilliant burst of it twining around the floating debris pile and Ludwig’s own incantation, and the blond mage’s teeth were gritted as he said, “I have it, Lud-- ease off for a second so you can synch in! Then the two of us can keep the rubble aloft while Maddey, Denahue, Searle, and the bloody idiot finish digging Sammy out!”

Ludwig nodded curtly, easing out of the spell just enough to tap his bracelet to merge his power with Deacon’s. “Even both of us together can't shift this much weight, Deek. Once they get Sammy out we’ll have to drop it- we honestly might lose it before then.”

“‘Pit.” As the four soldiers began to dig frantically through the heavily thinned remaining pile of debris that covered Sammy, Deacon strained against the floating wreckage’s weight, his muscles shaking. He knew that if he and Ludwig dropped the rubble now, that would be it for all of them-- Sammy, the privates and lance corporal, Ludwig. Himself. “Say, Lud,” he managed after a moment, “this is a time for crazy ideas, right?”

“With you it always is,” the dark haired mage noted with grim humor. “What are you concocting?”

“Bear with me.” Deacon gulped-- then, without daring to break eye contact with the spell, called out: “Batallion Healers Whitney and Avage! Can you please move forward a bit? Do not come into the house, but as close as you can get to it without being subject to falling debris if this goes… poorly.”

“Um… yes, sir,” replied one of the healers; Deacon wasn’t sure which, nor did he really care.

“All right!” he said. “You on the fringe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Crouch for me. So you can see what’s going on in here.” His entire body pulsed with exertion, the debris straining against the spell’s levitating grip. Woo, they weren’t going to be able to hold out much longer before it all came crashing-- crushing-- down. He added hurriedly, “You can see myself and Lieutenant Benigno, yes? And what we’re doing with the debris? And most importantly-- do you think you’re within spelling range of us and it?”

Benno realized where Deacon was going with this, and it seemed that so did the healers.

“Hover spell- the pair bond hover spell. But you’re holding up way too much at once, even for two. Healer Whitney and I can get the loose rubble if you focus on the column and the ceiling, sirs.”

“Please,” Benno gasped, sweat flowing down his forehead in rivers. A moment later, two female voices called the incantation, and there was a tremendous release of the pressure.

“Can't hold this very long, sirs,” the first speaker- presumably Avage- called. “They need to dig quickly.”

“You heard her, soldiers!” Benno barked at the diggers. “Double time, let's move it!”

The pace of the digging became outright frantic, Rasmussen in particular looking like he was about to puke. Occasionally Sammy would give a terrified whimper or sob from below, but otherwise no one spoke, so focused were they on their tasks.

“Deek,” Benno hissed eventually. “It's slipping.”

“’Pit.” Deacon clenched his shaking jaw. “Soldiers! How close are you to the bottom?”

“N-nearly there, sir,” Searle gasped, the private winded as he manically pitched aside debris. Just minutes ago Deacon would have scolded him for such carelessness, but there was no time left now for caution, and darned if Deacon didn’t know it.

“I think I’ve got something!” Maddey cried out a few moments later. “A foot-- Woo, it’s a foot!” A beat. “Sammy, honey, can you feel that when I tug? Is that your foot?”

“Yes!” the child sobbed. “Get us out, please, get Mama ‘n me out!”

“They’ll have you out in a jiffy, baby,” Avage called from outside, though her voice was tight with pain. Indeed, the soldiers frantically flung aside the remaining rubble, revealing a limp adult woman with dark brown hair, covered in blood, and nestled beneath her a raven haired child of no more than four.

And then, both Benno and Deacon felt something give, and the magical light within the house flickered.

“MOVE THEM NOW!,” Benno roared.

Sweat dripping down his forehead, and his entire body quavering as he fought desperately against the spell’s slipping hold, Deacon watched through his peripheral vision as Maddey frantically snatched the child from amid the rubble. Beside him, Rasmussen was reaching for the still woman, but in a heartbeat Deacon made a decision, the barely-hovering rubble beginning to shudder menacingly as he snarled: “Leave her, Rasmussen! Get out, now! All of you-- out!”

Benno clenched his jaw as the soldiers abandoned the body of Sammy’s mother, bolting out of the house. The last ones left inside, Deacon and Benno locked eyes for a heartbeat, nodded, then turned and ran, the last of the spell dissolving and bringing the house crashing down. Benno barely cleared the wreckage in time, crying out in pain as a sharp piece of timber lacerated his back as he nipped outside, while Deacon landed flat on his stomach, his ribs banging against the ground below as the wind was knocked squarely out of him.

Sweating, gasping, and doubled over, Benno looked up at the soldiers as one of the healers took charge of the sobbing Sammy. “I… I…” he wheezed, not quite able to get his breath together enough to speak.

“Are… are you okay, sirs?” Denahue warbled, the young man sporting a massive gash across his trouser leg from where he’d scraped it against debris during his hasty escape. “Woo, that was so close, that--”

“We’re fine, Lance Corporal,” Deacon managed, propping himself up by his elbows. Spying the boy’s gouge, and then moments later spotting a sizable bleeding scrape over Searle’s brow, he forced a shaky breath and called out to Benno’s four soldiers: “Our healers are occupied with a civilian-- triage your comrades until they can be tended. Get pressure on the wounds, at least.” He turned his gaze toward Ludwig. “You okay there, Lieutenant Benigno?”

As Ludwig’s group moved to obey, he gave an explosive sigh. “My back’s laid open but it doesn't feel deep. I’ll manage.” He glowered in Rasmussen's direction. “And I think by the end of the day my back will not be the only one.”

Rasmussen shrunk down as if he’d been smacked. “I… I’m sorry, sirs. It was a mistake, it…”

“We don’t want to hear it,” Deacon said crisply. Though he’d not yet wholly regained his bearings, the blond mage forced himself to his feet, brushing the dust and dirt off his pants as he did. “You are just bloody lucky, Rasmussen, that you didn’t get all of us killed. In the field, you can’t afford to make mistakes. When you’re negligent, you risk the safety of your entire unit-- and in this case you nearly got a civilian killed, too. So… I think one lash per life risked seems fair to me, once we get back to Persis. That’d be thirteen, private, in case counting is another skill you sorely lack.” Spinning to face away from the bumbling private, as if in disgust, the lieutenant paused as something caught his eye from the pasture that abutted the decimated farmhouse. “The ‘Pit is that?”

Maddey followed Deacon’s gaze, his brow furrowed. “Oh, Woo.” The teenager took a step forward, tentatively. “That’s not a body, is it?”

Benno looked, spotting what the others had noticed- a limp form, off-white fluff splattered with crimson and a horned head cocked limp to one side. The shepherdess’ son in Benno recognized what he was seeing immediately, and he hissed. “It's a ram. Looks like something got a hold of it- a wolf pack maybe, or a coyote.”

“There’s more sheep,” one of Benno’s group murmured. “Beyond the ram, look.”

“’Pit,” Deacon hissed. At least a half dozen ewes and lambs-- or at least, what was left of them-- lay beyond the dessicated ram, bodies badly mangled. “Some kind of wolf pack.”

“Could… could it have been the tornado?” Searle asked, wincing as a specialist of Benno’s took a cloth from the healers’ pack, splashed it with alcohol, and pressed it against the boy’s laceration. “I mean, if the sheep were outside when it hit, and… they got thrown against something, or…”

“I’m pretty sure the tornado wouldn’t have neatly deposited them beside each other,” Maddey pointed out, arms akimbo as he studied the tattered corpses. “And look-- the ram’s got bite marks on it, Searle.”

“Odd still,” Benno muttered. “When wolves went after my mother’s herd, they only ever took one sheep at a time. And they never went for the ram- wolves are too smart to tangle with the horned male when there are easier to kill females and babies about.”

“Could’ve been killed over several days,” another of Benno’s group pointed out. Glancing towards Sammy he asked, “Sammy, honey, while you were buried did you hear any wolves outside?”

The girl, who was guzzling greedily at a water skin, shook her head. “Uh-uh. I didn't heard any wolves.” The girl sniffled, looking up at the soldier with a teary smile. “I did hear the Woo’s Firebirds though.”

“You what?” Benno asked incredulously. Of course, he like all Wooists knew about firebirds, or phoenixes as they were more properly known. Supposedly the Woo’s messengers on earth, phoenixes were said to be giant quasi-immortal birds with the ability to control fire and beautiful voices. There were numerous references to them in the books of Woo, but no one in Macarinth had seen a real one in living memory. Some even argued they weren't actually real creatures, but an allegory of some sort in the Books.

“I heard the Woo’s firebirds,” Sammy insisted. “Yesterday morning. They were singin’ nearby. An’ I knew it was a message from the Woo. That he was lookin’ out for me. That’s why I didn't give up, even though I was real hungry and had to drink rainwater ‘cause I was so thirsty.”

“That… that must have been very comforting, sweetie,” Deacon said. ‘Pit, the poor girl had probably been hallucinating; he turned away from the mutilated sheep, giving Sammy a wan smile as Avage mended a scrape along the little girl’s cheek. “How are you feeling, Samantha? Anything in particular bothering you?”

“I’m hungry,” the girl whimpered again, clutching the water skin the healers had given her to her chest like she was afraid they were about to take it from her. “And thirsty. A-an’ I want my Mama an’ P-P-Papa and Dyl!”

Deacon winced. “I know, hon. I know.” Swallowing hard, he looked to Ludwig, and switched to murmured Valzick as he said, “The mother is a confirmed fatality. I think we can presume the father didn’t make it, either. We should black tag the house and get Samantha into the care of somebody familiar-- a family friend, a grandparent, whoever we can find. When we head back to Persis tonight, we can send out a summons for her brother. Get him back here so he can take custody.”

“Right,” Benno agreed sadly. To the little girl he said, “What’s your last name, honey? And do you have anybody here that your Mama and Papa let watch you while they tended the sheep sometimes?”

“Clark,” she said, her breath still hitching. “My last name is Clark. A-and I ‘unno. Sometimes my auntie lets me play at her house with my cousins. It’s that way.” She pointed vaguely into the direction of the rest of the village.

“All right. Thank you, sweetheart.” Deacon sighed, gaze falling to the two healers who were still working on the child. “Is she stable?”

“Yes, sir,” said Avage. “She’s in surprisingly good shape given the trauma she’s faced-- dehydrated, some cuts and bruises, and a few fractured ribs that Battalion Healer Whitney and I have already taken care of. Otherwise, she’s okay.” The teenager gave a wobbly smile. “I… I think her mother shielded her from most of the damage.”

Deacon’s stomach pinched. “Right. Thank you, Battalion Healer Avage.” He turned to address the rest of the unit. “Private Searle, once you’ve stopped bleeding everywhere, I want you and Specialist Carran”-- he gestured to the soldier who was still applying pressure to Searle’s scrape-- “to track down Samantha’s aunt, or anybody else who knows her and is willing to take temporary custody. Lance Corporal Denahue, you stay back with the healers so they can properly address that gouge on your leg-- it looks deep, and I don’t want it getting infected. Samantha will stay here with you three until Searle and Carran have tracked down somebody who can take Samantha. The rest of us, meanwhile, are going to head to the next ruin site-- we’re burning daylight here, and I’d like us back on the road to Persis by sundown at absolute latest.” He smiled grimly toward Rasmussen. “We don’t have enough manpower to have you sitting with your legs crossed on the side of the road. But if you make any more careless mistakes, Private…”

“I-I won’t, sir,” Rasmussen warbled. “I swear it.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Deacon stiffly. He crossed his arms. “All right, then. Let’s get moving, soldiers.”

“What… what about the sheep, sir?” Maddey asked hesitantly.

Deacon raised a brow. “What about them, Private? Whatever killed them, it’s gone now. And while I’d love to play livestock-slayer-sleuth, I rather think we have higher priorities at the moment being, yes?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Maddey replied quickly. “Of course, sir.”

“Then let’s get going,” Benno said briskly. “There could be more people trapped who will die while we’re wasting time.”

Close to Home: Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

Within relatively short order Samantha’s aunt was indeed found- the woman a sister of her late father- and though distraught over her brother and sister-in-law’s deaths, she was clearly astonished and profoundly relieved to find her niece alive. They departed together, Samantha clinging and sobbing softly. All told the soldiers managed to pull six people alive out of the ruined buildings, although they found a significantly higher amount who had long since lost the battle against injuries, dehydration, or hypothermia.

Eventually they had to stop digging, and with scarcely an hour left until dusk they got back on the road to Persis, the sky above pitch black by the time they arrived to headquarters. Quickly dismissing the majority of the unit to take a well-deserved meal and rest, Ludwig and Deacon kept Private Rasmussen behind to receive his punishment. While after a long, miserable, and emotionally draining day, the last thing Deacon wanted to do was spend what little energy he had left disciplining an idiotic greenhorn, Rasmussen’s blunder had been far too severe for the lieutenant to feel comfortable letting it go unpunished for much longer-- and anyway, he knew that tomorrow would bring with it a whole new slew of heartbreak and headaches, so there was no use further delaying the inevitable.

Afterward, however, the blond mage was in a decidedly sour mood as he sent Rasmussen to get the lash wounds dressed-- it would hardly serve anyone well if they got infected-- and then headed to the large tent that had been erected to serve as a makeshift mess hall. At this time of night it was nearly deserted, only odds and ends of a very cold supper available to take… and, much to Deacon’s chagrin, not a drop left of ale. He scowled.

“I miss our interrogations,” he said dryly as he assembled himself a plate of lumpy potatoes and paste-like porridge. “At least we didn’t have to supervise idiots then.”

“No, we just had to pry information out of idiots,” Benno retorted. “But at least once we were done talking to them we didn’t have to deal with them anymore. Woo, did the militia assign no one to this mission that wasn’t wet behind the ears?”

“I resemble that remark y’know.”

Benno started, glancing around towards one of the few occupied tables to find Natasha and Allegra waiting there. Neither of them had any food in front of them, though they did each have a cup of what looked to be very watery tea, probably unsweetened.

“Tasha, Ally,” he said, as he and Deacon headed towards their table and sat down. “You didn’t have to wait up for us, you know. I’m sure you’ve both had an exhausting day.”

“We were worried.” Natasha shrugged. “All the other units got back hours ago.”

“We got… held up,” Deacon said, sighing. “But we’re all right, Tasha.” He smiled thinly at his sister and her partner. “You girls okay? You got sent to-- the village of Jerzy, was it?”

“Uh-huh, we’re fine.” Natasha shot Allegra a very grim look. “Jerzy, though… It was bad, Deacon. As far as we could figure out based on what we found, when the storms got bad, almost everyone in the village hunkered down in the church. Except the church got hit-- seriously hit. The only reason we even knew what it was is because Lieutenant Chalder found the woocifix from its steeple, half-broken in the wreckage.”

Allegra shuddered, nodding grimly. “My fingers feel like someone’s trying to yank them off. But nobody in this thrice-cursed camp thought to bring along any sweets.”

Deacon’s fingers automatically leapt to his tunic pocket, where he always made sure to keep an emergency sachet of honey. “Here, Ally.” He pushed it across the table. “Put a bit into your tea. And you, too, Tasha.”

“Shouldn’t you save that?” Natasha asked, not touching the offering. “I mean, we’re spellsick, yes, but it should be okay by morning, hopefully, and--”

“Either accept my gift,” Deacon cut in, “or it’ll change from a gift into an order, Natasha.”

His sister sighed. “Fine, Lieutenant.” Opening the pouch, Natasha’s eyes swept toward the entrance of the mess tent as heavy bootsteps sounded from outside, the girl going ramrod straight in her seat as a trio of men strolled inside-- and the girl then leaping to her feet with her hand pressed to her forehead in a salute as she quickly identified two of the newcomers: Lord General Jaxon and his brother, Lord Brigadier Rohan.

If Deacon had thought before that Rohan and Jaxon’s uniforms were decorated beyond all reasonable means, then clearly he simply hadn’t yet laid eyes on the man who trailed them now, barely a scrap of his overtunic visible beneath the maze of medals, pins, and badges he wore. And if Jaxon was already a general, nearly the uppermost ranking there was to be had, then that had to mean…

“At ease, soldiers,” Lord Marshal Heeren said, the middle-aged lord wearing a bemused expression as the stragglers in the mess hall-- Ludwig, Allegra, and Deacon included-- rocketed into standing salutes. Saluting back, the lord of Igerna added, “I’m not here to bother anyone; you may finish with your meals.”

The soldiers bowed, easing back into their seats, although there were no few sidelong glances towards the lords. As he neared the food, Rohan began to speak, as if picking up a thread that they’d abandoned when they entered the mess.

“Seriously though, Father, you know how much this means to Jax,” he wheedled. “It wouldn’t take more than a few hours. Half a day at maximum.”

“By Woo, do you two have no concept of priorities?” Heeren snarled, his face set in an irritable scowl as he shoveled food onto a plate for himself.

“Of course we have priorities,” Jaxon huffed, lips pursed like a petulant child and honey-brown eyes narrowed sullenly. “But it’s only thirty miles from here as the crow flies, Father. It’s unfeasible by horseback because the road meanders and the terrain off-road is difficult, but if we took the griffs you flew here--”

“I’m visiting the southeast quadrant tomorrow, which I bloody well need my griffs to do,” Heeren snapped. “There are human lives on the line, you can go a few extra days not seeing to your precious pets, Jaxon! You’re the Lord General, act like it.”

Benno glanced towards Deacon, brow quirked in bafflement, and his partner returned the look. Woo, this was awkward in every facet of the word, everyone in the room clearly pretending that they weren’t listening in on the heated exchange between the lord and his sons but unable to wholly tune out the conversation. Pets? What pets could Heeren have been talking about? And ‘Pit, why would they be kept at some unknown locale thirty miles off from Persis? The city, after all, was already located nearly all the way across the district from the House Heeren seat in Igerna.

“It’s not just that, Father,” Jaxon retorted, trailing after the lord marshal as, his plate filled, he started toward one of the empty tables. “The initial aerial surveys showed the entire area as severely impacted-- and we haven’t heard from the steward. Or any of his apprentices. They’re human lives, aren’t they? And they would have sent you word already if they were all right.” He added hurriedly, “And the manor’s located only a mile from that little hamlet, isn’t it? The one with the clay brick church? I know it’s smaller than the villages we’ve been prioritizing, but there are lives at stake there, too, I’d bet. Lives that might be lost by the time we get there if we keep it so low on the list.”

The lord pinched his brow. “You aren’t going to give me any peace in this are you? Woo, you two were accomplices in giving me headaches even before you were bonded, and you’ve only gotten better at it since.”

“Is that a yes or is it a yes?” Rohan asked with a smirk.

Heeren glowered at his younger son. “Don’t think I won’t yank your ear in front of all these soldiers, Rohan, because if you don’t mind your tongue I will.” His eyes narrowed. “If I let you do this, can I rely on you to do your duty by your people without whining or trying to make it about your own desires from this point forward?”

“Of course,” Jaxon agreed. “We’ll be swift, Father, and mindful. We can leave at dawn, check on the manor, go through the village, and be back here with your hippogriffs by…” He shared a glance with his little brother, considering. “High noon? And then you can head to the south to continue your battalion checks only a few hours behind schedule.”

“Fine,” Heeren said stiffly. “I will assume command of your battalion in the meantime. But take some mages and healers with you- if anyone is indeed hurt or trapped, they can help you see to it, and I don’t like you out in the hinterlands by yourselves with bandits and looters circling like vultures.”

“You worry too much, Father,” Rohan said. “We’re-”

“You’re lower ranked officers speaking flippantly to your commander,” Heeren snarled. “Don’t test my patience.”

“Sorry, Father-- of course we’ll find backup to take with us, we wouldn’t want to be careless,” Jaxon replied, clearly not wanting to prod at the lord marshal’s composure after his and his brother’s triumph. Giving his father a reticent smile, the young man slowly turned his neck to give the sparsely filled mess hall a visual sweep, bypassing most of the late-night diners without so much as a blink before finally his gaze fell on Deacon, Ludwig, Allegra, and Natasha. And on the four of them it stayed, Deacon’s heart dropping like a heavy stone into his stomach as the lord general called out to the group, “Soldiers, healers. Come here, please.”

Reluctantly, Benno pushed up from his seat, the others following him with equal lack of enthusiasm. They saluted the lord, Benno intoning formally, “Yes, Lord General Heeren?”

Jaxon gestured to the wand holsters at the lieutenants’ hips. “You’re mages?”

“Yes, sir,” Deacon replied. There was a knot in his throat and a feeling of unease rapidly rising within him, the blond mage not wholly sure of where this was going, but knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he did not like it. At all. He added, “We’re pair bonded, sir.”

“Excellent.” Jaxon smiled airily, like a child might on Woomas morning, and turned back to face the lord marshal. “Would they do, Father?”

Lord Marshal Heeren looked the men up and down, his mouth thin. “You militia normally, or were you drawn in from the king’s army?”

“King’s army, Lord Marshal,” Benno replied. “We served as commandants on the Valzick border.”

“Hm,” Heeren drummed his fingers on the table. “Very well. They’ll do.”

“Perfect.” Jaxon beamed, looking to the lieutenants, Allegra, and Natasha again. “You four will be departing with Lord Brigadier Rohan and I tomorrow morning at dawn, for a bit of a… side mission, shall we call it? It shouldn’t take more than half a day or so, and then you can return to your usual duties.”

Deacon blinked. He knew that shouting no, thank you as he wanted to wasn’t an exactly an option, but Woo, Jaxon couldn’t just… filch them like this, could he? High officer or not, Deacon and Ludwig were in charge of an entire squadron. Not to mention, what would Allegra and Natasha’s company do without healers on hand? Unit VAW10-60 wasn’t exactly bursting with extra bodies: it needed every scrap of manpower it could garner.

“Ah, sir,” the blond mage said after a moment’s careful thought. “Lieutenant Benigno and I are the heads of unit four. Will the lot of them be coming with us, or…?”

“No, we haven’t that many griffs,” Jaxon said. He waved a hand, as though this were a non-issue. “Who’s the next highest-ranking soldier in your squad beyond the two of you?”

“Er, Lance Corporal Denahue, my lord general,” Deacon replied. “Otherwise it’s a single specialist and the rest merely privates.”

“The Lance Corporal can assume command in your absence,” Rohan said smoothly. To the healers he added, “You two are with which squadron?”

“Squadron two, Lord Brigadier,” Allegra replied politely, her expression neutral.

“We shall split the healers with squadron one between your two groups, then,” he said cheerily. “They are fairly experienced, so should function individually well enough for a short time.”

“Are we all set then, Father?” Jaxon asked, with a tip of his head that Deacon would have half-pegged as sarcastic. “I promise, we’ll be fast. Barely an impediment to your travel plans at all.”

Heeren glowered at the boy, bristling, but gave a curt nod. “I think you best go and get that arranged then,” he said thickly. “So you waste no time in the morning before your departure. Soldiers, healers-- report outside the mess at dawn tomorrow for a timely departure. For now, you may return to your meals.”

It was a clear dismissal, and Benno was not at all loath to return to his table with the others. Rohan’s lip curled downwards, and he looked rather like a petulant child denied a piece of candy, but a glance towards Jaxon sent him brightening again, the older of the lord’s sons clapping a jovial hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s go get supplies packed up, Ro,” Jaxon said. Standing, he bowed again to his father. “Thank you, Father. Goodnight.”

And with that, the brothers turned and strutted out the mess hall, their father’s weary gaze bearing into their backs for a moment before the lord marshal turned his attention back on his plate of cold food. Seated again at their own table, Deacon was rapidly flitting amidst an array of disconcerting emotions: confusion, aggravation, surprise. What in the ’Pit had just happened? Had he, his partner, and the girls seriously just been roped into-- Woo, he didn’t even know what it was, not really, other than some sort of pet was involved, and they were traveling by ‘griff. Which… really begged more questions than it answered.

“Did that really just happen?” Deacon murmured, his voice scarcely more than a whisper so that Lord Marshal wouldn’t overhear it. “Sidebar: what just happened?”

“I dunno,” Allegra replied, pursing her lips. “Whatever it is, the Lord Marshal’s clearly not in love with it.”

“Which does nothing to alleviate my misgivings,” Benno retorted grimly.

“I literally feel like I’m some… kitten the lordlings found along the side of the road.” Deacon pressed a hand to his forehead. “And begged Daddy to take home, and he just… let them.”

Natasha smirked, taking a sip of her honey tea. “See, Deek-- and you accuse Mum and Dad of spoiling me.” She playfully nudged her partner. “This is going to be fun, Ally-- we get to see our swaggering big brother get bossed around by nobles.”

Allegra smirked. “That’ll be fun. Then when we get home we can tell your mum, Zoe, and Yolanda all about it.”

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” Deacon replied, but there was a faint trace of humour to his tone now. “The nobles are going to boss you guys around, too.” Sighing, he glance at Ludwig. “I guess,” he admitted, “it might be a bit more interesting than babysitting the likes of Rasmussen again, at least. Poor Denahue, he has his work cut out for him.”

“Hopefully after the flogging he got today our dear private will at least be more subdued and behaved,” Benno said dryly.

“Flogging?” Allegra echoed, eyebrows raised. “Oh Woo- what did he do?”

“Alas, personnel matters are confidential, Ally,” Deacon said with a chuckle.

“Aw, you’re just enjoying the fact that you get to lord secrets over us,” Natasha retorted.

“Most definitely,” her brother agreed chipperly. “Now, drink your tea, girls, so we can head back to the barrack tents and get some rest. I have a niggling suspicion that tomorrow is going to be a very long day.”

***

Rohan folded his arms as he and Jaxon led the procession of mages down the single dirt path through the center of the village of Noltonshire. The noble’s expression was decidedly neutral, edging towards bored.

“Everything looks fine here, I’d say,” he said, his voice light. “A few shingles blown off roofs, some thatching shredded, but nothing a few days labor by the locals can’t fix.”

“Thank the Woo,” Jaxon agreed, the noble’s light brown locks rustling in the breeze as he paused outside a cottage with its front fence blown over and thoughtlessly toed at one of the fallen stakes. “And the residents already seem to be recovering their spirits and returning to life as usual,” he added, nodding toward an elderly woman who was beating laundry outside the bungalow next door. “I think we can safely green tag Noltonshire, no, brother?”

“I should say so,” Rohan agreed. “And now we don’t have to waste a unit’s time sending them out here, really Father should be thanking-”

He was cut off by a startled squeak from behind him, and whirled to face the source- Allegra. She was staring off to the right, but at a pointed cough from Rohan she refocused her attention, blushing. The noble tilted his head, a sympathetic if rather condescending smile on his face.

“Something scared you, Batallion Healer?”

“Oh, uh,” she shook her head. “N-no, just, I was startled.”

“You don’t need to be so jumpy, young lady, my brother and I will keep you safe from harm,” Rohan said, smiling more widely.

Deacon just barely tamped back a bristle at the lord’s syrupy tone-- Woo, he hated someone talking to Allegra like that, as if she were a vapid waif of a thing with dandelion fuzz for brains. He caught himself just in time, however, knowing that if he sniped at Lord Brigadier Rohan, it would only earn him strife-- and probably tick off Allegra, too, since she’d surely huff back that she could fight her own battles. That she was a militia healer now, not some fragile child who needed her partner’s big brother to defend her.

“It’s just-- we… saw something, my lord brigadier,” Natasha added as Deacon stewed. “Something, um…” She exchanged a wary look with Allegra. “Well, it was… strange.”

“Strange?” Jaxon quirked a dark brow, wearing a humouring smirk to mirror his baby brother’s. “How so?”

Allegra gnawed on her lip. “I know it sounds crazy, but… I saw something run under that chicken coop over there,” she gestured to the coop in question, elevated by slabs of rock about two feet off the ground. “And er… it looked like a monkey.”

Benno blinked in utter bafflement, turning towards his partner with a completely blank expression of unrestrained disbelief. Returning the look, Deacon then turned his gaze on the two girls, head cocked as he said, “When’s the last time you girls had some water?”

Natasha crooked a brow. “Are you suggesting we’re dehydrated and hallucinating?” After a beat, she added tartly, “Sir.”

“No,” Deacon lied. “It’s just-- well, we’re thousands of miles away from anyplace one might find a monkey. They don’t range any further north than southern Synedon and Valzaim, you know.”

“Right,” Lord General Jaxon agreed… before very, very abruptly, his face went pale as snow, his voice turning almost shrill as he demanded, “What colour was this… monkey, Battalion Healers? And how big?”

“Um,” Allegra looked taken aback by the sudden shift in the noble’s mood. “Mostly black but kind of yellowish on the face and shoulders. It was pretty little- maybe the size of a cat?”

Now Rohan paled as well, looking sharply towards his brother and hissing, “Peaches. But how would she…”

“Peaches?” Deacon desperately racked his mind for a possible explanation and-- finding none-- dared murmur, “What’s… peaches, my lord brigadier?”

Jaxon, though, seemed to be harbouring not a scrap of confusion-- nor, seemingly, the inclination to provide a swift answer, the lord simply swearing under his breath as he took a sharp step toward the indicated chicken coop. “You still got that apple in your pack, Ro?” he asked his brother.

Rohan wordlessly dug in his pack, coming up with the requested apple and slapping the green fruit into the Lord General’s palm. “She trusts you more than me. You should try to coax her out.”

Benno’s brow was furrowed, but then understanding seemed to hit him as he remembered what Heeren had said the night before- something about checking on a pet. “The monkey is… yours, Lord General?”

“She is,” Jaxon confirmed crisply as he stalked up to the coop, beckoning for the others to follow him. “Tengizan spider monkey. We’ve had her since she was a baby.” The lord general crouched down at the edge of the battered structure, craning his neck to peek under it. “Yep. There she is. Hello there, dear.”

Deacon gawped. There were about five-hundred questions vaulting through his head-- most of them far too pointed to ask men who outranked him in every single facet-- and it took a moment to finally settle on a tepid: “May I… ask what the monkey’s doing in such a far-flung place as this, my lords? I, ah, thought your family kept residence in Igerna city.”

“Our residence is there, yes,” Rohan agreed. “But Peaches is… monkeys don’t tame down very well. She’s perfectly sweet, but very smart and into everything. Probably would’ve wrecked the manor if we kept her in Igerna. So once she was older, we transferred her out here, to the menagerie adjacent our countryside estate where all of Jaxon’s exotic pets are kept.”

“All?” Allegra echoed. “So… there’s more?”

“Of course,” Rohan replied dismissively. “We’ve an extensive collection. Not all are as tame as Peaches is, but all are very important to us, especially Jax.”

“Mmhm.” Placing the apple flat on his palm, Jaxon called cheerily to the monkey, “C’mere, sweetheart. You’ve gotta be awfully hungry, don’t you?”

To Deacon, it rather sounded as if the lord were chattering to an infant-- a fact he would have found endlessly amusing if an urgent thought hadn’t suddenly sparked in his head. “Er, my lords,” he ventured, “what, ah… other sorts of pets do you have at the menagerie?”

“There’s an aviary,” Jaxon said, still trying to coax the skittish monkey forward. “With cockatiels, macaws, parrots-- everything colourful, pretty much. Then we’ve got a small herd of zebras, all the way from the Cerrish plains.” He smiled fondly. “They were a Woomas gift from Father to our little sisters a few years ago. The girls love them.”

“There’s a large ornamental pond full of giant koi carp from the islands to the west,” Rohan added. “And then since it’s our house crest, of course we had to have a Tengizan tiger in the collection. He’s second only to our Langean snow leopard in being the most spoiled, prized animal we have. Blizzard was a bugger to get since snow leopards are the emblem of the Langean tsars and Lange isn’t exactly fond of trading them off. We ended up having to make a deal with dwarven traders out of the mountains to get the cub.”

Deacon’s gut went slack, and standing next to her brother, Natasha’s pale eyes widened into saucers, the girl seeming to realise the implications of Rohan’s statement far before the lord himself did. Resisting the urge to put a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder, Deacon straightened himself, quite wishing he could whack the spoiled lordlings upside the head as he said, “So, ah. Your monkey… I presume she’s normally kept in an enclosure, my lords?”

“Of course,” Jaxon said, huffing as the little primate still lingered just out of his reach. “She’s got an entire habitat.”

“And so,” Deacon continued, his voice the perfect measure of diplomacy, “if she’s out here, that means something happened to the enclosure, Lord General. To compromise it.”

Jaxon nodded. "Yes." A beat. "... 'Pit. Oh, 'Pit." The monkey forgotten for the moment, the lord spun back around to face his brother. "Ro! We need to get to the manor. Now."

The lord brigadier had gone white as a sheet, and he nodded curtly. Pointing to Benno, he snapped, "You-- coax peaches out and bring her to the manor after us, it's just a few miles due northeast of here. And by Woo, be gentle with her!"

Rohan turned around before Benno had the chance to process the order, let alone reply, and once he realized he was being left behind to collect the lordling’s traumatized pet monkey, he shot Deacon a desperate, pleading glance. Deacon, for his part, didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, gaze flicking frantically back and forth between his partner and his lieges. ’Pit. They hadn’t told him to stay, and with both Rohan and Jaxon already simmering toward a panic, he didn’t think that asking to loiter with Benno would go very well.

“Sorry,” he mouthed to his partner, before hurrying to catch up Rohan and Jaxon; following his lead, Allegra and Natasha scurried forward, too.

“Stay alert,” Jaxon ordered as they began down a stick-straight dirt road that presumably led to the estate grounds. Crooking his fingers toward the healers, he added, “Come here. Both of you walk a step ahead of Lord Brigadier Rohan and me. If anything’s in front of us, we can get you out of the way-- and if anything leaps from behind, well…” The lord smiled thinly. “Just don’t worry yourselves too much, all right? We’ve got you girls protected-- I promise.”

Allegra looked highly skeptical of this, but wisely opted not to comment. She and her partner obediently let themselves be directed forwards, but fortunately the trip to the manor passed without incident. However, as the building-- which was missing a few roof shingles but otherwise seemed to be in surprisingly good repair-- came into view in the distance, so too did a deep, dirt colored furrow in the ground- and Allegra paused on the path, frowning at something off the road to their right.

“Um. Are those orange and black things over there fish? I’ve never seen fish that brightly colored before.”

“Oh, Woo.” Jaxon gawped in horror at the aquatic corpses that littered the short grass. “Tornado must have touched the pond.”

Well, that was a great omen, Deacon thought dourly, giving the fish only a brief glance before he turned his eyes back on the path and house that loomed ahead… and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of something standing on the manor’s wrap-around front porch, blocking the main doors. What in the…

“Um.” Panic flaring in him, Deacon nearly lobbed himself in front of Allegra and Natasha. “My lords, we’ve got a problem.”

The two noblemen jerked their heads around, as did the healers, and all four sets of eyes flew wide. Casually lounging on the porch, blinking towards them placidly, was an animal that looked vaguely similar to a cross between a cat and a bear, but covered in silvery fur and black spots. It yawned in their direction, revealing huge fangs as thick around as a human thumb, and on the porch all around it were the heads and skeletons of more of the giant koi fish.

“Blizzard,” Rohan gasped. “Woo, but the predator enclosures are, are reinforced and magelocked-”

“A-all due respect, my lord, I don’t think the tornado cared,” Allegra warbled. “Sh-shouldn’t we… I don’t know, put a shield around it or something? To keep it from coming after us?”

“Jax and I have had Blizz since he was a cub,” Rohan retorted scathingly. “He imprinted on us from a young age- he won’t hurt us.”

“No disrespect meant”-- Deacon meant every ounce of the disrespect-- “but I’d rather not risk our lives on that prediction, Lord Brigadier.”

“If we start casting at him, he’ll panic and get aggressive,” Jaxon said, taking a tentative step toward the beast; in response Blizzard cocked his head, yawning again as if the humans’ presence didn’t at all faze him. “Ro, get the rope out of your pack and make it into a noose. I think I can leash him.”

“Leash him?” Deacon sputtered. “He’s… not a dog, my lord general.”

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion, soldier,” Jaxon replied tartly, holding his hand out for the requested rope as Rohan began to riffle through his supply pack. “Have your wands drawn and at the ready just in case, but it should be all right. Blizzard’s just an overgrown kitten, really.”

Ah, yes, naturally: the snow leopard with a minefield of gutted giant fish around it, and that had required a reinforced and magelocked enclosure, was just a harmless puff of fur. Vacillating rapidly between incredulity and blistering anger, Deacon abruptly reached out a hand and snared it around Natasha’s bicep, pulling the girl behind him, then repeated the gesture with Allegra. Woo, if these idiot lordlings wished to get themselves mauled by a leopard, then they could have at it. But he wasn’t going to let his sister and her partner get hurt.

Rohan, having retrieved and tied up the requested rope, offered it to his brother. As he did so he cooed, “Hey Blizzy, who’s a good kitty? You wanna come and give your daddies a hug, baby?”

The leopard blinked again, then stood, stretching his front legs forwards not unlike a domestic cat might do, and Jaxon smiled broadly at it, whistling to the beast as one might a friendly hound. Badly fighting the urge to shoot a stunning curse over the lords’ heads to incapacitate the leopard, Deacon instead stood with his wand in a vise-grip and his body angled to shield Allegra and Natasha, his heart thudding in his throat. And here he’d thought that the near-miss yesterday with Sammy Clark’s collapsing house would have been the most dangerous situation he would face in the militia. The blond hadn’t exactly accounted for the prospect of loose snow leopards.

“Such a good boy!” Jaxon crooned, still slowly moving forward. “Come here, bud. Say hi.”

“Are they mad, Deacon?” Natasha hissed into her brother’s ear. “Because I think they might be mad.”

“I wish I could say they’re not, but…” Deacon gritted his teeth, wincing automatically as the snow leopard lazily began toward the porch steps, strutting to greet the Heeren brothers.

“Good boy!” Jaxon called encouragingly, patting his knee to summon Blizzard closer. “That’s it. That’s my boy.” He glanced sidelong at Rohan. “Once we have him leashed, we can tie him up to a tree for a bit. And figure out where in all the hells the steward and his staff are.”

“Right,” Rohan agreed. “They had better have a good explanation for why so long after the tornado we’ve had no word from them about enclosures being compromised.” Glancing up towards a balcony railing on the second story of the house, he added, “Oh thank Woo- looks like Noel made it out alright too.”

The others followed his gaze, to find a snow white bird with insanely long tailfeathers perched carefully above the snow leopard’s reach. As Blizzard drew close enough to bump the top of his head against Jaxon’s leg, Allegra stammered, “Wh-what is that?”

“A peacock,” Rohan said proudly. “An albino one. Named him Noel because we like to bring him down to Igerna during Woomas and show him off a bit.”

“Right,” Deacon stammered. Because that made just as much sense all of the rest of this. “Ah, you going to leash Blizzard, my lords?”

“Give it a second, soldier,” Jaxon replied, scratching behind the beast’s ears. “I don’t want to startle him.” The man chuckled. “Mum’s going to be cross with you, Blizz. You ate all her pretty fishes.” Very slowly, he teased the rope over the snow leopard’s head and slid up the knot to tighten the makeshift leash into a snug fit. “There we go. That’s my good boy, Blizzard!”

Deacon let out a small sigh of relief… before remembering that the snow leopard was only one of the deadly potential escapees. He stiffened again. “Where was the tiger enclosure, my lords?” he called. “Perhaps we should get the girls inside where it’s safe, then inspect that next.”

“Right,” Rohan said crisply. “Just as soon as we’ve found the steward and his apprentices.”

As Jaxon moved to tie up Blizzard, however, the steward and pair of apprentices saved all the mages the trouble of finding them. Three men emerged from within the manor, relief blazing in their faces. One of the apprentices was cradling yet another animal in his arms, this one a red creature with a ringed tail about twice the size of a cat, holding a lemon between its paws that it was gnawing on contentedly.

“Oh thank Woo,” the steward breathed. “My lords, I can’t begin to express how relieved with are to see you, we didn’t dare try to leave with the snow leopard patrolling outside.”

“What’s that thing?” Allegra asked curiously, pointing to the animal. “Some sort of racoon?”

“It’s a red panda,” Jaxon said cheerily, leading Blizzard toward a nearby tree and securing the snow leopard to it. “She’s from Synedon-- only a baby. A bit squirrely, but our sisters adore her.” He gave Blizzard a hearty pat, then turned to face his staffers. “You three all right, then?”

The apprentice who held the red panda nodded meekly. “Yes, my lord general. The tornado nipped far too close for comfort-- which is how it took out the menagerie-- but thank the Woo, it missed the main house.” The man swallowed hard. “We went out in the immediate aftermath to assess things, when it was still storming pretty badly. That’s when we found Eveline here. And…” He cast a wary eye toward the tethered Blizzard. “Let’s just say Blizz was agitated. Came up behind us like a ghost; I bloody thought he was going to maul us-- we barely made it back into the house.”

“Aw, I bet he was just scared,” Rohan said. “I take it that you didn’t manage to conclude your assessment then? Eveline is housed pretty close to the manor since she’s so young still.”

“No, my lord brigadier,” the steward confirmed. “We-”

There was a sharp whistle from somewhere behind them, and they turned around to see Benno trotting up, bloody bite marks on his cheek and right hand. He was wearing a patently unamused expression, and hovering the monkey a few feet ahead of him as she writhed and screeched in protest.

“I’m sorry, my lords,” he said gruffly. “I tried the gentle approach, but after the third time she bit me I decided to be more expedient.”

“Oh, you naughty little thing,” Jaxon scolded, wagging a finger at the floating monkey. Striding quickly over from where he stood near Blizzard, the lord general plucked the primate out of the air, settling Peaches firmly in his arms as the monkey chattered in protest. “Hush, love. You know your tantrums don’t work with me.”

“Um.” Deacon cleared his throat, wincing as he studied Ludwig’s wounds. “Perhaps we should have one of our healers tend to Lieutenant Benigno, my lords?”

“Ah, right.” Jaxon stroked the angry monkey’s head, shushing her as one might a grouchy babe. He nudged his chin toward Allegra. “Battalion Healer… Perkins, was it? You can heal the lieutenant.”

Allegra frowned. Perkins was not her surname, but she kept any commentary to herself, instead approaching Benno and pointing her wand towards his face. “They don’t look deep, shouldn’t take but a moment. You’re going to have to stoop a bit though, Lieutenant Sycamore, I’m not getting a crick in my neck for your sake.”

Benno’s mouth ticked into a slight smirk as he moved to oblige; however Rohan brusquely called over, “Manners, young miss. No flirting while we’re working, please.”

Deacon’s first inclination to the lord snarling at his baby sister’s partner was to snarl right back-- and once he’d tempered back this urge, his second inclination was to snort beneath his breath. Loudly. The lieutenant, however, regretted it at once when Jaxon leveled a glower at him and took a menacing step forward.

“Is something funny, lieutenant?” he asked frostily.

“No, sir,” Deacon replied (Woo, it was hard to take the lordling seriously when he had a chirruping monkey nestled in his arms as a mother might hold her baby). “Nothing’s funny at all, sir.”

“Then why were you laughing at your lord commanding officer?” Jaxon demanded.

“Because Battalion Healer Payton was not flirting with Lieutenant Benigno, sir,” Deacon said, in his best reticent soldier’s voice. “So I found the insinuation amusing, sir. I apologise.”

Rohan scowled. “She was addressing a superior officer far too familiarly, Lieutenant. What else would she have been doing?”

Allegra was flushing deep crimson, looking supremely discomfited. Benno put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, softly saying, “Battalion Healer Payton’s father died when she was still quite young. Her partner’s parents took her in- parents her partner shares with mine, my lord brigadier. She was only teasing me because my partner and hers are siblings, and so she is very much like a sister to me as well.”

Jaxon blinked. “You’re… siblings?” he asked, glancing between Deacon and Natasha.

“Yes, sir,” Deacon said, trying not to smirk. “Natasha-- er, Battalion Healer Azrael-- is my younger sister. And Lieutenant Benigno and I have known Battalion Healer Payton since she was a small child.” And perhaps, he thought but dared not say, if you’d bothered to learn our bloody names you would have figured that out much sooner.

“Well.” Jaxon frowned. “Whatever the case, I don’t appreciate your disrespect toward me, Lieutenant Azrael.”

“My apologies again, sir,” Deacon said. As Allegra made careful work of Ludwig’s gouges, the blond sighed. “So, my lords, shall we get the women inside where it’s safe and take a survey of the rest of the grounds? I believe you said you had… zebras and an aviary? And, ah, a tiger? Is there… anything else?” Like the red panda and peacock they hadn’t thought to mention before, for instance.

Rohan looked decidedly miffed at Deacon’s effectively taking charge of the proceedings. Huffishly he replied, “We have some giant tortoises. A couple of fennec foxes all the way from Mzia. And last but certainly not least, we’ve a herd of pegasi.”

“... Pegasi?” Natasha quirked a brow, looking halfway between impressed and incredulous. “Like… the flying horses?”

Deacon would have been shocked, too, except by this point he was pretty sure nothing the idiot lordlings said or did could truly surprise him. Not after they’d gone up and cheerily leashed a snow leopard as if it were their affable hunting hound.

Still, he couldn’t help but prod, “Ah, aren’t pegasi extremely rare, my lords? Confined to but a small portion of the central Valzick plains?”

“They are.” Jaxon sounded quite proud. The monkey had finally stopped fussing in his arms. “My grandfather’s grandfather received a breeding male and female eons ago-- a gift from the then-king’s own menagerie, as a thanks for House Heeren’s unwavering loyalty during the last war with the Synedonese Empire. We’ve got a lovely herd these days-- a few dozen strong. They’re the foundation of our entire collection. And how I ended up with such an interest in exotic animals in the first place.”

Benno, having been fully healed of his monkey bites, felt his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “A few dozen? Woo keeping them all fed must be…”

“It represents a sizable expense, but they’re worth it,” Rohan replied. “Now come on, we need to make sure the animals are all alright. If poor Pride is still in his enclosure I can only imagine our dear tiger is famished.”

The nobles turned to lead the way back into the house. Allegra looked up at Deacon, muttering with exasperation, “Can I go home?”

“Aw, chin up,” Deacon murmured with an exhausted smile. Leaning in close to his sister’s partner as they trailed after the nobles into the house, he whispered into her ear, “You can take a nice nap on the lordlings’ cushy sofa while we’re off wrangling beasties, Ally.”

“Don’t get eaten, Deacon,” Natasha grumbled. Stealing a glance at the monkey still in Jaxon’s arms, as well as the red panda the apprentice held, the girl added, “And I hope they put those demons somewhere safe before you all scamper off. That monkey’s bloody vicious.”

"You aren't the one who was trying to wrangle it," Benno groused. "I don't care what the lordlings say about it, if that tiger is loose I'm shooting a stunner at it. At least getting flogged is less fatal than a tiger eating my face."

Close to Home: Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

Soon enough they had left the girls inside the house, the steward affording custody of Peaches and the red panda to one of the apprentices, who stayed behind to mind them while his boss, the other apprentice, and the soldiers headed out to apprise the state of the menagerie. Deacon nearly cried from relief when they found the tiger enclosure miraculously untouched, a rather aggrieved-looking beast, Pride, stalking to and fro from behind the confines of a towering iron fence. At the sight of his keepers, Pride let out a surly chuff, and Jaxon cloyingly called out to him not to worry, that they’d bring him a meal soon. (Yes, Deacon had decided, these lords were definitely mad). A few dozen yards down a meandering cobbled path, the party found the aviary equally as spared, its glass-domed roof gleaming beneath the late morning sun and its feathery charges fluttering about; next door the tortoise exhibit was in prime state, as well.

The good news, however, ended there.

Only a couple hundred feet past the tortoise habitat, the mangled remains of a wooden fence had been flung every which way, splinters and shards pointing up menacingly from where they’d been driven into the spongy ground below by the storm’s forceful winds. A metal bale that might have once held feed had been upended, its sides heavily dinged, while a felled tree lay crookedly with its trunk scarred by lightning.

“Woo.” Deacon let out a soft hiss. “What was in there, my lords? The monkey? The red panda?”

“No-- zebras,” Jaxon murmured, stalking quickly forward-- and then freezing just as abruptly in his tracks after he spotted what lay behind the veil of the fallen tree. “Oh, ’Pit.” He spun toward his brother, dark eyes going frantically wide. “Ro, come here. Look.”

Rohan hurried to his brother's side, and gave voice to a sharp cry of despair. Benno followed hurriedly, and sucked in a sharp breath at what he saw.

Beyond the tree were nine black and white striped creatures akin to horses, but smaller and with a donkey’s bristly mane and ropey tail. All of them were lying on their sides, mangled, with gore spilling out into the grass.

“What the ’Pit,” Rohan whimpered. “All of them. Every one. Did the tornado do this?”

Benno shivered. “No. It wasn't the tornado. Deek, look at them. The marks on their hides. Doesn't that look awfully familiar to you?”

Coming up behind the others, the steward and apprentice at his side, Deacon immediately blanched. “The sheep,” he murmured, his mind flashing to the gutted animals outside the cottage where they’d found Sammy Clark. “It’s… Woo, it’s nearly an identical scene, isn’t it?”

“Sheep?” Jaxon asked, his voice cracking. “What sheep?”

“The village squad four visited yesterday,” Benno explained. “We found a herd of sheep there. Torn apart almost identically to your zebras. We assumed it some sort of predator like a wolf pack. But… that was miles and miles off from here.”

The steward made a strangling noise. “M-my lords, th-the pegasi!”

Jaxon paled. “No. They… they couldn’t, that enclosure is a fortress.”

“The pegasi?” Deacon was very, very confused. “I… I don’t understand, my lord general. Aren’t pegasi just like horses?”

Jaxon shook his head, hurriedly. “They look like horses, yes,” the noble stammered. “But behaviourally, they’re night and day. There’s a reason few people bother to catch and keep them, and a reason, too, that the king gifted them to my grandfather’s grandfather in response to our House’s hardiness and loyalty during a war-- it’s because they’re scrappy and aggressive as all hells. Tenacious. Never willing to back down from a fight. People romanticize them because they’re pretty, but…” He gulped hard, his throat bobbing. “They have an intense prey drive-- Father says it’s not true, but I swear I’ve seen them hunt merely for sport when we drop a deer or other preythings into their habitat. Like… a cat playing with a bug, almost. Once they get the urge to chase, they do not back off.”

“They… they’re predators?” Benno sputtered.

“Forward set eyes and everything,” Rohan confirmed grimly. “Why do you think Valzaim never tried to use them to emulate our ‘griffs? They’re impossible to tame, and frighteningly smart. Really their behavior is more pack like than herd like.”

“So,” Benno said, horror dawning in his voice, “you’re telling me we have several dozen highly intelligent, hyper-aggressive predators with no natural enemies here loose in the skies over Igerna district?”

“We don’t know that for sure, soldier,” Jaxon said. Without skipping another beat, the lord general hurried past the slain zebras, presumably headed toward the pegasus enclosure. “Maybe Blizzard got to the zebras. Before he found the fish.”

“With all due respect, Lord General Heeren,” said the steward, hurrying to fall in step behind the man,“I don’t think a single snow leopard could have systematically taken down an entire herd of zebra like that. Nor do I know when he would have had time for it-- Blizzard’s been lounging on the porch since he chased us in days ago. We’ve had someone watching him at all times. Looking for an opportunity to leave if he does, but he hasn’t: he just paces around the perimeter of the porch like a prison guard, occasionally meandering a few yards forward to get himself a snack of giant koi.”

“So it wasn’t the guard leopard,” Deacon said through gritted teeth. ‘Pit, every time he thought this day couldn’t get any worse, he was quickly proven wrong. What was next-- a venomous snake ward the lordlings had forgotten about? “How… how fast can the pegasi fly, my lords? Because if they’re anywhere near as fast as ‘griffs, and they’ve been free for several days...”

“They’re smaller than ‘griffs,” Rohan said, his voice shaking. “Nowhere near as strong, but… lighter. Faster.”

“‘Pit,” Benno hissed. “What noise do they make? Do they sound like horses?”

“No,” Jaxon said, picking up his pace even further, so that the rest of the men nearly had to jog to keep up with him. “They have a variety of vocalizations. They’re good at mimicking calls, too, of other animals. Their range is extensive. I mean, just from the wind carrying in from the aviary, I swear they can croon convincing copies of everything from our macaws to our songbirds.”

Deacon’s gut slithered. Songbirds. Hadn’t Sammy Clark waxed about her hopes being kept up by the sound of a phoenix? ‘Pit, he had a very bad feeling that once they reached the pegasi habitat, they were about to find extremely bad news-- and indeed, when the gnarled remains of the enclosure came into view about a minute later, the blond mage had to bite back an outright scream of frustration.

It was gutted, what had once been a fully domed exhibit mangled to its studs. The iron bars that had held the sturdy canopy aloft were bent and at places ripped sheer out of the ground; the wooden roof overhead had been peeled away like a banana skin, only remaining here and there in stray beams and tatters. There was not a single pegasus in sight.

Jaxon whimpered. “Oh, ‘Pit.” Jaw wobbling, he looked to his brother. “Father’s going to burst a vein, Rohan.”

Rohan buried his face in his hands. “Forget Father, the pegasi have wings. They don't care about district borders- we could bloody well end up with King Aedan breathing down our necks.”

“We have to head back,” Benno said. “Now. Warn Lord Marshal Heeren of what’s happened.”

“Don't order us about, soldier!” Rohan snapped, his temper visibly fraying.

Startled, Deacon took a step back, rather hoping that Jaxon would jump in and calm his brother-- it was what he himself always did when Benno got bristly, and what Benno did for him in turn. Unfortunately, the blond mage’s hopes were quickly dashed when, rather than attempting to talk Rohan down, Jaxon only growled, “We are in charge here. Not you. Not your partner. And I am bloody tired of you two acting like you’re the ones making decisions. You are speaking to the future lord of your district-- is it ever acceptable to order around the future lord of your district, soldier?”

“I…” Benno winced, bowing low. “No sir. I’m sorry, Lord General, Lord Brigadier.”

Rohan snorted, turning back to his brother. However, before either of them could say anything more, the steward’s apprentice bleated, “Look!”

Everyone followed his pointed finger, and just outside the ruined paddock Benno caught sight of a pair of small, sandy creatures with huge, bat like ears. Rohan let out a relieved sob. “The fennecs are alright!”

However, at the sound of their master’s cry, both small animals jolted in surprise, taking one look at the humans before bolting away as fast as their small legs would carry them. Rohan gave a snarl of frustration, rounding on Deacon and Benno. “Make yourselves useful for once, catch them!”

“What?” Benno yelped.

“Catch them!” Jaxon howled, pointing after the foxes as they fled. “Or it’ll be your diffident hides!”

Gritting his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn’t crack, Deacon hesitated for just long enough to shoot his partner a disbelieving glance-- then, with a deep breath, surged forward after the foxes, Ludwig trailing just behind him. They both drew their wands, trying to hit the foxes with spells for levitation or paralysis, but the little things were unbelievably quick and agile. They managed to lead the hapless lieutenants on an exasperating chase about the enclosures, all the way back around to the front of the manor… the significance of which didn’t dawn on Deacon until he caught a blur of white through the corner of his eye, and jerked his head sideways just in time to see Blizzard-- tied so gingerly to the tree by his lunatic master-- wrench free from his tether, the snow leopard’s prey drive flaring like an oil-soaked rag dipped in flame as the foxes dashed by him, the loping lieutenants close on their heel. In a nanosecond, the beast was galloping toward them, snapped rope dragging limply at his side.

“Benno!” Deacon shrieked, grabbing for his partner’s arm as the massive cat surged forward. “He’s going to bloody maul us!” Fighting not to stumble, he aimed his wand back over his shoulder, screeching out: “Tachýs ýpnos!”

But as light arced from the mage’s wand, it was instantly apparent that in his haste Deacon had shot wide, the knock-out curse vaulting several feet over the snow leopard’s head. Even worse, with his attention diverted, Deacon didn’t notice the slight divot in the path beneath him-- not until the toe of his shoe caught against it, and then in another terrifying moment, he found himself going head over heels. The magician landed in the dirt beneath with a breath-stealing thunk, panicked eyes pitching up toward Ludwig as the taller man shot a frantic spell of his own. However, his balance was badly off as Deacon, still gripping his arm, inadvertently dragged him half over, and his shot too went wide. Ludwig wrenched around as Blizzard leapt, but lost his balance entirely in the process, landing hard on his side painfully.

Then- a shriek, and the horribly familiar sensation of being punched in the gut by the resonance of the pair bond, as the snow leopard catapulted himself onto Deacon’s prone form.

The blond mage wasn’t sure what he felt first: the beast’s teeth, or its scimitar-like claws. What he did know was that the moment Blizzard landed on him, the momentum slamming his head against the ground beneath, a pain like no other he’d ever felt seared through him, the man letting out a bloodcurdling scream that could have broken glass. He grappled desperately for his wand, which had skittered from his hands in the fall, but the cat had him pinned, and Deacon was only able to airmail frantically as he tried to buck the animal off of him-- a motion Blizzard responded to by bearing down harder, the cat’s claws raking down his back.

“Ludwig!” he gasped as Blizzard’s teeth sunk into his left shoulder. Deacon wanted to puke. “Ludwig-- please--”

“Deacon, hold on!” Ludwig bleated, panic sending adrenaline surging through him. He leveled his wand, all restraint for the benefit of the lunatic nobles evaporated at the sight of his partner’s blood spilling out around the snow leopard’s fangs. Howling a spell at the top of his lungs, he sent a pulse of pain through the leopard like a static shock, making it thrash and release its deadly grip on Deacon. Then, before it could fully round on its new adversary, Ludwig snapped a second spell that sent it flying, landing hard against the tree to which it had been tethered. It lay there, still save for its breathing.

“Deacon!” Ludwig gasped, collapsing beside his partner. “Oh, Woo, Deek!”

“I can’t… I…” His breaths raspy and wet, and his mind feeling as though someone had cast a shroud of fog over it, Deacon let out a pitiful whimper. “I-is it as bad as it feels, Lud? Is it…” Sharply, he turned his head and retched into the dirt below, sobbing: “’Pit. I th-think I’m going to pass out.”

“Y-you’re going to be fine,” Ludwig stammered, though the evidence of his eyes suggested otherwise. There were deep, angry lacerations down Deacon’s back where the leopard’s claws had raked his flesh, blood flowing in rivers and soaking into his shredded green uniform. The slashes ended in several deeper gouges where Blizzard had dug in to hold Deacon still. But by far the worst were the bite marks. They were deep, terrifyingly deep, and ran from his shoulder partway up his neck. Blizzard had clearly been aiming for the jugular, and missed it only by the wildest stroke of luck. But the shoulder was mangled and the arm attached hanging limply from shoulder bones shattered by the leopard’s crushing bite force.

Benno felt like he was going to throw up, and his stomach was tying itself in knots. Every fiber of his being was thrumming with the clawing terror and urgency that overcame him when something terrible happened or was happening to his partner. He felt like he could barely breathe, and it took everything in him to think clearly enough to make a rational decision about what he needed to do next.

“H-hold still,” Benno stammered, his voice shaking badly. “I’m going to try and staunch the bleeding. Woo willing Allegra and Natasha heard the commotion, they’ll fix you up in a pinch, n-no sweat.”

The taller man yanked off his overcoat, carefully wrapping it around the lacerations on Deacon’s shoulder, though he couldn’t help flinching as his partner cried out when the damaged bones in his shoulder were jostled.

“I… th-think I need to go to sleep now,” Deacon slurred, his eyelids drooping. “Just for a m-minute.”

“Deacon!” A shrill, terrified voice sounded from the manor’s front porch, as two sets of frantic footsteps scrambled toward the men. “Deacon, oh ’Pit, Deacon!” Young Natasha’s entire body was thrumming with terror, tears pricking in the teenager’s eyes as she and Allegra sprinted forward. “What happened to him, Ludwig, what happened--”

“Calm down, healer,” Benno barked sharply, trying to beat back his own panic and only barely managing by slipping into commanding officer mode. “The ‘Pit-spawned snow-leopard happened, now get over here and help me! Deacon, don’t pass out, do you hear me? Don’t you dare pass out!”

Allegra flinched at Ludwig’s tone, but obediently fell to her knees beside her partner’s brother. “Nat, s-synch in, we need to move quick, h-h-he’s losing way too much blood.”

Natasha nodded mutely, her hand shaking as she drew her wand and tapped it against her glittering silver bracelet. “Wh-where do we even start?” she stammered. Voice barely more than a wisp, she said to Ludwig, “C-could you c-cut away the rest of his shirt, please? With your scimitar? So w-we don’t waste magic w-with a slicing spell.”

“Right,” Ludwig agreed, drawing the weapon in question and carefully slicing off his partner’s shredded uniform. Allegra hissed in horror.

“Oh Woo, there’s s-s-so much blood-”

“I said calm down!” Benno snapped. “You are military healers, this is the sort of thing you will be seeing all the Woo-cursed time!”

“Shut up, Ludwig!” Natasha hissed, eyes raking tremulously over the patchwork of injuries on her brother’s back and neck. Deacon had stopped stirring altogether now, terrifyingly still save for the wet, fractured thrum of his breathing. “I th-think we should start with the neck, Ally. Work our way down?”

“R-right,” Allegra warbled. “S-stopping the bleeding is the most important. I’ll clear the blood away so you can see, you close the wounds over?”

“What the ‘Pit is going on here?” bellowed the gratingly familiar voice of the lord brigadier as he, his brother, the steward, and steward’s apprentice rounded the manor.

“Oh, Woo,” echoed Jaxon, as the man lay eyes on Deacon’s tattered form. “The foxes…? But they couldn’t have--”

“It wasn’t the foxes,” Benno snarled, lurching to his feet. Blood still coating both of his hands, he jerked a finger in the direction of the unconscious snow leopard. “It was your ‘Pit spawned cat, it snapped the rope and mauled Lieutenant Azrael!”

It was only then that either of the lords seemed to spot Blizzard’s unconscious form, the cat’s fur speckled with blood that made its complicity in the attack undeniable. As Natasha and Allegra frantically began to murmur incantations beneath their breath, racing against time to heal Deacon’s gushing wounds, Jaxon pressed a hand to his forehead, his jaw falling open as though held by a broken hinge.

“D-did you kill him?” the man murmured. “He’s… he’s not moving.”

“He might bloody well have killed my partner,” Benno snapped, jaw clenching. “Serve him right if I did! But no, he’s just unconscious.”

“Watch your-” Rohan started, bristling, but Benno cut him off.

“No, I will not watch my mouth,” the man snarled. “Yes. You are my commanding officers. But as a commandant in the king’s army, I know bloody well an officer’s duty is to see to the safety of his command! Not to send them chasing after foxes in a fit of temper and get them attacked by mountain cats because prioritizing human lives over animal ones is too hard!”

Jaxon blinked. “You’re upset,” he hissed. “Not thinking clearly. So I will excuse your blistering insubordination this once and only this once. But if you ever speak to my brother or me like that again, soldier…” The lord general’s eye smoldered with warning, before he sharply flicked his attention to Natasha and Allegra. “How is he, Batallion Healers?”

“B-bad,” Natasha whimpered. “Blizzard t-tore to the muscle in some places-- a-and the bone on his shoulder. I think h-he hit his head, too, when the cat tackled him. A c-concussion, sirs.”

“You can heal him though, right?” Rohan sounded frantic.

“We j-just enlisted three weeks ago, my lord,” Allegra stammered. “We’ve never healed anything this extensive before. A-and brain injuries like concussions can’t be healed, not without doing way more harm than good. We’re doing our best, but the most we can do is close the surface injuries and stop the bleeding. The muscle, a-and bone injuries will need a professional, experienced healer. And the concussion… he’ll need to let that heal the old fashioned way.”

“‘Pit.” Jaxon forced a shaky breath, then gestured curtly toward the steward. “Get Blizzard contained before he wakes up. And catch the Woo-darned foxes, too.”

“Y-yes, my lord general,” the steward stammered, the man gone milk pale at the sight of Deacon’s gory wounds. Scurrying toward the unconscious cat, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll see to it a-at once.”

“You’d better,” Jaxon snapped. Then, to Allegra and Natasha, he demanded, “Have you gotten him stabilized yet?”

“Another few minutes, my lord,” Allegra whimpered. “We’re trying to make sure the wounds heal properly, instead of just the surface layers of the skin. It’s not an instantaneous process.”

“Don’t rush it, Ally,” Benno said softly, his voice still shaking as he kneeled down next to the girl again. “You two are the experts, do what you have to. We need our big dumb jerk in one piece, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Natasha said, blinking back tears. Running a trembling hand through her brother’s tangled hair as with her other she traced the tip of her wand over one of his many lacerations, the girl murmured, “It’s going to be all right, Deacon. Pr-promise.”

“Lieutenant Benigno,” Jaxon said sharply. “Come with myself and Lord Brigadier Rohan to fetch our ‘griffs from the village square. Hopefully by the time we’re back with them, the healers will have your partner stabilized, and we can get back to Persis.”

Ludwig clenched his eyes shut, throttling back the impulse to tell the idiots they could get their hippogriffs without a babysitter. In an undertone he muttered, “Will you two be alright?”

“We have to be,” Allegra murmured. “It w-won’t help Deacon if we go to pieces.”

“We’re o-okay, Luddy,” Natasha echoed. “G-go get the ‘griffs. The sooner you get them, th-the sooner we can get Deacon somewhere safer.”

‘Safer’ was a more accurate descriptor than the girls realized. They hadn’t even been told yet about the rogue herd of however-many bloodthirsty pegasi that were loose in the skies over Macarinth. Nobody was going to be completely safe until they were caught again. Taking a deep breath, the dark haired mage put a comforting hand on both girls’ shoulders before standing to follow the nobles back to the village.

***

When they arrived back to Persis, with both the girls flexing their fingers against spelling sickness and Deacon strapped unconscious to Ludwig’s back in the hippogriff saddle, it caused an immediate stir. Deacon was bustled away by the encampment’s more experienced healers, while Jaxon, Rohan, and Benno were called to the command tent to speak to none other than Lord Heeren himself. After an hour of Jaxon and Rohan blithering through an attempt to bluff and bluster their way out of looking like incompetent idiots, and Benno giving blunt, unadorned answers when questions were directed at him, it was clear the lord of Igerna was nursing an intense headache.

“So let me see if I have this,” Lord Marshal Heeren said, rubbing his temples. “You arrived to discover the menagerie complex wrecked and many of the animals escaped. One of the first escapees you found was our eighty-six pound adult male snow leopard. The one we normally keep in an enclosure surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, with a deep, wide trench inside the fence to discourage climbing it and ward spells on said fence armed to shock him if he gets through the trench. Instead of confining him properly, you saw fit to use a hemp rope to tie him up to a tree and left him unattended.”

“He… he strolled right up to us, Father.” Jaxon’s gaze was planted squarely on the tops of his shoes, as though he were a chided child. “He wasn’t showing signs of aggression, and he’d been eating fish, so he wasn’t hungry. A-and the metal crates we keep for emergencies are all inside, which would have required transporting him further and thus… thus risked our safety--”

“You’re both mages,” Heeren cut in sharply. “You could have put him to sleep, no? Or set up a ward perimeter around him?”

“W-we didn’t want to risk him being hurt or traumatized, Father,” Rohan stammered, eyes averted to one side. “And as Jaxon said, he seemed perfectly docile.”

Heeren glowered at them, his eyes smoldering. “Then would you care to explain why the soldiers I asked you to bring along for your protection were sent chasing after foxes instead of the steward’s apprentices whose bloody job it is to handle that sort of thing? That seems like a gross misappropriation of your resources.”

“Well… um.” Jaxon hesitated. “We, ah-- thought soldiers would be… quicker than the steward. Since he’s older, as you know.”

Benno’s eyes narrowed. No, you got cross with me and Deacon and sent us on an exasperating chase for petty revenge, he thought waspishly. Heeren seemed no more impressed with the excuse than Ludwig, scowling openly.

“You are both,” he snarled, “absolutely blithering idiots. Now we’re down by a crucial officer and mage- two since his bonded partner will need to be sidelined until his recovery- when we not only still have a monumental amount of cleanup to do after the tornados, but now we discover we have an escaped herd of thirty-six highly dangerous pegasi with no fear of humans, used to being fed livestock animals. Would you care to try and justify yourselves to me again?”

Jaxon seemed to consider it for a good, long moment-- before thinking better of arguing and instead merely shaking his head. “No, Father.” A beat. “We… we apologise. For our… errors in judgment.”

Heeren snorted. “You are henceforth stripped of your command,” he said bluntly. “I will assume control of this battalion until a suitable replacement can be summoned from Fort Burke. I will also see to organizing a group for the capture and containment of the pegasi. You will return to Igerna, and remain there until I complete my preparations and return home. We will discuss this further at that time.

Rohan blanched, turning towards his brother with a frantic light in his eyes, and Jaxon was none calmer, the lord general curling his hands into tight fists as he said, “We’re sorry, Father. We won’t make such a mistake again, and we’d like to stay and see this through--”

“Are you now going to degrade yourselves further by speaking insolently to your Lord Marshal?” Heeren asked, his tone full of venom.

Jaxon flinched. “N-no, sir. I apologise, sir.”

Heeren turned towards Benno. “Lieutenant Benigno- your file says that you and your partner also hail from Igerna, no?”

“We do, my Lord Marshal,” Benno replied with absolute formality.

“I will grant you both leave to return there, until Lieutenant Azrael has recovered,” Heeren said. “My idiot sons got your partner hurt, the least I can do is see to it he doesn’t have to spend his recovery on a cot in a crowded encampment.”

Benno blinked in surprise, but he was certainly not unhappy to hear this bit of news. “Th-thank you, my lord.” A beat. “If… if I might ask something?”

The Lord Marshal raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Battalion Healers Payton and Azrael,” Benno went on. “They were with us on the field today. They saw to my partner’s injuries, as best they could. But they’re both very young, neither older than sixteen. And seeing their brother savaged like that… it was a lot for them to cope with. I wonder if it wouldn’t be permissible for them to return with us? So that they may see their brother recover and have some peace of mind.”

“Insubordination!” Rohan hissed. “This encampment needs healers now more than ever!”

Heeren whipped around, shooting to his feet. “Shut-” he snarled, whipping his hand out, “Up!” The Lord Marshal’s palm cracked across his son’s cheek, making Rohan stumble.

As his brother only barely retained his footing, Jaxon gawped, shock flaring across his face. Wisely, however, the young lord general stayed silent, only biting down hard on his lip as Rohan whipped into a deep bow. “I-I’m sorry, Lord Father, I won’t speak out of turn again!”

“See that you don’t,” Heeren hissed. He turned to Benno, sighing. “I shall grant your requests. Battalion Healers Payton and Azrael will be released on… assignment to nurse Lieutenant Azrael during his recovery. That should keep any of the officers at Burke from whining about overextended resources.”

Benno bowed, relieved to be getting the girls out of danger and into the hands of family that would help them cope with the gruesome scene they’d been forced to witness. “Thank you, my Lord Marshal.”

“If there is nothing else,” Heeren said, glowering at his sons. “You are all dismissed. Jaxon, Rohan, you will return to Igerna immediately. Lieutenant Benigno, you will remain overnight, and be transported with your partner and the healers in the morning once we are certain Lieutenant Azrael is stabilized.”

Close to Home: Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

“Mum! Dad! We’re home!” Natasha called early the next evening, as after a long-- and for Deacon, a very uncomfortable-- journey south they finally reached Igerna city. Holding the door to the apothecary supply shop open so that Allegra, Ludwig, and Deacon could slip in behind her, Natasha’s jaw trembled as she laid eyes on her parents, both of whom were standing behind the payment counter, her mother counting through the cashbox as her father audited the day’s sales ledger. “H-hi,” the girl added as their gazes latched. “I-it’s… it’s good to see you.”

“Tasha.” Her mother’s face and tone were both grim, the woman’s movements hurried as she swept forward to draw her daughter into a hug. “We’ve been so worried since we got the pigeon.” Her eyes flicked toward the others, widening as they settled on Deacon. “Oh, my Woo. Deacon!” Spinning on her heel to face her husband, the woman added sharply, “David! Br-bring over a stool, or… or somewhere for him to sit--”

“It’s all right, Mum,” Deacon said with a wan, unconvincing smile; still heavily dosed with pain potions, his words came out unsteady, slurred. “Just some scratches. No big deal.”

“Deacon,” Benno said crisply. “You’re going to let Mum baby you and you’re going to like it, or I will physically pick you up and dump you into the seat they provide.”

“Mmph, fine.” As his father hurriedly dragged over a stool, Deacon plopped clumsily onto it, landing with a wince. “‘Pit, I want more of that tonic.” He blinked owlishly at Allegra and Natasha. “Time for my next dose, baby sisters?”

“Deacon, no.” Natasha pursed her lips. “I’m not going to overdose you no matter how pathetically you bat your eyes at me. You still have two more hours before you can have any more.”

“And don’t you dare think of slipping anything from the store, Deacon,” his mother added firmly. Sighing down at her son, she ran a tender hand through his wheat-blond hair. “My poor baby. Injured in combat.”

“Not combat,” Deacon grumbled. “Last time I checked, snow leopards weren’t combat.” He sighed gustily. “Not that I even remember the attack. Or anything else that happened after the stupidest lordling in existence tied Blizzard to that tree.”

“Memory loss isn’t uncommon with concussions,” Deacon’s father David said, kneeling next to his son with a sympathetic smile. Jokingly he added, “And here I thought nothing could crack that thick skull of yours.”

Benno chuckled softly. “We know the secret now- eighty-some pounds of fast moving snow leopard. It’s probably better you don’t remember, Deek, it was…”

“Ghastly,” Allegra muttered, her eyes downcast and her entire body trembling. “I d-d-didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“Oh, honey.” Deacon’s mother wrapped her arms around the young teenager, drawing her close and smoothing a hand through the girl’s long, dark hair. “I can’t believe they would have even put you four in the same squadron. That has to go against so many protocols.”

“Lord General Jaxon and Lord Brigadier Rohan didn’t even know we were related,” Natasha mumbled sourly. “They didn’t even bother to ask our names before they dragged us off. We were warm bodies, and that was good enough for them.”

“Where are Yolanda and the kids?” Deacon slurred, pressing his dizzy head into his hands. “I wanna say hello.”

“Yolanda had Cecil”-- this was David’s partner-- “help her take them all out to the market,” his mother replied. “On purpose. So we could have you all laid up in bed before they got home, and the little ones wouldn’t tackle you off your feet.”

“Probably a good idea,” Benno said. “He’s about as steady as a teetotaler on his third pint of whiskey. I can help you get him up the stairs, Dad? I’d like to be nearby in case he needs anything.”

“Sure,” David agreed. With a smirk he elbowed his son, adding, “At least this time neither of you has anything contagious, hm?”

“Mmph,” Deacon moaned. “And at least idiocy isn’t catching. Because those Woo-darned lordlings were oozing it like… like…”

Natasha couldn’t help but smirk a little. “It’s all right, Deek,” she said. “Don’t try to strain your brain thinking up clever metaphors. There’ll be time for that once you’re healed.”

Benno shook his head with wry amusement, glad that at least his partner was feeling improved enough to try and joke. “C’mon, let’s get you tucked into bed.”

It took a bit of doing and a few more rest stops to get the dizzy, woozy Deacon up to the third floor where the bedrooms were, but at length they managed it. Once he’d been settled into his and Yolanda’s plush bed, Ludwig pulled up a stool and sat beside the bed with the back of his hand pressed against his partner’s.

“I still want to smack those lordlings,” Benno growled softly. “Even after Deacon got hurt, both of them were still snarling at us.”

David looked to his wife with a tired sigh. “That’s noble pair bonds for you.”

Benno blinked, looking up. “What do you mean?”

Deacon’s mother shrugged. “They bond differently-- the nobles. Without the matchmen, since they can afford the rune bracelets and ceremonies on their own-- and they don’t want their kids being bonded to random strangers.”

“So, what, their parents chose partners for them from personal friends?” Benno asked dubiously.

“Not usually,” David replied. “More like they chose partners from their own relatives- other nobles.” He grinned at his wife, dryly remarking, “Wouldn’t want to dirty their children down among the dregs with peasants, eh Emma? Remember the time during your public service you got to meet the Lord General of Tynaria district and his cousin?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “They were the most ridiculous pair of bonded mages I’d ever laid eyes on. Squabbled like alley cats. That’s what happens when you don’t take personality into consideration: you end up adhering two people together for the rest of their lives who really shouldn’t be paired.”

“Lords Rohan and Jaxon shouldn’t be paired,” Natasha muttered from where she loitered in the doorway, arms crossed sullenly at her chest. “They’ve both got tempers, and they rile each other up. It’d be like if Deacon were paired with… Deacon.”

“I can definitely attest to that,” Benno noted dryly. “Deacon got hurt because they got each other riled up into such a froth that they sent us chasing after a pair of fennec foxes just for the sake of petty revenge, when strictly speaking Lord Heeren told them to bring us along as bodyguards, not servants. They more or less threatened to have us flogged if we didn’t do it.”

David slapped his hand against his face. “Oy. Let me be the first to say I am glad Deacon was paired with someone steady and level-headed enough to rein him in. But-” he added, “Also someone who had enough fire of their own to give him some pushback when he goes off on a hair.” He smiled at his son. “No offense, Deacon, but you are a very strong personality. And that’s another thing you get with noble pair bonds sometimes- one side entirely dominating the other by sheer force of personality.”

“Mmm.” Deacon fought back a yawn, his eyelids half-masted. “Lud’s strong, though, Dad. He fought a… a…” He forced his eyes back open. “A leopard.”

Natasha snorted. “That’s right, Deacon.”

Emma raised a blonde brow. “Woo, how many painkillers is he on, girls?”

“In fairness, it’s painkillers combined with a badly klonked noggin,” Allegra said with a wan smile. “He also lost a decent bit of blood. There’s that too. Gave him a potion for it but our supplies were limited so he wasn’t fully replenished, just enough to get him stable.”

“You’re going to give Yolanda and the kids a heart attack,” Benno chided his partner gently.

“Naaaah.” Deacon grinned lopsidedly. “I’m fine, Benno. Feel like… a… a… pegasus.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t want to feel like a pegasus, Deacon,” Natasha said. “Not after what Ludwig told us about them on our ride home.”

“I appreciate having a partner who doesn’t bite me and torment living things like a cat playing with a bug,” Ludwig agreed dryly. “Speaking of which, Mum remind me later to swing by my parents’ place and warn my mother to keep a very close eye on her sheep for the foreseeable future.”

“We should have lamb chops while we’re visiting,” Deacon mused hazily. “With… with…” He giggled, like a schoolgirl might. “Leopard mash on the side.”

“Such a good comedian, sweetheart,” Emma soothed. Sighing, she glanced back toward Allegra and Natasha. “Why don’t you girls go wash up, and Dad and I will make you some tea? I think Ludwig’s got babysitting Deacon covered all right, hm, Ludwig?”

“Can do,” Ludwig agreed. “I’ll make sure our dear drugged pegasus doesn’t try to fly out the window, promise.”

There was a round of soft chuckles, and the other Azraels left the room. For a while, Benno and his partner sat together in silence, Deacon drifting in and out of consciousness as Ludwig alternated touching the back of his hand to Deacon’s and smoothing the blonde’s sweat dampened hair. The vigil was interrupted, however, by a shriek from down the stairs.

“Papa’s home!”

The patter of several pairs of bare feet against wood sounded from below, rapidly approaching until it was just outside the door, and in another instant the hinges creaked as somebody flung the door open. The still-drugged Deacon barely had time to blink before a pack of four children-- three girls, one boy-- had burst into the room, all dazzling grins and grasping arms as they vaulted themselves onto the bed.

“Papa!” squealed a small girl of perhaps eight or nine, her blue-gray eyes glimmering. “You’re home!”

“Kids, kids!” called an adult woman with dark blonde hair as she strode into the room. “Give Papa some air, and don’t jump on him like that, he’s hurt, we discussed this remember?”

“Sorry Mama,” chirped a second girl, who looked to be about four. Hugging Deacon’s leg, which was all she could reach with her siblings in the way, she added, “But we missed him lots.”

“Mummy says you almost got ate,” added the oldest girl. “Didja, Papa?”

“Mmhm, Theia. By a real live snow leopard.” Deacon shot a crooked grin at the four children, adding to the littler three, “It’s like a big kitty cat. A real big kitty cat.”

“Meow?” guessed the final girl; she couldn’t have been more than two, her curly blonde hair tied in frizzy pigtails.

“Nope. Roar, Michaela,” Deacon replied. He flashed his canine teeth, mimicking the noise. “But it’s all right. Papa Benno saved the day.”

“Sure did,” Benno agreed, his eyes sweeping the children benevolently, though they fixed on the final child who hadn’t yet spoken- a little boy who looked even younger than Michaela, and whose hair matched neither Yolanda nor Deacon’s blonds, but instead was a light shade of chestnut, his eyes dark to both their light.

Deacon, seeming to notice where his partner’s gaze had fallen, shot Ludwig an encouraging smile as Michaela and the middle girl, Maegan, settled on either side of him. Stroking a hand through Maegan’s butter-blonde hair, he said softly to the boy, “Wanna say hi to somebody, Connor?”

The toddler, Connor, cocked his head. “Hi?” he ventured, his voice whisper quiet. Yolanda sighed, coming further into the room and gently nudging the boy in the small of his back towards Benno.

“Your Papa hasn’t seen you in a while, honey,” she encouraged gently. “I bet he’d like a hug.”

Slowly, the boy turned his head toward Ludwig, understanding flickering in his brown-black eyes. As Deacon continued to fawn over the girls, Connor crawled toward the edge of the bed, reaching out his stubby arms to Ludwig once he’d reached the edge of it. In turn, Ludwig reached back for him, scooping the boy up under his armpits and settling Connor in his lap. His expression was very soft, though tinged with a hint of sadness.

“Heya, buddy,” he said, kissing the boy on the crown of his head. “You missed me? Woo, you’ve gotten big, haven’t you?”

“Two an’ half,” Connor replied solemnly. “Big boy.”

From the bed, Theia laughed. “Nuh-uh, Connor. You’re not two and a half yet. Not ‘til November.”

“Me two an’ half,” Michaela supplied with a sage nod. “Real big!”

“You’re all getting big,” Yolanda agreed. “I’m glad Cecil helped me corral all of you at the market, or I’d have been going crazy.” To Benno she added softly, “He didn’t mean anything by it, Ludwig. I think he just… saw all the girls arrow at Deacon.”

“I know,” the dark haired mage said softly, stroking his son’s hair. “It can’t be helped.” With a very frail looking smile, he added, “There are worse misidentifications he could make, right?”

“He’s less of a potato than last time we saw him,” Deacon added brightly. Then, more softly: “He looks like you, Lud. Your hair, your eyes…”

“You think so?” Benno asked softly, wanting to hug his son close but not quite daring with the way the boy was still looking at him with confusion and uncertainty. “Because I look at his face and all I see is…” He swallowed hard, his breath hitching. “Her.”

“Her who?” Maegan demanded, craning her head to see Benno and Connor around her father’s shoulder.

Deacon hesitated, running a hand down his daughter’s cheek. “Connor’s birth mama,” he said finally. “The one who carried him in her tummy.”

“She was nice,” Theia said wistfully. “She was good at tellin’ stories. And she told funny jokes.” The girl bit her lip, glancing up toward Yolanda. “But… then she hadta go be with the Woo. R-right, Mummy?”

“That’s right, sweetie,” Yolanda agreed softly, watching Benno bounce Connor on his knee. “On the very day Connor was born. So that’s why I’m his mama now.”

Ludwig closed his eyes, his breathing becoming more ragged and his shoulders trembling, and Connor quickly twisted in his lap, the little boy’s own face screwing in unease as he reached up a set a tentative hand against his father’s cheek. “Papa sad?” He jerked his gaze toward Yolanda. “Mama. Mama, why Papa sad?”

“Because he misses someone very, very much, Connor honey,” she explained, knowing the full complexities of the situation would fly right over the toddler’s head. “Someone who had to go be with the Woo.”

“I’m… I’m fine, Connor,” Ludwig said, his voice hoarse. Finally caving to the temptation, he hugged the little boy who looked so much like his lost wife close to his chest. “B-big boys don’t cry, right?”

“Connor cries lots,” Theia said helpfully. “Yesterday he sobbed for like, an hour ‘cos Mummy wouldn’t let him touch one of the potions she was brewin’.”

“Yolanda!” Deacon gave a drowsy smirk. “How cruel! You’d torment a little boy so maliciously?”

“Oh yes, how cruel of me not to let him stick his hands in the boiling liquid,” Yolanda retorted. More seriously she added, “You are alright, Deacon? No permanent damage?”

“Only got half-digested,” Deacon replied, yawning as another fit of exhaustion dropped over him like a shroud. “I’ll be okay.” Smiling at the kids, he added in a conspiratorial whisper, “And hey, maybe leopards are like werewolves, and I’ll turn into a… a… wereleopard. And you guys can be my cubs.”

Maegan giggled. “But if you turned into a leopard Papa Benno would have to beat you up next. An’ I don’t think they let leopards be soldiers, ‘cause only boys get ta be soldiers, not leopards.”

“Leopards can be boys, though,” Theia pointed out. “Papa said they’re just like kitty cats. And… and our shop cat’s a boy.”

“And he’s a soldier,” Deacon said with a smirk. “Engaged in an eternal war with the terrifying enemy of…” He gasped in mock horror. “Mice.”

“You’re silly,” Maegan informed her father. Flopping against his side and squeezing him, she added, “I love you. It’s good the leopard didn’ eat you.”

“Love you, too, baby,” Deacon replied, though he winced at the girl’s slightly-too-firm grip. Easing her away by just a hair, he kissed the crown of the girl’s head, adding, “Hey, I’ve got an idea, Mae.”

“An idea?” she queried. “What idea?”

“Papa Benno’s been babysitting me all day,” her father replied. “I think he deserves a break, don’t you? So what if you girls babysat Papa instead?” Smiling, he gently eased Maegan beneath the bedquilt, then motioned for Michaela and Theia to burrow under, too. “We can all take a nice snooze.” He winked. “We could even call it a cat nap.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Yolanda noted, rolling her eyes. Benno chuckled.

“I could use a break. Maybe go say hi to my parents while you lot are having quality time.”

“I could go with you?” Yolanda suggested. “And we could bring Connor. How’d you like that Con, go visit Grandpa Ingo and Grandma Trudy?”

The toddler nodded slowly. “Pet sheep?” he asked. “An’ doggie?”

“Of course we can,” Benno agreed with a smile, standing up and balancing his son on his hip as he did so. “You like your grandma’s sheep, Connor?”

“Uh-huh,” the boy said. “Baaa!”

His eyelids already drooping as his daughters nestled around him, Deacon chuckled hazily. “Tell everyone I say hi. And that I’ll come visit once I’m less dead.”

“I’ll pass that along,” Benno agreed. “Though you may end up with my mother coming here to fret over you if you’re not careful.”

“Tell her to bring that honey cake she always makes for birthdays,” Deacon said. “You know. For… healing.”

“Cake?” Maegan put in hopefully from her father’s side, and Ludwig snorted softly.

“I’ll see if I can’t talk her around.” Smiling down at his son he said, “But first, Connor and I have some sheep to pet.”

***

Over the next week, Ludwig split his time between sitting vigil beside his partner’s bedside and visiting his various friends and family in Igerna. As much as he could without smothering the boy or overstimulating him, Ludwig tried to bond with the son who barely knew him, with limited success. While Connor was tolerant of the fawning to an extent, willing to let Ludwig carry him when they walked through town and occasionally sitting in his lap back at the flat, it was impossible to miss the way his dark eyes often trailed toward Yolanda, as though he would have much rather been with her than with Ludwig. And whenever he grew upset, it was often only Yolanda who could soothe him, the boy sobbing like a wretch until she took him into her arms-- and then settling so naturally into her grip, his face pressed against her shoulder, his small fingers hooked around the fabric of her dress.

It would have been a lie for Benno to say he hadn’t half-expected as much, as often as he and Deacon were away with the army, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Normally he would have expressed his unhappiness to his partner, his eternal confidante and closest friend, but with Deacon spending the majority of his time either asleep or in a drugged stupor Ludwig didn’t really feel right venting to him.

And so it was a week and a half after their initial arrival in Igerna, as the dark haired soldier watched Yolanda and Connor out amongst the Benigno family’s herd of sheep from his seat in the grass of a nearby knoll, that one of the other people who could read him like a book finally called him out on his broodiness.

“You’re terribly quiet today, Ludwig,” said his mother, Trudy, her dark brow furrowed as she studied her son’s face. “Have you been sleeping much?”

He glanced sideways at his mother, shepherd’s crook in her lap as it always was when she went out with the herd. Forcing a smile, he replied, “I’m fine, Mum. I’ve never all that been chatty, you know that.”

Trudy, however, looked unconvinced. “Why are you sitting here then, Ludwig? Not playing with your son?” She nodded toward Connor, who was presently plucking dandelions with wild abandon. “Yolanda’s tending him. Not you.”

The young man averted his gaze, folding his arms and pinching his brow- all tells that Deacon would’ve immediately known to advertise that Ludwig was unhappy and trying to hide it. “He… prefers Yolanda’s company to mine, Mum. I’m a stranger to him. Whenever I try to play with him, he constantly lists towards his… his mother.” The man’s voice cracked on this last word, and he turned his face sharply away.

“Ludwig.” Trudy sighed. “He’s just a baby, and Yolanda’s familiar to him. Of course he’ll gravitate toward her. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t want to play with you, too. It doesn’t mean you can’t get to know him.” Face creased with sympathy, the woman reached out and set a hand on her son’s arm. “Alice wouldn’t want you brooding like this, Lou. Beating yourself up as if you’ve done something wrong.”

The man flinched hard, fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeves. “I loved her. So much. And he’s just like her. His nose, his eyebrows, the way he laughs…” Hunching his shoulders he murmured, “But his personality… he’s a lot like me at that age, isn’t he? And Woo knows I wouldn’t have let anyone but you and Dad and my siblings near me.”

“You’re his father, Ludwig,” Trudy said firmly. “And he’s so small. You have all the time in the world to get to know him-- and retreating like this isn’t going to help with that. I know you miss Alice, honey. Of course I know. And I know that it must be… hard, watching Connor with Yolanda. But he’s still your son. Your little boy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re right. And… Alice died giving him life. She wouldn’t want him to grow up not knowing who I am. But can I help that, really? Even if I get to know him now, as soon as Deacon recovers we’ll be right back out on the field again. It’ll probably be months before we’re home next. In that time will he just forget me again? The only reason I can spend as much time with him now as I do is… is because the Azraels let me move in with them after she died.” He laughed mournfully. “Them taking both of us in is probably the only reason I didn’t go crazy.”

“Of course he’ll get to know you, Ludwig,” Trudy countered. “He’s small now, but the older he gets, the better his memory will get.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are far too hard on yourself, Lou. Do you know how many little boys in this kingdom have fathers who are soldiers? Connor is your boy, and that’s that. You spend as much time with him as you can-- and when you’re gone, you make sure he has people who love him and take care of him. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a great father. And he’s lucky to have you.”

The man was quiet for a time, watching his son and Yolanda as the little boy giggled over flying dandelion puffs. Finally he said, “You… you know him better than I do, sad as that is to admit. What sorts of things does he enjoy?” Quirking an eyebrow Ludwig added, “Besides riding piggy-back on your ewes of course.”

“He loves stories,” Trudy said. “He’ll sit quietly for… Woo, a long time once you get an interesting yarn spinning. He’s got a good imagination, too. He loves playing with blocks, paints, anything he can create with.” She smiled at her son. “I bet he’d love it if Papa took him to the craftmarket. Let him look at all the pretty baubles.”

Ludwig smiled back. “I think I could manage that. And Woo knows, I have enough interesting stories from the service.” He laughed softly. “Though I’m not sure how interested he’d be in hearing about the romance of a Valzick blank and a Meltaiman kid who we interrogated a few weeks ago. Even if they did manage to slip a team of Meltaiman elites and confound an entire Valzick Special Forces unit on their escape to elopement.”

Trudy chuckled. “Well, I’m no two-year-old, but that sounds very interesting to me.” She winked. “And hey, if he gets bored, you can always throw in some ponies and hippogriffs. And doggies. Mustn’t forget the doggies-- those always gets his attention.”

“And then-” Ludwig said in his best impression of Deacon being dramatic, “the young mage girl brandished her wand, and from astride her mighty mastiff she cried, ‘Halt ye knaves of the Special Forces! And your ponies too! None shall stop our flight to freedom, be they-’”

From amongst the tall grass, Connor turned to face his father and grandmother, cocking his head at his father’s theatrical voice. “Story?” he chirped, dandelions forgotten as he loped up to Ludwig and Trudy. Plunking down in front of them, the boy grinned, repeating: “Papa, story?”

Ludwig was clearly caught by surprise, his eyes flicking towards Trudy in astonishment. Then he focused on his son, smiling affectionately.

“Sure, Connor,” he said, as Yolanda sat down a few feet away with her legs crossed. “Although I guess I should start from the beginning, hm? Waaay back when the Meltaiman girl and the Valzick boy first fell in love, before they got their giant doggie to ride.” He winked. “When the girl stole the most precious jewelry from the evil Meltaiman lord!”

Connor giggled. “They haves kitty?”

“The Meltaiman did- a giant dragon-kitty that could breathe fire!” Ludwig insisted, earning an amused eyeroll from Yolanda even as Connor began laughing harder, his dark eyes glimmering and cheeks flushing pink. Picking up his thread, the little boy’s father said, “It all started when the two people in love decided to run away together, and needed to escape the city without drawing attention…”

***

The bell over the shop door chimed, and Ludwig carefully hushed the small boy in his lap as he stirred at the noise. He’d been telling Connor yet another story of his time in the army- significantly dramatized to suit the boy’s fantastical tastes- but during a lull in the action the little boy had curled up against his father’s chest and nodded off. Torn now between a thrumming of excited wonder and fierce protectiveness, Ludwig was determined not to spoil the moment by having poor Connor wake up crying at an unexpected noise.

Once he was certain that his son was in no danger of jolting abruptly awake, he looked up to see who had come into the shop, expecting to find a customer. Instead, on the other side of the counter coming towards him, the soldier caught sight of a very familiar figure- a shortish man with bright sky blue eyes, and ebony hair that was streaked with silver where it was going prematurely to grey. He was very tanned, and had a small scar on his cheekbone from his time during the compulsory military service all pair bonded mages had to undertake- for a pair bonded mage he was, and one whom Ludwig knew almost as well as he knew Deacon’s family.

“Ah, hey Cecil,” he called cheerily, keeping his voice hushed so as not to wake Connor. “If you’re looking for Dad, he’s stepped out to run some deliveries, sorry.”

But David Azrael’s partner, Cecil, merely shook his head. “I was actually wanting to talk to you, Ludwig,” the man said, matching Benno’s dampered tone. “And Deacon, if he’s up to it. I heard something in the market today that I thought you two would be interested in.”

“Oh, sure thing,” Ludwig agreed, carefully wrapping his arms around Connor to heft the boy up without jostling him. “Deek’s still on strict bedrest, but he’s off most of the painkillers so he should be able to have a coherent conversation. Then again, this is Deacon so that’s never a surefire bet,” he added jokingly.

“I’ll send a prayer up to the Woo,” Cecil said with a knowing smirk. “Want me to fetch someone to mind the floor while we’re talking, son? I can’t imagine you’re the only one lurking about.” He chuckled. “Woo knows Emma’s never far from her precious shop.”

“Sure, thanks,” Ludwig agreed. “I’ll see about setting Connor in his bed- though he’s a bit of a cling, at least with Yolanda, so no promises.”

Fortunately, despite some initial fussiness Connor allowed himself to be settled into his bed, and Ludwig was just a few moments behind Cecil in getting up to the room where his partner was convalescing. He grinned as he walked in, chirpily saying, “See, what did I tell you? He finally looks less green; like a human being instead of a frog.”

“Always the compliments with you,” Deacon groused, before sparing his father’s partner a thin smile. “Hello, Uncle Cecil. Come to make sure my family’s treating me like a king?”

“And here I was hoping the concussion had made you less of a sarcastic prat.” Cecil smirked, dropping into the chair at Deacon’s bedside. “Glad to see you looking well, Deacon. At this rate, you’ll be back to causing Ludwig strife in no time at all. Woo help us all.”

“I think I used up my yearly allotment of Woo help when he let me survive that whole snow leopard attack,” Deacon said dryly. “So Ludwig’s on his own.” His green eyes listed toward his partner, shining drolly. “Sorry, Benno. Tough break.”

“I’ll manage somehow, I usually do,” Benno retorted. “You still owe me for the heart attack though, you jerk, I thought I was going to pass out when I saw you all mangled.”

“I did pass out,” Deacon cheerily reminded him. “I win.”

“Oh, be nice,” Cecil chided, though the man was smirking, the fondness in his voice undeniable. “Anyway-- I didn’t come just to stroke your ego, Deacon. I’ve got news-- or… gossip, more like it-- that I think you and Ludwig would be interested in hearing.”

“Oh?” Benno blinked in surprise. The duo wasn’t generally known for being prolific gossips, so he couldn’t fathom what Cecil might have heard that would be interesting to them. But he tilted his head, saying, “Go on, then.”

“The butcher I use has a son in the militia,” Cecil replied. “Butcher looked a bit out of sorts when I popped by this morning to get some bones, so I asked if everything was alright. He told me he was fine-- it was just his son was hurt in action. In the militia. The kid’s real banged up, healing in some infirmary Woo-knows-where.” Cecil steepled his fingers. “So of course, I mentioned Deek’s injuries. And how he got them, thinking I’d get the response I’ve gotten from nearly everyone else I’ve told: disbelief. But nope. Instead I just got a grim laugh and nod. Because guess how his boy got hurt?”

“Oh Woo.” Ludwig rubbed his eyes. “Lord Marshal Heeren got the pegasus hunt underway, then?”

“Mmhm,” Cecil confirmed. “The butcher’s boy got mauled half to death after one of the units Lord Marshal Heeren sent to catch the cursed things cornered about a half dozen of them near the border with Lampis district. They managed to corral the beasts, thank the Woo, but not without half the squadron getting beat to all the hells.”

“Half a dozen?” Deacon blinked. “But… Lud… didn’t you say before that the idiots told you there were several dozen?”

“Told us that, but yeah,” Ludwig confirmed, frowning deeply. “And Heeren confirmed it too- put the total at thirty-something. Why would the unit have only found six or so? That’s not even a quarter of the herd.”

“My guess?” Cecil shrugged. “The pegasi split up. A group that big would be difficult in the wild. Too much competition for too little food.”

“Well, they already ate an entire bloody herd of zebras and sheep,” Deacon grumbled. “And that’s just what Luddy and I saw ourselves. How much more food do they need?” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Woo, as much as I’m upset about the whole ‘getting mauled by a wild cat’ thing, at least it got us out of pegasus wrangling duty. That cannot be fun.”

“We can be grateful there was only one of the snow leopard,” Ludwig agreed. “And it didn’t fly.” He sat down on the edge of his partner’s bed with a groan. “At least your mauling saw to it the idiot brigade is not in charge of that roundup. I can only imagine the mess they’d make of it, forbidding soldiers from hurting a single dainty hair on the pegasis’ heads.”

“I’m still disappointed I was unconscious and missed Lord Marshal Heeren smacking Rohan,” Deacon said. “That would have been the highlight of my year, Luddy.”

Cecil rolled his eyes. “Glad to see you’re dreaming high, Deacon. Woo, sometimes I still can’t believe the king’s army trusts you as a commandant.”

“Oh, but didn’t you hear, Uncle Cecil?” Deacon said. “The militia demoted us. I’m just a lowly lieutenant now.” He paused for a moment, then brightened. “I wonder if we’ll get a pity promotion once I’m healed, Ludwig. You know, for bravery in the face of… getting led into a death trap by the heir to our bloody district. House Heeren owes me, Lud.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Ludwig replied, amused. “Though if anyone deserves a promotion, it’s Lance Corporal What’s-his-name for dealing with our charming friend from squadron four. You know the one who almost dropped a house on our heads. This really has been an eventful visit home, hasn’t it?”

“Mmph,” Deacon grunted in agreement. “I just hope they round up the rest of the pegasi before I’m cleared for duty. And maybe we can spend the rest of our imprisonment-- um, service-- in the militia rebuilding damaged houses or something. Far, far away from any animal that isn’t one-hundred percent domestic.”

“I’ll be sure to keep you boys updated if I hear anything else,” Cecil said. “And Deacon, try not to drive your family too crazy while you’re here, all right? Especially poor Ludwig. I’m guessing your drugged stupor was the first time he’s gotten peace and quiet in nearly twenty years.”

Ludwig snorted. “You think he was quiet? No, he was just ramble-ranting about the leopards on the walls. He kept Maegan, Michaela, and Theia very entertained, if entirely confused.”

“I shall have you know that wall leopards are a real and serious public safety hazard, Ludwig,” Deacon retorted with a very crooked grin. “I was only trying to keep everybody from getting mauled. And look-- zero maulings in the Azrael household. You’re welcome.”

“Zero maulings saving your own, of course,” Ludwig joked back. Glancing towards Cecil he added, “And I don’t mind the chatter, really. Keeps our regimented lives entertaining. I’ll tell you this much, after seeing Rohan and Jaxon in action I will keep the matchmen in my prayers every night for the rest of my life. They deserve it for keeping the rest of the mages in Macarinth from devolving into that. I’m quite happy with my sarcastic prat.”

“Admittedly, I’ve grown fond of the cad, too,” Cecil said with a chuckle. “No more leopard maulings, Deek, you hear? I prefer David’s children in their non-eaten states.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And if you’re feeling up to it before you boys head back to duty, I know my mum would appreciated if you stopped by our shop. She’s been worried sick since she heard-- you know you and your sisters are the grandkids she never had. She would’ve come with me today if it weren’t for her Woo-cursed arthritis-- it’s been acting up terribly for the past few months, some days she can barely get the jewelry cases open for customers.” He winked at his partner’s son. “And hey, maybe she’ll even gift you a new shiny bauble for your wand, Deacon. As an ‘I’m-glad-you’re-alive’ present.”

“I’ll try my best to come by, Uncle Cecil,” Deacon said. “Especially if free jewels are involved. And I’ll avoid pegasi, too. Soldier’s honour.”

“Good,” Ludwig replied firmly. “And then let’s get back to the collapsing houses- at least that’s something no one is going to harp on us about if we destroy them utterly after they try to kill us.”

Close to Home: Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

“Now, now, girls,” Deacon sang a week and a half later, the morning sun beating into his back as he, Ludwig, David, Natasha, and Allegra-- the black-haired girl with young Connor in her arms-- wended through the curving streets of Paddonfield. “Are you sure you won’t get lost all on your lonesome? It’s like, a whole mile from Uncle Cecil’s place to the Benigno house.”

A few steps ahead of her brother, Natasha rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure we can manage it, Lieutenant. Certainly not a walk we’ve made like, seven billion times before.” She smirked. “Besides, I’m not the one who nearly got eaten. I think it’s you who needs the escort, Deek. Not Ally and me.”

“Aw, now you play dirty,” Deacon replied with a mock pout. Gesturing to himself, he added, “And as you can see, I am wonderfully recovered and not eaten in the slightest. So if anything, I’ve proven my worth as a fighter. Deacon: 1. Leopard: zero.”

“More like Luddy: 1, Leopard: zero,” Allegra retorted, prodding little Connor’s nose with her own and making a silly face at the child. “I seem to recall you being too passed out to win any fights.”

“Don’t be so mean, Ally.” Deacon’s voice was dripping with feigned hurt. “I’m the one who got you a nice vacation home, aren’t I? So really, you should be thanking me! If it weren’t for the way I single-handedly slayed that leopard with my muscles of pure iron, you’d be up in Persis right now. Eating mush.”

“You talk as if the militia healers who came by to check you last night didn’t clear you for duty again starting on Monday,” Natasha said dryly. “And as though Ally and me aren’t getting sent back with you. Two days from now, and it’s mush for all of us, Deek.”

“You might never survive the struggle,” David put in with a smile. “And at least officers like Deacon and Ludwig can lark off to a tavern or inn for real food, your poor sisters don’t even get that. Sorry Deacon, you’re not a saint here.” He clapped his son’s shoulder. “Better luck next time.”

Benno snorted. “Maybe we can sneak the girls off for a bite sometime. Like good big brothers.”

As they arrived at the entrance to Cecil’s family’s jewel shop on the edge of Paddonfield, the group stopped briefly. Benno reached out a hand to Connor gently tickling his neck and saying, “Be good for Grandma and your Aunt Allegra and Aunt Natasha, okay?”

As the boy nodded solemnly, Natasha chuckled. “Don’t be good for Aunt Melitta, though,” the girl chirped. “You can be a terror for her, Con. To amuse the rest of us.”

“That’s the spirit, Tasha,” Deacon said. “Torment Luddy’s baby sister just like we used to. Keeping up the family traditions. Ooh, you could even put rocks in her shoes. Big ones, Connor.”

“And this is why we’re going to say goodbye to Luddy’s family without you there, Deacon,” Natasha replied, grinning crookedly as Connor giggled. “Because you ruin absolutely everything. Always. It’s like your… specialty.”

“Don’t put rocks in Aunt Mel’s shoes, Connor,” Ludwig advised the boy. “Your Papa Deacon is just being a prat.”

“But then again he always is,” David noted, elbowing his son. “Don’t corrupt your partner’s child, Deacon.”

“Okay,” Deacon agreed. “No rocks, Connor.” He winked at the toddler. “Just twigs.”

“Tigs!” the boy echoed, laughing like a hyena now. “Put tigs!”

Ludwig glowered at his partner. “Next time I’m going to let the leopard eat you.”

“Now, now,” Allegra sang. “Let’s set a good example for the baby. No letting our partners get ate.” She gave a light wave. “We’ll get going now. See you boys this evening. Say goodbye to Papa, Connor.”

“Bye-bye!” Connor trilled.

“See ya, buddy,” Ludwig replied, smiling affectionately. David chuckled, making shooing motions to the girls.

“Get going now, and stay safe, alright? Don’t talk to strangers!”

“Daaaad!” Allegra groaned, laughing as she turned to obey. “We’re not five!”

“And look both ways before you cross the street!” David said cheerily as the girls vanished around the corner.

Once they were gone, Deacon crossed his arms, wearing a wry smile. “So,” he said, his gaze turning to the door that led into the unassuming jewel store, “shall we? I wouldn’t want to leave dear Auntie Aleida worrying herself for a moment longer over her favourite person in the world.”

“Oh of course,” David retorted. “We certainly want to reassure her that Ludwig is alright.”

Benno snorted softly, pushing open the door and setting the bell jangling. “Aunt Aleida, Uncle Cecil! It’s Ludwig. And the two sarcastic prats.”

Though the modest storefront was empty at first glance, footsteps quickly sounded from the adjoining backroom, and in a few moments a petite elderly woman had shambled onto the shop floor. Though she had to be pushing seventy, she wore her age well, her tan skin wrinkled but her piercing blue eyes sharp, and her pure-silver hair swept into a tight bun at the crown of her head without a single strand frizzed out of place.

“There you are!” she crooned, shuffling toward the trio as the front door thumped shut behind them. “CeeCee told me you’d come, but I thought you’d forgotten.” Reaching the men, she wrapped an arm around Deacon’s side, then gestured for him to lean forward. “What?” she scolded. “No kiss for your favourite auntie?” Her clear eyes jumped toward David. “And don’t think you’re exempt, either, Davy. I haven’t seen you in nearly a fortnight, young man-- too busy for your partner’s decrepit mum?”

“Never,” David said with a chuckle, leaning over to give the old woman a peck on the side of her forehead. “I’ve just been trying to make sure my son didn’t do anything rash while he was drugged to oblivion. Is CeeCee home?”

“He’s out making a delivery,” Aleida replied, in short order stealing successive pecks from both Ludwig and Deacon. “Posh customer, didn’t want to bother picking up her order. But he should be home soon.” Aleida beamed. “Shall I put some tea on, dears? And you”-- she jabbed a nearly accusing finger at Deacon-- “can tell me all about how you got yourself mauled. And here I thought I’d seen the worst of you after you wheedled Ludwig into sneaking out past midnight to catch fireflies-- you know, that time you slept over here when you were ten? Woo, you nearly gave me a heart attack when I checked in and found your bed empty.”

“I’m still going to maintain that it was a stellar and thoughtful idea, because the fireflies were supposed to be a gift for you, Auntie.” Deacon smirked. “But tea sounds great, thank you.”

“I got a new blend last week,” Aleida prattled on, turning to lead the group from the shop into the modest flat that adjoined it to the rear, past a cluttered stock room. “So many nice herbs and spices, the seller told me it promotes good health! Restorative energies, or--” She waved a hand. “Something like that. So a good choice for my Deacon, hm? Given his recent hardships.”

“Sounds perfect,” Ludwig agreed. “Just the thing before we head back out to eat military mush-meals, eh Deek?” To the old woman he added, “And in fairness, this time it really wasn’t his fault- I’m sure Uncle Cecil told you about the lovely nobles.”

“Hmph.” Aleida scowled as they crossed into the flat, the woman gesturing for the men to sit as she made a beeline for the tea kettle. “CeeCee had to talk me out of storming all the way to the castle and giving those louts a piece of my mind. Such careless brats! Acting like spoiled little children. If they were mine, I wouldn’t have just sent them back home to lounge around their nice pretty castle, that’s for sure.”

Settling at the kitchen table, Deacon chuckled. “Much as I’m glad Uncle Cecil persuaded you not to go yell at them, I would have loved to see their faces if you had, Aunt Aleida. You sting like a bee when you’re cross.”

“Fortunately, Lord Heeren saw fit to smack some sense into them,” Ludwig said cheerfully. “Quite literally. And Deacon lives to be a pain in my rear for many years to come.”

“I can only imagine how frantic you must have been right after he got hurt, though,” David noted. “Remember the time Cecil broke his arm when we were eleven, Mum? I was such a mess.”

Aledia laughed grimly. “I wasn’t even sure which of you was actually hurt first. You were both hysterical.”

“Dad, hysterical?” Deacon asked with a quirked brow. “I don’t believe it.”

“Oh, yes,” Aleida said brightly. “Davy was a sensitive little boy, weren’t you, Davy? Prone to brooding and histrionics, and then of course the teenaged one-track brain kicked in--”

“Let’s not and say we didn’t,” David cut in, his face flushing a little. “I like to make imagine the fiascos that came of my teenage hormones were purely cooked up in my own imagination and shan’t come back to haunt me.”

“No, no,” Ludwig said, grinning broadly. “Please Aunt Aledia, do tell.”

As Aleida filled the teapot and positioned it on the simmering hearth, the woman grinned devilishly-- but before she could spill all of David’s teenaged secrets, her attention was swiftly diverted by the sound of footsteps out in the stockroom on the other side of the wall. Moments later, the door into the apartment swung open, a familiar figure hurrying inside: Cecil.

“‘Lo there, Uncle CeeCee,” Deacon said with a smile-- but a moment later, all traces of humour vanished from his face as he noticed the unmistakable theme of panic that was raging through every facet of Cecil’s demeanour, from the way his jaw was clenched to how his hands were tensed into fists at his side.

Aleida immediately noticed it, too, the woman’s silver brow furrowing as she asked, “What’s wrong, CeeCee? What’s happened?”

Cecil gulped, his throat bobbing. “I was walking back from the delivery, Mum-- I cut through the craftmakers’ guildhall because it’s faster than taking the streets, and… and…” He forced a deep breath. “I overheard people chattering. About something strange they’d seen on their walk over. A flock of hippogriffs flying over the south side of the city, only-- as they put it-- awfully funny-looking hippogriffs. More… more horse-like than they’d ever seen before. I didn’t really think anything of it at first, but then as I walked further, it… it hit me.”

“Funny looking…?” David looked confused at first, then realization seemed to spark in his eyes. “Oh Woo, Ceece, you don’t think-?”

Abruptly, Ludwig lurched to his feet, his eyes alight with stark panic, and Deacon followed not a moment later, something akin to horror washing over him. Hippogriffs. Funny-looking hippogriffs, more horse than bird. Oh, ’Pit.

“The pegasi,” Deacon practically squeaked. “Oh Woo, it’s the pegasi, isn’t it?”

“The pegasi?” Aleida tilted her head. “What pegasi?” She whipped her gaze toward Cecil. “You didn’t tell me about any pegasi, CeeCee.”

Cecil winced as if Aleida had smacked him. “I didn’t want to worry you, Mum,” he said. “They escaped near Persis-- the complete opposite side of the district. I had rather hoped they’d be caught before they could make it anywhere near this far south.”

Ludwig didn’t appear to be listening. Instead he strode around the table, making a beeline for the door. David snapped to his feet, snaring his son’s partner by the shirt collar.

“And where the ‘Pit are you off to in such a hurry?” David demanded.

“Let me go!” Ludwig snarled, his dark eyes wide and every muscle in his body quivering. “There’s no time!”

“No time for what?” the older man snapped.

“We need to stay inside,” Cecil added sharply. “Let the city guard and the militia troops Lord Marshal Heeren has garrisoned at the castle deal with them. As is their job, Ludwig.”

“Given that I’m pretty sure Lord General Lunatic and Lord Brigadier Idiot are presently in charge of the castle, I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Deacon retorted. “But Lud-- Dad and Uncle CeeCee are right. What are you planning, to go track the pegasi down and fight them off with your bare hands? We haven’t even got our scimitars on us. Just our wands.”

“’Pit, Deacon are you deaf?” Ludwig demanded. “South end of town. Where is the ‘Woo-cursed ford at?”

In the blink of an eye, Deacon went milky pale, his emerald eyes widening. “Your house,” he said, his voice cracking. “And… and…” The blond outright grimaced. “Oh, ‘Pit. Your mother’s sheep. Your mother’s entire cursed herd of sheep.”

As understanding dawned over Cecil, the man swore beneath his breath. “You think your mum would be out this time of day, Ludwig?” he said brusquely.

“She’s out all day, except when it rains or on holidays,” Ludwig retorted. “Dawn to dusk, to keep coyotes and wolves off the herd. And in case you lot have forgotten, there are other people keeping her company right now.”

Now David went as white as his son, and he swore. “Natasha and Allegra. Mel. Connor.”

“We need to go,” Deacon warbled. “Now.” Panic filling him, he looked to Cecil. “Uncle CeeCee, do you still have your old scimitar from when you were in the service? And… and any other weapons?”


Jaw clenched, Cecil nodded. “I’ve got mine, and my father’s, as well. They’re a bit rusty but…” Forcing a jagged breath, he hurried toward the bedroom where he presumably stored the daggers, calling over his shoulder, “Deacon, Ludwig, you two take the scimitars. Even if Deacon’s still not at one-hundred percent, you’re still in much better shape than Davy and me. Davy and I can take kitchen knives-- they’re not perfect, but better than having nothing.”

“Kitchen knives?” Aleida squawked. “Scimitars? Woo, you’re not going to fight the beasts, are you? I’ve heard stories, you know-- my grandfather was Valzick, and he told me they were nasty little blighters, and--”

“Mum,” David cut in, now on his feet as well, “Ludwig’s mother, his sister, his son, and my daughter and her partner are out there. You’re not going to talk us into hiding in safety while four women and a child are in danger.”

“Y-you’re coming too?” Ludwig asked, caught slightly off guard. Of course he knew on an intellectual level that David and Cecil had served the army, as all pair bonded male mages did. But that had been long before he had met either of them, perhaps before he’d even been born, and there was a sharp disconnect in his mind between knowing that the two could fight and seeing them gearing up to do so.

“I care about your family as much as you do, Ludwig,” David said coolly. “And Natasha is my daughter. Ally may as well be, seeing as Emma and I raised her.”

“We probably won’t even have to use the weapons, Auntie,” Deacon added, a lot more calmly than he felt. “It’s just a precaution, all right?” He called to Cecil, “You almost got the scimitars, Uncle CeeCee?”

“Mmhm!” A series of thumps from the bedroom, before Cecil hurried back out into the living space with a sheathed scimitar in either hand. “Davy, get the kitchen knives,” he said as he held the weapons out to Ludwig and Deacon. “Woo, it’s a good thing you didn’t let the army bury Dad with his scimitar like they wanted to, isn’t it, Mum? Never thought it’d come in actual handy.”

“It would have been a waste,” Aleida groused. She seemed a little calmer now, though only just. “You boys stay safe, though, you hear? Between this and Deacon’s mauling, you’re going frighten a poor old woman to death.”

“We’ll be fine, Aunt Aleida,” Ludwig assured her, gratefully strapping the scimitar to his belt. The sheath was faded and the leather somewhat cracked, but that scarcely seemed to matter. It was metal, presumably sharp, and that was enough. David fumbled through one of the drawers, coming up a few seconds later with a pair of long carving knives, passing one to Cecil and keeping the other for himself.

“We ready?” Deacon’s father asked. When the others nodded, he turned to his son, “You two are the ones with the experience and the officerships- you call it.”

Deacon nodded. “Right. Of course.” He forced a wan smile. “It’ll be all right, though. I’m… I’m sure we’ll get there and find everyone having a grand old time, wondering what’s the fuss about.” He glanced toward Ludwig, daring to let the barest trace of humour into his tone as he added, “You lead the way, Lud? After all, you are our expert beast-wrangler.”

Ludwig didn’t waste time rolling his eyes, instead turning and immediately leading the way out of the house. His mouth was drawn on a thin line, his wand out in his right hand and his other hand clenched over the sheath of the ancient scimitar. Though he didn’t quite run through the streets of Igerna, he certainly walked far faster than he could ever remember having walked the familiar path between Paddonfield and Paynes Ford.

His heart was thumping wildly, both from terror and power-walking a mile, but when he finally caught sight of his mother’s sheep in the distance, like a misshapen off-white cloud against the grass, he gave a shout of, “Mum!” and broke into a run.

“Ludwig?” Eyes squinted against the sun, Trudy Benigno looked at once pleased and surprised. “I didn’t think you were coming over today, love.” Glancing behind her toward Connor, who was running through the tickling grass like an overenthusiastic puppy as Natasha laughed and chased after him, Melitta and Allegra chattering nearby, Trudy called to the boy, “Connor, baby! Look who’s here!”

Pausing in his tracks so quickly that he nearly tumbled head over heels, Connor’s entire face lit up as his dark eyes swept toward the four men. “Papas!” he chirped. “Gwampa!”

Relief washed over Ludwig as he realized that Connor and the girls were all unhurt and, to all appearances, had no idea what was going on. Allegra scooped the small boy up, carrying him over to the men even as Ludwig bent over double, hands on his knees as he panted slightly.

“Looks like we made it in time,” David remarked, his relief palpable. He smiled to Trudy. “Hey, long time no see. Sorry to drop in unexpectedly.”

“You look like you’ve got a ghost chasing you.” Trudy quirked a brow… then froze as her gaze fell on the knife at David’s hip. “What’s… what’s wrong?” she asked, stiffening.

“Nothing, probably,” Deacon said. “But-- we need to get you all inside, all right? Now.”

“Oh?” Striding forward, Natasha tilted her head dubiously. “Why’ve we got to go inside, Deek? It’s nice out. And Connor’s having fun. And we just got out here-- it takes a while to walk this deep into the pasture with a spastic two-year-old in tow, you know. He had to pick every flower.”

“Not to mention,” Melitta added, “getting all the sheep to go anywhere fast is a nightmare bordering on impossible.”

“Listen,” Ludwig said urgently, “Cecil says that he heard some people saying they saw ‘funny, horse looking hippogriffs’ flying over this end of town. I really don’t think I need to explain to you the implications of that, given how much I’ve been complaining to all of you about how Deacon got hurt.”

Natasha blinked. “You don’t think…?”

“We do,” Deacon confirmed sharply. “Now, come. The sheep will be fine on their own for a bit, all right?” As though to avoid any chances of the girl countering further, the blond mage reached out and hooked a gentle but very firm grip over his sister’s arm, drawing her forward. “Come on. We can talk more once we’re inside.”

“A-are you sure, Uncle CeeCee?” Allegra stammered, hefting Connor higher on her hip as she moved to follow. “I mean m-maybe it was just hippogriffs.”

“If it is the pegasi monsters, what if they go for the sheep?” Mel bleated. “It’s a disaster to lose one and you said they were mutilating entire herds!”

“Melitta,” Trudy said sharply. “I’d rather lose sheep than lose you.” She reached for her daughter’s wrist, hefting the teenager forward. “Come. No more time tarrying.”

“We go inside?” Connor asked, squirming in Allegra’s grip.

“Mmhm,” Deacon confirmed, starting forward. “You can play in the house, Connor. Promise.”

“No!” The boy’s voice was shrill as he tried to writhe free from Allegra’s hold. “No inside!”

“Connor stop fussing!” Allegra said, doing her best to keep a firm grip on the toddler. Ludwig glowered at his son.

“Connor, be good,” he said sharply. “We’re going inside now.”

“No!” Connor squealed. “No inside!” Bucking once like an angry cat, he then buried his face against Allegra’s shoulder, sobbing, “No inside! Want see horsie!”

“Horsie?” David echoed, turning around sharply. “Connor what do you- Oh Woo!”

As David’s voice spiraled up in pitch, everyone else turned around as well. For just as Connor had petulantly sobbed, there was a horse, huge feathered wings folded at its side, pacing towards them.

It was… dainty. More like a pony than a proper horse. Certainly nothing to inspire the horror-tales that had been circulating Igerna district. The pegasus had fur as black as ebony, offset by iridescent markings of a gorgeous shade of sky blue around its eyes, on its wing primaries, forming socks at its hooves, and its crest and tail feathers. For unlike a horse, it did not have a mane nor swishy haired tail, but a plume of feathers rising from its brow and arcing down its neck, and a wide fan of them across its rump.

It looked towards them, tilting its head and making a noise that Ludwig was startled to recognize as a cat’s meow.

“Horsie!” Connor said triumphantly, his sobs turning into giggles. “Papa, see horsie?”

Deacon felt like his heart might explode clear out of his chest. ’Pit, the thing couldn’t have been more than twenty feet from them, its movements so fluid and elegant as it approached that someone could have told Deacon it was floating and he’d have believed them. Fear muddling with his soldier’s instincts, he reached very, very carefully to his wand holster to draw the rod, daring not to make any sudden movements with the pegasus so near. Fast-- hadn’t Lords Jaxon and Rohan said the cursed creatures were fast? If that was true, the beast could be on them in a moment if it felt like it, just like had happened with Blizzard. He dared not pique its urge to pounce, hand trembling slightly as he gingerly tapped the tip of his wand against his rune bracelet.

“Lud,” he hissed beneath his breath. “Synch in. Dad, Uncle Cecil-- same.”

“Deek,” Natasha murmured. “Sh-should we run?”

“No,” Deacon said. “Absolutely not. Do not move an inch, Tasha. Same to you Melitta, Ally, Mum. Got it?”

As the men tapped their conduit bracelets with their wands, Melitta warbled, “B-b-but we’re sitting ducks out here!”

“Running is what made Blizzard pounce on Deacon, Mel,” Ludwig said, not taking an eye off of the pegasus. “Look at its eyes- they aren’t on the sides of its head like a normal horse. They face forward. It eats meat. And if you run, you look like prey.”

Mel whimpered, huddling as close to Trudy as she could, and the woman spared the girl a thin smile. But there was no missing the fear that flickered on Trudy’s face, the woman’s dark eyes hooked on the pegasus as it continued its snail-paced trek forward.

Woo. Why was it moving so slowly? A cold slither of unease joined the terror that was already pulsing through Deacon’s veins. This… this wasn’t right. But he couldn’t quite place his finger on how.

“Papa!” In Allegra’s arms, Connor was still fussing, the little boy clearly wanting to be put down. “Papa, see horsie?” He sighed gustily. “Down. See horsie.”

“Absolutely not, Connor,” Ludwig snapped. “That is a bad horsie. If you touch it, it’ll bite you.”

“C-c-can’t you just shoot it with magic or something?” Mel demanded. “Hit it with a knock-out spell and let’s get out of here!”

Before any of the mages could reply, there was a loud grating squawk from high above. Ludwig’s eyes snapped up in time to see five more pegasi- one black and blue like the first, the other four varying shades of dun and brown- rocket down out of the sky, lips pulled back to reveal teeth that looked like they rightfully belonged in Blizzard’s mouth, not these creatures’. They were aiming right for Trudy’s sheep, and before the animals had time to register these bizarre flying horses as a threat, two of them had slammed into one of the ewes, a loud crack sounding as their hooves impacted its side. The others zeroed in, one biting down on the sheep’s neck while the remaining two bared their fangs and made noises that reminded Ludwig uncomfortably of Pride the tiger, snarling at the rest of the sheep to drive them away from the kill.

Mel, her eyes so wide that the whites could been seen all the way around them, shrieked.

“They’re gonna kill us!” she howled, spinning on her heel and bolting away from the others, fast as she could move.

“Melitta, no!” Cecil snarled, reaching for the girl. But he was a second too late, Melitta too far for him to grasp as he shouted after her: “Stop!”

As the other three the pegasi landed on a second bewildered sheep, once again going straight for the jugular, Deacon swore. For a moment he considered flinging himself after Melitta and tackling her down, but before he could, Natasha let out a sound that was halfway between a croak and a whimper, hastily diverting his attention.

“They’re looking at her!” the girl sobbed, a finger pointed toward the first pair of pegasi. “Oh Woo, they’re looking at her!”

For a split second, Deacon didn’t understand what his sister meant. But then he followed her gesture, and with a cold start he realised what the hysterical teenager was getting at: Melitta’s frantic jog had piqued the beasts’ interest, their predatory eyes hooked on her as she fled, as though in deliberation. Taking one last hearty chomp out of the slain sheep’s flesh, one of the creatures abruptly stood, and the other let out a bird-like chirrup of what seemed to be delight. In another fraction of a second, the three others had joined them-- and so had the first male, the one who’d served as either a scout or a diversion, his head cocked and eyes unblinking.

“‘Pit!” Ludwig spat. One of the black and blue pegasi, the one that had been with the group in the air, made a series of shrill chirps. Then, two of the brown colored pegasi- females, he dimly realized- took off in a wide arc around Melitta, clearly meaning to cut her off.

“Stop them!” Ludwig bellowed. “Cecil, Dad, cut them off, now! Deacon, help me protect Mum and the others!”

David whirled on his heel, wand leveled at the two female pegasi. They were as fast as Rohan had advertised, rapidly closing on the sobbing, panicked Melitta, and Cecil didn’t waste a beat as he snapped to his partner: “Pair stun. It might glance Mel, too, but--”

“She’ll recover. Do it,” Deacon cut in, his officer’s brain taking charge. Fighting to keep his breathing level, he ordered Allegra, Natasha, and Trudy, “Stand tight. Close to each other. Ally, Tasha, can you cast a shield over yourselves? Luddy and I need to conserve our magic.”

Allegra and Natasha didn’t waste time or breath replying, tapping their bracelets to sync power even as David and Cecil simultaneously fired off red-glowing stunners. To Ludwig’s astonishment, however, the black pegasus who seemed to be the leader of the herd gave a birdlike shriek, and both of the females in pursuit of Mel skidded to slow themselves, fanning their wings against their own forward momentum. The stunners flew harmlessly a few feet ahead of them- harmlessly that is, to the pegasi. As Cecil had feared, one of them glanced Melitta, who crumpled instantly. Ludwig’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Smart, they’re, th-they’re smart, they’re strategizing,” he hissed. Even as he spoke, the pegasus nearest them, the one that had diverted their attention, took a menacing step towards Melitta with a leopard’s snarl.

“Shock the sheep!” Cecil said, his wand shaking in his hand. “It might spur them into running-- and if the pegasi run after, we can get to Mel!”

Deacon gritted his teeth. “’Pit. Fine. Start with the sheep closest to the pegasi!” Most of the wooly herd had already scattered a bit in the chaos, but several still remained within spelling distance-- and hopefully, near enough to divert the monsters from Melitta. “Woo, I hope this works.”

Behind him, Ludwig heard Allegra murmur the spell for a shield charm, and a dome of blue energy circled around the two girls, his mother and Connor. As the incantation ensconced them, the little boy let out a choked whimper, squirming so frantically in Allegra’s arms that, after a moment’s thought, Trudy reached out and took him from the girl, her grip firm as she tucked her grandson against with her hip and murmured to him, “Shh, it’s all right, sweetie. It’s okay. Grandma’s got you, it’s okay.”

As Connor sobbed into Trudy’s sleeve, Ludwig clenched his jaw, leveling his wand at the sheep. “Caṭyāṅa,” he snarled, and a fork of blue-white light lanced from his wandtip towards one of the ewes. It wasn’t much of a shock, certainly not enough to do more than jolt the creature a bit, but it did set the beast running from whatever had “bit” it.

Just as Cecil had hoped, the blur of movement quickly caught the pegasis’ attention, the beasts craning their necks to watch as the sheep surged forward. One of the males let out an unnervingly bird-like chirp, and the other tilted his head, his tail feathers twitching as a cat’s tail might before it pounces on a bug.

But they didn’t chase.

’Pit, they didn’t chase.


“Caṭyāṅa,” Cecil snapped, turning his wand on a second sheep. Then, as the ewe let out a rather aggrieved-sounding baa and loped ahead, the dark-haired man spun on his heel, firing off a second shocker toward yet another sheep. It, too, jarred forward.

And still the pegasi didn’t chase, what seemed to be the alpha male only chirruping once more before he flicked his eyes back toward Melitta’s still form. In another instant, as the jolted sheep quickly realised they weren’t in fact under immediate attack and slowed again, the rest of the pegasi pack followed their leader’s example. One of the females took a sharp step toward Melitta; another nuzzled the alpha’s flank, the feathers that stretched from her temple to her neck slowly standing up like excited goosepimples. ’Pit, Jaxon hadn’t been exaggerating, had he? When he’d said the beasts hunted for sport?

“Deacon,” Ludwig rasped, desperation mounting. “We need a distractor that’s too tempting to ignore. I’m going to send a construct at them. H-have it bite them as it goes by, so they can’t ignore it. Lend me the energy?”

Solid constructs were always a lot of energy to produce, and it was even more taxing to create one and then control it, rather than giving it a singular order and releasing one’s hold. But after only a moment’s consideration, Deacon nodded his head, unable to think of a better option. After all, the pegasi were clearly too smart to let themselves get hit by rote stunners or paralysis spells, and as long as the beasts were lingering near Melitta, there would be no getting the teenager away from them. Or at least, not without getting themselves horribly mauled in the process-- and though grimly Deacon decided he was willing to make that sacrifice if worse came to worst, by Woo he hoped they could figure this out long before that.

“Take as much as you need, Lud,” he said, steeling himself as the pegasi closed into a very loose circle around Melitta’s unconscious body. Like a living shield of wings and teeth, so full of gaps that Deacon knew he had no chance in all the hells of breaching. “Make it fast,” he added. “They’ll like fast.”

“Once we tell you, Ally, drop the shield and run,” David put in softly. “All three of you, head for the house as fast as you can go. Ally and Tasha, grab Mel with a hover spell. The four of us will be right behind you, but we’ll hang back just a little in case the pegasi turn around.”

“W-we’re ready, Dad,” Allegra murmured, her voice trembling but her jaw squared firmly.

“Love you all,” Natasha added, blinking back tears. “D-don’t get eaten, all right?”

“If a snow leopard didn’t do it, these overgrown canaries won’t,” Ludwig hissed. As the pegasi lazed closer to Mel, clearly in no hurry to finish her off- perhaps hoping to wake her and get her running again?- he clenched his hands around his wand, mentally reaching across the bond until it was impossible to tell where his power ended and Deacon’s started. His dark eyes hard, he hissed. “Prakāśa nirmāṇa”

A jet of sky blue light flooded from his wand, solidifying into the first form that came into Ludwig’s head- something he knew that the pegasi would enjoy chasing. A small, bristly maned, whippy tailed horse formed, glowing with aqua light, and a momentary shift in the runes allowed darker blue stripes to form along its body.

“Go for them,” he hissed under his breath, mentally repeating the order to the construct. The zebra reared, like a horse might, then galloped towards the pegasi. The sound of its hoofbeats caught the attention of two of the females, and they looked up with ears cocked in surprise. However, the lead male was focused entirely on Mel, and didn’t even turn his head.

That was, until Ludwig mentally ordered the zebra construct to bite it square in the rump.

The effect was almost instantaneous: the alpha let out an ear-splitting howl that could have broken glass, and then-- as Ludwig flicked his wrist to send the illusion surging ahead-- the pegasus vaulted himself into a frantic chase. The others quickly fell in at his heel, Melitta all but forgotten as they streaked toward the blur of light and sound.

“Run!” Deacon shouted to Allegra, Natasha, and Trudy, his pulse racing. “Run now, and don’t look back!”

Allegra made a slashing motion with her wand, dismissing the shield, and all three of the women bolted towards the Benigno cottage, Connor still sobbing in his grandmother’s arms. Allegra and Natasha paused in their headlong flight just long enough to cast a spell to pick up the still unconscious Melitta before continuing towards the house. Ludwig, Deacon, David, and Cecil were hot on their heels, the two older men keeping pace with Trudy while the younger stayed back with the girls. In the distance, Ludwig could feel his connection to the zebra straining, and he gave it a final order to keep running and stay out of the pegasis’ reach before cutting off from it.

At length the group reached the cottage, which was empty save for Ludwig’s very startled younger sister Belladonna, who looked at them in askance as they practically flung themselves into the small building, Ludwig slamming the door shut and throwing the lock home behind him.

“Uh… Did I miss something?” Donna asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“You… you could say that,” Deacon panted, nausea overtaking him as his adrenaline began to ebb. Shakily resheathing his wand, he said, “Y-you girls all right? Mum?”

“I’m fine,” Trudy murmured, smoothing Connor’s dark hair as the boy continued to howl. “M-Melitta is… is she going to be…?”

“She’ll be all right just as soon as we bring her out of it,” Cecil assured the woman. “Might be a little sore from falling, but nothing worse.”

“H-here, I’ll rouse her,” Allegra said, setting her unconscious friend down gently on the ground and whispering the counterspell to the stunner. Mel flinched a little, blinking owlishly up at the ceiling.

“Whahappenth?” she slurred. Donna, coming around the kitchen table to kneel by her sister, looked up at the others.

“I would also like to know that,” she said dryly.

“Long story short- the pegasi I told you about are in Igerna,” Ludwig put in bluntly. “They went after Mum’s herd. Then Mel panicked and ran, and they went after her.”

“Woo, that was too close for comfort,” David said, slouching against the wall and running a hand through his sweaty hair. “I haven’t done that in far too long, Ceece, I am out of shape.”

“I c-can’t believe any of what just happened,” Natasha murmured, collapsing down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “I-it was like the leopard all over again. But… but…” She blinked hard, tears threatening. “I th-though we were going to die.”

“But we’re safe, Tasha,” Deacon said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We made it. We’re okay. That’s what matters, right?”

Natasha gave a reluctant nod, but still sobbing in Trudy’s arms as she rocked him back and forth, Connor was not so easily assuaged. The boy’s eyes and cheeks were both apple-red as he wailed, his breaths raspy and interspersed with strangled hiccups, seemingly unfazed by his grandmother’s attempts to comfort him as Trudy soothed, “It’s okay, baby. Shh, you’re okay.”

“No!” he moaned, his entire lower face damp. Twisting toward Ludwig, he demanded, “Papa! Want Papa!”

To say that the boy’s father was startled would have been an understatement. In all previous situations when Connor had dissolved into histrionics, it had been Yolanda he demanded, even if his adoptive mother was nowhere nearby. But seeing his little boy’s clear terror, Ludwig immediately shook off his surprise and reached for the boy, plucking him from his grandmother’s arms. He stroked the child’s hair, murmuring, “Hey, it’s okay, Connor. Papa made the bad horses go away. You’re safe now.”

Connor said nothing further, merely burying his face against his father’s shoulder, as next to the pair, Trudy let out an exhausted sigh. “I’m just glad we’re all okay,” she said softly. “Woo, that was terrifying. And-- ‘Pit, those beasts are still loose. We’re on the outskirts of the city here, but… what if they go into the more populated parts?” Concern seemed to expand in her again. “Your father’s out at the market, Lud. And… all your siblings live in different parts of Igerna now-- someone needs to warn them--”

“Trudy,” David cut in, “it’s not safe for us to leave the cottage right now. It’s best if we wait a bit for the pegasi to get some distance. I promise, we’ll figure out something, but barreling out right now is only going to make us into targets.”

Allegra swallowed hard, helping the still disoriented Mel to sit up. “W-we can stay here, Papa. Me and Natasha. If the pegasi come back, we’ll shield everyone.”

“We’re not leaving you girls alone right now,” Cecil said flatly. “Absolutely not.”

“We’ll… we’ll give it an hour, maybe,” Deacon murmured hesitantly. “Make sure they don’t carom back here and come headbutting the cottage door once they realise what we did. And then…” A very bitter taste rose in his throat. “Mum, Ally, Tasha, Mel, and Donna can stay here. With Connor. And… Dad, Uncle CeeCee, and Luddy-- well, we can go… pay a visit to some old friends. Just to make sure they know what’s happening. That it’s being taken care of.”

Natasha’s light eyes went wide. “Woo, Deacon. No. You can’t mean…?”

Kissing the crown of his son’s head, Ludwig sighed. “Unfortunately, Deek is right. If the pegasi take to the sky we have no way of following, and if we just let them vanish into the clouds there’s no telling when or where they’ll pop up again. And well… there’s only one place to get hippogriffs we can pursue them with in Igerna.”

“Lord Heeren’s manor,” David finished, his mouth curling into a grimace. “Presently being babysat by Lord General Jaxon and Lord Brigadier Rohan.”

“They… they won’t just give you hippogriffs,” Natasha said. “I think they sort of hate you two, after what happened with Blizzard. And why’ve you got to be the ones to chase after the stupid things, anyway? They’re not your escaped monsters.”

“I’m not saying they’ll just hand over the reins and let us fly off with their ‘griffs, Tasha,” Deacon said with a heavy sigh. “And I don’t like Jaxon and Rohan any more than you do, trust me. But this city is the seat of their estate. Even if they’re blithering idiots, they’d bloody well have an interest in keeping their citizens from being terrorized by their dearest, darlingest pets. And…” Here, he had to pause for consider. “It’s not my obligation, no. But ‘Pit, Tasha-- those beasts almost just killed you and Ally and Connor and Mum. What would have happened if we hadn’t shown up? You would be dead.”

“So?” Natasha retorted. “That doesn’t make it your duty to hunt them down. Like you said, it’s the Heerens’ city. Not ours.”

“And you’re my sister,” Deacon said firmly. “It’s my job to protect you. All of you. This is… personal, now. And if there’s any way I can be involved in catching those cursed things, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Besides,” Ludwig put in, “Who do you trust more to actually get the job done properly- us, or the brat lordlings who thought tying Blizzard to a tree was an adequate means of containment?” He gently nudged his cheek against Connor’s. “Papa’ll come back with an awesome story about beating the horse monsters. How’s that sound, buddy?”

Connor sniffled, his face still buried in the fabric of Ludwig’s tunic. “N-no more horsies,” he whimpered.

“We can make them puppies then,” Ludwig suggested. “Tiny, harmless, puppies that lick your face and don’t bite you at all. Would that be better?”

“Uh-huh,” Connor agreed.

Trudy smiled gently. “Speaking of dogs-- I’m thinking we should let Tulip into the house, hm?” This was the Benignos’ massive watchdog, meant to bark an alert if a predator slipped onto the property at night, after Trudy had led the sheep back into their pens close to the cottage. “Would you like that, Connor? If we let Tulip in?”

“Pet doggie?” Connor asked, brightening a little.

“Sure,” Deacon said, pacing toward the back door. “I can go grab her real quick, all right?” With a wry smile toward his father and Cecil, he added, “Don’t worry-- she’s always chained about ten steps from the house. I swear I won’t get eaten while I’m out.”

“Please don’t,” David said fervently. “We just got you fully de-digested from the last exotic predator you ticked off. Imagine your mother’s reaction if I had to tell her you got mauled again.”

“Given it’s Deacon, she might honestly not be shocked,” Belladonna joked. “Seriously though, be careful, guys? All of you.”

“And that includes you, Deacon,” Trudy added. “Joke all you want, but you are still a mere mortal who’s cursed lucky to have survived the first attack. You don’t need a second, yes?”

“I’ll do my very best not to get mauled,” Deacon promised, swinging opening the back door and stepping outside; within moments he’d returned with an enormous fluffy white dog at his heel, Tulip immediately rolling over to receive belly rubs the moment the blond mage had shut the door behind them. “Now this,” he said brightly, “is a truly vicious creature, hm? I don’t know if I feel comfortable leaving you ladies alone with her.”

In his father’s arms, Connor giggled. “Doggie! Papa, pet doggie?”

Relieved to see Connor finally calmed down, Ludwig kissed him on the cheek and set him down next to Tulip. “Sure, kiddo. You can give Tulip all the belly rubs she can stand. And I’ll trust her to keep you safe while Papa Deacon, Grandpa David, Uncle CeeCee and I go take care of some business.”

Close to Home: Part Seven

SPOILER: Click to show

“What if they don’t let us in?” Deacon grumbled about an hour and a half later, his arms crossed tightly at his chest as he, Ludwig, David, and Cecil made their way down the meandering path that led to the expansive, gated grounds of the Heerens’ castle. With nearly every step he took he cast his eyes upward, half-expecting to see a dive-bombing, revenge-bent pegasus searing toward him at any moment, but so far all he’d found above were marbled clouds against a cerulean sky, and the occasional flock of birds. “I could see their guards turning us away at the gates,” he added sourly. “After all, why bother to let a group of rangy peasants in to see the precious lordlings? They’re probably busy cuddling a full-grown lion.”

“Do either of you have any proof of identification on you?” David asked. “Some token from the king’s army or militia?”

“We left the house today to visit Aunt Aleida,” Benno retorted. “Why would we think to bring our badges or paperwork with us for that?”

Cecil sighed. “We’ll just have to be persistent,” he said. “If they try to turn us away, stress that we’re not leaving until we’ve talked to someone in a position of power.”

“I can put all my wile and charm to use,” Deacon grumbled. “Bat the old eyelashes.” A beat. “Or just confound the guards and strong-arm entry. That could work.”

“And get us all arrested, sure,” Benno pointed out dryly. “We can’t even pull rank on the gate guards since the militia saw fit to re-rank us.”

“Well we’re here,” David put in as they drew within sight of the manor gates. “Eyebrow batting on standby, Deacon, let’s see if we can’t get an audience.”

At the men’s presence, the pair of guards who stood atop the watch platform behind the wall snapped to attention, eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. The badges on their olive green uniforms announced them as low officers-- non-commissioned, far below even Deacon and Ludwig’s demoted rank. But Deacon also suspected that if he, in full civilian dress, began trying to issue them orders, they’d immediately call for backup. It was their job not to let random wanderers into the castle, after all. He could hardly expect them to smile and grin and bid his group entry the moment he started huffing about a rank he couldn’t prove.

“Who goes there?” one of the guards called, voice stiff as iron.

“Hello, sir.” Deacon smiled very thinly. “My name is Lieutenant Deacon Azrael, of the Igerna militia. And this is my bonded partner, Lieutenant Ludwig Benigno, and my father and his partner.” He didn’t bother to drop David and Cecil’s terminal military rankings; neither man had ascended beyond lance corporal, which was unlikely to impress much of anyone. “We, ah-- come to seek audience with Lord General Jaxon and Lord Brigadier Rohan. About a rather… urgent matter we know to be of interest to their lordships.”

“The lords are not taking audiences presently,” the other guard called, sounding bored. “Have you proof of your identities?”

“No,” Benno called up coolly. “This is a matter of some urgency and we did not deem it prudent to waste valuable time hauling back to our homes to fetch identification papers.”

“Then we can’t help you,” the first guard said. “You can either return with proof of who you are, and we’ll ask their lordships if they wish to hold audience, or--”

“I think you ought just ask them now,” Deacon cut in, putting on his best officer’s voice. “After all, I can’t imagine Lord General Jaxon and Lord Brigadier Rohan would be pleased to hear that you forced away the party that was carrying vital public safety news so that they could scrounge up their laurels. Such impudence would certainly come across as a serious lapse of judgment, no?”

“That’s how one ends up on latrine duty,” Cecil added, almost cheerfully. “If they’re lucky, anyway. If they’re not? They’ll still end up on latrine duty-- while wearing a coat of stripes on their back.”

The men bristled, exchanging glances. After a moment of conversation that was too hushed for any of the mages to hear, finally the second man said gruffly, “I’ll see if we can’t flag someone down to ask their lordships if they are willing to speak to you. But it is at their discretion, and if they decide they aren’t interested in talking to you, you’ll need to make tracks.”

“I think they’ll be interested,” Benno said with a thin smile. “Just let them know it’s about their precious babies. They’ll know what I mean.”

The first guard quirked a brow. “Pardon?”

“Their blue-and-black babies,” Deacon said tartly. “They’ll understand.”

The guards frowned at each other, but were able to get one of their companions to head into the castle and alert the nobles to their visitors. Within fairly short order he was scurrying back, whispering hurriedly to his companions.

“It… it seems the Lord General has granted you an audience,” the second guard said, his expression full of befuddlement. “Private Pisquale will show you inside.”

“Thank you,” Benno replied, glancing sideways at his partner with a grim smirk as they started to follow the private.

The castle was just as ornate as Deacon would have imagined it to be: an expansive warren of rooms full of lush artwork and heavy draperies, the floors a streamlined, gleaming wood and the ceilings all designed with intricate murals. The sitting room Private Pisquale showed the group to was probably worth more in its decor than the sum Deacon and Ludwig’s entire networths; as he settled onto one of the prim settees and ran a hand over the slippery cushion, Deacon dimly noted it was upholstered with silk. ’Pit, who wasted money on silk cushions? (... Probably, he realised a moment later, the same sort of people who kept pet snow leopards and pegasi.)

“Are they going to make us wait on them?” Deacon grumbled into Ludwig’s ear as Pisquale turned on his heel and strode back out the room, closing the imposing mahogany doors behind him. “Because if we’re made to sit here for an hour as there are bloodthirsty pegasi tormenting the city…”

“Deek. Temper.” Benno nudged his arm against his partner’s soothingly. “I’m just as worried as you are, but this is bound to be belligerent enough, and the idiots have already proven that they’ll be ruled by their pride if we don’t step lightly, and this is too important for grudges.”

“Be nice, Deek,” Cecil added from where he’d settled on an adjacent sofa, next to David. “And put all those cursed acting skills to work, all right? Even if inside you’re cringing.”

“I’d be nicer if I hadn’t almost been eaten by a pack of pegasi,” Deacon retorted-- before stiffening in his seat as the double doors that led into the room swung back open, and Jaxon and Rohan strolled inside.

As if by pure instinct, both sets of peasant partners leapt to their feet, hands snapping to their foreheads in salutes, but Jaxon quickly waved them off, a thoroughly dubious expression creasing his face as he said without preamble, “Sit. After wheedling your way into our private residence, I think it’s a bit too late to play a game of respect and submission, hm?”

Benno fought back a frown. He’d been expecting the nobles to be abrasive, but not… so blatantly snide right from the get-go. “My lords, not to put too fine a point on it, but we had to speak with you because it is a matter of some urgency. Your pegasi are in Igerna.”

Rohan’s eyes narrowed. “So our guard implied. I, however, am skeptical. Father send us a report only two days ago that almost all of the pegasi have been accounted for.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Deacon said, barely restrained anger simmering within him. “But the four of us just saw a group of six of them. Near the Paynes Ford. They looked pretty unaccounted for to me as they were trying to kill us.”

Cecil winced. “No disrespect meant, my lords,” he added hurriedly. “Lieutenant Azrael is merely upset, as the pegasi ended up acting… aggressively. Toward both ourselves and womenfolk he cares about.”

“Six.” Rohan tensed. “That’s. That’s how many Father said were still missing, isn't it?”

“It is,” Jaxon said frostily.

“And would those six,” Deacon said, “be two males, four females?”

Jaxon shared a knowing look with Rohan. “It would,” he confirmed. “I… suppose we can send a pigeon to Father up in Persis. Have him direct his units south.”

“With all due respect, my lords,” David put in, “By the time pigeons get to Persis and your father mobilizes units to send south, the pegasi might have vanished again. Or taken out more livestock.”

“Or people,” Benno pressed. “They went after my younger sister. Play-hunting her like you said they’re wont to do.”

Rohan blinked, looking very much taken aback. “Well it’s likely she provoked them in some way. Antagonized them or something. Our herd has never been known to attack humans unprovoked.”

Deacon very, very much wanted to swear. Loudly. “Respectfully, my lords,” he said, his voice the perfect measure of diplomacy, “you said the same thing about Blizzard. All Melitta did today was act like any frightened girl might-- she ran. A response any number of citizens might have in the same situation. I do hope you’re not suggesting the pegasi would be warranted in mauling them?”

“Of course not,” Rohan agreed, bristling. “But you can’t blame the animals for being animals- running triggers their chase impulse.”

“Which is why it’s imperative we stop the pegasi before they encounter more frightened civilians,” David said earnestly, shooting Cecil a frustrated glance. “Because no, the animals can’t help but be what they are- but that makes no difference to an young girl uneducated in wilderness survival who panics and gets mauled.”

“Which is why we’ll send the pigeon to my father,” Jaxon said. “We’re hardly going to leave the situation unaddressed.”

“This can’t wait for your father,” Deacon said. “To paint a terrible metaphor, your city is on fire, my lords. If you have the ability and means to put it out quickly-- which you do-- only strife will be had by instead waiting for someone else to come in and address the problem.”

“In case you’ve forgotten,” Rohan hissed, his expression turning ugly. “We’ve been given stand-down orders. Your little friend was there when we got them. We are not at liberty to address the problem of the escaped pegasi thanks to you two, so stop snarling at us as if this is our fault and show some proper respect!”

“When the problem comes to your doorstep, you can’t just use excuses to ignore it,” Deacon replied acidly. “You two are the highest-ranking people presently at this castle. You have the means to stop your city from being savaged. Not your father. Not anyone else.”

“You tread dangerously, Lieutenant,” Jaxon growled. “The pegasi situation has nothing to do with you, and you’re certainly in no position to be making decisions about it. We thank you for alerting us, but that’s all that’s required from you.” He glanced behind him, toward the door, then turned his gaze to Rohan. “Shall we have them escorted out, brother?”

“I think we’ve taken up quite enough of their valuable time,” Rohan agreed acidly. He snapped his fingers, prompting a man standing just outside the door to poke his head in. “Please see the Lieutenants and their companions out. We’re done here.”

Benno bristled, rage blistering through him, but it wasn’t he who spoke next. It was David.

“Cecil,” he said, his entire body trembling with anger and his green eyes smoldering. “How many retired war mages would you say there are down in Paddonfield? Soldiers from the king’s army and militia both.”

“Several hundred,” Cecil replied. “Good ones, too.”

Jaxon stiffened, whirling back to the face the group. “What in the ‘Pit are you doing now? I’ve told you: this isn’t your matter.”

“It is,” David retorted through clenched teeth. “Because I had to watch as my daughter and her partner were terrified by those things, and they almost killed a girl who is like a niece to me. Lieutenant Benigno’s two year old son was inconsolable with terror. This is my city.” He smirked towards Cecil. “Our city. And I think the war mages of Paddonfield would be glad to defend it if you won’t, no?”

Benno smiled thinly. “It would be hard without the support of the Heeren family’s hippogriffs if the pegasi go airborne. More people than necessary might be hurt. But the people here are proud, and they won’t let fear stop them.”

“You have no authority!” Rohan raged. “We could have all of you arrested for inciting a rebellion!”

“Rohan Heeren, shut up!”

The Lord Brigadier jerked in surprise as a new voice cut through the escalating tension in the air. The four peasants whirled to see a short, freckle-faced woman with hair the same shade of chestnut as Jaxon’s stride into the room. Though slight in stature the woman oozed confident authority, and both Jaxon and Rohan immediately flinched from the scowl on her face.

“Mum.” Jaxon forced a wavering smile. “What… what are you doing? I thought you were taking tea with Nyah and Claudie.”

Lady Heeren snorted. “I heard that our missing pegasi had been spotted flying over the city. I came to see how you boys intended to handle it.” Her eyes narrowed. “So am I correct in my summation that you were planning to sit on your laurels, beg your daddy to clean up your messes, and clap the only men in this city with any spine in irons?”

“Mum, there is a chain of command to consider,” Rohan blustered, his jaw tightening. “You wouldn’t understand, but the military has rules. W-we can’t just defy Father’s orders and-”

“If you think I won’t still wash your mouth out for giving me cheek, you are mistaken,” the lady cut in. Rohan wilted, looking desperately to his brother for backup, but Jaxon appeared no less ill at ease, his dark eyes flitting rapidly between his mother and the four peasant men.

“Mum,” he said finally, “this is… a military matter. Nothing to do with you, all right? I’m the Lord General, and in Father’s absence, I’m the one who gets to make decisions, not you--”

“You want to bet on that?” Lady Heeren asked, her expression impassive. “Because I don’t see a Lord General and his Lord Brigadier. All I see are two spoiled brats waving their ranks around as an excuse to be bloody cowards.”

Jaxon looked as though he’d been struck, and from the sofa, even Deacon had to wince. To be called an outright coward was no small insult-- he’d seen men go to blows over much less. Even still, the blond mage couldn’t help but feel a bite of bitter pleasure as Jaxon swallowed hard, his voice considerably less confident as he replied, “I’m not a coward, Mum. You know I’m not a coward.”

“Then prove it, Jax,” she said, her voice softening a trifle. “Do your duty. Don’t wait on your father to send men when we have the soldiers and the hippogriffs and the authority to handle it right here in this castle.” Jabbing a finger into his chest, she added, “You are the Lord General. You make the decisions. So make the right one.”

“Fine,” Jaxon hissed, seething. “All right, fine.” He turned his gaze to the peasants again, voice curt as he said, “I’ll assemble the war mages who are stationed here at the castle. And arrange a party to track the pegasi. I imagine you lot aren’t the only ones who saw them-- hopefully we can get some intel as to where they might have gone since you encountered them.”

Deacon sagged with relief. “Thank you, my lord,” he said, truly meaning it. “And… we’d like to help. The four of us. We’re all war mages, and--”

“Absolutely not,” Jaxon cut in. “We have more than enough war mages without the likes of you. And quite technically, Lieutenant, aren’t you still on medical leave?”

“He’s been released,” Benno replied. “We’re set to return to Persis two days hence. And I’d like it stated that none of what happened was our fault. We were chosen to accompany you at random, given no mission briefing, and the attack from Blizzard was instigated because we were following your orders to chase down the fennec foxes. We did the best we could.”

“You were insubordinate wretches,” Rohan hissed. “And if you couldn’t handle a single snow leopard what makes you think you’re qualified to tangle with an entire herd of pegasi?”

“Well the fact that they already shooed those pegasi once is a point in their favor,” Lady Heeren remarked, folding her arms. “If they want to help, what’s the harm in letting them? I’ve seen how wickedly smart those monsters are, you need all the help you can get. And after the incident with Blizzard I’d say you rather owe them.”

“Mum.” Jaxon huffed a sigh. “I really don’t think you fully understand the situation--”

“I understand it just fine,” she retorted. “You’re sending away trained war mages because you’re bitter they got you a well-deserved lecture. Spare me the condescension, I may not be a soldier but I’m still your mother and everything you know, you learned from me.”

Deacon could have hugged the woman, but settled for only a small smile as Jaxon clenched his jaw. “Fine. If the four of you want to come, then come. But we are in charge-- not you. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, your lordship,” Cecil said.

Rohan turned to the soldier he’d called earlier, who was still lingering awkwardly near the door. “Take our guests down to the stables and assign them some of our spare ‘griffs. The Lord General and I will send messages to our signalmen in the watchtowers to see if they’ve tracked where the pegasi are now and meet you down there.” He flicked his gaze towards Jaxon, pursing his lips. “You think we should get our beloved cousins to set up the rest of the search party?”

“All right, if they’re around,” Jaxon agreed with a shrug. “They can be part of our contingent with the, ah… guests. Back us up if the lieutenants decide to list toward the insubordinate side of things again.” He looked to his mother. “Mum, have you seen Archer and Verrill?”

“They were heading out to run drills in the training yard with your uncle, last I heard from them,” she replied. “I can head down there and let them know to meet you at the stables?”

“That would be excellent, thank you,” Rohan said, clearly trying to muster his dignity. To the non-noble mages he added, “You go on then, we’ll be there shortly. And I expect you to give Captain Archer and Captain Verrill your utmost respect and obedience, is that understood?”

Benno bit back the urge to groan. Great, another pair of nobles, from the sound of things possibly another set of pair bonded siblings. “Yes sir,” he replied, doing his best to keep his voice level.

“Good,” Rohan said curtly. “Dismissed.”

As soon as the nobles were out of earshot, long vanished one way as the soldiers and ex-soldiers were led another, David gave a soft chuckle. “I like Lady Heeren.”

“I feel sorry that she’s raised two miserable gits like Jaxon and Rohan, though,” Deacon grumbled. “Woo, I just hope their cousins aren’t quite so… horrible.”

Cecil reached out and patted Deacon’s shoulder, almost mockingly. “There, there, Deek. Take a deep breath and stop brooding like a jilted wife. We talked the nobles into actually taking action, and they’re letting us help-- I think we did pretty good for ourselves, whether or not these cousins are prats.”

As the group was shown out a set of french doors that opened up to the outside, and the stables came into distant view up ahead, Deacon sighed. “I suppose so,” he conceded. “And hopefully if the lordlings assemble a big enough search party, we’ll get this over with quickly. I’d rather like to be able to assure Tasha, Ally, and the others that they’re safe.”

“Agreed,” Benno said fervently. “Woo only knows what my father will think when he comes home to find the sheep unattended in the pasture, two of them savaged, and a gaggle of our relatives hiding in the house. At least this group should be the last of the monsters.”

Once they’d reached the stables, the group was rather taken off guard by the hippogriffs they found there. Unlike those used by most normal soldiers, which were in various earthy shades of mud-brown, gray, and black, these ‘griffs seemed to have been carefully bred for beauty rather than practicality-- chestnuts with white blazes, strawberries, golds, creams; a few of them were even pure white. Told to select mounts for themselves, the four chose the least flashy they could find out of the chestnut and strawberry hippogriffs, knowing they were the least likely to draw unwanted attention from the wily predators.

A few moments later, two strange men entered the stables. They had matching dark blonde hair, brown eyes, and wore the murky green overcoats of militiamen- and although the older of them couldn’t have been a day more than twenty, if that, the laurels and pins on their persons clearly marked them as captains.

The four peasants saluted, and the newcomers returned the gesture smoothly before one of them- the taller of the two, who seemed to be older- spoke.

“So you’re the blokes Jax and Ro have been whining about, hm? Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Captain Verrill Heeren, and this is my brother and bonded partner Captain Archer Heeren.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sirs,” Cecil said with a small bow.

Archer smirked. “Ah, no need for such pomp and circumstance, soldier. Our father might be a Lord Lieutenant General, but alas, our blood isn’t worth quite so much.” The teenager jabbed his older brother in the ribs, playfully. “Until Jax and Ro get themselves eaten by their bloody tiger, anyway. Then we’ll get promoted. Lord Captain, here I come.”

Benno felt a small, relieved smile pull at his mouth. These two seemed blessedly more level headed and personable than their cousins.

“Heard about Blizz,” Verrill put in, giving Deacon a sympathetic smile. “Nasty business, that, and I’m sorry you got the raw end of it. He bit me once too, although that was when he was just a cub and got over-exuberant in play; even so I was bleeding like a stuck pig. Haven’t touched or gone near the demon since.”

“Oh, no,” Deacon said dryly. “He’s just an overgrown kitten. Perfectly harmless, sir-- Lord General Jaxon said so.”

Archer guffawed. “Jax, bless him, is an absolute git when it comes to those animals. When Pride was a wee thing-- maybe the size of a little hound-- the idiot thought it was all right to bring him into the manor.” He exchanged a rueful grin with his brother. “I’ve never seen Uncle Quincy so mad as when he found a tiger cub frolicking through the solar. With one of our cousin Nyah’s dollies in his mouth. Jax bloody well never made that mistake again.”

“Doesn’t help when Jax and Ro tag-team,” Verrill noted dryly. “They get off on a tear and it’s just a feedback loop of bad ideas. They’re not awful once you get to know them, just… spoiled and sorely lacking in a spot of perspective.” He cleared his throat, straightening and assuming a businesslike air. “So then- you know our names. I presume the younger of you are Lieutenants Benigno and Azrael. What about these good sirs?”

“Cecil Sonnen,” Cecil replied quickly, gesturing to himself. “And my partner, David Azrael. We’re, ah-- long-retired, but formerly lance corporals of the king’s army.”

“Well, glad to have you on board,” Archer said brightly. Glancing behind him as a number of other green-clad soldiers began to filter into the stables, all of them sporting wand holsters on their hips and rune bracelets locked around their wrists, the man grinned. “Ah, the rest of the search party. Which means Ro and Jax shouldn’t be far behind.”

Indeed, only a few moments later, all of the men in the stables snapped into salutes as Lord General Jaxon and Lord Brigadier Rohan strode through the doors, changed out of the casual outfits they’d worn before and into their full militia uniforms. Just as had happened the first time Deacon and Ludwig had met the noble pair, all the way back at Fort Burke, Jaxon made his men hold their salutes for an uncomfortably long time, and his dark eyes were hard when he finally broke it.

“We’ll be splitting into four units of eight, one of which will be headed by myself and the others of which will be led by lower officers,” he announced. “Look around-- you’ll notice three sets of commandants here. Those are your squadron leaders. Commandants, I’m leaving it to your discretion to assemble your teams. Once you have, start tacking up your ‘griffs-- we’re riding two apiece. I’ll give you further orders just as soon as they’re decided.” Jaxon turned then in a wordless dismissal, the soldiers scrambling to obey his command as the lord general strode briskly up to his cousins and the four peasants; Rohan followed close on his heel. “Archer,” the lord general greeted. “Verrill. You two are looking awfully glib.”

“Not at all, Lord General,” Verrill replied pleasantly. “We’re going out into the city to track six bloodthirsty monsters that have vanished to Woo knows where and could even now by devouring someone’s cow. Or their children. Having the time of our lives, aren’t we, Archie?”

“Mmhm!” Archer grinned crookedly. “And I thought you’d be more excited really, Jax. You’re about to reunite with your babies.”

As Deacon only barely fought back an outright snort, Jaxon glowered. “That’s Lord General to you, Captain Heeren,” he snapped. “This is a serious mission, not a joke. And I would appreciate being shown proper respect.”

Archer’s head snapped into a bow-- though Deacon could still spy a smirk curving at the corners of his lips. “My apologies, your lordship,” the boy said thickly. “I, of course, meant no disrespect to your impeccable military leadership. Forgive me.”

Rohan glowered for a moment, then pinched his brow. “Please try not to trip each other up this time. We’re already on a short string with Father without your asynchronicity ruining the entire mission; keep it small and within the range of what both of you can manage.”

At this, the humor vanished from Verrill’s expression, and his voice was completely neutral as he retorted, “You needn’t worry about that, Lord Brigadier. We’ll mind ourselves and our magic.”

Deacon raised a brow, wanting to ask but not daring to do so, as Jaxon crossed his arms like a sullen child. “See that you do.” A beat. “And if you’re done chattering like fools, then if we could please discuss actual strategy? Rapid communication with the city guard reveals a vast number of pegasus sightings in the south part of the city.”

“They’re still near the Paynes Ford, my lord?” Cecil asked.

Jaxon shook his head. “No. The city guard went to, ah… investigate these claims. It did not end particularly well.”

“For the pegasi or the guards?” Deacon said.

Jaxon’s lip curled into something close to a sneer. “The city guard. They were underprepared and overwhelmed-- and the pegasi apparently decided continued tenure in the city wasn’t worth the hassle. After beating up a few guardsmen, they took off. They were last seen coasting over the wall and into the Pender Woods.”

“So then we’re searching the woods for them,” Benno remarked. “I suppose it’s better than the city where they might hurt more people.”

“We intend to divide the forest up into quadrants,” Rohan put in. “Each party will search one quadrant for the pegasi. If they flee the forest and take to the sky, the guards on the wall are meant to be watching for them and to sound a horn signal so that we can pursue. However,” he added, pitching his voice so that it carried over the din in the stables. “We want the pegasi alive, you hear me? Under no circumstances are they to be hurt more than necessary.”

David gaped. “D-didn’t you just say they savaged the city guardsmen? All due respect, Lord Brigadier, I’m not sure if we can afford such restraint.”

“Lord General,” Archer added, “I know you care about the creatures. But they’ve proven they’re hunting for sport now. We need to act cautiously, and unfortunately in this case, that might mean taking potentially harmful measures.”

Jaxon, though, quickly shook his head. “If the situation comes to that, then it comes to that. But if there’s any way to capture them without harming them, then that’s what’s to happen. And…” He practically glared at his assembled men. “If I hear that anyone took unnecessarily aggressive means, the price will be paid in the hides of the entire unit responsible. Is that understood?”

There was a sharp round of bowing from the assembled men, and Benno exchanged an exasperated glance with Deacon. As they mounted their chosen hippogriffs, he muttered softly to his partner, “We might’ve been better off with a force from Paddonfield.”

[Avery]

Close to Home, continued

Close to Home: Part Eight

SPOILER: Click to show

The forest was as one might have expected it when their party split up and began to comb it: rainbow-hued leaves decorated the ground, creating a distinctive crackling with every step the hippogriffs took; birds sang in the rapidly depleting branches high above; and a stiff autumnal breeze bit the air.

“Might be wise to cast silencing spells on our mounts’ feet,” Verrill called to his older cousins softly. “Or the beasties will hear us coming before we even know they’re around.”

“You cast it, then,” Jaxon said with a shrug. “The rest of us ought to conserve our magic, Verrill.”

Archer bristled. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Rohan glanced around with a frown, clearly meaning to reply, but Verrill cut him off with a grumbled, “It’s fine, Archie, I’ll deal with it.” The man drew his wand, flicking it in turn towards each of the hippogriffs’ feet to silence their footsteps. Benno frowned, wondering why Verrill would be exempt from needing to conserve his magic. If anything, he’d have rather it was the captains who were at full fighting capacity than Rohan and Jaxon. Especially since he and Deacon had already been forced to use so much magic earlier with the zebra construct. Granted, neither of them was spellsick yet, but he knew they needed to be careful.

“There,” Verrill said after a moment. “Done. So we have an actual plan aside from wandering aimlessly and hoping we bumble into the things?”

“Your cousins know the pegasi best,” Deacon said. “The habits, the sort of foliage they might list toward, anywhere they definitely wouldn’t go.” He raised a brow at Jaxon and Rohan. “So-- any ideas, my lords?”

Jaxon was very, very close to outright scowling. “They originate from the Valzick plains, so the fact that they’ve gone into woods at all brings them out of their comfort zone.” He considered for a moment before adding, “They quite like water-- my grandfather’s grandfather put an ornamental moat in their habitat, with nice plants and colourful fish and all of that. Family legend has it he found them the next morning diving into the trenches and coming up with koi. Splashing around like happy ducklings.”

“So I suppose following the river might be our best bet,” David noted. “Maybe that’s why they gravitated towards Paynes Ford in the first place- because of the ford.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Rohan agreed, sounding somewhat happier. “Shallow water, open grasslands, lots of herd animals- it’s a perfect habitat for them.”

“Yes, well I’d rather they didn’t try to establish a territory in my parent’s backyard,” Benno noted dryly, unamused by Rohan’s enthusiasm for rambling off pegasi facts.

“The lake’s north of here,” Archer said; the lordlings had decided to take the southern quadrant of the woods for their party, assigning the other units to the north, east, and west. “Probably a two- or three-mile walk, at least.”

“We could fly,” Jaxon suggested.

“With all due respect, my lord,” Cecil said politely, “if we go in with flapping wings and cracking branches overhead, we lose any element of stealth. Even a deer would flee from that-- let alone these creatures.”

“And even if I wasted the power to use magic to silence the entire ‘griffs instead of just their feet,” Verrill added, “it wouldn’t stop them from seeing us coming from the air. A slow and stealthy approach is best.”

“Stop encouraging the peasants to be insubordinate, Captains,” Rohan hissed angrily.

“That someone civilly disagrees with you does not make them insubordinate, Rohan,” Archer retorted. “You have a contingent of two-thirds officers-- do you really think you and Jax are the only ones who might possibly have decent ideas?”

“Archer,” Jaxon warned. “You’re treading dangerously.”

“No,” Archer said. “You and Rohan are, Jax. These aren’t pretty ponies we’re tracking-- they’re highly intelligent, highly aggressive predators who have already proven they are willing and ready to maul anyone who threatens them. Frankly, at this point, I’d trust the bloody peasants’ judgement over yours, Lord General ‘Let-me-tie-my-pet-leopard-to-a-tree-with-hemp’.”

Rohan ground his teeth in frustration. “We’ll ride along the ground. But for Woo’s sake, will you two at least pretend to have some respect?”

“We respect you plenty,” Verrill returned. “When you’re not letting your egos run away with you. Less talking, more moving, we want to catch the pegasi before they fly off or it gets dark.”

Though it was clear the older nobles were not pleased, they did lapse into silence then, leading the group in the direction of the lake. The peasants were happy for the break in the squabbling, and wishing devoutly that it were Archer and Verrill that were in charge and not Quincy Heeren’s sons.

Eventually the sound of water flowing became audible in the distance, and and the river that passed through Igerna came into view through the trees on their left.

“Not much further,” Verrill murmured. “The river empties out into the lake. Keep silent and keep your eyes and ears on the ready. We want to surprise them, not the reverse.”

“Wait,” Rohan interrupted. “Don’t attack- if they’re out there, Jaxon has a plan for how to catch them without having to resort to violence.”

Of course he did; Deacon wanted to scream. “Do you care to share this plan, my lord general?”

“The pegasi know Rohan and me,” Jaxon said simply. “I believe that if we approach them calmly, they’ll recognise us as friendlies-- extended packmates, if you will. Which should allow us to apprehend them without having to turn toward any aggressive means.”

David tensed. “And if that doesn't work, my lord? We’re giving up on the element of surprise- the only real advantage we have over these things.”

“Isn't this the same exact thing you did with Blizzard?” Benno added. “That ended poorly for everyone involved.”

“Blizzard only attacked because Lieutenants Benigno and Azrael flared his instinct to chase,” Jaxon said huffily. “If you do recall, he initially allowed himself to be approached and leashed without even a hint of resistance or aggression.”

“Jaxon, are you even listening to yourself talk?” Archer asked, exchanging an incredulous look with Verrill. “You’re like the kid who puts a hand in the fire, burns himself, then does it again expecting a different result.”

“Except it’s not only yourself you’re risking burning, my lord general,” Cecil said tartly. “Nor were you the one who got burned last time, either.”

Rohan shook his head. “Jaxon is confident he and I can do this, and I have faith in his judgement. Unlike everyone else here, my dear beloved cousins.” He pointedly turned his face away from the others and towards the lake. “Jaxon will go out first to coax the towards us. Then I will go closer to slip enchanted bridles on them to keep them from flying.” He patted a satchel tied to the back of his saddle. “You ready, Jax?”

“Of course,” Jaxon said breezily. Leveling a warning glare toward the peasants, he added, “And I won’t have any problems with the lot of you cooperating on this, will I? Any of you raise your wands without very good reason, and you will severely regret it.”

“And if the beasts begin to maul you, your lordships?” Deacon snapped. “May we raise our wands then, or will that still mean our diffident and insubordinate hides?”

“It won't come to that,” Rohan retorted.

“And stay back,” Jaxon growled. “In the trees. I want them to see us first, not you-- especially since you were already aggressive with them earlier.”

“Of course, your lordship,” Cecil replied, but even the temperate older man was now unable to entirely bite back a disbelieving sneer. Woo, was the lord general keen to violate every single safety rule and precaution that he could? Was he truly that cocky?

The cousins, at least, didn’t seem nearly so smug; as the two older nobles dismounted their hippogriffs and started slowly out into the open, Virrell glanced towards the peasants. “Dismount in case we need to get out there in a hurry. And if the pegasi start to maul them, yes, please intervene. They are making absolute arses of themselves today but we still love the idiots and would rather they came home alive.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Benno muttered as they obeyed the order to dismount. “Oh Woo- there they are.”

As the group peered out over the lake, they caught sight of the herd of pegasi milling about in the shallow water a few dozen yards ahead, the alpha male practically beaming as he merrily plucked small, silvery fishes from the lakebottom and gulped them down whole. The rest of the pack lingered nearby, true to Jaxon’s assessment seeming wholly at ease in the water, and from their demeanours, it was clear that they hadn’t yet realised the humans were present. But everyone knew well that this was likely to change soon-- that with predators like these, the lordlings weren’t apt to get much closer without being made.

… Which made the fact that Jaxon was grinning like an idiot all the more aggravating, all of the peasants-- and Archer and Verrill, for that matter-- rather wanting to knock the lord general upside the head as he toed his way from the treeline toward the water. “Hello there!” he called, in the sort of singsong voice one might utilize with a small child. “It’s good to see you, dears! Rohan and I have been very worried about you.”

All six heads shot up at once, looking towards Jaxon and Rohan. At first their postures were defensive, clearly the pegasi not having forgotten their recent clash with the city guardsmen. However, one of the females cocked her head, as if in confusion, and slowly the ears of the other pegasi came up in what seemed to be recognition. The leader chirruped towards Jaxon and Rohan, and the younger of the two nobles grinned.

“They do remember us,” he said. “You were right.”

“Of course they remember us,” Jaxon said brightly, his stride increasing in both confidence and speed as he drew nearer to the animals. “We’ve known them our whole lives, Ro.” He waved toward the creatures-- literally waved-- as if to greet a friend. “Can we come say hi?” he crooned. “We’ve missed you.”

The lead male whickered towards the rest of the group, and after a moment of milling around, one of them seemed to come to a decision, breaking off from the rest. It was a dark brown female, with a somewhat scabbed cut on one shoulder. As she approached Jaxon and Rohan, it was evident that she was not putting her full weight down on one of her legs, leaning heavily on the other on the opposite side. A few of the others from the herd followed her lead, including the subordinate male. Rohan tsked softly.

“Poor baby, did those brutes in the guard rough you up?” he crooned. “What happened to your poor leg?”

Still concealed amidst the trees, Deacon rolled his eyes. “That’s one of the first two who nearly ate Melitta,” he muttered to Ludwig. “Beast deserves it, doesn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t be sad if she’d gotten worse,” Benno growled.

“Archie,” Verrill muttered. “What sorts of weapons do the guardsmen carry again? Scimitars and spears, right? Longbows if they’re posted on the walls?”

“Mmhm,” Archer agreed, brows creased as he watched his cousins continue their blithe approach. “Why?”

“I don’t think a scimitar or a spear is heavy enough to lame a pegasi without cutting it somehow,” Verrill said, every muscle in his body tense. “But look at the one that’s limping- the bad leg isn’t bleeding.”

David tensed, “Oh, Woo, you don’t think-”

Before David could finish talking, two of the pegasi- one the lame female, the other the subordinate male- finally closed the distance between Jaxon and Rohan. As Rohan carefully held open one of the enchanted bridles, Jaxon put out a welcoming hand to the approaching animals, making coaxing noises as he did. The injured one made a doglike whimper, slowly bringing her head up towards Jaxon’s hand.

And then the male lashed forwards, his fangs sinking deep into the flesh of Rohan’s face.

The effect was instantaneous. The bridle dropped out of Rohan’s fingers as he let out a bloodcurdling screech of pain, hands surging up in a futile attempt to pry the pegasus’ jaws away. The second female who had followed behind the first two surged forwards, tackling into Rohan and sending him toppling to the ground before sinking her teeth deep into his right arm.

“Rohan!” Jaxon’s scream could have shattered eardrums, the lord general’s eyes widening into full moons. “Midnight, Jessamine-- off! Off!”

The pegasi, however, seemed to have no inclination to back off-- and as Rohan continued to flail and shriek in agony, the pegasus who’d been limping rounded sharply, showing no signs of her injury as she leapt in to join the fray. Even worse, the rest of the pack had started out of the water, as well, practically grinning as they suddenly loped forward, arrowing straight in on Jaxon. Their intention was all too clear, and still concealed amidst the trees, Deacon could only swear like a sailor as he watched Jaxon gawp at the rapidly encroaching beasts, the lord general standing uselessly still as the distance between him and the predators shrunk by the nanosecond.

“Jax!” Archer’s entire body was pulsing with panic as he broke into a run, scrambling for the scimitar at his belt. “Jax, draw your bloody wand!” Shooting a frantic glance over his shoulder, he added to the others, “The four of you-- synch in! Now!”

“What about you two?” Benno demanded, even as he and the other three moved to obey.

“Everyone’s better off if Archer and I don’t use magic unless we have to, now move it,” Verrill snapped. “Benigno, you and your partner get the loose pegasi; Sonnen, you and yours help Rohan; Archer, help me cover Jax before he gets eaten!”

None of the men made further comment as they hurried to follow the order, Deacon rather wishing he could turn back time and knock the idiot lordlings unconscious before they’d put the group into this situation. His heart was thudding in his ears as he quickly synched in, teeth gritted as he felt his and Ludwig’s powers merging. Through his peripheral vision, he caught his father and Cecil synching in, too, the older men showing no signs of having been retired for over twenty years as they sprinted toward Rohan’s screaming form. Meanwhile, Archer and Verrill quickly reached the dumbfounded Jaxon, Archer’s grip not at all tender as he yanked his cousin behind him, out of harm’s way.

“We do not hold back!” Deacon shouted to Ludwig as they put themselves in between the nobles and the approaching trio of monsters. All three of the beasts stalled abruptly at the barrier, feathers raising as might hackles as the alpha male growled a warning. “I don’t care if it bloody kills the things-- we need them out. Agreed!?”

“Agreed,” Ludwig snarled. Levelling his wand forward he cried, “Ripíkýma!”

A surge of wind howled from his wandtip, and the pegasi dug their hooves into the soft earth of the lakeside frantically as they tried not to get blown back by it. One opened its wings, trying to fan against the gust, but only succeeded in catching the wind in its wings and being blown almost off its feet. The lead male gave a screech, and behind them Benno heard Deacon’s father snarl, “No you don’t!” He glanced around to see that the pegasi attacking Rohan had tried to answer their leader’s call, but David quickly cast a shield spell between the two halves of the fight, cutting the pegasi off from one another unless they darted into the forest or the lake.

Cecil, meanwhile, had focused in on attempting to separate the monsters from Rohan, capitalizing on their temporary distraction to wedge a second shield spell in between their gnashing teeth and the bleeding lord. Even so, it was abundantly clear that massive damage had already been done: Rohan was limp on the ground, whimpering weakly as blood poured from bite marks across most of his arms and upper torso. Through his shredded uniform a huge bruise was visible where he’d been rammed. But the worst by far was his face. The entire right side of his face was covered in blood where he had been effectively ripped out of Midnight’s clamped fangs, and though it was difficult to tell past the gore, his right eye appeared to have been gouged.

“‘Pit, Ceece we need to end this fast,” David said. “He’s loosing way, way too much blood.”

Cecil winced, one eye on Rohan as with his other he watched Deacon and Ludwig cast a spinning stunner-- a specialized pair spell where one partner flung a rote stunner and the other chased it immediately with a rotating spell, thus sending the incantation whirling like a vortex… and making it much harder to avoid, as the pegasi had earlier in the Benignos’ pasture. Indeed, despite deftly leaping out of the spell’s initial trajectory, one of the female pegasi was unable to avoid the sizzle of light as it caromed abruptly, glancing off her flank. The alpha male was only able to let out an indignant howl as the female crumpled to the ground, motionless.

“I’m afraid we’re not going to be enough,” Cecil murmured. “Two against three.” He swallowed hard, glancing frantically back toward Jaxon, Archer, and Verrill. “If you don’t want him to bleed to death, help us. Now.”

Verrill ground his teeth, glancing at the pegasi. “Archie, siphon my energy to heal Rohan as best you can- I’ll help keep the pegasi busy with my scimitar. Jaxon-” He looked towards his cousin, but Jaxon, for all intents and purposes, seemed to have gone nearly catatonic, the lord general shaking like a leaf as his brother continued to bleed in a heap on the ground.

“Just leave him be!” Deacon shouted back, inhaling deeply as he and Ludwig timed another spinning stunner, aiming this one toward the increasingly-furious alpha male, who in the wake of the last incantation had begun to stalk methodically and all-too-calmly forward, the look in his eyes one of calculated vengeance. It was, to say the least, an unnerving expression to read from a Woo-cursed animal; Deacon added with a hiss of panic, “Jaxon’s useless right now-- dead weight! Treat him like you would a civilian!”

Part of Archer wanted to disagree, but a quick glance at his cousin left very little room for contrary opinions. As the alpha male just barely nipped out of the way of Deacon and Ludwig’s spell, the young lord swore. “Fine!” he said to his brother, scrambling to hook his scimitar back to his belt and draw his wand in its place. “I’ll siphon. Just incapacitate them, quickly!”

Verrill drew his wand just long enough to tap his conduit bracelet before immediately sheathing it again. Benno couldn’t help but wonder how much Archer could really do. Healing was the almost exclusive purview of women; males only really ever learned minor triage spells to stabilize a casualty for transport back to base. Wounds like those that Rohan had…

The soldier dismissed it from his mind. Rohan’s life was in Archer’s hands; he and Deacon had other priorities. There were still two pegasi on their side of the shield, one of which was the enraged lead male. He glanced towards his partner.

“The big boss seems to be the smartest. He’s directing the others. If we take him out, that’ll make them far less cohesive as a unit, and we might stand a better chance.”

“Not to mention the fact that he’s skulking toward us like a ‘Pit-spawned wraith,” Deacon agreed, eyes narrowed as the alpha continued his deliberate slow creep forward, the still-conscious female shadowing his flank. “He’s smart, though. Too smart. I think he’s already figured out the spinning stunner, and he knows better than to just rush, us, too--”

His voice fell away, and he cursed beneath his breath, as behind him he heard Cecil abruptly cry out in shock. Deacon glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see one of the pegasi who’d mauled Rohan leap out of the way of David and Cecil’s own attempt at a spinning stunner… and then surge forward, her teeth gnashing as she made a go for Cecil’s outstretched hand. Deacon was half-convinced he was about to watch his father’s partner get mauled, but before the beast could clamp down, Verrill surged forwards and slammed the creature’s tender nose hard with the pommel of his scimitar. It recoiled with with a squeal of pain. David took advantage of the distraction to hit it with a spell that made its hide crackle with electricity, and it twitched wildly for several seconds before collapsing in a motionless heap, its fur singed.

“That was not a stunner,” Verrill observed dryly.

“My son was already almost killed by your family’s pet monsters,” David hissed. “They’re not getting my partner too.”

Archer gulped. “Just take them out so I can get to Ro,” he said, glowering at the remaining two pegasi that had mauled his cousin; in the wake of their packmate being burned, they’d both bristled, tail feathers going straight and pointed as cactus needles as they chirruped between themselves, as if they were discussing a course of further action. “I don’t care if they’re Woo-darned pegasus meat by the end of this.” With another grim glance at Rohan’s unconscious form, the young lord added, “Not anymore.”

“Well, if you say so!” Deacon called back. Then, to Ludwig: “Let’s take them both out-- a two-for-one. Before they get any closer.” Even with their slow, methodical pace, the beasts were growing uncomfortably near-- and the alpha’s nostrils were outright flaring in rage now, as though he was personally offended by the females being taken out. “No holds barred. So… an arsenal burst?”

“Woo, I hope at least one of us is conscious at the end of this to sling everyone else on their hippogriffs,” Ludwig said almost whimsically. Then he nodded. “All or nothing.”

He brought his wand to bear, letting his mind sink deep into the shared well of power between himself and Deacon as he had learned to do in training. An arsenal burst involved firing almost literally their entire arsenal of offensive spells in rapid succession, in a precise order designed to maximize destruction and minimize the capacity to evade the successive attacks. It required immense amounts of power, exquisite timing, and needlepoint precision between both partners- in a way, to really pull it off they almost had to become one individual temporarily, because if it failed it would leave them sitting ducks.

The one and only time he and Deacon had ever been worked into a chest pull had been during one such training exercise, while they were still mastering the arsenal burst and had failed to keep the timing and sync correct. The spell had almost gone into a devolve as they’d accidentally failed to tie off the end of one spell before firing another one, and it had taken all of their resources to contain the damage before it blew up in their faces.

As Deacon and Ludwig steeled themselves, the lead pegasi gave a soft, almost inaudible cheep. While it was an unassuming noise to the humans’ ears, it had an instantaneous effect on the female that was still conscious next to Rohan. In the blink of an eye she had launched herself into the air, soaring upwards several dozen feet before she swooped down in a dive towards Ludwig and Deacon. At almost the exact same moment, the alpha sharply switched tacks, changing from a slow approach to a lightning-quick gallop forward, his teeth snapping as he vaulted himself toward the mages in a dead run.

“Now!” Ludwig and Deacon roared almost simultaneously, their wands igniting in the same instant.

The air ahead illuminated in a burst of colour and light as the first of many powerful attack spells lanced forward, a second pair of incantations nipping close in on its heels. The diving pegasus pulled abruptly up as the blinding glow of sudden light made her lose sight of her targets, the alpha meanwhile letting out a belligerent cry and staggering when the tail end of a disorientation spell skimmed his tail feathers. At the sound of the squall, the sole pegasus that remained between Rohan and his rescuers vaulted into the air, his teeth gnashing as he rocketed forward.

“Trántagma!!” Archer snarled, snapping his wand tip toward the beast. An arc of light and energy sizzled forward, connecting in an instant with the pegasus’ flank. He dropped deadweight to the ground, landing but inches behind Deacon and Ludwig as they continued the convoluted ballet of their arsenal burst.

“Archer-- get to your cousin. David, Verrill, help me back the boys up!” Cecil called, all care for the supposed hierarchy of things forgotten as a gnasty adrenaline surged through him; as it seemed to fully dawn on him quite what Ludwig and Deacon were doing, he added, “And ’Pit, watch out for anything that starts to devolve!”

Neither Deacon nor Ludwig seemed to register a word Cecil was saying, so focused were they on their casting. The lead male and his companion shrieked as a slicing spell opened up deep gouges in their shoulders, followed by a fireball spell that singed their feathers, chased immediately by a flash spell that blinded them. The leader sent up a desperate cry to the female high above, but with her companions all down or clearly beaten, she seemed to lose heart, turning on her tail and flitting off into the blue.

“Pit, she’s going to get away!” Verrill screamed. “I’ll cover the lieutenants, you two, get your ‘griffs! Do not let her get away!”

Cecil and David didn’t waste time responding, only turning on their heels and scrambling back toward the treeline as fast as their feet could take them. As they seared by Archer, the young captain dropped to his knees at Rohan’s side, hand shaking as he began to murmur hurried healing spells beneath his breath. Though nothing else so far had served to snap Jaxon’s attention, it seemed as though watching his frantic cousin stoop over Rohan’s unmoving, bloodied body finally served to wrench the lord general back into reality. As both remaining pegasi screamed in pain, the last of the arsenal burst spells smashing into them, the heir to Igerna district staggered suddenly forward, eyes alight with panic. Shaking fiercely, he dropped down beside Archer.

“I-is he going to be okay?” he bleated. “Archer, is he--”

“Shut up, Jaxon!” Archer snapped, frenziedly tracing the tip of his wand along one of Rohan’s deeper lacerations. “Just be quiet and let me bloody concentrate!”

Verrill stood behind Ludwig and Deacon, waiting for the last of the light from the arsenal burst faded. He kept glancing over his shoulder at his cousin’s prone form; Rohan was paper white, his breathing slow and shallow. A few seconds later, there was a crashing in the nearby trees and two hippogriffs took off in pursuit of the final pegasi. Forcing his focus back to the threat ahead, he was relieved to see the light clearing on the lead pegasi, who was sprawled unmoving in the gouged ground; not even a rise and fall of his chest. The female was still alive, though barely, her hide covered in burns and blood.

For a moment, Deacon and Ludwig still stood there, statue still and wands raised. Then both men crumpled, sinking to their knees and gasping as if they’d run a marathon.

“You okay, soldiers?” Verrill asked, kneeling next to them.

Deacon nodded, fighting to catch his breath as his hands and arms ached all the way up to his shoulders. “I’m all right,” he said. “Just spellsick.” He glanced toward Ludwig. “Benno?”

Benno gave an inarticulate grunt of assent, not quite able to speak verbally around his own gasping. After a moment he looked around, blinking in confusion. “Where are Dad and Cecil?”

“One of the pegasi booked it,” Verrill replied, jerking a thumb at the sky. “They’re about a mile up corralling it.”

“Woo.” Deacon pressed a hand to his forehead, then shakily turned to face Archer, Rohan, and Jaxon. “Is… is he going to be all right?” he dared call, wincing as his eyes trailed up and down Rohan’s tattered body.

“I-I don’t know,” Archer admitted, his voice trembling. “I’m… I’m closing up what I c-can, but this is… so far beyond anything I’ve ever seen before, it’s…”

“Let me help.” Jaxon’s voice was whisper soft-- a stark contrast to his shrill screaming from earlier. “I… I-- y-you know I’m not good with healing, Archie, b-but-- let me help, please, any way I can help… b-before you get yourself and Verrill spellsick...”

Archer swallowed hard. “All right. St-start with his arms, then, Jax. While I work more on his neck.” He glanced toward Verrill. “D-do you have it in you to help, as well? I mean, if the three of us tackle it… m-maybe we can stabilize him.”

“He can have everything I’ve got,” Verrill replied grimly, walking over to sit beside his brother. “Even if that’s not much.”

“I’d offer to help, but Lieutenant Azrael and I are spent,” Benno said regretfully. Looking up he added, “Maybe we could get our ‘griffs and help-”

“You stay right where you are,” Verrill ordered firmly, even as he drew his wand and began working on Rohan’s body. “As Pittishly often as I’ve been spellsick I know trying to pilot a hippogriffs is the last thing you need right now.”

“I… I just…” Benno looked at Rohan’s unmoving shape, spattered with blood, and in his mind’s eye he recalled seeing Deacon in a near identical state just a few weeks ago. He grimaced, impulsively pressing the side of his hand against his partner’s.

Deacon returned the gesture, wincing as his aching arm twinged in protest, but said nothing, his attention snapped as Jaxon suddenly whimpered, “I-I don’t know what to do with some of these marks, Archer. They’re so deep, I just… I…”

“Focus on healing what you can, Jax,” Archer replied softly. “All we need to do is slow the bleeding so we can transport him, all right? And once we’re back in Igerna, we’ll turn him over to professionals.”

“B-but what if we can’t stabilize him?” Jaxon murmured. Shivering fiercely even though it was not cold, he paused dragging his wand over his brother’s wounds so that he could press a tentative hand against Rohan’s milk pale cheek. “H-he’s so still. He’s so still.” A beat. “Oh Woo. What have I done? He’s s-so still. What have I done?”


Ludwig wouldn't have ever imagined he’d hear such raw vulnerability in Jaxon Heeren’s voice. For the first time he looked at the heir of Igerna District and saw not an arrogant lordling, but a mage whose bonded partner was dying, and all the tragedy that entailed.

“Jaxon,” Verrill said, his voice cracking. “He’s definitely done for if you fall apart on us now. You were cocky with the pegasi. You shouldn't have put yourselves in that situation. But now you need to take responsibility and help us fix it. Please. He’s your brother and partner, I know how much pain you have to be in. But he’s our cousin. We don't want him to die either. Help us.”

“I’m tr-trying,” Jaxon stammered, turning his wand toward another of his brother’s wounds. “But what if it’s not enough? Verrill, what if it’s not enough?” He blinked sharply, and Deacon was startled to realise there were tears falling from the lord general’s eyes, trickling down his cheeks in a steady stream. “Come on, Ro,” the noble murmured miserably. “Pl-please, Ro. Stay with us.”

Verrill said nothing, only swallowing hard as h turned his wand to the next injury on his cousin, then the next. At length, however, he started to wince, flexing his fingers, and in an instant Archer had leveled a heavy sigh, his gaze turning toward his brother.

“It’s hitting you?” he asked wearily.

“I’m fine,” Verrill said hurriedly. “I can keep going; a little pain isn’t a big deal if we save Rohan.”

Archer gulped. “But if it’s hitting you, then that means I’m not far behind. ’Pit. We need to get him back to the castle. Soon.”

Hitting them? Woo-- did Archer and Verrill mean to say the latter was already spellsick, and his partner not far behind? Eyes narrowed, Deacon finally wobbled to his feet, his pace halting as he started toward the lords. How could they be spellsick, when they’d only cast a handful of spells and Deacon and Ludwig had cast dozens?

“You’re… you’re spellsick?” he murmured, trying his best to ignore his own pain borne of magic overuse. “I-- I don’t understand, you’ve barely cast, my lords.”

Verrill winced. “Archer is a much stronger mage than I am,” he murmured, eyes cast evasively aside. “I can’t keep up with his stamina, and when we sync I drag him down. That’s why I was fighting with my scimitar, and why Jax had me spell the ‘griffs instead of anybody else. I’m bloody useless with magic.”

Ludwig’s eyes widened with understanding. Archer and Verrill were a far better match personality-wise than Rohan and Jaxon, but they too suffered from the lack of care put into their noble pairbond. Matchmen usually made certain that two partners were as close to the same level of power as feasibly possible. That way the two of them could augment each other and together be doubly as powerful as they were separately. If one half of the bond was significantly stronger than the other, then the weaker half would inevitably leech off the stronger like a parasite, weakening them both in the long run.

Which evidently was happening with Verrill and Archer.

“So that’s what Lord Brigadier Rohan meant by their asynchronicity,” the taller man said to his partner, rubbing his aching arms. “Back in the stables when he and the lord general were telling them to be careful with their magic.”

“‘Pit.” Deacon cringed. This situation was bad enough without all of the men who were present save for Jaxon being spellsick. “My lords… perhaps when my father and Cecil get back, we should just make a beeline for Igerna? I’m afraid we might be doing more harm than good by staying here with papercut healing, rather than getting Lord Brigadier Rohan to experts as swiftly as possible.”

Jaxon, still crying softly, gave a sharp nod. “All right. Th-that might be best.” He wiped his eyes. “S-some of these gouges are too deep for us to do… anything. H-he needs a professional. Not… not me.”

“What about the pegasi, Jax?” Archer asked. “The ones who are still alive, but unconscious or injured? We can’t just leave them like that.”

Jaxon whimpered. “I know. Woo, I know.” He laughed, then-- a bitter, strangled laugh. “Y-you can… dispatch them. Just… just be quick about it, okay? I kn-know they’ve done awful things, but… I… I…” His voice trailed off pitifully.

They other mages all exchanged surprised glances, but Verrill finally nodded. “I’ll do it. I’m barely pulled, the lieutenants on the other hand have to be spent after that arsenal burst.”

He drew his scimitar, approaching the first of the unconscious pegasi as Cecil and David finally returned on their hippogriffs. “We caught the thing,” David said grimly. “Managed to take out its wing and it fell. We followed it where it landed to make sure it wasn’t just playacting like before- it’s dead.”

“R-right,” Jaxon stammered. Tracing his wandtip along yet another of his brother’s injuries, he added at a murmur, “Let’s g-get going, then. I’ll load Ro onto my ‘griff. And…” He looked toward his cousins. “The moment we land, run to the healers’ office. T-tell them it’s an emergency, and that we need every hand and supply we can get. All right?”

“Of course,” Verrill agreed, dispatching the last of the pegasi before he pulled a cloth out of his pocket to wipe off his scimitar. “He’ll make it Jaxon. I promise. He’ll make it.”

Ludwig finally staggered to his feet, trying to ignore the agonizing tugging in his arms. “Let’s find the ‘griffs, Deacon, and get everyone out of here.”

Close to Home: Part Nine

SPOILER: Click to show

Back at the castle, Archer and Verrill practically sprinted to fetch the healers, and the moment they’d returned with them, the women launched themselves into fervently tending their tattered lord. As they worked, Jaxon hovered as close to them as he could get without being an impediment, looking rather more like a wretch than the heir to Igerna district: his eyes were bloodshot; his uniform was drenched in his brother’s blood; his hands were shaking and every time he spoke, his voice trembled.

Once upon a time, Deacon would have thought that he could never feel sorry for the insufferable Jaxon Heeren. But standing mutely out of the way as the healers scrambled, his body aching horrifically now that all traces of adrenaline had abated, he found a knot twisting in his stomach on the lord’s behalf. Even if this was all Jaxon’s fault, it was abundantly clear that the lord general was in utter agony, physically and emotionally spent, and that absolutely nothing would serve to draw him out of it except for receiving confirmation from the healers that Rohan would be okay. Nobody deserved such misery. No one. Not even Jaxon.

An assurance of Rohan’s longevity, however, did not arrive swiftly; after nearly an hour of frantic work, the healers declared the young lord stabilized enough to be moved inside, at least, but they stopped well short of promising Jaxon that his brother was out of the woods. Instead, blood-spattered and winded, the women transported the lord brigadier onto a litter and hurried him off to the healers’ ward to receive further treatment. Trailing behind them at first, almost as though by reflex, after a few steps Jaxon paused to glance back at his cousins and the peasants, swallowing hard as he called out to them.

“A-Archer, Verrill, are you sp-spellsick enough to need tending?” he asked.

Archer shook his head. “No, we’re all right. What do you need, Jax?”

“S-send word to the city guard that the pegasi are dealt with, so that they can sound the recall horn for the other units,” he murmured. His gaze lurched toward Deacon, Ludwig, Cecil, and David. “And… y-you four come with me. I w-want the healers to check you over. To make sure you’re okay.”

Benno exchanged a surprised look with David, but the younger man nodded. “Th-thank you, my lord. Frankly I’m not sure I could make it back to Paddonfield without falling on my face.”

“I’m not surprised after that arsenal burst,” David retorted, watching out of the corner of his eye as Archer and Verrill walked off to find a messenger before the four men started after Jaxon. “That was reckless. Effective, but reckless.”

His arms crossed at his chest, Deacon shrugged limply. “I… think I wanted to assure that I would leave my number of lifetime maulings at one,” he said softly. “And if anyone else had gotten injured out there in addition to Lord Brigadier Rohan… it would have been bad.”

“It was a bit like killing a nest of hornets in your attic by setting the house on fire,” Cecil said dryly. “But… given that it worked, I suppose I can’t complain all that much.”

As the group passed through a set of french doors into the castle’s interior, Jaxon glanced back at the peasants again. “Y-you’re… rather powerful mages, aren’t you, Lieutenants?” he asked. “Skilled. V-very skilled.”

Benno inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I may have mentioned it during my incoherent rant after my partner was injured, but we’re only lieutenants because the militia made it so when we were requisitioned for the tornado relief. In the king’s army, where we normally serve, we are commandants. We act as head of interrogations at Fort Thamar. Before that we served several years in field service near the border of Meltaim.”

“And yet I sent you chasing after foxes.” Jaxon laughed humourlessly, gaze trailing toward his bloodied brother on the litter. “Woo, I’ve made a m-mess of things, haven’t I?”

“Everyone makes mistakes, son,” Cecil said gently. “What matters is how you learn from them.”

“As Cecil pointed out in the woods, you and your brother didn’t get burned personally the last time you put your hands in a fire,” David pointed out. “But now you have- that’s the consequence of not learning. Its up to you if you choose to continue to wear blinders or if you decide to open your eyes.”

“I know,” Jaxon said simply. Then, again, at little more than a whisper: “I know.”

At the healers’ ward, Rohan was quickly spirited off to a backroom with the castle’s more experienced healers, and Jaxon followed closely behind, still refusing to leave his brother’s side. Meanwhile, Deacon, Ludwig, Cecil, and David were left in the front with a pair of healers who couldn’t have been much older than Natasha and Allegra, the girls smiling sheepishly as they began to run their standard array of diagnostics.

“Spellsick,” the one declared after she’d checked over Ludwig and Deacon, while her partner busied herself with the older men. “Pretty badly spellsick.” She turned toward the organized but overfilled shelf that towered behind her, plucking a jar of honey from amidst its warren of pots and jars. “You can either take it straight, or I can mix it with some water. Up to you.”

“I’ll just take it,” Benno muttered, his eyelids drooping heavily. “Might chase it with the water though, if that’s alright. Woo I feel like I could sleep for a moon.”

“That’s fine,” the healer agreed, fetching a pitcher of water from a nearby counter. “And you probably should sleep, really-- I’d like to keep you both here overnight at minimum, if at all possible. Perhaps part of the day tomorrow, as well, depending on your recovery rate.”

Deacon blanched. “I’d… rather not,” he said. “We ah, sort of left in a hurry when we came here, and I imagine there are some very concerned family members who’d like to see us.”

“David and I can let everyone know you’re okay, Deacon,” Cecil offered, smiling at the second healer as she declared him and his partner unscathed saved for a “mild to moderate case of spellsickness”. He added firmly, “If they want you to stay here, then I think you should stay here.”

“It’s nearly at your chest,” the first healer put in. “You’re not in any state to be wandering the city, sugar or not.”

“Who knows, maybe Natasha and Allegra will come track you both down here later,” David offered with a smile. “They were originally assigned to be on-call healers for the castle garrison before they were requisitioned for the tornado relief, I bet they still have their gate passes.”

“What if Connor gets fussy?” Benno asked, his brow furrowed with concern even though his shoulders were shaking with the effort it took to keep upright. He’d been trained to work through spellsickness, but that didn’t mean it was easy. “He was so upset earlier-”

“He’ll be all right, Luddy,” Deacon soothed, letting out a sigh as he downed his serving of honey, then begrudgingly allowed the healer to show him from the examination table to a cot. “Once Dad and Uncle CeeCee let everyone at your place know it’s safe, Ally and Tasha can take him home. Yolanda can tend him.”

“R-right,” the taller man sighed, letting the healer give him his honey in turn, and a glass of water to wash the syrupy taste from his mouth before he stood with a groan. Pacing towards a cot of his own near Deacon’s, he muttered, “At least the pegasi aren’t a threat anymore. If these were the last of them.”

“Always a good thing,” David agreed. “Now sleep you two.”

“Yes, Dad.” Deacon dared a wavering smirk. “And… when you see Tasha and Ally, tell them that the record now stands at Deacon: 2. Beasts: 0. All right?”

He chuckled, “Will do.”

***

Exhaustion and severe spellsickness saw to it that Deacon and Ludwig were out like spent flames within relatively short order, and they stayed very deeply asleep for the rest of the afternoon and evening, awaking briefly only so that they could devour a hearty bowl of stew and plate of sugared dates each before surrendering themselves to unconsciousness yet again.

By the time Ludwig woke again, late morning sunlight was filtering through the windows, and the spelling sickness had retreated to somewhere around his elbows. He could smell eggs and sausages, and turned his head to the side expecting to find the healer from the day before with some breakfast.

Breakfast indeed there was, but it was not in the hands of yesterday’s healer. Rather, Ludwig was startled to find no other than Natasha and Allegra, the girls dressed in their militia uniforms and both wearing reserved smiles. As Deacon-- who’d still been lightly slumbering-- blinked awake at the aroma of food, then immediately did a double take as his eyes fell on the girls, his little sister chuckled.

“No, you’re not seeing things, Deek,” Natasha chirped. Setting down one tray on the bedside table next to Deacon while Allegra set her tray beside Ludwig, the blond girl added, “We didn’t even have to lie our way in with our old passes-- we just told the gate guards that we’d heard a lot of their more skilled healers were spellsick from yesterday, and asked if they wanted our help for the day. They said they had to ask Lord General Jaxon, and at that point I thought we were done for once he heard our names. But apparently he agreed.”

“Did he, now?” Deacon murmured sleepily, stifling a yawn as he sat up in his cot. “Though I guess that makes sense. Given that it’s his idiocy that got all their experienced healers spellsick slaving over Rohan.” He paused. “Speaking of… have you two ah, heard anything about the lord brigadier?” In other words, was Jaxon’s little brother even still alive? After all, yesterday his fate had seemed very, very uncertain, the young man lingering so close to the precipice between life and death.

“He’ll live,” Allegra replied. “He’s still pretty weak, has several cracked ribs and he lost an eye, but purportedly he woke up around dawn long enough to babble a semi-coherent string of reassurances to the lord general before passing out again.”

“Well that’s good at least,” Benno replied with relief. “Though it’s a shame about the eye- I rather imagine that will take some getting used to.”

“I’m sure he’ll find some silk eyepatch to wear,” Deacon said dryly. “Maybe he’ll even emblazon a tiger onto it. House pride and all.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You are insufferable, Deacon.”

“Now, now, Healer Azrael,” he replied, smirking as he took a bite of the eggs. “Is that any way to talk to your superior officer? Especially after he so valiantly saved you yesterday from vicious, winged abominations straight from the ‘Pit?”

The girl whacked his shoulder, lightly. “Be nice, Deek. Or I’ll have Mum scrub your mouth out once you get home.”

“Michaela and the rest of your brood were begging to come with us,” Allegra noted as Benno enthusiastically tucked into his sausage. “Maegan is insisting that Dad and Uncle Ceecee were fibbing and you must’ve got almost-ate again since you didn’t come home.”

“My own daughter doubts me? I’m wounded,” Deacon said.

“Not as wounded as Yolanda,” Natasha said. “Connor was a total cling last night-- refused to sleep in his own bed. But then, of course, the girls got jealous. She had all of the kids piled on her by morning. She said her limbs had all fallen asleep by the time the wee ones woke up.”

“Poor Yolanda,” Benno mused. “Hopefully the healers will let us go home today and we can take a turn soothing them before we’re punted back to Persis.” He sighed, suddenly looking rather dismal. “And just when Connor was coming to like me. By the time we’re allowed leave again I imagine he probably either won’t remember or will have some sort of abandonment complex.”

“I think you underestimate the kid,” Natasha replied-- before straightening at the sound of footsteps outside the door that led into the healers’ ward. Moments later, the knob turned. The slab of polished wood swung inward.

Fully expecting to find themselves staring at but another healer, all four peasants immediately snapped into salutes when instead, Lord General Jaxon strode briskly into the room. He looked much better than the last time either Deacon or Ludwig had seen him-- his eyes were no longer bloodshot; his uniform was free of bloodstains-- but there were still signs of distress apparent throughout the noble, from the heavy bags beneath his eyes to the unusual pallor of his complexion.

“Sorry if I startled you,” he murmured, and for the first time that Deacon could recall, Jaxon didn’t make his subordinates hold their salutes, returning it quickly before he shut the door behind him. “And… no need to be afraid. I’m not here to harp on you. I promise.”

“Are you… here to check on Lord Brigadier Rohan, my lord general?” Deacon ventured, gaze briefly flicking toward the short hallway that led to the ward’s backrooms.

Jaxon shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not at the moment-- he’s resting, and I don’t want to bother him.” The man swallowed hard. “Actually, I’ve come to talk to you.”

That startled the peasants, and they exchanged bewildered glances before Ludwig bowed his head and said, “We are at your service, my lord.”

Shifting uneasily on his feet, Jaxon nodded. “I, ah… I just…” He faltered, clearly trying to collect himself. “I wanted to… thank you, I suppose. For your assistance yesterday. And for… n-not backing down, when at first I tried to dismiss you from the castle without going after the pegasi.” The young lord gnawed on his lip. “My father and I exchanged a few pigeons last night and this morning. He was very pleased that I tackled the issue proactively, rather than… waiting around. So-- thank you.”

Evidently Lord Marshal Heeren knew his son’s mind quite well. Benno bowed his head, “Of course, your lordship. We were simply doing our duty as soldiers and loyal men of Igerna.” Hesitantly added, “I’m sorry to hear about the lord brigadier’s eye.”

“Better his eye than his life,” Jaxon said. “I… I truly thought I’d lost him for a few hours there. The moment he fell-- the moment he got bit...” The lord outwardly shuddered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified before. And… even worse, I knew that it was my fault. That Rohan was only doing what I’d told him to do.” He hesitated a beat. “Just… just like what happened with the two of you, Lieutenant Benigo and Lieutenant Azrael. W-with Blizzard. I almost gave up your lives for a pair of foxes. Woo-cursed foxes.” He flicked his gaze to Natasha and Allegra. “And I made the two of you see your big brother half-dead. Bleeding. Unconscious. I’m supposed to be your liege-- your protector-- and instead I… I…”

To say Deacon was dumbstruck would have been a massive understatement, the blond mage’s jaw literally agape as he watched Jaxon stammer on. Woo, not only was the lord thanking them, he was also… apologising? And it didn’t even seem to be a gloss apology, made only for appearances; there was no feigning the wrought emotion in the noble’s tone, nor the way his eyes glimmered repentantly and his hands shook at his sides.

But if he wanted to be absolved fully for his blunders, this Deacon couldn’t quite muster. Instead, very evenly, he said, “Thank you for admitting you were wrong, my lord general. It… it means a lot to me. But…” He leaned forward, green eyes narrowed. “You put a lot of people I care about in harm’s way because of your carelessness. You nearly got me killed. I respect you for apologising, but this isn’t just something I can… wave my hand at and forget about.”

“I have nightmares,” Natasha added softly. “About… s-seeing Deacon like he was. I keep waking up in a panic. With Ally having to stroke my hair and remind me repeatedly that it’s all just a dream b-before I can calm down.”

Allegra shot her partner a sympathetic glance as Ludwig put in, “It’s as our uncle and Deacon and Natasha’s father said yesterday; remorse has to be coupled with resolve. A resolve to change, and to do better in the future. You and the lord brigadier can’t let yourselves be ruled by your pride and your tempers.” His eyes flicking towards the ward where Rohan was being kept, he added, “Captains Verrill and Archer also had to watch someone they care about hurt yesterday.”

“I know,” Jaxon whispered. “And I’m… I’m going to try to make it up to them. Any way that I can. I know it’ll take time, but I… I am going to change. From now on. So that nobody else has to suffer for my carelessness.” Exhaling slowly, the lord stepped forward and reached into the pocket of his overtunic, withdrawing from it a small scroll of parchment. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said, unrolling the spool, “but… I am sorry. Grateful and sorry. And so I… I wanted to show you that. In a meaningful way. I know it won’t change what I’ve done, but I’m not doing it for myself-- I’m doing it for you. Because after how you’ve helped me, lieutenants, and how badly I’ve put you in harm’s way… I think I owe you that.”

Deacon raised a brow, exchanging a thoroughly confused look with Ludwig, who seemed equally as baffled. The darkly amused hope that they weren’t about to be presented with their very own baby tiger as Jaxon’s “apology” flitted across Ludwig’s mind, but he merely bowed his head respectfully and said, “Oh?”

“This scroll,” Jaxon replied, “officially promotes the two of you from the rank of lieutenant to the rank of lieutenant colonel. Effective immediately.” Tentatively holding the scroll out toward Ludwig, who was closest to him, he added with the faintest trace of good humour, “I, ah… do believe that’s one ranking above the one you held in the king’s army, yes?”

Deacon blinked in utter bewilderment. “You’re… you’re promoting us? To lieutenant colonel?”

“I am,” Jaxon confirmed. “It won’t transfer back to the king’s army once the levy period ends, but… for your remaining time in the Ignera militia-- and should you ever to choose to return down the road-- you will both be lieutenant colonels. And…” He smiled wanly. “Rohan and I will be laid up here for quite some time as he recovers. My father’s had a captain in charge of the rebuilding operation in the villages that outly Persis, but it’s not ideal. I think he’d prefer somebody with a bit more… experience, shall we say?”

“You’re… putting us in charge of the Persis quadrant?” Benno felt like he’d been run over by a wagon. This was not what he’d expected to hear, not in the least. He bowed his head hurriedly. “Th-thank you, my liege.”

“At least now you won’t have any more buildings falling on your heads,” Allegra noted with a grin. “And nobody will give us a hard time if we tell them our brothers are the lieutenant colonels.”

Jaxon dared a watery chuckle. “I’d give you girls a promotion, too, but alas I don’t think anyone would be well-served by a pair of novice healers suddenly sporting specialist ranks. Unless you’ve both got a secret expertise or affinity for-- I don’t know, burn marks or complex bone-mending I don’t know about.”

“Unfortunately not, my lord,” Natasha said. “And I doubt the head healers at the Persis camp would much appreciate being usurped by a pair of newbloods barely old enough for service in the first place.”

“We’re fine as we are,” Allegra replied with a wan smile. “We’ll fix folks who smash their fingers with hammers trying to rebuild wrecked houses and scold them for being careless.”

“And have dinner with your brothers in the mess tent to reinforce your claims to being related to us,” Benno nodded sagely. “It all works out.”

“If my father ever lets Rohan and me into the field again, perhaps I’ll treat you all to a nice meal at Persis’s best tavern,” Jaxon said. “Your gift from the lord general of Igerna.” Nodding toward the peasants, he took a step back toward the door. “I’ll leave you to rest now, though-- you still both have to be nursing a nasty case of spellsickness, and I wouldn’t want to distract you from your healing.” He chuckled again. “Or let your breakfasts grow cold.”

“Thank you, my lord general,” Deacon said, truly meaning it. “I… know how much courage it takes to admit fault when you’ve acted poorly. And even if I can’t bring myself yet to fully forgive you, I do appreciate that you’ve taken the time to apologise. That alone makes you a much better man than I’d have thought you to be less than a day ago.”

“Thank you,” Jaxon replied. “Rest well, Lieutenant Colonel Benigno, Lieutenant Colonel Azrael. I’m sure Healers Payton and Azrael will take excellent care of you.”

And with that, the lord general of Igerna strode out the room, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, neither pair of partners spoke for nearly a minute, as if all of them were still working to absorb their wholly unexpected exchange with Jaxon. Then, finally, Deacon laughed-- a soft, wondering laugh, like that of a child who’d just seen snowflakes for the very first time.

“Am I delirious from the spellsickness,” he asked, “or did that just really happen?”

“It really happened,” Allegra said, looking not a little baffled as well. “Congratulations, boys, going back to the king’s army is actually going to be a downgrade.”

“Give it time,” Ludwig said breezily. “We’ll even things out. At least now we don’t have to kowtow to men that up until a short while ago we starkly outranked.”

“Even better,” Deacon said brightly, “now the girls have to kowtow to us. As their unit commanders and all.” He wagged a mocking finger at Natasha and Allegra. “Don’t tell everyone that Ludwig sleeptalks, all right? Or that he does an amazing evil witch voice during story time with the kids. We don’t want people thinking their fearsome leader is a sap.”

Ludwig turned scarlet. “I sleeptalk? Since when?!”

Deacon laughed. “Um, since you were eight-years-old? I mean, it’s in gibberish, not Macarinthian, but I don’t know-- sometimes you sound pretty ardent.”

“We’ll be sure not to tell,” Natasha chirped. “Just like we won’t tell them that you play horsie with the little ones. Or that for a few hours when you were all drugged up after the leopard mauling, you were passionately convinced that you were the leopard. You make very nice roaring sounds, Deek.”

Allegra giggled. “See, this is what happens when your sisters are in the same unit as you- they have all of the blackmail.”

“That’s cheating,” Ludwig said, elbowing the younger girl. “Such disrespect young lady. Remember we have the authority to mete out punishments.”

“Ah,” Natasha said. “But if you punish us, we’ll take these nice breakfasts away. Prats don’t get breakfast, after all.”

“You make a convincing argument, Tasha,” Deacon replied, spearing a piece of sausage. “All right. Fine. No punishment it is. You win this time, wily healer.” Smiling at his sister and her partner, he added, “Just think: at this time tomorrow, we’ll be on our way to Persis. Mush for lunch and dinner.”

“Sometimes I think you like suffering, Deacon,” Natasha retorted. “Because it makes for more interesting stories.”

“He likes it in hindsight when he gets to make himself look like a martyr,” Benno corrected the girl. “When he’s actually in the moment he whines like you would not believe.” The taller man grinned at his partner. “But that’s alright- if there is one thing seeing all these nobles has reassured me of, it is that I love my idiot just the way he is- dramatic, incorrigible, jokey, and everything else about him that sometimes drives me crazy.”

“And not eaten by a leopard or pegasus,” Deacon added blithely. “Don’t forget that, Luddy-- very important trait of mine, I reckon.”

“Very important indeed,” Ludwig agreed. “Right up there with your inability to navigate and your failure at stealthily stealing bannocks.”

“Love you, too, buddy,” Deacon chirped. Then, with a wink: “Love you, too.”

[Shinko]

Welp, Avery and I have been building it up for several months now, and we're finally rolling up our sleeves and diving in! Here at long last is the story we affectionately dubbed "the plot t-rex," to be presented in three arcs. A labor of love that we have really been looking forward to.

It's a long sucker, so we'll be following the pattern of two days on, one day off, with occasional extra rest days added in after a particularly dense section. Because we love you all and want you to enjoy this story as much as we did.

Rising Storm

Prologue
"A Winter's Day"

SPOILER: Click to show

December 4, 1327
Lilia, Erlea, Meltaim

The morning after the season’s first blizzard, there were very few people milling about the city of Lilia’s snow- and ice-slicked streets. Frost crystals glimmered like glass beneath the pale December sun, the twisting cobblestone boulevards shining as though to warn off anyone who might be foolhardy enough to traverse them. The central marketplace, usually bustling, was quiet as a graveyard; the river was frozen over and no one was skating on the ice. And while some might have been unnerved by the city’s preternatural quiet, waiting impatiently for the city-owned blanks to finish clearing the treacherous streets so that life could once again resume its normal clamor, the druggist who helped to run the small apothecary in Lilia’s scenic Garden District found himself rather enjoying the solitude.

A fire crackling in the hearth, he hummed beneath his breath as he tidied the shop’s well-stocked shelves, oddly grateful for the lull in customers. It could be hard, after all, serving them day in and day out, forcing a smile and pleasant conversation as he led them toward the best arthritis potion for their elderly aunt, or coached them on how to apply a mint balm to their coughing child’s chest. Worse still were the feigns at small talk, how he had to pretend to be invested in Lilia’s current events: oh yes, how sad it was that the quaint tea-house on Brewer Street was closing; and yes, of course, Count Zielony was a stark raving fool to invest money in a second public botanical garden after the first had proven so costly to maintain; and no, no, certainly it wouldn’t storm on solstice, not like last year or the year before. (As if he’d been there the year before, or wanted to be there now.)

At the start of this all, someone had told him it would all be like wearing a mask-- no matter how fiercely he tried to adjust to its presence, it would never quite be his own safe skin. He could forget about it sometimes, when his mind was otherwise occupied. And maybe after awhile, it wouldn’t itch as badly as it once had, and so he could try to pretend it wasn’t there at all. But no amount of feigning could change the fact that every time he reached up and touched his face, he’d find corners and edges that ought not be there. Stitches and fabric where once there was flesh.

It could have driven lesser men crazy.

The shop bell jangled overhead, sharply diverting the druggist’s attention. His hand fell from the shelf and his green eyes snapped toward the door, the man giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts before he forced a convincing fraud of a smile to his face. “Welcome, welcome,” he called out, watching as a svelte, dark-haired woman stepped into the shop. She had one hand jammed in her cloak pocket and the other snared around the wrist of a young boy, his eyelashes dusted with snowflakes.

“Gods, it’s still so windy out there,” the woman groused, letting out a sigh of relief as the door thumped shut behind her, and she and the boy were ensconced in the toasty warmth of the shop. “And did you know my whole walk here, I saw only a handful of work crews? That’s Count Zielony for you, isn’t it-- funneling all our taxes into building pretty gardens, and none of it into city maintenance. But I don’t suppose he ever has to slog through these unshoveled streets now, does he? He has people for that.”

The druggist’s smile threatened to invert into a frown; he schooled himself so that it stayed in place, as frozen as the day outside. “Well, I’m sure it’ll all be cleared soon enough, madam,” he said. “I doubt they’re letting the blanks rest until it is.”

“Mama saw one sittin’ down ‘stead of shoveling!” the little boy chirped. Wriggling out of his mother’s grip, he pried off his deerskin hat, revealing tousled black locks below. “She said she wanted to report ‘im to the city guard, ‘cept that takes too much time.”

“Yes, well.” The druggist couldn’t think of anything to say, so he made himself chuckle instead, his voice bland as quickly went on, “So, what brings you in today, madam, young master? Must be something awfully important to brave these streets.”

“The baby’s got a cold,” the child announced. “Her nose is all stuffy.”

“Oh?” the druggist said. “What have you been giving her for it?”

“I was in a few days ago, and I spoke with, ah-- forgive me, I didn’t get his name, but… he must be your partner, I suppose? Tall-- very tall-- with dark brown hair.”

“Ah, my twin brother.”

The woman raised a brow. “Your twin brother? Why, he looks nothing like you!” She chuckled, gesturing toward his wheat-blond hair; but as the druggist automatically bristled, ready to spit out a defense, the woman only shrugged and went on, “Anyway, he recommended I get a vapor, not a tonic, since my daughter’s only six months old and infants can be fussy with downing potions. And it’s working a bit, but… she’s still not doing as well as I’d like.”

“I’d echo my brother’s recommendation against tonics,” said the druggist. “I’d keep up with the vapor, and if you want something extra…” He moved a few shelves to his left, plucking up a jar that was filled with gummy, off-white balm. “This has a mixture of herbs in it that should help soothe her if you put it on her neck.”

The mother frowned. “I’m afraid it’d make her fuss, though. If it’s cold and wet…”

“It feels rather pleasant, actually,” the druggist assured her. “Here.” He carefully unscrewed the lid and started toward her, holding out the jar. “Take a daub, if you want. See what it feels like.” Eyes falling briefly to the wand that was holstered at her hip, he added, “And you can always use a spell to warm it a bit, too. So it goes on closer to skin temperature.”

“Hm.” Very gingerly, as though she were prodding a potentially venomous snake, the woman dipped a fingertip into the pot and scooped out a dollop of the cream. “It does smell rather nice,” she admitted. “And isn’t as watery as I thought it’d be.”

“Can I see, Mama?” the little boy wheedled. “I wanna feel it!”

“If it’s okay with the nice man,” she said.

The druggist sighed, lowering the jar to the child’s level. “Sure. But only a little bit, okay?”

“Okay!” the boy promised-- but before he could dip his fingers into the pomade, he paused, breathing: “Oooh! What’s that?”

The druggist didn’t have time to react before the child’s small hand leapt up to his wrist, bypassing the jar of cold balm as the boy instead made lightning-quick work of jerking up the stranger’s overlong tunic sleeve. The man’s heart plunged into his stomach as a silver bracelet winked into view, simple save for the string of runes etched into its dull surface. He wrenched his arm away from the boy as if he’d been burned.

“Jacek!” the woman gasped, sharply wrenching the little boy’s ear. “How rude!” Cheeks burning as the child let out a squawk of pain, she gave the druggist a reticent look. “I’m so sorry. He usually knows that he has to keep his hands to himself.”

“It’s… it’s all right, madam,” the druggist made himself stammer, daring not to betray how violently his stomach was flipping, and hoping she wouldn’t notice the anxiety that was suddenly flaring like a beacon in his emerald green eyes. “He’s only a boy. I… know he didn’t mean it.” Hastily, he shook back down the sleeve, returning the bracelet to its hiding place beneath.

“It’s still not okay.” She sighed, pausing a beat before she added, “It is very pretty, though. I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. I take it from the runes that it’s magic-craft?”

“No,” the druggist said quickly. Almost too quickly. His throat bobbled, and again he prayed she didn’t notice. “The runes are only ornamental. It was… was a gift from my mother.” He tacked on, “Before I moved south.”

“North, then?” The woman smiled, snaring her hand around the boy’s arm as he sulked in front of her. “That’s where you’re from? I was wondering-- your accent, it’s so unusual.”

“Yes. The north. Lyse province, actually, near the border with Lange.” Lilia, in the far southern part of Erlea province, was located nowhere near Lyse. Few in its bounds would have heard a Lysian accent before. But then, such was the point. “Only been here about… three months, now,” added the druggist. “Since September.”

“Well, welcome to Lilia then. I’ve certainly enjoyed having an apothecary nearby. My husband and I were quite excited when you opened up. Although…” Her eyes twinkled. “Know what’s funny?”

“What, madam?”

“Just-- your accent,” she replied. “It’s probably only that I have a shoddy ear for them, but I swear, you sound just like this blank my mum bought a while back. A Macarinthian!” The customer laughed. “Isn’t that funny? How accents from places so far away could sound so much alike?”

The druggist wanted to vomit. Or perhaps pass out. Or at the very least let out a pathetic cry. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Not when it would cause his careful mask to crumble. To disintegrate into ruinous ash in his hands.

“I… don’t mean it poorly, of course,” the woman said, freezing a little as she seemed to realise he’d not laughed along with her. “As I said, I probably just have a terrible ear for accents. I’m sure a Lysian and Macarinthian accent truly sound nothing alike at all. And-- sorry again for Jacek. He’ll be very sorry for his rudeness once we get home, I can promise you that.”

“No offense taken, madam.” His heart still beating in his ears, the druggist screwed the cap back onto the jar of cold balm. “And… no need to be too hard on the boy. He was merely curious. And it’s only a bracelet.” He made himself smile. A taunt of a smile. “So, shall you be taking the balm today?”

“I might as well,” the woman said. “And-- thank your brother for me, would you? For his recommendation of the vapors. Even if my daughter’s not doing as well as I’d prefer, I do appreciate not having to force syrup down a screaming baby’s throat.”

“Of course,” the druggist told her, turning toward the counter so that he could take her payment. “I’ll pass on my thanks.”

“And… what was your name, by the way?” she asked as she trailed behind him. “Since I’m wagering I’ll be a regular customer-- my kids are always coming down with some ague or another-- I might as well know, hm?”

“Of course,” the druggist agreed. “My name’s Demyan.”

“And your brother? For when I see him next?”

“Ludwik,” he said. “My brother’s called Ludwik.”

Arc One
"Storm Brewing"

Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

June 15, 1326
Fort Caenleigh, Macarinth

“Why me?” the dark haired man grumbled irritably as he leaned against the outer wall of the huge wood and brick structure that served as Fort Caenleigh’s headquarters. “Why am I always the one they call on to lecture these idiots who can’t keep to proper discipline? We’ve been back from Igerna five Woo-cursed days!”

The blond standing beside him smirked, green eyes glimmering drolly. “Better than my day at least, Benno,” he said. “While you were flogging idiot recruits, guess who got stuck doing barrack checks? Apparently Captain Mullow has the flu, so of course I was the natural replacement. You don’t know how tempting it was to just mark all the barracks as passes to get it done with. I felt like I’d been demoted.”

“Time marches on, Deacon, but some things never change- you’re as lazy as ever,” Benno retorted with a smirk. “How many times did you get swatted for trying to cut corners when helping Mum with potions when we were kids?”

“You wound me, Ludwig.” Deacon pouted his lips. “And here I was, thinking you my number one supporter. I was even going to share some of my pudding with you at supper! My pudding, Luddy--”

“Colonels Azrael and Benigno.” A deep male voice snapped both men out of their ribbing, both Deacon and Benno going ramrod straight as their eyes flicked forward and fell on Lieutenant General Albanus Kellogg. An imposing man of thirty-five or forty, with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes like flint, Kellogg was the officer in charge of the entire sprawling complex of Fort Caenleigh; he was about as cuddly as a rabid bat, his voice curt as he added, “I take it if you’re standing around schmoozing, you’re both done with your duties for today?”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant General, sir,” Benno replied, his voice and expression absolutely polite and deferential. “Did you need us for something, sir?”

“Go to the training grounds-- the track near the north wall,” said Kellogg. “There should be soldiers running laps. I want you to pull for me a private called Zane Aleshire. Then the three of you ought all report to the meeting room on the third floor of Raff Hall. Don’t tarry. I expect you all within the half hour, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Deacon said. He thought it probably wasn’t a good idea to mention that he had no Woo-cursed idea who Zane Aleshire was, but then again, that was his and Benno’s problem to solve, not Kellogg’s. “We’ll be there as soon as possible, sir.”

“See to it, then. Dismissed.” With a sharp nod, Kellogg turned on his heel, striding quickly away.

Once he was gone, Deacon raised a blond brow, befuddlement reigning strong across his face as he turned back toward Ludwig. “Aleshire?” he mused. “You know him, Benno?”

“Never heard the name in my life,” Benno replied with an expression of equal confusion. “But if he’s running laps he’s going to be sweating. We should go fetch him as quickly as possible so he can get cleaned up before we’re expected at Raff Hall.” As he stood and started moving away from the wall, the dark haired man added, “What do you suppose all this is about, anyway?”

“Not a bloody clue.” Deacon sighed. “And if I spend too much time conjecturing, I’ll just get myself worked up.” A beat. “I’m hoping it’s nothing painful, though. Dear Woo, please let it not be painful.”

At the northern track the bonded partners gave the name Zane Aleshire to the drill sergeant, who swiftly pointed out a raven-haired boy of perhaps sixteen. Leading the pack of joggers-- and, true to Benno’s prediction, absolutely drenched in sweat as the summer sun bore into his back-- the drill sergeant waited for Aleshire to draw near before calling him sharply over, the boy’s freckled face dancing with clear anxiety as he obediently broke rank to trot up to his superiors. Up close, he looked even younger than he had from afar-- almost like he could have been one of Deacon’s kids. Which had to mean… Yes, a quick glance indeed revealed that there was no rune bracelet cinched around the boy’s wrist or wand holstered at his hip; sometimes Deacon still had to pinch himself to remember that unlike mages, who required several years of extra training, regular Macarinthian soldiers could graduate into proper soldiers at barely fourteen.

“Private Aleshire,” said the drill sergeant, face impassive as he met the boy’s worry-riddled green eyes. “These are Colonels Azrael and Benigno. They need to speak with you.”

Aleshire snapped to a salute, which Benno and Deacon automatically returned. Once the three of them had lowered their arms, the young boy, voice high with anxiety, bleated, “I am at your disposal, Colonels.”

“Lieutenant General Kellogg has summoned us to a meeting on the third floor of Raff Hall,” Benno said, his voice cool and formal. Aleshire, though his skin was tanned to a dusky copper by the sun, went ashen. The dark haired colonel went on, “I want you cleaned up and present at the door in fifteen, Private.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Aleshire stammered, immediately turning and bolting for the washhouse.

“Aw, poor little mite.” Watching as the boy fled, Deacon chuckled. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it, Ludwig?”

“Memories I’d rather stayed suppressed, sure,” Benno drawled. “Least he’ll have an exciting story to gibber to his buddies in the barracks tonight. Still not sure what’s going on that would prompt the Lieutenant General to summon us alongside a fresh-faced greenhorn, but we should get moving so that Aleshire doesn’t show us up by getting to Raff Hall before even we do.”

Fortunately, the pair of colonels beat out the lowly private, the boy’s hair still dripping wet when he hurried up not ten seconds before the fifteen minute mark. Aleshire trailed behind them like a terrified lamb as they proceeded into the three-storey Raff Hall, all of their boots echoing as they ascended two sets of narrow staircases to reach the top level. The meeting room in question was located at the end of a shadowy hall, behind a heavy wood door that was usually kept locked. Deacon knocked once, lightly, and couldn’t help but share a wary glance with Benno after an unfamiliar voice from within called out for them to enter. Not Lieutenant General Kellogg… but if not him, then who?

Inside, the shades were drawn, and three men sat around a battered oak table that was strewn with a veritable warren of paperwork. Deacon and Benno recognised one of them-- Kellogg-- but the other two were strangers, one of them perhaps in his mid-forties, with white-blond hair and a milky pale complexion, and the other a few years older, his head shaved bald and his skin the colour of coffee grounds.

It was not their appearances, however, that most drew Deacon’s attention as he stepped into the room, but rather, their uniforms. The blond wore the blue-and-gold of the Macarinthian king’s army, as was to be expected, and like Deacon and Benigno had a wand holstered at his hip. However, his overcoat was littered with more pins, medals, and badges than Deacon had ever seen on one man before-- Lieutenant General Kellogg included. And while the second man also had a wand and just as many laurels as the first, his regalia was not cerulean and yellow but heathered gray, like a mourning dove’s wings. Which meant that he was Valzick military, not Macarinthian at all.

“Colonels,” greeted Kellogg, saluting without standing. “Private. Sit.”

The bonded pair and their young companion returned the salute quickly, then obeyed, pulling out some of the many chairs around the table and seating themselves. Poor Aleshire looked ready to faint, his shoulders trembling visibly as he absently smoothed his sleeves. Benno shot his partner a glance that, on surface appeared neutral, but would have been as easy to read as a book for Deacon- confusion, concern, and a slight tinge of wary suspicion. Deacon, however, was in no state to spare a reassuring smile, his own complexion preternaturally pale as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Dear Woo, what was this?

“Thank you for coming swiftly,” Kellogg went on, his face inscrutable as he flicked his gaze back and forth between the colonels and the private. “I’d like to introduce you to Arch-General Angelos Bakális, commander of the Valzick Special Forces, and General Conrad Norling of our own Macarinthian King’s Army. General Norling and his partner are in charge of the training programme and standards for our magician soldiers.” Eyes landing finally on Deacon and Benigno, Kellogg added, “I’m sure you two have heard of him, correct?”

Benno felt like he’d been slapped. Certainly he’d heard of Conrad Norling, as well as his partner Valance Taylors. In Macarinth the duo had earned the nickname “The Sun Dragons”, after the northeastern fire-breathing lizards said to inhabit the distant kingdoms of Kyth and Courdon. They’d already been legendary before Ludwig and Deacon were even bonded as children, soldiers renowned enough to be counted among the king’s private council. And the commander of the Valzick Special Forces? Just what in Woo’s name was going on, that two nobody colonels and a peon greenhorn had been summoned to meet with such personages?

Benno swallowed hard, nodding to Kellogg before dipping his head respectfully. “Arch-General Bakális, General Norling. It’s an honor.”

“Sirs.” Deacon’s voice quavered. “It is… it is a pleasure to meet you both.”

Aleshire’s face went from white to green, but the terror in his face was somewhat offset by an underlayer of awe, and his eyes were glimmering with something akin to excitement. He bowed low over the table, murmuring only “Sirs,” in a tone that was nearly worshipful.

Norling quirked a brow, though his expression remained otherwise impassive. “Easy there, private,” he said. “Don’t need you passing out on us.” He paused for a moment, exchanging a quick look with Bakális, before he went on, “Before we continue, I need to make one thing extremely clear: what we discuss in this room does not leave this room. Not today. Not next week. Not ever. On the cost of your lives. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Deacon managed. If Norling’s quip toward Aleshire had caused him to relax by a hair, his anxiety was back in spades now.

“Good.” Norling’s amber eyes drifted toward Benno and Zane. “I’d like a verbal confirmation from you each, as well.”

“I understand, General,” Benno replied, trying not to show how terrified he was. Something that involved the commanders of the mage forces of both Valzaim and Macarinth, and was to remain classified indefinitely? Woo this was getting worse and worse.

“Y-yes sir,” Aleshire stammered. “As you say, sir.”

“Then we ought not burn more time,” said Norling. Steepling his fingers, he leaned forward against the table. “You three have been selected for a covert operation-- a joint venture between the Macarinthian and Valzick kings’ armies. While it’s impossible at this stage to gauge an exact duration, we anticipate it taking-- at minimum-- two years from this point. And I stress again, that’s at minimum. There will be no leave granted during this time.”

“Two… two years, sir?” Deacon knew he was hardly in a place to question orders, but the words were tumbling from his mouth before he could stop himself. Two years without leave? Woo, Yolanda got cross when he went a few months! “I… I mean not to sound insubordinate, of course, it’s just… just…”

“A long time?” finished Bakális, speaking in heavily accented Macarinthian. “Yes, we are aware. And we are not without sympathy. Unfortunately, given the nature of this operation, it’s a necessity. Immediately following this meeting, all three of you will be granted two weeks”-- he held up two fingers-- “at home to arrange any pressing affairs. After this time, there will be no further contact until the mission is over.”

“And your families are not,” added Kellogg, “to be told about the nature of the operation. Not a single word.”

As the implications of this sunk in, Benno’s face fell a mile, and he shot Deacon an expression that could have only been called despairing. Resisting the urge to reach up and set a soothing hand on his partner’s arm, Deacon only winced in solidarity, the gravity of the situation not yet entirely settled as his thoughts whirled like a hurricane.

In stark contrast to the horrified reactions of the colonels, Aleshire just appeared… confused. “Um… no disrespect whatsoever meant, General, Arch-General, b-but… I just finished my fort assignment a week ago. A-are you sure you’ve got the right person? This sounds like a mission for someone with… with experience, and-”

“Your name is Zane Aleshire,” Norling cut in. “From Bathory, a small village near the Valzick border. Date of birth January 2nd, 1312. You volunteered for service even though your older brother met your family’s one son requirement, graduating top of your class from boot camp and spending your fort posting at Fort Cask.” The general smiled thinly. “I think we’ve got the right person. Any further objections, Private Aleshire?”

Aleshire’s eyes went round as marbles, his jaw clenching. Hurriedly bowing again he whimpered, “N-none, sir, forgive me, sir, I m-m-meant no disrespect, sir.”

Deacon felt like he was about to pass out, and he wasn’t even the one getting lectured. The knot in his throat had grown to a boulder, and his stomach flopped so violently he was half-worried he might throw up. He still had no idea in all the hells what was going on, but he did know without a shadow of a doubt that it could be absolutely nothing good. Not when the head of the Special Forces and Macarinth’s mage soldiers were both swearing him and Luddy to confidentiality, and this snot-nosed private looked about ready to wet himself, and, oh yeah-- the whole two years away from their families condition. Was he entirely sure this wasn’t all but a convoluted dream?

“No disrespect taken, private,” Norling assured. “But I’d like to stop whittling away time and get down to business now.” He gestured to Bakális. “If you’d like to begin, Arch-General? As this is, of course, an operation first borne of Valzick minds.”

The dark skinned man steepled his fingers, apprising the Macarinthian soldiers before him. “I trust that Colonels Benigno and Azrael will recognize the name ‘Barrow’?”

Deacon’s brows shot up into his hairline. “Barrow? Yes, sir.” … Not that this made him any less puzzled; Barrow was a name he’d not thought about in-- Woo, a decade now, ever since he and Benno had spent their fort posting with a Valzick cadet called Toby Barrow. They’d fallen out of contact with the blond mage afterward. “Colonel Benigo and I, ah-- used to be acquainted with a… a Valzick Special Forces magician by that surname. Years ago, sir.”

“Well, quite a bit has happened to your old comrade since Fort Pelagia,” the arch-general replied. “You see, he had a little daughter by the name of Chelsey. And three years ago, she was taken by Meltaiman raiders.”

Benno sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. Of course he’d heard about the unexplained shift in Meltaiman raiding practices. Where once the heathen dogs of the west only took nonmage children from their neighbors as slaves, within the last decade they had started to abduct children indiscriminate of their magical ability. No one was entirely sure what became of the mage children taken, but given the nature of Meltaim, it was certain not to be good.

But all that had been largely on an impersonal level. Something that was awful, disgusting, and enraging, no question about that, but not anything the pair bonded colonels had a personal connection to… until now.

“Is… is young Chelsey okay?” Deacon dared ask, the slick of nausea in his gut roiling even worse than before. Woo, poor Toby; Chelsey had been only a babe when Toby and the Macarinthians had parlayed, and even still, it had been so very clear how much Toby had adored his little daughter. Every bit as much as Deacon adored his own.

And the idea of one of his kids getting snatched by Meltaiman raiders…

Deacon could have screamed.

“Chelsey was recovered, fortunately,” said Norling. “But not without… serious damage, to put it bluntly. She’s the first mage child either we or Valzaim has received back after any considerable length of time away; young Miss Barrow was in Meltaiman custody from shortly after her seventh birthday to shortly after her tenth. Her rescue was only by the grace of the Woo… and a considerable amount of luck. And while Chelsey has a very lengthy recovery in front of her, she has provided us with something we’ve sorely lacked up until now: intelligence. And an explanation of why the Meltaimans began taking magicians, and the present state of things within the kingdom.”

“And,” Kellogg said grimly, “it’s… every bit as bad as we feared.”

“Apparently,” the arch-general said, his voice thick with disgust, “the heathens call the taking of the mage children ‘The Gods’ Campaigns.’ It is something their emperor spearheaded, that they believe is a mission sent from their demon gods to, as young Chelsey purportedly put it, ‘restore the children to their proper place in the world.’ Which is to say, with mages in dominion over nonmages. The children are given to Meltaiman families to raise as their own- young Chelsey spent some time in the care of one of Meltaim’s margraves.”

Deacon blinked sharply, unable to hide the shock and distaste that seized him. “They’re… stealing the children to… brainwash them, sir? Into… into Meltaimans?”

“More or less,” said Norling. “Chelsey was given a Meltaiman wand and education, and they renamed her, as well. She was beaten when she tried to speak Valzick, and the margrave made her call him ‘papa’.” The general sighed, grim-faced. “She reported another child at the castle where she was held. We don’t know his true name, but Miss Barrow reports he was not Valzick. Based on her description, we believe he might have been Langean, or-- more likely, based on his behaviour-- Macarinthian. Unfortunately, while Chelsey cooperated to survive, this boy did not. She says he got into an argument with the margrave one day, and she never saw him afterward.”

“They… killed him?” Deacon sputtered. “Oh, Woo.”

“So… they take the children,” Benno said slowly, nausea churning inside of him. “And they either turn them into Meltaimans, or, if the children resist they… they kill them. Woo, are there no depths of depravity the Meltaimans won’t sink to?”

“B-but,” stammered Aleshire, “that’s… even aside from the fact that it’s awful, we’ve always had an advantage over Meltaim because of their isolationism, r-right? Because they don’t really understand Macarinth or Valzaim or… anything other than Meltaim. But if they’re b-brainwashing our children, and turning them against us…”

“It changes things,” Kellogg agreed. “Unfortunately, the nature of Meltaim makes it extremely difficult to oppose them. From the south, access alone is tricky. And even from the east, well-- it’s hard to fight an enemy you don’t know. Any organized response against Meltaim would have to be a highly complex affair, should we consider sending our forces past the volatile border zones.”

“A… a war, you mean?” Deacon asked, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. “We’re… considering war, sir?”

“Yes,” said Norling. “We are. Unfortunately, in order to make any effort that has a prayer in the ‘Pit of working, we’d need collaboration. Not just from ourselves and Valzaim, but likely Meltaim’s other neighbour, too. Lange. Not just mercenaries, but support along their border fronts, from the tsars.” He chuckled here, darkly. “But communicating with Lange is rather like… trying to consort with a temperamental viper. They are not our ally, nor Valzaim’s, and to even begin to consider joining forces with them-- well, we’d want to be… sure. Before we plunge down that very shadowy alley.”

“Which,” Bakális said, “is where you three come in.”

“Oh?” Benno prompted, swallowing hard.

The arch-general’s eyes narrowed. “You will be paired alongside a member of the Valzick Special Forces and our regular army for an undercover operation, deep with Meltaim itself. The three mages will assume the role of Meltaiman citizens, and the army regulars will play as their nonmage slaves. Your objectives are fivefold and prioritized as follows- assess the general mood of Meltaim and gather intelligence; find and extract any Valzick or Macarinthian mage children of the Gods’ Campaigns you can; find and extract any Macarinthian or Valzick blanks you can; recruit and extract any Langean blanks and Campaign children that you can; and recruit and extract any native blanks that you can.”

“We’re… being sent to Meltaim, sir?” Deacon stammered. If he’d been nauseated before, now he just felt… numb. As if he’d been sent out naked into a blizzard. “But… we-- we could hardly extract all the Campaign children, I mean, they have to be scattered, and--”

“Your objective isn’t to extract them all,” Norling cut in curtly. “Put it this way: Chelsey Barrow has provided us with the first chapter of a book. A firsthand account of what, precisely, is going on inside Meltaim right now. But we don’t wish to wage war based on one girl’s account. We’d like more information first-- as much as we can get. So that we have, if not an entire novel, at least a few chapters. And the only way to get that is to extract more people who’ve been a part of the Meltaiman structure for a significant span of time. Magicians and non-magicians.”

“We’re assembling four units like your own,” Kellogg added. “Sending them into different cities throughout Meltaim. None of you will be aware of one another’s identities. Your missions will work toward the same goals, but otherwise they will not intersect. It’s through the amalgamation of information we glean from these four missions that we hope to get a clearer idea of the state of things in Meltaim. And whether or not the situation has grown severe enough to warrant a full-scale offensive incursion.”

Aleshire’s expression was totally void, his thoughts impossible to guess at. Benno looked like he was about to vomit, but he gave a sharp nod of assent all the same. “I suppose we’ll… have to spend a significant amount of time preparing, Arch-General? I don’t know about the private, but Colonel Azrael and I have only shoddy Meltaiman at best, and the magic they use there is far different from our own.”

“Correct,” said Bakális. “Hence the quoted two-year timeline. After your brief leave, you will all be transported to meet with your Valzick comrades, in the northern Valzick city of Malte. We’ve a fort located within Malte-- Fort Okeanós. It’s at Fort Okeanós that you’ll undergo intensive training in the Meltaiman language, culture, and magic system, utilizing every bit of intel we’ve ever gathered on the Meltaiman way of things. We’ll also have you speak with the rare individuals who have firsthand experience with Meltaim-- this includes young Miss Barrow, as well as a few non-magicians who managed to escape bondage over the years… although of course their numbers are slim, and some of their knowledge might be out of date. If all goes as planned, we anticipate sending your unit into the field by next autumn, to remain in Meltaim for a period of nine months to one year.”

“A year?” For what felt like the umpteenth time during this exchange, Deacon winced. “And… how are we to give our reports during this span, sir? If we’re deep within Meltaim?”

“You won’t,” Norling said simply. “Once you make your incursion, you will go dark. You will be given an elaborate cover story and means to set up a tenable lifestyle whilst in Meltaim, so as not to raise too many brows. Otherwise, day-to-day operations will be up to your discretion.”

“Or…” Bakális dared a small, almost deprecating smile. “Up to the discretion of the mission’s in-field commander. I believe the two of you are already acquainted?”

In spite of his nausea, Benno managed to muster up a threading of mild exasperation. Of bloody course the Valzicks would have one of their people in command of the mission. “Ah… Would it be Toby Barrow, Arch-General?”

“Barrow retired at the rank of Arch-Major some years ago,” Norling said crisply. “Though he has agreed to assist in this operation, given his ah… personal interest, shall we call it? He will not be going with you into Meltaim.”

“Oh?” Deacon said. “Then… who is it, sir?”

“I should say first, choosing this individual was by no means accidental,” said Bakális. “Both non-magicians we selected are extremely young and inexperienced, and that’s deliberate-- since any slave within Meltaim will have developed a well-justified wariness of magicians, we believe they’ll be more likely to open up first to a fellow ‘blank’, as they’re called there. We wanted to further maximize the chances of establishing successful lines of communication between our operatives and potential subjects by choosing nonmage soldiers who come across as, well…” He gave Aleshire a humouring smile. “Unassuming. Non-threatening. Harmless.”

“What this means, though,” Norling continued, “is that nearly half our spies are wet behind the ears, and so we wanted to make sure the senior operatives in each unit were ironclad. Thus, we sought to put together officers with an established history of working with one another-- under adverse conditions, at that. This means Valzicks and Macarinthians who’ve cooperated in the past, either in the field or… elsewhere.”

Benno frowned slightly. An established history of working together… under adverse conditions…

“Oh Woo,” he said suddenly. “Y-you mean… you mean Selene? Selene Argyris? Th-the Valzick cadet who was with us and Toby Barrow when we… ah-” the dark haired man blushed, not really sure how to diplomatically phrase the fiasco under which he and his partner had worked with Toby and the Valzick woman named Selene some ten years prior.

“Yes,” Bakális confirmed. “You will be working with Arch-Brigadier Argyris. Since your, ah… forays together, she’s become a rising star within our ranks. For the past year, she’s been in command of Forts Paionía and Peschaliá-- two of our four outposts deep within the Galfras Mountains and our last lines of defence against Meltaim. She single-handedly commands over one-thousand troops and has extensive experience with Meltaiman affairs. Due to this, she also already speaks conversational Meltaiman, although of course she will need to improve significantly prior to being sent into the field.” The arch-general’s dark eyes glimmered, as if in challenge. “I presume that none of you will have any problems submitting to Arch-Brigadier Argyris’s expertise and command?”

Woo, taking orders from a woman… In spite of the part of his brain that was bristling at the very idea, Benno knew he really had no choice. He shook his head, murmuring, “No sir.” Glancing at his partner he couldn’t help adding, “And if she’s anything like I remember she could hold her own if we did.”

Bakális chuckled. “The arch-brigadier is certainly a force to be reckoned with,” he agreed. “Though in Meltaim, that ought be a boon, not a vice. You need all the grit you can get. Now…” He leaned back in his chair, dark eyes apprising. “Unless you have any questions, I’d like to expedite the process of seeing the three of you home for your leave, so that you have as much time with your loved ones as possible. You’ll be brought back here to Fort Caenleigh two weeks hence, before being transported to Fort Okeanós in Malte to begin your training. It’s at Fort Okeanós that you’ll be reunited with Arch-Brigadier Argyris-- and you’ll be introduced to her, Private Aleshire-- as well as made acquaintance with the other Valzick operative, Private Chares Kóptis. Private Kóptis, like Private Aleshire, is a fresh bootcamp graduate. He turns sixteen next month.”

Aleshire gave a soft moan, running a hand through his still damp hair. “Mum is going to freak when I tell her I’m leaving and won’t be back for two years.”

Benno frowned, tilting an eyebrow upwards. “What was that, Private Aleshire?”

The boy winced, ducking his head. “N-nothing, sir.”

“What we thought,” said Deacon tartly. He felt bad for the kid-- and he knew Benno did, too-- but if they were going to spend at least nine months directly responsible for the teenager’s welfare in the trenches of Meltaim, then they needed to establish an authority early. And he didn’t want the boy to think whining was a suitable response to stress. Even still, he couldn’t repress a sigh of his own as he glanced back toward the generals and lieutenant general, voice as even as he could muster as he said, “I have no questions, sirs. I’m ready to take my leave whenever you’re ready for me.”

Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

To say their loved ones were displeased when Benno and Deacon showed up out of nowhere less than a week after ending their last leave, bearing only secrets and the grim news that they’d be away for the next two years at minimum, was a fair bit of an understatement: Deacon’s wife Yolanda was livid, both sets of parents seemed downright frightened for their sons, and the children all alternated between crying inconsolably and begging for Benno and Deacon to please not go. Needless to say, their leave was not a relaxing one, and by the time Deacon and Ludwig departed back for Fort Caenleigh at the end of it, the colonels were in dour spirits.

Not that they dared complain to Arch-General Bakális, who was escorting them and Private Aleshire to Malte by hippogriff-back. Usually Deacon loved flying, but this time he spent the duration of the journey nursing a sour throat and churning stomach, incredulous about the fact that he and Benno were in the fledgling stages of a mission so important that it would-- if all went well-- quite likely lead to war. In some ways, this was what he’d always dreamed about when he’d fantasized about his life as a soldier: high-stakes work that would make a difference. Even so, he’d never quite pictured this. Never quite mulled over the idea of being sent to hostile Meltaim, under an assumed identity, with his partner and a ruddy-cheeked child... and under the command of a Woo-cursed woman who’d already proven she was more than willing to smack him if he rankled her.

“I am not spending this entire bloody mission calling her by her rank,” Deacon murmured into Ludwig’s ear after they’d landed at Fort Okeanós, and the three operatives trailed behind Arch-General Bakális on the way into the belly of the base. “I’ll give lip service when the arch-general’s around, but for Woo’s sake, it’s Selene. You snogged her Woo-cursed sister, Benno.”

“You had to bring that up, didn’t you?” Benno muttered, glowering sideways at his partner. “For the love of Woo, do not let the greenhorns hear you talking about that, I’d like them at least to show proper respect and deference even if we know Selene’s going to rub this in our faces.”

“Oh, if they get too comfortable, we can just start menacing and huffing like the big bad colonels we are,” Deacon said. “Our boy’s fourteen, Lud-- that’s like… barely more than Theia’s age.” His eldest daughter. “I’m pretty sure I could look at him funny and he’d wilt.”

“If you’re rather done chattering,” Bakális called dryly over his shoulder, as the group entered a squat building with absolutely zero windows that Deacon could count, “then if I could direct your attention ahead? I think you’ll find an old friend, sitting on the bench along the far wall.”

Deacon and Ludwig’s gazes snapped automatically forward, scanning the soldiers who milled about the room. From the looks of it, the cavernous, dimly lit space served as a recreation hall, with card tables sprinkled liberally about, as well as a few battered chess and checkers boards. From the din of conversation when the group walked in, it was clear that the Valzicks were having a rollicking good time-- but at the arch-general’s baritone voice, the room went quiet as the grave, everyone lurching to their feet as their hands snapped to their foreheads in salutes.

This included Selene.

Although she was a decade older than the last time they’d seen her, and dressed in officer’s regalia rather than the uniform of a lowly cadet, there was no mistaking the black-haired woman for anyone else: she still had the same woolen locks, hanging in long cornrows, and delicate features that belied her fiery personality. Her dark eyes slid into inscrutable slits as she spotted Benno and Deacon standing behind the arch-general, and her face went taut. It was abundantly clear that she was saluting only on account of Bakális, not them. (Though, Deacon thought sourly, he wouldn’t have expected anything else.)

“At ease, soldiers,” Bakális called to the room at large, giving the antsy soldiers a wan smile as if to assure them that it was okay to return to their usual business. Then, crooking his fingers at the three Macarinthians behind him, he added, “Come. I’m sure you and the arch-brigadier have much to talk about. And Private Kóptis, too-- I’d bet he’s in here somewhere.”

The four of them approached Selene, who had shifted from her salute to an at-ease position. Once they were within speaking distance, she gave the general a polite incline of her head and murmured, “Welcome home, sir.”

“Thank you, arch-brigadier,” Bakális replied, his voice warmer than any of the Macarinthians had ever heard it before. “I hope things have been going well for you here? I know Malte isn’t your usual pit of vipers, but not too dreadfully boring, I pray?”

Selene allowed a tiny quirk of a smile to play at the corners of her lips. “Not as much action as I’ve gotten used to, but it’s relatively entertaining to give the privates and corporals sideways looks and let them wonder if I’m going to eat them- Admiral Stavros says discipline amongst the lower ranks has suddenly improved significantly since I got here.”

Bakális chuckled. “Ah, the navy boys always have been jumpy. I think they’re afraid of our wands-- and ever-more comfortable in thirty-foot waves than snug on land, anyway.” He gestured toward the Macarinthians, urging them forward. “Colonels Azrael and Benigno, you know Arch-Brigadier Argyris. Private Aleshire, this is your direct commander henceforth-- Arch-Brigadier Selene Argyris, of His Majesty’s Special Forces.”

Aleshire saluted the woman automatically, but there was no missing the light of doubt in his green eyes. Benno and Deacon echoed the gesture with some reluctance, though they kept their faces straight better. Selene returned the salute, then smiled at the boys.

“It’s been some time,” she remarked neutrally, though there was no dearth of amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “But you don’t look all that happy to see me, I’m crushed.”

“Oh, no, these are our happy faces,” Deacon said, his heart thrumming in his throat as he dearly hoped he wasn’t crossing some line. “And I assure you, we’re smiling broadly on the inside, Arch-Brigadier Argyris.”

“Your poker face has gotten much better over the years then,” Selene said. Turning to Benno she added, “I’d pass you greetings from Chryssa, but sadly as per orders I couldn’t tell her I was going to be seeing you.”

“How are she and her husband getting on?” Benno asked, trying not to blush too hard. “They have many kids?”

“Three,” Selene replied. “She’s presently pregnant again with twins.”

“I take it she’s retired, then?” Deacon asked. “Five kids plus a military career seems a bit ambitious.”

“She never wanted a career, she was just doing her duty according to the law,” Selene clarified. “Once she fulfilled her two year draft she bowed out. Her husband stayed on a bit longer, but ended up losing three fingers to a misaimed ribboning spell and decided to call quits before he ended up losing an entire arm.”

“Fortunately for Valzaim,” said Bakális, “the arch-brigadier has her eyes set on the moon.” His eyes glimmered proudly, as a father’s might over his overachieving child. “One of our youngest arch-brigadiers on record.” A beat. “Although, speaking of youngsters…” He glanced toward the dozens of soldiers relaxing nearby. “Private Kóptis nearby, arch-brigadier? I’d like to introduce him to the Macarinthians, then settle you all someplace more… private. So that you can talk freely.”

“If he is, his arse is in for a serious lecture for not hauling over here already,” she replied dryly. “Although it’s possible he dozed off on one of the futons and hasn’t noticed. Bright kid, deadly with a crossbow, but he catnaps every free minute he has.” She glanced at Aleshire with a suddenly far more straight expression. “I should hope that you will be equal to remaining alert in the field, soldier.”

The fourteen-year-old stiffened. His voice thick he replied, “I assure you, ma’am, you don’t have to worry about that. I will do my level best to bring honor to Macarinth and see our mission a success.”

“Your Valzick is good at least,” she noted. “Far better than some of the recruits we had at Pelagia during the dual training program.”

“I grew up on the border,” he explained. “My best friend’s mum was Valzick- didn’t speak a lick of Macarinthian.”

“Another reason we picked you,” Bakális said dryly. “This will all be complicated enough without having to deal with somebody who doesn’t speak Valzick.” The arch-general sighed. “Go find and fetch Private Kóptis, Arch-Brigadier Argyris. No use chattering away precious time right from the outset, hm?”

***

Kóptis was, indeed, taking a catnap on one of the rec room’s futons, but after being shaken swiftly awake, the dark-haired teenager practically tripped over himself trying to make a good impression on his new Macarinthian comrades. He seemed downright exhilarated over being chosen for such a precarious mission, and when-- after a few days of orientation as to what to expect over the next year of intensive preparations-- the group was plunged into their first training exercises, the boy was an exceptionally eager student. He lapped up all the lessons on Meltaiman culture like a cat downing warm milk; he always had questions, and they were darned good ones, too; and although he wasn’t privy to the magic sessions, during their Meltaiman language tutoring he was almost maddeningly quick to catch on to the tongue, which was so very different from Valzick. In a few short months he was almost fluent.

“It’s like he’s actually looking forward to getting sent to Meltaim as an undercover slave,” Deacon mused about four months into their training, as a stubborn summer finally ceded way to a chilly fall. He, Benigno, and Selene were presently drilling each other in the Meltaiman names for runes as the privates were given an hour’s rest, the teenagers quickly skulking off from the heavily secured wing where they took their lessons to the rec room across the fort. “I mean, I’m sorry, I know teenagers are stupid, but I would have been shaking in my boots at his age. Where’s the fear?”

“It’s got him well ahead of the curve, so I’m not complaining,” Selene replied, as she held up a card with a rune drawn on it to Benno. He parroted the name of the rune, and she set the card down to draw another, adding, “Though he’ll need to simmer down the enthusiasm when he actually assumes the role; a slave should be cowed and wretched, not practically bouncing. I hope some acting lessons will come later on in the training program.”

Deacon chuckled. “My mum always said if being a soldier failed, I had a second career in prancing across the stage. I can coach all you peons. I--” He stiffened abruptly at the sound of footsteps outside the door; although this small classroom was located behind several layers of locks and armed guards, clamming up had become habit by now, just in case. “Please let it not be Arch-Major Náftis.” This was their Meltaiman language tutor, a fifty-odd man who’d spent the entirety of his career posted on the border as an interrogator and babbled so excitedly about different Meltaiman accents and speech nuances that he rather reminded Deacon of a child rambling about his Woomas gifts. “I swear, if I have to conjugate more verbs today…”

“I doubt he wants to spend more time with you anymore than you want to spend more time with him, Deek,” Benno retorted with amusement. “Contrary to what you seem to think, people other than me actually find your whining annoying.”

“I’m not complaining.” Deacon smirked. “I’m merely telling it how it is, Luddy.”

Fortunately, when the door swung open a few moments later, it was immediately clear that the man who entered was not the dreaded tutor. His skin was bronze to the arch-major’s ebony, his hair dusty blond to Náftis’s chocolate-brown locks. Most strikingly, however, was the newcomer’s face: though his blue eyes were clear and bright, the rest of his skin was… Deacon barely even knew what to think of it. Fat, corded scars crisscrossed his flesh from forehead to neck, hardly a scrap of skin visible that wasn’t in some way disfigured. It was a struggle for Deacon and Benno not to gawp like rubberneckers at the side of the road after a macabre carriage accident.

Selene, however, smiled at the newcomer, her face lighting. “Toby! I’m glad you finally made it, I was starting to wonder if you’d decided you didn’t like us anymore.”

Benno’s eyebrows shot upwards into his hairline. “Toby?” he breathed.

“Hello there yourself, Benno.” Toby’s familiar voice seemed very strange coming from this mutilated man’s lips-- but even so, there was no denying it was his, the blond’s heavily accented Valzick unmistakable. “What,” he joked, “you don’t like my makeover?”

“Your… your face,” Deacon sputtered. “Oh Woo, Toby, what happened to your face?”

Shutting the door behind him, Toby Barrow smiled grimly. “Ribboning,” he said. “Every bit as painful and disfiguring as you’d imagine. Although I limped home with the fun bragging right of actually surviving Meltaiman custody. I would have been impressed with myself if my entire face hadn’t been slashed to ground beef, and if I’d gotten out on my own wiles, not luck.”

“That’s why he’s not in service anymore,” Selene put in darkly. “He took a desk job for a while after he was captured- when the Woo sends you a blessing, you don’t tempt fate a second time, neh?”

“Right.” Deacon winced, still unable to avert his eyes from the web of scars as Toby took a seat next to Selene. “I… I’m glad you got away, Toby. That must have been terrifying.”

“Yes,” Toby agreed. “Extremely. Although… it doesn’t at all begin to compare to the terror I felt when the Meltaimans took my Chelsey.” He sighed, sobering. “Which is why I’m here, actually. What I’ve come to… well, to talk about. You know the story of what happened to my daughter, right?”

“We were told when they first brought us on,” Benno confirmed. “Forcibly adopted into some margrave’s custody, right? And they tried to brainwash her into being Meltaiman.” He shuddered. “And apparently she had a possibly-Macarinthian friend who didn’t make it out.”

“Right.” Toby swallowed hard. “My wife and I… we don’t have blood family here, beyond Chelsey and her sister Therese. But when we moved to Malte, we befriended a nice older couple. They were wealthier, very sweet, and became like grandparents to our girls… and one of their granddaughters was Chelsey’s best friend. Their family has a cottage right on the beach, a couple hours north of the village, and so when they asked if Chelsey could come along for a weekend stay there-- their last hurrah for the year before it got too cold-- Gwen and I didn’t think of any reason why not. And Chelsey was so excited. It was her first time spending a night away from home.”

“Oh, Woo.” Deacon’s entire body felt… cold. Slithery. “Th-that’s where the Meltaimans took her from?”

“They killed the adults,” Toby murmured by way of confirmation. “Chelsey and the other children were… gone. Just gone. It was one of the larger raids Valzaim suffered that year-- they targeted a series of small coastal villages, hitting in the night, moving like wraiths…” He shook his head. “I didn’t believe it. Not at first. But denial will only last you so long. And then Gwen and I entered three years of hell.”

Benno swallowed hard. “I can only imagine… just that not knowing, and the guilt that would have to eat you both alive even if it wasn’t your faults. I’m so sorry, Toby.”

“We tried to find them,” Selene said, her voice soft. “They sent us scouring the mountains after the missing kids. But the devils vanished over the border like mist. We only caught two of the raiding parties, and only managed to stop one, and that one only had nonmage kids in the group.”

“It’s hardly your fault, Selene,” Toby said. “I know you tried, but with the Meltaimans…” He shook his head. “I think the worst part is, when we finally got her back, Gwen and I were so happy. I can’t ever recall feeling more elated in my life. But the little girl who was brought to me that day… it’s… it’s Chelsey. It’s definitely Chelsey. But in so many ways, she isn’t my Chelsey. Not anymore.”

“What… what do you mean?” Deacon asked, already dreading the answer.

“They brainwashed her, Deacon,” Toby said. “They took away every single piece of her identity and force-fed a new one down her throat. They did their damndest to turn her into one of them, and by Woo if they weren’t well on their way to succeeding. I love my daughter. I would give my life for her in a second. But… she isn’t the same girl who went on a weekend trip almost four years ago. I wish to all the hells that she was, but she’s just not.”

Benno closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “How can they… not care? These aren’t puppies they’re rescuing from an alleyway, these are human children.”

“This is why the Special Forces exists, Benno,” Selene replied, her voice low but with steel in it. “This is why King Nereus and King Aedan gave their approval for our mission. Because it’s disgusting, and it needs to stop.”

“It does,” Toby said. “And… that’s why I believe Arch-General Bakális wants you to speak with Chelsey. So that you can pick her mind, get an idea as to her experiences. But…” He gulped, blue eyes jaded. Exhausted. “At first it was an order, that I let you speak with her. But I begged. I pleaded. Trying to find an alternative. Because my daughter has been through the ’Pit, and every time I tell her that she can move on, put her experiences in the past… something comes along and drags it back up.” Toby clenched his jaw. “Eventually, I worked out a compromise. Bakális told me if I can get your consent, and if you feel comfortable proceeding to Meltaim without talking directly to my Chelsey, you can just speak with me instead. I know… well, I won’t say everything, but all that’s important. The sort of magic she learned. The dogma they instilled in her. What life was like for her during those three years.”

“Toby, you know we’re not going to force your kid to relive the most terrifying years of her life if we can at all avoid it,” Benno said gently. “You may not always care for how the Macarinthian way of thinking stands where women are concerned, but in this case? It’s to your favor, really. Like the ‘Pit are we going to torment an eleven year old girlchild. That’s against everything a soldier of the king’s army of Macarinth stands for.”

“Not to mention,” Deacon added, “I’d… still like to think of you as a friend, Toby. Even if we’ve not seen each other for years. I know how much you love your children. And there’s no way I want to bring you-- or your family-- any more pain than it’s already suffered.”

“Thank you.” Toby smiled softly. Sadly. “And I will tell you everything I can think of-- I promise. Woo knows, I want your mission to be successful. So that we can… we can start to change things. And send the ‘Pit-cursed Meltaimans where they belong.” He placed a hand against his scarred forehead. “It’s still mad to me, really, to think about. That you’re going to Meltaim-- not just the border zone, but the kingdom proper. I mean… Woo, what cover story are they even giving you? It’s even barmier than when they dropped a pack of idiotic teenagers into the woods with only a map and four heads full of stupid ideas.”

“There is a certain amount of irony to be had in these three particular soldiers getting shipped off to Meltaim, given the last time we worked together,” Selene remarked dryly. “But our cover story actually comes courtesy of Colonel Quartz-Scale-Hydras-Are-Definitely-Only-In-Meltaim.”

“Deacon’s mum and dad run an apothecary supply shop,” Benno put in. “He and I were pretty much raised in it, and we helped out whenever we weren’t out playing in the streets with our gaggle of buddies. There’s not many brews they sold we don’t know how to make. So that’s going to be our cover- herbalists and druggists. Innocuous enough not to draw too much notice, but prominent enough to bring out important people with the sort of information we’ll be after- and to bring in money to keep everything running smoothly.”

“They’re giving us a nest egg to start-- Woo only knows where they got it.” Deacon hadn’t dared ask. “Enough to set up a small shop and get basic supplies. From there… well, we’re literally going to be running a business.”

“And your cover identities?” asked Toby.

“Since Benno and I are so tuned in to each other, and nearly the same age, we’re going to present as fraternal twins. The high command figures that’s the best explanation, and even if we don’t favour each other appearance-wise, we’re also not so different as for it to be impossible. So… apparently Benno’s inability to tan has finally come in handy.” Deacon shot his partner a wavering smile. “Then we’re going to take advantage of the fact that Meltaim has rather, ah… loose ideas of family, and a penchant for stealing Valzick children. Selene is going to be our baby sister. Adopted from her tragic beginnings in a blank ghetto, the child of Valzick blank parents whose soul was involved in a tragic accident with some true Meltaiman child.”

Selene rolled her eyes, but nodded. “That way no one questions it when I have the same accent as Private Kóptis- I picked it up from my ‘blank parents’ obviously. And we can explain away Benno, Deacon and Private Aleshire’s accents as being regional to someplace in Meltaim distant enough nobody where we’re at will have heard one.”

“The names will go, too,” Deacon added. “For all but Private Kóptis, since after all, why bother renaming your silly little blank slave?”

“Woo.” Toby seemed at once impressed and incredulous. “That’s… mad. No wonder they’ve given you so long to prepare, you’ve so many details to remember and…” Cutting himself off, he sighed. “What are you going to do with the money, anyway? Once you set up the apothecary? I can’t imagine a Meltaiman savings fund will come of much use to any of you once you’re back home.”

Benno gave a laugh that had nothing of humor in it. “Oh, that’s easy, my dear friend. We’re going to use the money to buy slaves.”

“What?” Toby sputtered.

Deacon only slumped in his seat, still hating the plan no matter how long he’d had to grow used to it. “Part of our mission is bringing home stolen Valzick and Macarinthian citizens, and enlisting them while we’re there to help us gather intelligence. But you can hardly trust a spy who’s owned by a Meltaiman-- not only would it be impossible to quickly get them out of the city at the end of the mission, given the Meltaiman proclivity toward convoluted containment spells, but this entire operation is such high-stakes that we need a way to… control things, I suppose. And awful as it is, when you own a person, you can, ah… control them pretty well. If worse comes to worst.”

“And any Gods’ Campaign kids? You can hardly buy them,” Toby said softly.

“That’ll come at the end,” said Deacon. “We’ll spend our time in the city figuring out who they are, where they live, who’s… adopted them, for lack of better terms. And when we make our break at the end, we’re going to snag as many of them as we can.”

“I don’t like it,” Selene said grimly. “But if we’re going to carry this off, we have to be as innocuous as possible. Blend in with the faceless herds. Which means playing by Meltaim’s rules, distasteful as that may be. But if we can get some of the stolen citizens home, both the slaves and the Campaign kids, it’ll be worth it in the end.”

“There are a lot of relatives out there who deserve to get the same reunion you did,” Benno agreed, giving Toby a grim but determined look.

“May the Woo be with you all,” Toby said. “And… I do mean it-- anything I can tell you that might help, just ask. I want you all to make it home safe. Your little teenage privates, too.”

“Of course,” Benno agreed. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. “But hey- we’re here a year, y’know? No rules saying you can only see us for lessons in the horribleness of Meltaim. You don’t have to be a stranger if you feel like hitting a pub or something.”

“Oh, you’d like that.” Slowly, Toby let a genuine smirk tick at the corners of his lips. “What, in a nostalgic frame of mind, Benno? Want to relive the irresponsible days of our youths before you mosey off to Meltaim?”

“Now, now, drinking hardly has to be irresponsible,” Deacon said. “Plus, the three of us”-- he gestured between himself, Ludwig, and Selene-- “are officers now. We can always have some of our underlings to help carry us home.”

“Technically, both of you are my underlings,” Selene noted cheerfully. “Going to sweep the tipsy princess off her feet, Deacon?”

“Never!” Deacon gasped in feigned horror. A mischievous twinkle glinting in his emerald eyes, he added, “What, Selene, do you take me as the sort to keep secrets from my beloved wife?”

“Ah, drats,” she said in mock disappointment. Then she batted her eyelashes at Benno. “Well I hope I can at least rely on my dear sister’s old flame? No ring on your finger, I notice- still the poor, tragic bachelor, buddy?”

At this, the grin that Benno had been wearing slid off his face instantly. His shoulders hitched up as if Selene had physically smacked him, and he abruptly looked away. Startled, Selene said in a softer voice, “B-benno? What’s-”

“I need some air,” he said thickly, lurching to his feet. “I’ll… I’ll be right back. Just… I…”

Seeming to come up at a loss, whatever Benno was “just” remained unsaid. Instead the dark haired Macarinthian spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving a very confused Selene staring at the door that creaked shut behind him. Gaping, she turned to Deacon.

“What… what did I say?”

“It’s… it’s not your fault,” Deacon stammered, resisting the urge to jump up and chase after his partner. “You couldn’t have known-- he’s… deliberately not talked about it since we’ve been here, I think, but…” The man sighed, slumping back in his chair. “Ludwig isn’t married, no. But he used to be. To a woman he loved very, very much.”

“U-used to be?” Selene stammered. “Oh Woo, she…”

“Died,” Deacon murmured. “Giving birth to their son, a little over six years ago.”

“I had no idea.” Toby winced. “Poor Benno. And… the baby…?”

“He lived,” Deacon said quickly. “My third daughter, Michaela, was only a few months older, and my wife took the baby on. His name’s Connor, and he’s… he’s a perfectly healthy little boy. Sweet. Quiet. He sees my wife as his mama, and he’s very much loved. Happy. But Benno…” The blond shook his head. “He’s had a hard time with it. Losing Alice. When he met her, I think he’d already mostly given up on the idea of getting married, and she was… the love of his life, honestly. When she died, it gutted him. I don’t think he’s ever entirely healed from it.”

Selene looked back towards the door where Benno had vanished, her expression anguished. “Woo, I’m such an idiot, I… I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m so, so sorry, Deacon.”

“He doesn’t talk about it,” Deacon said. “About… her. And if he’s mentioned Connor, well-- you had no reason to presume he wasn’t just another of my brood. You had no way of knowing, Selene. And I think once Benno calms down, he’ll realise that. He’ll know you didn’t mean any malice in what you said to him.”

She sighed, shaking her head. Then a thought seemed to occur to her, and she bit her lip. “We’re not allowed any contact with our families for the next two years- if his son is so young...”

“Connor is all Ludwig has left of Alice,” Deacon said. “And Luddy already… worries. That Connor won’t know who his papa is, won’t love him, because we’re away so much. He’s afraid his son won’t even remember him once we get home.”

“I… I can’t imagine that’s easy,” Toby said, cringing in sympathy. “And I certainly don’t envy your position. But… I guess you just have to keep it in mind why this operation is so important. What it’ll help lead to. What… what you’re doing it for. And…” The man’s blue eyes latched on Deacon’s, grimly intent. “Just remember Chelsey, okay? If you’re ever doubting yourselves, doubting the cause, whether or not it’s… worth it… just remember my little girl. And all the little girls like her. Who, if Meltaim keeps up with its ways, won’t ever see their families again. Who are being beaten into literally forgetting them. Discarding them like ash to the breeze.”

“We will Toby,” Selene said. “None of us is going to back out of this, not when we have a chance to make a difference. This isn’t going to be easy- no part of it’s going to be easy. But if we don’t put our feet down, and stop Meltaim now…” She looked Deacon, her mouth thin. “Well, who’s to say they won’t get cocky? Expand, and push further into the interiors of their neighbors. Endanger our young relatives.”

“We won’t let it get that far,” Deacon said, very, very firmly. “I’m under no delusions that any part of this will be simple, or pleasant, but… we will make a difference. And make a safer world for Connor and all of our children. Including Chelsey.” He took a deep breath. “The Meltaimans have spent far too long beating us like punching bags-- and getting away with it unchecked. But their comeuppance is on its way. And even if it comes at a cost… I know-- and Luddy knows, too-- that in the end, it’s worth it.” He trained his eyes on Toby’s, their pupils latching. “So, Toby. Tell us what you know about Meltaim.”

Arc Two
"Storm Front"

Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

September 29, 1327
Lilia, Erlea, Meltaim

“And here,” sang the auctioneer as he pranced about the open-air stage, “we have a very rare and special treat! It’s not often, ladies and gentlemen, that we get a fully trained bleeder up for sale! You heard me right: a bleeder, fully consecrated, fifteen years of age.” Grinning as if he were showing off a prized war horse, the man gestured toward the mousy girl in front of him, her skin pale as milk and her body trembling beneath a threadbare cotton shift. She didn’t have a cloak. “Nothing wrong with it, her owner’s only paring down his stock. Which means all the more benefit for you, ladies and gentleman! Do I hear a starting bid of one-hundred crowns?”

Sitting high up in the grandstands that surrounded the auction platform, the man who’d been passing for the last month as Demyan Aptekarz, one-third owner of a small apothecary that bore his family’s name, just barely bit back an open scowl. The cool autumn sun beating into his back, he shifted anxiously, praying that none of the spectators who sat nearby to him could hear how violently his heart was thudding against his ribs. To his own ears, it sounded like a hammer.

He made himself take a breath. “Ludwik,” he murmured to the dark-haired man who sat beside him. “They’re not all going to be this pricey, are they? Selah said we can’t afford more than twenty crowns. Preferably fifteen. So forget one-hundred.” A beat. “Gods, I wish there was a guide for this.”

“I doubt they’ll all be this expensive,” the man addressed as Ludwik replied. “If this one’s ‘fully consecrated’ chances are that involves a lot of pricey religious rigmarole that your standard shop fodder won’t have or need. Just be patient.”

“Easier said than done.”

Demyan sighed gustily. The mixed group of Macarinthians and Valzicks had been in this city about a month after slipping over the Macarinthian border, He wasn’t anywhere near used to this, any of it: the language, the culture, the fact that you could buy people in the city square as if you were purchasing a cow… and not even a particularly expensive one. No amount of preparation in sterile classrooms back in Valzaim could have quite substituted for the real thing-- the thrumming city full of not shadowy concepts, but human beings. Who smiled at him on the street. And made small talk in the shop. And tended their children one moment, then mindlessly backhanded a blank-- Woo, how Demyan hated that term!-- the next.

He’d thought it was bad enough on arrival, when they’d had to meticulously apply an ownership mark and convincing copies of the ubiquitous blank brand to both Kóptis and Aleshire’s faces. Even worse, for safety’s sake-- in case either nonmage ever found himself hassled by a city guardsman-- they’d then had to drag the hapless privates to be registered in the city database of owned blanks and receive actual mutable brands. Demyan at least had wanted to feign the age mark, to minimize the pain of branding, but Selene had pointed out that any brander worth his salt would be able to identify a fraud. And so both Kóptis and Aleshire-- the latter renamed to Sanel-- were now proud owners of genuine Erlea province of-age and privilege brands, and sometimes Demyan found himself lying awake at night wondering exactly what choices in his life had led him to this hellish point.

… And still all of that, he realised grimly, was nothing compared to this slave auction that was taking place in front of him now. “Maybe we should come back another time, Ludwik,” he murmured as the quivering bleeder was sold off for an even two-hundred crowns. “After we’ve gathered more money.”

Ludwik sighed softly, rubbing his face. His eyes were underscored by heavy black bags, evidence to the fact that he’d gotten no sleep the night before in anticipation of what they were preparing to do. “We need the help. You know that. Just keep reminding yourself that it’s a little investment now for a big payoff later.”

“Right.” Demyan massaged his temple, adding dryly, “Remind me why I let Selah wheedle us into coming while she stayed cozy at home to tend the shop? She made it sound like she was doing us a favour, but I see through her now.”

“The next lot is for a gardener,” Ludwik said, opting not to dignify his “brother’s” complaints further. As the blank was brought up to the block the dark haired man added, “Would perhaps be helpful if it wasn’t nearing winter, but I think just now we need help with the potions more than the herb garden.”

Demyan nestled his chin in his palm, resisting the compulsion to fiddle with the silver bracelet that was hidden beneath his tunic sleeve. “We might not even find anything good,” he said, unsure of whether he ought to dread or look forward to this prospect. The gardener quickly sold, and on his flank the auctioneer beckoned to the platform a silver-haired man who could have Demyan’s grandfather. Demyan’s throat tugged. “Too old,” he murmured.

“If we don’t find anything today, we don’t find anything,” Ludwik replied, unable to help glancing away as the old man, moving slow with arthritis, was forcefully shoved up to the auction block. “We’ll try again another time. No sense rushing things, it’ll only hurt us in the long run.”

The elderly man didn’t even mete the starting bid, and Demyan bit his lip as the auctioneer jerked him off the platform afterward. “I suppose that old dog already had his day, eh?” the Meltaiman sang, warranting a chorus of chuckles from the crowd. “But lament not! This next lot’s barely rid of its milk teeth!” He gestured sharply toward the blanks still waiting for their turns on the platform. “Lot two-oh-seven-three, up here, now.” When this earned no movement from the blanks, he added sharply, “That means you, blondie. Yes, you. Come up. Now.”

Very, very slowly, with each of her steps nearly violent, a waif of a girl skulked forward from the crowd, her white-blond hair catching beneath the sun’s pale rays. As she glimpsed up toward the grandstands, her gaze smoldering, Demyan’s breath caught in his throat: both of her eyes were ringed black, and even from a distance her lip was visibly split. And… it wasn’t just that. Her hair. Gods, her hair-- a blond so pale it was nearly white, a shade he’d not seen once on a Meltaiman so far throughout his entire month’s stay… but that reminded him far more than he cared to admit of his little sister Natasha’s hair. And his father David’s, for that matter, before his old man’s had gone gray.

“Twelve-years-old!” the auctioneer crooned, roughly taking the child’s arm and hefting her up onto the platform. “A foreign import-- so exciting, right? Belonged first to the baron of Północdolina, then sold to a butcher here in Lilia, and now she could be yours!” He beamed. “As you can see, she’ll require some work. But ever heard of a diamond in the rough? Starting bid-- eight crowns! Yes, that’s right: only eight crowns, ladies and gentlemen!”

The girl’s mouth moved, as she seemingly muttered something that wasn’t audible as far as the grandstands. However, the auctioneer clearly heard her well, the man glowering as he let go of her arm-- but only so that he could backhand her across the cheek, hard. Demyan winced as the blow landed with an audible crack.

“Foreign import,” Ludwik murmured, his eyes narrowing. “Where from, though? Not Lange, I imagine, Langeans have darker hair than that, and she’s certainly not Valzick…”

“I think you know,” Demyan murmured, heart leaping into his throat as from amid the Meltaimans, someone lodged the starting bid. “Just what we want, yes?” he tested, gaze falling to the bidding chit in his brother’s hand. “Lodge it, Ludwik.”

He did, raising the bid to nine crowns. There was a brief pause as the other bidder seemed to consider, but he rose it further. For a time as the price inched up, the girl only stood in place sullenly. But as it reached thirteen crowns, she turned her dark, smoldering eyes towards the grandstands, and raising her voice snarled, “Go ahead, Meltaiman heathens, waste your money! You won’t break me, not ever-”

The girl was abruptly cut off as the auctioneer’s hand lashed against her cheek, so hard this time that it sent the child tumbling to the ground. “Sorry about that!” the man chirped with a chuckle. “A firm lash with this one, that’s for sure! Now, where were we-- thirteen crowns, yes? Do I hear thirteen crowns?”

Ludwik lodged the bid for the thirteen crowns- looking hard at Demyan as he did so. “You heard her too?”

“Yes. Not Meltaiman, hm?” he mused pleasantly, as meanwhile his palms began to sweat, and he felt like his heart might rocket out his chest. “How much do we have on us today, Ludwik?” he murmured. “If this bidding keeps up… and it goes over the twenty Selah told us...”

“We’ll figure it out.” Ludwik’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “If we have to scrape a bit, we’ll figure it out.”

However, it seemed that the girl’s outburst had dissuaded the other bidder; he reluctantly met the new fourteen crown asking price, but when Ludwik swiftly lodged a fifteen crown bid, the man reclined in his seat, arms crossed in a way that advertised he was done.

“Oh, spoilsport!” the auctioneer jeered. “And I thought we were to have us an old-fashioned bidding war!” Hauling the child back up to her feet as she pinched a bloody nose between her thumb and pointer finger, the man grinned. “So, fifteen crowns is our current bid, do I hear sixteen crowns? Sixteen? Anyone-- just sixteen crowns?” He let a brief silence fall; the crowd stayed quiet. Disinterested. “Alright then! Sold, for fifteen crowns. Bidder, please raise your chit so we can lodge your number!”

Ludwik quickly raised the block, and though the rest of the auction before they could retrieve their purchase took only an hour, to Demyan it might as well have been an entire cursed year. His forehead was sweat-plastered in spite of the cool autumn breeze as the auctioneer announced the close of the event, bidding the crowd a good afternoon and directing all the winning buyers to please report to the behemoth canvas tent that stood behind the amphitheater. “All exchange of goods will take place there!” the man said brightly. “Please have your payment ready. And for your convenience, we’ve city-vetted branders on hand to place all desired marks on your new servants-- city registration and all brands are included today in the price of purchase, as our thanks for your loyal patronage!”

Demyan’s heart beat in his ears as he and Ludwik followed the rest of the buyers toward the tent, the blond man’s hands clenched into fists at his side solely to keep them from shaking. “This is all so… orderly,” he muttered to his brother as they fell into the payment queue. “Like waiting in line at a shop.”

“Well that’s kind of what it is,” Ludwik noted, not meeting Demyan’s eyes. “She’s probably going to make the walk home an ordeal, you might have to bind her wrists or something.”

Demyan winced. “I’d rather not. If there’s any other choice.” He swallowed back a sour taste as the line ticked steadily forward. “I hope they healed up that nose, at least. I’d rather not have her… blood-soaked.”

“We can always make a show of complaining about damaged goods, if not,” Ludwik suggested. “So what’re you thinking as far as privileges go? She’s… young. And brash. Probably shouldn’t wander unsupervised, at least not at first.”

“No privileges,” Demyan said, though not without reluctance. “Not for now. She’s either in the shop or with us. Until she can be… trusted.”

Soon enough the brothers got to the front of the line, and after Ludwik handed his chit and the fifteen crowns over to a clerk sitting at a desk, the surly Macarinthian girl was dragged forwards. Up close, it became clear that she had seen many a beating like the one on the auction block. Her nose, though no longer bloody, was crooked from an old break, the backs of her hands a patchwork of old lash scars. There was a scar on her jaw too, and one that streaked through her right eyebrow, though what had caused those was difficult to say. Between the injuries and the hard, bitter set to her face and body language, she looked more like a grizzled veteran than a prepubescent girl.

“Name on this one is ‘Ceely’,” the clerk said in a bored voice. Holding out a sheaf of papers, an inkwell, and a quill, he added, “If you’ll both sign these, there’s one copy for you and one for our records. We’ll have her branded to your specifications, and you’re free to take her home.”

“Right. Of… of course.” Gulping, Demyan accepted the quill and scribbled his mark on the parchment, as he did adding, “We’d like a single slash, please.” In Erlea province, this was the mark of highest confinement: a blank who bore it wasn’t permitted out of his or her master’s residence without mage accompaniment. “And… that should be all. She’s not of age, and we can set the ownership mark ourselves, once we get home.”

“Very well,” the clerk said, watching as Ludwik also scrawled his mark on the contract. He gestured to the waiting brander, who marked the girl’s otherwise unblemished cheek with a single slash before turning her around and pushing her towards her new owners, so roughly she stumbled a bit before righting herself. Ceely looked up at Ludwik and Demyan, expression mulish, and locked her knees defiantly.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, young miss,” Ludwik said, doing his best to appear impassive in spite of the way his heart was aching for the girl. “We would much prefer if this trip went as smoothly as possible.”

“I’d sooner die than submit to the likes of you,” she growled in heavily, heavily accented Meltaiman. “You heathens took my brother and sister, and shredded my brother’s pair bond. I will not be your object!”

Demyan’s heart lurched. Shredded a pair bond? The idea of it made him want to scream-- but he knew that he couldn’t, not with everyone else who still waited in line gawping at the surly child and her new masters. If he didn’t do something to mitigate this soon, all those nearby would wonder why. And why was a question neither Demyan nor Ludwik could afford.

“Be quiet,” Demyan made himself hiss, seizing the child’s arm. “If you cooperate nicely, we can have a pleasant walk back to our shop. If you resist, we will bind you--”

The girl, taking advantage of the closed distance between Demyan’s face and hers, spat at him, hitting the man just above his eye. He blinked once, stunned, before clenching his jaw, sorely regretting what he was about to do… but knowing that he’d draw questions if he didn’t.

“You will never do that again,” he snarled, in an instant spinning Ceely on her heel as he wrenched her arm behind her back. Grabbing her long, pale hair with his free hand to keep leverage over her movements, he added, “Bind her, please, Ludwik. Quickly.”

The taller man did so, a single hissed spell completely binding the girl’s arms to her sides, and leaving a four foot lead for them to drag her by. Pulling it towards himself just enough to strain the rope without wrenching her hair against his brother’s grip, he glowered at the child. “You will obey, little one. One way or another.”

She glared up at Ludwik, tears pricking her brown eyes. But when he pulled on the rope, she allowed herself to be towed forwards, only digging her heels in twice more on the walk through the city before following in sullen but cooperative silence. However, as they were rounding the corner that led to the street with their shop, Ludwik and Demyan heard a tremulous, almost inaudible warble from behind them.

“I don’t want to do this anymore. I’d rather die. Just kill me. Why won’t you just kill me?”

A few steps ahead of her, Demyan’s entire body went to ice. He could tell the girl thought he and Ludwik couldn’t understand her-- what reason would she have to think otherwise? And so he knew, too, that this was not merely a surly request, but rather, a lamentation to herself. Wanting to sob, instead the blond mage shot a knowing look toward his partner, and Ludwik’s brow furrowed in the way it always did when he was badly upset and trying to hide it.

Finally, they made it back to the shop, the bell over the door chiming merrily in a stark contrast to their moods as the two partners pulled the girl into the shop. Mercifully, a brief scan of the small apothecary revealed no customers at present, and Demyan had shut and locked the door even before Selah, who stood behind the counter, had time to call out a greeting.

“Shades, Selah,” Demyan said. He didn’t dare have Ludwik let go of the rope yet. “Draw them. Now. And where are Chares and Sanel?”

The dark skinned woman frowned, flicking her wand to draw closed the curtains on all the shop windows- deliberately heavy blackout curtains, which could easily be excused with the entirely true justification that some potions required absolute darkness to properly prepare. Lighting the tip of her wand to illuminate the room she replied, “Chares is out in the ghetto. Sanel’s upstairs cleaning.” Glancing at the girl, she quirked an eyebrow. “This the new one?”

“She’s called Ceely,” Demyan said by way of answer. “She’s Macarinthian. Twelve-years-old. We bought her for fifteen crowns.” He gulped. “Probably would have been more, had she not been so boldly defiant on the auction block.”

“I can hear every word you’re saying y’know,” the girl hissed.

“Yes, we do know,” Selah remarked, sounding amused and impressed. “Twelve is… very young. But she’s clearly got a lot of spirit.”

“She spat in Demyan’s face,” Ludwik remarked with a slight smirk. “I think you’ll like her, Selah.”

“And,” Demyan added, “I don’t think she’s one for the reserved approach, Selah. We won’t get anywhere that way. Not given her… disposition.”

“If you’re gonna flog me just do it,” the girl said, her voice very tired and jaded.

“Nobody said anything about flogging you, Ceely,” Selah replied. To Demyan and Ludwik she gave an accepting gesture. “Alright. I trust your judgement. Give her the truth.”

Ludwik sighed, relief written all over his face. To Ceely, in clear unaccented Macarinthian, he said, “The truth is that we need your help, Ceely. And if you can help us, we’re going to get you home.”

The girl recoiled, her blackened eyes bulging with shock, as Demyan smoothly continued for his brother, “I’m not going to tell you our real names, in case something were to go wrong-- that’s information that’s safer for you not to have. What I will tell you is that Ludwik, Selah, and I are soldiers from Macarinth and Valzaim. We’re here to gather information… and to get people like you home. We’re not going to flog you, Ceely-- not ever. You do need to listen to us, because it’s very dangerous if you don’t. But you are not our slave. Okay?”

The girl was quivering now, and she backed up a step, shaking her head. “Y-you’re lying. You’re lying. It’s another trick, another s-stupid Meltaiman trick to get me to obey. But I won’t!”

“It’s not a trick, honey,” Ludwik replied gently. He reached up to his sleeve, pulling it back to show her the small silver bracelet there, etched with runes. He nodded to Demyan, who wordlessly echoed the movement. The girl swallowed hard, tears pricking at her eyes.

“J-just… just like Nathan and Traherne’s…” she whimpered.

“Is that your brother and his partner, sweetheart?” Demyan murmured. Dear lord, how much she reminded him of his own daughter, Theia, who was nearly the same age. He wanted desperately to fold her into a hug, but the man didn’t dare. “It is just like theirs,” he went on. “Ludwik and I are bonded partners. We’re officers in the Macarinthian army. Your army, Ceely. That means we’re sworn to protect people like you.” He took a step toward her, very gingerly, and held his hand out. “Please, honey, I know it’s hard, but can you trust us? I promise, it’s not a trick. And you can help us so much, Ceely, as we do our job here. And then at the end, we’re going to take you home.”

The girl was shaking harder, tears flowing freely down her bruised cheeks. “Th-they took him. Nathan and our sister Jess and Nathan’s partner Traherne. Nat was… was j-just six, and Traherne was nine and they, they broke it, h-he was s-screaming until they d-drugged him but then they took me away and, and I didn’t see what happened after a-and-”

The girl moaned, sliding down to her knees and sobbing brokenly. Demyan, feeling nearly as stricken as she looked, hesitated for a moment before crouching in front of her, quietly drawing his wand and flicking it once to dissolve the magically-borne ropes that bound her. Then, very tentatively, he reached his arms toward her, his touch gentle but firm as he drew the miserable child against his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Ceely,” he said, smoothing her buttercream hair. “I’m so sorry. But you’re safe with us now, okay? We’re going to take care of you, and protect you with our lives. I promise you, honey. On my honour and faith as a man of the feather.”

The little girl didn’t resist, going limp into Demyan’s arms. “P-Papa w-w-was a soldier t-too. A s-s-sergeant. Nathan k-kept talking about how he was g-g-gonna come get us, and I wanted to believe it. But, but after a year, nobody came. And it’s been o-over t-t-two and I don’t know if Jess and Nat and Traherne are alive or dead or wh-what and I j-just wanted to d-die!”

“That must have been very scary, Ceely,” Demyan soothed, rocking her as one might a hysterical toddler. “I can’t imagine how awful it’s all been for you. But we’re here now, okay? Nobody is going to hurt you anymore. I promise. You don’t have to put on a surly face, you don’t have to be afraid of getting whipped, or sold, or… any of that. We’re going to work to get you home just as soon as we can, but while we’re still here, you’re safe with us.” He looked up toward Ludwik. “Right, Luddy?”

“Absolutely,” Ludwik said firmly. Reluctantly he added in Meltaiman, “But nobody here can know who we are, you understand Ceely? And Selah is from Valzaim, she doesn’t speak Macarinthian. So even if you don’t like it, you need to speak Meltaiman, alright? And when other people are around, you have to pretend you’re our slave.”

Ceely looked up at Selah, biting her lip, but gave a reluctant nod. “What do I gotta do? To… to help?”

“First, we need you to tell us as much as you can about everything you’ve seen in Meltaim since you were abducted, as much as you can remember,” Selah said. “After that, mostly we’ll need you to just… keep an ear open. Whenever we go places. Listen, and remember everything you hear. Sometimes we may send you on special errands, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

The girl swallowed hard, and nodded. Turning to Demyan she murmured, “Can… can we stay like this? While I tell you? I just…” She sniffled, her eyes glimmering again. “I miss my Papa.”

“I’ll do you one better, hon,” Demyan told her. “What if we go upstairs to the flat, and we can get you washed up and all your bruises healed? And then…” He smiled, stroking the girl’s damp cheek. “You can borrow a nice nightdress from Selah. It’ll be big on you, but that makes it cozier, right? And we can sit on the comfy sofa while you talk. With hot tea and a fire in the hearth. How does that sound, Ceely?”

The girl gave a wobbly, tentative upwards turn of her mouth. It didn’t quite get to the point of being what the soldiers would have called a smile- Ludwik wondered if after all this time in Meltaim the girl even remembered how to properly make that expression- but she nestled her forehead against Demyan’s chest and murmured, “Okay,” in a voice that was thick with tears, but also with profound relief.

“I’ll draw her a warm bath,” Selah said, turning towards the stairs that led up into the flat. “Ludwik, you and Sanel see if you can’t get something warm going for her to eat.”

“Sure,” Ludwik agreed. He glanced down at his partner. “I would say you should stay with her until the bath is ready, but I don’t think she’s going to give you a choice, eh?”

Demyan chuckled. “Perfectly alright with me,” he said. Then, to the child: “I’m so glad we found you today, Ceely.”

Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

“Are you alright, Ludwik?” Demyan asked three days later, as he and his partner lay in the stiff bed they shared in one of the flat’s two cramped bedrooms, the space pitch black save for the pallid moonlight that snaked in through the window. “You’ve been tossing and turning for hours,” he added. “And here I thought we’d sleep better now that we finally got Sanel and Chares spending their nights in a tenement in the ghetto. And we don’t have them loudly snuffling and snoring on the other side of the wall, all sprawled out on our nice couches.”

Ludwik winced- he really should’ve expected his partner to notice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you up. I’ve just been… thinking. Or I suppose ‘brooding’ is probably more accurate.”

“About what?” Demyan asked-- though all the gods knew, in Meltaim there was certainly no shortage of options. “Ceely seemed cheerier today, at least. I’m not sure Selah is all that thrilled having to share a bed with her for the foreseeable future since the kid’s far too young to have her sleeping in the tenement with Sanel and Chares... but she actually smiled tonight, Luddy. When I told her one of my stupid jokes.”

“She clings to you like a tick,” Ludwik mused. “Hopefully she’ll stop waking up in a panic soon thinking this has all been a dream. But it’s… about one of the things she told us. About how the Melaimans are apparently splitting up the pair bonds between Macarinthian children. I didn’t even think it was possible to do that.”

Demyan winced automatically; of all the things Ceely had told them over the past few days-- every horror ladled upon worse horror-- this was the one that had been most eating at him, too. “I can’t even imagine,” he murmured, turning on his side to look at his partner through the inky dark. “Those poor boys. It must have been agonizing.”

“It hurt enough when we were little and apart by a single bloody room,” Ludwik agreed. “But to have it forcibly torn apart? The spells bind our magic. Our psyches. It’d be like… like how your grandpa described it after his partner died, but worse because they were still alive and that connection is just gone.”

“And I doubt they’ll ever let the boys see each other again, either,” Demyan said grimly. “They tore them apart like… like you’d sell off puppies from a litter. It makes me sick.” He gritted his teeth. “I wish we could save them-- but I doubt they’re here in Lilia. So we can’t. And even if we could… I doubt there’s any repairing it. The bond. Not when it was shattered like that. There’d be nothing left to repair.”

“And I doubt you could start it over from scratch either,” Ludwik said, clenching his teeth. “I can only imagine tearing it in the first place does… irreversible damage. Their magic likely wouldn’t be able to sustain the bond a second time. I just…” Abruptly, the darker haired man hissed and pressed his face against Demyan’s shoulder. “It would’ve gutted me when we were their ages. After a year I couldn’t even imagine life without you, without that unspoken link between us.”

“I know.” Demyan sighed heavily. “They’re animals, Luddy. What they do to people here… without any regard for their well-being…” He swallowed hard. “Before we came here, I knew it would be daunting. Grim. How many times did the high command tell us we had to steel ourselves, that we had to stay strong? But it’s still…. I don’t even know. I feel like we’re trying to bail out a sinking ship with just our hands. We saved Ceely, and I’m so relieved we did. But we can’t reach her brother, or her brother’s partner. We have no idea what happened to her sister Jess. For every fire we put out, there are hundreds-- thousands-- still blazing around us, and absolutely nothing we can do about them.”

“And it’s been going on for so long,” the darker haired man snarled. “But only just now is something drastic being done about it. Toby’s daughter shouldn’t have had to go through what she did. It should’ve been addressed decades ago.”

“Are you questioning the wise kings Nereus and Aedan?” Demyan chuckled very, very grimly. “I think I’ve always known that it’s bad. But until we got here… I guess it just seemed-- rote. A problem, yes, but in the same way that… I don’t know, Synedonese war lords are a problem. But being a part of it? Meeting the people who’ve been turned into slaves because of it?” He reached down toward Ludwik’s wrist, draping his fingers over it. “Ceely could be Theia. Or Allegra. Or any of the kids we love. And she’s been treated like a piece of livestock.”

“At least Synedonese warlords only take territory and kill active combatants,” Ludwik murmured. “They don’t try to brainwash innocent children and beat them bloody. Ceely… you heard her, Demyan. That day when we brought her back to the shop. She was suicidal. She was acting out so badly because she just wanted us to get angry enough to write her off.”

“I know,” Demyan said, cringing. “If we hadn’t gone to the auction that day… if someone else had bought her…” The prospect made him want to vomit. He had no doubt a true Meltaiman buyer would have had Ceely quivering on the floor by now in a bloody, beaten heap. “I know our mission’s important. That we have to stay… focused, that we can’t let emotions get the best of us. But when I look at Ceely, and all I can see staring back at me is Theia…”

“I see the same,” his partner said, Ludwik putting up a hand to Demyan’s arm and squeezing it. “When you were out in the shop earlier today, Ceely told me something. You know that term that keeps coming up? The ‘bleeders’, the slaves who are used for blood magic and Meltaiman religious ceremonies?”

“Yes. It’s barbaric.”

“Well apparently, because the theft of the mage children is a so called Gods’ Campaign, the emperor of Meltaim wants to make sure his gods are kept happy so their Campaigns will succeed. Earlier today, in the square, someone used a term I’d never heard before. ‘Rytuał czternastu.’ I asked Ceely, and she told me it means ‘Rite of Fourteen.’ It’s a religious ceremony that involves making fourteen cuts on a bleeder- seven on each arm. To kill them, Demyan. The Meltaimans don’t just bleed people, they practice human sacrifice.”

Demyan wished he were more surprised than he was, but after all that he’d seen in Meltaim over the past month… the way the kingdom of zealous mages gave so little regard to the sanctity of human dignity and life… “Y-you wrote that down?” he murmured-- the only thing he could bring himself to say. “In our ledger box?” Since they were unable to make active reports during their stay in Meltaim, they’d been ordered by the high command to keep intricately detailed notes, the sheafs kept carefully hidden in a magelocked box beneath the floorboards.

“I did,” he agreed grimly. “But it’s not just that these rites exist. The Meltaiman emperor apparently has a standing call for more of them because of the Gods’ Campaigns. He’s offering rewards to anyone who sacrifices a bleeder. That’s why the one we saw at the auction was so Woo-cursed expensive, Demyan, the bleeders are… dying out, practically.”

“And so,” Demyan murmured, “they’ll have to make more of them, won’t they? Steal more nonmages. Convert the ones they do have into bleeders.” He no longer felt sick-- only very, very cold, and exhausted as all hells. “I th-think we just have to keep our eye on the finish line, Ludwik,” he said after a few moment of quiet. “Remember our end point. What we’re working for. Even if it’s hard… even if we want to scream in the meanwhile… it’ll be worth it, won’t it? If we come back with a treasure trove of information. E-enough to nudge both Valzaim and Macarinth in the right direction-- the one they should have started toward ages ago.”

Ludwik sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. And at least in the meantime there’s still Ceely. Her story is awful, and what she’s been through makes me want to stab something, but watching her relax in front of the fire, or devour a bowl of stew like she hasn’t seen proper food in months…”

“She can be our reminder,” Demyan said softly. “Every time she smiles at us, or giggles like a child should...” He turned onto his back, emerald eyes cast toward the plaster ceiling above. “Even if we can’t fix everything, we’re still making a difference to her. And we can’t forget how important that is.”

“Even if it’s just one life we save… that’s one life more than there would’ve been otherwise,” Ludwik agreed.

***

Outside, the snow was coming down again, a biting wind serving to disperse the falling flakes into a blinding, crystalline mist. “I thought the blizzard was over,” Demyan murmured as he glanced out the flat’s picture window, which overlooked the street below-- or would have, anyway, had it not been for the blowing snow. Suddenly, he laughed. “And to think the few customers that staggered in earlier before I gave up and closed shop were complaining about the streets not being cleared already. They’re in for a nasty surprise now, aren’t they?” As a gust of wind rattled the window, Demyan shifted on the sofa where he sat, readjusting the wool blanket that was spread over his lap-- and Ceely’s. “Want more cider, hon?” he asked her. “We can heat some up for you.”

The young girl smiled, absently tracing the wood grain of the empty mug in her hands with a fingernail. “Yes, please. You make it really good. Better’n the tavern back home even. What’s in it?”

Selah, who was stoking the fire, glanced around with a warm smile. “The apple flavor isn’t all- there’s pomegranates, raspberries, and whole cloves boiled in the mix, as well as the usual cinnamon and nutmeg. My father taught me the recipe when I was not much older than you are now.”

“And the whisky always helps,” Demyan added with a smirk, unflappable even as Selah rolled her eyes at him. He ruffled the little girl’s white-blond hair. “Just kidding. No whisky for you, Ceely. Although…” His amused gaze danced toward Ludwik, who had nodded off on the sofa kitty-corner to the one he sat on with Ceely. “Prod him awake for me, will you, Sanel?” he prompted the young blank, who was sitting beside Ludwik with a mug of his own. “If he naps now, he’ll never sleep tonight.”

“Yessir,” Sanel replied, reaching over to give Ludwik’s shoulder a gentle shake. When there was no response, the private shook Ludwik a little harder, making the older Macarinthian flinch and blink groggily. Sanel grinned. “I think the trip into town for groceries in the wind tuckered him out.”

“Poor little rascal.” Demyan chuckled, giving Ludwik a brief wave as their eyes met. “Hi there, brother. Say…” He gently relieved Ceely of the empty mug in her hand. “Care to get a thirsty little girl another cup of cider? I’d offer, but I’m so toasty warm, it’d be a shame. Right, Ceely?”

Ludwik groaned. “You’re lucky that girl is in your lap or I’d be forced to throw a pillow at you for waking me up to run your errands.”

“You two are funny,” Ceely announced brightly, as Selah finished at the fire and sat down on a nearby loveseat. “Like real brothers who fight sometimes and are mean to each other. But still friends.”

“Yes, see, you get it.” Demyan grinned. “I torment him out of love.” He winked at the girl. “At least I’ve got someone on my side. Someone who sees the truth.”

“No, you just corrupted that poor child with your smotherings of paternal affection,” Ludwik retorted. Nevertheless he stood, stretching with a yawn. “I’ll go get the cider then, may as well make some for myself as well while I’m up.”

The dark haired Macarinthian started towards the kitchen area, but paused with a slight frown to glance around the room again. “...Didn’t Chares leave before I did? The ‘Pit is he, has he still not gotten back yet?”

“No, he hasn’t,” Selah confirmed grimly. “And I am going to tan his hide if he doesn't have a very good explanation for being almost two hours late.”

“And the snow’s gotten so much worse,” Demyan added, flicking another glance toward the rattling window. “What’s he even doing? I told him to see if he couldn’t chat up any of the blank work crews out shoveling the mess-- not to run laps around the city.” Readjusting his hold on Ceely, he added, “Woo, if he got lost because of the storm, he’s in for it. He’s a soldier-- he should have known to abort and head home the second it started getting bad.”

Ceely shrunk into Demyan’s hold, her brown eyes going wide. “You… you d-don’t really…”

“Hm?” Demyan knitted his brow, puzzlement sliding over him. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“T-t-tan his hide, that m-means you’re g-gonna flog him,” the child whimpered. “You promised, you said-”

“It’s a figure of speech, honey,” Selah put in quickly. “But listen- Sanel and Chares are soldiers. If they mess up, we might have to punish them, and the mission is very, very dangerous, so we’d probably punish them pretty harshly. But that doesn’t mean we’d do the same to you, okay? When you sassed Demyan last week, what happened?”

“He scrubbed my mouth,” the girl recalled with a disgusted scowl. “With soap. It tasted awful.”

“And when you whined to Ludwik about how you didn’t want to take over sweeping the shop while Sanel went out to tail a rich customer?”

“He pulled my ear,” Ceely said.

“Right,” Demyan said, smoothing her hair. “You’re not a soldier, Ceely-- you’re a child. And so when you’re naughty, we’re going to punish you, just like we’d punish any child. But we’re not going to treat you as we do Sanel and Chares. That wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“Not that I would particularly like to be flogged,” Sanel put in, his expression somewhere between exasperated and unnerved at the direction of the conversation. “But I’m a grownup, and I’m a soldier. I signed up for this. It’s not the same as beating a slave.”

“Well just now it’s not you who is under threat, so you can stop cringing, private,” Selah said crisply.

As Ludwik poured a mug of cider for both himself and Ceely, Demyan sighed. “I do hope Chares is alright, though. It’s got to be slick as an ice rink out there. If he’s not back soon, we should probably think about tracking the idiot.”

Fortunately, before Demyan and the others felt impelled to brave the snowstorm in order to hunt down the renegade Valzick, they heard footsteps thumping against the steps that led from the apothecary’s lower level up to the flat above. All eyes leapt on the door as they heard someone pressing their hand against the magelock outside, which was set only to open to the touches of the five soldiers and Ceely; moments later, the door yawned inward, and Chares-- soaking wet and covered head to toe in snowflakes-- stepped into the apartment.

“Chares,” Demyan greeted coolly, narrowing his eyes as he gently shifted Ceely out of his lap. Standing, he took a step toward the dark-skinned teenager. “Had a fun time out in the blizzard, did you?”

“Um.” Chares faltered as he pulled off his soaked wool gloves and wrung the water from his dreadlocked hair. “N-no, sir. I wouldn’t call it… fun, sir.”

Selah came up beside Demyan, folding her arms. As Ludwik flicked his wand to safely shut the door again, she hissed, “You are two and a half hours late, private. Care to explain why you thought it was a good idea to lollygag about? We don’t have the resources to track you down every time you come up AWOL because you decided to take a catnap in a teashop.”

“I-I wasn’t napping, ma’am,” Chares stammered, his dark complexion gone ashen. “I meant to come back on time. But then… then…”

“Out with it, Chares,” Demyan snapped.

“I was trying to talk to the w-work crews, sir. As ordered. Most of them wouldn’t give me the time of day, and I was just about to h-head back when I met an older man. He was working on his own, away from the larger groups, and we got to talking.” Chares gulped, his throat bobbing. “He was nice to m-me. Said I reminded him of his son, his h-half-Valzick son, and--” The private steeled himself. “Anyway. That’s not the interesting part. The interesting part is where he used to work. Before he got sold to the city and put on a work crew.”

“Oh?” Ludwik said from his place by the small kettle of cider. “And where would that have been?”

“The manor,” Chares said. “Count Zielony’s manor. And he mentioned something to me. Said he thought I’d find it interesting because I’m from Valzaim.” The boy tugged off his sodden cloak, hanging it on a hook near the door. “A bit before the old man was sold off, Count Zielony came into possession of a child. A mage child. With skin and hair just as dark as mine.”

“Hm.” Selah’s eyes narrowed, calculation evident in her expression. “Could easily be native-born to Meltaim. A child of Valzick blanks.”

Chares shook his head. “The old man didn’t think so. Not based on the way the little boy would occasionally start jabbering in a language that definitely wasn’t Meltaiman. The count would always hurry him off quickly at this, but…”

“But a native-born Meltaiman child wouldn’t know any other language,” Demyan finished for him. “No Valzick blank would dare teach them.”

“O-one of the Gods’ Campaign kids?” Ceely warbled, peeking over the back of the couch. “Like N-Nathan and Traherne?”

“It must be, little one,” Ludwik agreed. “We’ve been trying to find anyone in town who might have one of the Campaign children- it seems we’ve found our first.”

“The boy’s five,” Chares said. “Maybe six. His Meltaiman name is Miron, though of course I doubt that’s what he’s really called. He arrived in the count’s custody about… seven, eight months ago.” The teenager worried at his chapped, wind-bitten lip. “The old man said the boy cried all the time.”

Demyan inhaled sharply, his gut prickling. “Get off all your soaked outer-garments,” he ordered. “Then sit up close to the fire to dry off.” He paced over toward the the back wall, crouching in front of the floorboard under which they had the ledger books hidden. “I want to log this now. Before you forget anything. Selah, Ludwik, you want to write or shall I?”

“I’ll log it,” Selah said. “You and Ludwik quiz him while I write. Sanel, take Ceely down into the brewing room, it should be near as warm as in here with that headache potion simmering in the cauldron.”

Ceely balked. “But I wanna hear-”

“Do as you’re told, Ceely,” Demyan cut in. He gestured curtly for Sanel to stand. “Take her downstairs. And if she keeps giving you sass, you can reacquaint her mouth with soap.”

Ceely puffed out her cheeks sullenly, but nonetheless allowed Sanel to tow her down the stairs. Selah accepted their current ledger book from Demyan, then began to scrawl, muttering out loud as she did so.

“December fourth… 1327… Private Kóptis interview with blank road crewmen, former employee of Count Zielony. Blank reports presence of Valzick descent mage child in House Zielony custody, speaking unknown language presumed Valzick. Suspected victim of the Gods’ Campaigns. Detailed questioning as follows-” she looked up then, nodding to Demyan and Ludwik. “I’m ready, go ahead.”

***

The February day was frigid but mercifully free of snow, the sky above a wash of silver as an anemic sun shone overhead. Chares stifled a yawn as he swept the apothecary storefront, careful not to jostle any of the shelves of delicate jars and vials-- but nearly failing at this when he jumped at the sound of the bell jangling overhead. His dark eyes snapped toward the door.

“Your master, boy,” huffed a baritone voice, the customer not even waiting for the door to thump shut behind him before he stamped the ice from his boots and tugged off his white fur hat. Even swaddled beneath many layers it was clear he was well-put together, his gray eyes sharp and posture confident, his free hand snared around that of a young girl. It wasn’t the child, however, that sent a flare of panic sparking in Chares, but rather, the contingent of three armour-clad individuals who trailed the pair. Knights?

“S-sir,” Chares managed, heart humming in his throat.

“Fetch your master for me,” the customer snapped, not letting go of the child’s hand. “At once.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Chares gulped, making a beeline for the backroom where Ludwik was presently tending the various potions they had brewing. “I’ll get him for you now.” He rested the broom against the wall as he slipped through the doorway, the back separated from the main shop-floor by a swinging door. “Master. A customer for you.”

Ludwik, having heard the bell already, was putting aside the stirrer for the potion he was brewing. He nodded, smoothing his sleeves to make sure his conduit bracelet was completely hidden before he emerged into the storefront. Chares lingered behind, as if he didn’t have the courage to face the bristling customer again.

“Welcome to Aptekarz’s Herbals and Elixirs,” Ludwik said, his voice cheery and polite as any professional merchant. When he caught sight of the customers, and the knights accompanying them, he hastily bowed and tacked on, “How can I be of assistance, my lord?”

A humourless smile ticked at the man’s lips. “You know who I am, then?” he inquired-- before sharply flicking his gaze toward the child as she tugged against his grip. “Enough, Dalia. You promised you’d be good if I took you with me.”

Ludwik’s eyes flicked to the girl as she murmured, “Sorry Papa.” The Macarinthian couldn’t help but notice that, while the man had hair as black as ebony, his apparent daughter had locks a silvery shade of ash blonde. Logging this fact in his head, he bobbed another polite bow, cheerily cooing, “Well, how could I possibly mistake you, Count Zielony? I doubt any in all of Lilia could have so fine a bearing and impressive a company. You honor our humble apothecary with your presence.”

Ludwik might have been immensely nervous that the count was waltzing into their store personally, but the little girl’s presence all but negated any chance this visit was about arresting renegade foreigners. But it did beg the question, if Zielony wasn’t here because he’d found the spies out, what in the ‘Pit was he doing in a nothing shop in an unassuming part of the city?

“Good,” the noble rasped. “If you know who I am, then you’ll know not to give me the runaround.” He pursed his lips, studying the array of shelves before him. “My son, Miron, has been suffering from debilitating headaches. We’ve healers at the manor, of course, but they’ve been about as useless as blanks. I sent them scouring the apothecaries of Lilia, and they returned with nothing of use. Frustrated, I decided to take matters into my own hands-- if they’re so incompetent, I might as well do it myself, no?” He shrugged, finally releasing young Dalia’s hand as he took a step forward to mindlessly pore over a display of sleeping draughts. “A great deal of meandering and legwork led me here. Word about town is that your shop sports a number of exotic blends that aren’t found elsewhere. Concoctions you learned up in Lyse, I’ve heard?”

Miron. The Valzick child that Chares had heard about. Trying not to betray his recognition, Ludwik let his brow furrow with his sincere concern for the child. “Certainly, and I’d be happy to recommend something, Count Zielony, if you will but humor me to answer a few questions about the young lord’s symptoms. I can better prescribe a remedy if I know more of what precisely the problem is.”

“Alright.” Zielony shrugged, a careful eye on Dalia as the girl wandered toward a shelf bearing fragrant balms meant to calm one’s nerves. The scents ranged from lavender to honey. “Anything you need to know.”

Ludwik wracked his brains for what he remembered of chronic headaches and their causes while he was living part time with the Azraels. “How frequently would you say he suffers the headaches? And how debilitating are they, on a scale of an irritating distraction to being completely laid out in bed?”

“He gets them a few times a week,” Zielony said. “They’re… brutal. He cries, saying that the light hurts his eyes, that he’s dizzy, that he’s going to throw up. None of the traditional remedies seem to work, so most of the time he just ends up in bed with my wife and me. All we can do is hold him close until it eases. It breaks my heart.”

“Light-sensitive? And nausea. That sounds like…” Ludwik folded his arms, his brow furrowed. “Have you ever noticed anything seeming to be wrong with his eyes, an hour or two before the headaches start? Him blinking or rubbing them, complaining of spots or zigzag patterns he can’t properly explain? Or numbness in his fingers?”

“He tells me he sees… blurs, but I’ve never entirely understood what he means.” Zielony moved to examining a bin of medicinal tea sachets. “He’s started to panic whenever he does. Because he knows what’s coming.”

“Dazzle-headaches,” Ludwik said. “That’s what Mother used to call them, anyway. Because of the light sensitivity and the odd visual auras. No wonder they’re giving your healers trouble, they’re very difficult to treat because it’s hard to pin down what’s triggering them. Sometimes eating something in particular can set one off, sometimes dehydration, other times it’s simple stress. I presume you’ve already tried teas, and balms or vapors of peppermint or lavender?”

“Yes,” the count confirmed. “And what feels like every headache potion there is.” He wagged a finger at Dalia as the girl carefully unscrewed the lid on one of the scented balms. “Don’t touch, sweetheart. You can smell them, but no dipping in your fingers.”

“Fortunately, I have a few recommendations for preventative measures, and a potion that Mother used to prepare especially for dazzle-headaches,” Ludwik said cheerfully, relieved that he did in fact have just that. He turned towards the shelf behind the counter, adding, “We only have one vial premade because it’s in fairly low demand, but I can easily have another batch ready to be delivered to your manor by the morrow.”

He found what he was looking for, and turned to present it to the count- a pinkish-white potion in a small glass vial. “This is a potion made from an extract of butterbur,” he explained. “Sovereign for treating dazzle headaches. I’d also advise you start keeping a journal of anything he eats, for a week or two, to see if there is any consistent food that might be triggering him. And this will sound strange but- watermelons. If it’s a chronic dehydration issue, getting small children to drink a lot of water can be challenging, but supplementing their regular meals with watermelon helps enormously.”

“Watermelon?” Zielony quirked a brow. “Well, it’d be hard to get this time of year, but I could figure something out. And at this point, I’m willing to try anything.” He sighed. “Thank you for your advice. I’ll be in your debt if it works, Master… Aptekarz, it is?”

“Ludwik Aptekarz, at your service, my lord,” he replied with a bow. “Will you like the potion then, or would you prefer to try the preventatives without?”

“Give me all you’ve got,” Zielony said. “This isn’t an issue I’m going to scrimp and save on.” He turned toward Dalia, gesturing for her to join him as he started toward the counter. “Come on, honey. We’re paying now.”

Ludwik smiled at the girl, though it wasn’t without a threading of unease as he wondered just who she was- and who her real parents were. “I don’t blame her, we occasionally get people who come in after buying a balm or vapor for headaches or coughing and ask if we carry it as perfume as well. A lot of the herbal scents are nice even if you aren’t sick.” He set the vial down on the counter, carefully wrapping it up. “That will be four crowns for the vial, which has six doses- give him half a teaspoon and chase it with a full glass of water or tea. If you’d like us to brew you another batch, that will be an additional five crowns, that can be picked up or delivered for a convenience fee of two crowns.”

“I can send a courier to order more if it proves effective,” Zielony said. “And gods know, I hope it is.” He reached into his cloak pocket, pulling out a heavy leather purse. “Four crowns it is. Thank you, Master Aptekarz.”

“Papa?” the little girl said unexpectedly, gently tugging Zielony’s sleeve.

“Hm?” Zielony plucked out a pair of two-crown coins and handed them to Ludwik. “What is it, hon?”

“The balm that’s tied up with the dark green ribbon,” she said, her voice soft but hopeful. “It smells pretty. What’s that smell?”

Glancing towards the shelf, Ludwik supplied, “It’s pine. That balm and the corresponding vapor are for stress relief and can help improve concentration.”

“Can I have some, Papa?” Dalia asked. “Please?”

Zielony sighed, pursing his lips as he glanced down to meet his daughter’s clear blue eyes-- so different from his own, which were a dark, stormy gray that nearly looked black. “What if we strike a deal, love? You promise to be a good girl at Papa’s birthday feast next week, and not spend the whole time clinging to Mama’s skirts, and I’ll get you the balm.” He tenderly cupped her cheek in his hand. “Can you do that for me, Dalia? I think it’s a pretty good trade-off, hm?”

The girl bit her lip, but after a moment’s hesitation she nodded. “I’ll try, Papa. Just… all the people are scary.”

“I know, love. But you’re nearly eleven now, aren’t you? A big girl. I have faith in you being brave.” He smiled at her. “Papa will get the balm now, and you can have it after the feast, alright? If you’re good. It’ll be waiting for you on your pillow.”

She brightened, nodding. “Okay, Papa. Th-thank you.”

Ludwik glanced away, a gesture that seemed innocuous enough, but that his partner would have known instantly to mean he was troubled and trying to hide it. The reports from Chelsey had advertised the Melaiman lords as beating their adopted children into submission. Regardless of if this girl was a Campaign child, or a more conventional blank-born adoptee, she was clearly subject to no such thing. And on reflection, the way Zielony spoke of Miron also sounded like a legitimately concerned father. He would definitely need to talk to Selah and Demyan about this later…

Forcing the brooding thoughts away, he smiled at the count and the young girl. “The balm is two crowns, and if you’d like I can throw in a complimentary vial of the vapor for your son. If stress is causing his headaches it could be a boon to him as well.”

“Thank you, Master Aptekarz. Your generosity is appreciated.” The count inclined his head. “Go pick out a jar of the balm and tube of the vapor, Dalia. While Papa pays.”

Soon enough, his purchases wrapped in a prim cloth package that the Aptekarz reserved for what they’d assessed ‘high-value’ customers, the count, Dalia, and the knights departed back into the frosty February afternoon. Nearly as soon as the door swung shut behind them, Chares finally skulked out from the back room, the teenager fidgeting absently with his sleeve as he gazed out the front window to watch the noble party disappear down the cobbled street.

“Woo,” he breathed to Ludwik. “Was that really…?”

“Had to be,” Ludwik remarked. “Our dear friend the Count of Lilia. And it seems Miron isn’t the only adopted child living in his manor.” He cocked his head towards Chares. “Question is, is Dalia a Campaign child, or a Meltaiman-born blank’s kid? Her Meltaiman is impeccable, but who knows how long she’s been in the count’s custody.”

“If only we could casually start chattering in Macarinthian to her.” Chares sighed, picking up the broom from where he’d abandoned it against the wall. “It’s… progress at least, though. Right? Establishing a connection with the count-- Selah and Demyan will be thrilled once they get back from the auction-house.” A beat. “I wonder if they’ve found anything today. It’s getting so frustrating, that nothing’s worked out since Ceely. That was over three months ago, for Woo’s sake.”

Ludwik sighed heavily. “Slaves are expensive. And we’re smack in the middle of bloody nowhere, so foreign imports are exotic and will go for a premium, unless they’re problematic like Ceely was. On the bright side, the longer we go without being able to get anything, the more money we accrue for our next attempt, but I will be the first to admit this isn’t at all ideal.” He pursed his lips. “Still, you’re right. If the butterbur extract helps Miron, that gives us a guaranteed regular customer in the count. Dazzle-headaches are chronic, they never really get cured. You just have to manage them. It’s possible Miron will eventually outgrow them, but if he does it would be long after we’re out of Meltaim.”

“And he’s out of Meltaim, too,” Chares said firmly. “Back home in Valzaim where he belongs.”

Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

Selah and Demyan arrived home from the auction empty-handed yet again, though not for lack of trying: they’d lost two lots of what they believed to be Valzicks, outbid beyond the money in their pockets. Things didn’t improve much over the next month; soon the undercover soldiers were attending nearly every auction they could, as well as trawling the city marketplace for blanks being sold directly by their owners, with resoundingly little success. Every time they thought they’d found a prospect, the potential recruit somehow slipped through their fingers. It was beginning to grow a little maddening-- while Chares, Ceely, and Sanel had amassed a fair bit of intel through their legwork in the blank ghetto, as a whole they’d now spent five months in Meltaim with only one rescued blank to show for it, and beyond the count’s children, they’d not found any Gods’ Campaign mages, either.

“I thought we had that man,” Demyan huffed near the middle of March, as winter finally began to thaw into a balmy spring. He and Selah were making their way home from yet another failed round in the grandstands, where they’d come within moments of buying a twenty-something Valzick man before a new bidder had entered the fray and swallowed their pocketbooks whole. “I let myself get excited. And now instead, he’s going to some tailor from the River District.”

“He did that on purpose,” she hissed. “Waiting until the last minute to start bidding. Waited until the poorer or more tightfisted people bowed out of the running. And I swear the auctioneer is laughing at us.”

“Because we always lose,” Demyan groused. “We’re going to become a running joke of the bloody auction house.” He sighed gustily as they turned the corner onto the quiet street that housed the apothecary. “Hopefully Sanel remembered to stir the fever potions like we told him to. If they’ve gone thick, I’m going to gut him.”

Selah snorted. “At least it would be someone you can yell at without-”

“Master Demyan! Mistress Selah!”

Selah jumped, whirling to see Ceely bolting towards them, Chares not far behind. She skidded to a stop, bowing at the waist as they’d drilled into her to do when she approached them in public. Then she straightened, burbling, “You gotta come, please, you gotta come quick!”

“Calm down, Ceely.” Demyan’s voice was sharper than it would have been in private. “What’s wrong? Why are you dashing the streets like a runaway horse?”

Her voice falling to a hushed whisper, the girl hissed, “There’s a trader from the south, come set up a stand in the square. He’s sellin’ blanks. And, and one of ‘em, she looks s-seven, maybe eight? And she’s dark, like Mistress Selah and Chares. B-but the thing, the thing is, she doesn’t know Meltaiman. She didn’ even understand when the seller told her to turn around for somebody to see her back.”

“I told Ceely she’s too little,” Chares murmured. “That you don’t want any children who are too young to be… useful in your work, that even Ceely is borderline.” Much to the Macarinthian and Valzicks’ perpetual regret, this fact was true: little children were neither good secret-keepers nor good spies. And with stakes as high as they were, no matter how much they wanted to buy the youngest blank children, it was simply too massive a risk to run. “And don’t run off from me, Ceely. When we’re out, you need to stay at my side. You’re not allowed out alone for a reason.”

“Sh-she’s new though,” the girl whimpered, tears pricking at her eyes. “She just got stolen, or she’d know Meltaiman, at least the basic commands. And, and the seller was sayin’ she just got her blank brand yesterday. Don’t you know what that means?”

Selah rubbed her face, her voice irritable for the sake of anyone listening in despite her sincere sorrow over the situation. “Ceely, look-”

“It means,” she hissed, her voice barely audible, “you can still take it off!”

“No, Ceely,” Demyan said. “The blank brand is permanent, it doesn’t come off--”

“Actually.” Chares chanced a wavering smile. “We um… overhead the seller. Chatting to a prospective buyer, just-- making small talk, you know. He casually mentioned-- in a sort of… ‘did you know?’ way-- that the brand hadn’t set yet.” The blank laugh bitterly. “He was actually offering to redo it for the woman, if she bought the girl. Since he said he’d stamped it crooked.”

Demyan clenched his jaw. As a mother and young child moseyed past down the lane, he held his breath, swallowing back his words until they’d ducked into a nearby bakery. “We can’t,” he murmured, not without considerable regret. “She’s too young-- we… can’t.”

Tears pooled in Ceely’s eyes and she sniffed. “Please!” she warbled. “Y-you… you gotta. She’s scared and al-lone a-a-and you said it w-was your sworn duty. Please! You, you can keep her in the back, so she doesn’t talk to nobody-”

“Ceely.” There was knot in Demyan’s throat, and his gut prickled with guilt, but he knew he couldn’t allow this public tantrum to persist a moment longer. Gently but very firmly, he closed his hand over the girl’s bicep. “Take her back to the apothecary, Chares,” he said, nudging her toward the teenager. “Put her upstairs. I don’t want her around any possible customers for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, master,” Chares said, sighing as he reached for the child’s hand. “Come on, Ceely. Let’s go.”

Ceely clenched her eyes shut, allowing Chares to tow her away but hissing a soft, “I hate you!” as she did. The flood of regret rising ever-higher within him, Demyan swallowed hard and merely watched as Chares tugged the girl into the apothecary, the door thumping shut behind them. As much as he wanted to chase after the pair and lambast Ceely for speaking Macarinthian in public, Demyan couldn’t muster the will. Not when, in a lot of ways, he hated himself right now, too.

“Sometimes when you’re living with monsters,” he murmured, leaning very close to Selah so that there was no chance of being overheard, “it’s hard to remember you’re not one of them. Especially when things like… this happen.” He winced, drawing back. “That little child is somebody’s baby, Selah.”

“I know,” she whispered back, her eyes filming. “You think I don’t know? I told you I’ve lost family to the raids, Demyan. Every time I see a little child getting smacked or striped I want to cleave the head of the person doing it. But… what can we do? We can’t even save a twenty-year-old man from the auction block.”

“I wish we could… figure something out.” Taking a few steps off the road, Demyan slumped against the brick exterior of a shuttered butcher’s shop. “Buy the little ones, and-- not tell them anything, and… house them in the ghetto and have Chares and Sanel mind them, since they sleep there anyway. But…” He laughed grimly. “That’s not a good use of our resources, is it?” Demyan raked an agitated hand through his light blond hair. “I hate this, Selah.”

“So do I,” she said bitterly. After a moment of silence, she ventured, “Perhaps… we should at least take a look. At the stand. There might be... older blanks who can help us.”

“Right.” Demyan straightened. “M-might as well. After our miserable defeat at the auction block.” And, he thought but didn’t dare voice aloud, maybe if we manage to save someone Ceely won’t hate us quite so much.

At the bustling market square, though, a quick scan of the claustrophobic corner that was set aside for slave sales revealed no perfect solution waiting for them. There were only a few sellers who’d set up shop today, most of them laypeople who merely didn’t wish to go through the hassle-- and fees-- of selling their personal blanks at the auction house. The trader Ceely had talked about was immediately evident amongst the amateurs, with a clump of a dozen blanks daisy-chained together at his booth as opposed to the mere one or two slaves the novices each sported. Four of them were children, the other eight adults. Only the little girl looked outwardly foreign.

“Greetings, master, madam.” The trader smiled broadly as Selah and Demyan approached, his crooked teeth as discolored as a tea-stained white linen tablecloth. “How are you this fine spring day?”

“Fine, thank you,” Selah replied cooly, her expression neutral as she appraised the blanks. “My brother and I run an apothecary in town, and we were rather hoping to find a servant to help us ah… work the kinks out of some new brews, if you catch my meaning.”

“Ahhh, of course, of course,” the man said. “Have you any preferences with regards to age, height, weight, sex? I know potions are fiddly things, so I wouldn’t want to recommend the wrong servant for your needs!”

Demyan shrugged, taking a step forward to study the blanks closer. Several of them shrunk away from him, including all the children, and his heart tugged. “I’m not sure,” he said blandly. His eyes met the little Valzick girl’s, her dark pupils bearing into his like hooks. “This one foreign or just born of blanks? And what about the rest-- they Meltaiman-born?”

“They’re all Meltaiman born, save the dark girl,” the trader answered. “Sadly the dear doesn’t yet speak a lick of the holy tongue, but she’s young enough I imagine she’d learn quickly. And she’s a blank slate as well, you can teach her whatever you’d like her to know for practically any task.” He approached the child, putting a firm, possessive hand on her shoulder and making her whimper. “Nothing but potential, is my dear little Chryssa.”

Selah inhaled sharply, her jaw clenching and her eyes fixing on the little girl. Chryssa? Woo, she knew it was a very common Valzick name, but what the ‘Pit where the odds? She looked up to Demyan, who was clearly struggling back a shocked expression of his own, his voice barely level as he asked the trader, “Chryssa? That’s her name?”

“So she told the border guard who sold her to my company,” the man said with a smile. “Less a bugger to pronounce than a lot of Valzick names, which is a blessing when you’re trying to get a servant’s attention. And she’s quite docile- doesn’t speak the language but if you can get her to understand what it is you want, she’s as meek as a newborn lamb about obeying.”

“I… see.” Demyan thought his heart might explode out his chest, and he couldn’t make himself look at Selah as despite all logic he found himself murmuring, “And how much were you thinking for her, sir?”

Selah’s throat bobbed, and she wanted to object. To glare at Demyan and make some cutting comment about how they needed proper servants, not children. But when Chryssa looked up at the Valzick soldier, and Selah caught a glimpse of the terrified amber-brown eyes under her off-center blank brand, she couldn’t.

Oblivious, the trader cheerily said, “Well, imports are a bugger to get up here, and she’s got a great disposition. But since she’s not trained nor does she know any commands yet except ‘come here’ and ‘lay down’ I’m willing to offer a discount. Shall we say… eighteen crowns? I’ll fix the blank-brand for you free of charge.”

He could have been selling them a puppy, but Demyan tried not to betray too much disgust-- or excitement over the price, which was far lower than he’d expected. But still higher, he knew, than he should pay for a child far too young to aid their mission’s prerogative; Woo, he shouldn’t spend a single crown on her, shouldn’t take her if she was offered for free. But as he watched her fidget in her chains… throating trembling… body shaking against the brisk March breeze…

“My sister and I,” he said softly, “could do fifteen, perhaps? And we won’t make you bother with the brand.” He glanced toward Selah, almost pleadingly. “Would that work for you?”

Selah took a deep breath, then murmured, “It could be useful. To have a little one for testing out potions and medicines for small children. Kids smaller than Ceely.”

“I’m certain the little girl would serve you quite well in that regard,” the trader crowed. “Very well then- fifteen crowns it is. If you’ll just fill out some paperwork for me I can turn the girl over to your custody.”

“Right,” Demyan murmured, at once giddy and horrified with himself. Woo, if General Norling could see him now! Doing everything they’d been told not to do. “My sister can count out the money; I’ll sign whatever paperwork you need.”

“Excellent, excellent,” the man said, drawing Demyan over to a table as Selah fished out the pouch of coins they’d brought for the failed auction. “Don’t forget to see a licensed city brander about her mutable brands within twenty-four hours of purchase.”

“We won’t,” Selah replied, watching as the trader cut Chryssa out of the line, dragging her by a rope around her neck towards the soldiers.

At once the child let out a sharp whimper. She tried to reach up toward the makeshift collar, as though to scrabble it away from her windpipe, but her hands were firmly bound at her waist and she couldn’t nearly reach it. “Please,” she choked out in Valzick. “Please, please, I’ll come, don’t pull--”

“Hush!” the trader snarled, giving the girl a hard slap on her left cheek. “Do not speak the devil’s tongue, brat, I’ve told you a thousand times!”

It took everything in Selah not to grab the man’s hand and hiss a dire threat at him as Chryssa let out a shocked sputter, tears springing from her honeyed eyes. As the trader bristled, Demyan made himself take a calming breath, slashing the final signature on the sheaf of parchment.

With all the cheer he could muster, he said, “She’s ours now, hm? No need to exhaust yourself disciplining her, sir. My sister and I can handle it from here on.”

The trader was all smiles again, nodding pleasantly as he offered Selah the end of the makeshift leash. “Of course, of course. Thank you very much for your business, and I hope you are satisfied with your purchase!”

“I’m sure we will be,” Selah replied, sweat stippling her forehead. Woo, they’d really done it. They’d just bought a small child who could offer them no practical help. Their commanding officers would kill them if they knew.

And yet when Selah looked down at this girl who had the same name as her older sister, who even now was trying to blink back tears of pain as her dark cheek swelled, the Valzick soldier could not regret it.

“Come on, Chryssa,” she said briskly, turning slowly enough so as not to yank the rope around the girl’s neck, but not so slowly as to make it obvious what she was doing.

The child nodded, falling obediently into step behind the mages as they began away from the stall. As they fell into the heavy crowd that milled about the central part of the square, with a twist of his gut Demyan realised that the little girl’s feet were bare, and in full daylight he could see that her wool dress was riddled with holes. Woo, she had to be freezing; March in Lilia was no balmy holiday.

“What are we going to say to Ludwik?” he murmured to Selah as they threaded back toward the shop. “He’s probably already put off after Chares dragged Ceely in and she was hysterical. Once we show up with this?”

“You know him best, Demyan,” she hissed back. “Do you really think he’ll be angry about this? The girl can’t be older than seven or so. How old did you say his boy was again?”

“He’ll be seven now.” Demyan sighed, shooting a glance back toward the girl, who looked so very small and fragile beneath the rope’s vise-like hold. “We don’t waste time justifying to Chares or Sanel, though. If they ask, if they try to challenge us… we put them in their place.”

“Chares won’t question it,” Selah said softly. “Trust me. I can’t speak for Sanel, but mark my words- Chares won’t breathe a word of objection.”

Demyan quirked a brow. “Well, if you’re sure, Selah. It’ll… certainly make things easier.”

At the shop, there was only a single customer on the floor, and Selah and Demyan patiently waited near the door for her to depart with her parcel full of headache balms before they dared breathe a word to Ludwik. Demyan could tell that his brother had seen the girl the moment they’d entered, though, his dark eyes latching with Demyan’s light ones, and the door had barely thumped shut behind the customer before the dark-haired mage quirked a weary eyebrow.

“That the one Ceely’s upstairs sobbing about?” he asked dryly. Selah winced.

“She is,” the Valzick confirmed. “Her name is Chryssa.”

A look of shock passed over Ludwik’s face, and he sighed softly. “I see. Sanel told me he has a report we should all hear, but we should probably address this first- she looks about to faint.” He drew his wand, flicking it to lock the door and seal the curtains.

If this led Demyan to let out a sigh of relief, though, if anything it only addled the child further, the little girl jumping as if she’d been slapped again. She’d managed to stop crying during the walk from the market, but now tears pricked anew, and Demyan would have lifted a hand to wipe them away had he not known little Chryssa would merely presume he was about to strike her.

“She’s too little to run any intelligence for us,” Demyan murmured. “She’s going to need to be kept here at the shop-- under even stricter terms than Ceely is. And if she’s going to live here, she’ll find out the truth sooner than later. So I vote we come out with it. Don’t dally around any.”

“Right,” Selah said firmly. She sat down on the floor across from Chryssa, offering the little girl a gentle smile. “Hey, little one. Your name is Chryssa, right? I know you’re scared, and you’ve been through a lot, but I promise you’re safe now.”

The child blinked sharply, and her mouth fell open. “Y-you speak Valzick?” she whispered, fidgeting with her bound hands. “N-no one here speaks Valzick. Nobody.”

“I don’t just speak Valzick, honey,” she replied, gently drawing her wand and flicking it once to disintegrate the ropes on Chryssa. “I am Valzick. I’m an Arch-Brigadier in the Special Forces. These two men with me? They’re from Macarinth, soldiers in the king’s army.”

“B-but…” Chryssa rapidly shook her head, her tight-sprung, jet black curls bouncing. “W-we’re not in Valzaim. Not no more. Bad s-soldiers took me fr-from the pasture. Me a-and my cousins. And we went into the mountains ‘hind the village. Wh-where we’re not ‘lowed to go ‘cos Uncle Alexis says i-it’s dangerous. He tr-tried to chase us. When he heard us scream. He was yellin’ our names. But they hurt him. He fell.”

Ludwik leaned against the counter, giving the girl a very soft, sad smile. Her uncle fell. No doubt he’d not gotten back up again. “We know this isn’t Valzaim, sweetheart. My friends and I were sent here by Valzaim and Macarinth as spies- we’re supposed to learn as much as we can for a while, so that the kings can finally stop the Meltaimans from stealing children away. And while we’re here, we’re supposed to find people like you that were taken, and buy them away from the Meltaimans so they can go home when we go home.”

“You were t-talkin’ in the f-funny language, though,” Chryssa whispered.

“We had to learn it to come here, Chryssa,” Demyan said softly. “So we could pretend to be Meltaimans, and help people that way. But it is all pretend. We’re not Meltaimans, and you are not going to be our slave, sweetheart. We want to help you. Not hurt you. I promise.”

The little girl said nothing for a moment, drawing her cheeks in as tears continued to flow from her amber eyes. “A-are you gonna help my cousins, too? They got stolen with me. And I haven’t seen ‘em in forever. N-not since we w-were at th-the scary place. With all the soldiers and th-the room with bars in it.”

A prison cell? Selah thought incredulously. Why were they keeping a child in a prison cell? Swallowing hard, the Valzick soldier replied, “I’m sorry honey, but we can’t. We have no idea where your cousins were sent. I wish we did, but we don’t.”

Chryssa whimpered. “They got t-taken away. From the cell. But I had to stay. I don’ know why, but I had to stay. Th-the scary soldiers seemed mad about me. After I told them h-how old I was. And they took my cousins away, but left me by myself.”

Ludwik frowned. “After you told them how old you were? H-how old are you?”

The little girl shrugged. “I’unno.”

“What do you mean?” Demyan murmured. “How do you not know, honey?”

“‘Cos… ‘cos everything’s b-been so fuzzy since they took me. It’s not winter no more, so it must’ve been been a long time. But I’unno how long.” She fidgeted with her long, coiled hair. “Wh-what day’s it now?”

“It’s March 13th, Chryssa,” Selah replied. “Just at the start of spring.”

Strangely, the girl brightened a shade. “My birthday!” she breathed. “My birthday was yesterday, then.” Chryssa wilted again. “U-Uncle Alexis w-was gonna buy me a doll.”

“How old did you turn, honey?” Demyan asked, though he already suspected he knew the answer. And if he was right-- Woo, how he wanted to punch something.

“Seven,” Chryssa said. “I-I’m seven now.”

“Right.” Demyan swallowed back a scream. “O-of course.”

And suddenly everything made far too much sickening sense. Why she’d made it so far north but had only been branded a day before. Why the Meltaimans would have kept her in a cell rather than immediately flipping her to a trader when this went so baldly against their usual habits. After all, raiding was a profit business: the margraves sent troops into their neighbouring kingdoms, the troops stole the children and sold them off to merchants, and then the margraves reaped the profit. Keeping stolen kids in state custody for longer than was strictly necessary thus only hurt the bottom line, and so in usual circumstances it would make little sense.

Little sense, that was, if it were not for one key detail-- since arriving to Meltaim, the Valzick and Macarinthian soldiers had learned that in the blasted kingdom, it was outright illegal to brand a child beneath the age of seven if they’d not undergone rigorous and expensive testing by Silver Eyes, lest they have late-blooming magic lurking inside them. Which meant that if the Meltaiman powers-at-be had learned they’d accidentally filched an underage girl…

“When did they give you to the trader, Chryssa?” Demyan asked. “The soldiers?”

“I’unno. A f-few weeks ago.” Chryssa sniffled. “He was r-real jumpy with me. He kept me tied up all the time. An’ wh-whenever the wagon came near soldiers, he’d get all nervous ‘til he’d talked to them. And the s-soldiers would always look me over ‘fore they left.” She sighed. “He was real happy yesterday. When he could put the br-brand on my face. But when I screamed he slapped me after. Then he hit me with a cane.”

Selah ground her teeth. So the raiders had sold the child to the trader before she could legally be branded. No doubt it had taken them a while to find someone unscrupulous enough to risk it. But in the end they had, and the wretch had branded his prize at the first opportunity and pawned off the liability the very next day.

“No one is going to hit you anymore, Chryssa,” the Valzick soldier said softly. “I promise, we’re going to keep you safe.” She smiled suddenly. “Say, speaking of the brand- my friend Demyan here happens to know how to get those off.”

Part of Demyan wanted to put out this wasn’t strictly true-- he knew how to remove mutable brands, but had absolutely zero experience with the blank brand itself. But… he hardly wanted to scare the girl, and if he and Ludwik teamed up, he had confidence they would figure it out. They were hardly going to leave her forehead permanently marred by a dehumanizing brand, after all.

So he said to the child, “That’s right. Ludwik and I are going to get it off for you, sweetie. We’ll have to put a pretend one in its place, but that’s just like… getting ink on your hand. We can take it off later. Once we’ve gone home.”

Rather than elated, however, Chryssa looked dubious. “W-will it hurt?” she whispered. “‘Cos it stinged real bad when he put it on. L-like the time I stepped on a hornet’s nest on accident. And they all started swarmin’ my cousins and me.”

“It might sting a little,” Ludwik admitted. “But tell you what- before we take it off, how about we get you a bath, food, and some warm clothes.” Glancing at her bare, muddy feet he added, “Especially some socks. Then we can give you some medicine to help you sleep a while, and you won’t feel a thing when we take off the brand.”

“And there are more nice people to meet upstairs, too,” Demyan added. “People who’ll be real happy to see you, Chryssa. They’re like us-- your friends. Just pretending that they’re Meltaiman.”

“‘Kay.” Chryssa sniffled again. “I-I’ll be good. I pr-promise. So you d-don’t give me back to the mean people.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Selah murmured, moving closer to the little girl to pull her into a hug. “I promise, Chryssa, we’re not going to send you back to the mean people. Not ever. We’re you’re friends, and we’re going to keep you safe from now on.”

Stiffening for a moment at Selah’s touch, in another moment the child had melted into the comforting embrace, burying her cheek against the woman’s chest. “Th-thank you. For buyin’ me.” The child whimpered, tilting her chin up to meet Selene’s dark eyes. “Y-you look like my mama. ‘Fore she h-had to go be with the Woo. Y-your eyes is the same colour. And she w-wore little braids, too.”

Selah’s heart cracked in half, and the woman felt tears pooling in her eyes. She hugged the little girl tighter, murmuring, “You know, I have a big sister back home in Valzaim with the same name as you. She’s a Chryssa too. I bet the Woo planned for us to find you.”

Chryssa let herself crack the faintest hint of a smile. “I’ve did all my pr-prayers since I got took. In my head, so no one would hear me and get mad. So m-maybe the Woo listened.” She sighed, relaxing back into the safety of Selah’s hold. “Promise you won’t leave me?”

“I promise, Chryssa,” the soldier soothed, stroking the little girl’s head. “You’re never going back to the Meltaimans again.”

***

Once they brought little Chryssa upstairs, the trio of officers introduced her to Ceely and the privates. Curiously, the older girl, though initially shocked and elated, quickly vanished from the room, for no reason anyone could discern. Dismissing it to address later, Selah sent Chares out to pick up some warm clothes from the tailor in roughly Chryssa’s size, while she set about the work of giving the child a much-needed bath. Selah winced at the child’s cane marks, but fortunately it was only a few short minutes of spellwork to heal them. Unfortunately Chryssa’s thick wooly hair, an ethnic trademark of native Valzicks, had not been brushed once since her kidnapping, and it was a snarled, matted mess. Against the child’s objections, Selah was forced to shave it almost to the roots, so that only a thin layer of black ringlets still remained to cover the girl’s scalp.

If her mood was soured by the unwanted haircut, however, at least the child’s spirits improved once again after she was given a warm meal of pottage and bread, her belly full afterward as Demyan put her gently to sleep so that he and Ludwik could remove the brand. The little girl stretched out on one of the flat’s sofas with her head in Selah’s lap, neither of the Macarinthians could fully suppress hisses of distaste as Demyan flicked his wand and a web of runes unfurled before him.

“None of the same spellwork as the mutables,” he murmured. “Woo, this is going to take a while.” Swallowing hard, he tapped his wand against his bracelet. “Synch in, Ludwik. We need all the stamina we can get.”

Indeed, it was several hours-- and both mages’ arms were aching-- by the time they finished easing apart the unfamiliar latticework of runes. They left it to Selah to set the forged replacement afterward, as well as set their ownership brand while the girl was out, then held their collective breaths as they brought Chryssa out from her stupor.

“You feeling alright, sweetheart?” Demyan murmured as the child roused, smiling softly down at her.

“Mmhm.” The girl’s amber eyes fluttered. “T-tired still.”

“You can nap some more in my bed, sweetie,” Selah said, stroking the child’s close-cropped hair and gently hefting her up. “All nice and warm and cozy.” As she started to carry Chryssa to the bedroom, Selah glanced over her shoulder and added, “Full platter of honey rolls for both of you- that’s an order soldiers.”

Demyan smirked. “Aw, worried for our welfare? I’m flattered.” Standing with Ludwik and the two of them pacing toward the kitchen, Demyan sighed. “Woo, please tell me Sanel and Chares are still downstairs babying the latest batch of dazzle-headache potion for the count”-- Zielony had already sent servants to place two repeat orders for his so-called son, much to the soldiers’ delight (even if the noble himself hadn’t yet graced them with his presence again)-- “and haven’t gone back to the ghetto yet for the night. We got so distracted with… this that we never even had them fully debrief us on the intel they gathered today.”

“I think they know better than to try and slink off without reporting in,” Ludwik said, flexing the fingers on his right hand as he used the left to tap the breadbox where they kept an emergency stash of honey rolls for the pull- and the magelock, spelled to keep out a certain twelve-year-old with a sweet tooth, popped open. “Sanel said he had something important he wanted to tell us. Apparently he’s been cultivating a regular contact and managed to glean something interesting from them today.”

“Maybe we should just keep the two of them here afterward,” Demyan mused, taking a bite out of one of the pastries. “I don’t like them wandering the city in the dark. It’s not safe, not for blanks.”

“They’ll be happy,” Ludwik said with a thin smile. “I’m sure our sofas are far nicer than whatever pallets they have in the ghetto.”

By the time Selah had emerged, both the Macarinthians were stuffed with as much sugar as they could hold, and feeling marginally less wretched with spelling sickness. A quick check of the downstairs confirmed that Chares and Sanel were still in the shop, and soon all five of the soldiers were gathered on the sofas in their flat for an impromptu meeting.

“So,” Demyan said, fighting back a yawn as he cracked open a ledger book in his lap (he’d drawn the short straw to be the night’s recorder), “you and Ceely went to the market today, Chares. I know you’ve both been talking some with the Langean blank who lives in the tenement next to where you and Sanel have been staying, and who one of the clothiers has run her auxiliary stall-- did you get anywhere further with him before you got ah, diverted by Chryssa?”

Chares shook his head. “No, sir. He’s gotten a bit… cool, as of late. Less friendly. I think he’s starting to wonder why we’re prying, and always meandering by his stall to chat. And honestly, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know much of anything. His mistress is one of the best clothiers in Lilia, yes. And highly connected to the count, since she’s his clothier of choice. But I don’t even think Vaska sees his mistress more than once or twice a week, to give her the money he’s earned at the stall.”

“If he’s getting suspicious, I’d back off a bit,” Ludwik said firmly. “Don’t abandon the contact altogether, it would look strange if you changed your habits abruptly, but less prying and more small talk for the indefinite future.”

“Yes, sir,” Chares said. “If it’s alright, I’d like to spend a bit more time trying to talk to the woman who has a room in the tenement upstairs from Sanel and me. She’s native Meltaiman, so yes, I know she’s not a priority. But she’s friendly to us, and I can tell she’s rather… jaded. She told us she used to belong to the city magistrate, but he sold her off a few years ago. She belongs to the city now. Working at the botanical gardens. She’s rather free with her tongue. A gossip.”

“By all means, cultivate contacts wherever you can,” Ludwik agreed. “Just because someone is a native Meltaiman that doesn't mean we can’t pick their brains, it just means they’re low priority for rescue at the end of the mission.” He glanced towards Selah and Demyan. “No objections?”

“The native-born blanks will be just as oppressed and victimized as those from Valzaim, Macarinth or Lange,” Selah agreed. “Their input is part of the narrative we want to build, so it’s important to get it.”

“Agreed,” said Demyan. “Anything else to report, Chares?”

“No, sir.”

“Your turn then, Sanel.”

Sanel grinned broadly, practically vibrating with excitement. “Over the past two or three weeks, I’ve been building a rapport with a blank- I think she’s from somewhere near the border of Valzaim and Macarinth, her accent reminds me a lot of some of the people I grew up with and she looks mixed. Anyway, she works for a rather wealthy smith of precious metals like silver and platinum. And today, she slipped that the fellow had a blank son whom he gave away a year ago after testing him at seven- and four months ago, acquired a sad, scared little girl who babbled in a language nobody recognized and keeps rubbing her wrist like she’s missing something there.”

Demyan could feel his heart freeze in his chest, as his hand automatically leapt to his own wrist, the man running his fingers over the silver bracelet on it. “How old is she?” he asked. “The little girl?”

“The blank I’ve been speaking to doesn’t know the precise age,” Sanel admitted. “But she purportedly looks to be about nine, ten, thereabouts.”

Ludwik hissed softly. “Four months. That means she was taken in since we’ve been here.”

“Follow up on this, Sanel,” Demyan said. “Don’t come on too strong and scare your source away, but this could be big, if we can confirm it. It’d be only our third Campaign child found after the count’s two-- and we still don’t even know for sure whether Dalia is foreign, or simply adopted from Meltaiman blanks.”

“Yes, sir,” Sanel agreed instantly. “If I can even get her to slip some of the words the kid’s been saying, I’ll know if they’re Macarinthian. Or Valzick, or Langean, but based on the description I’m guessing Macarinth is more likely.”

“I’d agree,” Selah said. “Good man. It’d be good if we could make at least some progress in our official mission.”

“Be careful, though,” Demyan cautioned. “She might seem sympathetic, Sanel, but you don’t want to push things too far and pique her suspicion. Remember: we trust no one whom we’ve not purchased. No matter how valuable they seem. It’s simply too risky.”

“I know, sir, I know,” Sanel said with a lopsided smile. “I’m being careful, I promise.”

“Is there anything else, then?” Selah asked. When Sanel replied in the negative, she sighed, shifting her position. “In that case, I think we need to lay down some ground rules for our new ward. She’s going to present an… interesting challenge.”

“I think that’s a fair bit of an understatement,” Demyan said, scribbling a few last lines in the ledger book before he set it aside for the ink to dry. “Talking to her reminds me of talking to my littler kids. She’s not at all trustworthy to do any sort of intelligence work-- and even if she were, she’s far too little for me to feel comfortable putting her in that scenario. Even Ceely sometimes worries me, and Ceely’s got over five years on Chryssa.”

“I agree with you, for once,” Selah said with a sigh. “She’s far too little to help us in any practical way. Frankly I think she’s too little even to be allowed in the shop front except when the store is closed and locked up.”

“She doesn’t speak any Meltaiman though,” Sanel pointed out.

“She’ll learn,” Demyan said. “And once she does, it would be a nightmare if she said something incriminating in front of an outsider. Kids that age are terrible secret keepers, and rules sometimes slip in one ear and out the other. We can tell her a thousand times that she’s not to talk to strangers, but if given the opportunity, she still might do it-- and she might say something she shouldn’t.”

“What, then?” Chares asked, his dark brow furrowed. “You’re going to prohibit her from interacting with anyone save for us, sir?”

“Honestly, that’s probably the safest course of action we can feasibly take,” Ludwik said reluctantly. “Keep her upstairs at all times, unless it’s after hours and the doors are all locked. She doesn’t leave the shop, ever, after we’ve taken her to get her privilege brand tomorrow.”

“And we’ll probably have to accelerate her lessons in Meltaiman,” Selah said grimly. “Even if she’s not in the shopfront, if anyone downstairs hears a blank child we’ve had over a month yammering in Valzick through the door, it will raise serious questions.”

“Once she can manage in Meltaiman at all, we prohibit her from speaking Valzick,” Demyan agreed. “If she slips up, she’s punished swiftly and firmly. Same for the rest of the rules. It’s… not ideal, not in the least bit, but I think it’s our safest bet.” He slumped down in his seat, feeling like a monster for the second time that day. “It’s not going to be fun. At least Ceely is old enough to grasp why we have restrictions in place, and she’s not all that limited beyond having to have accompaniment when she goes out into the city. But this? It’s… a world apart from that, and with a child half as old.”

Ludwik shook his head. “It’s going to be hard on her. But she’s gone from a cell in some margrave’s dungeon to a barefoot and threadbare march through barely thawed mountains. Maybe in a lot of ways this is still a prison, but the wardens at least won’t beat her bloody for every little infraction and she’ll be kept warm and comfortable.”

“And at the end of all this, she’ll be free,” Sanel added, elbowing Chares with a smile. “Not even a blank brand to show for it.”

Chares gulped. “Right. So we just have to keep our eyes on the prize. Even if it’s bloody miserable in the meantime.”

Selah sighed. “Alright- if that’s decided, I think we can adjourn for now. Privates, you can stay the night on the couches so you’re not skulking about after dark. Everyone get some dinner if you haven’t already, then we should probably get some sleep- Demyan and Ludwik in particular, you did some intensive magic today.”

Indeed, once Ludwik and Demyan were both lying down in their beds, the darker haired of the duo was asleep almost instantly. Demyan, however, was slower to snooze, tossing and turning as the events of the day played over and over again in his head. He still didn’t know whether to be furious with himself or as pleased as ever. After all, on the one hand, he’d starkly disobeyed orders. But on the other hand, doing so had saved Chryssa from a life of absolute hell. He wondered if the unit would get in any trouble for it once they skulked back home. Woo, he hoped not.

It was nearly an hour before his whirling thoughts finally quieted enough for sleepiness to grip him… but Demyan had only just nodded off when the sound of the bedroom door creaking open abruptly wrenched him back into wakefulness. He sat bolt upright in bed, blinking against the shadowy dark, as a small form silhouetted against the doorframe froze in place.

“I… s-s-sorry, I didn’t m-mean to… If you were still sleeping I was gonna go…”

“Ceely?” Demyan said softly as the young girl came into focus. “What are you doing up so late? You should be in bed.”

She sniffed softly. “I couldn’t sleep. I… I kept remembering what I said.” A soft whimper emerged from the darkness. “I’m sorry. I… I s-s-said I hated you, a-and you saved her. I d-didn’t m-mean it, I, I-”

“Shh.” Standing, Demyan quickly paced over to the girl’s side and set a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need to be upset, honey. I’m not mad at you, okay?”

The girl whimpered, slumping forwards so that her face was pressed against Demyan’s stomach. “But I g-gave you sass, and, and I said something awful.”

“You did sass me,” Demyan agreed, smoothing her hair. “And I won’t pretend it didn’t make me upset, Ceely. But I understand you didn’t mean it. Because I know you don’t hate me, hon.”

“Sh-she made me remember Jess,” Ceely murmured. “She’s ‘bout the same age Jess was when I saw her last. Maybe closer to Nathan’s age. A-a-and I din’ want her to have to be a slave. To get beat up and yelled at and told she d-doesn’t have a soul.”

“I know, sweetie,” Demyan murmured. “I know.” He sighed, holding the girl at an arm’s length. “But… Ceely, hon, you understand why what you did today is very dangerous, right? Bolting from Chares? Snarling at me in public? If the wrong person saw that, we could get in a lot of trouble. All of us.”

The child deflated, her dark eyes downcast. “I know. It was stupid. Master Ludwik boxed my ears when Chares told ‘im.” Tears began to flow freely down her face. “I won’t do it again, I p-promise.”

“I believe you, Ceely.” He wiped a hand across her damp eyes, hesitating before he added, “And please, don’t break that promise, okay? Think of the little girl. Chryssa. If you do something dangerous, now she’s at risk, too, sweetie.”

Ceely gnawed on her lip, nodding. In a soft voice, she said, “I really don’t hate you, Master Demyan. You… you remind me of Papa. How you hold me, and let me cry and… and everything. You feel safe.”

“I’m glad, honey. I want you to feel safe with me. With all of us. Because we’re here to protect you, okay? Even if… if sometimes we might make decisions you don’t like, we just want to keep you safe, Ceely. I promise. We will never do anything to needlessly hurt you.”

The girl gave a wobbly smile. “Can… can I sleep in here? On the rug? I’ll be quiet, I promise. Just, it’s all cramped in Mistress Selah’s bed with Chryssa there and… Please?”

Demyan sighed, squeezing her shoulder. “Sure. Just go grab an extra blanket from the living room, okay?” He returned her smile with a wan one of his own, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper as he added, “If Ludwik starts snoring though, you got to tickle his cheek for me, okay? To quiet him back up.”

The girl giggled. “M’kay.” She hugged him around the middle, murmuring, “Thank you. For saving her and. For everything.”

“Of course, honey,” he replied, hugging her back. “Now let’s get some sleep, okay?”

Part Seven

SPOILER: Click to show

For all the trauma she’d faced, Chryssa adapted fairly quickly to life with the undercover soldiers. Although at times it was a struggle to enforce the litany of rules they’d crafted for her safety-- and, true to their predictions, such laying of the law was immensely unpleasant for all-- the little girl soon resembled not a broken waif, but a regular, energetic seven-year-old. Since she was spending all of her time cooped up indoors, Demyan had the idea to engross her in a hobby or two, introducing the girl to a variety of possibilities before they found a few that stuck: she liked to draw-- and was rather good at it for age-- and had a keen mind for numbers. Within a few weeks she was trusted to add up simple sums from their accounting books (though of course the adults later double-checked her arithmetic just to be sure), a task that came with the added boon of making the child feel useful.

“I was thinking,” Demyan mused to Ludwik one afternoon during the second week of April, as the pair sifted through their stock of fever potions to make sure none of them had gone bad. “What if we started showing Chryssa some of the raw ingredients we use, and having her draw them for us? Not that the two of us need the reference, and I doubt her work would be ah, detailed enough to help all that much, but it’d make her happy, I think, to feel like she’s contributing more.” He smirked. “And I’d be glad to have to ooh and awe over fewer pictures of butterflies and puppies.”

“I’d think you would be used to doing that by now, what with your having no less than four little girls of your own back home,” Ludwik retorted with a slight smirk. “Could be worse- it could be you being asked to croon praise over the third kid in a row showing off how she can make the feather float, Papa!”

Demyan rolled his eyes. “To be fair, Michaela did make the feather float higher than either Connor or Maegan. It went three whole inches in the air, Ludwik. Three!” He screwed the lid back on one of the phials, then shot a glance over his shoulder toward the door. “I hope that Sanel gets back from talking with his source soon,” the man mused. “I’d really like to get more information on the Campaign child in her owner’s custody.” Sanel had managed to confirm the week before that indeed the young girl had been stolen from Macarinth. “Even just a more solid age, since he keeps waffling between such a range. And if he could get a look at her somehow, and a description of her to us… that would be just wonderful.”

“Aye, but he’s doing the best he can,” Ludwik soothed. “He doesn’t want to frighten off his contact by being too forward. Honestly for as young as he is, the man’s been doing a fine job so far. I wouldn’t have trusted us with a mission this sensitive at his age.”

“When we were years older than him we couldn’t even navigate from the woods to a quiet Valzick village,” Demyan said dryly. “We’d have lasted two hours here in Meltaim.” He waggled his brow. “Just don’t let him hear you talking like that. He’ll get an ego, the little imp.”

“Ha!” Ludwik smirked. “No fear of that. I’m the mean, scary, brooding officer, remember? You’re the funny one.”

“Aha! So you do admit I’m hilarious! You--”

Demyan’s voice abruptly fell away at the sound of the bell tinkling overhead… and any feeling of humour vanished from him like a mist on a hot day as he turned to face the door. After all, while he’d not been present during Count Zielony’s last visit to the shop back in February, the impeccably dressed man who stood at the doorway with two armed knights at his flank could have been no one else.

“My lord.” Demyan snapped his head into a deferential bow. “Welcome.”

“Good afternoon,” replied the noble, his voice airy. His iron gaze snapped toward Ludwik. “Master Aptekarz. A pleasure to see you again.”

Ludwik bowed deeply. “The pleasure is all mine, Count Zielony. Do you require more of the medicine for your son? I’m afraid we’d heard nothing about another order, but I can set about preparing a batch straightaway.”

“He’s actually got a fair bit of the last batch left,” said Zielony. “That’s not why I’ve come.” The lord smiled what looked to be a genuine smile. “I’ve actually been meaning to drop by for a while-- to give you my thanks, Master Aptekarz. The potion does more for his headaches than anything else we’ve tried… and after I started journaling his foods like you suggested, I quickly figured out that indeed certain things were triggering him. Since my wife and I have cut those foods out of his diet, Miron has only had been getting a headache every week or two, rather than every other day. It’s been… like a miracle to us, honestly. And his spirits have so improved.”

Ludwik smiled widely in reply, both at the fact that they’d managed to earn the count’s sincere favor and in relief that the poor child was no longer in as much pain. “That is excellent news, my lord. We are ever happy to have been of service to you and the young lad.”

“You certainly have made a loyal customer of me,” the count said. “And so I wanted to personally invite you, Master Aptekarz, to meet with my Miron. He’s been begging to give you his thanks in person. Asking if I’d have you up to the manor for tea.” Zielony chuckled. “And gods know, as you saw with Dalia and the balm, I’ve never been good at denying my kids. So…” The count tilted his head. “If it’s not too much of an inconvenience to your work? You’d make my son’s day… and I’ve a carriage waiting just outside; it’d only be a ten or twenty minute ride.”

Ludwik was stunned at the request, glancing sideways briefly at Demyan. “W-well I certainly shouldn’t like to disappoint the poor boy. Brother, do you think you can keep an eye on things for a while without me?”

Demyan nodded mutely, daring not to betray the shock that coursed through him. He knew Ludwik had made a good impression on the count by the lord’s repeat orders, but… Woo, getting a personal invite into his manor? It was the sort of thing the high command had only talked about in terms of fantastical dreams back during training in Valzaim. Somewhere up the list alongside “maybe all the citizens of Meltaim are miserable and hate the ideology, in fact, and will be glad to lose it!”.

“Of… of course I can tend the shop,” Demyan agreed.

“Excellent.” Zielony turned back toward the door, gesturing for Ludwik to follow. “Come, then. I think you’ll like the carriage-- I just had new pads installed on the seats.”

Ludwik bowed his head, scurrying after the count. By now it was significantly warmer out, warm enough most of the Meltaimans were wearing short sleeves, but Ludwik and Demyan still didn’t dare- not when that would mean either having to glamour their conduit bracelets, which in a mage-country like Meltaim would be noticed immediately, or leave themselves vulnerable by removing the bracelets entirely. Woo, he sincerely hoped he wouldn’t sweat too much between his nerves and the heat!

“Speaking of your daughter,” he said, trying his best not to betray how badly nervous he was. “I hope she has enjoyed the balm?”

“She has,” Zielony agreed as the knights opened the door to the waiting carriage-- a behemoth beast comprised of a gleaming dark wood. Stepping inside, he added with a chuckle, “Though my wife likes the scent nearly as much. She keeps sneaking daubs whenever Dalia’s not paying attention.”

Ludwik forced a chuckle of his own. “I’m certainly glad it’s been a hit. And that it apparently helped motivate the dear. She seemed so nervous when you brought her in before.”

“She’s an anxious girl.” As Ludwik climbed in behind him, Zielony shrugged. “Always has been. Sweet, but she broods about everything. She’s gotten better than she used to be, but still it’s sometimes a battle between her and her nerves.”

“Ah, poor thing,” Ludwik said. “I was much the same when I was younger. But you seem to care for her very much, my lord, and I’m sure she’ll blossom beautifully.” He tilted his head, the image of innocent curiosity. “Is she your heir, my lord?”

“She is, yes,” he confirmed. “For all her worrying, she’s very bright and an immensely powerful magician.” He smiled with pride. “My wife and I have one other child beyond Miron and Dalia-- a natural daughter who’s nearly nineteen, married to a baron from Inbar. She’s no languid herself, but the moment we had Dalia’s potential explained to us, we knew she’d be the more suitable heir. The gods have blessed her with so much power. She’s a delight to watch in lessons.”

Ludwik recognized the term ‘languid’ as one that meant a mage of minimal power. It was something of a derogatory in Meltaim, and a shame to the parents of such a child. But now at least he had confirmation that Dalia was definitely adopted- the question was, from where? If she was a Campaign child as the soldier suspected, that meant not only were the nobles of Meltaim taking in and raising the stolen children, they were grooming some of them to become ruling nobility. Woo, to think of children like Chelsey being stolen, brainwashed, and growing up to finance the theft of still more children…

It was obscene.

Still, much though Ludwik would have liked to press the topic more, he didn’t want to needle too much and arouse any suspicions. Soon enough he’d get to speak to Miron- a known Campaign child. And as the spies had discovered through Chryssa, children that young were far less guarded with their tongues than an adult or even older child would be. With any luck, the young Valzick boy would innocently reveal something important or useful.

After the promised brief ride, the carriage thundered through the gates of the count’s impressive manor, which was nestled atop a tumbling hill. The grassy grounds were elaborately planted, blooming flowers and ornamental trees gleaming every which way; a sharp slope at the rear of the property, just behind the stables where the coach came to a halt, led down to a glimmering jewel of a shallow lake, with a lofty fence serving to separate the water from the estate grounds. Its iron pikes gleamed dully beneath the spring sun, casting a threatening reflection in the glass-like water beyond.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” the count said pleasantly as he and Ludwik exited the carriage. “See the other bank? That’s where we’re soon due to break ground on a second public botanical gardens. It’ll be even grander than the first-- thousands of plants from all across the world.” Zielony smiled. “And the views from the manor’s upper levels will be stunning.”

“Ah yes, everyone has been talking up a storm about your second gardens, my lord,” Ludwik chimed, though he didn’t mention most people had been complaining about the expense of the things and how much of a pain they were to maintain in the city’s winter climate. “I’m sure they’ll be gorgeous, I’ll have to find time to visit once they’re ready.”

“I donated my own property for them, you know,” the count bragged. Gesturing toward the fence, he said, “The lake used to be on the grounds of the manor, but I thought it would be so nice to have it as a part of the gardens so that all the fine men and women of Lilia could look at it.” He chuckled. “Just don’t try to go swimming, Master Aptekarz. My head of security was not quite as pleased about my generosity as I was. He made me put up that wall, and he’s had me put a dizzying amount of wards in the water. We’re going to have to put up warning signs.”

“You certainly wouldn’t wants knights tromping out after a bunch of enthusiastic kids,” Ludwik joked, though he filed this information away with everything else he was finding out. “Though if any teenagers get wild hairs, the signs are liable to only encourage them.”

Zielony smirked. “Ah, I can make a sport out of it, then. Sit out on my bedchamber balcony and lodge bets about who’s dumb enough to try it.” He took a step forward, gesturing for Ludwik to follow. “Come, now. Let’s go inside and get our tea, shall we?”

The count striding off without a further word, and Ludwik scampering to catch up with him, it was a scenic, meandering stroll from from the stables into the receiving room where the count, his guest, and his ‘son’ were to take their tea. Throughout the walk, Zielony brightly pointed out each and every room and decorative feature they swept by, as if he were showing off the place to a visiting dignitary, and when they finally reached their destination, he gestured for Ludwik to take a seat first on one of the plush, patterned couches before he sat opposite.

“Get Miron,” the count ordered a blank servant then; as the first slave quietly scampered off with only a curtsy, he added sharply to another blank: “And a full tea. Make haste.”

“Yes, my lord.” The slave hurried away with a tremulous bow.

“That one’s new,” Zielony said to Ludwik, and it took the man a moment to realise that the count was apologising. “He should know better than to talk-- he hardly needs to talk to obey orders. That’ll need to be dealt with.” The count let out a beleaguered sigh. “Blanks-- they’re like perpetual children, hm?”

Ludwik was hard pressed not to give away any tell of his distaste. A frown. A twitch. Even something as minute as a tensing of the shoulders would have been potentially fatal. Instead he gave a pleasant, albeit very forced smile. “Not very smart, no. We had to practically coach ours through their tasks when they were new.” Feeling greatly daring, and willing himself to remain casual, he added, “Though at least since his imperial majesty began the Campaigns, the poor lost children of our heathen neighbors need not suffer the same fate.”

Zielony smiled, almost sadly. “It still grieves me to think about-- so many magicians with their potential stifled by the societies they live in. Raised to fight against their own kind, controlled by the words of blank kings.” He clucked his tongue. “It’s only a shame we can’t save more than we already do. That for every sweet child like my Dalia or Miron, so many more remain beyond our reach.”

There it was. Zielony had just confirmed Dalia as a child of the Gods’ Campaigns. And given the Langean ethnic trait of black or dark brown hair, in all likelihood Dalia was from Macarinth. Ludwik willed himself not to shiver with excitement at this information they’d been trying to obtain for two months, nor to bristle at the idea of a girlchild from his homeland being stolen away in the night.

Fortunately, he was spared the need to reply when a short knock sounded at the door, and Zielony called out a clipped: “Enter.”

A moment later, the door creaked open, and a small boy started into the room. He couldn’t have been older than six, with short black hair the texture of wool and an ebony complexion reminiscent of Chryssa, Chares, and Selene’s. A second child followed closely at his heel, and it only took Ludwik a blink to recognise her-- Dalia.

“Papa,” she said tentatively, “the blank said Miron was gonna come for tea. I wondered, can I have some tea too? I promise I’ll be good, but it’s boring by myself.”

He smiled fondly at the girl. “You done with your lessons for today, honey?”

She brightened a little, fidgeting nervously. “Uh-huh. I wanted to show you, but you were out so I held it until you got back. Look.”

The little girl held out her hand, presenting the count with a small, innocuous object in the palm of her hand- a miniscule ebony colored rock, etched with so many runes it was impossible to tell where one chain started and another ended. Ludwik’s blood ran to ice as he recognized it, both from his days in boot camp and from his lessons on Meltaim in Valzaim. Oh Woo, it couldn’t be…

“Oh, Dalia!” Zielony beckoned the girl over, grinning up at her. “You finally got a blackstone made all to specifications? Come here. Let Papa see.”

The little girl obeyed, beaming under her adoptive father’s praise as she climbed up onto the seat beside him and deposited the blackstone in his hand. Miron padded over and sat on the count’s opposite side. “It’s got lotsa runes,” the little boy murmured, his Valzick accent still strong. “I wanted to touch it but Dalia said no.”

The count chuckled, turning the stone over in his hand as he inspected the latticework of runes. “A few more years before you’ll be handling blackstones, bud,” Zielony said. “But--” He handed the object back to Dalia. “This looks great, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”

Ludwik felt physically sick as he watched Dalia take back the blackstone and slip it into her pocket. He knew that tiny black rock was one of the foremost instruments of death used by Meltaim. A single drop of blood on its surface after it had been spelled to activate, and whomever the blood had been drawn from would die. That the heathens were teaching children to make these things…

“Papa.” As Ludwik fought back his revulsion, little Miron tugged at the count’s sleeve. “Papa, is this the headache man?”

“It is.” Zielony swept the little boy into his lap and kissed the top of the child’s dense curls. “Miron, this is Master Aptekarz. He’s the one who gave Papa the advice about your headaches, and made your nice potion for you.”

“Hi.” As the blank finally arrived back with a platter of tea and pastries, the little boy smiled shyly at Ludwik. “Th-thank you for helpin’ me. I feel so much better’n I did.”

Forcing his mind back into the task at hand, Ludwik smiled towards Miron. “I’m very glad to hear that, young lord. I know dazzle-headaches like the ones you were having are no fun at all. Your Papa said that something you were eating was making it worse, did you figure out what it was?”

‘“Uh-huh.” Miron settled into the count’s hold, resting his cheek against the man’s tunic. “Chicken, mostly. An’ turkey, too. So now Papa and Mama just have me ‘void eatin’ birds, and the headaches are lots less.”

“Ah, I see,” Ludwik replied. That would go a long way towards explaining why these headaches seemed to have caught the boy and the count by surprise. In Valzaim, which was staunchly Wooist, eating birds was more or less anathema. This policy was less strictly adhered to in Macarinth, but it was still common enough that it was possible for a child to go their whole lives without eating any bird products except for bread made with eggs. He reached for the cup of tea that had been set down in front of him, but knew better than to sip until the count had taken a drink first. “Well I’m glad you figured out what the problem was. It’s much easier to manage dazzle-headaches when they’re caused by food.”

“To just think of how my poor boy would have suffered if he’d been left with those blank peasants in Valzaim.” Zielony stroked the child’s cheek, then picked up his mug of tea and took a ginger sip. “It’s been such a relief to have him healthy. And you get to spend so much more time playing and in lessons now, right, Miron?”

“Uh-huh.” Miron fidgeted. “I’m learnin’ spells now. Though I’m not good as Dalia.”

Ludwik took an equally tiny sip of the tea, wary of any chance it might’ve been drugged or bespelled in some way but knowing it would appear rude if he didn’t at least drink some of it. “It’s not just about power, young one, but how intelligently you use it,” he soothed the boy. “A clever and resourceful mage of mediocre caliber could overcome a powerful mage that wasn’t very smart. You just need to have confidence in yourself, and I’m sure you’ll be a fine young lord.”

“And he’s still so small,” Zielony added. “I keep telling him-- he can’t compare himself to Dalia when she’s eleven, and he’s only six.”

“Six an’ a half,” Miron corrected. “But I still wanna do better spells.”

“You will, honey,” Zielony said. “Once you’re older.” Taking another sip of the tea, he ruffled the boy’s hair. “Papa didn’t even have Dalia ‘til she was nearly seven, you know. So think of how good you can be when you’re her age, since you’ve been learning for that much longer.”

Ludwik’s heart lurched. He’d had Dalia for four years. No wonder her Meltaiman was as impeccable as a native speaker’s.

It also made the soldier want to scream, to see the children so… content. Perfectly happy to cuddle with their kidnapper. This wasn’t like his son Connor, who’d grown up never knowing any mother but Deacon’s wife, whose real mother had been dead within the hour of his birth. These little ones had known their parents. Had been ripped from their homes violently in the night, and shoved into these new lives by force.

Woo, this was a complicated mess.

“I bet you’ll both be fine sorcerers when your time comes,” Ludwik said, sipping tentatively at his tea again.

“Miron’s gonna be my advisor,” Dalia put in with a timid smile. “When I’m the countess.”

The count chuckled. “They’ve got it all worked out already.”

“I’m gonna learn all the spells,” Miron added. “So I can help her best.”

No, little ones, Ludwik thought with grim determination. I’m going to get you both home. I swear it. You won’t have to be Meltaim’s trained showdogs anymore.

***

After making more small talk with the children and the count, Ludwik was finally allowed to return to the shop, with the promise upon Miron’s beseeching that he would come back to visit again sometime. He immediately closed himself into a lengthy meeting with the other soldiers, reporting to them everything he had learned while he was in the count’s manor as Selah kept notes. Predictably, Selah was horrified by what she heard, blanching at the description of Dalia with the blackstone and how casually the two children seemed to regard their “father”, and Demyan was every bit as furious. Chares wasn’t any better, the teenager acidly muttering that he couldn’t wait for the day Macarinth and Valzaim made Meltaim pay, while Sanel simply clenched his hands in his lap, listening to the report in silent fury.

It was a goldmine of information, but none of that information made the group feel at all triumphant. Only angry, sickened, and more determined than ever to put a stop to Meltaim’s atrocities.

Things settled back into their normal routine after that, but it seemed the ball of success had finally gotten rolling for the undercover soldiers. Four days later Ceely reported that she and Sanel had gotten word of another Campaign child in the custody of the local wandmaker- a boy they suspected from reports might’ve been Langean- and a few days after that, Ludwik and Demyan went to a blank auction and for the first time since Ceely’s purchase finally met with success. They managed to purchase seventeen year old Valzick boy by the name of “Pavlos.”

Initially Pavlos was understandably reticent, reluctant to trust his captors. However, eventually they were able to get through his defenses, Chares managing to befriend the boy and glean from him that he was not as broken as he’d at first seemed. Demyan and Selah invited him into their fold, and he jumped at the chance to restore his long lost freedom.

It was late in the afternoon in the first week of May when things once again grew complicated. Ceely and Chares were out, finishing up some business in the market before the private brought the young girl home. Pavlos had already given his report for the day and returned to the ghetto. The three mages were relaxing in the flat above the shop, Ludwik polishing his wand, Selene looking over Chryssa’s accountbook tallies while the seven year old dozed slumped against her side, and Demyan scratching a report into the ledger book about an interaction he’d had earlier that day with a rather chatty customer who’d proudly announced that he was a personal friend of the count’s, and that it was Zielony who’d referred him to the shop.

“What’s keeping Sanel today?” Ludwik muttered, holding his wand up to the light to inspect it. “He’s usually absolutely punctual.”

“I have no idea.” Demyan shrugged. “But if he’s not back soon, it’s his hide. We have enough actual children to tend”-- he nodded toward the slumbering Chryssa-- “without having our soldiers unable to follow orders.”

However, at that moment there was a soft click from the magelock, and the door swung inwards to reveal Sanel. The young man’s raven hair was in disarray, and under his freckles he looked pale, green eyes alight with anxiety.

“I… I…” he swallowed hard. “I know I’m l-late, and I’m, I’m sorry but… but I need to talk to you all. It’s important. Please.”

Ludwik frowned, putting his wand away and glancing towards his partner with a quirked eyebrow. Demyan, his eyes immediately narrowing, returned the look before nodding toward Sanel, using two fingers to beckon the teenager over. “Alright. Lock the door, please, and then we can talk, Sanel.”

The boy did so, coming over to one of the futons in the room and sitting on it gingerly

“It’s… it’s about my contact,” he said slowly. “The one who works for the metal trader that has the Campaign kid. Her name is Io. She just turned fifteen.” His eyes were fixed down on his boots. “She trusts me. She’s been… telling me everything I ask, lately. Not like the other blanks we talk to, reserved and skittish. She admitted she was from Valzaim, close to where the borders of it, Meltaim and Macarinth intersect. She knows a few common words and phrases in Macarinthian, and she… she knows I’ve been curious about the child. So she tried to talk to her. She’s never been very close, because she works the shop and isn’t allowed in the private areas b-but she knew I was interested and she wanted to help me so she tried and-” He inhaled sharply. “He beat her. He beat her badly. Her arm is broken. A-and he’s going to sell her. At auction the day after tomorrow.”

Demyan winced. “He didn’t have it healed-- the arm? That’s…” The blond let out a hiss of disgust. “That’s barbaric.”

“I suppose if he’s just going to sell her, he doesn’t care if her work is impeded,” Selah said bitterly, stroking the still sleeping Chryssa. “But why are you telling us this, Sanel?”

“B-because,” he stammered. “You… she… she’s Valzick. And he’s going to sell her. She’s f-f-fifteen, and she’s pretty, she’s so pretty, what if… what if…”

Ludwik winced. “We just bought Pavlos not long ago, Sanel. I don’t know if we have the budget for a young, pretty girl. Even injured, she’s bound to garner a lot of attention.”

“Th-that’s why we have to try!” Sanel bleated, his voice cracking.

“Calm yourself, private,” Demyan said, as at the outburst Chryssa vaguely stirred, only dozing again after Selah hushed her and rubbed her back. “I understand this is upsetting to you. But we have a budget we have to follow--”

“She’s been helping you!” Sanel interrupted in a hiss. “Most of the information I’ve gleaned in the last month has come from her, and all without the promise you gave Pavlos and Ceely to set them free! She’s earned a place in our Woo-cursed budget!”

“Mind your tongue,” Ludwik snapped, though he kept his voice low for Chryssa’s sake. “How dare you talk to your commanding officers that way, boy?”

“B-b-because,” he stammered, quailing but speaking on regardless, “you can flog me if you want. But that w-wouldn’t hurt nearly as bad as it would to know she was sold off to some sick, slimy Meltaiman scumbag and I didn’t even try to save her.”

“Oh, dear Woo.” Demyan nearly slapped a hand against his own forehead as the situation suddenly became all too clear to him. To Selah and Ludwik more-so than Sanel, he said, “She’s fifteen. Pretty, by Sanel’s account. Sixteen-year-old Sanel’s account.”

Selah hissed a curse. "Please tell me you haven't been putting this entire operation at risk to fraternize, Sanel, because I swear by Woo if you have it will be your hide."

The private bristled."No, as a matter of fact I haven't. Have I wanted to? Woo, yes. Because yes, she's pretty, and sweet, and courageous, and has helped and trusted me with next to no reason to do so. But the closest it's come was her holding my hand for about twenty seconds, then I pulled away."

"Sanel-" Ludwik started, a growl in his voice, but the teenager seemed to have had enough.

"Please!" he hissed, barely coherent enough to keep his voice down for Chryssa. "For once, just let me talk!" He'd lurched to his feet. "Yes, I'm young, and stupid, and you outrank me and have way more experience. I know that. I'm a soldier, and I'm supposed to sit down and shut up and obey orders. So even though I have wanted to let her get close to me, I've been fighting it." He raked a hand through his hair agitatedly. "I was practically abducted out of bloody boot camp for this mission. You all have a history and you're of rank with one another, and you're friends. But me? I'm just the peon. I do what I'm told, and I'm not part of the circle and I never will be. I am so darn alone here, surrounded by misery and torture. And you know what? That's fine. It's my job. I accept it. I haven't once complained. B-but if I have to go home after this and keep my mouth shut, and act like none of it ever happened, I just want the satisfaction of having saved at least one life while we were here. Please. Please. Let me have this one thing, and I will submit to whatever punishment you want to dole out." A soft sob burbled out of Sanel, and he whimpered, "Please."

For nearly a minute, none of the three officers spoke, all of them gaping in disbelief at Sanel. Nearly two years they’d known him now, and never had the boy come nearly so close to an outburst-- let alone one of such magnitude. Part of Demyan wanted to be… furious, and furiously only. Demand the teenager’s silence and threaten him with unpleasantness beyond his wildest dreams if Sanel ever dared speak to him, Selah, or Ludwik like that again.

… But then he remembered Chryssa (miraculously the girl had not awakened again). He and Selah had bought her on a lark, hadn’t they? Had used the fact that they held the power to go against every command they’d been given prior to their departure. And at least this Io, even if she was out of their present budget because of Pavlos, didn’t otherwise contradict their mission. She was Valzick. Old enough to gather intel… and willing to do so.

And Woo knew, as much as he wished he could, Demyan couldn’t pretend he did not understand the compulsion to merely feel as if he was truly, personally helping. As if his floundering against the crushing waves was leading to something tangible. What else but that had led to Chryssa?

“Look, Sanel,” he growled finally. “We’ll go to the auction tomorrow. We’ll look. And if Io is available for a price we can swing, we’ll consider making a run for her. But...” Here, the colonel clenched his jaw, his eyes hooking lethally on the young teenager’s. “If the bidding goes higher than we feel comfortable with, we will bow out. And we will not hear a word of lamentation from you over it. I understand this isn’t an easy mission for you. And I’m sorry you feel so frustrated, so lonely. But the fact is, you are not in charge, and at the end of the day, it’s up to Selah, Ludwik, and I to make decisions. You are expected to respect those decisions whether or not you agree with them.” He leaned forward, smoldering. “And no matter how upset you get, you are never to speak to us like that again. We are your commanding officers, with over a decade of experience in the field. We have paid our dues and earned our ranks, and we will not be snarled at like that. I know this situation is unusual. That lines can feel… blurred, when we’re living in such close quarters, so far outside the usual structured scope of a superior-subordinate relationship. But that doesn’t stop it from existing, private.” He glanced toward Selah. “I think the private needs to be reminded of his place, arch-brigadier.”

Selah’s expression was impassive as she stood, scooping the still sleeping Chryssa up in her arms. “Ludwik, take her into the bedroom, and spell the door so that no noises seep in,” she said crisply. “We need to have a nice, long chat with Sanel here, and I quite imagine it’s not going to stay very quiet.”

Sanel swallowed hard, trembling, but he met his commanding officer’s eyes squarely. Resolute.

The arch-brigadier reflected ruefully that at least when he slunk back to the ghetto tonight, no one there would question it when the boy had lash marks on his back. Still, none of the officers could wholly avoid a threading feeling of guilt as Selah doled out the punishment, all of them no doubt still harbouring bitter memories from their own times facing the lash when they were young. Demyan knew that it was necessary-- stakes were far too high for Sanel to think it was okay pushing boundaries or questioning his superiors’ authority and decisions. But that didn’t make it any less miserable… just like everything else since they’d arrived to Meltaim seven months ago. It were as if the society thrived on misery, no facet left untouched by the bleakness.

The next day, with a subdued Sanel left to do chores around the apothecary as the other blanks collected intel out in the city, and Selah minding the shop floor, Ludwik and Demyan headed out to the auction house as promised. It was one of the warmest days they could remember since leaving Valzaim, the sky above a cloudless cerulean and the sun bathing Lilia in a pleasant golden glow. Unfortunately, the nice weather seemed to have caused an unexpected side effect: the grandstands were exceptionally crowded, as if the citizens of the city had decided to take advantage of the balmy weather by spending a darling, wholesome day watching humans sold off like chattel. Once upon a time, Demyan would have been shocked and disgusted by this. Now? He thought bitterly to himself that he could have expected no less.

“We can spare fifteen crowns,” he said to Ludwik as the two of them settled into the bleachers. With the crowd so dense, they had no room to speak openly, not even in whispers. “No more. And frankly, I’m going to get a bit uncomfortable if it pushes above twelve.”

“If she’s fifteen and as ‘pretty’ as Sanel indicated, it’ll go higher,” Ludwik replied softly. “I’m not really optimistic we’re going to walk away with this girl.” The dark haired Macarinthian sighed, looking suddenly very old and weary. “The kid is too idealistic.”

“I know.” Demyan sighed, watching with a jaded weariness as the auctioneer hauled the first blank of the day to the platform. “We can only hope we’ll be pleasantly surprised, I guess.” He almost added for once, but refrained.

“At least after we got Pavlos, hopefully the auctioneer won’t make cracks at us,” he ventured with false cheer. “So- the girl’s supposed to be mixed, aye? Valzick and Macarinthian. Frizzy black hair but not as wooly as a fullblood Valzick, with ah… honey colored skin, is that how he put it?”

“Aye,” said Demyan. He slowly raked the clump of blanks that stood off the platform, waiting for their turns. “Think she could be that one?” he murmured, nudging his chin toward a girl toward the edge of the group. “Lot…” He squinted his eyes to read the wooden block that was hung around her neck. “Three-three-six-three.”

Ludwik followed his partner’s gaze. “Must be- arm’s in a sling.”

Indeed, when the indicated girl was finally pulled up to the platform near the end of the auction, the auctioneer’s voice was sing-song as he called out: “Three-three-six-three! A foreign gem, this one. A bit of Macarinthian, a bit of Valzick, but worry not-- she understands Meltaiman fluently.” The man beamed, stroking a hand through the girl’s curly hair as though he were petting a puppy; the teenager didn’t resist, but Demyan could see the fury that flared in her mottled hazel eyes. “Starting bid on this little pretty is twelve crowns. Do I hear twelve crowns?”

Demyan glanced toward Ludwik with a wince. “Lodge it,” he murmured. “But I have a bad feeling about this.”

Ludwik obediently lifted his chit, lodging the starting bid, but almost immediately another member of the audience raised it. As the Macarinthians glanced in the man’s direction, there was no missing the calculatingly smug smirk on his face, and Ludwik winced openly.

“Guess our friend was right to worry,” he muttered to Demyan as he raised his chit again.

“He’s a dealer,” Demyan whispered. “Isn’t he? I’ve seen him before. He’s at nearly every auction we are.” The man let out a slow, gutted breath. “He buys the pretty ones to train them up as bleeders.”

“Which means,” Ludwik finished, “he will have very, very deep pockets with the premium bleeders go for these days. And he’ll be willing to spend a lot on what he sees as an investment.”

“He will,” Demyan agreed, not at all surprised when the dealer immediately raised their bid of fourteen crowns to fifteen. Their maximum. The price they simply couldn’t afford to go beyond. And even worse, another bidder from within the crowd quickly met that bid with an offer of not just sixteen, but eighteen... and the dealer countered back with twenty. “We tried,” Demyan said softly, feeling very sick and very sad. “We tried, Ludwik. But we’ve lost.”

Part Eight

SPOILER: Click to show

Sanel was every bit as devastated as Ludwik and Demyan had known he’d be, but after the punishment he’d received the night before, the young soldier seemed to know better than to argue. Still, Demyan couldn’t help but feel a prickle of guilt every time Sanel looked at him the next few days, the bags beneath the teenager’s eyes far deeper than they used to be, and a wilted look flickering in his green eyes more often than not. Every day they spent here, Demyan felt more and more like a monster. Each choice he made so laden with consequences, and even with all the efforts he and the others were making, so much horror that still rested out of their control. Not even just in Io, but in every other auction they’d lost over the past seven months. In every blank they’d witnessed backhanded on the street. In every depravity that was going on all around them, but that they could do absolutely nothing to stop.

It was ten days after they’d lost Io, and Demyan was in the middle of showing an elderly woman possible solutions for her chronic cough, when the door to the apothecary flung open so hard that it slammed back against the wall behind it. The woman jumped, and so did Demyan, his heart skipping several beats as he turned his gaze toward the entrance of the shop-- and found there no other than Ceely, the little girl’s face wild with something akin to panic.

“M-Master,” she burbled, bowing low at the waist so that her dove-blonde hair fell around her face like a curtain. “Master, I’m, I’m s-sorry for disturbing y-you but you m-must come quick, the guard, the guard sent me b-b-because,” her eyes flicked to the woman, but she rushed on regardless. “S-Sanel and Chares got arrested, Master. F-for sassing a mage.”

“What?” All the blood and colour drained from Demyan’s face. “Arrested? They got-- arrested?” As the customer raised a brow in distaste, Demyan pressed a hand to his forehead. This was… a nightmare, and even worse, neither Ludwik nor Selah was at the shop right now to take over. “Go upstairs,” he snapped. “Get Pavlos. The two of you can watch the floor for me while I’m out, yes?”

“Y-yes, Master,” Ceely replied. “I’ll get him at once.”

She bolted up the stairs to the flat above the shop, returning only moments later with the teenaged Valzick blank. As Demyan hurried to finish helping the elderly woman with her selection-- and led her toward the counter for Pavlos and Ceely to deal with her payment-- the mage said tersely, “What guard station were Sanel and Chares taken to, Ceely?”

“Th-the one by the west gate, next to the Springfield Inn,” she stammered. “They took me too ‘cause I was with them, but let me go so I c-could get you.”

“Right.” Demyan swallowed the bitter taste from his mouth. “Pavlos, you told Chryssa to stay upstairs, yes?”

“Of course, Master,” Pavlos replied, bowing low. “She has tasks enough in the private quarters to occupy her, so she shouldn’t get into trouble.”

“Good. Mind the floor, then. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And if Master Ludwik or Mistress Selah comes back, tell them at once what’s happened. That’s an order.” And with that, Demyan spun on his heel, hurrying out of the shop.

It wasn’t a long walk from the apothecary to the indicated guard station, but to Demyan it felt like a marathon, the dread within him rising exponentially with each moment that passed. Arrested? Dear Woo-- how in the ‘Pit had Sanel and Chares been so stupid? Avoid negative attention: that was one of the operatives’ foremost goals, and had been since the start of the mission. That meant staying low-key. Unassuming. Not warranting the attention of the city guard to the point where they’d felt the need to detain the idiots. What had the teenagers been thinking!?

At the guardhouse, Demyan was bade quick entry after he explained who he was, a sentinel leading him through the doors before passing him over to a senior officer called Stroz. A thin-faced man of perhaps thirty, Stroz’s uniform was littered with badges, and Demyan fought the urge to vomit as the officer led him into the back of the station.

“Thank you for coming swiftly,” Stroz intoned. “Your cooperation is appreciated.”

“Of course,” Demyan said, in as level a voice as he could manage. “I came just as soon as I heard, sir.” He swallowed hard. “My, ah-- younger blank tells me they got into a… confrontation? With a mage?”

“Distasteful affair,” the man replied, his lip drawing up with scorn. “The mage in question was disciplining one of his own blanks, when your servant saw fit to berate him. As if he had any right.”

Demyan winced. “My greatest apologies, sir. Obviously, he… he should have known much better.” As Stroz showed him down the winding staircase that led to the musty bank of subterranean cells, he added, “Is the mage, ah… filing a formal complaint?” This would mean Demyan would have to work out recompense. Expensive recompense, more than likely.

“Master Kaczor is still considering the matter,” Stroz answered as he opened a door that led to the cell block where the hapless privates were no doubt being detained. “He wished to speak with you about it before he decided on a course of action- left his address for you to contact him.”

“Of course.” Dear Woo, as if things couldn’t get worse. “I’ll… I’ll pay him a visit as soon as I can, then. To work things out.” They reached the bottom of the stairs. “And I take it there’s a fine, sir? For the, ah… inconvenience to the city guard?”

“Naturally,” the man answered, stopping in front of one of the cells and clicking his wand against the lock. “We will return the men to your custody once you’ve paid.”

The door sprang open, revealing a very subdued looking Chares and Sanel. The Macarinthian private was sporting a bruised, badly swollen cheek, as if someone had socked him there, and had fingerprints bruised around his neck. Chares, while less visibly injured, had a split lip of his own and visible chain blisters around his wrists. At the sight of Stroz and Demyan, both men sharply bowed their heads.

“Did they… resist arrest?” Demyan asked. Woo, if they had, he was going to gut them.

However, Storz shook his head. “No. The injuries are the result of the offended mage attempting to put them in their place. From what I understand the Valzick was not involved in the confrontation directly, but merely got hit in the face when your other blank stumbled into him after being stuck. Both were fairly docile when we moved to apprehend them.”

“Right.” Demyan sighed. It was a consolation, surely, but only a small one. “So, the fine then, sir?”

“It would have been thirty crowns had we not decided to send the girlchild after you instead of booking her with the others,” the guard replied. “But as it stands, the fine will be twenty- ten each.”

Twenty. Demyan almost screamed. That was enough to buy a whole new blank operative. Turning his smoldering gaze toward Sanel and Chares, he said to Stroz, “Right. Of course. I haven’t that much on me right now, but I could leave a deposit, sir? And I’ll come back by day’s end with the remainder.”

“If you can leave a collateral on the rest, that arrangement will suffice,” the guardsman agreed, as both privates shrank back from Demyan’s glare. Stroz made a beckoning gesture, and the two “blanks” leapt to their feet and scurried out of the cell, heads held low and shoulders hunched. “I only require you to fill out some paperwork for our records.”

“Certainly,” Demyan said, barely able to restrain the fury that coursed through him as he followed Stroz back upstairs, Chares and Sanel skulking silently behind him-- but wisely, neither blank daring to say a word.

After signing several sheafs of paper-- and leaving a deposit of ten crowns, as well as his wand as collateral-- Demyan thanked Stroz for his understanding and promised that he’d be back with the remainder of the money by the end of the day. He didn’t speak any to Chares and Sanel as the three started back toward the shop, not trusting his tongue in public right now given the rage that filled him. But the moment they arrived back to the apothecary, and a quick scan revealed it empty save for Ceely and Pavlos, Demyan spun on the soldiers like a harassed dog on its tormentors.

“What in the hell,” he demanded, “were you thinking, Sanel!?”

The man flinched, staring down at his boots. “I-I wasn’t, sir. I lost my temper.”

Clenching his jaw, Demyan huffed, “You are a soldier, Sanel. Do soldiers lose their tempers? Do soldiers jeopardize important missions that are nearly two years in the making?” He flicked his gaze toward Chares. “Tell me, Chares. What led toward Sanel ‘losing his temper’?”

“Um…” Chares swallowed hard. “We were w-walking in the market, sir. On our way to the ghetto, sir. T-to talk to one of our sources, sir-- the Meltaiman lady who lives upstairs from our tenement, sir. Since she’s been pretty chatty lately. And more fr-fruitful than a lot of our other sources, sir.”

“Oh?” Demyan raised a brow. “And how did this lead to Sanel arguing with a mage?”

“B-because halfway there, we came across… across…” Chares looked like he might faint. “Well, we saw Io, sir. Th-the Valzick girl. Sanel’s o-old source, the one who got sold, sir.”

“Io?” Demyan snarled. “This… this was over Io?”

Sanel was already hunched as far as he could be without going to his knees entirely, but he still flinched. “I-I’ve seen her with her new master from afar, once or twice. Sh-she’s always got new bruises, and she rubs her arm like it p-pains her, and today h-he, he grabbed her arm and was winding up f-for a punch while we watched-”

“Enough,” Demyan snapped. “I don’t care if he was about to sacrifice her in the city square, Sanel. You can’t do that! Do you understand what you’ve done? Twenty crowns to bail you out-- twenty crowns we could have used to save another Valzick or Macarinthian. And Woo only knows how much her master is going to ask for in recompense! Not to mention the sheer idiocy of putting yourself, Chares, and a twelve-year-old civilian in the city guards’ crosshairs!” He pointed toward Ceely, who was standing next to Pavlos behind the counter, both of them stiff and grim as they listened in on the seething lecture. “That child could have gotten hurt, Sanel. Did you not even think of that!?”

The young man flinched again, but said nothing. He knew full and well there was nothing he could say to excuse his actions. Not when they’d been so unforgivably thoughtless. Demyan, however, was unmoved by the teenager’s reticience, still quaking from rage as he jerked a finger toward the steps that led up to the flat.

“Both of you upstairs. Sanel, sit on the floor, facing the wall. Do not speak, do not move. Chares, you ensure he follows this command.” Demyan forced a deep breath. “When Selah and Ludwik get back, there will be the ‘Pit to pay. And don’t you dare think of resisting the lash, private.” He flicked his gaze toward Ceely and Pavlos. “Pavlos, you can go back to the ghetto for the night. Ceely, please go upstairs and mind Chryssa. I want both you and her to stay in your bedroom. Door shut. Understood?”

Ceely nodded sharply, her brown eyes shimmering. She blinked hard once before turning to head up the stairs. Pavlos didn’t meet Demyan’s eyes, only murmuring, “Yes sir,” and heading out the door. Sanel meekly headed upstairs in Ceely’s wake, Chares trailing behind him with only a grim nod toward Demyan.

Alone, Demyan brushed an agitated hand through his tousled blond locks before forcing an impassive expression back to his face as the shop door creaked open, and a customer stepped in. It took every ounce of willpower in him to stay cheery and biddable over the next few hours, as he chattered with clients and sold his wares. At the very least, each potion or pomade he hustled meant another few crowns in his pocket. But in the face of Sanel’s immensely pricey blunder, it was only a minor consolation.

Ludwik finally arrived home from a day of scouting not long before sunset, Selah with him, and the moment they stepped inside, the story of what had happened was bursting from Demyan’s lips as though he were a dam that had sprung a leak. “The guardhouse probably closes soon,” he said at the end of it. “So I’m thinking two of us should head there with the remainder of the payment-- and to get my wand back-- before paying this Master Kaczor a visit to smooth things over. And whoever stays here can, ah… deal with Sanel. I already told him he’s getting lashed.”

“I’ll handle it,” Selah said tiredly, rubbing her face. “I’m the commanding officer, it’s my duty. You two go deal with Kaczor.”

“I guess sometimes it’s not so fun being in charge, huh?” Demyan managed a very grim laugh. “Alright. Woo-speed with Sanel-- hopefully Ludwik and I can arrive back without our pocketbook having been utterly decimated.” He glanced toward his partner. “Shall we, Luddy?”

“Let’s get this over with,” Ludwik agreed. “Hopefully the man’s not too belligerent.”

The partners made their way to the guard station, paying off the rest of the bail and recovering Demyan’s wand. Then, following the directions given to them by the guards, they found their way to a quaint but well-kempt house in the market district, presumably the home of the bleeder-dealer Kaczor. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Ludwik knocked twice on the front door.

It creaked open not twenty seconds later-- but if the mages had expected to find themselves facing Kaczor, they were sharply surprised at who greeted them instead: a small boy, no more than five or six, an almost comically large wand holstered at his hip and his pale blue eyes glimmering cheerily.

“Hi!” he chirped, tilting his chin up to the meet the strangers’ gazes. “Are you Papa’s friends? The ones who’s gonna have supper with us tonight?” The child beamed. “Mama had the cook make pheasant!”

“I, uh-” Ludwik was caught supremely off guard, but managed to smile for the boy, if rather awkwardly. “I don’t think that’s us, kiddo. We’re here because something in the market happened that we need to apologize to your papa for. Could you get him for us?”

“Oh! Uh-huh!” Turning on his heel, the little boy called out into the foyer: “Papa! Papa, there’s strangers here!” As his voice echoed into the house, he glanced back toward Demyan and Ludwik. “I like your wand holster,” he announced brightly, pointing toward Ludwik’s plain leather sheath. “It’s a pretty colour! Not fancy, but pretty!”

“Thank you,” Ludwik replied politely, as from within the house footsteps sounded. Soon enough, a man emerged from within the house, one the partners recognized from the auction for Io.

“Tymon!” he called, his voice gently chiding but a light of weary amusement in his eyes. “How many times have I told you to let me or your mama get the door? Or to call us if someone knocks and we don’t hear?”

“I was just tryna help!” Tymon, pouting his lips, reached up to wrap his arms around his father’s waist. “They says they’re here to ‘pologise, Papa. ‘Bout somethin’ from the market.”

“Ah, yes.” Demyan smiled neutrally. “I’m Demyan Aptekarz, and this is my brother, Ludwik. We’re the owners of the blanks who… hassled you earlier today.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “The city guard told me you’d like to speak with us.”

“Oh, yes, that incident,” the man replied, reaching one hand out to shake with the Macarinthians as he used the other to hug the clingy child. “Thank you for coming to address it so quickly; please, come inside, sit down, no need to bake the back of your necks in the late evening sun over a few surly blanks.”

He turned back into the house, gesturing with a hand for Demyan and Ludwik to follow. They did, albeit with reluctance, Demyan shooting his partner a decidedly weary glance as they trailed Kaczor through the foyer and into a small parlour. Demyan wasn’t entirely sure if he ought be grateful or relieved that at least so far, Kaczor was being… civil, even friendly. On the one hand, perhaps that meant he’d fleece them less. On the other hand, he would never get used to Meltaimans being so-- normal, in some respects. Kaczor was a man who dealt in ritually bleeding people. He shouldn’t be nice.

“Papa, Papa,” Tymon chirped as they settled in the sitting room. “Can I sit in your lap?”

“If you promise to sit still and behave yourself while Papa talks to the nice men,” he replied, giving the boy an affectionate smile. “It’ll probably be a very boring conversation, little man.”

“I’ll be real good,” Tymon promised, nestling into his father’s lap. Once he had, he grinned toward Ludwik and Demyan. “I’m a big boy, y’know. ‘Cos I’m five now.”

“Five, are you?” Demyan asked softly. “Why, you’re practically grown up, little man.” And one day in the not-too-distant future, this freckle-faced child would probably take over his father’s macabre business and make people like Io scream. “I’m sure you’ll be a nice proper gentleman as we talk to your papa.”

“He’s a good boy,” Kaczor said affectionately, ruffling the child’s hair. Giving the two Macarinthians a sympathetic smile he added, “And you don’t need to look so tense, I’m not that miffed about earlier. Blanks can be frisky, especially teenaged ones. Old enough they can’t be easily outsized anymore, but young and energetic enough they haven't fully learned their place in the world.”

Ludwik had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from showing his distaste at the way this man talked about human teenagers being “frisky” like they were unbroken stallions. “Your understanding is most appreciated, Master Kaczor.”

“Papa’s got bad blanks, too,” Tymon said cheerily. He looked up at his father, patting the older man’s dark beard. “Like the girl, Papa!” he reminded. “The one in the cellar! Who you buyed last week!”

Demyan tensed; Tymon could only be talking about Io. “Ah?” he said. “So you’ve been having… your own problems, Master Kaczor?” Hastily, he added, “It truly is such a headache. When they don’t mind as they should. And you have to discipline them.” He smiled his best lecherous smile. “Gods know, our blank is getting the beating of his life right now. For how he bothered you.”

The man made a face. “This new girl has been nothing but difficulty since I got her. Seems she never quite had the attachment to her heathen southern religion beaten out of her. I make a business of training bleeders, you see, and she takes personal affront to being, as she puts it, ‘used in pagan blood rituals.’ Has been having fits over every little part of the training, wretched thing. I was actually disciplining her when your blank spoke up.”

“Sounds like a frustrating effort.” There was a decidedly sour taste coating Demyan’s mouth. “And such an impediment to your valuable time, Master Kaczor.”

“Papa’s flogged her so much times,” Tymon said, with so little affect that he could have been talking about the weather. “And he can’t even have her live in the ghetto, ‘cos he’s ‘fraid she’ll try an’ run away.”

“This is why most people start bleeders as children,” Kaczor put in scathingly. “But of course that also means they’re so little you can’t take much blood from them. I make a mint buying and flipping adult blanks as bleeders, but I’m beginning to think I misjudged this one. If anything the incident earlier was just more evidence that she’s not worth the trouble.” He sighed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to ramble at you. It’s just been cursed exasperating. I’ve been thinking of just offering her up at the solstice festival as a tribute to the Campaigns. Cut my losses before she beggars me in bread and board for no reward.”

“A tribute?” Demyan echoed… before his blood ran cold when it hit him quite what this meant. A Rite of Fourteen. Oh dear Woo, Kaczor was considering having Io sacrificed. “That would be…” He shot a nearly frantic look toward Ludwik, barely able to keep his breathing level. “Such a pity,” he managed after a moment. “A young thing like that, I’m sure she could be broken eventually. With enough of an… even hand.”

Ludwik swallowed hard. He could see what Demyan was doing, and by Woo he knew he should stop him, but in that moment all he could think about was how frantic Sanel had looked when he’d been begging his commanders to save the girl. How over her, he’d gone from a near perfect, polite, obedient soldier to a discipline problem.

And in his mind’s eye he kept remembering a blonde woman, her hair tacky with sweat and her lower half splashed with blood, eyes glassy and unseeing.

He closed his eyes, willing himself not to break as he always did when he was reminded of Alice. Not here, not now.

“I suppose,” Kaczor agreed doubtfully. “But flipping is a time-sensitive business. You don’t want to hold a project for so long you spend more than you’ll get on the other end.” He glanced at Ludwik curiously. “You alright, man?”

“He’s… fine,” Demyan said. His tone was so hesitant he barely even convinced himself; he had a feeling that Ludwik was very much not fine. Not when the fact that they’d refused to spring for Io meant she might be killed. Like a piece of trash. Like she meant nothing, her life only valuable insofar as it wasn’t an inconvenience to a lazy prat like Kaczor. “I mean not to overstep any bounds, Master Kaczor, but… as one godly citizen to another, would you mind if I presented you with an offer? An offer that I think would help make you whole after your unfortunate encounter with our blank today, and help with your… insolence problem, shall we say?”

The man’s eyes lit, and he smiled. “Oh? What’s on your mind, Master Aptekarz?”

“What if we took the problem off your hands?” Demyan suggested. “Then you won’t have to exasperate yourself with her a moment longer.” He leaned forward, making himself smile as a convoluted gamble of a plan unfurled in his head. “I have utmost faith that my brother and I can fix any discipline problem, Master Kaczor. So-- how about this: we take the girl today. We break her for you. And then once she’s submissive as a newborn lamb, we give her right back? I think that’s a far more pragmatic solution than us merely forking over a fistful of crowns to you now, no? Our way of apologising for our blank’s actions and rectifying a problem of your own. And then you needn’t waste such potential on a hasty Rite of Fourteen.”

“Hmm.” The man looked thoughtful. “Well your Valzick and the blonde child were both fairly meek, so it would seem you’ve a reasonable hand with the chattel. Why not? It seems an agreeable enough arrangement to me. Just see to it she doesn’t get involved with any of your males. Bleeders need to be untouched to be properly vetted by the church.”

“Of course,” Demyan said quickly. His heart was thumping in his ears. “It’s… May the 13th now, yes? How about we agree to have her returned to you by-- September 1st? And I promise you, Master Kaczor, we’ll have her obedient as any blank you’ve ever seen. Why…” He grinned. “You can even come round our shop whenever you’d like, to check on the progress. See her transformation from a surly wretch into a submissive doll. We’re the cozy little apothecary on Pansy Street, next to the greengrocer’s-- you can’t miss it.”

Ludwik was startled out of his thoughts by his partner’s words. The sleeper units stationed in Meltaim had been given a rather wide window of time in which to return home, to account for unexpected complications that might tie them up in their cities, or complications on the escape. They were allowed to head home as early as July- but September 1st was their hard deadline for arriving back to Valzaim or Macarinth, after which they would be assumed KIA and their families informed.

Demyan wasn’t going to keep the girl temporarily just to save her life from an early execution. He was planning to slip her out of Meltaim before Kaczor even expected her back.

“I think that’s an excellent proposal, my good friend,” Kaczor replied, sounding positively cheerful. “And you can use her for whatever you like in your shop in the meantime, provided she isn’t ah… given any potions that might do her permanent harm, hm?” He tapped Tymon’s shoulder. “How about you have one of the servants go fetch Io out of the cellar, eh buddy? But don’t go down there yourself, it’s dark and there are spiders.”

“‘Kay!” Tymon leapt to his feet. “I’ll have ‘em get her for you, Papa!” The little boy pattered out of the room, grinning all the while.

Once he was gone, Demyan leaned back in his seat, letting out a small sigh of relief. “I’m so glad we could come to an arrangement, Master Kaczor,” he said. And now Io wouldn’t die. By Woo, she wouldn’t die. “And it’s been such a pleasure meeting with you! I must admit, my brother and I were rather worried when the city guard said you wished to speak with us. But I’m so very grateful to have found you a kind and reasonable man.”

“Of course,” Kaczor replied amiably. “I can’t hold it against you that your boy was surly, and as you said you’ve already addressed the matter with him so I’m confident it won’t happen again. If anything I should be grateful to him, as insolent as he was.”

Ludwik smiled, and though the expression was thin it was sincere, relief evident in his eyes. “I’m glad we could come to terms that proved agreeable for everyone involved. And I assure you, by September both your girl and our lad will be absolutely docile, upon my honor.”

The door to the room creaked open again, and a tired, terrified blank ushered Io in before bowing and immediately retreating the room. The girl’s broken arm had apparently been healed since last Ludwik and Demyan had seen her, but it was clear that Sanel had not been exaggerating about her bruises. She had one black eye, a split lip, her bare arms were riddled with purple handprints, and she was limping in a way that suggested something was wrong with her leg. There was also a shimmering iron ring around her neck that hadn’t been there when she was on the auction block-- a containment collar.

“Ah, here’s our little project,” Kaczor said cheerily. “Io, say hello to your temporary new masters- they’ll be helping to ah… get you over this little defiant streak of yours. See the honor that is to be had in serving the gods.”

Jaw trembling, Io let her patchwork hazel eyes list toward Demyan and Ludwik. “You’re not going to break me,” she murmured, her voice at once wavering and firm. “N-not to be used in blood rituals to your gods.”

Kaczor scowled, standing abruptly and jerking his wand from the holster, hissing a word that made a crackle of crimson energy surge over the girl. She sputtered in pain, dropping to her knees with such force that they let out an audible crack as they slapped against the hard floor beneath. Tears pricked in her eyes, but she blinked them back. Desperately. Defiantly.

“Sorry about that,” he said cooly. “You see now why I’m at my wit’s end with her.”

“Well, she’s our problem now,” Ludwik said, quickly but firmly. “I assure you by the time we’re finished she won’t be anybody’s problem. Just an asset you can be proud of.”

“Mind if we finagle some with her collar, though?” Demyan said pleasantly, rising to his feet. “We might want to tinker some with the runework from time to time. Modifying it to include different triggers, punishments--” He waved a hand. “You know, the usual, depending on how her training’s proceeding.”

“I leave it up to your discretion,” Kaczor replied. He cast another spell that caused a thick chain to hook her wrists together, then offered the end to Demyan. “I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labors, my friend. Shall I check up on her, oh… every two weeks or so?”

“Certainly-- whenever you’d like, Master Kaczor.” Demyan took a step toward Io. “Come, girl. Stand.”

“No,” she murmured, still trembling on the floor. “I won’t.”

The blond Macarinthian winced. Woo, he didn’t want to manhandle her, not given the injuries that covered her delicate body… but he could hardly show mercy right now, not when he’d just touted himself as an expert breaker of blanks. So it was with a heavy dose of regret that he jerked the magically-borne chain, his stomach flipping as Io let out another squawk of pain.

“Up,” Demyan said stiffly. “Or I will drag you the entire five miles from here to my shop, Io. And it’ll be a flogging for you once we’re back.” He glanced to Ludwik and added lightly, “I’m sure our dear sister still has fire left in her to dole another beating, no? After she took care of Sanel.” Woo, please let the familiar name spur Io into cooperation.

Ludwik nodded quickly, giving the girl a crooked smile that might have looked like a leer at the right angle. “I imagine he’ll be so delighted to see you again.”

“Sanel?” Io murmured, freezing. “You… you’re th-the ones who own Sanel?”

“We are,” Demyan confirmed, giving the chain another regretful tug. “And if you don’t stand up right now, the two of you can have a lovely competition as to who’s sporting more lash marks.” He clenched his jaw. “Get up. This is your last warning, Io.”

For a nerve-wracking moment, as Io remained unmoving on the floor, Demyan thought his tactic had failed. But just as dread began to fill him, the girl nodded mutely, her curls falling in front of her face as she rose shakily to her feet. Both of her knees were already beginning to bruise, ugly red. Demyan couldn’t even imagine how much pain she was in.

But he dared not let this show in his voice. “Good girl,” he said flatly. Then, to Kaczor: “We’ll have her fixed up for you in no time, my friend.”

[Shinko]

Rising Storm
Continued...

Part Nine

SPOILER: Click to show

The apothecary was dark when they arrived, and Demyan’s heart was thudding in his throat as he and Ludwik led Io through the quiet storefront and up the steps to the apartment. Ludwik swiped his hand across the magelock and entered first, Demyan trailing behind him still gripping Io’s chain. He had to tug the girl again so that she would willingly follow, causing her to let another hiss of pain. For the umpteenth time since they’d arrived to Meltaim, part of Demyan hated himself.

And that was before he laid eyes on the unfortunate scene in the living room.

Chares sat on one of the sofa’s with his head in his hands, looking positively exhausted, as Selah perched beside him scribbling in one of the logbooks. Neither of the little girls were present-- presumably they were still shut away in their bedroom-- but the same couldn’t be said for Sanel… and Demyan couldn’t fight back a wince as Io’s gaze fell immediately on the familiar boy, who was laid out on the couch opposite Selah and Chares, shirtless and with a maze of lashmarks cross-hatching his back. Some of the marks were still bleeding. There had to be at least thirty of them, if not more.

“Sanel,” Io whimpered, her throat shaking. “Oh my Woo--”

Selah’s head snapped around, and she looked at the chained, battered girl in total bafflement. “Who is-”

Sanel, however, was faster, wrenching around so quickly that he set several of the scabbed marks on his back bleeding again and cried out involuntarily with pain. However, he still managed to gasp out, “Io? I-is that…”

The boy bit his tongue immediately when Selah glowered at him, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy, as Io blinked hard to fight back tears. “I’m so sorry,” the girl whimpered. “Th-that I got you beaten like that, I’m sorry--”

“Hush.” Demyan cringed again; Woo, this was not going as planned. Still not letting go of Io’s chain, he set his green eyes on Selah. “The goods news,” he said thickly, “is that Luddy and I worked out a deal with Kaczor. This”-- he jerked his chin toward the Valzick teenager-- “is Io. We’re borrowing her. So that we can teach her discipline. Or at least… that was the idea as we sketched it to Kaczor.” He sighed. “The bad news is, I’m pretty sure if we don’t explain things to her right now, we’re going to scare the poor girl past the point of no return. Given Sanel’s, ah… unfortunate state.”

“You know, the general is going to read all these reports of recruits we trusted on the day of purchase and have our hides,” Selah remarked, almost to herself. “But alright. Sanel did have a point, that she’s earned our trust and the truth with as much as she helped him. Go ahead.”

Ludwik sighed, casting the now familiar charm to close all of the curtains- they were on the second story but caution was still a capital order, especially after the fiasco earlier. As the shades all snapped shut, Io shuddered, the panic that was coursing through her patently obvious. Demyan gulped. No use leaving the girl terrified for a moment longer.

“I’m sorry that we had to posture like we did, Io,” he said in Valzick. The blond mage dropped the girl’s chain. “But it was necessary to save you.”

Io stiffened, confusion flaring in her. “I… I don’t…” She whipped her gaze toward Sanel. “W-what’s happening? Sanel… wh-what’s…”

The young man swallowed hard. “P-permission to speak, Arch-Brigadier?” he warbled.

“Granted,” Selah replied, and he sagged with relief.

“It’s okay, Io,” he said softly. “I-I know this looks bad on the surface, but you trust me, right? So you can trust them. I promise. They’re on your side.”

“O-on my side?” Io squeaked, not daring to slip into Valzick as he had. “But… n-no, Sanel, they’re-- they’re mages, they beat y-you--”

“Sanel is a soldier,” Demyan cut in, gently but firmly. “All of us in this room save for you are soldiers. From Macarinth and Valzaim. We’ve been in Meltaim since last September on a highly covert mission. To save and extract our stolen citizens, and gather intel in general.” Easing out his wand, he flicked it once to dissolve Io’s chains. “Sanel was flogged, yes. None of us will deny it. But that’s because he’s a soldier who badly disobeyed orders and compromised our entire mission by what he did today, in trying to interfere with your master. He’s not a slave, Io. And you’re not either. Not anymore.”

Ludwik gave a sad, but what he hoped was reassuring smile. “Sanel was asking you a lot of questions about the Gods’ Campaign child your former master had, right? That’s why. Once we’ve finished in this city, we plan to rescue as many of the Campaign children as we can on our way out. In the meantime, we’ve been buying Valzick and Macarinthian native blanks at auction to rescue them as well. Sanel asked us to try and buy you, but we were… not equal to that dealer’s purse I’m afraid.”

“You’re… soldiers?” Io inhaled jaggedly, the tears finally breaking free from her eyes. Very, very tentatively, the girl slipped into Valzick, her voice breaking as she said, “But you’re o-only… borrowing me. Th-that’s what Master Kaczor said, isn’t it? T-to break me. For him.”

“We had to say that,” Demyan said. “So he’d give you to us. And… you’ll have to play along, Io. Act as if we’re training you up every time he comes by. But we are not giving you back to him. I promise. By the time he comes by to collect, we’ll be gone-- all of us will be gone.” He smiled softly. “You’ll be back in Valzaim. At home.”

Io sniffled, reaching up to rub her bruised and battered face. “This is a dream. Th-this is all just a dream. He b-beat me so bad I’m hallucinating. That must be it.” Shakily, she took a step toward Sanel, hesitating after a moment as though she expected Ludwik or Demyan to try to stop her. When they didn’t, the girl took another step, then another, until she’d reached Sanel’s side and dropped down onto the couch next to him. “You’re a soldier?” she whispered, her hazel eyes meeting his green. “Y-you’re really a soldier, Sanel?” She touched his cheek, her fingers trembling violently. “And y-you got yourself flogged to protect me. Woo, why would you get yourself flogged to pr-protect me?”

“Protecting people is what soldiers do, Io,” he replied softly, lifting his hand to place it over hers. “That’s why I enlisted. But…” His shoulders slumped. “I care about you. A lot. I couldn't bear to just watch him hurt you.”

“But I-I’m nobody,” Io whimpered. “I’m… I’m not worth anything, I’m just…” She gulped, the girl seemingly growing more and more agitated as she shot a glance back Ludwik and Demyan at the door. “You’re g-going back to Valzaim? When th-this is over?”

“We are,” Demyan confirmed. He smiled at the girl. “You can see your family again, Io.”

“No.” Io clenched her jaw, reaching impulsively for Sanel’s hand, and he compliantly reached out and squeezed hers. “I d-don’t want to see them. I don’t want you to give me b-back to them. Please.”

Chares, silent through the exchange so far, quirked a confused eyebrow. Leaning forward from his seat across the room, he asked, “What do you mean, you don’t want to go back to your family?”

Io’s gaze lurched toward him. “I mean just that,” she insisted, shaking like a blade of grass in the wind now, and her jaw audibly clattering. “M-Mother and Father had eight kids. I w-was the eighth. They couldn’t afford me, so when I was four they s-sent me and my next oldest sister to live with Father’s brother up north, n-near the border with Meltaim and Macarinth. He m-made us sleep in the hayloft. And if we didn’t work, we didn’t eat. The d-day the raiders came, I was only eight, and m-my sister nine. My uncle made us g-get up before dawn to feed his pigs. We were all alone when they sh-showed up out of nowhere. I screamed. She screamed. And I know h-he had to hear us. But he didn’t even try to come after us. He didn’t even try.”

Ludwik tilted his head, his expressions sad. “You would rather stay in Meltaim? Io, y-your master is planning to give you over for a Rite of Fourteen if he can't break you.”

“No,” Sanel bleated, instinctively putting a hand on Io’s shoulder. “Oh Woo, no!”

“I don’t have anyone,” Io warbled. “My sister and I w-were separated a year ago, a-after she got sold to a traveling merchant. I haven’t seen her since. And my f-family in Valzaim never wanted me in the first place. W-why do you think I was so open with Sanel? Why do you th-think I kept resisting my masters even after I got beaten so badly? It’s because I have nothing to lose. I… r-realised that a few months ago. On my sister’s sixteenth birthday, when it occurred to me that I didn’t know where she was, or even whether she was alive or dead. She was the only th-thing I’d had since we got taken. She was all I had, and now she’s gone.” Io crumpled forward, pressing her face into her hands. “You th-think you can just… show up and save me? My knights in shining armour? Well, you’re a l-little late. I’ve been in this bloody kingdom for seven years. Beaten. Tormented. S-separated from the only family member who ever really loved me. You’re too late.”

For a time, no one spoke. Then, Sanel whispered plaintively, almost pleadingly, “I love you.”

“What?” Io lifted her gaze and hooked it once more on Sanel’s. Quakingly. Disbelievingly. “W-what do you mean you… love me?”

Part of Demyan wanted to nip this in the bud. After all, now was hardly the time for two teenagers to wax poetic, not when it was only by the grace of every god in existence that things had worked out today without all of them ending up dead. This wasn’t an opportunity to romance! For moon eyes and sweet nothings!

… But then the colonel looked at Io, and the pain written so potently on her face made him physically sick. She was… right, wasn’t she? For years-- decades, really-- both Valzaim and Macarinth had done nearly nothing to truly tackle the monster beside them. They’d let Meltaim abduct their citizens with only minimal resistance, the Special Forces kept on a choking chain in the Galfras and prohibited from making any offensive incursions past the border zone, and the king’s army in Macarinth given no more leeway than their southwestern neighbours. It was only now, at the idea of Meltaim not just enslaving their citizens but turning them against their homelands, that either of the Wooist kingdoms were considering serious reprisal. And even now, they were biding their time. Mulling like patrons at a restaurant as they considered what to order. Or if they ought truly order at all.

And here was Io. Who’d been suffering in Meltaim for so long. Who’d spent half her life in fetters as the kingdom that was supposed to protect her twiddled its thumbs. And who, Demyan realised grimly, might have been killed like a pig for slaughter had Sanel not made his blunder today. After all, her only other possible saviors had already written her off as too expensive. Woo knew, had it not been for having to make nice with Kaczor, Demyan never would have thought of trying to rescue the girl again.

So, rather than lambasting Sanel’s lovelorn declaration, instead Demyan murmured: “He does love you, Io. He risked everything for you. His life. Our lives. All of it. I don’t blame you for being bitter-- in your shoes, I’d probably be bitter, too. But you do have something. You have Sanel. And Io…” He gave the girl a sad, almost pleading smile. “Please don’t give up, honey. You’re so young, and you have such a life ahead of you. I know you’re hurting. I know. But you’re not alone anymore. You’re not nobody. I promise.”

Io whimpered again, sobbing now as though she were a girl in mourning. For the miserable life that had been thrust upon her. For all the people who’d so starkly let her down. “I d-don’t want to spy for you,” she choked out. “I’m d-done playing… playing games. I tr-tried to give Sanel information, and all I got for it was nearly getting sacrificed. I can’t anymore, okay? I can’t. A-and…” She hiccuped. “If y-you’re truly on my side, then heal him. He only did what he did to save my life. A life everyone else had given up on. Including you. If I’m not nobody-- if I’m worth something-- then heal him. Please.”

The officers exchanged glances at this request, not answering at first. Ludwik finally said, “It's probably better if you don't run reconnaissance for us anyway- we shouldn't trust you out and about, not if we’re supposed to be breaking you. You can stay here and help out in the shop. I’d say given everything you did for Sanel, you've done your part for our mission. As to healing him, technically Selah should make that call. She’s in charge of our unit.”

Selah pursed her lips. “Oh sure, leave it on me to be the bad guy or not.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “Alright, get over here, Private. But if you cause any more danger over this-”

“I won't,” he said instantly as he stood and scampered over to her. “I promise.”

“And… let me heal you, as well, Io,” Demyan added gently. “Please?”

The girl swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. “O-okay. But…” As Selah began to work on Sanel, Io darted her gaze toward them. “I kn-know he normally lives in the ghetto, right? Th-that’s what he told me. When we used to… t-talk, before I got sold.”

“He spends his nights there, yes,” Demyan agreed. “Along with Chares here and a Valzick we bought, Pavlos.” He glanced over toward the closed door that separated the living room from the bedchamber that Selah, Ceely, and Chryssa shared. “We’ve two little girls, too. A Macarinthian and a Valzick. They live here, as you will.”

“R-right.” Io sniffled, her tears finally slowing. “W-would it be okay if he stayed here tonight? W-with me? Just… I… I…” She shrugged miserably. “It’s been a v-very long time since I fell asleep next to someone who… c-cared about me. Hearing their breathing through the dark. Feeling their warmth next to me. Not s-since my sister got sold. And since then I’ve felt… so, so alone. L-like there was no one but me left in the world. Like it w-wouldn’t even matter if I woke up the next morning.”

Sanel’s head perked up at this, and he shot Io a warm look. Ludwik sighed. “For a while. He did just sass a mage, we can always claim we’re restricting him as punishment. But he still has a job to do Io, and he can do it better if he’s in the thick of things.”

“A week,” Selah cut in as she threaded one of the lashes on Sanel’s back. “No more.” Letting a thread of humor trickle into her voice, she remarked, “No docile Macarinthian flower, this one. She’ll give you a run for your money, Private.”

Sanel blushed, looking sheepish. “I told you she was brave.”

“She is,” Demyan agreed, slowly easing himself onto the sofa beside Io and drawing his wand. “Now… how about I start getting some of your injuries healed, hon. Okay?”

Io nodded softly. “Okay. Th-thank you.” The girl looked back to Sanel. “And thank you,” she murmured. “For… for not giving up on me. Even when everyone else had.”

“I’m at least partially at fault for landing you in that mess in the first place,” he replied sadly. “I love you- I never would have forgiven myself if I hadn't tried to save you.”

“Well.” A silent observer to most of the conversation, Chares smirked lightly. “If we’re all done declaring our love, mind if I head back to the ghetto for the night? I know it’s late, and you don’t like me traveling in the dark, but I’d hate to leave Pavlos there by himself all night. He has to be… worried, to say the least.”

“Go ahead, private,” Demyan said, whispering an incantation beneath his breath as he began to treat the first of Io’s many injuries. “Report back here in the morning, with Pavlos. I’m guessing his fears will be soothed quite a bit when he sees Sanel cheery and uninjured.”

“Might want to soothe Ceely as well, Demyan,” Selah said softly, flexing her fingers a little- she would no doubt be very spell-sick before Sanel’s back was done. “She’s a bit shaken up. Remember she also got manhandled by the guard today.”

“Right. Of course. I’ll check on her just as soon as I’m done with Io.” As Chares stood and started toward the door, Demyan shot Sanel a warm smile. “I’m sure you’ll take care of her well for the rest of the night, private, right? Show her what our famous Macarinthian chivalry is all about.”

The young Macarinthian blushed even harder, but the gentle smile he directed towards Io made it plain he had every intention of doing just that.

Part Ten

SPOILER: Click to show

Though slightly broody and quick to flinch over the next few days, Ceely soon got over her tangle with the city guard, and Pavlos, too, was much assuaged after seeing the uninjured Sanel. Their joy, however, was little compared to that shared by Io and her savior, the two of them falling so fast and so hard for one another that Sanel no longer bothered to pretend it was merely a platonic relationship. His superiors agreed they’d turn the other eye to it-- even though it was likely against some mission protocol or another-- so long as the teenager kept up with his duties, and Sanel readily obliged. If anything, the acquisition of Io improved the Macarinthian’s productivity, and although Demyan and the others couldn’t help teasing the lovelorn boy, they also realised now that morale could go a long way toward performance. It was hard to keep one’s spirits up, after all, if that one was feeling as though nothing he did actually made a difference.

“Who knew,” Demyan joked with Selah. “Give a hormonal sixteen-year-old a pretty girlfriend, and suddenly he’s your number one soldier.”

It was two weeks after they’d ‘borrowed’ Io that the next bit of good news came along: still a regular customer so that he could to buy Miron’s headache medicine, the count had decided to turn to the Aptekarz’ apothecary for the quarterly replenishment of his manor’s general potions. This meant as massive of an order as the undercover soldiers had ever faced before, and days spent scrambling to make sure everything was put together properly-- but, at the end of it, they also found their purses far heavier than usual, the order alone accounting for more than they usually made in several weeks.

“You know what this means, right?” Chares cheerfully said over supper the night they’d made delivery of the count’s items.

“We can buy more charcoal?” Chryssa suggested in very heavily accented Meltaiman, the little girl’s eyes going wide in anticipation. “For my drawings!”

Demyan laughed. “No, hon-- not charcoal. But…” He smiled. “It means we can go to the next blank auction. And save another person like you, Pavlos, Ceely, and Io.”

“Oooh!” The little girl beamed. “That’s ‘citing, right? ‘Cos… ‘cos they can help you with all your mission stuff! And go home with us once we’re all done!”

Pavlos gave the little girl an indulgent smile. “That’s right, Chryssie. And maybe if it's someone nice and trustworthy, you can even show them your drawings.”

“Hopefully her plastering them with doodles doesn't scare them off right away,” Ceely joked.

“I don’ draw scary things.” Chryssa puffed out her cheeks, sullen. “I draw pretty things!”

“Very pretty,” Io agreed, one hand holding her soup spoon as with her other she thoughtlessly ran her thumb over Sanel’s arm. “I like the butterfly you drew for Selah. The pattern on its wings was interesting.”

Chryssa smiled again, sheepishly. “It’s lotsa hearts,” the girl said. “All put together! ‘Cos… ‘cos I love Selah, an’ so I want her to have hearts.”

Selah smiled warmly, giving the little girl a one-armed hug. “I love you too, sweetie. That was very thoughtful.” Impishly she suggested, “Maybe you should draw some hearts for Sanel and Io next.”

The private in question blushed, but tilted his head against Io’s. “That would be nice. But Colonel Demyan is right, this is exciting news.”

Indeed, for once Demyan was feeling outright cheerful as he and Ludwik headed to the auction house the next morning, with far more money in their purse than they’d ever attended with in the past. As they settled into the grandstands, the blond mage couldn’t even bring himself to bristle over the auctioneer’s usual, lecherous prattling, instead keeping his eyes peeled on the cluster of blanks that waited off the platform. It was a sizable group-- perhaps fifty strong-- and though he could see no obvious foreigners amidst its ranks, Demyan didn’t let himself feel dissuaded. After all, there could easily still be Macarinthians mixed in. Woo knew from his and Luddy’s own appearances, their home kingdom sported people of all different ilks, from hair pale as butter to dark as jet, and skin ranging the gamut from snow white to nearly Valzick-brown.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this,” he announced to Ludwik as the auctioneer called the first lot of the day to the platform-- a middle-aged Meltaiman man with rippling muscles that announced years of hard labour. “And I don’t think we’ll be outbid, either. Not when Selah said we could go up to fifty today.” He smiled. “Hell, we could even get us two lots, if we play it right.”

“This may have to be our last foray though,” Ludwik noted, albeit reluctantly. “Apothecaries only need so many slaves. People might start to titter that the count’s business has gone to our heads.”

“Right.” Demyan could easily read between the lines: it was the first week of June. Their time in Meltaim was beginning to ebb toward its conclusion. Taking on any new operatives much past the present might grow thorny, particularly if they snared an uncooperative agent. “Well, let’s make the best of today, then, hm?”

But by midway through the auction, not a single viable lot had been pulled up to the platform. The only foreigner at all was a Langean child, the girl no older than eight or nine, and even before the bidding over her rocketed to nearly a hundred crowns, she was much too young for Demyan and Ludwik to consider. Woo knew they had enough of a time with little Chryssa-- and they wanted to save their resources for potential Valzicks or Macarinthians anyway, not children of the heathen north.

The list of lots whittling down quickly, a threading knot of unease was beginning to form in Demyan’s gut when the auctioneer ordered to the platform lot four-oh-six-three, and up to the block limped a man who looked in his early to mid twenties, with hair like melted chocolate that had a slight naturally red tint to it, and piercing ice-blue eyes. He had an old, painful looking scar on the leg he was slightly favoring, though from what was hard to guess.

“Ah, a fun one here!” the auctioneer crooned, in the familiar lilting tone Demyan and Ludwik had long grown used to. “Male, twenty-four years of age. Has spent most of his life owned by a blacksmith-- good physical strength and stamina, and obedient as a well-broken stallion! And…” He shuffled with the tome of loose-leaf parchment on the podium in front of him, scanning the page that corresponded with the man in front of him now. “Ah, yes! A foreign import, this one. Macarinthian! Starting bid: twenty crowns.”

Ludwik only had to spare his partner a cursory glance before he knew they were going for it. The man was strong and had the exotic appeal of being foreign- likely he would not come easy, but after what had almost happened to Io when they gave up on her, neither man wanted to give up this blank easily.

It was a devil of a bidding war- quite a few people competed for the Macarinthian slave, and in the end it took nearly sixty crowns to claim him. But, to both Demyan and Ludwik’s immense relief, claim him the partners eventually did.

“Selah’s going to be pleased,” Demyan said afterward, as he and Ludwik waited in the payment line. “Fifty-seven is a bit over the fifty she said, yes, but it’s a good buy.” He smiled. “Told you I had a feeling about today.”

Ludwik grinned back. “We are going to get gutted one of these days. But for now, let's meet our new little friend.”

Their “little friend” was introduced as “Martin” by the clerk at the table, and he kept silent as a temple monk during the entire procedure, following meekly when asked. Part of Demyan was relieved-- it was no fun dealing with resistive purchases like Ceely and Io-- but it made his stomach pinch, too, that one of his countrymen had been so badly broken like this. The fire beaten out of him. As docile as a doe.

Back at the shop, Selah was helping customers as Ceely swept the floor and Io dusted cabinets. All three sets of eyes immediately leapt toward the new purchase as he and the partners slipped through the door, and Demyan could tell that Ceely in particular was dying to find out the details. It was all he could do to shoot her a humouring smile as he motioned toward the Meltaimans whom Selah was assisting, only once they were gone daring to announce, “Sister, we found someone at the auction. This is Martin. Say hello to Mistress Selah, Martin.”

The man bowed low. "Hello, Mistress Selah."

The woman raised her eyebrows slightly at the man's flawless Meltaiman. No accent at all- clearly he'd been taken quite young. "He seems pliant enough. Strong," she replied with feigned indifference in spite of how badly her heart ached for the man. "What can you do, Martin?"

"Anything that involves heavy lifting, Mistress," Martin answered. "I can operate a bellow, and do most basic cleaning."

From where she was sweeping the floor, Ceely gave Martin a small, shy smile and the tiniest flick of her fingers in what might have been a wave. Martin, noticing the gesture, didn't once look directly at the twelve year old, but his expression softened and he gave a small jerk of his pointer finger in what could have only been a return wave. It was clear Martin didn't think the mages could see, but Ludwik noticed immediately. Though he was slightly annoyed at Ceely for taking such a risk, it was a relief to see a gesture that indicated Martin had some spirit left to him. Demyan, too, breathed a minute sigh of relief; even if this was a miniscule first sign of personality, of free thought, at least it was something at all.

“Martin is originally of Macarinth,” he said neutrally. “A foreign import. Isn’t that interesting, Selah?”

Martin blinked owlishly, then winced, “Ah, M-Master, I’m… I’m sorry, but no. I’m not.”

Ludwik tensed, his blood going instantly icy. “What do you mean, you’re not? The auctioneer seemed to think you were.”

The man shuddered, ducking his head as if he expected to be struck. “I’m s-s-sorry! My former master, the blacksmith, h-h-he thought it would m-make my lot more appealing if he claimed I was f-foreign. I’m sorry, Masters, Mistress, I’m sorry!”

Demyan blinked. “So… so-- you’re… Meltaiman, then? Native?”

Martin swallowed hard, nodding. “M-my name is neutral sounding. Martyn. So my Master wanted to t-take advantage.” He hunched his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut. “But I was born here. As were my parents, as far as I know.”

Selah’s jaw tightened, and she took advantage of the way Martin was genuflecting to level a scowl at Ludwik and Deyman. “I see. How very unfortunate.”

Demyan winced at the hard look, knowing that he and Ludwik were in for it just as soon as they and Selah were in private. But Woo, how were they to know? The auctioneer had said Macarinthian-- they couldn’t have guessed that it would be a lie!

“I… think we should talk, sister,” he murmured after a moment. Flicking his gaze toward Martin, he added, “You can sweep, yes?”

The Meltaiman lowered his shoulders slowly, his icy blue eyes flickering with confusion and surprise- probably over the fact that he hadn’t been smacked yet for speaking out of turn, or for being the unfortunate messenger of such bad news for his new owners. He bowed his head, “I can, Master.”

“Right. Then take the broom from Ceely.” He gestured toward the young girl. “You and Io can tend the floor for a bit. Ceely, come upstairs with Mistress Selah, Master Ludwik, and me.” Taking a step toward the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder and added to Martyn, “And do not set a foot up those stairs. Do you understand me, Martyn? You stay here on the floor until you’re ordered otherwise.”

The man gave Ceely a ghost of a smile as she handed off her broom, and then he bowed again. “Yes, Master. As you will.”

“Come along then, brothers,” Selah said, her voice almost singsong. “Let’s have a nice chat, hm?”

Ludwik winced, swallowing hard. This was going to be a nightmare. He, Demyan, and Ceely followed Selah up the stairs to the flat, and the Valzick woman held off just long enough to instruct Sanel- on babysitting duty for the moment- to take Chryssa into one of the bedrooms, before she rounded on the two Colonels.

“So,” she growled softly.

Demyan stiffened. “We had no way to know,” he insisted. “You’ve been to auctions, Selah-- all we have to go on is what the auctioneer says.” Suspecting this was about to get rather unpleasant, he glanced toward Ceely. “Go in the room with Sanel and Chryssa,” he told her. “Don’t come out until we say.”

The girl pursed her lips. “He seems nice,” she muttered as she turned away. “Even if he’s not from Macarinth or Valzaim.”

“Do as you’re told, Ceely,” Ludwik said shortly, and the girl scowled but obeyed. Once she was gone, he rubbed his face. “Not one single other foreign lot beyond a little Langean girl, Selah. It was all natives. So when they said he was Macarinthian…”

“Aagh.” Selah massaged her forehead. “And just how much did you have to spend on this ‘Macarinthian’ exactly?”

“Um.” Demyan took an anxious step back, throat bobbing. “Maybe it’s best we don’t… focus on price? I mean, how much we paid doesn’t really change the situation--”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Selah interrupted sharply. “How much Woo-cursed money did the man cost us?”

Ludwik looked away. “Selah, a-after what almost happened with Io, we d-didn’t want to let another one slip through the cracks. Sh-she came within a hair’s breadth of dying because we wrote off a human life to a monetary cost-”

“Answer me,” Selah snapped.

“Fifty-seven crowns,” Demyan murmured. “Th-there was a bidding war, and… he… cost us fifty-seven crowns. Ma’am.”

Selah gaped at him for a moment, livid. Then she covered her face. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You went seven crowns over the extremely generous limit we had for a Meltaiman. Who we now also have to feed and lodge.”

“Th-the mission objectives allow us to rescue native Meltaimans,” Ludwik objected.

“Yes, but that was an ‘if something happens to fall into your lap’ eventuality,” Selah retorted. “Not a ‘blow two or three native Valzick or Macarinthians’ worth of money on it’ eventuality.”

“So, what then, Selah?” Demyan asked wearily. “I’m sure technically there’s some proscription against misrepresenting your lot, that if we raised a huff we could get a refund. Only that’s bloody stupid to do, because then we risk raising questions-- about how we only seem to own foreigners, about why we care so much that he’s Macarinthian. Is this entire mission worth wrecking over fifty-seven crowns?”

Selah glowered silent for a time, then gave a sigh of exasperation. “So now what? We have a man we can’t exactly just win the cooperation of by surprising him with his native tongue. He’s clearly been rather thoroughly broken and trained by whoever owned him last.”

Ludwik sighed. “Trusting him will be… a risk.”

“A huge risk,” Demyan agreed, sighing gustily as he paced over to one of the sofas and plunked down onto it. “We have no common ground with him. He doesn’t speak either of our languages, he doesn’t share our faith, he has no reason to put stock in us-- nor us in him. For all we know, he fully believes the ideology. Thinks he has no soul. That the Meltaiman way of things is right.”

“He certainly seems to act it,” Ludwik noted sadly, sitting down next to his partner. “Didn’t say a word until we got him home. Has been obeying every command we give him without thinking. Even when Ceely tried to get his attention he was very conservative about acknowledging it.”

“He’s been badly broken by somebody,” Selah agreed. “And I don’t know if we have the time or resources to fix him. Nor should we prioritize it so close our endgame.” She leaned against the wall with a moan. “I hate this Wooforsaken country. So much.”

“We don’t let him upstairs, that’s for sure.” Demyan slumped back in his seat. “He can sleep in the backroom until we know for sure he’s not a runner, than at the tenement afterward. Absolutely no interaction with Chryssa, and to be honest I’d like to monitor Ceely around him, too. She’s been a good operative, yes, but she’s not even thirteen. She can be impulsive. I worry she might say something she shouldn’t in an effort to ‘help’.”

“You can tell her about that,” Selah replied with a slight smirk. “I’m sure she’ll adore it. But I agree. We’ll let him help around the shop, but… we can’t trust him. It’s too risky and we don’t have the time to win him over.”

And so it was. Though Martyn was a very cooperative janitor and a Woosend when it came to lifting heavy crates of delicate glass vials for the store’s backstock, he was not allowed up into the flat nor did any of the conspirators make much effort to probe his demeanor. Not when the commanders had already decreed he was not to be trusted.

Except, that was, for Ceely. Though as per Demyan’s suggestion she was not allowed unrestricted access to Martyn, when she and he were working together she continued to make subtle friendly overtures, which to her delight he continued to receive with gentle warmth. The young girl tried to needle Selah and the others about giving Martyn a chance, but when this only got her stonewalled- after all she was only twelve- she decided to get a bit sneaky.

A little over a week after Martyn’s purchase, the young girl waited until Martyn was sent out to fetch water from the pump in the alley, and then announced she was going to get some more fever reducer out of the storeroom, as their shelf stock was running low.

The storeroom which happened to open out into the alleyway.

Once she was sure no one had followed her, or was observing, she gently opened the side door and slipped out into the midmorning sunlight- startling Martyn so much that he jumped.

“Oh- oh it’s just you,” he breathed, his relief evident. “Sorry, you startled me, little one.”

“I didn’t mean to,” the girl said, abashed. “Just, it’s so stuffy in the back room, I wanted to let some air in.”

“I see,” Martyn said with a slight smile. “Well I can understand that. Don’t let me keep you from your work, I shouldn’t like to see you getting a smack for loafing on my account.”

“Of course,” Ceely agreed, turning back into the storeroom, but deliberately leaving the door open. As she made show of rifling through the boxes, she began to hum under her breath, and after a moment Martyn looked up at her curiously.

“That a song from your homeland, Ceely?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”

“It is,” she agreed, turning to face him again. “It’s a hymn. I learned it when I was little.”

“Ah,” the man lowered his voice. “Your… bird religion? Take care the masters don’t hear you singing that, or they’ll have it out of your hide, Ceely.”

“I know,” she said with a gusty sigh. “But it’s one thing they can’t take away. The Woo.” She smiled thinly. “The Woo says all people have souls- even if they’re not mages. That all life has equal value, and that value is precious.”

“Your Woo sounds like a kind god,” Martyn remarked, his voice almost wistful. “I can see why the people in the south and east revere Him.”

“You seem nice too, Martyn,” Ceely noted. “At least you’ve been nice to me.”

Martyn gave a soft, sad smile. “Well you have been kind to me, Ceely. Very few people in my life have been as friendly to me as you’ve been, even if it must be in stolen seconds. And,” he added with a slightly mournful note to his voice, “you remind me of someone I used to know. Someone I miss very much.”

“I’m sorry, Martyn,” Ceely replied, meaning it. “I came here with my brother and sister, but I haven’t seen them in years. I pray to the Woo for their safety, every night.”

“I hope your siblings are alright, Ceely,” Martyn said, his voice full of sympathy. “And if your Woo is as kind as you say, perhaps spare a prayer for my account as well. I’ll take any help at this point.”

Ceely agreed, before returning to the shopfront with the box of fever potion and a barely suppressed grin. As he counted the crowns in their cashbox, the girl’s sudden cheer didn’t escape Demyan’s notice, the blond mage quirking a brow as he watched her set about unpacking the phials.

“Something funny, Ceely?” he called to the child. “I didn’t know fetching backstock was such an exciting event.”

“It’s not,” she said. “But helping to bring people who need saving into the Woo’s flock is.”

“Excuse me?” Demyan froze as if he’d been slapped, the fistful of crowns he held clattering from his hand. “What do you mean, saving people into the Woo’s flock?” He took a step forward, around the counter. “It took you an awfully long time to get that box, Ceely.”

She winced at the menacing way he was moving towards her, but quickly retorted, “I opened the door a bit and hummed a little. Martyn was outside and he asked me if it was a song from my home country and I said it was a hymn. Then he started asking me about the Woo and said he sounds like a kind god, and asked if I could pray for someone he used to know and hasn’t seen in a long time.”

“You… went outside to talk to Martyn?” Demyan’s green eyes went wide as dinner plates. “Ceely! What were you thinking? We’ve told you that you aren’t to talk to him alone-- and especially not about something like that!” Jaw clenched, he beckoned the girl forward. “Come here. Now.”

The girl winced, but squared her shoulders as she stalked towards Demyan. “You were blowing him off. Just ‘cause he’s Meltaiman. But the Meltaiman blanks get hit and bled and made to feel awful just as much as the foreign ones. He deserved a chance.”

“That’s for Selah, Ludwik, and me to determine,” Demyan snapped. “Not you, Ceely.” He let out a frustrated hiss. “Look, I know you want to help. I do. But this is… complicated, honey. All of it. And when you’re told to do something-- or not do something-- you have to listen to us. It’s not because we want to be mean to you, Ceely. It’s because we’re trying to keep you safe. Do you understand that?”

“I… I do, but,” Ceely choked, “but I… I wondered. What happens when we go? Back to Macarinth and Valzaim. If we leave anybody you owned behind. When you get the Gods’ Campaign kids, they’ll realize who you were. What will the Meltaimans do to the blanks you leave behind?”

“Ceely.” Demyan swallowed hard. “We’ll take care of it-- we will. We can sell Martyn back off first, or…” He sighed. “I know you mean well, sweetheart. But you need to put a little faith in the rest of the soldiers and me. Trust that we’re making the best decisions we can, even if sometimes you might not like them. This is way too dangerous of a situation for you to go… rogue, Ceely. One mistake, and we will all get hurt-- or worse. You know that, don’t you?”

The girl glared up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears, but then she looked away. “I know. But he’s nice. I didn’t want him to die.”

“I know, honey.” He set a hand on her shoulder. “And trust me, none of us want him to die, either.” As he heard the door to the storeroom swing open-- meaning Martyn was done getting the water and would soon likely slip back onto the shop floor-- Demyan smiled sadly at Ceely. “You disobeyed me,” he murmured, quietly enough so that Martyn wouldn’t overhear him. “Go upstairs and relieve Pavlos from babysitting duty, please-- he can take over for you down here. I’ll be up in a minute, okay?”

The girl wordlessly turned and fled up the stairs, a strangled sob escaping her before she was completely out of earshot. A moment later, Martyn did indeed return to the shop floor, and as he looked around his brows knit with concern as he realized Ceely wasn’t there, and her box of potions lay abandoned on the floor. His eyes flicked towards Demyan, and he bit his lip hard before taking the water bucket to the brewing room. As the man disappeared, Demyan winced; he knew how this must have looked to the Meltaiman, and he regretted any anxiety he might have been causing him. But he couldn’t very well smooth things over, either. Not without risking piquing even more unease and suspicion than Ceely already had.

Pavlos arrived downstairs only a few minutes later, and with a thin smile Demyan told him to mind the shop floor before he headed up the stairs to deal further with Ceely. Though the punishments he doled out to the girl were never any harsher than he would have meted to his own beloved children for similar disobedience, that didn’t stop a snake of remorse from squirming in his gut as he laid down the law, Ceely accepting her paddling mutely but with angry tears pricking at her dark eyes. As soon as he released the girl she curled up on one of the couches, her back to him, and sobbed quietly… and Demyan spent the rest of the afternoon with a decidedly bitter taste in his mouth, fighting back the now all-too-familiar feelings of guilt and exhaustion-- as well as a prickling of relief over the fact that within a few more months, this nightmare in Meltaim would finally be coming to an end.

That night, after Sanel, Chares, and Pavlos had returned to the ghetto-- upon careful consideration taking Martyn with them for the first time, if only to get him out of the way-- Ceely remained rather subdued as the rest of the Macarinthians and Valzicks ate a simple dinner of potatoes and bread. While Demyan merely avoided looking at her, hoping she’d get tired with her brooding sooner than later so he could stop feeling like such a monster, Selah finally seemed to get tired of the silence.

“What happened while Ludwik and I were out?” she asked. “Ceely is acting frosty as all ‘Pit and you’ve barely strung three words together in a row yourself.”

Demyan sighed, setting down his fork. “Ceely took it upon herself to talk to Martyn today,” he said. “Alone. About the Woo.”

Io, seated across the table from the blond mage, raised a brow. “Did he… did he get suspicious?”

“I don’t think so,” Demyan said. “But I can’t be sure. And regardless of his reaction, Ceely was disobedient. I punished her.” For Io’s benefit, he added hastily, “Just a paddling. No worse than I’d have given my own children.”

Selah tilted her head. “Care to explain, Ceely?”

The young girl looked away. “Explain what? It doesn’t matter. I was bad, and that’s all.”

“Selah asked you a question, Ceely,” Demyan said, gently but firmly. “Giving her lip isn’t a proper response.”

“But I already tried to explain,” she said shrilly, her voice more than half sob. “I told you I didn’t just, just come out and start talking to him about the Woo. I was careful! I just hummed a little bit, and he asked if it was a song from my home country and he asked me about the Woo! H-h-he said he wanted me to pray for his friend he hasn’t seen in a long time, but when I told you you didn’t listen!” She clenched her eyes shut, “And, and even now you’re not tellin’ Selah the whole thing. Just the parts that make me look awful!”

“Ceely.” Demyan winced. “Calm down, please. If you want to tell Selah your side of the story, that’s fine. But growing hysterical isn’t going to help any, okay?”

Ludwik sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Ceely, if Demyan’s not telling us the whole story, what is the whole story?”

The little girl swallowed thickly. “Martyn was… he was getting water. From the pump. So I went in the store room for some stuff and opened the door so he could hear me. I said it was stuffy and I wanted to let air in. So while I looked for the box of potions I needed I hummed a Wooist hymn. Martyn asked me if it was a song from my homeland, and I told him yes, it was a hymn. He asked me about the ‘bird religion’ and so I told him some stuff, about how the Woo says all people have souls and all life is precious. He said the Woo sounded like a kind god, and I said he was nice too. He said that he was nice to me ‘cause I was nice to him, and nobody is ever nice to him, and that I remind him of somebody he knew and misses. He asked me if I could pray to the Woo for the person he used to know. And that’s all.”

Selah’s eyebrows lifted. “Hm. While that was a huge risk you took, Ceely… I do have to admit it’s interesting.”

“Gutsy, too.” Io, for one, seemed impressed. “Spreading the Woo’s word in a place like this.”

“It’s… it’s…” Demyan shook his head. “Gutsy is just a nice way of saying risky. We’re not here to be missionaries, Io.”

“My papa was a missionary,” young Chryssa put in. “In Tengiz!”

Selah snorted, ruffling the girl’s hair as she continued to look at Demyan. “It wasn’t about being a missionary, it was about seeing if the man was receptive to ideologies besides the one he’s been force-fed his entire life. You’re not giving Ceely nearly enough credit, Demyan. She’s smarter than you think she is.”

Ceely perked up a bit at this, a small smile quirking at her mouth, as Demyan just narrowed his eyes, almost sullenly. “I never said Ceely wasn’t intelligent, Selah. I just didn’t appreciate her breaking the rules in such an overt and hazardous way.”

“But how was it hazardous?” Io shrugged. “In the worst case scenario, Martyn wasn’t receptive. He ratted on her, and you pretended to flog her. Best case? He proves to be a potential ally. A well of information. A spy, just like you were after all along.”

“And if anything, his being Meltaiman makes him even more valuable and interesting in that regard,” Selah said slowly, “because he provides a perspective we legitimately can’t get from a stolen Valzick or Macarinthian- the perspective of someone who has been inside the system their entire life, raised to believe it and knowing nothing else. Was Ceely’s action today risky? Yes. But it was a calculated risk. And I think she might have a point.”

Ceely had perked up considerably at this. Ludwik patted his partner on the arm. “This, my friend, is what happens when you’re stuck in a house with two Valzick women and a girl who’s been surviving bondage on defiance for nearly two years. You get outvoted. I’m sorry, bud.”

Demyan scowled. “So what then, Selah? We keep pressing him? See if we can’t bring him into our confidences?”

“I can talk to him next,” Io suggested. “Bring up something else… dangerous, and see how he reacts.”

“I think it’s worth the risk,” Selah said firmly. “If he’s not completely brainwashed to Meltaiman ideologies, to the point he’s willing to openly discuss Wooism with Ceely, it’s possible we can bring him over to our side. And if we can? It would be huge. Think of how high-command would take it if we can show them physical evidence that the native-born Meltaiman blanks might be willing to turn on their masters if only given the right motivation.”

“Ooh, I can talk to him, too!” Chryssa suggested eagerly. “‘Cos I like makin’ friends. And-- and I won’t say nothin’ I shouldn’t.”

“We’ll keep you on hold for later, Chryssa,” Ludwik said with a wan smile. “You can be our super secret final test of loyalty for him, alright? If he passes the other tests.”

“‘Kay.” Chryssa nodded, then grinned. “I could tell him lotsa things ‘bout the Woo, y’know. I’m real ‘cited to go to church ‘gain once we’re home.”

Demyan finally spared a chuckle. “I bet you’ve remembered all your prayers and everything, right?”

“Uh-huh!” The child beamed. “I say ‘em every night. With Selah.” She flicked her gaze toward the Valzick woman. “But sometimes Selah’s funny. An’ adds lines that aren’t really there to see if I’m payin’ ‘tention.”

“And you always notice, don’t you, honey?” Selah remarked, leaning over to kiss the girl on the crown of her head. Turning to Io she said, “If you think you can talk to Martyn and learn more about his disposition without arousing too much suspicion, by all means take a shot at it. And thank you, Io.” To Ceely she added, “But please don’t take this to mean you shouldn’t mind Demyan, alright? Regardless of how it panned out, you still deserved that paddling.”

The young girl slumped a little. “Yes ma’am.”

***

Io did indeed speak to Martyn, and not long afterwards Selah directed Pavlos, Chares, and Sanel to do the same. Each time someone made an effort to engage him, the Meltaiman blank lapped it up like an attention starved puppy that had been left chained in an abandoned yard to die. Though he was clearly wary of some of the more dangerous conversation topics, he didn’t seem to completely dismiss them, only showing caution and wariness of listening ears. No matter what was discussed the man never tried to report on his fellow blanks, and indeed he even started tentatively trying to engage conversation with them himself, instead of lingering silent and sad off to one side as had been his habit before.

It was saddening, as much as it was a relief. Selah couldn’t help but be disgusted with the Meltaimans, so callous and cruel that one of their own people had been so oppressed he latched so hard to… not even kindness as much as basic human decency.

“Tomorrow,” Selah said firmly, as she was carrying Chryssa into the bedroom to put her to sleep for the night. “We’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“I get to meet him then?” the girl asked, stifling a yawn. “An’ he can come upstairs like everyone else?”


“If he turns out good,” Selah agreed. Smiling, she tickled the girl as she added, “Watch out, he might take your title as the best recruit ever.”

Chryssa giggled, her eyes twinkling as they reached the edge of the bed and she flopped down onto it. “Nuh-uh!” The girl pursed her lips. “Is… is he gonna come with us? When we leave?”

“That’s the plan,” Selah confirmed. “Just a while longer, hm? Then we can all go home. And you can go to church and speak Valzick and everything. No more hiding.”

“An’... an’ I can play outside again, too, right?” Settling beneath the blankets, Chryssa tilted her head as she studied Selah’s face. “B-but... you’ll be a real soldier ‘gain. Far away.”

Selah slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, stroking Chryssa’s hair. “Yes. I have a job to do, stopping the Meltaimans from taking little children like you away. And if things go the way we think they will when we get back, the Special Forces will need a soldier with my experience more than ever.”

“Oh. ‘K-kay.” Swallowing hard, Chryssa averted her gaze, and for several moments the little girl said nothing. Then, very, very softly, she murmured, “M-my uncle. He… he… falled. W-when my cousins and me got taken. And… my cousins s-said he was just hurted. That he’d be okay. But I… I think they were j-just saying that. To make me feel better. ‘Cos they didn’t want me to be scared.” She swallowed hard. “H-he’s dead, isn’t he, Selah? So he… he won’t be there. When I-I get home. To take me back.”

Selah felt a lump form in her throat. She reached both arms around the child, and gently drew her into a hug. “I'm so sorry, Chryssa. But… probably, yes. The raiders don't like to leave people alive, to call the Special Forces. Your Uncle… he probably did go to the Woo that day.”

“B-but…” Chryssa blinked hard, tears pooling in her eyes. “Where’m I gonna go, then? Mama’s a-already been with the Woo for… for a long time, and… P-Papa went to Tengiz to sp-spread the Woo’s word but never comed back, and…” The child choked out a sob. “I haven’t got no one else. I-in Valzaim. And… ‘least here I have you. And… D-Demyan and Ludwik and… and…”

“Shhh,” Selah shushed the little girl, holding her tighter. “Chryssa, honey, it's true I'm busy a lot with being a soldier. I won't lie and say I'm not. But that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you stranded. Chryssa, I…” The Valzick woman gulped. “I love you. And when we get back, if you want, I can adopt you. Be your Mama. And when I'm away, my sister, the big Chryssa, she can look after you.”

“Y-you… y-you’d keep me?” Chryssa whimpered, nestling into Selah’s warm hold. “F-forever?”

Selah kissed the little girl on the top of her head. “Forever,” she agreed. “I’ll visit you as often as the army lets me, and bring you lots of presents from all the cool places I’ve been.” The soldier tilted Chryssa’s chin up, adding, “And know what? My sister has five kids of her own. Think of all those new friends. You like making friends, don't you sweetie?”

“Y-yes,” Chryssa whispered. Shakily, she reached up a hand, cupping her fingers against Selah’s cheek. “I c-can call you ‘mama’?”

Selah blinked hard, giving the little girl a wobbly smile. “I’d like that a lot. If you wanted to.”

“Uh-huh,” Chryssa said. “I-I haven’t had a mama in a l-long, long time. And… I love you. ‘Cos you’re... s-safe.”

Selah breathed in jaggedly, hugging the child even more tightly. But for a moment of guilt from Demyan, this child would be a slave right now, beaten and afraid. And there were so many others like her without Macarinthian soldiers with guilty consciences to save them. It made the Valzick woman’s chest squeeze, and she knew without a shadow of doubt that when war came, she would be right on the front lines. She owed these children that much.

But for now, war was still a distant idea, and there was one little child whose life she could save. Who she could ensure would grow up loved, and safe, and happy.

“I love you too, Chryssa,” she whispered. “And I promise, I’ll protect you. You don't ever have to be alone or afraid again.”

“W-will I get to learn your real name, then?” Chryssa murmured. “‘Stead of your spy name?”

The woman smiled. “Of course, silly. Just as soon as we get done here, you'll get to be the very first person in the group I tell. For now though, I’ll give you a tiny hint- it starts with a Ssss sound, just like Selah.”

“We can play a guessing game,” Chryssa suggested. “Once we’re home. And… and…” Finally brightening, the girl let out a contented sigh. “Once I win, it won’ even matter. ‘Cos I’ll getta call you ‘mama’, anyway.”

“Sounds like fun,” Selah said with a grin. “But for now, Mama says it is past your bedtime, little lady. Let's say our prayers and tuck in for the night, hm?”

“‘Kay,” Chryssa said. “Only… I know you got grown-up business in the livin’ room after this ‘fore you can sleep, and it’s real ‘portant, but…” She smiled softly, almost sheepishly. “Wouldja stay with me for a little first? Just ‘til I fall asleep?”


Selah chuckled. “Alright. Sure- as long as you be a good girl and actually go to sleep instead of talking to me.” She flopped over sideways, bringing the little girl cradled in her arms down with her. “Hands clasped, Chryssa.”

“‘Kay,” Chryssa said. “You start?”

“Sure,” Selah agreed. Pressing her forehead against Chryssa’s and closing her eyes, she murmured, “Our feathered Lord, as the darkness draws in you are the light in our hearts, as the air turns cooler you are the warmth in our souls. Bless us this night, that we may find ourselves safe in dreaming…”

Part Eleven

SPOILER: Click to show

“Martyn,” Demyan said the next morning shortly after dawn, as the Meltaiman blank tidied up shop in advance of the apothecary opening for the day. Selah was still fast asleep upstairs, cuddled in bed with Chryssa-- a perk of being in charge, Demyan thought wryly-- but Ludwik stood beside him, the partners ready to approach the delicate task at hand the way they always felt most comfortable: together. The blond mage added, “Could you set the broom down for a moment, please? Master Ludwik and I would like to speak with you.”

The man looked up from his sweeping, a prickle of anxiety flitting across his face. He nodded, setting the broom aside- but not anywhere that it was a trip hazard, the blacksmith who’d owned him previous apparently a stickler for safety- and meekly approached his masters, head down. Ludwik brushed his upper arm against Demyan’s. Neither of them was expecting this to be easy.

“Y-yes, Masters?” Martyn whispered when he was in speaking range.

“I understand,” Demyan said slowly, “that you’ve been… talking quite a bit with some of our other blanks lately. About a range of topics.” Woo, there was no good way to approach this, no option that wouldn’t cause Martyn vast confusion or terror-- or both. “I want to begin by saying you’re not in trouble, Martyn. Nor are they. My brother and I simply want to know what you… think of it. The things you’ve been discussing. They’re quite different than what you’re used to, after all, aren’t they?”

Martyn froze, his eyes wide. “Y-you’re wrong sir. There has been no talking.”

“Martyn, you don't need to bluff,” Ludwik said. “As my brother said, no one is in trouble. We are merely curious.”

The man’s eyes betrayed nothing but stark terror. “It… It is… P-please, they said nothing!”

“You don’t need to be afraid, Martyn,” Demyan said. “No one’s in trouble.” He took a deep breath, turning toward the steps. “Ceely,” he called. “You can come in now, honey.”

Martyn’s jaw went slack as Ceely skipped down the stairs, beaming in his direction. “It's really okay. They won't hurt you, I promise.”

“Th-they… B-but…” Martyn stammered. “Ceely, they’re mages!”

“And the Woo loves everybody, remember?” she coaxed. “Mages too.”

He flinched openly at the mention of the foreign religion, but to his surprise the only response from the mages was an encouraging smile from Ludwik.

“C’mon,” Ceely urged. “They’ve never hit you, right? Not once. And you ever seen them hit any of us?”

“N-no…” Martyn conceded.

“There’s a reason for that, Martyn,” Demyan said, reaching out to put a tender hand on Ceely’s shoulder. Not the grip of a master on his slave, but rather, as a father might hold his child. “We’re not your enemies. We don’t want to hurt you-- or any other non-mage. We’re here to help, Martyn. To… change things, here in Meltaim.”

“Change things?” he echoed. The man glanced at Ceely, his brow furrowed. “Like in your stories? Is that what everyone was… getting at? With the talk of your Woo and souls and all?”

“Mm-hmm,” Ceely confirmed. “We wanted to see what you thought. So what do you think?”

He swallowed hard. “I… I wish I could believe as strongly as you all do. I really do. But what change can a few blanks bring? We’ve got no power.”

“You have more power than you think,” Ludwik said gently. “If you care to take a leap of faith.”

“What if we told we could help you, Martyn?” Demyan said. “If you were willing to trust us. I know it’s not easy-- trust me, I know-- but if you do… we can change things for you. We can save you from-- well, everything you’ve ever known. Get you someplace safe. Where you’re not a slave, and it doesn’t matter whether you’re a mage or not.”


Martyn, however, was shaking his head, and backing away, his entire body shaking like a leaf. “I’m… I have to be dreaming. There’s no way. This isn’t real.”

“It’s real, Martyn,” Ceely urged. “Please, trust them. Let them help.

“T-trust them?” He echoed, his voice shrill. “I’ve… I’ve never gotten anything good out of trusting a mage! Why sh-should I…Wh-why should I trust them when m-my own mother, who t-told me for years sh-she loved me, called me a creature when I turned out a blank! Who handed me over to men who sold me to the blacksmith for five crowns! Five measly crowns!”


Ceely gaped at Martyn, seemingly at a loss for words. Realizing his outburst, the man’s face fell, and he flinched in on himself. “C-Ceely, I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you, I…”

Ludwik looked at Demyan, his face gone ashen with horror at what Martyn had just told them. Woo. Of course the undercover soldiers had learned long ago about Meltaiman practices-- how non-mage children born to mages were ripped away once it was clear they harboured no powers, sold off like chattel. But, Demyan realised grimly, knowing about it and meeting a person who’d actually been impacted by it were two wholly separate beasts. Just like everything else since they’d arrived to Meltaim, with all the customs that already sounded so horrific merely in theory outright nauseating once they saw it in practise.

“We’re not from Meltaim, Martyn,” Demyan said, lowering his arm around Ceely and pulling the girl close to him. “I’m so sorry you went through that. But… our people are trying to change things here. I know Ludwik, Selah, and I are mages, and that you’ve a whole lifetime of experiences telling you not to trust us. But we are on your side. So very much on your side.”

The man’s expression was rife with confusion, but also starting to take on the beginnings of understanding. “Your… your other blanks are all foreign. And when you bought me, you thought I was foreign.”

“Yes,” Ludwik admitted- there was no point in denying what they’d already made apparent. “We’ve been trying to save the stolen citizens of Valzaim and Macarinth by buying them up at the auctions.”

Martyn looked down at his feet. “Then why trust me? I’m not foreign. My parents were Meltaiman wandcrafters from Inbar province.” He clenched his eyes shut. “If things had been different, I would… would probably be your enemy. Instead of a disillusioned wretch thrown out to die.”

“We’re trusting you, Martyn, because we’re taking a leap of faith, too,” Demyan said. “Because you’re not our enemy. Because you’ve been just as hurt by the Meltaiman way of things as Ceely, or Io, or any other non-mage who was taken from Macarinth or Valzaim.” He smoothed Ceely’s hair. “You can help us, Martyn. And in turn, we’re going to help you.”

“Take me to your country?” the Meltaiman asked.

“Yes,” Ceely murmured, hugging Demyan around the waist. “You’d be free, Martyn. Macarinth and Valzaim don’t keep slaves. And nonmages are as much people as mages. You could live however you wanted.”

Martyn bit his lip, his eyes flicking back and forth as he thought about it. “What… what exactly do you need me to do?”

“First, we’d like to just… rack your brain,” Demyan said. “Talk to you about your life, your experiences. Your opinions. After that, we’d be grateful for any help you can provide us gathering intel. Talking to other blanks around the city. Giving us more puzzle pieces to snap into our narrative, so to speak-- the story we’ll be giving to high command once we head back home.”

Understanding dawned on Martyn’s face. “You’re spies.”

“More or less exactly that,” Ludwik agreed. “So will you help us, Martyn?”

The man looked down at his hands, his expression hard to read as he mulled it over. Ceely fidgeted anxiously at Demyan’s side, opening her mouth several times as if to try and cajole Martyn further, but seeming to think better of it. Finally, the Meltaiman looked up.

“I… I’ll help you,” he said softly. “I’ll help you, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. B-but there’s one thing. If I’m going to l-leave.”

“What’s that?” Ludwik asked, tilting his head.

“M-my son,” he said, his jaw tight. “He just turned seven in April. Scooped up for the count’s accursed botanical gardens not a week after he was branded. I can’t leave without him. I won’t.”

Demyan froze. “You… you have a son?” Oh, Woo; the blond mage flicked a near-panicked look toward Ludwik, continuing hesitantly, “We could… try to extract him before we leave, Martyn. If it’s possible. But-- it’s difficult with blanks we don’t own. Most have collars. And access can be an issue, too. Especially in a time sensitive situation.”

“If he stays, I stay,” Martyn said simply. “I’ll figure out how to spring him myself and get killed trying before I leave him behind. His mother… we weren’t in love, per se, but she was a friend. She died when Andrzej was just four. My parents repudiated and abandoned me, and my only friend in the world was taken by a bout of pneumonia. Rzej is all I have in this world. He is all I have.”

Demyan winced. “We can try,” he said again. “Do everything we can to get him out with you, Martyn.”

But, the mage thought but didn’t dare say, if things go wrong… we can’t risk this entire mission over a seven-year-old Meltaiman boy. Such a child ought be their lowest priority: he wasn’t a mage; he wasn’t foreign; he wasn’t... anything, at least not from the high command’s point of view. This wasn’t at all a palatable fact; it made Demyan’s stomach pinch, and a very sour taste coat his mouth.

But it was a fact all the same. Demyan couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Martyn looked unconvinced. Skeptical, probably given Demyan’s evasive non-committal answer. But he only said again, “I will die before I leave him. I will not do to him what my parents did to me.” Then he shook his head. “But for now… I’ll help. If you’re really trying to make things better, I’ll help you.” He looked directly at Ceely. “Children shouldn’t be ripped from the arms of loving parents because of magic or a lack of it. Not ever.”

Ceely gave Martyn a sad smile, and Ludwik nodded in agreement. “No,” the soldier said. “They shouldn’t. And we’re so sorry about what you’ve been through.”

“But you’re safe now, Martyn,” Demyan said firmly. “And… Woo willing, your son will be safe soon, too.”

***

When they questioned Martyn about his life and experiences, the man proved a very interesting well of information, given his unique standpoint amongst the conspirators- that of a person who, at least in his early years, had been neither a slave nor a foreigner, but a trueborn Meltaiman citizen. He knew what it was like to be not just an observer or victim of the corrupt society, but a member of it. Had an intimate knowledge of how Meltaiman commoners not just behaved and spoke, but how they thought. That blanks were not just chattel, but demons, that they were naturally inclined to sin and would tempt any mage who felt sympathy towards them to the darkness as well. That from birth they were conditioned to associate anyone with a blank brand as being of no import- a “them,” an “other.” An invisible line in the sand that could never be crossed, should never be crossed, less the mage in question put his or her own soul under threat.

The man told them everything he knew, sparing nothing. Though it clearly distressed him to recall, he told them the intimate details of the process of removing a blank child from the custody of his or her parents- a process so regimented and rote that there was an entire arm of the Meltaiman government dedicated to it.

Eventually, when they’d picked Martyn’s brain to the point the man was emotionally exhausted, the soldiers took pity on him and let him go- finally introducing him to little Chryssa, who was delighted to meet the “new person” at long last. Martyn, in spite of his reservedness with the mages, softened immediately with the little girl, chattering with her and cooing over her artwork with the patient indulgence of the experienced father he was.

Martyn, having lived in Lilia since he was a young child, had also cultivated a wide range of potential contacts in town- people he knew of old to be loose with their tongues, gossipy, or who simply knew and trusted Martyn as an old fixture of the town- the blacksmith’s boy. He proved a valuable spy as well as a mine of information in his own right, and Ceely practically purred like a contented cat when he gave his reports alongside the other blanks at the end of each day.

After getting a description from Martyn, Selah brought Ludwik on a scouting trip to the botanical gardens to scope out their layout and find their newest recruit’s son- and find him they did, ripping up weeds under the blistering summer heat and visibly swooning from dehydration. Andrzej took his father’s slightly red-tinted hair and ran with it, boasting hair a shade of auburn so bright it nearly looked red, blue-grey eyes, and lily pale skin that was badly sunburnt. The two mages didn’t stay for long after they’d found the child- they couldn’t do anything for him right then, and it pricked them with guilt to watch him suffer when they knew as likely as not he would have to be left behind.

A little over a week after Martyn was officially brought into the fold, June turned into a sweltering July, and with July came the question all of the soldiers had been lingering over for while, but none had yet addressed- they could, if they wanted, pull out now. But where they ready? And when they did pull out… what was their plan?

“We have ten people,” Selah said, at the closed-door, soldiers only meeting where the topic was finally broached to the group at large. “Myself, Ludwik, Demyan, Sanel, Chares, Ceely, Chryssa, Pavlos, Io, and Martyn. That’s not including the children we need to extract at the last minute- Dalia, Miron, Io’s former master’s daughter, the Langean boy, and possibly Martyn’s son. That’s a lot of moving pieces to keep track of during a tense situation; we need a plan.”

“We need to get the civilians out of danger first and foremost,” Demyan said, massaging his temple. For the sake of due diligence they’d waited to hold this exchange until after both the little girls were asleep for the night, convening in the closed storefront with all the doors locked and curtains drawn. There were no couches down here, so they sat in a cross-legged semicircle on the floor, and Demyan half-felt as though he were in basic training again, with dozens of cadets fighting over only a few precious chairs. Though of course nothing in training had been quite this… serious, not by a long shot. He added with a sigh, “No matter what we do, it won’t be fully without risk. But anything we can do to minimize the danger to them-- that’s our priority.”

“Agreed,” Ludwik said. “Most of them would be more a hindrance than a help to our operation if they were here regardless, so we should probably try to get them out well before we make our move.”

“We can’t send them alone though,” Sanel pointed out. “They’re all branded- without a mage accompanying them they’d be arrested immediately. And I don’t think we’ll get the kids out if any of you three goes with the civilians as a bodyguard.”

“We can send you and Chares ahead with them,” Demyan said. “As escorts. Your brands aren’t permanent-- they can be taken off in advance. Give you play wands, and all you’d need to do is keep up the masquerade from here to the border.”

“We could take off Chryssa’s brand too,” Sanel suggested. “Pass her off as Chares’ little sister, so we don’t have to act like jerks to her the whole trip.” He smiled thinly to Chares, “Let’s just hope no one asks us to cast any spells, hm? Or looks too closely at Io- her ownership brand is different from everyone else’s.”

“It’s not a foolproof plan, but I doubt we could come up with one of those,” Ludwik acknowledged.

“We haven’t the time,” Selah agreed. “If we try to take off her ownership brand, it may very well trigger an alarm- I imagine the Meltaimans would have some sort of security measure against people blithely stealing one another’s blanks.”

“Just stay… low-key,” Demyan said. “Avoid putting yourselves into any situation where the lie might come to light. And…” He considered for a moment. “I think we should send the ledger boxes ahead with you two, as well. You’re in a lower-risk situation, and if something happens during the extrications here in Lilia, we don’t want the information trapped with us.”

“And if something… did go wrong with us?” Chares asked. “We should destroy the records, right? As our priority. Because if the wrong person saw those books…”

“It would alert the Meltaimans, and possibly expose the other sleeper units,” Selah said grimly. “It’s not ideal, but yes- if you have to, destroy the reports. If our group with the Campaign kids survives, we can give a report by mouth, as best we can remember. If neither makes it, the reports are moot anyway; better destroyed than in enemy hands.”

“While you’re on the road, it might be a good idea for Chares to use mine or Demyan’s codename,” Ludwik added. “That way no one asks questions about why a mage has a Valzick name.”

“Makes sense,” Sanel said. “But there’s one problem; Martyn. You know he’s not going to agree to leave with us, right?”

Demyan sighed. “We could try to persuade him.”

“He won’t leave without his son, sir,” Chares countered. “There’s no way. Martyn has made that abundantly clear.”

Selah sighed, rubbing her face. “There are three of us- four Gods’ Campaigns children. And frankly, getting Dalia and Miron out of the count’s manor will probably be a job that Demyan and Ludwik will need to undertake as a team- they operate best together, and getting onto those grounds is going to be no easy feat. So between my needing to hit two houses in rapid succession and their infiltration of a noble’s residence, we… just won’t have time for a blank child with no bearing on our mission. It’s too much a risk. If we can at least talk Martyn into going with the escape group, we can get him out and-”

“He’s not going to leave,” Chares said again, voice stiffer this time. “And frankly, I don’t blame him. His son is suffering. No father in his right mind would leave their child behind like that.” His gaze fell pointedly on Ludwik and Demyan. “Would you?”

Demyan bristled automatically at the young private’s tone, jaw steeling. “This isn’t about me or Ludwik,” he said coolly. “It’s about what’s best for the mission… and sometimes the choices that are best aren’t always the warmest and fuzziest, Chares. We simply don’t have the means to extract Martyn’s son-- we’d have to have one of us disable his collar before he can get out of the city, and between that and the Campaign kids…” He shook his head.

“High command was explicit,” Ludwik agreed reluctantly. “The Gods’ Campaigns children are our highest priority. Our own citizens who were stolen are one thing, but native born Meltaiman blanks? We’re already going to be in trouble for what happened with Martyn. Don’t get me wrong, he’s been a tremendous wealth of information and perspective we never could have gotten on our own, but he’s understood since we spoke to him that our extracting his son was never a guarantee.”

“So what do you plan, then?” Chares asked, the teenager suddenly sitting ramrod straight. “To knock Martyn unconscious and drag him out the city? Because he’s not leaving without that boy, and Woo knows it seems like an outright idiotic risk to turn him loose as we scuttle out, just hoping he doesn’t rat us--”

“Mind your tongue, Private!” Selah snapped. “You think any of us is happy about this? You think we haven’t spend these entire past few months feeling like cursed monsters for watching all these people suffering and not being able to do anything? Martyn’s son is just one of thousands others like him. There are four children out there who were abducted who we were explicitly send into this country to rescue.”

“Dalia and Miron, fine,” Chares growled, not at all cowed by the reprimand. “Tamara, too.” This was Io’s old master’s Campaign child. “Because you’re right, they were abducted. They’re brothers and sisters of the Woo. They’re our countrymen, our responsibility. But the fact that you’d prioritize a Langean boy over the son of a man who’s helped us? What in the ‘Pit has that child done to warrant rescue over Andrzej?” He paused, leadenly. “Except, of course, by being a mage. Sounds a little too familiar after all these months in Meltaim, doesn’t it?”

Demyan wanted to retort. Wanted to yell out that no, of course this wasn’t it. Certainly the fact that they planned to rescue the Langean child over Andrzej had nothing to do with the former being a mage and the latter not. They were merely following orders. Staying in the spirit of the mission. Doing what they’d been told.

… Except it was true, wasn’t it? No matter the reason why, the fact remained that the Langean boy was winning his rescue merely because he was a magician and Andrzej was not. How many months had the soldiers spent reviling such logic? How many nights had Demyan lain awake at night, sick to the core over the Meltaiman way of things?

And here they were, repeating it. Valuing a mage over a nonmage with barely a blink at all.

“You know I’m right,” Chares murmured. “You don’t want to admit it, but you know I’m right.”

“We… we have to follow the orders,” Demyan said simply, the words tasting bitter as all hells on his tongue. “We’re going to get reprimanded over Chryssa and Martyn already. We have to follow orders here, Chares. Like it or not.”

Ludwik closed his eyes, his brows knit together with helpless frustration. “It’s of a piece with everything else, isn’t it? Io made a very good point when she called us out on the fact that we were too darn late saving her. Nothing’s been done about Meltaim until now. Until it was mage kids being stolen and not just the nonmages.” He slumped forwards, burying his face in his hands. “But what are we to do? What the ‘Pit do we do? Go rogue? Disobey every order we’ve been issued?”

Sanel folded his arms, his expression unreadable. “So what then? You know Martyn still talks to us. More openly than he does to any of you. He doesn’t really think you’ll save Andrzej. He has no faith in it. He says he could see it in your eyes, that you weren’t going to follow through. But Ceely and Pavlos, they’ve been insisting you would. That you’re different from the Meltaimans.” The private looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Are you going to prove Martyn right? Shatter the faith of those who trust you?”

“Careful, Private.” Demyan swallowed hard, aggravation blistering in him. But after a moment’s seething, he realised he wasn’t mad at either Sanel or Chares. Not really. No, he was angry with the situation. With himself. “I don’t want to shatter anyone’s faith. But…”

“It could have been me, you know.” Chares’s voice was at once tremulous and firm.

Ludwik blinked in confusion at this remark, staring at Chares without comprehension. Selah, however, gave a soft sigh, slumping back against her chair and looking very tired. “You don’t have to tell them about that Chares. It’s your business, not anyone else’s.”

“About what?” Demyan furrowed his brow.

“Why they picked me,” Chares said, teeth gritted. “For this mission. Why-- at first-- I was so excited to go.” He exhaled slowly. “Do you know where I’m from? In Valzaim?”

Ludwik shook his head. “Nobody ever told us.”

“Lankáda,” Chares said. “It’s a northern village. Very small. Wedged in a glen at the foot of the Galfras Mountains. My family’s lived there for… well, as long as anybody knows. Generations.” The boy narrowed his eyes, an almost pained expression seeping over his face. “I was ten the day the warning bell sounded. Raiders spotted nearby. We were… used to it, honestly. And most of the time, the alarms amounted to a whole lot of nothing. We’d even joke about it, as we huddled inside. To help lighten the mood, you know.”

“But… that day when you were ten wasn’t a false alarm, was it?” Demyan murmured softly, a knot tying in his throat.

“No,” Chares confirmed. “It wasn’t. Lankáda has no city watch. The nearest Special Forces outpost is several days away. All the small villages in the area try to help each other-- that’s how the warning bell system started-- but that’s just… an alert. Not much of a means to fight back.” The boy pressed a hand to his forehead, shrinking in his seat. “I was holed up in my maternal grandparents’ house. Them, my mum and dad, my auntie and uncle, my siblings, my cousins. There had to be at least a dozen of us. When we heard the screaming, and realised it wasn’t just a false warning this time… the adults did everything they could to fortify the doors. To hide the kids-- under beds, in cupboards, anywhere. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.”

Ludwik felt like he was about to vomit. “But… but you aren’t branded, you were in Valzaim-”

“The Special Forces isn’t wholly incompetent, Ludwik,” Selah said softly. “And if we manage to get to an area in the immediate aftermath of a raid, we can chase the kidnappers across the border for a short while.”

“I was with the Meltaimans for two days,” Chares said. “And they were the worst two days of my life. I was still covered in my grandmother’s blood when the Special Forces found me. My little sister wouldn’t talk to anyone but me afterward for months. And back in Lankáda…” His jaw had started to tremble. “Every single adult who’d been in that house with me was dead-- my mother’s entire family. My cousins got shipped off to another village nearby, to live with their paternal grandparents. But my siblings and me? Our dad’s parents were already dead. So we just had his brother. Who’d moved from Lankáda all the way to Valla to pursue a life as a sailor. He was a good man, and he… he tried his best, he did. But he wasn’t equipped to take in a gaggle of orphans. He didn’t know how to be a father. That’s… that’s why I joined the military, once I was of age. Just to get away. To make my own life.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Chares.” Demyan could think of nothing else to say.

“Don’t be.” The teenager shrugged. “I’ve… made my peace with it. I had to, or I would have drowned in grief. But I know that if things had only gone a little differently… if I hadn’t been rescued... I would have spent my entire life oppressed and miserable. All because I wasn’t a mage. And… th-that’s not a fate I’d wish on anyone. Especially not the son of a man who’s going against everything he’s ever had ingrained in him so that he can help us.”

Sanel swallowed hard. “Especially since he’s doing it without any expectation of reward. He doesn’t think you’ll save his son. And he doesn’t plan to leave without Andrzej. He isn’t doing this to win his freedom, he’s doing it because… he’s desperate. He wants to help the Macarinthian and Valzick children who are being torn from their mother’s arms like he was, and like his son was. He’s already given up on himself.”

Ludwik clenched his hands tight in his lap, leaning sideways so that his arm was pressed against Demyan’s. His voice very soft, he murmured, “...They’re right. Woo above, the greenhorn teenagers are right.”

“No one has to know,” Chares ventured. “About… why we don’t take the Langean. Once we’re back, the truth is only as we tell it.”

“No,” Demyan said. “We don’t lie.” He smiled a little sadly. “And hey, for once, it’ll be a good thing you and Sanel aren’t in charge. If hides get flayed over this, it won’t be yours.”

“Such a shame Toby will miss it,” Selah mused. “It could’ve been like old times.” She leaned forwards, bracing her elbows on her knees. “Martyn is big and strong, even if he has that slight limp. He can stay here and help me extract Tamara and Andrzej while Ludwik and Demyan get Dalia and Miron.”

Ludwik nodded. “Right. So Chares and Sanel will take the rest of the recruits- we can probably rent a wagon for them or something- and make a beeline for the border. Four days ahead of us?”

“Sounds good,” Selah agreed. “We’ll make our move the second hour after midnight- when most everyone in the city will be sound asleep, and even the taverns are usually closed. We’ll meet back up at the amphitheater where the auctions are held, near the eastern end of town, and head together for the gate after we disenchant Andrzej’s collar.”

“We should make sure to have supplies all packed and ready, as well,” Demyan noted. “Including shoes and cloaks for the kids-- if we’re wrenching them out of bed, they’ll be in nightclothes, and I don’t think we want to waste time having them change then and there.”

“Right,” Selah agreed. “Though we can't afford to arouse suspicion by buying a four pairs of child sized cloaks and gloves when we only have two children and one never leaves the shop. We’ll have to buy adult sizes and spell them to fit the kids.”

“How will you transport them?” Sanel asked. “Renting two wagons in under a week would look rather odd, wouldn't it?”

Demyan mulled for a moment. “You rent the first wagon, Sanel,” he said. “We’ll get you dressed up nicely, like a mage. Give you a play wand, and take off your brand. You can go to a part of the city we don’t frequent. Where no one will recognise you. Take… Ceely with you. Ceely and Pavlos. And meanwhile, Chares can take Io and Chryssa on foot. Meet up with your group outside the city. That way, you’re not traveling in too large of a group through Lilia, so you won’t draw attention that way. And there won’t be any questions when Selah, Ludwik, or I rent another wagon-- no one will know that first was related to us.”

“I would change their ownership brands, too,” Chares suggested. “We don’t want to risk tampering with Io’s, but Ceely and Pavlos, at least. Give them something… neutral. Not tied to you. That way, if something went wrong, it would take the city guard longer to trace.” A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You could even make them similar to Io’s, really. So that if anyone saw Ceely, Pavlos, and Io from a distance, they’d look as if they had the same owner.”

“Good thinking,” Selah said. “And we can have Martyn tell the other blanks in your tenement that you, Sanel and Pavlos got in trouble and are being confined to the shop for something. So your absence from the ghetto doesn't raise brows.”

“Chares and I could get into a fight,” Sanel suggested. “In front of the tenement. And Pavlos could break it up, but if he gets ‘cut’-you can do up some fake blood in advance- who would question our owners not believing he wasn't involved too? Blanks always lie after all.”

“That could work,” Demyan said. “And just as soon as you’re out safe in the city, we’ll rent our own wagon. Fill it up in advance, so we’re all ready to go at the pivotal moment.” He dare a wan smile. “And if everything goes well… when we see each other again, Chares and Sanel, we’ll all be safe in Macarinth.”

The two privates looked back at their officers with grim determination. Ludwik folded his arms. “So- just one question left, I think: when do we move?”

Selah’s jaw tightened. “We’ll aim for two weeks from now. That should give us time to prepare. We make no outward changes to our routine, and we keep recording information we learn in our ledgers, but our focus from now on will be on liquidating our operation here and preparing to extract the civilians. Chares and Sanel will leave four days ahead of us, and we will launch the final evacuation at the dark of the moon; that’ll help us move without being discovered as we save the children.”

Everyone nodded. Finally it was upon them- the light at the end of the tunnel. The last stage of the long, hellish mission that had begun over two years ago.

And for as hard as everything that they’d done so far had been, the hardest part was still to come.

Arc Three
Storm Break

Part Twelve

SPOILER: Click to show

“Woo,” Ludwik hissed under his breath as he and Demyan waded up to their necks through the deepest part of the lake that separated the construction site of the new botanical gardens from the count’s manor. “The water is frigid! Has no one told this lake it’s bloody summer?”

“I think it’s refreshing,” Demyan replied brightly, eyes set on their target: the massive iron wall that loomed ahead, dividing the water from the estate. “Good for your pores, you know? Some people would pay for this.”

Ludwik rolled his eyes. “Ah, there’s the snarker I know and love, I was wondering where the ‘Pit he’d vanished to in the last few months. Light at the end of the tunnel got your spirits up finally?”

“You could say that.” Demyan smirked, breathing a sigh of relief as they reached slightly shallower water. With a glance at the inky sky overhead, he added, “At least it’s a clear night. Woo knows how miserable this would be in the rain.” He paused, scowling as a slimy clump of algae tangled around one of his legs. “You would have thought the count would have cleaned out this blasted lake, no? He certainly spent time enough setting wards on it. I still can’t believe it took us nearly an hour to get through them. It was like the world’s least fun puzzle game.”

“Least it wasn’t as bad as Chryssa’s brand,” Ludwik pointed out. “But yeah, I am starting to wonder if our reputation as some of the best parsers and disenchanters in the king’s army is more a curse than a blessing. We always get the convoluted spells and an obnoxious time crunch to crack them in. And we’re not done yet, we still have the wall to get through.”

He gestured to the iron barrier ahead of them, adding, “I hope at least we have enough magic left after this to dry our clothes, I’d rather not leave a dripping trail all through the manor advertising our presence to any guard or maid who gets the late-night munchies.”

Demyan sighed. “We should silence our steps, too. So we’re not tap dancing.” He turned toward his partner, stealing a peek at Ludwik through the wavering dark. “You sure you know where the family quarters are? You’ve only been here once.”

The taller man gave his partner a hard look. “Unlike a certain someone, I pay attention to my surroundings instead of running my yap constantly. Yes, Zielony gave me a very generous tour of the manor so I can find the private quarters.” He elbowed his partner. “Have some faith, hm? I haven’t gotten us killed yet.”

“That is true,” Demyan conceded. As they finally neared the wall, the water now lapping only up to their shins, the blond mage pursed his lips. “Now, how about we tackle these wards? I parse this time. You play destroyer.”

“Sure,” Ludwik agreed, tapping his wand against his conduit bracelet- he’d not put it back in the holster while they were wading the lake because he didn’t want it drifting off and getting lost. “It’ll be nice when we can get our wands back instead of these Meltaiman-style copies,” he said absently as he let the familiar sensation of his and Demyan’s magic merging into one wash over him and waiting for his partner to call the runes out.

It was a thorny process. Somebody had put in a great deal of effort to scare off any casual intruder, defensive spells latticed so tightly together that it was like peeling apart (very dangerous) layers of an onion. One misjudged move, and the entire thing would begin to devolve-- and based on the size of the ward screen, this was likely to prove very attention-getting, if it didn’t kill them outright. Even so, the partners were relieved after some time to discover that there was a certain sort of rhythm to the web, the runes complicated, true, but at least predictable once they’d been sorted to their barest bones. This in turn made the act of disabling them far easier, since once the partners had figured out the general pattern, it was simply a whole lot of delicate rinse and repeat.

“I wonder how Selah and Martyn are doing,” Demyan mused after about forty-five minutes, as they began to tackle the foundational wards. “I’m guessing Io’s old master hasn’t got five billion wards in front of his townhouse. ‘Pit, she could probably just jimmy the lock and be right in the bloke’s living room.”

“Probably,” Ludwik agreed, his voice distant and monotone in the way it was when he spoke while working on a complicated piece of spellwork, most of his attention on the runes. “The botanical gardens aren’t liable to be much a challenge either- they’re a public park, people walk through them legitimately after dark all the time. Besides, there’s only a normal wrought-iron fence around them and it’s so strung up with ivy for aesthetics that it should be easy to climb if they don’t want to risk the gate. The blank barracks probably aren’t all that heavily secured either- the blanks are all collared so even if they got out where would they go?”

“And I doubt Andrzej will resist,” Demyan said. “Not when he sees Martyn.” Gnawing on his lip, he floated a string of runes apart, staring at the small, glowing forms through the murky night air. “These are getting very basic,” he observed. “Tarley, tarley, tain, tarley, tarley, tain. We’re at the bricks of this thing, Ludwik.”

“Mm. Let’s just hope the grounds aren’t too heavily guarded. At least this is just a count and not some margrave. I imagine they are all paranoid as the ‘Pit about security after the Valzicks killed the one who had Chelsey.” He made a small noise of satisfaction. “Almooost… almost… there!”

The last of the runes of the ward spells sparked briefly, then went black as scorched timber, slowly fading from sight. Demyan was too schooled to let out a whoop, but he couldn’t help but let a grin through, his green eyes glimmering as he slipped his wand back into its holster. Hooking a finger through the fortified iron bars, he glanced sidelong at his partner.

“Good thing Selah’s not here,” he joked. “She’d insist that she has to be the one to climb, and we should obviously just wait for her. Like old times.”

Ludwik gave a soft chuckle. “I don’t know about you,” he said as he grasped the bars and started to heave himself up, “But I’m glad to finally be… doing something. Something physical, productive. This sort of thing is why I became a soldier, not all the hiding and auction trolling and covert operations.”

“Mmph.” Demyan hoisted himself up after the dark-haired mage. “Woo, we’re out of shape, though. All those cursed honey rolls, I tell you.”

Fortunately, the soldiers hadn’t let themselves go so far that they were unable to clear the wall, and within a few minutes they’d reached the top and come down on the other side. After debating for a moment, they each cast a spell on themselves to dry off from the squelchy lakewater, then with deep breaths began up the steep hill that led to the Zielony manor. The heavily planted grounds worked in their favour as they wended their way toward the house, concealing them from any sweeping eyes, and true to his promise earlier, Ludwik indeed seemed to know right where he was going once they slipped inside through an unlocked side door.

“Cocky, isn’t it?” Demyan whispered as Ludwik set about casting a spell to silence their footsteps. “He has no knights posted at the rear fence because of all of the wards-- and he’s also so sure no one will get past those wards that he doesn't even lock his doors.”

“Meltaimans are over-reliant on magic in general,” Ludwik hissed back. “The knights he brings with him never have any physical weapons bigger than a dagger. But shhhh, we don’t want to get caught now, we’re too close.”

“Yes, Mum.” Demyan smiled wanly. “Lead the way.”

The two soldiers wended their way through the manor, the spells for silence keeping them from making any noise as they walked but neither of them quite able to help taking delicate steps regardless. There were scattered guards patrolling through the halls, wands held up for light, but the duo managed to avoid alerting most of them by the expedience of ducking into nearby rooms. Though one did seem to notice something, freezing for a moment in his tracks, he lost interest before he found the two and returned to his patrol. Finally, however, they reached the private quarters.

“When we get into the kids’ room,” Ludwik hissed, “cast a spell to soundproof the walls before we wake them up. We’ll need to convince them to come with us voluntarily and the last thing we need is someone hearing voices.”

“Right.” Demyan gulped. “I’m guessing the bedchambers are all upstairs, but… where do we start? We hardly want to walk into the count’s room.”

The taller man rubbed his nose, expression pensive. “He… he mentioned he had a balcony. That overlooked the lake. Some joke about watching teenagers daring each other to jump the wards. So we avoid rooms that have connecting walls to the backside of the manor until absolutely last.”

Demyan shot his partner a lopsided grin. “Wow, you are a good spy,” he whispered lightly. “Flexing those memory muscles.”

“When the Woo hands you a boon like a personal meeting with the noble of an enemy land, you make bloody well sure to commit everything he tells you that might be useful to memory,” Ludwik retorted, though he grinned back at the compliment. “C’mon, let’s go. Hopefully neither of the kids has had a nightmare tonight and decided to cuddle up with ‘Papa.’”

The two soldiers made their way to the upstairs level of the private quarters, which housed four separate rooms. Two were adjacent the rear wall, and the other two a side wall. The first door opened to reveal what appeared to be a nursery, long disused and filmed with dust. The second opened into a spacious bedroom, with two huge canopy beds. One of them was vacant, the sheets rumbled and tossed back. In the second, two small forms were huddled together, rising and falling in a regular rhythm.

The children.

As Ludwik very, very carefully shut the door, Demyan took a deep breath and raised his wand, murmuring several swift spells beneath his breath to soundproof the room. Even once the incantations had been cast, though, his footsteps remained tentative as he started toward the bed, his heart humming in his ears and his stomach lurching. This was… it. Dear Woo, this was it. After over two years of planning and nearly a year spent in the ‘Pit-cursed heart of Meltaim, finally they were carrying through with their final plan. Taking these children back to their rightful homes. Their rightful countries that they’d been so violently ripped from with no more care than one might tear petals off a rose.

“I don’t want to scare them,” Demyan murmured to Ludwik, pausing a few feet from the foot of the bed and gazing down at Miron and Dalia’s slumbering forms. The little boy was curled up against his older ‘sister’, head rested against her chest, both of them clearly deeply asleep. “And I’m afraid if we just shake them awake…”

“We’re not going to be able to avoid scaring them,” Ludwik said regretfully. “But we can at least make ourselves less a threat. You stand by the door in case they make a break for it but try to be unobtrusive. I’ll wake them since they know me, and I can probably get them reasonably calmed without too much fuss.”

Demyan nodded, turning to start back toward the door. “Okay.” He swallowed hard. “Good luck.”

Ludwik sighed, sending up a silent prayer to the Woo before kneeling at the edge of the bed. “Dalia?” He called softly. “It’s time to get up, honey. Miron, c’mon, you need to get up, little man.”

Dalia flinched slightly, muttering dazedly but not fully waking. Miron, on the other hand, startled immediately upright, blinking wild-eyed against the dark. For a moment, sheer panic flickered on his face, the little boy letting out a startled whimper-- before he seemed to recognise Ludwik, and the terror ceded way to pure confusion.

“Y-you’re the headache man,” he stammered, bunching his hand around Dalia’s sleeve. “You’re--”

“Just call me Ludwik, little one,” the Macarinthian murmured gently. “I know you’re probably surprised to see me, but I promise I’ll explain just as soon as your sister stops being a lazybones, hm?”

Dalia, rousing further at the sound of the voices, groaned in a half-asleep stupor and huddled deeper into the blanket. “Miron who’re you talking to?”

“The headache man.” Miron pursed his lips, shaking the girl’s shoulder. “An’ he’s talkin’ Valzick, Dalia. Valzick!” He glanced back toward Ludwik. “Does Papa know you’re here? ‘Cos he gets real mad when I talk Valzick.”

Dalia rolled over slightly, opening bleary eyes to look in Ludwik’s direction. When she saw him, however, she sat bolt upright with a squeal, flinching away. Ludwik winced, immensely grateful the room had been soundproofed, and held up both hands placatingly.

“Shhhh, don’t panic, Dalia. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’m here to help.”

The little girl’s eyes went wide and round, and she swallowed hard. “M-Miron, you said he was talking V-Valzick. That’s… that’s not Valzick, that’s Macarinthian!”

“He was talkin’ Valzick,” Miron insisted. Seeming to notice Demyan for the first time, the blond mage still posted at the door, the little boy knitted his brow. “Who’s he? Is he one of the knights? ‘Cos… ‘cos he’s not in his un’form.”

“No, I’m not a knight.” Demyan took a tentative step forward, electing to speak Meltaiman so that both children could understand. “I’m here with Ludwik. To help you both. To take you home. Your real homes. Back in Valzaim and Macarinth.”

“That’s why I speak both Valzick and Macarinthian,” Ludwik put in. “I’ve been running an apothecary for a while so no one realized, but my friend and I are both actually soldiers from Macarinth. We’re here looking for little kids like you who were stolen away, so we can take you home.” He prised up his sleeve, showing Dalia his conduit bracelet. She inhaled sharply.

“Y-you’re bonded,” she whispered. “L-like… like me ‘n Jasmine used to be.”

“We are,” Demyan confirmed. “So you know you can trust us, honey.” He smiled, inching forward by another few steps. “We’ll take you home. To your real family, in Macarinth.”

The girl shrank back, biting her lip. “I got no family,” she said softly. “It was just me ‘n Mama. She said my papa was a deadbeat and he ran away. But she was… she was r-ribboned when I was taken. She died. Jazzy was all I had and now she’s gone too.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Demyan winced. He would never, ever grow used to the way Meltaimans so callously mutilated people, how they slaughtered everybody who stood in their way without a moment’s hesitation. “I’m so sorry. But you’ll be taken care of once we’re back home-- I promise. And you’ll be safe.” He flicked his gaze toward Miron. “And you, too.”

“You… you’d bring me back to my old mama?” the little boy asked, his tone etched with wariness. “‘Cos… ‘cos th-the mama here says that m-my old mama’s not really my mama, she’s just a blank an’... the g-gods want me here with her.” Miron swallowed hard. “But I miss her still. A l-lot.”

“We would,” Ludwik said, smiling to the boy gently. “The Meltaimans have been nice to you, I know, but that was only after they stole you away, and scared you, right? Even if the count means well, what he did still isn’t right. You belong back home with your real mama, and by the grace of the Woo we’re going to get you there.”

At the mention of the Woo, Miron perked up. “Y-you know the Woo?” he asked. “‘Cos I’m not ‘lowed to talk ‘bout him here. But b-back ‘fore, Mama talked ‘bout him all the time. And we went to church a lot. Mama’s brother was the pr-priest. Only… only he was nicer than priests here. H-he didn’t hurt people.”

“Of course I know the Woo,” Ludwik said, smiling broadly. “I’ve even lived in Valzaim for a while, and went to churches there. I know a few Valzick hymns too.” Ludwik closed his eyes, and softly the soldier crooned, “All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful: The Lord Woo made them all. Each little flower that opens, Each little bird that sings, He made their glowing colors, He made their tiny wings.”

Miron’s jaw trembled, tears suddenly pricking in the boy’s eyes. “Y-you’ll really take me to Mama?” he murmured, finally daring to slip into Valzick.

“We will,” Demyan agreed. “I promise, honey.”

Dalia, silent through all of this, clenched her eyes shut. “I… I… I don’t wanna go. I don’t.”

Ludwik winced. “Sweetie-”

“No!” she bleated. “Th-they’ll, they’ll just dump me in some church, ‘cause I’m an orphan. And if Jazzy were with me it would be okay, but she’s not. She’s gone, they took her and they broke the bond.”

“I’m so sorry,” Demyan said. “I’m so sorry that you had to go through that. But you won’t just be dumped, honey, you won’t--”

“Yes I will!” the girl snarled, refusing to lapse into Macarinthian as Demyan had. “Even, even if Jazzy’s family was willing to take me, I don’t want to go with them. They’ll just, just remind me all the time. That Jazzy was taken away, and I’ll never get her back. And I’ll remind them of the same. I’m nobody in Macarinth, and I got nobody.” She closed her eyes, tears prickling in them as she drew herself up with as much dignity as she could muster. “B-but here, I’ve got a mama and a papa who love me. Here, I’m the next countess of Lilia.”

Ludwik’s heart lurched. Dalia had been in Meltaim since she was seven, according to the count- now she had to be nearly twelve, if she wasn’t already. Four or five years of brainwashing by her captors was showing itself starkly now. Despairingly, the soldier whispered, “Dalia, you don’t belong here. These people are the ones who stole your partner away and killed your mother.”

“I know,” she said bleakly. “But they think they’re doing good. They… they want what’s best for me. And they’re all I got.”

Demyan could have screamed. They’d anticipated the children might be frightened, of course, but this... Woo, what were they to do? They couldn’t spend the rest of the night standing in this bedroom, negotiating. And even if they strong-armed her to come with them now, overpowered her with a knock-out spell and hauled her back over the iron fence, the journey east to Macarinth would be precarious enough without them having to tote along an unwilling child. Not to mention the fact that Dalia had been traumatised enough already: abducted, brainwashed, her mother murdered and bond severed. The thought of inflicting more pain on her, even if it was for her own good…

“What was your name, sweetheart?” he said after a moment, his entire body cold. “I know the count renamed you, but what were you called back in Macarinth? Your real name?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the girl said, looking away. “I’m Dalia now. That’s all. Dalia Zielony.” She reached for Miron, pulling the boy into a hug. “If… if you wanna go home, I w-won’t stop you, Miron. I won’t tell Papa. I’ll miss you lots, b-but, you got a Mama waiting. But my home’s here.”

The little boy nodded reluctantly. “‘K-kay. Are y-you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she whispered, her voice shaking as tears rolled down her cheeks. She hugged the little boy tighter, adding, “I love you, Miron.”

“I love you, too,” Miron murmured.

Demyan bit down on his lip. Hard. Then, speaking in Valzick so that Dalia could not understand, he said softly to Ludwik, “We have to leave her, don’t we? ’Pit, we have to leave her.”

He was fighting back tears himself as he whispered back, “We do. Unless we want to become the same ‘Pit-cursed monsters we’re fighting. Dragging her off from a family she loves ‘for her own good.’ We’ll have enough difficulty getting home without trying to tote an unwilling child, and… she’s been through enough.”

Demyan pressed a hand to his forehead. “Dalia, please,” he forced out. A last ditch attempt.

The girl looked up at him, her eyes full of pain. “L-look out for your partner, ‘kay? You dunno how bad it hurts to lose ‘im. You don’t want to.”

“Of course,” Demyan said, swallowing back bile as it rose in his throat. “And you… you stay safe, honey, okay? And I… hope you’re happy. Here.” He locked eyes with Ludwik. “We should go. We’ve a-already been here too long.”

“Right,” the dark haired soldier agreed, his voice tremulous as he fought back a sob. In all their planning, every eventuality they’d prepared for, nothing could have brought them to anticipate this. That a child would flat refuse to be rescued. That they would be happier in Meltaim. Turning his attention to Miron, he said, “Are you coming, buddy?”

“Uh-huh.” Miron slowly stood from the bed, his eyes falling on his bare feet as he grabbed his holstered wand from its resting place on the night table and cinched the sheath around his waist . “‘Cept I’m not dressed. And… and all my shoes is in the mudroom.”

“We’ll have some clothes for you when we get to our friends,” Ludwik promised, reaching for the little boy and gently picking him up. “You gotta be really quiet once we leave this room though, okay? We used magic so nobody would hear us, but we can’t let the knights in the hallway hear when we’re leaving.”

Miron nodded, nestling his cheek against the older mage’s shoulder. “‘Kay. I won’ talk. Promise.”

Dalia sniffled hard, rolling over so her back was to the other three and pulling the covers over her shoulder. Ludwik wished with all his heart they could bring her too, but she seemed set in her choice, and there was no more time to try to talk her around. As he was nearing the door back out into the hallway, he stopped, glancing towards his young charge.

“Say,” he said, “why don’t you tell Demyan and me your name? Your real one, from before the Meltaimans took it away and called you Miron.”

“Lykos,” he whispered. “I used to be n-named Lykos.”

“Lykos- that’s a good name,” Ludwik replied warmly. “Don’t worry Lykos- we’re going to get you home to your mama. I promise.”

Part Thirteen

SPOILER: Click to show

When Demyan and Ludwik arrived at the amphitheater with little Lykos, Selah was indeed already there. Martyn sat on the back gate of the wagon they’d rented, his legs hanging over and seven-year-old Andrzej huddled in his lap, the little blank clinging as tightly as he could to the father he’d not seen in months. Martyn gently stroked his son’s auburn hair, an expression of tenderness and something akin to wonder on his face. Selene appeared to be working on disenchanting the boy’s collar, and his eyelids were drooping in a way that suggested the process had been going on long enough he was starting to nod off.

But it wasn’t just Selah and the two blanks: a young red-haired girl, perhaps nine or ten, stood next to Selah, watching as the Valzick mage sorted through the collar’s tangled runes. At the sound of Demyan and Ludwik’s footsteps, the child turned quickly to face them, her clear blue eyes narrowing in scrutiny. She pursed her lips, hands tightening into wary fists at her side.

“Is that them, Selah?” she asked-- and Demyan startled when he realised that she wasn’t speaking Meltaiman or Macarinthian, but Valzick.

The woman blinked owlishly, distracted from the work on the collar. Glancing around, she smiled and nodded, “It is. The tall one is going by Ludwik. The blonde is Demyan- those aren’t their real names, just like Selah’s not mine, but we can do proper introductions once we’re safe over the border. They’re Macarinthian, like you.” She looked up at the two Macarinthians, smiling thinly. “Yeah, it caught me off guard when she started asking me pointed questions in my native language too. Colonels, this is the little one Io told Sanel about. Her real name is Neve.”

“Hello, Neve.” Demyan inclined his head. “It’s very nice to meet you.” He paused. “But you’re… Macarinthian, right? Not Valzick?”

“Mmhm.” Neve fidgeted with a lock of her bright hair, twining it through her fingers like a ribbon. “I’m from Shemaiah.”

“Oh!” Ludwik slapped his forehead with the hand that wasn’t supporting Lykos on his hip. “Right, that’s near the Valzick border. No far from where we used to be stationed when we were commandants, remember, Demyan? It was maybe three hour’s ride by ‘griff.”

“Right. Of course.” Switching briefly into Macarinthian, he added softly, “It’s a nice city, isn’t it? I’m sure you’re excited to go back, Neve.”

“Yeah.” A beat. “Where’re you from?” Neve was still studying the pair of mages, face inscrutable. “You sound southern. Like you’re from the riverlands.”

Ludwik blinked, caught off guard by the dead-on guess based purely on their dialect and accents. “Demyan and I are from a city called Igerna. And yes, it’s in the riverlands. You’re a smart kid, aren’t you?”

Neve shrugged. “I dunno. I can’t figure out that.” She nudged her chin over her shoulder, toward the web of runes still laid out above Andrzej’s collar; as the Macarinthians talked, Selah was continuing to delicately tease them apart. “I’ve been watchin’ her work this whole time. And I still dunno anything she’s doing. I barely recognise the runes at all.”

Demyan raised a brow, halfway between bemused and entertained. “How old are you, Neve?”

“Ten,” she said. “Almost ten and a half. Papa promised he’d throw me a party. But then I got taken here instead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, honey,” Ludwik replied with a sympathetic smile. Ten- in Macarinth that was the minimum age for pair bonds to even start their magical education properly. Younger kids weren’t responsible enough, and the bonds were generally a bit fragile at that stage, so pair magic was nigh impossible. “But I bet once we get you home, he’ll be so happy to see you he’ll have an even bigger party to celebrate.”

“Not to interrupt,” Selah cut in, “but we need to stop speaking in languages that will draw attention from eavesdroppers- and it’s a little rude to exclude Martyn from the conversation. And I thought you boys were supposed to be rescuing two kids from Zielony’s manor. I only count one with you. Where’s Dalia?”

“Dalia din’ wanna come.” Still nestled in Ludwik’s arms, Lykos stifled a yawn.

“She was… too far gone, Selah,” Demyan added, his voice catching. “She refused. Promised not to tell on us, but… she wouldn’t come. And both Ludwik and I agreed it wouldn’t be prudent to try to force her.”

The Valzick woman looked stricken, but Martyn only sighed and hugged his son tighter. “They don’t see it as merely adoption here- taking in a child from a blank family is righting a wrong of the cosmos. The child was meant to have been yours all along. So they do truly love the little ones, and if she was as lost and lonely and afraid as I was when my parents gave me up…”

“It’s… it’s not what we wanted,” Selah said, her voice thick. “B-but it just proves all the more that high command needs to hear about this. That what’s happening has to stop.”

“It’s okay,” Neve put in, speaking in Meltaiman for the first time; her accent was extremely strong, the words awkward on the child’s tongue. She went on, “Once we get home, they’ll fix this. They will. I… I’ll talk to my papa, and he’ll fix it.”

Ludwik smiled sadly. This girl was probably a soldier’s child- just like Ceely, who’d clung for months to the hope that her father would rescue her, before time and trauma had worn that hope away. Selah sighed softly, glancing towards the Macarinthians. “I presume you put Dalia to sleep before you left?”

“No.” Demyan froze. “She… was upset. Curled up back under her covers. I think she was trying to go back to bed. And-- she’d promised not to tell, and given that conserving magic is a factor here…”

“And what if-” Selah cut in, her eyes alight with anger and her voice taking the affect it did when she scolded one of the soldiers about something, “she has second thoughts? What if she changes her mind and decides to report you? The simple expenditure of magic for a sleeping spell is worth eight hours of bought time, Colonel!”

“Look, we screwed up,” Ludwik said with a wince. “But we’re on borrowed time here- yelling at us is only going to waste more of it and possibly draw attention. Let’s get Andrzej’s collar dealt with and get moving. You can lecture us on the road once we’re away from Lilia.”

The woman scowled, but nodded. “Fine. But you idiots are getting that lecture, a foul-up like that could cost us the entire bloody mission!”

“The collar,” Demyan said simply, turning to face Andrzej. Sparing the boy what he hoped was a reassuring smile, the mage added, “How much have you gotten through already? Because this looks-- Woo, is that a choking spell daisy chained to a paralyzer? What in the ‘Pit?”

“Intended to choke him if he tries to cross the city boundary,” Martyn said grimly, glaring at the unassuming strip of leather stitched around the boy’s neck “And if he manages to stumble backwards in time to save himself, paralyze him so he’s a sitting duck for the guards to pick up and drag home.”

“I had hoped I might just be able to remove the alarm spell against tampering and cut the collar off,” Selah muttered angrily. “But the alarm spell’s keyed to a certain unlocking mechanism and it’s loaded with snares. It’d take me all night to parse it and I’d be as likely to hit myself with a paralyzer or a sleeping charm as get it off. Removing the main bulk is the more convoluted path but it’ll be faster if I can just get this knot untangled.”

“Have you considered wedging out the bookending runes that link the choker to the paralyzer?” Demyan asked, studying the tangled morass. “Obviously if you go for the Bryar, it’ll devolve the whole thing. But if you add a series of false trip junk runes on either side of it, to make the spell think it’s feeding into something else but the paralyzer, you could neutralize the actual dangerous trigger, couldn’t you? Then just deconstruct the choker, and leave the paralyzer in place since it’s no longer rigged to go off.” The mage worried at his lip, adding, “In an ideal situation, of course I’d say to systematically take apart both spells. But with time so scarce…”

“Hm, that could work,” Selah agreed. “And even if he does get paralyzed he’s tiny- any one of us four adults can pick him up and carry him until we’re far enough away to winch through the rest of the spell. I’ll need you two’s help though, this is a nightmare to parse and tackle at the same time.”

“Of course,” Ludwik replied, setting Lykos down in the wagon and ruffling the boy’s hair. He took one of the cloaks they’d bought- Andrzej and Neve were already wearing theirs- and carefully spelled it to fit over the Valzick boy’s slight frame. He slipped it and a pair of inexpensive but sturdy moccasins onto the boy before he approached Selah. “Let’s see what we can do.”

It was by no means an easy task. It took them another hour to chip away at the spell, by which time both Andrzej and Lykos had nodded off entirely and Neve watched on silently, arms crossed and lip bit. All three soldiers were flexing their fingers, and definitely feeling the strain of all the magic use and their late night, but they could see the base runes of the choking spell now.

“Almost there,” Selah muttered. “Then we can finally get out of here. Ten bloody months in this Wooforsaken country, and we can finally go ho-”

A distant shriek rent the air, cutting through the gentle predawn breeze. Demyan startled, nearly jostling a cluster of runes as he did, and snapped his gaze in the direction of the sound. West. It had come from the west. Far away, but still clearly within Lilia city walls, or else the wind would have swallowed the noise. But what was it? Not a person, it was too… even to be a person, and that went for the possibility of it being an animal, too. But if it wasn’t organic…

“Please tell me,” he breathed, “that wasn’t an alarm.”

Martyn, his face gone white as snow, clutched Andrzej tight to his chest as the little boy, having been startled awake by the noise, whimpered. “It was,” the adult blank whispered. “Th-that’s the alarm at… at Zielony manor. It usually only sounds when there’s a bandit threat. To mobilize the guards and seal the gate.”

Ludwik swore. “Selah, Demyan, you two are better at driving than I am- one of you take the reins on the horses and get us out of here. I’ll sit in the back with Martyn and the kids and finish with the collar.”

Demyan clenched his jaw. “Woo, Selah. What if you don’t finish by the time we reach the gate? Or what if they seal it first?”

“We’ll deal with it,” the woman snapped, already vaulting into the wagon just behind the driver’s seat as Martyn shimmied further away from the gate so Ludwik could plop Neve into the back of it. “What-ifs only waste more time, let’s go.”

“Dalia,” Ludwik hissed as he too jumped into the back of the wagon and yanked the gate up. Sitting across from Martyn and Andrzej he added, “Dalia must’ve gotten cold feet. She must’ve reported us.”

“Why would she do that?” Neve huffed, the little girl glowering. “She’s a traitor!”

“Neve.” Demyan winced, grabbing for the horse’s reins and spurring the beast into movement. “Not the time honey, okay? Just take a breath-- it’s going to be alright.”

“Head for the gate,” Selah ordered. “Fast as we can go. We need to get out of the city before the guards get there.”

“The alarm was far away,” Martyn said shrilly. “There will be at least two more nearer before the gatehouse guards hear and get rousted from their beds. But y-yes, we need to hurry.”

“What if we don’t make it?” Neve bleated, panic unfurling on the little girl’s face. “H-he’ll kill me, the metalsmith will kill me! F-for leaving--”

“Neve,” Selah said, looking over her shoulder at the child and reaching back a hand to grasp the girl’s shoulder. “We will make it. Don’t panic. We’re getting you home. We’re getting everyone home.”

The second alarm sounded, much closer than the first, the noise splitting through the air like a knife into flesh. Urging the horse faster, Demyan swore beneath his breath, his heart racing and palms sweating as they tumbled down one of Lilia’s wide cobbled boulevards, the street virtually abandoned in the predawn darkness. In the rear of the wagon, Lykos had started to whimper, the little boy’s legs crossed as he buried his face into his hands, and beside him Martyn seemed to take pity on the frantic child. Releasing one hand from around Andrzej, he pulled Lykos towards his side and hugged the boy around his shoulders. The child immediately melted into the stranger’s hold, stifling a hiccup as he buried his face in Martyn’s sleeve.

“I’m scared,” he whispered. As it thundered over a pothole, the wagon juddered, and Lykos let out a sob. “I-I want Mama.”

“I know, little man,” Martyn whispered back. “We’ll be okay, don’t worry. I promise we’ll be okay.”

“P-Papa,” Andrzej whimpered, speaking up for the first time. “W-we’re gonna get flogged.”

“No, we’re not,” Martyn said firmly. “Not ever again, Rzej. Not ever again.”

“No,” Ludwik agreed, and with an almost violent slashing motion he growled, “You’re not. Demyan, I got the collar, you’re clear!”

As if in response to this statement, the carriage picked up even more speed, the horses hooves thundering against the cobbles. A third shriek rent the night, this one so close that it almost seemed to pierce right through the conspirator’s bones. Martyn held the sobbing boys tight to his chest, and Ludwik took up a post at the back of the wagon, eyes scanning for any pursuers behind them. The spelling sickness ached up to his wrists, but he wasn’t out of magic- not yet. He’d drain himself to the chest before he allowed things to fall apart now.

Finally the city gate came into view ahead- there was a frenzy of hurried activity around the guardhouse, but Selah snapped, “It’s still open! We can still make it!”

‘They’ve got their wands out,” Demyan hissed. “They’re spelling the cranks to turn. ’Pit!” He swore again, louder this time, as the ricochet of the horse’s hooves against the street caused the scrambling guards to turn their attention toward the wagon. “They see us. Hells.”

“No, no, no.” Neve drew her knees up to her chest, trembling. “No!”

“Martyn,” Demyan called, a white knuckled grip on the reins. “Have the kids lay down. Flat as possible. And close their eyes. Selah, come up here-- Luddy, cover the rear?”

“Already on it,” Ludwik replied as Selah hauled herself up over the seat and drew her wand. Martyn pressed himself against the bottom of the carriage, holding down Lykos and Andrzej and covering their eyes and gesturing for Neve to flatten herself out as well.

The red-haired girl, however, balked. “Let me help,” she insisted. “I kn-know spells, I--”

“No, Neve,” Demyan snapped over her, bracing himself as the guards split themselves into two groups: one working to hurry the gate shut, as the others lobbed themselves up the steps that led to the watch platform on the top of the wall. An offensive position, so that they could fire spells from above; the blond Macarinthian swore yet another time, adding to Neve, “Lay down.”

“But--”

“Martyn, pull her down,” Demyan said through gritted teeth. Woo, this was not the time for a ten-year-old child to try to prove her spelling prowess-- not when in all likelihood the wagon was soon to be blasted by the sorts of offensive spells that made even his own military-hardened stomach churn. “Pin her if you must, but get her flat.”

Martyn automatically lurched to obey, hoping against hope that the two boys would stay down as he briefly released Andrzej to grab Neve by the back of her cloak and yank her down. Just in time too, as the first blast of magic- a red-glowing stunner- flashed towards them, Selah barely diverting it.

“They know we have the kids,” she said. “I don’t think they want to risk their beloved ribboning spells when they might hit the kids.”

“We can only hope,” Demyan snarled, shifting the reins into one hand as he drew his wand with his other. “Let’s conserve our magic-- deflect for now, and only fire offensively back if we have to.” As if on cue, another stunner flared toward them, the blond mage swiping his wand to parry it. “I think we’ll get through the gates at least,” he said; they were drawing very, very close. “Woo bless the fact that it takes them fifty levers and gears to get it shut. Buggers built it for fortification once it’s shut, not quickness in closing it in the first place.”

“We’ve got horsemen coming at us from the rear,” Ludwik snapped. “Four of them- I think they mean to pursue if we get out of the gate, we’re not getting away without a fight.”

Selah spat a curse as she deflected another stunner. “We need to get out into the valley, away from the walls. Then I’ll come back to help you Ludwik- Demyan, keep driving.”

“Let me help,” Neve whimpered from beneath Martyn’s firm hold. “Y-you’re all spelling sick, aren’t you, and--” The girl whimpered as another curse fired from atop the watch platform slammed into the wagon’s side, splintering a few slivers of wood from it. “I can help, I can--”

“Your job is to stay safe, Neve,” Demyan said curtly, as they finally reached the half-closed gates. Several guards had positioned themselves in front of them, as if optimistically hoping that the fleeing criminals wouldn’t dare bowl them over, but once they realised Demyan wasn’t slowing the horse at all, they abruptly leapt out of the way. The wagon rocketed past them, out onto the well-kept road that led away from Lilia. “They still chasing, Lud?” he called back to his partner. “And tell me if any more join in, too, beyond the four.”

“They’re gaining,” he replied grimly. “Their horses are fresh and not pulling a cart with four adults and three children. They’re going to be in spelling range before we get out of the valley. Selah, you should drive, let Demyan help me, we can conserve power and do more damage if we synch.”

Selah spat a curse, “I’m fresher than the both of you!”

“And the two of us put together will still have more than you do,” Ludwik retorted. “Trust me!”

She ground her teeth, but turned to Demyan. “Give me the reins.”

Demyan obliged without a word, only nodding as he jerked control of the horse over to Selah. Adrenaline was surging through him as he scampered toward the back of the wagon, taking care not to trip over Martyn and the children’s prone forms-- and nearly losing an ear as, indeed pulling into spelling range, one of the Meltaimans let a slicing curse fling through the air. The Macarinthian only just managed to duck out of the way, the spell cleaving into a tree at a bend in the road up ahead and shearing it nearly in half.

“‘Pit!” Demyan swore, tapping the tip of his wand against his conduit bracelet. “Should we cast a shield over the kids, Lud? The idiots are trying to kill us!”

“Their safety is our number one priority right now,” he agreed, also tapping his conduit bracelet. “The last thing we want is a stray spell hitting one of them. I’ll cast the shield, keep me covered while my back is turned.”

Ludwik turned, hissing the spell for a shield. A pale blue dome of light bubbled over Martyn, Neve, Lykos and Andrzej-- and just in time, as two more curses immediately went flying toward the wagon, Demyan only managing to deflect one of them as the other bounced into the shield. Forcing a deep breath to keep himself calm, the blond mage fired back a spell of his own, aiming a slicer toward one of the horse’s legs. It missed, but only barely, and he followed it up with another incantation that glanced off one of the guard’s mail, dinging the armour and causing the man to let out a string of curses.
“They’re gaining ground,” he hissed. “Two of them pulling ahead of the others. I think they mean to cut us off!”

Ludwik ground his teeth. Turning to Selah he called out, “Enemies gaining, keep a lookout, they want to cut us off from the sides!” Facing the horsemen again he snarled to his partner, “Conserving magic is no longer a factor- this is all or nothing. We need to hit and hit hard.”

“Right.” Demyan exhaled sharply, touching his bracelet as if by reflex. “Love you, buddy.”

“Love you too,” Ludwik replied softly. Squaring his shoulders, he said, “I’ll soak, you shock. Should we still use the Meltaiman spells you think, or do we not care anymore?”

“To the ‘Pit with everything Meltaiman,” Demyan said. “This is do or die. Let’s go with what’s most natural.” He gulped, parrying yet another spell as the two horsemen in the lead drew wide, indeed seeming to mean to surge ahead and then cut off the wagon. “Selah!” he called. “Two coming up! Lud, soaker toward the other two on three.”

Ludwik nodded, bringing his wand to bear. As soon as Demyan signaled, he bellowed, “Technití vrochí!” His wand flared with light, and a cyclone of water like a miniature water spout jetted from it, soaking the befuddled Meltaimans-- and as both riders pointed their own wands, clearly meaning to fire off a response, Demyan didn’t waste a moment.

“Caṭyāṅa!” the blond snarled, lightening crackling from the tip of his wand-- but as a slash of sizzling light seared toward the Meltaimans, one of the soaked, bewildered men managed to deflect it. ’Pit. Not wasting a moment, Demyan forced a breath and repeated the incantation, voice trembling with desperation and determination: “Caṭyāṅa!”

This time, the effect was just as he and Ludwik had intended it: the guard parrying too slowly, the curse slammed into his horse’s flank… and the moment it hit the beast’s damp fur, electricity sizzled and flared. The horse let out something near to a shriek-- and so did its rider, the man’s body wracked by a violent tremor as he tumbled off the saddle, hitting the ground beneath with a sickening crack.

His comrade, seeming to realise exactly what had happened, shouted out a swear that would have made a sailor cringe, rage flashing in his eyes as he snapped his wand toward Ludwik and Demyan. “Cierpienie!”

“‘Pit!” Demyan shouted as, mercifully, the spell went wide, coming closer to hitting the Meltaiman’s two fellow guards-- who were still galloping at the wagon’s side, nearly even with it now-- than it did either Demyan or Ludwik. “He’s throwing torture curses!”

“Predictable bloody Meltaimans,” Ludwik snarled. “Always go for whatever’s the most excruciating.” He glanced sideways at his partner with a smirk. “Spinning shield then?”

Demyan barked a winded chuckle. “Why not,” he said. “Watch his wrists. You bubble it, I’ll spin it.” He dared flick a glance over his shoulder, toward Selah. “You okay up there?” he shouted.

“Horse is foaming, it’s not going to be able to hold out much longer,” she called back. “It’s already slowing down.”

“‘Pit,” Ludwik snarled. “No time to waste, we need to end this, now.” As the Meltaiman’s wrist started to flick to summon another spell, the Macarinthian snapped, “Teíchos!” Blue power bloomed forth from his wand, but before it could take the typical dome shape of a shield, Ludwik felt Demyan’s power well up beneath his own, seeming to funnel down the dark haired man’s arm and out his wand.

“Bhanvara,” Demyan hissed-- at the exact same moment the Meltaiman fired off another torture curse. The Macarinthian could only hold his breath as he watched the bubble shield started to rotate, whirling abruptly forward like a vortex. The pain spell slammed into it, but rather than the shield absorbing it as it normally might, the spinning motion caused the curse to ping right back off it, like a hailstone against a metal roof… and deflecting it right back into its caster.

The Meltaiman screamed, so loudly that Demyan half-thought it’d pierce his eardrums, and his hands flew up from his horse’s reins to grip desperately at his head. In another instant, he’d lost his balance, slipping from the saddle as if he’d been thrown by an invisible hand. His wand snapped out of his grip as he landed, cracking clear in two.

“Yes!” Demyan shouted, exhilaration briefly filling him-- that was, until he turned back around to face Selah, eyes falling on her just as the two Meltaiman horsemen drew level with her. One of them fired off a spell that she just barely managed to duck. Releasing one hand from the reins she snapped a return spell that made his horse buck wildly, falling off from the chase briefly as the rider tried to get the animal back under control.

“What’s happening?” Neve sobbed, the little girl still firmly tucked in Martyn’s hold. Both Andrzej and Lykos were crying beside her, the little boys’ hands held over their heads as Neve added, “What’s going on-- what’s--”

“Shh, it’s alright, Neve.” Pausing for only a moment to recast the quickly-dissolving shield spell over the children, Demyan then lurched forward, as he did calling to Ludwik, “Cover Selah’s right, I’ll go left! It’s three against two, we can do this.”

“Right,” Ludwik panted, turning to follow his partner. However, he stumbled backwards as the wagon hit a stone on the path, his feet knocked out from under him. The Macarinthian yelped in pain as his back slammed hard against the rear gate of the wagon, the noise wrenching Demyan’s attention as the blond whipped his gaze back toward his partner.

It was a costly mistake: his attention diverted, and Selah’s trained firmly on the guard whom she’d not yet beaten back, none of the mages noticed the second watchman, who’d gotten his horse back under control and was presently spurring the beast forward as quickly as he could. The moment he’d gotten close enough, he leveled his wand toward Selah’s back, voice dripping with venom as he howled: “Kawałek ślimakowaty!”

Selah jerked around when she heard the horrifically familiar spell- one she’d heard far, far too many times during her career in the Special Forces. But too late- the vortex of energy hit her like a hammer, and she shrieked as a ribboning spell lanced into her flesh. Her shirt was shredded almost instantaneously, and blood spurted in nearly every direction from her mid-torso up almost to her chin.

Part Fourteen

SPOILER: Click to show

Fighting back the sting of tears in his eyes, Ludwik turned back to the final guard, snarling a spell that sent a fireball in his direction. Though the man managed to dodge it, Ludwik immediately followed up on the distraction with a slicing spell that neatly severed the saddle strap. Already leaning sideways to avoid the fireball, the guard overbalanced and fell from his horse, his head slamming the ground. As the wagon pulled further away, he remained motionless where he’d fallen, his horse slowing to a walk.

Ludwik was shaking badly, his arms aching up to the shoulders and his head spinning. But as he clambered over the civilians- not yet daring to dismiss the shield over them- his only concern was for Selah. She had lost consciousness, and was slumped over in the seat at the front of the wagon.

“Demyan, how is she?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Oh Woo, she’s losing too much blood, if we don’t stop soon and bandage that-”

His pulse still racing, Demyan winced as he studied Selah’s prone form. “We need to staunch the bleeding. But ’Pit, ribboning is resistant to healing-- we c-could probably patch it a bit, but not heal it completely, except…” He was trying very hard not to vomit. “I’ve got it bad, Lud. Spelling sickness. I don’t know if I could patch a splinter right now. And w-we can’t afford to stop.”

“M-masters,” Martyn warbled. “I… I have no magic but if you slid her back here, I could… bandage her at least, we have the spare cloak that was for Dalia.”

“Let me help,” Neve said softly, as Martyn finally let her up from his vise-hold. Her nose running and eyes bloodshot, she shuddered as she spotted Selah’s limp, bleeding body. “I kn-know healing sp-spells. And I don’t have spelling sickness. I can help, pl-please.”

Ludwik swallowed hard. They didn’t have much choice- bandaged or not, unless something was done to stop the bleeding of Selah’s wounds, she would die. But to let a child look at such injuries…

“Martyn, hold on to Andrzej and Lykos,” Ludwik ordered firmly. “Keep your hands over their eyes, you hear me? No matter what happens, do not let them see.” To Neve he added, “I-it’s going to be very bad, honey. Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh,” the girl said. “I’m s-sure. I want to help. Please.”

“Alright,” Demyan agreed, but not without a decidedly bitter taste in his mouth. Woo, this girl was ten. A child. To deliberately expose her to such a gruesome thing… “But if it gets too much, just say so, okay? We won’t be mad. I promise.”

Neve nodded. “O-okay.”

Demyan exhaled slowly. “Move her back then, Luddy. Lay her down on her stomach. I’ll keep driving.”

“Right,” Ludwik agreed, gently picking Selah up and pulling her towards the back of the wagon. “But slow down the horse, it’s going to fall over if it keeps running like that much longer.”

Martyn drew Lykos and Andrzej towards himself, keeping their faces pressed towards his tunic. Ludwik peeled back the shredded ruins of Selah’s cloak and shirt, and even the seasoned soldier couldn’t help but wince. She was sliced in the familiar, horrific spiraling pattern that ribboning spells left. They trailed from just above the waist, up her left arm, and across most of her back and the front of her neck and collarbone. Her skin was damp with sweat, clammy, and frighteningly pale under her Valzick complexion.

Neve grimaced. “I… I c-can try to stop the bleeding,” she said, drawing her wand. “But I-I’ve never healed anything like this before, I…”

“We have some potions in our packs that we brought from the apothecary,” Ludwik said, putting a slightly trembling but gentle hand on Neve’s shoulder. “We can replenish the bloodloss, and help with the pain. But that won’t do her any good if the bleeding isn't stopped.” He gave the young girl’s shoulder a squeeze. “You can do it, honey. I know you can. We are Macarinthian, aren’t we? We never give in to fear. We never back down from something because it’s scary. We protect those we love and cherish; that is our duty and our pride. I know you can do this, Neve.”

The girl gulped. “Y-you were using Macarinthian spells,” she said. “C-can I, too? Please?”

Demyan raised a brow, glancing back toward the girl in surprise. “You know Macarinthian spells, sweetie? You were… training before you got taken?” But Woo, wouldn’t she have been too young? Even if her partner was older and they’d gotten started on some bare basic spellwork… she certainly shouldn’t know anything complex enough to even begin to slow Selah’s bleeding. For what felt like the umpteenth time over the past few hours, Demyan’s heart skipped a beat, and his gut roiled.

Neve, however, only nodded. “Uh-huh. I kn-know lots of healing spells.” She looked up to Ludwik. “I can use them? Please? I h-hate Meltaiman magic.”

Ludwik hesitated, then nodded. “Go ahead, sweetie. If you think you can. Woo knows, I don’t blame you for wanting to distance yourself from what the Meltaimans tried to force you to become.” Glancing back towards the city, now a minute dot at the bottom of the valley as the sun finally began to crawl up over the horizon, he added, “What they turned poor Dalia into.”

“They’re monsters,” Neve said dourly. Gingerly, the girl hovered the point of her wand off the largest of Selah’s wound: a gaping tendril of a gash just above her hip. “Samādhāna bhitra.”

A soft light bulbed from the rod, floating for a few moments over the laceration before it slowly sunk down into it, like dirt absorbing rain. The ends of the gouge began to tug inward, and although the skin didn’t quite knit cleanly together, at least the jagged edges of the wound smoothed over, like a rumpled sheet pulled tight. Neve inhaled deeply as the spell took hold, and her blue eyes were all business afterward as she repositioned her wand slightly, so that it rested over the raw, exposed flesh in the neatened gash’s center.

“Ṭhōsa,” she murmured, and the innards of the injury began to scab, the blood congealing into a protective crust. As it did, she whipped her gaze up toward Ludwik. “Is th-that okay?” she asked him. “If I just…thin th-them a bit and make them scab? And then we can b-bandage them. After. And it’ll use less magic than if I try to heal them all c-completely. Especially since it’s dark magic.”

Ludwik’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. He’d seen these spells from Demyan’s older sister Zoe and Zoe’s partner Sera, and when they left Macarinth Demyan’s daughter Theia had just been learning them. But Theia had been thirteen or so when they’d left, and had only begun memorizing the rune chains for gash-healing magic. This ten year old was casting the spells as if she’d long since memorized them. She grew more and more peculiar all the time.

“That’s far better than we had any right to expect,” he replied. “The truth is with dark spells like this, even if you wanted you couldn’t get them to heal all the way. There are balms that can help ease them but we don’t have any- it would’ve looked strange for the shop to stock something that specific.” He smiled to the little girl, adding, “Thank you Neve. If you can finish up, I’ll cut up the extra cloak to make some bandages. We have gauze but nowhere near enough for… all of this.”

Neve nodded, moving her wand to the next of the wounds and repeating the two-step process. It was not quick going, the girl nearly as methodical as Demyan and Ludwik were when they deconstructed runes, but in the course of an hour she’d managed to scab over the bulk of the marks, leaving only the smaller ones untouched. Though her expression remained inscrutable throughout, it was clear by the end that the small girl was beginning to feel the effects of the spelling sickness; as Ludwik dressed the maze of gashes with strips of cloak, Neve was repeatedly flexing her fingers and massaging her wrists, as though she were trying to force the feeling away.

“Martyn,” Demyan called out as he noticed this upon one of his frequent glances back over his shoulder. “Get Neve some honey out of our food pack, please.”

“No,” Neve said quickly. “I’m okay. You n-need sugar more than I do.”

“Let me get this blood replenishing potion into Selah, then all three of us will have some,” Luwik said firmly. As he tilted the potion into the Valzick woman’s mouth, tilting her head back, Andrzej spoke up for the first time in a while.

“T-tired, Papa,” he murmured, his voice bleary.

“Sleep, Rzej,” Martyn instructed the boy, tucking him into his lap. He pulled Lykos up as well, adding, “You should too, little one. You’ve had a long night.”

“I-is the lady going to be okay?” Lykos whispered.

“Uh-huh.” Neve’s tone was firm as she looked at the two young boys. “Sh-she’s going to be fine.”

“Yep,” Demyan confirmed, far more lightly than he felt. “We’ve got her all patched up, Lykos. Promise.” Turning to look at the rear of the wagon again, and his eyes locking on Ludwik’s, the blond mage swallowed hard. “We need to get her awake, though,” he murmured. “I hate to say it, Luddy, but we’re on borrowed time here. The count isn’t going to stop at four horsemen, and the later it gets in the day, the more regular traffic we’re going to encounter, too. We need to get off this road-- and this wagon is not going to manage through bumpy woodlands.”

“She’s not going to be able to walk even if I do wake her up, she just got ribboned, Demyan,” Ludwik retorted. “But alright.” Once he’d finished with the potion and could feel the Valzick’s skin warming with the return of blood to her body, Ludwik gently shook her. “Selah. Selah, wake up.”

She flinched, eyes opening slowly. “Ludwik? Where’re we?”

“On the road,” he answered, his voice soft. “You got hit by a ribboning spell. We patched you up as best we can, but we can’t afford to snooze right now. The count is bound to send more men after us.”

She moaned, hand clutching her crudely bandaged chest. “A-alright. Alright. I can-” she started to sit up and gave a sharp gasp of pain. Martyn flinched, clutching the children more tightly.

“M-Masters,” he said, his voice very soft. “I can… I can stay behind. Try to delay any pursuers. It’s my fault this happened, we were delayed getting out of the city because of my request-”

“No,” Demyan cut in sharply. “We’re not leaving anybody behind, Martyn. We… we can still take the horse. Unhitch him and put Selah up. Then travel a few more miles on the road before we veer off into the wilds. Hopefully they’ll start searching first where we leave the wagon-- it can buy us time.”

“Good idea,” Ludwik agreed, flinching and rubbing his aching arms. “Selah and Neve can ride. Martyn, you carry Andrzej, I’ll carry Lykos. Demyan, you can lead the horse, since I doubt either of the girls is in much shape to direct it, assuming Neve even knows how to ride-”

“I can ride,” Neve interjected. “I’m good at riding. Though I haven’t done much astride, only side saddle.”

“...Alright, well at least you’ll have a somewhat easier time balancing,” Ludwik acknowledged. “But Demyan can still lead.”

Selah coughed weakly. “But we can’t go on much past noon. You both have to have the spelling sickness all to the ‘Pit, and none of us got any sleep past midnight. We have to find somewhere safe to rest.”

“Once we’re off-road, hopefully it won’t be too hard,” Demyan said, praying that he wasn’t being overly optimistic. “We know from the journey in that these woodlands are rife with caves. If we can find one, we can use it for shelter.” He hesitated. “Though I don’t think we should rest for too long. Just… enough to keep us functional. The count worries me, Selah. If his men get on our trail…”

“We can rest in short bursts,” she said firmly. “And we can carry the kids so they can sleep. Caution of pursuers will do us no good if we’re too exhausted to think straight.” She sighed. “Get me a pain potion Ludwik, and let’s get moving.”

***

Though they startled at every crackle in the brush, and their heads were collectively throbbing, the group of mixed Meltaimans, Valzicks, and Macarinthians managed to make it into the woodlands without the count’s men catching onto their trail. Quite like another forest Selah, Demyan, and Ludwik had trekked through long ago, this one was dense and at times maddeningly hilly, and it would have been hard enough hiking through it without having to juggle several supply packs and slumbering children. By the time they reached a small cave at the edge of a bubbling brook at what had to be at least one- or two o’ clock in the afternoon, Demyan felt like he could have slept for days.

“Oh, look, a lizard friend,” he pointed out dryly, as a drowsy Lykos-- excited to finally be useful-- used his wand to illuminate the musty cavern. “Woo, I hope there’s not anything bigger in here.”

“Mama says that in some places, caves got dragons,” Lykos said, smiling down at the lizard as the group moved past it. “But Papa says she’s just got a ‘magination. And it’s only stories. But I dunno.”

Ludwik wasn’t sure if Lykos was talking about his real parents or the count and his wife, but opted not to ask, instead saying wearily, “Some people don’t think hippogriffs are real, but I can promise you they are because I’ve ridden them loads of times.” As soon as they rounded a bend and were out of sight from the cave mouth, he set Lykos gently down and collapsed into a sitting position with a groan. “I don’t know about you, Demyan, but I can’t feel my arms.”

“Ah, arms are overrated, anyway.” Demyan plopped down beside his partner, letting out a groan of exhaustion as he did. “Woo, I haven’t been this spelling sick since they put us through fatigue drills in basic.”

“Is it in your chest?” Neve asked, fiddling with her hair as seemed to be her nervous habit. “‘Cos once it reaches your chest, that’s bad. My mum did that once, trying to heal my brothers after they got pulled under a carriage. She was laid up for weeks.”

“Not quite,” Ludwik replied, tapping his fingers to a point on his arm just below the joint of his shoulder. “But got way too close for comfort. We had to take down the wards on the count’s lake and the wall between the lake and the manor before we even met up with you four.”

“That’s why I wanted to fight,” Selah remarked as Martyn, having already set Andrzej down on the floor beside Lykos, helped her down from the horse’s back. “Even now I’m barely spellsick up to my mid forearm.”

“I think being spellsick is the least of your issues,” Demyan quipped, sorting through one of the supply packs and coming up with a sachet of honey. “Elixir of the Woo,” he joked.

“My spelling sickness is already a little better,” Neve said as Martyn offered her a hand so that she could dismount the saddle, as well. “I… I could still do more magic. If we need.” She flicked her gaze toward Selah. “If you w-want me to see if I can… knit over some more of the wounds?”

Selah shook her head. “I’ll be fine, honey. If we need magic I’d prefer we saved it for something more immediately pressing.”

Andrzej fidgeted from where he was sitting near Lykos. “‘M sorry, Mistress,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “It was ‘cause of my collar they caught us and you got hurt.”

“None of this is your fault, Andrzej,” Demyan said as he squeezed a dollop of honey onto his tongue. “And you don’t need to call any of us ‘master’ or ‘mistress’, okay? We’re your friends, hon.”

“And where we’re going,” Neve added, “there’s no such thing as slaves. ‘Cos that’s against the Woo’s will. It doesn’t matter if you’re a mage or not.”

“B-but… you’re mages,” he warbled. “Y-you’re superior, and blanks gots no souls. Wh-what’s a Woo?”

“The Lord Woo is our god, Andrzej,” Ludwik replied gently, holding out his hand to Demyan for the honey. “And the Woo teaches things differently from the Meltaiman gods. It doesn’t matter if you’re a mage, or not a mage. Everyone deserved to be happy and free.”

Martyn sat down next to his son, hugging the boy. “It’s okay if you’re confused. I was too, at first. I didn’t really believe them when they told me. But they helped me get you out, and they’ve protected us just as much as Lykos and Neve. They’re on our side, Rzej.”

“Yep,” Demyan agreed, handing the honey to his partner. “Mages, nonmages-- in Macarinth and Valzaim, we’re all treated like people. And we all have souls.”

“And my papa’ll make the Meltaimans pay,” Neve added, almost wistfully. “F-for how much they hurt people. Once we get home, and I tell him…” The little girl bit her lip. “He’ll fix it. He will.”

“Neve,” Selah said gently, “the Meltaimans have been doing these things for years and years, and no one person can really stop them. That’s part of why we’re here- so that our countries can get information to work together to stop them. But alone there probably isn’t a lot your papa can do, for all that I’m sure he’s a great man.”

Neve, though, seemed unmoved. “They killed my partner,” she said. “Th-the Meltaimans. Once I tell him that… he will stop them. I kn-know he will.”

Demyan winced. “They killed her, Neve?”

“Yes.” The girl blinked back tears. “Not on purpose, but it doesn’t m-matter. Because she’s still dead. And Papa w-won’t just let that go unpunished. He won’t.”

Ludwik looked stricken. If the Meltaimans had killed Neve’s bonded partner during her capture, no wonder she was so bitter and had resisted their brainwashing so resolutely. Swallowing hard, he said, “I… know how much that must’ve hurt, and I’m sure if your father is anything like mine or Demyan’s parents he’ll mourn your partner terribly. But still, you shouldn’t get your hopes up too much. Everyone in Macarinth is bound to wait until given official orders before they can act, and if your Papa tried to go after the Meltaimans alone, they would probably…”

“He won’t do it alone,” Neve said, her voice at once tremulous and firm. “H-his uncle will help. My granduncle.”

Demyan sighed. “Why don’t you get some sleep, sweetheart?” he suggested. “Getting all worked up about this--”

“I’m not worked up!” Neve interrupted. Tears had begun to trickle from her eyes, the young girl unable to hold them back any longer. “Y-you all think I’m mad, but I’m not, okay? I’m not! Galene is dead, and… and the Meltaimans made me convert to their h-heathen religion, and watch-- watch blood rituals, and…” She fought desperately to keep from hyperventilating. “Papa will make them pay. Papa and Granduncle Aedan.”

Ludwik jerked in surprise, looking towards Neve sharply. “Did you… did you just say ‘Aedan?’” he asked. Granted, it was hardly an uncommon name, but upon reflection… Neve could ride a horse. She was trained in very advanced magic well before most children should have been allowed to be, even the way she spoke came across as supremely educated given her age. But it couldn’t be-

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” the girl sputtered. “You th-think I’m just mad, but I’m not. I kn-know one… one person can’t just-- fix everything, but o-once Papa hears what happened to m-me and Galene, he’ll tell Granduncle Aedan. And Granduncle Aedan w-won’t let it go unpunished, he won’t. G-Galene was his grandniece, too. M-my papa’s brother’s daughter. And she d-died in my arms. She was only seven, and she died in my arms!”

Selah gaped at the girl, then looked towards Ludwik and Demyan incredulously. “She… she can’t mean that Aedan, can she?”

“We… we’ve worked with the nobility before,” Ludwik said slowly. “If she was as closely related to her partner as she says… the matchmen never put together two people who are close family to one another, but the nobility don’t bond through the matchmen. They fund it themselves.” Looking towards Demyan he added, “A-and they play by their own rules. Start the kids early.”

Demyan’s entire body had gone to ice, all the little quirks he’d seen from Neve over the past twelve or so hours arranging in his head like items on display at a market stall. So many small things, but string them together, and… Oh, Woo. What if she did mean that Aedan? Even if it seemed she couldn’t possibly, what if she could and did? What if her claims weren’t the same sort that Ceely had once made-- not far-fetched revenge fantasies, ideas of her idolized soldier father wreaking misery on those who’d hurt her, but the truth?

“Neve,” he said softly. “What’s your last name, honey?”

Neve crossed her arms at her chest, throat quavering. “Masson,” she said.

Ludwik gasped, his palm flying to his forehead. “L-Lord Marshal Masson. Your father is Lord Marshal Masson. Who rules from Shemaiah. ‘Pit!”

“How in the blazes did the Meltaimans manage to take a noble’s child?” Selah asked incredulously. “One related to the Macarinthian king no less!”

“Galene and I w-were out riding,” Neve whimpered, switching into a language in which she was more comfortable: Valzick. “W-with our instructor, and a few pl-plainclothes knights. Papa l-let us go into the woods off the estate b-because it was Galene’s birthday the next day.” The girl wiped at her damp eyes. “They came out of nowhere. I d-don’t think they were t-targeting us, not really, ‘cos they already h-had a bunch of kids with them. Nonmages. They l-literally almost ran into us, as they came ‘round a bend, and then…” Her voice fell away as she lapsed into a choking sob.

The first to move was not any of the mages, but of all people, Martyn. Though he couldn’t understand a word the child was saying, and he’d been staring at her with obvious mounting terror as it came clear she was nobility, when she started to cry he impulsively reached for her and drew her to his side. “Shhh, it’s alright, little one, it’s alright,” he crooned, stroking her head.

Neve collapsed into his hold, hysterical. “G-Galene fell off her horse,” she managed hoarsely, talking into Martyn’s sleeve. “She hit her head. She h-hit it hard-- hard enough t-to black out. But th-the Meltaimans didn’t care. When she came to, she was throwing up. She was confused and dizzy, and…” Neve hiccupped. “Two nights l-later, when we w-were camped out in… in the woods in the middle of nowhere, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like I was about to die. I was in so much pain, I just… I just screamed and screamed. Galene was lying next to m-me. But even after all the Meltaimans woke up, and c-cast a silencing spell on me… Galene d-didn’t move. She was j-just so still. I h-had to sit there as they buried her.”

“Oh, my Woo.” Demyan thought he might be sick. “I’m so sorry, Neve. I’m so sorry.”

Ludwik closed his eyes, clenching his teeth down hard. “Monsters. Reacting to a child in pain and grieving by silencing her, and a mage child at that, when all their bloody dogma should have-”

“Not the time, Ludwik,” Selah cut in. In spite of the obvious pain she was in, the Valzick woman moved closer to Neve, putting a hand on the girl’s back as Martyn continued to stroke her hair. “We’re going to get you home, Neve. I’m so, so sorry about Galene. I know that must’ve hurt terribly. I know it probably still does. But we’re going to take you home. And I think you’re right about one thing. This is not going to go unanswered.” She raised a weary brow towards the Macarinthian soldiers. “Two nieces of the king being abducted? One of them killed because of their kidnapper’s negligence? This is going to kick up the hornet’s nest, mark my words.”

“One would hope,” Demyan agreed with a heavy sigh. “I… can’t imagine King Aedan reacting very well when he learns what happened to Galene. A seven-year-old girlchild being killed…”

“It goes against all that protect the children and womenfolk cultural emphasis you have in Macarinth,” Selah agreed. “And if Aedan reacts anything like Ludwik just did, Arch-General Bakális might just get his war after all.”

Part Fifteen¹

SPOILER: Click to show

Fortunately, the group managed to shake off any pursuers the count had sent, and though travel on foot was both exhausting and slow going, they agreed to abandon the horse once Selah had healed enough to walk unaided, letting it loose in a meadow near a river where the creature could reasonably manage on its own until someone found it. Neve was none too thrilled about this turn of events-- “Riding’s nicer than walking,” she announced-- but after Demyan pointed out to her that the horse left an easier trail to trace than going on foot, the girl sighed and didn’t press the matter further. She clearly didn’t want to face any searchers Zielony had sent any more than the adults did, the girl still wincing whenever she caught sight of the bandages that latticed Selah’s back and arm, and her hand dancing to the wand at her hip at every bump and noise in the brush. Part of Demyan wanted to tell her this wasn’t necessary, that things would be okay and she didn’t need to worry, but he couldn’t bring himself to-- not when he was hardly any less jumpy himself, the blond mage still terrified this entire two and a half year mission would crumble like ash in this thirteenth hour. He ate very little. He slept even less. Soon, he couldn’t ever recall feeling quite so exhausted and terrible in his life.

Unfortunately, meandering through the wilderness was a great deal more time consuming than taking a wagon on the roads, particularly with several small children in tow, and what should have been a week’s trip to the border dragged on to nearly two. It was hard going, especially with the soldiers having to hunt and forage for the civilians as well as themselves, but at least it was nothing Selah, Demyan, and Ludwik hadn’t managed before. (“No swimming, though,” Demyan muttered wryly to Ludwik as they stopped to fish from a small river. “I don’t have enough magic stamina left in me for that, Lud.”)

But at long last the terrain began to shift, the dense forests giving way to more open hills- a sign they were nearing the border. As the last of the hills flattened out into open grasslands, they knew that Macarinth couldn’t have been more than a day or two away.

When they camped that night, as was their usual habit Demyan and Ludwik were huddled together with their backs pressed against each other for comfort. Most of the others had gone to sleep, but Ludwik was awake, sitting up keeping watch while his partner slept against his back. Or at least he’d assumed Demyan was asleep- until the blond mage’s voice suddenly broke through the night air, barely more than a whisper as he murmured, “I can’t believe we’re almost back, Luddy. After all this time.”

“It doesn’t quite feel real,” he agreed, his voice equally low. “After so much time in Meltaim. Woo, to get to see Mum and Dad, Connor, Zoe and Sera…” He gave a dry laugh. “Hopefully by then we’ll be out of the habit of calling each other by codename.”

“And hopefully we don’t randomly lapse into Meltaiman,” Demyan agreed. Propping himself up on his elbows, he turned to face his partner, grinning crookedly at the dark-haired mage. “Really, though,” he said, segueing smoothly into Macarinthian, “I think we can just start talking normally again. Hardly any Meltaimans around to hear us now.” He exhaled slowly. “And if the count hasn’t caught us yet, I… I don’t think he will. These aren’t even his lands anymore, they can’t be. So he would have had to rope in other lords, and… it would have been a political tangle, you know?”

“True,” Ludwik agreed, using the same language. “Although Martyn, Andrzej, Lykos and Selah- I mean, Selene- don’t speak it, so we’ll need to lapse into it when talking to them for expedience since it’s the only common language we all share. Though Martyn and Andrzej will need to start learning either Valzick or Macarinthian, depending on which they decide to settle in.”

“I bet Ceely will be excited to see Martyn again,” Demyan mused. “Her leap of faith paying off.” He gnawed on his lip, mindlessly. “And Chryssa seeing Selene again-- that kid’s going to be thrilled. Woo, I bet they’re all worried to the ‘Pit about us. We’re so far behind schedule, they probably expected us nearly a week ago.”

The darker haired Macarinthian hissed softly. “We couldn’t have guessed Dalia would get cold feet like she did. Selene’s right, we should’ve taken precautions, but… Woo it’s going to horrify high command when we tell them that not only did one of the stolen children refuse to be rescued, she tried to report us.”

“At least it… shows the gravity of the situation,” Demyan said grimly. “How bad things are. If seeing how traumatised Neve is doesn’t push the people who have power to do something into action-- that has to.” He sighed. “It’s mad to think about how long we’ve been away, though. These last ten months feel like a lifetime, and then there was the entire bloody training period before that.”

“It’s changed us,” Ludwik said softly. “Everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve done… we’re not the same we were when Kellogg called us into the meeting that day. And that’s to say nothing of how much things must’ve changed back in Igerna while we’ve been gone.”

“I know,” Demyan murmured, heart tugging. “Theia will be… Woo, a teenager. And Kerris”-- his youngest daughter-- “had barely turned three last time we saw her, and now… now she’s five. More than five.”

“It’s scary, Demy- Deacon,” Ludwig said, using his partner’s real name for the first time in over a year. “To think the littler ones- Connor, Mickey, Kerris- probably won’t remember us.” He sighed miserably. “Part of me wants to go home to Igerna after this, and never leave again. But… the week before they left, I was alone with Zane in the shop front. And he told me something. He said… he didn’t regret anything we’d done, but after all the time in Meltaim, he didn’t want to be a soldier anymore. He said he couldn’t do it. He plans to hand in his resignation, marry Io, and go home to the village where he was born. Live humbly, and try to move on from the horrors he witnessed in that godforsaken country.”

“I… can’t say I blame him,” Deacon said. “At least the two of us had a decade of military experience to prepare us for… that, Ludwig. Zane was fourteen. A kid. Can you imagine us at fourteen being thrown into Meltaim? Made to feign as slaves? Under the direct supervision of buddy-buddy officers who literally were pretending to own us?”

“We were nowhere near mature enough to have coped with that,” Ludwig agreed. “Honestly, the poor kid deserves all the commendations the military has to offer for how well he conducted himself out there. The incident with Io aside, he was as professional as a man with three times his training and experience, and ‘Pit, even with Io his heart was in the right place. I don’t blame him at all for wanting to have some sort of… personal good he can look back on from that mess. If he wants to live a normal, peaceful life after all that, he deserves it.”

Ludwig bit his lip, quiet for a moment, then he murmured softly, “But… as much as I hate being away from our families so much- and if it comes to a war, that will drag us away from our families- I can’t bring myself to consider the same. Not after hearing Ceely begging to die. After seeing Io screaming at us that we were too late to save her. After seeing Chryssa and Lykos and Neve sobbing and traumatized.” His voice almost inaudible, he said, “Not after seeing Dalia turning into the same sort of monsters we’re trying to beat. After all that? I can’t back away from this. Not now.”

Deacon nodded, slowly but solidly. “I want to help create the future that’ll keep all of our kids, and our kids’ kids, and their kids safe. And with Meltaim acting as it does… that just won’t happen. And I don’t want to just turn my back as other people pave history.” He reached toward his partner’s arms, fingers brushing Ludwig’s sleeve. “I wonder, though. What’s it… been like since we’ve been gone. Two years is ancient history in the scheme of politics. And given some of the things we know Meltaim has been up to…” His gaze wandered toward Neve, who was slumbering nearby, the little girl wedged between Lykos and Andrzej. “That’s not Ceely Thorsten, Lud. Or… her siblings, or her brother’s partner. She’s not some peasant child whose disappearance would have been just one amid many. Lord Marshal Masson has one of the largest districts in the western kingdom. His uncle is the king. If the Meltaimans were throwing pebbles into a pond up until then… once they took those little girls, they suddenly chucked in a boulder. And we’re bringing back the news that Galene Masson is dead.”

“I don’t think the Meltaimans knew what they had taken,” Ludwig said grimly. “Or I seriously doubt they’d have casually adopted her out to a random metalsmith. But they’re going to end up seriously regretting it, I don’t doubt that.” He gritted his teeth. “I just hope Woo-cursed Valzaim doesn’t try to put a choke chain on King Aedan like it’s prone to doing. Sometimes it feels more like we’re a vassal state than our own sovereign.”

“Even the most patient kicked dog will eventually bite back,” Deacon said. “King Aedan has to have a breaking point. And if hearing that his seven-year-old grandniece was murdered isn’t it, then I’m not sure what would be.” Rubbing his vaguely aching temple, the blond mage leaned forward against Ludwig. “I just can’t wait to get debriefed so we can go home. See our parents, the kids, Yolanda, everybody. They’d better give us a bloody long leave.”

“Yes, Woo please yes,” Ludwig agreed, slouching against his partner again. “Though if it hasn’t happened already, I would at least like to linger long enough to see Ceely safely reunited with her parents. She was the first one we saved, and we had her for nine months- I know you got pretty dang invested in the girl.”

“Mmm.” Deacon yawned. “I’m too tired to deny it. If there’s any chance of us being there when she finally gets to see her mother and father, I want to be there, no question.” He smirked softly. “And hey, maybe Io and Zane will invite us to their wedding. We can be groomsmen. You’ll look so dapper in a dress tunic, Luddy.”

Ludwig snorted softly. “That’d be nice. And I expect a long letter from Selene telling us exactly how she explains to her older sister about the random seven-year-old waif she comes home with after two years of no contact.” In a more thoughtful voice he added, “We should arrange something for Martyn too, if we can. He has no family and no means here. It would be cruel to have brought him out of Meltaim and leave him and his son destitute.”

“Agreed,” Deacon said. “We promised him he’d be safe and taken care of once we reached Macarinth-- I intend to see that through, even if we have to fight for it.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “For now, though, I suppose I should probably get some sleep. Wake me when it’s my watch, alright, Luddy?”

“Sure,” the dark haired Macarinthian agreed. “Sweet dreams, ‘brother.’ Tomorrow we go home.”

***

“I thought you said we were almost there,” young Neve whined the next morning, the redhead wearing a decidedly sour expression as the party continued through the grasslands. “My feet hurt. I wish we still had the horse.”

“Patience, Neve,” Deacon said, shifting Lykos in his arms. The young boy, for all his excitement about reuniting with his mama, had grown rather disillusioned with walking, his pace now glacial if he wasn’t held and his small feet riddled with blisters. “Whining won’t get us there any faster. But we should be getting close to the border, I promise.”

“It’s hot out,” Lykos murmured, burying his face in Deacon’s shoulder. “I want water.”

“You just had water,” Deacon replied gently. “We need to conserve, remember? In case it’s a while before we find another river.”

“But I’m thirsty.”

“Least we’re not getting smacked,” Andrzej put in, sounding disconcertingly cheerful about this declaration. “Back at the gardens I’da got so much caning for complainin’.”

Ludwig glanced back at the boy with a gentle smile. For the first week or so of the journey he’d spoken only rarely, and when he did never louder than a murmur. But as he’d grown to trust that these strangers he’d fallen in with really weren’t going to hurt him, he’d opened up and started chattering a good deal more.

“No more canings, not ever Rzej,” Ludwig promised. “We’re almost there.”

“But I’m thirsty now,” Lykos whined. He squirmed in Deacon’s arms. “Let me down. I wanna walk.”

Deacon sighed in the way he’d long perfected after having had four children of his own. “Nope, I’m carrying you, bud. Sorry. And you can have water in a little.” He glanced toward Selene. “If we find a river, I’m thinking maybe we should follow it. It’s too hot to be out wandering through plains without sure access.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Selene said. She was wearing a loose tunic salvaged from the wagon before they’d had to abandon most of their extra supplies, a tunic that rightfully belonged to Ludwig- it was like a tent on Selene’s slight frame, but that was intentional, so as not to abraid her wounds too much. She reached up to rub her lacerated neck with a wince, adding, “Can let the kids dip their feet in for a little, would feel nice on those blis-”

She fell silent abruptly, whipping around with a hiss of pain as her injuries were tugged. Startled, the others followed her gaze to find a small group of horsemen coming at them fast from the northwest. Little more than streaking blurs against the blue horizon, Deacon’s heart instantly leapt into his throat as he laid eyes on them, jostling Lykos in his arms so that he could snatch his wand from its holster, while Ludwig snatched up his own wand, shoving Martyn and Andrzej behind his back. Selene was quick to cover Neve, all three soldiers backing together into a tight huddle instinctively.

“‘Pit, I can’t see who they are from here,” Ludwig hissed, using Valzick. “They’re coming out of a west, but if we crossed the border already it’s possible a Macarinthian unit is on the inward sweep of their patrol route.”

“I hate feeling like a sitting duck, but if we fire first and they’re friendlies, that’s going to turn into a nightmare.” Deacon deposited Lykos behind him, in between Martyn and Neve, before spinning back to the face the rapidly encroaching mounted unit. “Stay on defence. If they’re Meltaiman, we hit just as soon as they’re within spelling range. And when we do, Martyn-- take those kids and run.” He tapped his wand to his conduit bracelet just in case. “Synch in, Lud.”

Ludwig did so, Martyn nodding quickly and grabbing Lykos up in the arm that wasn’t supporting Andrzej.

“Papa,” the younger blank warbled. “Th-the Woo’ll protect us, right? Like Neve says.”

“I’m… I’m sure he will, Rzej,” Martyn said, though his voice was shaking badly.

Selene sank into a defensive crouch, as best she could with her injuries. “Switch to Valzick,” she instructed Ludwig and Deacon. Doing so, she added, “If they are friendly, we don’t want to complicate things by having them hear us speaking the enemy tongue freely.”

“Right.” Deacon exhaled slowly, feeling Ludwig’s magic pulse through him like a nervous energy. “Woo, please them be friendly.”

Moments later, Deacon nearly cried from relief when the mounted unit grew close enough for him to see their uniforms-- and he found himself staring at a squadron of men wearing the pale blue and gold of the Macarinthian king’s army. Woo! He never would have thought he could be so excited by the mere sight of those colours, but after nearly a year spent tip-toeing through Meltaim, after coming so close to everything falling apart just outside Lilia… Deacon thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever set his eyes on.

“Wands away,” he hissed to Ludwig and Selene. “And we should put our hands up. Show them we’re not aggressive.” He glanced back toward Martyn and the children, adding in Meltaiman, “They’re allies. But let the three of us do the talking, okay?”

Martyn nodded quickly, as Selene and Ludwig quickly moved to put their wands up and raise their hands. When the Macarinthian patrol drew level with them, the riders formed a circle around the group, one in the uniform of a captain nudging his horse forwards. The rest of his unit kept their hands leveled conspicuously over their sheathed scimitars, the threat implicit if anyone amidst the scraggly group made any aggressive moves.

“Who are you?” the captain snarled. Jerking his chin at Ludwig, he added, “Identify yourself.”

It was not Ludwig who answered, however, but Deacon, the blond mage putting on his best officer’s voice as he replied flatly, “At ease, Captain. My name is Colonel Deacon Azrael, and these are my comrades-- Colonel Ludwig Benigno, and Arch-Brigadier Selene Argyris of the Valzick Special Forces.” He dared not let the young captain see how nervous he was, schooling all the fear out of his expression. “Who’s your commanding officer? You’re stationed at Fort… Rochester, I take it? Or one of its western outposts?”

The captain looked taken aback, but he quickly recovered. “Rochester has been under the direct authority of Generals Norling and Taylors for the past fortnight.” His eyes narrowed. “We’ve been told to keep watch for men crossing the border bearing the names you claim, but you’re over a week past the timeline of arrival that was forecasted. Do you have any evidence to your identity, or should we take you in as suspect Meltaiman plants?”

Selene was scowling at the soldier’s persistent use of Macarinthian, leaving her thoroughly out of the conversation despite the fact that as the leader of the unit she technically should’ve been speaking for them. Ignoring her sullen glower, Ludwig pulled back his sleeve, revealing the conduit bracelet clamped around his wrist. “I believe we can identify the people who told you to expect us?” he said. “Private of the Macarinthian King’s Army Zane Aleshire, Private of the Valzick King’s Army Chares Kóptis, and accompanying civilians Pavlos Sfázo, Io Voskós, Ceely Thorsten, and Chryssa Potámis. All of them but Aleshire, Kóptis and Potámis would have been marked by Meltaiman blank brands.”

The captain paled, then abruptly saluted, his men doing likewise. “Welcome home, Colonel Azrael, Colonel Benigno. Your comrades will be glad to have you back, they have been distraught.”

“And we’re just as glad to be back,” Deacon said. He glanced behind his shoulder, toward Martyn and the cowering children, and though he didn’t want to risk destabilizing the situation by speaking Meltaiman, he shot the older blank a reassuring smile. “See, Neve?” he murmured softly to the red-haired girl. “I told you we were almost there.”

The child pursed her lips, stepping around the three soldiers to study the mounted unit. “What district are we in?” she asked the captain. “Candelaria? Golshan?”

The captain looked down at the child, raising his brows. “Brave little one for having just been hauled out of the bowels of Meltaim,” he remarked. “We’re in Golshan district, yes.” Turning back to Deacon and Ludwig he went on, “We can carry all of you double on our horses, and have you back to the fort within the hour. Though I warn you, none of us speaks any Valzick, so if there are members of your party without Macarinthian you will have to translate.”

“Right.” As Neve scowled at the obvious dismissal, Deacon crossed his arms. “Only Colonel Benigno, young Neve, and myself speak Macarinthian. The rest do not. But since it’s a short ride, I’m hopeful communication won’t be a major impediment.” He mulled for a moment, turning his gaze toward the still-mounted soldiers. Gesturing broadly toward them, he ordered, “Three of you, off your horses and double. I’m making the formation. Neve can ride with the captain since she speaks Macarinthian, while Colonel Benigno will take the little Valzick boy, Lykos. Arch-Brigadier Argyris will take the other boy, Andrzej. And I’ll take Andrzej’s father, Martyn. Understood, soldiers?”

The captain stiffened a bit- he clearly hadn’t meant for some of his own soldiers to surrender their horses, but rather for each member of the group to ride double with one of them. But he was starkly outranked and he knew it, replying only, “Yes sir,” before he began to shuffle his men around to free up some of the horses. Ludwig repeated the directions to Selene, who nodded curtly before moving to take up Andrzej. As the others started to mount, drawing the children up with them, Martyn looked around helplessly, his expression full of uncertainty.

Deacon debated with himself for a moment before leaning close to the Meltaiman, his voice barely audible as he whispered quickly into the man’s ear, “It’s okay. We’re going to the fort. These are friendlies, and friendlies we outrank, at that. It’s going to be fine, Martyn.”

“Alright,” he replied softly. “If you say so, Master Demyan. I’ve trusted you this far, and you haven’t lied to me yet.”

“Deacon,” the soldier replied. “You can call me Deacon now-- my real name. Now let me help you up, Martyn, okay?”

Martyn gave a tremulous smile. “Very well, Master Deacon.”

With everyone mounted, the soldiers spurred the horses back toward Fort Rochester, and true to the captain’s promise it was a swift ride, the behemoth complex coming into view up ahead after only forty-five minutes and the group thundering through its gates not long after that. The captain seemed to know right where he was going, steering the party not toward the main stables, but a rather far-flung set of hitching posts near the rear of the base, just outside an imposing three-storey building. Its facade was brick, and the stone steps that led up to its steel front doors were guarded by a pair of rather sunburnt men, both of them standing with their hands hovering over their holstered scimitars and their eyes trailing almost hungrily over the ragtag group. They wore uniforms in the classic army blue-and-gold colours, but the livery itself was noticeably different than anything Deacon and Ludwig had ever seen before— their over-tunics of a slightly different cut, with its buttons by appearances seemingly bone and not metal, and the men's boots brown instead of the usual black. The ‘Pit?

Though Deacon had seen all ilks of security at forts-- including extremely stringent measures back at Fort Okeanós in Valzaim, where they’d spent their year of covert training-- he still couldn’t help but quirk a brow as he helped Martyn down from the saddle. Even beyond their uniforms, upon further inspection there was something about this pair of sentinels that immediately seemed… off. Jittery, perhaps, and in turn menacing. As if they were twitchy dogs who might go on the offensive at the slightest poke-- and worse than that, as if they were expecting that poke to come.

“It just me?” the blond murmured into Ludwig’s ear as his partner hoisted Lykos into his arms. “Or are those sentries jumpy as agitated bats? Not to mention their uniforms— are they from some new division that’s been created in our absence, or...”

“Mmm,” Ludwig agreed, holding the nervous boy close. “The captain said Norling and Taylors are both here, but… I don’t know if that would account for beefed up security, they’re more than capable of handling themselves. I imagine given the confidentiality clause of our mission they don’t want eavesdroppers but all the same…”

The captain cleared his throat, interrupting the train of thought. “Your debriefing will take place inside here,” he said politely. “The rest of those who came ahead are being housed inside, so if you ask one of the soldiers within they will arrange for your civilian company to be cared for. Don’t worry, there are Valzick translators.”

“Right,” Ludwig replied. That said nothing of Meltaiman translators, but fortunately he was fairly certain given literally everyone in their group knew Meltaiman someone would see to Martyn and Andrzej. Gesturing for the others to follow, he led the way into the building, the fidgety guards parting on either side of them, one stopping just long enough to direct them to “the meeting hall behind the red door on the second floor.”

The group had barely gotten to the top of the staircase, however, when someone they didn’t recognize emerged from one of the rooms. He was a tall, stout man, with rapidly greying fire-red hair restrained in a single tail and a thick, curly beard and mustache to match. Dressed in a military dress-uniform, he could’ve been a high ranked general or other worthy of that ilk. He turned towards the soldiers and their charges, a pair of cool, simmering blue-grey eyes surveying them from amidst a maze of wrinkles.

Freezing in his tracks, Deacon snapped his hand to his forehead in an automatic salute, as did Ludwig and Selene beside him. Martyn ducked his head, as if by reflex, and pulled Andrzej close him, while still balanced against Ludwig’s hip young Lykos pursed his lips and studied the stranger without reservation. Neve’s pale eyes latched onto the man, too, the little girl staring intently at him for a moment-- before something akin to a squeak escaped her lungs, and her jaw fell open as if she’d been slapped.

“You’re here,” she managed, shouldering around the bonded partners and Selene to vault herself toward the older man. Hooking her arms around his waist, she buried her face against his overtunic, murmuring into the fabric, “I knew it. I-I knew it. When I saw the g-guards at the door, I knew it, I knew y-you’d come.”

The old man looked down at the girl, his detached expression shifting into one of utter disbelief and shock- before he knelt down, putting both of his muscular arms around the child in a tight, almost frantic hug. “Neve! Woo, you’re back, I never dared think one of the units we sent in would find you, the ch-chances! I’ve been terrified since I heard you were taken. Your grandma is beside herself, she’s been fretting herself to pieces over you and little Galene.” The man looked up, eyes drilling into the rest of the group desperately. “Where is Galene, is she with you?”

“She… she…” Swallowing hard, Deacon took a step forward and bowed his head. “L-Lord Marshal Masson, I presume? It’s an… h-honour to meet you, my lord.”

The man blinked in surprise, then seemed to compose himself. He stood, scooping Neve up in his arms and giving Deacon a thin smile. “One of the officers from the group that arrived two weeks ago, I take it? I owe you a tremendous debt soldier. For saving my grandniece.”

Ludwig’s shoulders jerked, his face going white as milk. Grandniece? But that meant--

“This is Granduncle Aedan,” Neve whispered, settling in the king of Macarinth’s steady arms.

“My… my king.” Deacon had fallen to his knees in an instant, his head spinning. “Forgive me for mistaking you.”

Ludwig echoed the gesture, quickly motioning for Selene to do the same, though Martyn and Andrzej did so without prompting. Far from seeming offended, however, King Aedan looked merely amused.

“No harm done, soldier,” he said crisply. “You couldn’t have known. Since I got here to interview the returning unit and begin going over your reports I’ve been acting in the office of Captain-General, not king.” He made a beckoning gesture, switching languages to Valzick presumably for Selene’s benefit. “Come- I shall give orders for your civilian rescuees to be seen to, but I believe you three and I have much to discuss- Norling, Taylors, and Bakális are all here as well, the Arch-General arrived just a few days after I did.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Selene replied, sounding grateful to finally be included in the conversation.

“I-I don’t have to go, right?” Neve whispered, clinging harder to her grandmother’s brother. “Please don’t make me go, Granduncle Aedan.”

“Not at all, sweetheart,” he crooned to her, kissing the girl on the forehead. “Far from it- I’m not letting you out of my sight until someone can get your father up here for you.”

Within minutes the king had indeed flagged down several of the soldiers staffing the building to bustle off Martyn, Lykos and Andrzej for care, and with them seen to he led the officers to a very well-kept meeting room. Bakális was already there- having been alerted by one of the men sent ahead- and not two minutes later Norling and a second man the soldiers didn’t recognize who could only have been his partner Taylors hurried into the room.

“Ah, good,” the king said briskly as both men bowed. “Sit please- we’re behind the forecasted schedule already, so let’s not waste any time.”

“Of course, my liege.” Norling nearly tumbled into one of the seats, Taylors sitting beside him; had Deacon not been terrified witless himself, he might have found the generals’ nerves almost entertaining, given their fierce reputations. “We apologise for the delay. We got here as quickly as we could.”

“So,” Aedan said, consulting a pile of papers laid out before him, settling Neve into his lap as he did so. “Arch-Brigadier Selene Argyris of the Valzick Special Forces. Colonel Deacon Azrael and Colonel Ludwig Benigno of our own King’s Army.” He raised a brow. “You were sent into Erlea province, in northeastern Meltaim, that correct?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Selene confirmed. “To a city called Lilia, the seat of Count Zielony.”

“Count, hm? Yes, that was in the ledger reports.” He glanced at Neve, his lips pursed. “Did the count have you, then, sweetheart?”

Neve shook her head. “No. They gave me to a metalsmith.” Shifting in her granduncle’s lap, she wiped at her eyes as tears once again threatened. “The g-girl the count had almost got us caught. She t-told on us. She wouldn’t come, and she told on us.”

Taylors quirked a black brow. Though he and Norling had seem puzzled at first over the identity of the child in the king’s lap, it seemed as though the key had clicked in the general’s head, the man saying gently, “I don’t understand, Lady… Masson, is it? What do you mean, the girl the count had told on you?” He flicked his dark brown eyes toward Selene, Ludwig, and Deacon. “Who was the child the count had in his custody? We’ve read about her in your notes, but… her real identity?”

“We don’t know,” Ludwig said, his voice thick with sorrow. “As outlined in the mission plan we detailed in our notes, Colonel Azrael and I broke into the count’s manor to rescue her and Miron- the little Valzick boy who was with us, his real name is Lykos Papás. Lykos agreed to come with us, but Dalia… as I noted, she had already been with the count for nearly five years. She told us her mother had died in the raid, and she never knew her father- he abandoned her before she was born. With the pair bond between herself and her partner severed and her mother dead, she claimed she had nothing left in Macarinth, and would rather stay in Meltaim, with the ‘papa’ and ‘mama’ who loved her.” He looked away. “She agreed to let Lykos leave with us, but refused to come along. Colonel Azrael and I… made the mistake of trusting her to keep to her word. Instead, a little before dawn she seemed to get cold feet, and we were abruptly set upon by city guardsmen.”

“One of our own children, so brainwashed she turned on us…” Aedan clenched his jaw. “This is far graver than we feared.”

“They almost killed us,” Neve whimpered. “A-and Selah-- s-sorry, Selene… she got hurt. Real bad. But… but I healed her, Granduncle Aedan. Best as I could.”

“Did you now? That was very brave little one,” Bakális put in with a smile. Turning to Selene, his expression concerned, he queried, “You were injured, Argyris?”

“Ribboned,” she confirmed, tilting her neck up and gently peeling back some of the bandaging on her collarbone. The king hissed softly at the injuries, Bakális’ eyes narrowing with anger as both Macarinthian generals clenched their jaws in unison.

“You look lucky to have survived, Arch-Brigadier Argyris,” Norling commented. “A few inches higher, and… you might not have been so fortunate.” He looked to Deacon and Ludwig. “Was anybody else injured in the fray? And were you outed as foreign?”

“We can’t be certain,” Ludwig admitted. “The men who we fought are all either dead or so badly concussed I doubt they’ll remember much of the fight. Dalia may or may not have told the count we were foreign, but I don’t know.” He sighed. “And no, no one else was hurt. Colonel Azrael and I were both badly spellsick, and we haven’t really gotten a good chance to rest it as much as I’d like, but it’s nothing we can’t sleep off. But we had to abandon the wagon we planned to take back to the border in order to lose our tail, which is why we were so far behind the privates in getting back.”

“You walked all the way from Lilia to the border with three small children in tow?” Bakális asked, eyebrows raised. “That must have made for a more complicated trek than even your last wilderness excursion.”

“It was… tedious, sir,” Deacon said vaguely. “We carried the littlest two much of the way. Lykos has barely lost his first milk teeth. He grew rather… disenchanted with the journey after a few days.”

“He complained a lot,” Neve said. “B-but… he’s little, so it was okay. He got a lot of blisters.”

“I bet he did, poor little man,” Aedan agreed. “But I can’t imagine you enjoyed it much either, hm?” He sighed softly. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Neve. All of it. The attack, being kidnapped, being stuck in Meltaim for months, every bit of it.” He hugged the girl again. “And I’m so glad these men found you and brought you home. Do you have any clues where Galene was taken, love? If it’s at all possible to…”

Selene winced, averting her gaze, and Ludwig and Deacon began to pointedly study the wood grain of the table. Neve herself was silent for several long moments, her face wilting like a rose beneath heavy rain. Tears once more pricked at her eyes, and this time she didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“Sh-she’s dead,” the girl murmured finally. “She’s been d-dead nearly this whole time.” She wrapped her arms around her granduncle’s neck, pressing herself against him like a tick. “I c-couldn’t protect her. I tried, I did, but I couldn’t-- I’m s-s-so sorry but I couldn’t--”

The king’s jaw clenched, and a look of anguish flashed across his face. “Dead? H-how?”

Taking pity on the child, not wanting to force her to relive the bitter memory all over again, Selene lifted her eyes to the Macarinthian king. “Your majesty, she told us the story on the road. Apparently during the initial attack, Lady Galene fell from her horse and hit her head. From the symptoms Lady Neve described, it sounded like a concussion- a very bad one. But the Meltaimans thought Lady Galene was faking her symptoms to garner sympathy, and gave her no treatment. She died on the road, and they buried her in the wilds to cover their trail.”

Bakális bowed his head, unsurprised after all his years in the Special Forces but clearly angered and aggrieved over the waste all the same, while Norling and Taylors both looked borderline disgusted. Horrified.

The look on the king’s face, however, was absolutely murderous.

“Those disgusting, spineless, loathsome, bottom-feeding cowards,” he hissed, his entire body quivering with rage. Ludwig flinched from the expression on his king’s face, ducking his head with a grimace of terror, and all of the rest of the people in the room followed suit, as though none of them dared to risk further inciting Aedan’s patent wrath with a wrong glance, let alone a word.

All, that was, save for Neve, the little girl clinging to her granduncle with something near a death grip as she warbled in Macarithian, “I’m s-sorry. I should h-have protected her, I should have and I d-d-didn’t, I’m so sorry--”

“No, Neve,” Aedan cut in, cuddling his grandniece close. “You did the best you could. Nobody could have asked for more of you. I know you loved Galene very much, and it must have hurt like the ‘Pit when you lost her. You have nothing to be sorry for.” His blue-grey eyes hardened, and he snarled, “But the men who did this to you both, they will be made to be very sorry indeed.”

“A-all due respect, your majesty,” Bakális put in timidly, “w-we should wait for the other teams to return before you and his hallowed majesty start seriously considering-”

“I intend to wait for the other teams, Arch-General,” the Macarinthian king cut in, his voice frigid. “I hardly mean to trap my own soldiers and the people of my land they’ll be bringing home in Meltaim. But I am done waiting on Nereus.”

“Y-your majesty,” Taylors managed, the general suddenly sitting ramrod straight and sharing a wide-eyed look with his partner. “You don’t mean…?”

“His hallowed majesty can hem and haw over whether he prioritizes his people’s safety or stroking his own ego by gobbling up some useless Tengizan jungle to his heart’s content,” Aedan snarled bluntly. “But the Meltaimans have been allowed to get away with their transgressions against the Woo-fearing citizens of Macarinth for far too long, and this is the result. Contrary to what Nereus seems to think, I am not beholden to him, and my decisions don’t need to get his stamp of approval.” He surveyed the room, unmoved by the pale, stricken faces gaping back at him. “Meltaim will get what’s coming to them. With or without Valzaim, by next spring Macarinth is going to war.”

Part Sixteen

SPOILER: Click to show

The occupants of the room were too stunned to speak. Ludwig looked towards Deacon, unable to quite fathom the fact that they, nobody colonels with no wide recognition or acclaim, were in the room while their king announced his decision to go to war. If Luddy had wanted reassurance from his partner, however, Deacon didn’t seem to be the best provider at the moment, the blond mage fostering an expression that was halfway between incredulity and terror. They’d always known, of course, in the broad sense of things, that their covert mission to Meltaim might culminate in war. But the prospect of them sitting with King Aedan when he made the decision? That had never been so much as a bud in any of their heads. Not even a speck.

“If that is your will, your majesty, then we can… begin initial preparations,” Norling said finally, the general’s usually booming voice sounding suddenly very, very frail. “The second and third undercover units are due back by latest on September the 15th and October the 1st, respectively. The fourth should be here by October 15th. We’ll have the winter to sort through all their notes and piece together the collective intelligence.”

“And Woo willing,” Taylors added, “talks with King Nereus will have… proceeded by then. So that we can seriously craft the idea of approaching Lange, as well, since I believe that’ll be an easier feat to take on as an allied Valzick-Macarinthian front. That Lange will be more amenable if it sees that Valzaim’s involved, too, as opposed to us operating solo.”

Bakális swallowed hard, timidly querying, “I can… send word to his hallowed majesty on your decision, King Aedan? With my next report.”

“See that you do,” Aedan replied crisply, stroking Neve’s head as he turned his attention back to the three officers who had helped to return his grandniece to Macarinth. His eyes fixed on Selene, who shrank a little in her chair, and the man’s expression softened a trifle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Arch-Brigadier. I have no malice against the Valzick people in general. I’m just bloody done with Nereus jerking me around like a dog on a leash.” He sighed. “We can finish debriefing you three after you’ve had some time to eat, wash up and rest. And,” he added, a faint trace of humor creeping back into his tone, “reassure the others you rescued that you’re alive.”

He turned to Ludwig and Deacon, his voice light as he asked, “These men were nice to you, Neve, honey?”

“Uh-huh,” Neve said softly. “Th-they’re nice.” She swallowed hard. “Th-they wouldn’t l-let me help, though. When… when the Meltaimans were trying to catch us. I coulda helped. So n-no one got hurt. But… they w-wouldn’t let me.”

“Their job is to protect you, love,” Aedan replied, gently but firmly. “Soldiers know that they might get hurt protecting their people, that’s part of their job.” Turning to Deacon and Ludwig he added, “And I thank you very much for doing it so well. While you may not have known when you initially moved to rescue her who exactly Neve was, you still have my eternal gratitude for doing so.”

Ludwig bowed his head, his entire body trembling as he murmured, “Y-yes your majesty. Of course.”

“We’re… we’re so glad we could reunite you with Lady Neve, my king,” Deacon added. “And keep her safe for you along the way.”

Neve touched her granduncle’s cheek. “Y-you should meet Martyn, Granduncle Aedan. He’s r-real nice, too. He’s from Meltaim, but he’s nice.” She bit her lip. “Y-you’ll let him stay, right? In Macarinth? ‘Cos he hasn’t got anybody here. B-but he’s nice. And he’s learning about the Woo.”

Aedan glanced down at his niece, his brow quirked. “From Meltaim? That’d be the man with the blank brand then? Who was with you earlier.”

“Uh-huh,” Neve said. “Him and his son. Andrzej. They had to be slaves. ‘Cos they don’t have magic. But they could be safe here in Macarinth.” She ran her fingers along Aedan’s curly beard. “Can they stay? Please?”

“Of course,” Aedan replied. “It should be no trouble to arrange for someone to teach him Macarinthian and to set up temporary housing for him until he learns a useful trade to support himself and his son.” He kissed Neve. “Your granduncle will see to it just as soon as he’s done talking to the soldiers, alright?”

“Okay.” Neve sighed. “C-can I go to sleep soon? I’m tired. But… but I don’t wanna go to bed alone. I-I always have nightmares. N-now.”

The king gave a soft sigh, his expression full of pain. “I’ll take you somewhere that you can sleep, and I’ll stay with you the whole time, I promise, okay? I just need to finish up some business first.”

“Okay,” Neve murmured.

The king gave the girl another hug, before turning his attention back to Ludwig, Deacon, and Selene. “Now, I can’t speak for the Arch-Brigadier since she is technically under Bakális and Nereus’ authority, not mine. However, Colonels Azrael and Benigno- we will require you to remain here for a week, to complete your debriefing and tie up any loose ends leftover from your mission. After that, as Norling and Taylors discussed not long after your privates returned, you will be given an extended leave term to return home to your families. It is presently the first week of August- you have until the first of April.”

Ludwig’s eyes flew wide open, and he glanced towards Deacon with barely suppressed relief. Nine months of leave. Even in their wildest imaginings they hadn’t dared to think they might get more than two or three months!

“Th-thank you, my king,” Deacon managed, relief swelling through him like an ocean wave. “Your generosity is appreciated.”

Aedan smiled sadly, “You men have done a tremendous service, bringing these people back to their homes. Not just Neve, but all of the Woo-fearing citizens of Macarinth and Valzaim you saved.” Hugging Neve he added, “And the Meltaiman too, even if his rescue was a touch out of line with your original directives.” The king waved a hand. “You will both be expected back to your full regular duties come the spring- and I expect you both will be very busy bees indeed.”

Ludwig winced at this reminder. Right. Their respite was a temporary one, and at the end of it, they would be dredged into the long awaited, long dreaded war with Meltaim. However, he only murmured, “Of course, your majesty. It is our duty and our honor to serve Macarinth’s finest.”

Aedan glanced around at the generals, “Are there any further matters of immediate import to address, gentlemen?”

Norling shook his head, as Taylors said, “No, my king. Not for the moment.”

“I should like to have the Arch-Brigadier examined by professional healers,” Bakális put in. “But I can attend to that with Argyris privately.”

Selene shot the Arch-General a crooked smile, and Aedan made a dismissive gesture. “Of course. Very well, if there’s nothing else, we shall adjourn for now.” He stood, holding Neve close to his chest. “The three of you get yourselves examined by our healers, eat, clean yourselves up, and by Woo get some sleep- you look like you need it.”

“Yes, my king,” Deacon said, scrambling to his feet, Ludwig and Selene only a beat behind. “O-of course.”

In her granduncle’s arms, Neve yawned. “I can go to bed now?” she whispered.

“You can,” Aedan agreed gently, carrying the girl towards the door. “I’ll be sure to have some nice warm stew waiting when you wake up.”

As soon as the king had left, the trio of former-spies were indeed swept up by the fort’s healers, who upon examining them swiftly released Ludwig and Deacon with a diagnosis of lingering spelling sickness and chronic fatigue but nothing else more serious. Selene, however, was kept behind to receive more professional treatment for her ribboning marks, and with some reluctance the pair bonded partners allowed themselves to be led away from her and to one of the fort’s wash-houses. Once they’d thoroughly scrubbed the road off of themselves, they were allowed to fully relax for the first time in a small barracks room that had been prepared for them in the fortified building, each of them wearily nursing a mug of heavily sweetened tea for their spelling sickness and a thick, creamy fish stew.

At first they ate in silence, but at length Ludwig murmured, “Woo. It… still doesn’t feel real.”

“We’re two of the first half dozen people to learn about an impending war,” Deacon agreed. “Even when I was a ten-year-old kid picturing my life as an amazing soldier… I don’t think I ever imagined that, Benno.”

“If you had ever even suggested we might be in the same room as the king, I would’ve laughed in your face,” Ludwig agreed dryly, though he smiled slightly at hearing the old nickname for the first time in so long. “Let alone that he would be personally thanking us for rescuing his grandniece and announcing to us alongside The Sun Dragons and the head of the Special Forces that he was planning to launch a war with Meltaim. Oh and insulting the ever-living snot out of the Valzick king. Part of me would love to be a fly on the wall when Bakális writes his report home paraphrasing our king’s little speech.”

Deacon snorted. “Poor bloke. I feel bad for him. He’ll probably start and scrap five-hundred copies.” He took another sip of his tea. “Once we get some sleep, we should track down Zane and Chares. And all the civvies we sent ahead. Woo knows where they’re stashing them in this labyrinth, but I imagine they’ve been worried sick about us. And poor Chryssa especially-- she has to be missing Selene.”

“No doubt,” Benno agreed. “She was calling her ‘Mama’ towards the end of our stay in Meltaim. I’d be surprised if going to see her wasn’t the first thing Selene did when the healers were done with her, and to the ‘Pit with food or rest.”

“What do you bet she spends the night with Chryssa clinging to her like a tick?” Deacon chuckled. “Though I doubt our king will fare much better. Neve had a death grip on him. I thought I was going to pass out when he asked her if we’d been nice to her. I don’t think she has any idea how much power she wielded in that room, Luddy.”

Benno shuddered. “I wasn’t much better off, I’m just glad we were nice to her and her only point of complaint was easily written off.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Poor kid, though. I’m not surprised she’s clinging to his majesty, after everything she’s been through seeing a familiar face has to feel like a dream. Like if she lets him go she might wake up back in that metalsmith’s townhouse in Meltaim.”

“It’ll be wonderful once we can fall asleep in our own beds,” Deacon said. “Back in Igerna.” He smiled softly, almost sadly. “A bit of a shame we probably can’t mention meeting King Aedan without it raising questions we’re not allowed to answer. I imagine that fact would quite impress the little ones.”

Benno laughed. “It is a shame. Though speaking of clinging children, you may just end up with a dog pile in your bed.” Wistfully he added, “And I’ll probably be sleeping alone for the first time in two years. I’d gotten used to having you around again, but I doubt Yolanda would appreciate my third-wheeling.”

“Nothing says we can’t have an old-fashioned campout on the living room floor the first night,” Deacon suggested softly. “Gather up all the kids. Yolanda. Build a cozy fort out of cushions and blankets. Everyone’s going to be just as excited to see you as they will to see me, Benno.”

The dark haired Macarinthian closed his eyes, a sad smile ticking at his mouth. “I know I’m excited to see all of them. And both sets of our parents. And Zoe, Sera, Natasha and Allegra, Josh, Donna…” he chuckled. “Woo. Even if Yolanda’s a little miffed at us at first, it will be so good to be home.”

***

The next week ticked by in a blur-- a seemingly constant stretch of meetings and debriefings, explanations and justifications. Though Selene, Deacon, and Ludwig saw the rescued civilians from time to time, it was mostly in short bursts between other pressing affairs, as the high command-- and King Aedan-- picked their brains and memories over the events of the past ten months as if they didn’t want to let a single moment go unexamined. Thank the Woo they’d taken such detailed notes, because otherwise Deacon thought he would have found himself floundering. Sometimes he barely remembered what he’d eaten for breakfast the day before, let alone a conversation he’d held with a random Meltaiman merchant nine months ago about what he’d cataloged at the time as inanities… but that King Aedan, Norling, Taylors, and Bakális were grilling him about as though he’d held audience with Emperor Sebellius himself.

It was thus met with great surprise and relief when, at the end of a nearly day-long marathon of a meeting the evening before Ludwig and Deacon were to be released from the fort, Norling leaned back in his chair and smiled toward the colonels. “So,” he said. “It’s late. But there are a few matters we’d like to address before we adjourn, soldiers. I think you’ll like them, really.”

Ludwig, his head slightly throbbing, glanced sideways towards Deacon and Selene, who were both sitting to his left. Selene’s eyes flicked in his direction briefly before fixing on Norling again as she politely said, “Sir?”

“Arch-General Bakális has to stay in the north to receive the second covert unit when they arrive, which should be shortly,” Taylors said. “Thus, Arch-Brigadier Argyris, you’ll be in charge of repatriating your citizens. Fortunately, both Lykos Papás and Pavlos Sfázo are from villages not far from one another. And… I take it from your ledger-books and our conversations over the past week that Chryssa Potámis will be staying with you as you head home for your own leave, Arch-Brigadier?”

“She has no family left to return to,” Selene said sadly. Her voice taking on a more firm tone, she added, “She’s my daughter now. My sister’s family and I will look after her. And I’ll see to it Lykos and Pavlos get home safely.” Hesitantly, she asked, “What of Io Voskós? I know she didn’t want to return to her family, but given the ah… legalities…”

“A non-issue,” Bakális said, his voice sounding rather oddly aggrieved. “I’m sure you’ll get to hear all about it, but suffice it to say sometimes rank means playing the bureaucrat and being villainized, and I’d rather not dredge that topic up again.”

“Oh, uh…” Selene seemed taken aback, but then nodded. “Alright, if you say so, sir.”

“Now,” said Norling. “For the next matter. Lady Neve Masson, as you know, has already been seen home.” Lord Marshal Masson had flown by hippogriff to the base not twenty-four hours after the party’s arrival, whisking his daughter back to Shemaiah so quickly that there was hardly time for goodbyes (nobility, Deacon had commented wryly to Ludwig afterward, certainly did seem to have its perks, at least where boxing through red tape was concerned). “His majesty has also arranged for Martyn and his son, Andrzej, to be assimilated as Macarinthian citizens and receive all the support they might require. That means, though, that we still have to repatriate Ceely Thorsten. She’s from Candelaria district, a small village just outside Candelaria city walls. We’ve confirmed her parents still reside there, and that they’re alive and well. And while myself and General Taylors could well handle it, we barely know the girl. Nor are we quite so… invested in her as you are.”

Aedan leaned forwards, balancing on his forearms on the table. “Since Miss Thorsten knows and trusts you both, and since we figured you deserved to get to witness at least one of the happy reunions you’ve helped to orchestrate, your final assignment before you take your leave will be to fly the young lady home and see her safely reunited with her family. Her parents were sent a pigeon to let them know the girl was alive and well, and would be returned to them once we’d gotten her full story. They should be expecting you when you arrive.”

Ludwig was caught by surprise, but a moment later his face split into a wide grin, and he nudged Deacon’s knee with his under the table. “We shall certainly be happy to see to it, your majesty. I know Colonel Azrael will be quite pleased to see Ceely back where she belongs.”

“Excellent.” Taylors smiled thinly. “You’ll depart with her in the morning, then. But for now…” The general leaned back in his chair. “We thought you might like to have some time to say goodbye to the civilian operatives, as well as Privates Aleshire and Kóptis. Thus, we’ve set aside the rest of the evening for you to spend with them, if you’d like.”

“There’s stew and ale,” Norling added. “And we’ve set up one of the meeting rooms for you to gather in peace.” The general chuckled slightly. “Away from us prying louts.”

Deacon smiled, inclining his head. “Thank you, General Norling. That’s extremely generous of you. We appreciate it.”

“Don’t imbibe too much, now,” Bakális remarked, his eyes glimmering with good humor. “You both have long trips to make in the morrow.”

“As if we’d set such a bad example for the kids and teenagers,” Selene said, putting a hand to her chest as if she were offended.

Benno chuckled. “No ale for Chryssa, Andrzej, Lykos, or Ceely. I think we can agree on that.”

A few minutes later, after Aedan had formally dismissed the meeting, Selene, Ludwig, and Deacon arrived to the indicated meeting room to find the others already assembled, the group thronged around a large maple table that was strewn with fragrant food: a cauldron of stew with steam wafting from it; several loaves of nut bread; a bowl of assorted fruit and several pitchers of ale.

“Mama!” Chryssa, who was sitting near the door in between Lykos and Ceely, sprang to her feet the moment Selene slipped through the doorway. Grinning broadly, the little girl surged forward, wrapping her arms around the Valzick’s waist. “I made you a plate with all the apple slices from the fruit bowl! ‘Cos it’s your favorite.”

“Aww, that was sweet of you, honey,” Selene cooed, reaching down and hugging the seven-year-old. “Have you been good with Lykos? Sharing the toys that the nice soldiers gave you both?”

“Uh-huh,” Chryssa promised, leaning into the hug for a moment before she flounced back to her seat. “I’m being good, I am.”

“I’m sure you have been, Chryssa,” Deacon agreed, smiling softly as he took one of the empty chairs. Woo, it was nice hearing the girl chatter in rapid Valzick and act so carefree-- and even more amazing than that was seeing her face unblemished by brands. “Are you excited to go home with Selene soon?”

“Yes!” The little girl took a bite of her stew. “Mama says her village is on the ocean. And there’s jungle all around! And there’s lots of animals, and you can go swimming, and it never snows.”

“She has been talking all our ears off about getting to swim with her mama,” Pavlos joked from across the room, though he spoke in Meltaiman for the benefit of those in the room with no Valzick. “Although I don’t know about you, Chryssa, but not snowing ever? That sounds no fun. How will you build snowmen if it doesn’t snow?”

“Wh-what’s snowmen?” Andrzej asked from his place sitting at his father’s feet, his head tilted to one side.

Io, sitting at the end of the table next to Zane, laughed. “Oh, you’ve never built a snowman? You’ll have to practise this winter. It’s when you roll up snow, and make the balls into a person.”

“It’s fun,” Lykos chirped. “The first time it snows ev’ry winter, Mama and Uncle Gerasimos make one with me outside the church. We dress him up!”

“You can make snow into a person?” Andrzej asked, his eyes going wide and round. He looked up at Martyn, asking, “Did you ever make a snowman, Papa?”

“When I was very young, yes,” Martyn replied. He smiled. “I promise, you and me can make one the first time the snow sticks this winter, alright?”

“Okay!” Andrzej chirped, his eyes glimmering with excitement. Benno chuckled, taking a chair sandwiched between Chares and Martyn.

“It’s nice to see him happy,” the Macarinthian mused. “And acting like a child.”

“As he should,” Deacon agreed, serving himself a ladleful of stew. “Woo, I can’t wait to have a bite of Yolanda’s cooking. Instead of this ah, delightful military grub.”

Chares smirked. “Going to make your wife cook for you? After over two years away, you should be cooking for her.”

Io laughed. “A Macarinthian man, cooking? You flit dangerously, Chares.” She glanced warmly at Zane. “Such horror, isn’t it?”

Zane grinned back, giving her a wink. “You don’t want a Macarinthian man cooking for you, love. We have no experience with anything but the very basics of wilderness camp cooking. Ergo, put meat on a stick over a fire. So half of any given meal will be raw and the other half burnt.”

“You two are certainly cozy, aren’t you?” Selene noted, taking the plate of apples Chryssa had set aside for her and sitting down next to Ceely. (And briefly holding the plate over her head so Chryssa could squirm up into her lap.) “The Arch-General mentioned you weren’t being forced back to Valzaim, Io, how did you manage to wiggle out of that legal nightmare?”

Zane grinned widely, and Io blushed. “Bakális kept insisting I had to come back-- that I was a Valzick citizen, a subject of King Nereus, not King Aedan. That I couldn’t just… dig my heels in and pretend I was Macarinthian.” She glanced sidelong at the Macarinthian private, eyes shining coyly. “So Zane and I had an idea-- I wouldn’t just pretend.”

“You wouldn’t just…?” Selene quirked an eyebrow, her confusion plain. Pavlos sniggered, exchanging an amused glance with Chares as Ceely giggled maniacally.

“They got married,” the Macarinthian girl announced brightly. “Convinced General Taylors to let them bring a priest into the base sayin’ they needed to do some confessions after they were in Meltaim, then they wheedled him into marrying them.”

Ludwig snorted. “And I’m sure Bakális was quite exasperated with Taylors for not seeing straight through that little scheme. Congratulations though, seriously. You both deserve it.”

“Thank you.” Io beamed. “It’s been nice.” She reached for her husband’s hand, twining her fingers through his. “And I like knowing his real name, too. Not having to call him Sanel. Although I’m pretty sure we’ll both have a million questions to field once we head home to his-- our-- village tomorrow. Zane was gone for over two years, and now he’ll show up with a Valzick wife who has a brand on her forehead.”

“I’m sure you’ll be quite popular, Io,” Deacon assured her. “Mysterious-- people love mysterious.”

“Mama says I can’t tell her sister or anyone the truth,” Chryssa added cheerily. “‘Cos it’s a secret! Our secret. Like we’re spies!”

“At least I won’t have to field awkward questions about blank brands,” Selene noted, ruffling the little girl’s hair- by now it had grown out into an inch-length pom-pom around her head. “But yes, explaining to Chryssy about my mysterious adopted daughter is going to be an event. Though I’m looking forward to meeting my twin nieces and-or nephews for the first time.” Glancing up at Lykos and Pavlos with a smile she added, “Once I get you two home that is.”

“Home,” Pavlos breathed, his face filling with wonder. “It still doesn’t feel real. That I’m actually going home.” He laughed a little breathlessly. “Last time I saw my family I was eleven. A child. Now I’m a teenager; will they even recognize me?”

“‘Course they will,” Lykos chirped. “‘Cos you’re their son!” The little boy grinned. “I’m gonna give my mama the biggest hug.”

Deacon’s cheeks warmed. “I’m sure she’ll be very excited to see you, honey,” he said. “That she’s missed you a whole bunch.”

“I want to see Zane’s mum fuss over him,” Io put in wryly. “Hem and haw over my brave little soldier like he’s a chubby-cheeked boy who skinned his knees.”

Zane blushed. “She’ll be glad to hear that I put in my resignation- as of four hours ago I am no longer a soldier. She never wanted me to go in the first place, since my brother already fulfilled our family’s legal obligation, so she’ll be glad to hear I’m settling down and staying home.” He glanced up at the officers slightly guiltily. “I… I know things are going to get dicey soon, and Macarinth needs all the soldiers it can get but…”

“You did your part, Zane,” Benno assured the boy. “No one blames you for wanting to bow out after everything that happened. Even if you shouldn’t have snapped at us the way you did, you were right about how abruptly you were more or less abducted for this mission and how you really weren’t emotionally ready for it.”

“And you’ve got your pretty wife to take care of now,” Chares added with a glimmer in his eye. “Too bad the story of your heartwarming romance is classified information. Woo, it’s going to be weird going back to life as a normal soldier after this. Surrounded by a bunch of people who haven’t seen more action than say, chasing after Tengizan bandits.”

“You staying in the service, then, Private Kóptis?” Deacon asked.

“I am,” Chares confirmed. “And I’m hoping once we’re back in Valzaim I’ll at least get some kind of promotion out of this.” He smiled almost sheepishly toward Selene. “Not to sound greedy, but it’ll be awkward enough assimilating back to life in Valzaim without still having to skulk about as a lowly private, alongside ruddy-cheeked fifteen-years-old fresh from basic.”

Selene laughed. “I’ll see if I can’t put in a good word for you,” she promised. “I mean I’m not in your branch, so my direct influence is minimal, but I am an Arch-Brigadier and you’ve technically been under my command for the past two years, so if I put in a recommendation that should hopefully do your cause some good.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” Andrzej put in softly. “When you all go away. Papa’n me never had friends before.”

Deacon’s heart twinged. “I’ll miss you, too,” he said. “But… you and your papa are free now, Rzej. And the king’s going to help set you up into such a nice life-- you’ll have the opportunity to make so many new friends, I’d bet.”

“I hafta make all new friends, too,” Chryssa put in. “‘Cos Mama’s from the south, and I’ve never been there ‘fore. But Mama says new people are nice. And meeting them’s an adventure.”

“I guess,” Andrzej said, though he still sounded dismal. Martyn patted his head.

“The soldiers have explained to us that it is better if we… don’t stay in contact,” he said sadly. “Because we are not native to your land, and your mission was supposed to be a secret. That your close acquaintanceship with a Meltaiman-born blank would raise too many questions.”

“I see,” Ludwig said, his brows pinching and his gaze flicking away. “I’m sorry Martyn. But Deacon’s right- you have your whole life ahead of you now, and you can make as many friends as you like.”

“And you’ve got the Woo now!” Lykos announced. “He’s always your friend. That’s what Uncle Gerasimos says.”

Deacon laughed softly. “Very true, Lykos.” He flicked his green eyes toward Ceely. “And you get to see some old friends tomorrow, Ceely. Ludwig and I are going to be the ones to take you home-- to your mama and papa. Are you excited?”

The girl smiled, though it was a wobbly expression. “Yeah. I… I missed them. So much. And I can’t wait to finally be home again.” Sadly she murmured, “I just wish Jess, Traherne, and Nathan could’ve come home too.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bring down the mood. I know everyone’s excited to go home, and so am I, really.”

“It’s understandable, Ceely,” Selene said. “I wish we could have saved your siblings too- and your brother’s partner. But at least your parents get you back, right?”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a tremulous smile. “And… and you’re going to avenge them, right? That’s why you were spying in Meltaim, because Macarinth and Valzaim want to stop the raids. For good.”

“We are,” Deacon agreed, meaning it. Aedan’s decision to declare war at the end of the winter was still under extremely tight wraps-- Deacon doubted it had even left the initial room of eight-- but the man was just as sure that the king was serious. That he was done rolling over King Nereus. That he wasn’t going to let what was happening to his citizens-- his own kin-- go unpunished much longer. “Meltaim is going to get what’s coming for them, Ceely. Soon. I promise.”

¹As of this part, the primary language is Macarinthian; all others colour coded.

[Shinko]

Rising Storm
Continued...

Part Seventeen

SPOILER: Click to show

“You ready, honey?” Deacon said a little less than a day later, as he, Ludwig, and young Ceely stood on an unassuming dirt lane in the outskirts of a quaint village called Henning. It was a warm day, and without much of a breeze, the sky above gleaming a cloudless blue-- all factors that had contributed to a fairly easy ride from Fort Rochester to the north. Even so, Deacon couldn’t pretend he wasn’t anxious now as he gazed at the ramshackle cottage that rose in front of him, its door painted a cheery bright red. The Thorsten house. Ceely’s home. The soldier added, “If not, take all the time you need, okay? We’re not in a rush-- promise.”

The thirteen-year-old swallowed hard, her entire body trembling. “This… this is really real. Woo, it’s real. M-my house… I h-haven’t seen it since Jess, Nathan, Traherne and I all went out to play in the field three and a half years ago.” She sniffed hard. “I… I can g-go knock?”

“Of course, honey,” Benno said gently. “Go on. Just as soon as you’re ready.”

The girl steeled herself, eyes clenched shut, then she slowly walked up to the red door and gave two sharp knocks. Shaking like a leaf in a windstorm she warbled, “M-mama? P-p-papa?”

It wasn’t more than ten seconds before the door was wrenched sharply open, a short, plump woman coming into view. Her dark eyes glossy with anticipation, she needed but one look at young Ceely before her arms were whipping out, and she’d snared the little girl into a nearly crushing hug. “Ceely,” she gasped, tears pricking as a man came up behind her, his hair the same white-blond as was the child’s.

“Oh, Woo,” the man murmured, pressing a hand over his mouth as his wife smoothed their daughter’s frizzy locks. “It’s really you, sweetheart. I-it’s really you.”

“Mama!” Ceely wailed, her face buried in her mother’s shoulder as sobs shook her. “Papa! I w-w-was so scared, it was awful, I missed you s-s-so much!”

Benno felt tears pricking at his own eyes, and sharply blinked them away, standing at-ease beside his partner in polite silence. Deacon, too, didn’t dare breathe a word, simply watching in pure elation as Ceely’s mother rocked the girl back and forth, squeezing her daughter as though she might never let go again.

“It’s okay, baby,” she was murmuring. “Mama’s got you now. You’re safe.”

“No one’s ever going to hurt you again,” her father added, his voice cracking. “I promise, my love. I promise.” Inhaling shakily, the man’s hazel eyes fell on Deacon and Benno. “Pl-please,” he said, giving them a tremulous salute. “Come in, sirs. W-we’ve been expecting you, and Rhetta’s m-made tea, and…”

“At ease, soldier,” Benno replied gently, returning the salute and then dropping it. “You don’t need to stand on formality. We’re just glad to have gotten your daughter home to you.”

Ceely glanced around at the two with a teary smile. “Mama, Papa, this is Colonel Deacon Azrael and Colonel Ludwig Benigno. Th-they saved me from the Meltaimans.”

“Thank you,” Rhetta breathed, finally loosening her grip on Ceely just enough to turn around and beckon for Deacon and Benno to follow her into the cottage. As she led them toward a small pine table that had been set with bread and tea, she added, “W-when we heard Ceely was okay, we… we both broke down s-sobbing. Our k-kids were… everything to us, and losing them…” She swallowed hard as she looked back toward her daughter, wincing as her eyes trailed over the scars on Ceely’s face. “My love. I-I’m so sorry for what you went through. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s n-not your fault, Mama,” she whispered, sitting down at the table and gesturing for Ludwig and Deacon to do the same. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to be in charge while we were all playing. I was supposed to look out for J-Jess and Nat and Traherne-” her voice cracked, and a small sob escaped her. “Th-they broke it. Nat’s pairbond. H-he was in so much pain, Mama.”

“That’s not your fault,” Deacon said gently as he and Ludwig sat. “You did the best you could, Ceely.”

“He’s right,” her father agreed, moving to pour the colonels each a cup of tea. “You were just a little girl, Ceely. You couldn’t have stopped the Meltaimans. Mama and I don’t blame you at all. And I’m sure Jess, Nat, and Traherne don’t, either.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “E-everyone is so excited to see you, Ceely. Grandma. Your aunts and uncles. A-Aunt Madge h-had another baby, you know. A little girlcousin for you. She’s two next week-- a little spitfire. And your cousin Leighton got married-- he’s off in basic training now, b-but he should be home soon on leave, and he’ll be so glad to see you, baby.”

Ceely smiled, the expression shaky but sincere. “I can’t wait to see everybody. A-and to meet Leighton’s wife and the new baby. Make pies with Grandma again and… and everything.” She gulped, reaching out to touch her father’s arm as he bustled past with the tea pitcher. “You still waiting on that promotion, Papa?” she asked, her voice slightly teasing. “Or are you finally a Sergeant Major now?”

Her father laughed for the first time, softly. “I’m militia now, actually,” he told his daughter. “After what happened, I… didn’t want to be too far from your mum. But…” Sitting finally, he reached out and squeezed his daughter’s arm. “I’m a second lieutenant. O-on leave now until October, but after that I’ll be at Fort Laima.” He added quickly, “Not too far to visit. L-less than a day’s ride from here, baby.”

“I-it’s okay,” she said quickly. “It’s lots closer than you’ve been in a l-long time. And I… I’m stronger now, Papa.” With a hint of pride in her voice, she added, “I didn’t let them break me. Not ever. No matter how much they hurt me.”

“She certainly didn’t,” Benno mused, glancing sideways at his partner with a smile. “Gave the Meltaimans who had her such a run for their money they were eager to get her off their hands.”

Rhetta gave a watery smile. “Of course she did. Ceely was b-born with a fire blazing in her. I wouldn’t have expected any less.” She took a small sip of her tea. “You’ve gotten so big, love. You’re pr-practically a woman now. I hope y-you’re not too old and mature to cuddle up with me and Papa tonight. Right between us where you used to sleep when you were a baby.”

“Nuh-uh,” she said, shaking her head and hugging her mother firmly. “I wanna be right with you. So I d-don’t wake up and wonder if it’s really real.” She pulled away slowly, touching the brand on her forehead with a teary smile. “‘Sides, even if I am thirteen, I don’t think any boys will give me two looks. N-not with my fancy new tattoo.”

“You can always grow out bangs, Ceely,” her father suggested. “And… I might be a biased man talking, but with or without your brand and scars, I think you’re beautiful.” He smiled at his daughter. “Any boy would be lucky to have you as his wife. Not that Mama and I are in any mind to give you away soon. Not after we’ve just gotten you back.”

“You’re stuck with us for a while,” Rhetta added, teasingly but firmly. “Just where you belong, my love.” She turned her gaze toward Deacon and Ludwig again, tears brimming in her dark eyes once more. “Thank you so much. F-for bringing her back to us.”

“We’re happy to have been able to do so,” Benno replied. “She’s a very brave, smart girl, and she has a lot of heart. Her kidnapping never should have happened, but we’re glad to be able to return her to where she belongs.”

“And I’m sure you’ll take excellent care of her,” Deacon added, swallowing the lump that had grown in his throat. “She’s a special girl. And she deserves to be safe and happy.” His eyes met Ceely’s. “I’ll miss you, hon,” he said. “But I’m so glad I could help you get home. I know things haven’t always been… fun with… with me, but-- I’m so glad you stuck through it. And I’ll… try not to be a stranger, okay? I can visit sometimes. If you want.”

She smiled widely. “I’d like that. A lot.” Hesitantly she said, “You did so much for me. You made me feel safe for the first time since I was taken and you took care of me and…” She blinked hard. “C-could… could I call you uncle? I-if that’s okay?”

Ludwig grinned at his partner, as Deacon blinked once in surprise. “Of course,” he said. “I’d like that, Ceely. It’d be an honour.”

“Thank you, Uncle Deacon” she said, grinning broadly. To Ludwig she added, “B-both of you. Thank you for bringing me home.”

***

“It looks exactly the same,” Deacon said late the next morning, after he and Ludwig had finally coasted into the fort closest to their hometown of Igerna. From there, after depositing the hippogriff they’d ridden from Henning, it was only a few hours’ walk into Igerna limits, and as they passed through the familiar city gates, Deacon was wearing a smile rather like a small child might on Woomas. “I mean,” he added, “I don’t know what I expected-- we’ve been away two years, not twenty. But we’ve changed so much that I guess it’s just weird that it hasn’t. You know?”

“Wait until we get to Paddonfield,” Benno advised with amusement. “Even if the city hasn’t changed, they kids are all going to be huge now. Woo I still can’t wrap my brain around the fact that Connor and Mickey will be eight. That Theia is nearly fifteen.”

“Don’t remind me,” Deacon groused, but he was still grinning broadly. “I wonder if Kerris still has blonde hair, or if it’s gotten darker. Yolanda always thought it would go brown.” He tilted his head. “And Woo, I wonder if Allegra’s gotten married-- she’s certainly old enough now. If I missed the wedding, I’m going to be very cross. My chance to intimidate her groom, gone! What kind of older brother am I, Luddy?”

“The kind with a very, very exciting war story he can never tell to anybody,” the darker haired man teased. “I wonder if my parents and sibs will be there waiting like they were after our fort assignment. Though the surprise party loses a bit of it’s luster on the second go-round. I doubt there’s much they can do to really catch us off guard this time.”

“We still have to act surprised, though,” Deacon said. “If they’re planned a party. Practice your shocked face, Luddy, okay?”

When they finally reached the apothecary, the shades were drawn and the door that led into the shop unlocked. Deacon’s heart was pounding in his ears as he pulled it open, inhaling deeply as the familiar scent of herbs washed over him. Home. Woo, he was truly home. As he held out the door for Ludwig to follow in after him, he hungrily scanned the floor, grinning like an idiot as his eyes fell on his mother, who was dusting a shelf.

“Mum!” he exclaimed… before his gaze swept past her, toward the counter, and came to a halt on Yolanda. He called her name, almost giddily, and took a step toward her-- then paused just as abruptly when he realised that she was not alone. Rather, a small, towheaded toddler of perhaps a year and a half old was tucked against her hip, the child gnawing contentedly on a clump of bread as Yolanda one-handedly counted the change in the cashbox. “Who’s… who’s this?” Deacon asked, cocking his head. “One of Tasha’s? Or… your sister’s?”

Yolanda looked up from the coins, giving her husband what could have only been called a smirk. As she rose, winking towards her mother-in-law, she drawled, “Well look what the cat dragged in. Long time, no see, my dear husband.” Bouncing the baby on her hip she added, “Say hello, sweetie.”

The toddler grinned shyly, flapping his fingers in an approximation of a wave. “Hiiieee.”

Deacon smiled, returning the gesture. “Hi there, buddy.”

“His name’s Linus,” the mage’s mother added, setting aside the feather duster. “Sweet little boy, though a bit of a rascal.”

“Linus,” Deacon echoed, understanding crossing his face. He nodded once. “That was your grandfather’s name, wasn’t it, Yolanda? So-- your sister’s, then.” He smirked. “Aren’t you a good babysitter?”

Ludwig laughed at the comment, but Yolanda only raised an eyebrow.

“I certainly am,” she retorted. “I’ve been sitting this baby for nearly two years waiting for his papa to come and get him.”

Deacon blinked once. Then again. … Then a third time. “I… don’t understand, I--” His voice fell away sharply, and his stomach pinched, as a cold dawning assailed him. “Oh. My Woo. He’s… he’s…” The mage took a lurching step forward, green eyes wide as dinner plates. “He’s… yours?” A beat. “Ours?”

Yolanda chortled, a wicked smirk splitting her face. “That was very inconsiderate of you, getting me pregnant during your last two week leave before vanishing for over two years,” she said. Kissing their son, she added, “This is your Papa, Linus. Aren’t you excited to finally meet him?”

The toddler grinned, reaching out towards Deacon. “Papa?”

Deacon thought he might faint, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead as he tentatively closed the distance between himself, Yolanda, and their son. A son. He had a son. “H-hello there, buddy,” he stammered, gently taking the boy into his arms. “It’s… it’s v-very nice to meet you.”

“He’s just like you,” Deacon’s mother put in wryly. “Into everything. The moment he learned to walk we all said a prayer to the Woo and put everything of value out of his grubby reach.”

Ludwig laughed softly, clapping his partner on the shoulder. “Well doesn’t that just figure? And here you were talking about how nothing’s changed. Careful with your words, they come back to bite you. Congratulations, proud papa.” He glanced towards Deacon’s mother, a wry smile. “It’s good to be home. How is everybody?”

“We’ve been doing well,” she replied. “Missing you, of course, but that goes without saying.” Padding over to wrap the towering man in a hug, she added, “Zoe’s offered to cook us all a big supper tonight at her house-- your father and most of the kids are over there now, helping her prepare. Everybody’s invited, of course.” The woman laughed, holding Benno back to inspect him at an arm’s length. “Did you know you’re a several-times uncle, Ludwig? Donna had both her first and second babies when you were gone-- both boys. And Nina’s pregnant now, about to pop.”

“Woo,” the dark haired man breathed. “Wasting no time, Donna, but then again given how much she and her husband had been fawning over each other I can’t be surprised. I look forward to meeting my new nephews- and to being able to be here for Nina’s little one. They’ve given us nine months leave.”

“They ‘Pit-well better have,” Deacon’s mother said firmly. “After they virtually abducted you for over two years.” She patted Ludwig’s back, as if he were a small child again. “I’ve been worried sick about you two. Everyone has. I hope the mission was worth your while, at least?”

“It was… a once in a lifetime experience,” Deacon said, gently swaying Linus back and forth as the little boy played with a strand of his father’s tousled hair. His son. He still couldn’t believe this was his son. “We can’t say much more than that, unfortunately. We’re under a… fairly severe gag order, to say the least.”

“So you mentioned before you left,” Yolanda remarked. “I know things have apparently gotten pretty tense in the past year or so. They say some relative or another of the king went missing and apparently the running theory is that it was Meltaiman raiders. Not that it would’ve had anything to do with you since it happened after you left, but needless to say we’ve been worried what that meant for our soldier-boys.”

Deacon swallowed hard, badly wishing he could tell his beloved family members exactly how much “the king’s relative” did have to do with him. How much all of it did-- the entire situation in Meltaim, the war King Aedan would be declaring come spring. But he knew that he couldn’t. Not ever. Woo, he couldn’t even reveal he’d met the king at all, not without betraying that whatever he’d been involved with was perched at the uppermost echelons of national security and interests. Of course he knew that his family members weren’t stupid; they probably could well deduce that Deacon and Ludwig hadn’t been yanked away for so long over a trifle. But even still, Deacon doubted they’d ever guess the exact magnitude and scope of the Meltaiman mission. ‘Pit, if he hadn’t been involved in it himself, Deacon certainly wouldn’t have even ever dreamed of such a thing existing. Let alone that two nobody colonels like themselves would have been selected for it.

“Well, we’re home now,” he said, stroking his son’s dandelion-fuzz hair. “That’s what matters, right? And we won’t be going anywhere for quite a while-- promise.”

“Right,” Deacon’s mother agreed. Moving toward him, she gently took Linus into her arms, adding as she did, “Now, how about you go wash up, love? Both of you. And then we can head over to Zoe’s, okay? I told her not to go overboard, but I’m pretty sure she’s cooking up a feast. And your Maegan’s become quite the little baker since you’ve been gone, Deacon-- puts her old Gran to shame. She’ll probably have you gorging on half a dozen cakes.” The older woman smirked toward Yolanda. “Just as long as wee Kerris doesn’t wheedle her way into helping, anyhow. Little imp eats more of the batter than makes it in the oven sometimes, I swear. And she’s been so naughty since she got her cursed wand-- I woke up last week to her having turned Michaela’s hair orange and Connor’s pink.”

“Kerris is a mage?” Deacon murmured, his stomach twisting again as he realised how much he’d missed. Woo, on his departure his youngest daughter, Kerris, had only been three-- far too little for magic. “Sh-she in the pool yet? For a partner?”

“She was just matched last month,” Yolanda replied with a smile. “To- wait for it- little Holly Kroft.”

Ludwig outright snorted, elbowing his partner. “Darby’s daughter? Woo, if that isn't irony I don't know what is.”

Deacon ribbed Benno back. “See, I was right, after all, when eight-year-old me was so sure my destiny was entwined with Darby’s,” he joked. “I was just… a generation off.” Starting toward the stairs, he called back, “Michaela and Connor still getting along with their partners? They’d barely even been bonded when we left. But now they’ve got to be on what-- their third or fourth ceremonies?”

Benno chuckled. “Connor was following Jay around like a duckling last we saw them. Though Mickey was a bit insecure about having to spend two weeks at a time away from Mama.”

“Yes, well the allure of a horse breeder’s ranch quickly trumped that insecurity,” Yolanda joked. “She is going to babble so many horse facts at you.”

“I think the rest of the kids are a bit jealous of Mickey, really,” Deacon’s mother quipped. “Since she has the novel partner who’s from way out in the boondocks and owns a million pretty ponies, instead of just another kid from Paddonfield.” She smirked as her son and Ludwig began up the steps. “And Connor, fortunately, still adores and idolizes Jay. They’re particularly close, even for partners. Like you two were, really.” The older woman bounced Linus in her arms. “Now, go freshen up. The sooner you’re presentable, the sooner we can get to Zoe’s.”

Benno smiled fondly at the thought of his son having the sort of friend his father had in Deacon. Nodding, he said, “Sure, Mum. We’ll be quick, promise.”

The walk to Zoe’s stately townhouse on the other side of Paddonfield wasn’t more than a mile, but to Deacon it suddenly felt like one-hundred. He knew that after over two years apart from his loved ones, a couple more minutes shouldn’t have been a big deal, but that didn’t stop a nervous energy from humming through his body, only barely sated as he entertained Linus with a rousing game of peek-a-boo and the toddler giggled up a storm. Woo, how he missed everyone. And how fiercely glad he was that he’d survived to see them again, even when at times the odds had seemed so slim.

The moment they finally arrived to Zoe’s, Deacon rather felt as if he’d walked into the heart of a churning storm: even from the foyer the clamor was impressive, a miasma of aromas seeping out from the kitchen as little feet pattered against the gleaming wood floors. In his grandmother’s arms, Linus let out an excited squeal, and the woman released him with a chuckle; he immediately made a beeline from the entryway into the spacious living room that adjoined it, no doubt off to join his relatives in whatever games they were playing.

“Oh Woo, you weren’t exaggerating about his energy, were you?” Deacon mused. “He’s like a bunny rabbit.”

“Let’s just say I look forward to having two more pairs of arms to help keep him reined in,” Yolanda joked. “And I’m sure he’ll be happy to have an adult male who’s fit enough to chase him around. Your father’s knees have been paining him some in the last few months.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?” Benno asked with concern.

“Just age catching up with him.” Deacon’s mother shrugged lightly, then turned in the direction that Linus had fled. “Don’t tell him I said that, though,” she said with a wagged finger as she began toward the doorway. “In his head, he’s still a spry twenty-nine.”

Deacon laughed, trailing after her. “Of course he is. Which makes me what, thirteen?” He grinned over his shoulder at Ludwig. “Lud! Good news, I’m a teenager again. So I can have melodramatic tantrums and attempt to sleep in until noon.”

Ludwig snorted. “How is that good news? It means I’m twelve and trying valiantly to rein you in again. And getting in trouble right along with you when I fail miserably.”

“Lou?” came a voice from further in the house, and the face of Ludwig’s younger sister Belladonna materialized from around a corner. “Lou! Deacon! You’re back!”

It were as if the woman’s greeting had unleashed a tidal wave-- in an instant, a veritable stream of children had surged forward from the living room, scampering through the foyer with matching cries of “Papas!”. It took everything in Deacon to keep from bursting into happy tears as his four eldest children and Connor barrelled up to him and Ludwig, several more kids-- the children’s partners, it seemed, as well as an array of Ludwig and Deacon’s various nieces and nephews-- trailing shortly behind the clump.

“Well, hello there yourselves,” Deacon said, scooping young Kerris up in one arm as he wrapped his other around her nine-year-old sister, Maegan. “Not excited to see us at all, now, are you?”

“Nuh-uh, that’s not true!” Connor retorted, the little boy nearly quivering with excitement as he buried his cheek against Ludwig’s tunic. “We’re real excited. When Mama told us last night, we all started cheerin’ so hard she said we hadta be quiet or we’d wake up the whole neighbourhood.”

“We didn’t sleep at all,” Michaela added proudly. “‘Cos we were too happy.”

“They really didn’t,” fourteen-year-old Theia put in dryly. “They were chattering all night, I could hear them through my wall. Mum had to come in and tell them to knock it off like, fifty times.”

Ludwig laughed breathlessly, kneeling down to pull Connor into a tight hug. “We didn't sleep much last night either, to be fair. We’ve been very excited to see you little imps again.”

“See, I told ya,” Maegan said cheerily. “Told ya they missed us too.”

“No one was disputing it, love,” Yolanda said with amusement.

Kerris eyed Deacon wonderingly. “My papa?” she whispered tremulously, touching his cheek.

“Yep, honey.” Deacon’s voice caught, and Benno shot him a sympathetic glance. The blonde mage had known in all likelihood that Kerris would barely remember him, if she did at all, but hearing confirmation of it… “And I’m going to be around for a long time now, okay? All the way ‘til April.”

“Ooh!” Michaela grinned. “You can come to the ranch with me one day, then! And Lysa and I can show you all the horses, Papa.” She turned toward Benno, bouncing on her heel. “You, too! ‘Cos you’re real good at riding, right? From bein’ a soldier?”

Benno grinned, reaching out to give the little girl a light punch on the shoulder. “You bet. I’m even better than my dumb partner at it.”

Maegan giggled. “A race! You should race!”

Deacon laughed, finally depositing Kerris back on the ground. “I think Lysa’s papa might be mad if we raced his prized breeders, Mae.” He winked. “Though don’t listen to Papa Benno-- I’d be the obvious winner.”

“All Mickey talks ‘bout are horses,” Connor said sullenly. “It’s annoying to listen to all the time.”

“Least we don't gotta go so far to our partner’s houses,” Kerris said solemnly. “Going hours and hours out to the ranch is boring.” She patted Deacon’s leg. “Holly’s Papa told me stories ‘bout when you were kids. He says you’re good friends. Maybe you could come have dinner when I’m at their house sometime?”

“I’d love to, baby.” He shot a smirk to Ludwig. “See what ol’ Darby’s up to these days. I think him and his partner already retired from the military, didn’t they?”

“Papa makes candy,” supplied one of the children who was still lingering back-- a slight girl of perhaps seven or eight, with honey-blonde hair and a generous smattering of freckles. “Grammy and Grandpa just made bread and stuff, but when Papa took over the shop he thought it’d be fun to sell other stuff, too. So now he makes sweets. And he uses spells to make them look cool!” She fiddled with the small silver bracelet that was locked around her wrist. “Kerris and I aren’t ‘lowed to eat much of it, though. My mama says it’ll rot our teeth.”

“I might’ve known someone with as much energy as Darby would sell sweets,” Ludwig said with amusement. Hugging Connor he added, “How are you and Jay doing, kiddo? He taught you lots of cool spells yet?”

“Uh-huh!” Practically glowing with excitement, Connor spared a glance toward the willowy, raven-haired boy of eleven who stood next to Holly Kroft. “His oldest brother taught us how to spark stuff. It’s so neat. His papa got mad after we pranked him with it, though.” The boy turned his gaze toward his father again, lips curving mischievously. “But it was worth it.” A beat. “Wanna see?”

“Maybe later, Connor.” Deacon chuckled. “Now-- I don’t know how about you, but the smell of all that food cooking is making me ravenous. How about we get out of this claustrophobic foyer and get our eating game on?” He ruffled Maegan’s hair. “Grandma tells me you’re an expert baker these days, baby. But I don’t know if I believe her, so I shall have to sample every single treat you’ve made with my own tongue. A great burden, I know, but I’m prepared.”

Of course, before they could make it anywhere near the table there was another round of enthusiastic greetings to get through as various siblings, nieces and nephews, and Ludwig’s parents got their turn welcoming the soldiers home. But at length everyone finally say down to eat, Ludwig and Deacon’s kids accepting nothing less than being as close to their fathers at the table as feasible.

“You know, you’ve been awfully quiet, Theia,” Ludwig remarked. “Too mature and grown up for us now?”

There was a snigger from down the table, and Allegra, the partner of Deacon’s younger sister Natasha, grinned hugely. “She’s just hoping you won't ask her what she’s been up to recently.”

“Theia’s got a boyfriend!” Kerris chirped in a sing-song voice.

“She what?” Deacon asked-- as his eldest daughter blushed furiously, leveling a scowl in her youngest sister’s direction.

“I do not have a boyfriend,” the teenager huffed. “Kerris just has an imagination.”

Connor giggled. “Nuh-uh. It’s true. You do.” He turned toward Deacon and his father, eagerly continuing, “He’s a soldier. But not a mage soldier! He lives near the city gates, and when he was home on leave a couple months ago--”

“Connor!” Theia placed a hand over her forehead, at once mortified and furious.

Ludwig’s father gave a wry smile. “Let’s just say she wasn’t expecting Papa Benno’s Papa to be out near those gates because he was putting in an order for more forge iron with the courier.” The old man winked. “You looked very cute together.”

“I’ll have to meet this boy,” Deacon said. “Give him the old stink eye and make sure he’s good enough for my little girl.”

“You’re going to scare him away, Papa.” Theia slumped in her chair. “Please don’t pull rank on him? He’s just a corporal. He’ll be bloody terrified of you.”

“You wound me, love.” Deacon laughed. “I would most certainly never pull rank on anyone, especially not where my precious daughter’s concerned.”

“Kerris says you’re real good officers,” Holly Kroft put in with a nod. “And you got lotsa pins and medals and stuff. And you get to ride hippogriffs.”

Benno chuckled, “Yes, yes, and yes. So make sure you behave really good while we’re here, young missy.” He made a clawlike gesture with his hands and growled playfully, making Kerris giggle.

“You’re silly, Papa Benno,” she said brightly.

“He is silly,” Belladonna noted with amusement. “Deacon infected him with it when they were kids.”

“And I plan on spreading the infection anywhere I can. You’re all certain to catch it, as much time as you’ll be spending with me in these next nine months,” Deacon said, grinning crookedly. “Speaking of…” Leaning forward, and his eyes twinkling like diamonds, he said in a mock whisper, “I was thinking-- what if we camped tonight, on the living room floor? We could make a fort. And drink hot cider, and haul home leftover desserts to nibble on, too.”

“Oooh!” Connor breathed. “Jay can come, right?”

“Of course. All my and Papa Benno’s kids, and all your partners, too.” Deacon nodded firmly. “Plus Mummy, obviously.”

Yolanda rolled her eyes. “Oh, obviously. But if Linus gets a stinker overnight you’re changing him. You’re far overdue for your share of that joy.”

“We’ve all had to do it lots,” Maegan said, scowling. “Even Jay.”

“It has been an experience,” Jay put in dryly. “I’m the youngest in my family.”

“Poor little man.” Deacon smirked. “You truly lead a tragic life, don’t you?” He glanced toward his wife. “But alright, Yolanda-- if that’s what it takes to get you to cuddle with us in the fort, I suppose I can make such a sacrifice. All in the name of the venerable sleepover.”

A sleepover it might have been, but back at the apartment several hours later, no one one was doing much sleeping. Bringing back the leftover desserts had seemed a better idea in retrospect than in reality, the extra sugar leaving the already-riled-up kids chattering and bounding about until well after midnight. Even so, Deacon enjoyed every moment of it, still riding a giddy high over the fact that after so long apart from his family, he was back. Woo, Meltaim already seemed like a convoluted fever dream-- so far away from his life here in Igerna. It was strange to think that at the start of the month, he’d been falling asleep over an apothecary in Lilia. Feigning as a Meltaiman. His safety so very much on the line.

“I have Mae’s elbows in my ribs, but I’m afraid to move her,” he murmured to Ludwig a little bit after the last of the kids had finally, finally crashed in a post-sugar haze. “She still a light sleeper, Yolanda?”

“She is,” Yolanda replied drowsily, from where she was lying on her back with Linus curled up and sucking his thumb in his sleep on her chest. “So you’ll either have to wake her up or deal with the price of your life choices, my dear.”

Benno chuckled softly. “Connor still has a death grip around my waist. And even if I wanted to shift him I couldn’t, since Jay’s squashed against his back. Ah, that early pairbond tick-in-bed syndrome.”

“You mean you don’t still want to cuddle with me?” Deacon joked. “I’m wounded. I thought we had something special.”

“I think Yolanda might remove vital body parts if I tried it,” Benno retorted dryly, refraining from pointing out that they’d been sharing a bed for the past ten months lest it raise questions they couldn’t answer or lead to a drowsy slip-up.

“All of us are pinned by leechy children, no one is removing body parts from anybody tonight,” Yolanda pointed out. In a gentler voice she added, “They’ve missed you terribly. Inconsolable for nearly a month after you left, and Connor kept having nightmares.”

Deacon’s throat grew dry. “We’ve missed them, too. So much.” He hesitated, wondering how much was safe to say, before he added softly, “We didn’t have a choice, Yolanda. About… leaving them. We were taken as much by surprise as you-- and they-- were.” He gently stroked the slumbering Maegan’s long, stick straight hair. “We’re here for a while now, though. And… I know we plan to spend as much time with the family as is humanly possible.”

“Good,” Yolanda said with a yawn. “I’m glad they gave you a decent leave. After two years away you deserve it.”

Benno gently stroked his son’s hair, and felt the boy nestle tighter into his father’s tunic in response. “I can’t believe how much they’ve all grown.” He swallowed thickly, recalling the comment Pavlos had made about his parents not recognizing him because he’d grown so much, and Ceely’s parents joking that she was practically a woman after being away so long. It had been worth it, what they’d done, reuniting children not unlike theirs with parents who hadn’t seen them in far too long. But he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt and sadness all the same.

Yolanda turned her head towards Ludwig and Deacon, adding softly, “Connor has started asking me questions, you know. About why he has a different Papa than his siblings.” She sighed. “I told him it was better if he asked his Papa that question. I didn’t think it was my place to say.”

Benno felt his stomach drop, and he blinked hard. “I… I…”

“It’s a question that was going to come up, Benno,” Deacon murmured. “But the truth isn’t anything to be afraid of. He loves you so much-- it’s clear to anyone to see. And nothing you tell him will change that.”

“I know you’re right,” Benno whispered. “But I’ve never been good at talking about it. My throat closes up and my head just goes… blank.” He whimpered. “I loved her. And when I think about her, all I can remember is how she died.”

“It won’t be easy,” Deacon admitted. “But… you loved her for a reason, Ludwig. Because she was a wonderful person. A person Connor will be so happy to hear about. To get to know, even if it’s only through stories.” He exhaled softly. “And we’re all here for you. Me, Yolanda, my parents, your parents-- you’re not alone. We’ll always have your back.” Turning his head very slightly, he shot his partner a gentle smile through the wavering dark. “Together, we can get through anything Benno. I… I think the last two years have proven that, right?”

He blinked, then smiled back wanly. “Yeah. And after everything, I certainly won’t ever undervalue having that support system around me again.” He sighed. “It’s good to be home.”

Epilogue

SPOILER: Click to show

“Papas! Papas!” Michaela sang, the girl’s hands on her hips as she stood at the bottom of the steps that led from the apothecary supply up to the apartment above. “Papas, there’s people here for you!”

Scurrying toward the landing with chubby-cheeked Linus in his arms, the boy’s face covered in breadcrumbs from a very messy lunch, Deacon glimpsed down the steps. “Hm? Who’s here?”

“I dunno.” Michaela shrugged, grinning up at her father. “Lysa and me were playin’ outside in the snow with Holly and Kerris, ‘cos Mummy says the snow’s gonna melt soon ‘cos it’s March now, and so we wanted to build snowmen--”

“Michaela, the point, please?” Deacon cut in.

His daughter pursed her lips. “Some men came up asking if this was where Colonels Azrael and Benigno lived. I said yes. And they came in! They’re waitin’ for you now. In the front. I woulda had Mummy get you, but she’s in the back office talkin’ to Master Scavo ‘bout his order that got delayed, and--”

“It’s fine, sweetheart. You can go back out and play, alright? I’ll be down in a minute.” Brow creased, he turned back toward the inner rooms of the apartment, calling out, “Luddy? We’ve got visitors.”

Ludwig poked his head out of the living room and into the foyer, Maegan emerging just a fraction of a second after.

“Does Papa Benno have to go right now?” she whined. “He was going to show me how to squirt water out of my wand, and since Connor’s at Jay’s he can’t butt in like always-”

“Maegan Azrael.” Deacon’s voice was curt. “No one’s going to show you any spells if you’re whining like that.” Striding toward her, he heaved a sigh and held Linus out to the girl. “Take your brother. Clean him up, please. Papa Benno and I will be back in a minute, okay?”

She sighed, coming out into the foyer and letting her father pass the toddler to her. “Okay.”

Benno watched her go with amusement, then turned to his partner. “So- you said something about guests? Who is it?”

“Not the faintest clue,” Deacon said, beginning down the steps. “Mickey didn’t know, either. Only that they asked for us by our ranks. So-- Woo only knows.”

“Huh.” Benno frowned as he followed his partner down the stairs. “We still have three weeks left on our leave- they aren’t recalling us early are they? The kids would have a fit. So would our parents and Yolanda, while we’re on that subject.”

“I doubt they’d have sent people for that,” Deacon said, albeit without much conviction. “We would have just gotten a message with orders.” As they reached the bottom of the steps and pushed open the door that led to the shop floor, he bit his lip. “Maybe it’s just someone we know? Come to visit. Someone Michaela didn’t recognise for whatever reason. And--”

Deacon’s voice fell away sharply as he shouldered through the doorway, and he found himself staring at a trio of men, all dressed in gleaming military blue-and-gold. Two of them were strangers-- Deacon was nearly positive of this-- but the third… The blond mage’s heart leap-frogged into his throat as his green eyes met the man’s marbled blue-grey.

“Y-your majesty?” he warbled, snapping himself into a low bow. Benno was but a fraction of a second behind his partner, his blood gone instantly to ice as he recognized the man whom they’d seen back at the fort, the man who had intimidated even the legendary Sun Dragons. But King Aedan quickly hushed the two, gesturing for them to rise.

“No need for that, Colonels,” he said in an undertone. “I don’t want to draw too many questions- you could say I’m here incognito. Hard for someone of my stature to go anywhere without a thrice-cursed entourage unless it’s done in absolute secrecy, but I’d rather the things I have to say be delivered directly than risk sending them down the chain of command and risk unwanted interception.”

Benno’s pulse was hammering wildly. After they’d been dismissed, their mission in Meltaim completed, he hadn’t honestly thought they’d ever see Aedan up close again, let alone speak with him. Daring to rise from his bow, he asked, “Wh-what did you need to speak to us about, your ma-”

“Just refer to me as General,” he interrupted. “And not here- is there somewhere we might speak privately?”

“O-of course, General.” Deacon’s brow was suddenly covered in a cool sweat. Normally he’d utilize the back office, but Woo, Michaela had said that Yolanda was in there with a customer. And he hardly wanted to use a storage room or the like-- there wouldn’t be anywhere to sit there-- and, ‘Pit, he felt like his heart might explode out of his chest. “W-we can use the study,” he said. “Upstairs. Some of my children are up in the flat, but… we can lock the door. And… cast a silencing spell, if it’d please his maj-- er, his… generalship?”

“Excellent,” the king said cheerily. “Lead the way, Colonels.”

Benno swallowed hard, and lead the way they did. Once the were inside the study in question, and it had been spelled against eavesdroppers, the king sighed with patent relief.

“Well now, please sit,” he said amiably. “Allow me to introduce my companions-” he gestured to a man standing beside him, with rust-red hair and eyes like thunderheads. “This is my son, Crown Prince Nealan. And this-” he indicated the other man, “Is my Minister of War, General Davin Mallown.”

If Deacon had been vaguely lightheaded before, now it took a great deal of effort to keep from outright passing out. Not only had the king of Macarinth come to pay him and Benno a visit at their home-- he’d brought with him both his Minister of War and the crown prince. Oh, dear Woo. Whatever this was, it was very big. Very, very big-- the sort of big that made Deacon want to vomit, or perhaps go hide in his bedroom with the curtains drawn, pretending the outside world didn’t exist.

Instead, the blond mage squeaked out, “It’s… an honour to meet you, your highness. General Mallown.”

“And you as well.” Prince Nealan smiled thinly, dark eyes apprising. Though in truth he was probably about Benno and Deacon’s ages, something about him made him come across as much older. Wiser. Perhaps it was in the way he sat-- ramrod straight, his posture impeccable-- or the hawk-like precision of his gaze. Or maybe it was the careful starching of his uniform and polishing of the medals and pins that littered it, not a single laurel askew. “Sorry if our showing up like this was a bit of a shock. But you must understand, for security reasons, we thought it best not to give any notice.”

General Mallown knitted his fingers together, holding them before his face and tapping his pointer fingers together. “His majesty says that you know what is on the wind, Colonels Azrael and Benigno. You understand if we should rather our neighbors in the west didn’t get wind of anything untoward.”

“O-of course, General,” Benno stammered. “What can we do for you?”

“Well,” the king rumbled, his eyes twinkling. “First of all I’d like to offer you my congratulations- official tomorrow morning, you’re both being promoted.”

Benno blinked in surprise, managing to stammer out, “A-ah, thank you, your majesty. So we shall be brigadiers then?” This was the rank up from their current status as colonels.

“No,” Aedan replied. “Starting tomorrow you will hold the rank of Major Generals.”

Deacon gawped. He’d been hoping, of course, that their mission in Meltaim would lead to a reward like this-- but he hadn’t envisioned something quite so lofty. Major general? Woo! Some of the nausea in his gut gave way to something close to giddiness. “That is… that is very generous, your majesty,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Prince Nealan chuckled. “You spent nearly a year of your life in Meltaim in service of your kingdom. And the information you provided us has been paramount as we make our preparations.” The prince leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Speaking of. The ugly question in the room-- yes, we still plan on declaring. My father’s been having some last minute correspondences with King Nereus, hoping to bring the Valzicks in. Things, however, are not looking good at the moment… and so with or without their cooperation, we’ll be making the official declaration on April 15th.”

Aedan scowled. “King Nereus seems to think I’m just bluffing- that if he is stalwart in his refusal to help us that I’ll back down like a petulant child being denied a trip to the sweet shop. He’s in for a rather rude awakening.” The man’s expression smoothed and he went on, “However, a war means an army, and unfortunate as it is, our standing army is nowhere near sizable enough to hold against Meltaim.”

“Which means,” General Mallown put in, “A draft. Not something anybody is going to be happy about, but a necessary evil.”

Deacon swallowed hard. “I see, sir. And… the parameters of the draft?”

“All able-bodied men age fourteen or above-- whether or not they’re mages-- will be required to register. Lots will be pulled at random, monthly. All districts will have a quota to meet, dependent on their size, and all lords will also be required to provide the king’s army with a percentage of men from their standing militias. That percentage will fluctuate up and down depending on the current state of the war.” Prince Nealan’s voice was very smooth; it was clear this subject had already been given much discussion and thought. “Further, bonded female mages who’ve not yet completed their civil aid requirement will be entered into a separate draft. Lots will be pulled as needed to supply the frontlines with competent healers. The younger member of the bond will need to be fifteen, though once again, this is subject to change depending on the tides of the war.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Benno said, though he couldn’t help but be privately glad that Theia- recently turned fifteen- had sadly never gotten a bonded partner before she’d aged out of the pool. “Though I suppose you had a reason for telling us about this?”

“Indeed,” General Mallown agreed. “You have already seen the scope of the problem that Meltaim presents to our national defense. You’ve seen the human cost their atrocities inflict. And you have proven yourselves willing to take on weighty responsibilities even if they are unpleasant.”

“I understand,” King Aedan rumbled, “That you have worked alongside the militiamen of Igerna District once before, in Fort Burke?”

“Yes, my liege,” Deacon confirmed, a threading knot of unease tangling through him. “We served six months in Lord General Heeren’s militia several years ago. After he exercised his lord’s right to pull subjects into service in times of exceptional need.”

“Then you will be familiar with Fort Burke?” Prince Nealan asked.

“Yes, your highness,” said Deacon.

“Good.” The prince smiled, almost wryly. “Because congratulations, Major Generals. As of the 1st of April, you will be in charge of it-- as it serves as the headquarters for the draft in the eastern kingdom, with Fort Hailey outside Adara serving as the draft headquarters of the west.”

Benno’s stomach dropped, and every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Woo. Before now they’d never had charge over anything bigger than a battalion of a few hundred, and that had been during peacetime. Now they were to be running the headquarters of a wartime draft for the entire eastern kingdom. Woo, for the past three years their command had numbered all of two. Six if you generously added in the civilian agents Ceely, Pavlos, Io and Martyn.

“Of course we aren’t going to drop it on you all at once,” General Mallown assured them. “The outgoing commander will take a week to show you around, familiarize you with the day-to-day affairs and the necessities of the command. But after that, he will be requisitioned to a frontline command post, and it will be upon you.”

“And,” Nealan added, “you will send your reports directly to myself and my father-- we will be acting as your immediate commanders. You will be expected to provide biweekly updates of the state of the draft in the east-- compliance percentages, any problem districts, logistical issues, the whole gamut. In other words, the draft from Chariovalda District all the way to the Lyellian border is under your authority-- and its success rests in your hands.”

“Y… yes, your highness,” Benno replied, struggling to keep his voice even. “We understand. This is a… a great responsibility. And a great honor.”

Aedan snorted. “You say that now; you haven’t got all the lords in the eastern kingdom whining at you about how you’re denuding their militias yet.” He chuckled. “On the bright side, it’s a pretty cozy posting if you value proximity to your families after your time away in Valzaim and Meltaim.”

Deacon nodded dumbly. “Y-yes, your majesty. We… we certainly do appreciate that. It’ll be nice being able to visit whenever we can.” He added quickly, “Not, of course, that we’d let such visits interfere with our duties.”

“Certainly not.” Nealan gave the pair of newly minted major generals a genuinely warm smile. “Now, have you any questions for us, soldiers? Because if not, we’ve already taken up enough of your afternoon.” The prince laughed under his breath. “And the little girls we met playing out front seemed as if they might need some parental guidance with their attempts to build a snowman out of watery, half-melted snow. Though nothing, I’m sure, that a few flicks of your wands couldn’t fix up for them. Sweet kids-- they remind me of my own girls.”

Deacon blinked. “R-right. Of course, your highness. I… I don’t think I’ve any questions.” He glanced to his partner. “Ludwig?”

The taller man shook his head. “I have nothing to ask either.”

“Very well then,” King Aedan said briskly, rising. “Enjoy the remainder of your leave, Major General Azrael, Major General Benigno. I hope to have your first report in the week after you take command, and every fortnight thereafter.”

“Certainly, your majesty,” Deacon said, scrambling to his own feet. “We… we’ll do everything we can to make the draft run as smoothly as possible. On our honour as your loyal subjects.”

“I should expect nothing less,” Aedan replied with a grim smile. “We’ll show the Meltaimans why no one crosses the king’s army of Macarinth.”

[Shinko]

Rising Storm Deleted Scene

So, how many of you guys remember Pavlos from Rising Storm? Nobody? Of course, because he was a broom with next to no dialogue. But funnily enough, in an earlier draft of the story Avery and I did give him a backstory and explain how he was formally recruited into the group of spies. We just ultimately opted to cut it because he never got a larger role in the story and it was deemed unneeded. So here it is, the original scene that gives a bit more context to poor, neglected Pavlos.

The Story of Pavlos

SPOILER: Click to show

“Name on this one is ‘Pavlos,’” the clerk said in a bored voice as Ludwik was signing the paperwork for the burly, heavily scarred seventeen year old Valzick. “What marks shall we give him for you?”

“One slash,” Demyan said. They’d all agreed it was safest to start out restrictive with new purchases. “Since he’s already got his age mark, correct?”

“Aye, one slash it is,” the clerk agreed, ignoring the slightly resigned sigh that the Valzick man gave at these words. Once the man was marked, he was shoved forwards, and unlike Ceely didn’t fight or dig his heels in. Instead he looked fixedly down at his own feet, his expression one of bitter resignation.

Unlike had been the case with Ceely and Chryssa, Pavlos was not immediately trusted with the truth. Instead he was kept downstairs in the shop, away from the flat where important issues were discussed-- as well as Chryssa entirely-- and for a few weeks Ceely, Sanel, and Chares made casual efforts to test the man’s temperament, trustworthiness, and resolve. Subtle tactics, however, led nowhere definitive, Pavlos clearly too well trained by his time in Meltaim to dare say much of anything, positive or negative… and with time wasting, after three weeks of nothing the three mages finally granted permission to Chares to attempt broach dodgier waters with a more direct approach. At least that way they’d know, for better or for worse, and if Pavlos proved receptive they could take him into the fold, and if he didn’t they could turn him out to live in the ghetto so that his presence wasn’t a detriment at the shop.

Chares waited until the two of them were alone together, pumping water behind the shop, chattering with Pavlos about inanities for several minutes before he casually slipped into Valzick, his voice light as he said, “So. How long since they took you, Pavlos?”

Pavlos tensed, his dark eyes wary as they darted around. Finally, softly, he replied, “Six years. I was eleven.”

Chares winced in genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry. That must have been rough.” He nodded toward the scars that littered nearly every visible surface of the other teenager’s body. “They’ve not been nice to you here, have they?”

Pavlos didn’t reply at first, his jaw tight. Finally, he dared whisper. “Mum was in the Special Forces. I reckoned I couldn’t let her down. Tried to fight back for… Woo, years. Stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Chares said quickly. “What’s stupid is giving up. In becoming the docile shell they want you to be.” He smiled. “I think it’s impressive. Having spirit like that.”

“Too bad they don’t see it so,” he retorted bitterly. “Just as livestock that doesn’t know its place.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “My sister was getting married. It was just a month away when I was taken. She was so bloody excited.”

“I’m sorry, Pavlos.” Chares swallowed hard. “But… we don’t have to give up, do we? And resign ourselves to being here forever.” Meeting the other teenager’s dark eyes, he said slowly, “What if there was a way to fight back? Would you take it?”

Pavlos didn’t reply at first. His expression was very tired and sad. Finally, he said, “I just… want to be a person again. To see my parents, and my sisters. For my life to matter.” He shook his head. “But what can we do? What the ‘Pit can we even do?”

Chares opened his lips to reply, but before he could, the door that led from the shop into the alley swung abruptly open, and Demyan-- who had, with Chares’s full knowledge but unbeknownst to Pavlos, been using an amplifying spell from the other side of the wall to listen in on the conversation-- stepped out into the bright morning. Pavlos immediately went ashen under his Valzick complexion, the bucket of water dropping from his hands to splash out over his feet.

“M-Master?” he stammered, eyes riveting downwards.

“Pavlos.” Demyan’s voice was gentle. “Come inside with me, would you? Mistress Selah and I need to speak with you.” He nodded toward Chares. “Finish with the water.”

Pavlos, his entire body trembling- though there was no small amount of confusion in his eyes at Demyan’s tone- obediently scuttled into the back room of the shop, his shoulders hunched. As soon as Demyan closed the door, Selah- leaning against the wall nearby- flicked her wand to lock the doors and seal the curtains. Though the back room looked out over the rear alley, not the street, and the shop hadn’t yet opened for the day anyway, there was no such thing as being too careful. Not with something like this.

“We were listening to your conversation with Chares,” Demyan said. “We heard you speaking Valzick, Pavlos.”

The man was shaking even harder now, whites showing all the way around his eyes. “I… I-I…” He ducked his head. “I-I know it’s… forbidden, Master, Mistress. And I m-must be punished. B-b-but please, Ch-Chares, he was… was just telling me that. That I shouldn’t. D-don’t be angry with him, please.”

Selah raised her eyebrows, exchanging a glance with Demyan, and in return he nodded at her. Then, to Pavlos, he said, “We’re not angry. You’re not in trouble, Pavlos. And…” Smoothly, he segued into Valzick. “Chares isn’t in trouble, either. Right, Selah?”

“Certainly not,” she agreed in the same language, a slight smile ticking at her lips as Pavlos gawped. “Considering he was acting on permission from his Arch-Brigadier.”

“A-Arch-Briga… th-that’s… that’s a rank in the S-Special Forces,” Pavlos stammered.

“It is,” Demyan confirmed. “Selah’s rank, in fact. And Master Ludwik and I are colonels-- from Macarinth.”

Pavlos starred, his mouth hanging open. Selah chuckled. “I know this is a shock, Pavlos. But it’s true- Chares and Sanel are soldiers too, in the regular armies of Valzaim and Macarinth respectively. Ceely isn’t- she’s like you, someone who was kidnapped as a child that we bought at an auction. We’re here, pretending to be Meltaiman so that we can spy on our enemies, and liberate as many of our stolen citizens as we can.”

“Y-you… you bought me to… to free me?” Pavlos whispered. “To take me home?”

“We did,” Demyan said. “We’re on a very covert, high-stakes mission. At the end of it, we’ll head home, and take with us as many Valzick and Macarinthian slaves-- and stolen Gods’ Campaign children-- as we can. Including you, Pavlos.”

The teenager shook his head. “I… I…”

Selah smiled sympathetically. “I know this is a lot to take in, Pavlos. And that you’ve been very scared and very alone for a long, long time. But you aren’t anymore. We’re going to help you. And in return, we need you to help us.”

“Help you?” He echoed. “How?”

“We’ve been working to gather information,” Demyan said. “As much as we possibly can, to take back to the kings of Macarith and Valzaim. They’re going to use what we bring to help them decide if they should, ah… take action. Toward Meltaim.”

Understanding kindled in the young man’s eyes. “And blanks are invisible. Nobody pays attention to them. They think they’re s-stupid.”

“Exactly,” Selah agreed, segueing back into Meltaiman. “We will continue to pretend to be Meltaiman apothecaries, and you will continue to pretend to be our slave. As you go about your business, in the ghetto and on the streets, you just need to keep your ears open for anything interesting, and tell us what you hear.” Emphatically she added, “But remember- it is just an act. We will have to pretend to be harsh with you in front of other people, but we will never strike you, never flog you, never leave you bleeding on the floor.”

“So.” Demyan met the teenager’s gaze. “Do you want to help us, Pavlos? If so, we’ll get your privilege mark changed. You can come and go as you please, and for the sake of breathing room, spend nights with Chares and Sanel in their tenement. And then… once this is all over…” He smiled. “We’ll take you home.”

The boy swallowed hard, looking absolutely overwhelmed. But then, he laughed, softly at first, but it bubbled over into near hysterics, tears pouring out of his eyes.

“Woo… Y-yes. I’ll help you.” For the first time since his purchase he met Demyan’s eyes squarely. “I’ll help you.”

[Shinko]

Avery and I finished this story a while ago, but wanted to hold off on it until we were done posting up the Blanks story- this is another story about our dear beloved Broskies, set during the war with Meltaim. Fun times are had!

The Lion's Den

Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

A tremendous boom of thunder startled Ludwig from the reverie of his paperwork, and he glanced over at the window of his office with disdain. The storm was visible in the distance, pounding the mountains beyond the walls of Otylia, but so far in the city itself it was only dark, cloudy, and muggy.

“Even the weather in Meltaim is being passive-aggressive, I swear,” he grumbled, looking over his shoulder to where his partner was rifling through a file drawer. “If the storm is going to break, I wish it just would.”

“I rather like it,” Deacon quipped, the man humming lightly beneath his breath as he pulled out the tightly-rolled parchment scroll he’d been hunting for and tucked it into the pocket of his blue-and-gold army overcoat. “It’s electrifying. A nice buzz in the air.”

“You and your puns,” Ludwig grumbled, though there was a slight uptick at the corner of his lips. “Then maybe you’d like to go run inspections once it finally does start coming down on us. Your hair has always taken to wet weather so wonderfully.”

“Aw, but then I’d get all soggy,” Deacon retorted, grinning as he turned to face his partner. “What’s the point of being a high and mighty general if I have to do grunt work?” He winked at Ludwig, light eyes twinkling. “You do remember, buddy,” he prattled on, “that you and I are in charge of this fine occupation of the illustrious Meltaiman rat hole— er, forgive me, city— of Otylia,right? Appointed by the crown prince Nealen Salomon himself! We have peons for stuff like that!”

“And with every day your fat head gets fatter, I’m sure Prince Nealen regrets that decision more,” Ludwig said. “Here I thought it couldn’t possibly get any bigger than it did when you found out we had a reputation and people were calling us by a nickname.”

“The Foxes.” Deacon beamed. “I love it. I’ve always wanted a rogue, dashing, folk legend nickname.” He laughed, striding toward Ludwig and thumping his partner on the shoulder. “Still crazy to think, huh? The two of us lunks, in charge of the occupation of the second largest Macarinthian-captured city. Trusted confidantes of the royals! Thousands of men under our helm!” He ruffled Ludwig’s dark hair. “Between you and me, my friend, this whole war thing is going far better than I ever anticipated it would.”

Which wasn’t to say it was going perfectly: it had been about four years now since Macarinth had first declared war on its abominable neighbour, Meltaim, and while so far the tides had been running thoroughly in the direction of Macarinth— and its allies Valzaim and Lange— it had not been without complications. The far eastern, northern, and southern parts of the reclusive mage empire were fairly solidly occupied by coalition forces, but the center of the kingdom was still decidedly Meltaiman held. And while Otylia— located in the northern nook of Inbar province— had been captured and under firm but fairly peaceful Macarinthian control for going on six months now, the same idyll could not be found elsewhere along the warfront.

The innards of the provinces of Daire and Scahie were savage, bloody messes. In the north, the provinces of Abital and Lyse were mostly Langean-occupied, but there were patches of their southern bounds where the terrain festered as a persistent conflict zone that seemed to flip-flop almost daily between Meltaiman and Langean control— and had been doing so for going on a year now. And as for the imperial domain of Marjan province, well— Deacon barely liked to think about that. All coalition attempts to make inroads so far had been met with nothing but blood, tears, and ribboning spells. Macarinth alone had lost thousands of men.

As another boom of thunder sounded outside, Deacon let out a sigh. “I don’t know about you, Ludwig,” he told his partner, “but I could use a hearty meal around now. All this paperwork is very tiring.”

“Sure,” the darker haired mage agreed, reaching for a cloth to clean his quill. “Having loads of peons has its perks, but it does mean we see very little action and way, way too many reports. Makes you kind of miss the honest simplicity of Synedonian barbarians.”

“The good old days,” Deacon deadpanned. He rubbed his temples— before whirling sharply at the sound of someone knocking rather insistently against the door. “Oh, great,” the man grumbled under his breath. “Can’t get peace and quiet for five seconds, I swear—” He cleared his throat, a crisp edge of authority creeping into his voice as he called out: “Identify yourself, and for the love of the Woo, stop with that infernal pounding!”

“Colonel Mathers, General, Sir!” a voice called from beyond the door. “Permission to enter?”

Ludwig frowned, setting down his now clean quill and rising to stand with his partner. “Permission granted.”

The door creaked inwards, and a Macarinthian man in his forties strode in, his posture rigid as he snapped to a salute before the bonded partners. Deacon and Ludwig saluted back, Deacon’s eyes narrowed into apprising slits as he studied the officer’s expression. Mathers was generally a calm and collected fellow— a leader, inscrutable— but right now he resembled a private being dressed down in boot camp: his cheeks ruddy, his forehead glistening, his brown-black eyes bugging with fear.

“We have a problem. Sirs,” he bleated as Ludwig and Deacon dropped their salutes. “A… rather strange problem.”

“That’s very specific.” Deacon lifted a blond brow. He stepped forward, boot-heels clicking against the mahogany wood floor; this room had once been a very stately office, belonging to a count who’d fled the city ahead of the Macarinthian conquest, and its finishings were nothing if not luxurious. “Why do you look like you’ve been doing wind sprints?”

“I had to come here from the gate, sirs,” he replied, “and I didn’t want to accidentally run anyone down by galloping a horse through the streets.”

“And what was so dreadfully urgent?” Ludwig asked, a chill of foreboding threading up his spine.

“Someone arrived at the gate earlier,” Mathers explained. “A… a young girl.”

“... And…?” Deacon prompted. He felt like he was prying a splinter out of a flailing child’s delicate hand.

“She was wearing Meltaiman dress,” he elaborated. “But when she spoke, she used fluent, native-taught Macarinthian. And… and she asked for Jaxon Heeren.”

“She asked for who now?” Ludwig demanded sharply, his brown eyes flying wide as his head snapped towards his partner.

Deacon blinked. Had he misheard? He must have misheard— and Woo, Jaxon Heeren was a name he had not thought about in a long time. A very long time. The heir and lord general of Deacon and Ludwig’s home district of Igerna, Jaxon was a charming, confident, and handsome fellow who had nearly gotten Deacon killed once upon a time. Brutally killed. Savagely, viciously, mauled-by-a-snow-leopard killed.

This had, naturally, rather soured Deacon’s view of his future lord… and left him content to lead a life that did not include Jaxon Heeren in any way, shape, or form.

He had vaguely known, of course, that Jaxon— like most able-bodied Macarinthian men— had been pulled into the king’s army since the start of the war, but their paths hadn’t crossed, and Deacon had been perfectly happy with this. Last he’d heard, Jaxon and his brother— and bonded partner— Rohan were leading the occupation of the largest Macarinthian-held city, Coemgein, which was a several day trek or day-long flight atop a hippogriff away from Otylia. Which was also perfectly all right by Deacon. Let Jaxon and Rohan helm their city, and he and Ludwig would helm theirs.

So of all the names a strange child could’ve shown up sputtering at Otylia’s gates…

“How old is she?” Deacon demanded of Mathers. “The girl?”

“I’m not sure, General,” Mathers admitted. “She looks maybe… twelve or thirteen? We tried asking her for more details, but all she’d tell us was that her name was Hannah, she was Macarinthian, and that she was supposed to talk to Jaxon Heeren and it was urgent.”

“Was supposed to?” Ludwig repeated, his shoulders bristling. “And who told her to talk to Lord General Jaxon?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“And you’re sure she’s Macarinthian?” Deacon asked. “A mother-taught speaker?”

“She certainly sounded like one,” Mathers said. “Accent reminded me of the northern regions of the Macarinthian border near to Lange. I asked where she was from, and she said the village of Jardenheim.”

Deacon hadn’t heard of it, but then again, if it were nonexistent that’d be an easy fact to check. And if the girl were a poseur, then why risk such a thing? If she’d made it up, she would be caught outright. And if it did exist but she were lying about it being her home village, all they had to do was find a soldier from Jardenheim and ask him about her. In Macarinth’s smaller villages, everyone knew everyone, or at least of everyone. So if the soldier hadn’t even heard of her name…

“Where is she?” Deacon asked. “You had her brought here to the manor, I presume?”

“Aye, sir,” Mathers confirmed. “She’s downstairs in the foyer with two of our corporals.”

Ludwig looked towards his partner, quirking an eyebrow. “What do you figure?”

Deacon sighed, reaching up to rub at his temple. It’d felt fine before, but suddenly it was throbbing. Woo, never a dull day. He exchanged a brief look with his partner, then with another sigh glanced back to Mathers.

“Have her brought into one of Count Kerenski’s lovely parlours,” he said. “Give her water and some bread, if she likes. Make her comfortable, but keep a guard on her. Ludwig and I will be in to talk to her in a bit.”

Mathers nodded, spinning on his heel and departing from the room. After the door had shut and Ludwig was sure that the colonel’s bootheels were no longer clicking in the hall, he turned towards Deacon. “First impression is that it’s possibly a former campaign child, but… why on earth would she be after Lord General Idiot?”

“Maybe if she were from Igerna, it’d make sense,” Deacon agreed. “But if she’s from a random village in the north…” He shook his head. “I guess there’s only one way to find out, eh? And Woo, here I was thinking we might actually be let alone long enough to enjoy a proper meal. Silly me.”

“You still haven’t learned to expect the unexpected,” Ludwig replied, shaking his head. “Getting lost in the Valzick woods, nearly eaten by snow leopards and pegasi, shipped off to live undercover as a Meltaiman… none of it has dampened your optimism.”

“A boy’s gotta dream, huh?” Deacon joked. But there was a weariness underlying his tone, and as he took another step toward the door, the general once more sighed. “All right, Lud. Let’s go talk to this girl.”

***

With some of the stolen children they’d come across during the war— mostly Valzicks— it was easy to tell with a glance alone that they were not Meltaiman, but with the young girl who presently sat shaking in Count Kerenski’s garden-side parlour, Deacon could draw no such immediate conclusions.

She had no brand on her forehead, so clearly she was a magician, but otherwise it was hard to tell much about her. Her hair was the colour of dull dishwater, and was plaited into two long stalks that framed a tan, freckled face. When she turned to look at Deacon and Ludwig as they quietly entered the room, Deacon saw that her eyes were a light, steely gray— like the sky before a storm, or the polished blade of a sword. If she was indeed twelve or thirteen like Mathers had guessed, then she was small for her age. Her off-white dress practically swallowed her frame; her hands were so tiny that Ludwig could’ve completely covered one with a closed fist.

“You’re not Jaxon Heeren,” she said to them in Macarinthian— indeed sounding mother-taught— as Deacon silently dismissed the corporal who’d been guarding her. “I told the other man— I only want to talk to Jaxon Heeren.”

Ludwig blinked, caught off guard by this immediate assessment and dismissal. “Hello to you too, young miss. I hope you don’t sass all of your elders like that.”

“I’m not sassing.” The girl crossed her arms, lips pursed, silver eyes raking the generals up and down. “But I need to talk to Jaxon Heeren. And you’re not him.”

“Oh?” Deacon asked, face inscrutable as he paced toward the child. She was sitting on one of two plush leather sofas, and although he supposed he could’ve sat on the one opposite her, he deliberately strode past it— and instead plunked down right beside her, with just one measly cushion separating them. As she scooted back, he smiled thinly. “And how, pray tell, do you know that, little one?”

“You don’t have light brown hair and eyes,” she replied. She looked toward Ludwig, who was still standing by the door. “Neither of you do.”

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed a trifle. “Hm. Well honey, you’ll have to forgive us but… things are tense right now, with the war and all. We can’t let just anybody meet our nobility, not right away.”

“Colonel Mathers said your name is Hannah?” Deacon asked before the child could retort again. “What’s your last name, Hannah?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the girl said mildly. “I told you— I’m… I’m only to talk to Jaxon Heeren. Please, if you could just get me—”

“Let me be clear about this, since hinting isn’t helping,” Ludwig cut in, gently but firmly. “We can’t trust you if you don’t trust us. And you aren’t talking to anybody unless you can prove to us you’re trustworthy. Period.”

Hannah whimpered, shutting her eyes. “You don’t understand,” she said. “I can’t talk to you. I have instructions, okay? And I h-h-have to follow them.” Her hand fluttered toward the chest pocket of her dress, lingering there for just a moment before she hastily drew it away.

But that moment was long enough for Deacon. “What’s in your pocket?” he asked her stiffly. ‘Pit, had Mathers not searched her? Blasted idiot. “And please don’t lie to me, Hannah. This isn’t going to work if you’re lying to us.”

“Let us see it, honey,” Ludwig added, falling swiftly into the old habit he and Deacon had developed during their days of running interrogations- one of them being curt and stern, the other reassuring but firm. “You won’t get anywhere putting us off this way.”

“But—”

“No, Hannah.” Deacon slid forward on the cushion, toward the child; she tried to back away but had nowhere left to go. “Give us what’s in your pocket, or I’ll have to take it from you. Do you understand me, young lady?”

The little girl sniffled. “You don’t understand.”

“Hannah.” Deacon reached slowly, deliberately toward her— not touching her, not yet, but from the way she flinched he might as well have slapped her.

“Okay!” she bleated, hand jumping almost protectively to her pocket. “Okay, fine. Fine! It’s a note. It’s just a note, okay? Nothing bad. Just a note.” Hastily she added, “It’s in Meltaiman. You won’t be able to read it.”

“Actually we would,” Ludwig replied, segueing into flawless Meltaiman. “And you have to understand how bad that looks, Hannah. For you to be following Meltaiman instructions.” Switching back to Macarinthian, he went on, “We can’t take chances. Especially not with people as important as our nobles.”

“I… I don’t want to have to follow their instructions,” Hannah said— not quite apologetically, but mournfully, at least. “But I have to.” Her throat quavering, she gingerly reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, tightly wound scroll of parchment. As she reluctantly held it out toward Deacon, she added in the enemy’s tongue: “W-why can you speak Meltaiman?”

“It’s a long story, Hannah.” Deacon took the note. “It’s… been a long war.”

“Four years,” the girl said, switching back into Macarinthian. She drew her knees up to her chest, averting her gaze as Deacon began to carefully unroll the parchment. “I’ve lived here longer now than I lived at home.”

“Your Macarinthian is still very good, at least,” Deacon told her.

Hannah shrugged. “I know,” she said simply. “I got lucky.”

“Lucky how?” Ludwig asked gently, as he waited for his partner to scan the contents of the scroll.

Hannah only shrugged again, and Deacon sighed. “Funny little note here,” he commented as he began to skim it. As Hannah had said, it was penned in Meltaiman— but it might as well have been Langean, for he could scarcely make sense of what it said. “Lord General Jaxon Heeren,” he rattled off. “Brown hair, brown eyes. Tall. Middle aged. One month. No longer. Bianka and Ignacy Sierzant. Public severing. Dominik. Only Jaxon Heeren.” He looked back toward Hannah. “What does…?”

She puckered her lips, poker-faced. “Can I have my note back?” she asked.

“Sierzant,” Ludwig rolled the name around on his tongue. “That name sounds familiar. Where have I heard it before?”

“I don’t know,” Deacon said. “But you’re right— it is familiar.” He stared Hannah straight on, little humour etching his expression. “You may not have your note back,” he told the child. “And I’m not playing games with you, young lady. Who wrote this? And why?”

“I can’t tell you,” Hannah said. “But I’ll tell Jaxon Heeren.”

“That’s very nice, little one, but you are not going to get to speak with Jaxon Heeren,” Deacon snapped back quickly. “Not unless we get a whole slew of better answers out of you first. Now, I’ll ask you again: who wrote this, and why?”

“And why are they so determined that you speak to the heir of Igerna district?” Ludwig added. “The Heerens border Synedon. They have no connections to Meltaim.”

“Maybe they don’t know about the connections,” Hannah said. “But… they do have them. In a way. And… and…” The girl fidgeted, burying her face against her scrunched-up knees. “Please,” she murmured into the fabric of her dress. Her voice cracked; Woo, was she crying? “Please, I need to talk to him.”

“Why, Hannah?” Deacon prodded.

“Because!” Yes, she was definitely crying now. “Because they’ll kill them if I don’t! Because I have to follow the instructions, I have to, and Jaxon is the o-o-only one who they c-can be sure will— will— want to follow them, and—!”

Ludwig bit his lip, part of him wanting to comfort the child but knowing that he had to stay professional. He rubbed his face, looking towards his partner and addressing him not in Meltaiman or Macarinthian, but Valzick. “What do we do? She’s not cracking, but the Meltaimans obviously have an angle.”

“First, while I don’t think she’s lying, I want to verify that she’s actually Macarinthian,” Deacon replied, eyes still cast on the note as he reread it a second time, then a third. “Then… if she is…” He sighed, debating with himself. “I’d feel better consulting above our heads, Ludwig. This is just… strange. So very, very strange. I don’t feel comfortable making a decision either way.”

Ludwig bit his lip. “There’s only one person above us who is nearby enough to make it here with any speed, Deacon.”

“I know.” Deacon let out a gusty breath. “And I hardly want to bother him. But… Lud, we’ve been out in the field for what now, two years?” They’d spent the first two of the war stationed at home in Igerna, heading the draft for the eastern half of Macarinth. “And this is— without a doubt— the strangest thing we’ve come across. He needs to be told. Consulted. Before we make any huge decision we might come to regret. Especially since… ‘Pit, I think I remember where that name is from, Ludwig. Sierzant.”

“Oh?” Ludwig prompted, feeling a slither in his stomach at the look of dawning horror on his partner’s face.

“It’s the surname of a margrave,” Deacon replied. “The margrave of Abital, in the north. Zofia Sierzant. The Langeans have had her city occupied— and the margrave herself under house arrest— for nearly a year. Who Bianka and Ignacy are, I haven’t a clue. But the surname… it’s the margave’s, I have no doubt.”

The darker haired Macarinthian swore under his breath. “Something to do with the Margrave of Abital… and Jaxon. This makes no sense…” he turned back to the child. “Listen, honey. We need to ask you a few questions, okay? Then… we need to talk to someone higher up. About Jaxon. Because we just don’t have the authority to give you an audience with him.”

“You’ve got lots of pins and medals,” Hannah murmured, dredging her tear-streaked face out from between her knees. “M-more than my papa ever did. And… h-he was an officer, you know. A commandant. So you must be… be…”

“Everyone answers to somebody else, Hannah,” Deacon said. “And before my partner and I approach our superior officer… I just want to verify a few things, okay? About you.”

“L-like… like what?” Hannah croaked.

Here, the blond general managed a small, crooked smile. “You told Colonel Mathers you were from Jardenheim. What’s it like there?”

“Cold.” Hannah shrugged. “Most people farm sheep. And barley.”

“Do you remember what the favorite Macarinthian snack is to eat at inns and taverns?” Ludwig asked in his turn. “Some people make it at home too, but not very well.”

Hannah knit her brow, confusing seeping across her face. When the partners had said they had questions for her, clearly this wasn’t what the little girl had expected. “... Party bread?” she asked. “I don’t understand, what does…”

Deacon managed a small laugh. “It’s all right, Hannah.” A beat. “You’re all right.” He doubted a Meltaiman impostor could’ve sprung an accurate answer at all, let alone so quickly. “A couple more questions, then you can get some rest, okay?”

“... O-okay. I… I guess…?”

“What’s your favourite day of Woomas?” Deacon asked. Another arbitrary question that any Macarinthian child would be able to hastily cobble a reply to. “And why?”

“Breaking the s-sugar fast.” Hannah still seemed immensely confused. “Because, well… I-I don’t know, I just— I like it, I…”

Ludwig grinned. “Aye, my son would say the same. Where do knights in Macarinth receive training?”

“Knights?” Hannah sniveled. “Do you m-mean the militiamen…?”

“Caught me,” Ludwig noted, his smile widening. Unlike Valzaim and Meltaim, Macarinth didn’t have a system of knighthood. “Last question for now- what magic do women learn that men don’t?”

“Healing,” she said without skipping a beat. “‘Cos…. b-boys learn war magic for the military. And g-girls… girls…” Her voice trailed off, and she buried her face back into her knees. “How l-long is it going to be?” she whispered. “Before I can talk to J-Jaxon Heeren.”

“I don’t know, Hannah,” Deacon said honestly. “But… you’ll be kept comfortably, all right? A nice bed, hot food— I can even have a bath drawn for you. If you’d like.”

“And-” Ludwig put in, “if you can tell us your surname, we can try to contact your family for you. If you want.”

“Abreu,” Hannah said. “B-but… I don’t know if you’ll find anybody. Mama died when I was t-taken. And Papa…” She hiccupped into the folds of her skirt. “It’s b-been a long war,” the girl finished simply.

“I know,” Ludwig said softly. “But… we can try at least. We will, I promise. I don’t know what you’ve ended up caught up in, but we’ll do our best for you, okay honey?”

“O-okay,” Hannah said softly. Then, again, so miserably that Deacon and Ludwig could practically feel her anguish: “Just… l-let me talk to Jaxon. Please.”

“We’ll do our best, Hannah,” Deacon replied simply. “I promise, we’ll do our best.”

Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

As full-fledged generals, there were very, very few people in the King’s Army who outranked Deacon and Ludwig. Mostly they had subordinates, and then a few select peers— like the Sun Dragons, Conrad Norling and Valance Taylors, or, ironically, Jaxon Heeren and his brother, Rohan, who’d been immediately vaulted into generalships after being filched from their posts in their father’s militia.

Prince Nealen Salomon, however, most assuredly outranked them all.

Technically his military rank was prince marshal, second in standing only to his father, the king marshal Aedan. But while his father oversaw the war effort from safely at home in Adara, Nealen had spent most of the past four years roving amongst the active front— flitting from occupation to occupation like a pollen-drunken honeybee, never staying one place long, his movements left largely unannounced and unpredictable so as to better protect him from any nefarious attempts on the Meltaimans’ part. Even Deacon and Ludwig were kept strictly on a need-to-know basis; when the prince’s agenda corresponded with theirs, they were informed of his whereabouts and actions. When it wasn’t, they weren’t.

Thank the Woo, Deacon thought shortly after their conversation with the sniveling Hannah, that we are presently clued in on his location, and he’s not off spelunking Woo-knows-how-far from here. In fact, the prince was presently located very, very nearby— not in the city of Otylia itself, but stationed at a camp less than a day’s ride outside its walls, where he was rendezvousing with a Valzick general whose forces were about to make a grab for Inbar’s third largest city, Woden. It was the only major Inbarian town that had yet to fall to Valzick or Macarinthian hands.

“What colour message ought we send him?” Deacon mulled aloud as he paced around Count Kerenski’s mahogany-floored office about half an hour after they’d left Hannah under the watchful eyes of two baby-faced corporals. “Red might scare him. But anything else seems… rather less urgent than I’d like to convey.”

Ludwig mulled. “The note said ‘only a month.’ I assume that’s some sort of time limit. We really should have asked Hannah how long she’s been en route. Maybe… err on the side of caution and go with yellow- priority, but not a dire emergency. Something is definitely odd here but it isn’t as if there is an immediately impending attack.”

“Yellow,” Deacon echoed with a nod. “All right.” He massaged his throbbing temple. “I doubt she was on the road long, at least. Hannah. She’s too young— somebody would have stopped her. Not,” he added, “that such a thing is particularly reassuring given that she was seemingly sent by Meltaiman forces, and I’d like to think this area is fairly secured and the Meltaiman military beaten thoroughly back, but…” He shook his head. “She’s Macarinthian, Lud— very clearly Macarintian. But… something’s off with her, isn’t it? I’m not sure what, but Woo, there’s something.”

“She has her teeth on a secret,” Ludwig agreed. “And… she’s so old, Deek. All the other campaign children were practically Meltaiman by her age. Indifferent to us at best, spitting insults at worst. But her spirit still seems to be wholly Macarinthian.”

“Not to mention, it just makes no cursed sense,” Deacon said. “The war’s been going on four years— she said she’s spent over half her life here, so that means she was taken well before. Where are her adoptive parents? Meltaimans are protective over their children— I cannot imagine them allowing her to be used like this. To be sent to a Macarinthian-occupied city as some kind of bait.”

“‘I got lucky.’ That’s what she said.” Ludwig frowned deeply. “Just what on earth did she mean by that?”

“I have no earthly clue,” Deacon said. “But… we’ll see what Nealen has to say. What he thinks.” He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek, deliberating. “In the meantime, those names. Ignacy and Bianka Sierzant. We’ve still got some prisoners being held over in the former courthouse, don’t we? Those cousins of Count Kerenski who didn’t flee quite fast enough?”

“Mm,” Ludwig nodded. “You thinking we should pick their brains?”

“Nobles know other nobles.” Deacon shrugged. “See if we can’t get them talking. They’ve spent six months stuffed into a windowless cell— give them some nice blankets or a cushion to sleep on, and I’m sure they’ll sing. And if not…” He smiled grimly. “Well, we can always use other means. In any case, I’d like to at least have that mystery solved before Prince Nealen gets here. So we’re not presenting him with a puzzle that has zero pieces clicked together.”

“Alright- we’ll go have a word with them.” As he spoke, a dull patter began to sound on the roof overhead, and a sigh escaped Ludwig’s lips. “Timing.”

“I don’t even have the heart to make a pun right now,” Deacon said dryly. Then: “Ahh, who am I kidding? When it rains, it p—”

He was stopped from finishing when his partner punched him in the arm. Deacon laughed.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled. “No puns.” He turned toward the count’s behemoth writing desk. “Now… shall you write the letter, or should I?”

***

Otylia was very securely held, but with their crown prince, the Macarinthians took no chances: while Nealen didn’t travel so grandly as to attract undue attention, he nevertheless moved with a heavy security detail— mostly men picked from home whom he’d known for years if not decades, and who’d sworn their lives to protecting the crown prince from harm. Deacon had always found such sentries rather unnerving. He was pretty sure they’d have him in a chokehold on the floor if he so much as blinked at his future sovereign wrong.

At least Nealen had come quickly, arriving to Count Kerenski’s manor but three days after Deacon and Ludwig had sent him their yellow-coded note. It had only been a few weeks since their last encounter, and when the pair greeted Nealen in the villa’s cobblestone courtyard, the crown prince looked a mixture of resigned and darkly amused.

“You boys seem to attract trouble,” he noted cooly. “Can’t leave you unattended for a fortnight, can I?”

Ludwig bowed deeply. “Apologies, sire. I assure you, it isn’t intentional.”

Matching his partner’s bow, Deacon swallowed hard. “I… do hope the Valzick general wasn’t too put off by your abrupt departure, my liege?”

“I left orders for Norling and Taylors to meet him as he nears the battle front,” the prince replied. “It was sufficient to keep him from taking affront. That said, I do hope this proves as important as you hinted. Have you managed to learn anything new since you wrote me?”

“A bit,” said Deacon, scrambling to fall in step behind Nealen as the prince and his retinue started toward the manor doors. “The two names on Hannah Abreu’s note— Ignacy and Bianka Sierzant. We learned who they are, sire. Which… frankly opens up more questions than it answers, but…”

“But?” Nealen prompted.

“They’re Margrave Zofia’s children,” Ludwig said, resisting the urge to run a nervous hand through his hair. “The heir-apparents to her title. And, according to the prisoners we asked, grandniece and nephew to the emperor.”

Nealen’s silver-blue eyes widened, and he stopped near dead in his tracks, so that his shadows had to hurriedly backpedal not to plow into him from behind. “What… what did you say?”

“Their father’s name is Lord Henryk,” Deacon said, a sour taste rising in his throat. “He’s the emperor’s nephew. As far as our helpful little songbirds told us, he’s Sebellius’s favourite nephew— raised in the court, a prince in everything but title. The prisoners didn’t know a whole lot else. Other than that they’re pretty sure Ignacy and Bianka are still fairly young— far too young to be involved in the Meltaiman military. Which I suppose only makes Hannah’s note all the more puzzling.”

“No,” Nealan said darkly. “It makes the situation very, very grim.”

Ludwig blinked in surprise, his expression uneasy. “Why do you say that, sire?”

The prince turned back to face the bonded partners. “Because Lord Henryk’s children were sent from Abital early on in the war to be held in safety by the emperor. Sent by sea- and the ship was intercepted by the Valzick navy.”

Deacon swore. “They’re hostages?” he asked, adding quickly: “... My prince.”

“They are,” Nealen agreed. “In the care of a fort under the command of Prince Theron of Valzaim himself, last I had heard. As we understand it, there are very, very few people in this world that Emperor Sebellius would do just about anything to protect- those children rank among that number.”

“I still don’t understand, though,” Deacon said, “how in the ‘Pit Lord General Jaxon figures into this. What could he have to do with Valzick-held hostages? Why would Meltaim seemingly instruct Hannah to talk only to him?”

“That I don’t know,” Nealen replied, his expression dark. “But knowing Sebellius Srebro, it bodes very ill for us. He never does anything for just one reason, and he is abominably clever and manipulative.”

“So… I suppose you’ll want to speak to the girl, then?” Ludwig asked. The prince nodded firmly.

“I need to try to get her to part with the information she’s concealing. If she only wants Jaxon to know, there must be a reason for that.”

“I warn you in advance, sire,” Deacon said, “she’s… not the most cooperative. Surly, especially for a girlchild. And she’s hiding a host of things. I’d stake my life on it.”

“I’ve a host of my own children,” the prince replied, unperturbed. “I daresay I can manage. The worst that happens is we’re back to square one.”

“Of course, my prince,” Deacon replied. “I meant not to imply anything of your abilities. Forgive me.” He gulped. “I’ll have her brought to speak to you just as soon as you’ve rested up from the road.”

***

“You’re not Jaxon Heeren,” Hannah huffed an hour later, bristling like a slighted cat as Deacon and Ludwig steered her into the parlour that Nealen had selected for their conversation. “You’re not Jaxon Heeren at all.”

“Hannah.” Deacon winced, bowing his head in something between mortification and aggravation as he firmly planted Hannah on one of the high-backed armchairs. “My apologies, sire,” he said to Nealen. “As I said, she’s… well…”

“Willful,” Nealen supplied- he was sitting in the chair opposite the girl, one brow raised. “Mm. Young miss, you are right- I’m not Jaxon Heeren. My name is Nealen Salomon.”

If she recognized the name of her future king, Hannah didn’t show it. As Deacon and Ludwig once more cringed at her tone, the child whined, “Well, you’re not Jaxon. I’m not talking to anyone but Jaxon.” Her gaze whipped up toward the pair-bonded mages. “It’s been days. I need to talk to Jaxon - not random others you drag in!”

The prince, fortunately, only laughed at this outburst. “Random, hm?” He leaned forwards, resting his chin on his hands. “Let this ‘random’ person tell you a few things, dear. First off-” he sobered. “I don’t like your tone. I won’t be spoken to like that, especially not by a girlchild.”

“I need to speak to Jaxon.” Hannah blinked, tears pressing at her silver eyes.

Deacon resisted the urge to cuff her. “Hannah,” he admonished again. “Please—”

Nealen waved a hand, cutting Deacon off. “You want to talk to Jaxon? I can bring him here. You see, that’s the second thing I wanted to tell you. I am not just Nealen Salomon. I am Crown Prince Nealen Salomon. King Aedan is my father.”

This gave Hannah pause. “I don’t believe you,” she half-accused, half-sniffled. She looked back to Deacon and Ludwig. “You won’t even bring me Jaxon Heeren. W-why would you bring me the crown prince instead?”

Ludwig frowned deeply. “Who else to summon a lord than a royal, Hannah? Lord Jaxon doesn’t answer to us.”

“And besides,” Nealen pressed on, “some of the things you’ve said are of… very important concern for Macarinth. Margrave Zofia Sierzant’s children, for example. What do you have to do with them?”

“Nothing,” Hannah said, averting her gaze. “I don’t know them.”

“Their names were in your note, Hannah,” Deacon said.

“That doesn’t mean I know them,” Hannah retorted. She crossed her legs, so that her feet dangled over the edge of the chair. “I… only know their names.”

“So you don’t know why their names were written down on that note you had?” Nealen pressed.

“Or what they have to do with Lord Jaxon?” Ludwig added.

“I didn’t say that,” Hannah murmured. The girl paused for a moment, silent— before a look anew slid across her face. Something furtive, hesitant, calculating. “You’re the prince of Macarinth,” she said finally, silver eyes listing back toward Nealen. “So you… know things. Cl-classified things.”

“Some,” he agreed, his expression unreadable. “Why?”

“Because.” The child pursed her lips. “You’d know, then. About unit four.”

Deacon blinked. “Unit four…?”

Nealen frowned in confusion for a moment- before a spark of understanding lit in his eyes. “How did you…”

“Maybe you understand, th-then,” Hannah said. “Why I need to talk to Jaxon Heeren.”

Deacon was confused. Severely confused. “My prince…?” he asked.

“It was need to know,” Nealen said, glancing up at Deacon and Ludwig with an expression that seemed, of all things, apologetic. “And you didn’t need to know. Even if you were in unit one.”

As the gears churned in Deacon and Ludwig’s heads, Hannah’s jaw chattered. “They’re a-alive, you know,” she said to Nealen. “Some of them. B-but they won’t be. Not anymore. Not unless…” She raked a hand through her long, frizzy hair. “Let me talk to Jaxon. Please.”

“...They saved you,” Nealen said. It was not a question. “You’ve been with them all this time. That’s why you weren’t brainwashed like the others. Why you’re still Macarinthian.”

“...Deacon,” Ludwig murmured, his eyes going wide. “The mission. The espionage mission. To save the abducted children. Didn’t Bakalis say there were three other units?”

Deacon cursed— more loudly than he supposed he should have in front of a child, not to mention the crown prince of Macarinth— and couldn’t keep his jaw from falling open. Their mission. Their Woo-blasted mission, back before the war: when he and Ludwig had been sent into Meltaim as part of a small unit to collect intelligence… and operatives. Macarinthian and Valzick non-mages who’d been stolen as slaves, and magician children who’d been abducted as part of the Gods’ Campaigns. They hadn’t ever met any of the other units, but still, it had been made clear: there were other units. Three other units.

One, two, three.

Four.

“Damara died,” Hannah said now, voice wavering. “She got s-sick. Really, really sick. Way before th-the extraction date. I was little then. Just… just six, almost seven. Th-the others kept me away from her, so I wouldn’t catch whatever she had. They tried everything. P-potions, tonics, spells. They even brought in— hired— a-actual Meltaiman healers. But…”

“I see,” Nealen murmured. “And Hesiod? Damara’s brother?”

“I don’t know.” Hannah gulped. “Maybe he’s alive. Maybe not. I… I just don’t know.” She shut her eyes, tears welling; this time the child couldn’t hold them back. “Zacheus and Ancel are dead. But I don’t know about Hesiod.”

Deacon and Ludwig knew none of these names, but they didn’t have to in order to understand the broad strokes of the child and the prince’s conversation: these were the spies of unit four. One of the other covert groups that had been sent incognito into Meltaim. Except it seemed— unlike with their own unit— that things with unit four had not gone according to plan. Not nearly according to plan.

’Pit, Deacon thought, his stomach churning like a hurricane-battered sea. Why were we never told!? And worse— what in the hells did this have to do with Jaxon Heeren?

“Unit four was lost, wasn’t it?” the blond mage asked Nealen, trying not to let anger seep into his tone. “They never came back. They were written off as killed in action. Years ago. Over four years ago.”

Nealen sighed, rubbing his face. “Yes. We told you all that would be the assumption if you failed to make your deadlines. That we didn’t have the resources to risk searching if one of the units didn’t make it out. It’s not something any of us were happy about. Not something that was easy to talk to their families about- dead, but without bodies to bury or a clear explanation of what had happened. But…”

“But some of them are alive,” Ludwig said. “Aren’t they? Those names- Damara, Hesiod, and Zacheus are all Valzick names, but Ancel is only one of at least three Macarinthian operatives. The other two are still alive.”

“For now,” Hannah whimpered. “But they’ll b-be killed. If we d-don’t… don’t…”

Suddenly, the contents of the Hannah’s note came into view in Deacon’s mind’s eye. Bianka and Ignacy Sierzant. One month. Public severing.

Severing.

Severing..

Deacon abruptly felt very, very sick. “The Meltaimans have the pair bonded mages from unit four,” he breathed, at once knowing it was true and wishing desperately that it weren’t. “And… unless we give them back Bianka and Ignacy Sierzant, they’re going to… to…”

Hannah— whose composure had already been wavering— let out a wet, ugly sob. “Th-they want th-the terms of the deal given to Jaxon because they know he’ll th-throw a fit and demand that Macarinth cooperates. Th-they’re afraid that… that someone else might not cooperate. Might d-decide it’s not worth it. Tr-try to just sweep it under the rug. But Lord General J-Jaxon, he’d… he’d…”

“Cooperate?” Deacon echoed. “But why would he cooperate, why would…”

“...Deacon, oh ‘Pit, Deacon.” Ludwig went pale as milk. “Do you remember when we served for a while on the border with Lyell? They were there. They’d switched service from the Igerna militia to the king’s army because of Lord Quincy's nepotism getting them promoted too young. Archer. Verrill.”

“No,” Deacon breathed.

This couldn’t be. Archer and Verrill Heeren— pair-bonded mages and the younger cousins of Jaxon and Rohan Heeren. Deacon had always liked the two far, far better than their kinsmen. They were mild for nobles. Even pleasant. Self-aware and humble in a way that Rohan and Jaxon weren’t. And what Ludwig said was true: although the first time they’d met Archer and Verrill the two had been in the service of their uncle’s militia, Deacon knew they’d later transferred out. Into the king’s army. The same king’s army that had decided to send at least four sets of pair-bonded, high-ranking operatives into the bowels of Meltaim as spies.

“The Meltaimans are going to kill them,” Hannah wailed. “If we don’t d-do what they want.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Deacon murmured, his head spinning. To Nealen, he forced out, “Why Archer and Verrill Heeren? Ludwig and me, all right, but why would you have sent noble-blooded men, why—”

“Who else would have the sorts of close connections we needed with members of the Special Forces?” Nealen demanded testily, his shoulders hitched. “At the time of the mission, very few soldiers were left in the service who participated in the joint training program at Fort Pelagia, and most of them never interacted with Valzaim again. But Archer and Verrill were very good friends with the twin cousins of a bishop on the Synedon border, and had worked with them regularly to deal with dissidents there. And Archer was already conversational in Meltaiman.”

“They’re noblemen,” Ludwig pressed, his jaw clenched. “How could you have handed the Meltaimans such high-profile hostages?”

“General, you forget yourself,” Nealen snapped, lurching to his feet.

Usually Ludwig and Deacon would’ve immediately quailed at such an admonishment, but maybe Deacon had forgotten himself, because all he could manage was a stark: “If Hannah’s to be believed, then the Meltaimans now have themselves a pair of Macarinthian noblemen hostages, who likely hold a well of intelligence we’d rather the enemy not learn, and whose soul-bond they plan to publically sever - an act that will probably kill them - if we don’t release some of the coalition’s highest-value hostages. I think our indignation is rather well placed, Prince Marshal!”

Nealen didn’t reply immediately, his face radiating fury. Finally, he gritted his teeth and said, “I shall send for Lord-General Jaxon. If I do that, then we will hopefully get the full scope of this from Hannah.” He gave an explosive sigh, the tension seeming to go out of him. “Look- I was not on the committee that decided who would or would not go into Meltaim. Nor did I like having to leave good men abandoned in enemy territory. But there was little we could do- and nothing to be done now about what is already past. Rein yourselves in, Generals; I expect the girl will need the men who rescued my cousin and won her trust more than the flippant officers snarling over things that cannot be changed.”

As Hannah snuffled again, Deacon’s stomach twisted. “Jaxon is in Coemgein, no? It’ll take him a few days to get here, at minimum.”

“Hannah,” Ludwig murmured. “Your letter said ‘a month.’ How long is there left now?”

“Th-three weeks,” the girl whimpered. “Maybe a bit more. Or less. I-I don’t know.” She pressed her head against her hands. “Th-they’ve taken care of me a-almost half my life,” she choked out. “I love them. I can’t lose them. I can’t, okay? I can’t.”

“We have some time,” Nealen said. “I’ll have Jaxon sent at haste by hippogriff. And… we’ll do what we can, Hannah. But this isn’t all up to me.”

Ludwig scowled. “I wouldn’t put it past Jaxon to strangle Prince Theron himself if need be. He’s stubborn. And he has a temper.”

“Before the Meltaiman s-sent me off with the note, P-Papa told me Jaxon w-won’t just let him die,” Hannah said. “That he’s got… got fight in him. That he’ll do w-whatever it takes.”

“Papa…?” Deacon asked.

“Archer.” Hannah shut her eyes. “S-sorry. I just… I’ve been… they’ve been…”

“It’s alright, Hannah.” Ludwig put a hand on the child’s shoulder. “I understand. Archer and Verrill have been taking care of you since they were trapped in Meltaim- it’s perfectly understandable.” He glowered at Nealen. “Call for Jaxon, sire. General Azrael and I will tend to the child. Won’t we, Deek?”

“She’ll be safe here,” Deacon agreed. “Until Jaxon can get here— and after, too. ‘Til we can get her back home to Macarinth.”

“I’m n-not going without them,” Hannah insisted. “I d-don’t know if my birth papa’s alive still, or not, but… I’m not going without Archer and Verrill. I won’t.”

Nealen sighed, running a hand through his rust-red curls. “Right. I suppose I’d best get to writing up that summons. And once you’re done with Hannah, you had best prepare for more guests. Where Jaxon goes, after all, Lord General Rohan is never far behind.”

Deacon scowled— he still didn’t like how the king’s army insisted on bonded partners holding the same title, and had chosen to bestow a general ranking upon both Jaxon and Rohan when they’re been plucked up. Still, he supposed to had bigger worries to stew over now. Far loftier than old grudges and personal contempt.

“Of course, my liege,” he said to Nealen, bowing his head. “We’ll see to it. Although the circumstances are far from desirable, it’s… always a pleasure to host old friends.”

Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

A little over a day later, the hippogriffs bearing the Heerens and their retinue touched down in the courtyard of Count Kerenski’s manor. From the patent confusion on both Jaxon and Rohan’s faces, it was clear that Nealen had elected not to furnish them with much information- instead leaving it to Hannah to tell her story from the beginning, to get the most complete picture possible.

Though Jaxon was much the same as he had been when last Deacon and Ludwig had seen him- albeit older- it was clear that Rohan had not fared so fortunately. His right eye was missing, a large scar all that remained of it, and there was a great deal of scarring visible elsewhere on his face and neck- tokens of a mauling by his family’s own pegasi. Deacon would have felt bad for the man had the scarring not been his own fault, and had he, Deacon, not sported his own scars, also Rohan and Jaxon’s fault and also courtesy of one of House Heeren’s captive beasts. And in any case, despite his disfigurements, in attitude Rohan seemed little worse for the wear, walking with as much outward confidence as his brother as Nealen led them to the parlor where Hannah was waiting for them.

Once they crossed the threshold, Hannah straightened in her chair, silver eyes lancing toward the strangers— and a look of hope unfurling across her face as she studied them. Jaxon and Rohan were hardly identical to Archer and Verrill, but the familial resemblance was palpable, and if Hannah knew the men’s cousins as well as she said she did, then there was no way she’d be able to miss it.

“Lord G-General Jaxon,” she croaked, bowing her head. “And… Lord Brigadier R-Rohan.”

Rohan quirked the brow of his undamaged eye. “I’m Lord General now as well, actually,” he corrected, though not unkindly. “And, you are, young Miss?”

“Hannah,” she murmured. “I’m… Hannah. And I’ve… b-been waiting to talk to you. For a-almost a week.”

“Four days is not ‘almost a week’,” Deacon pointed out lightly. “And they’re here now, Hannah. That’s what matters, right?”

“To be fair, four days is more than half of a week, so— the little miss isn’t too far off,” Jaxon quipped, leveling Deacon a somewhat withering look. To Hannah, he narrowed his honey-brown eyes. “I do wonder, however,” he told the child, “why you’re apparently so desperate to talk to me, little one. I don’t think we’ve met, have we? And your accent is not Igernan.”

“We haven’t met,” Hannah said. “But… I know people you know. P-people you… you love.”

Rohan looked entirely baffled. “You know… people we know and love? What do you mean, honey? Who do you know?”

“Your cousins,” the child rasped, fidgeting uncomfortably in her seat. “Archer a-and Verrill.”

Jaxon went pale as snow. “I’m sorry,” he said to her, “but… I don’t understand, little one. Archer and Verrill? Those were my cousins. But… they’re… they…” He swallowed back the wave of emotion that had begun to crest inside of him. “They passed away,” he finished. “Several years ago.”

“No, Lord General, apparently they didn’t,” Ludwig put in quietly. “Did you or Lord Quincy ever wonder how Deacon and I came to be in charge of the eastern draft?”

“Not particularly.” Jaxon shrugged. “Those first few months of the war were… a blur, honestly. I had much larger things on my mind than you two.”

Deacon bit back a scowl; of course Jaxon would still be a prat, even after all this time. “The war didn’t come about at the blink of an eye,” he told the lord general. “Nor did my and Ludwig’s sudden vault through the ranks. There was intel beforehand.” A beat. “Spying.”

“Let’s not be coy, gentlemen,” Nealen said with a heavy sigh. “Lords Heeren- your cousins, as well as Generals Azrael and Benigno, were both among many individuals selected for a deeply covert mission cooperated on between Valzaim and Macarinth. A mission to infiltrate and spy in Meltaim, to gather intelligence for the coming war.”

“But…” Jaxon looked thoroughly flummoxed. “No. They… were killed in action along the Synedonese border. A conflict with a warlord—one of the tribes who burns their kills—”

“The missions… were highly confidential,” Nealen said, wincing. “When the unit that your cousins were assigned to never returned, we had no way of trying to find them- no way of knowing if they were alive or dead. They were declared legally KIA, and… we had to come up with a story.”

“You… you lied?” Rohan hissed. “Archer and Verrill died on some mission in Meltaim that we were never even informed they were on, and you had the infernal gal to lie to us about it?”

Before Nealen could reply, Hannah whimpered loudly. “They’re not dead,” she croaked. “They never died.”

“What?” Jaxon’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. “I don’t understand, I…”

“I think,” Nealen said softly, “that you need to tell us the whole story now, Miss Hannah. Of what happened to Unit Four and why Archer and Verrill Heeren never returned to Macarinth if they have been alive all this time.”

For a moment, Hannah said— did— nothing. Then, her breath hitching, the girl gave a small, trembling nod. “They t-took me in early,” she murmured. “N-not long after they got here. I was at a church. I’d b-been there since the Meltaimans took me, I was… a-angry and I’d fight the cl-clerics and…” Her teeth chattered, and she fought to still the shaking. “No one wanted to adopt me because of it. But then Archer and D-Damara came.”

“Damara…?” Jaxon said.

“One of the other operatives,” Deacon supplied. At least, that was the conclusion he’d drawn so far; he looked to Hannah to confirm: “Valzick, yes?”

“Uh-huh,” Hannah said. “They… were pl-playing at being a married couple. That was their… cover, I guess. And… they weren’t going by their real names then. They had Meltaiman ones. And they gave me a Meltaiman one, too.” She shuddered hard. “They a-adopted me. I didn’t know they were spies at first. I was s-so mad. I fought them. Yelled at them. The priests thought they were cr-crazy for taking me anyway.”

“So they didn’t rescue you at the end, like we were ordered,” Ludwig said, understanding dawning. “They took the opportunity to adopt you legally from the church. Like we were legally buying blank spies from Valzaim and Macarinth.”

Rohan was trembling; his teeth were chattering. “Woo. Woo. So… so then…?”

“They told me w-who they were. Not their real names, but… that they were spies.” Hannah wiped her eyes. “So I’d stop fighting, I guess. Damara and Archer and Verrill were living at their shop. They… had a shop. Selling incense and herbs and…” The child shook her head, clearly realising this wasn’t relevant. “Damara’s brother lived down the road. And… I don’t know. They d-did their mission, I guess. It’s not like I was… involved in any spying. Or buying m-more spies, or… anything like that. I was barely allowed to go outside. Or talk to people. They were t-terrified I’d slip up and ruin everything.”

“But you… were supposed to come back, no?” Jaxon prodded. “A mission like that, you should’ve come back. Why didn’t you come back?”

“Damara died,” Hannah stammered. “It g-got complicated after that. Her brother was a wr-wreck and he… I don’t know, but he…”

Nealen tensed, eyes flashing with fury. “You told us before you didn’t know if Hesiod was alive or dead. You don’t know because he wasn’t there when you tried to pull out, was he? He abandoned the mission midway.”

Ludwig went white as a sheet, shooting a look towards his partner— who looked just as horrified. Hannah, meanwhile, fidgeted with the folds of her skirt, lip bit so hard it was a wonder she hadn’t drawn blood.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said. “B-but… a few weeks after Damara died, I woke up in the m-middle of the night, and Archer and Verrill were fr-freaking out. And… Ancel was there.”

“Ancel?” Jaxon said.

“He w-was a Macarinthian soldier,” Hannah said. “Not a mage. Hesiod was… acting as his owner. W-while Damara and Archer and Verrill had the Valzick non-mage.” The child rubbed at her steely eyes again. “Verrill yelled at me when I asked what was happening. Why Ancel was there. He told me to go back to bed, or else.”

“Hesiod was gone?” Deacon guessed, feeling nauseous.

“Uh-huh.” Hannah shivered. “Ancel wouldn’t go with him. But… h-he took the two non-mages he’d already bought from the a-auctions. Both V-Valzick. He’d taken them and he just… he just left. Poof. Like that.”

“Woo-cursed-” Nealen bit his lip, seeming to be trying to reign in his anger, but it yet blazed in his grey eyes. “And to put the civilians in harm’s way was well, what was he thinking?”

“Hannah, what happened then?” Rohan pressed, ignoring Nealen’s fury. “What about Archer and Verrill?”

“I don’t know,” Hannah warbled. “I… I asked if w-we were gonna leave, too. But they said no. That… w-we still had a mission to finish.” She wiped at her running nose. “So we stayed. For… I d-don’t know. Six more months? M-maybe more. Archer and Verrill b-bought a few more non-mages. And… found a couple Campaign kids th-they wanted to take when we ran. They… said they couldn’t show up again with j-just one Campaign kid. Not when they already had so much they were g-going to have to explain. About Damara and Hesiod.”

“Always were stubborn about duty, those two,” Rohan muttered ruefully to his brother.

“Aye.” Jaxon managed a small, sad smile. “They would never turn their backs on duty. Not ever.” He let out a long exhale. “So then… dare I ask— how did things go so wrong that they’ve been in Meltaim for the past four years...?”

“It… all went wrong,” Hannah said, shaking her head. “They got one Campaign kid— a L-Langean boy— but the other one they’d found… he was Valzick, and his a-adoptive father was a barrister. R-real rich. And his house was r-real guarded. And… and…”

“And what, Hannah?” Deacon prompted gently.

“The Langean was e-easy to get. Came right w-with them, I think. And so… th-they left me and him with Ancel and the non-mages they’d bought, while they and Z-Zacheus— that was the V-Valzick non-mage soldier— went to get the Valzick boy.”

Ludwig bit his lip. “They were caught breaking in, weren’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Hannah said. “Only that th-they showed up panicked. Zacheus wasn’t with them. Neither was the Valzick boy.”

“Zacheus was killed…?” Jaxon’s voice was strangled. Stricken.

“I think so,” Hannah replied. “Verrill had blood all over him. But it wasn’t his. And when I asked whose it was he told me to be quiet. Archer s-scooped me into his arms. He told me to shut my eyes. That if I opened them again before he said, I’d get the worst h-hiding of my life.”

Ludwig was visibly shaking. “Woo almighty, Deacon. And I thought our pull out went badly…”

Nealen took a deep shuddering breath, his face tense with emotions that were difficult to read. “So… you fled the city then? With Ancel, the Langean boy, and the blank operatives?”

“It went okay after that,” Hannah said. “We… were on the road for a while. A l-long while.”

“What happened, Hannah?” Deacon said simply.

“I don’t know,” Hannah mewled. “We had a caravan. W-with horses we’d… rented, I guess. Archer and Verrill had taken Ancel’s fake br-brand off before we left. They were saying he was their brother. And… the Langean boy Verrill’s son— my cousin— and the th-three non-mages we’d bought our… our slaves.”

“S-so why didn’t they get home?” Rohan asked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t know,” Hannah said again, shrilly. “I was asleep in the c-caravan. A few hours before we were going to st-stop for the night, I think. Taking a nap, next to the Langean boy. And the next thing I knew… there was screaming. The caravan swerved. I sat up, and so did the L-Langean, and one of the non-mages— Eira, her name was… was Eira— pushed me back down. She… reached to push the boy back down next. But…”

Ludwig knelt beside Hannah, putting an arm around her shoulder. The girl tensed for a moment— then crumbled, wracking sobs escaping her body as she sunk against Ludwig’s broad, warm form.

“He got hit,” she whimpered into the dark-haired mage’s chest. “The boy. I d-don’t know what kind of spell. And he didn’t even have time to scream. He just… he just…”

“What about Archer and Verrill, Hannah?” Jaxon prompted— not ungently, but there was an edge to his tone that Deacon didn’t altogether like; neither did Nealen, it seemed, for the prince bristled.

“You’ll get your answers, Heeren- give the girl some space. I know you have daughters; imaging one of your own living through what she’s describing and have some compassion.”

“My… apologies, sire,” Jaxon said. To Hannah, he added: “I’m sorry, little one. Take your time. I just… I…” He shook his head, clearly grappling for some excuse. When he found none, he merely murmured: “I’m sorry. Go on, Hannah. Whenever you’re ready.”

“The boy was dead,” Hannah whispered. “I tried to l-look at him— to see— but Eira held me down. She told me to shut my eyes. So I did. I sh-shut them.” The girl swallowed hard. “Outside, it was so loud. I felt like my ears were going to explode. And… then I smelled the burning.”

“What burning, sweetheart?” Deacon dared brook.

“A spell h-had caught the caravan cover,” Hannah rasped. “It was on fire. The caravan was on fire.”

“Merciful feathers,” Rohan hissed. “And if Ver and Archie were alone… ‘Pit they wouldn’t have been able to hold out. They wouldn’t have had the stamina.”

Ludwig bit his lip. As nobles, Verrill and Archer had been bonded because they were brothers, despite a vast disparity of power between them- against the usual practice of bonding pairs of like power. Verrill, as the much weaker of the two, leached Archer’s power through the bond when they were synched- meaning that neither of them was able to spellcast large spells effectively, or for very long.

And magical combat was a very draining endeavor.

“Eira got me out of the caravan,” Hannah said. “There was sm-smoke everywhere. When I tried to open my eyes it stung so much that I closed them again.”

“Was it the Meltaiman military, Hannah?” Deacon asked. “Did they catch up to you…?”

Here— strangely— Hannah laughed. A miserable, strangled, desperate laugh. “No,” she said. “It wasn’t them. They saved us.”

“They did what?” Nealen gasped, his grey eyes flying wide.

“I p-passed out, I think,” Hannah said. “From the smoke or… something, I don’t know. W-when I woke up, there was a man crouching over me. Dressed in silver. A Meltaiman soldier.”

“I don’t understand, sweetheart,” Deacon murmured.

“I didn’t either. I s-sat up very fast— panicked— and he held my arms to keep me from falling back down. I looked next to me, and there was a p-pool of blood. It was… one of the non-mage’s. A man, a V-Valzick man. He was lying on his back. G-gurgling. He was hurt. Really, really hurt.”

Ludwig was still badly confused. “But… it wasn’t the soldiers that hurt him? That attacked you?”

Rohan’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and he hissed. “Highwaymen. Brigands. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? ‘Pit-cursed, lowlife bandits. That’s why the army saved you; to them you were just Meltaiman citizens who’d been attacked by criminals. Same as we’d do in Macarinth.”

Hannah nodded, the girl shaking so hard now in Ludwig’s broad arms that she half-looked as though she were in the throes of a seizure. “The soldier t-told me not to worry about the… the blank. And he told me him and his friends had t-taken care of the bad guys. Then he a-asked who the men I was with were. And t-told me his friends were trying to help them.” She paused to regain her breath. “And w-when I looked around better… I saw. There were more soldiers. A whole unit. Crouched over Archer and Verrill, and Ancel. Tr-trying to heal them w-while other soldiers tried to p-put out the caravan fire. There was blood everywhere. There was so much blood.”

“They… were ignoring the injured non-mages because they wanted to better expend their resources,” Deacon said, a bitter taste coating his tongue. “Not waste magic on an injured blank when they had injured mages to treat. And a darned fire to put out.”

Ludwig scowled, hugging Hannah tighter. “That must have been terrible. To be saved, but watch good people die because your rescuers ignored them. I’m so sorry, Hannah.”

Hannah shrugged limply. “The soldier picked me up and m-moved me away from the Valzick man. I saw Eira sitting at the s-side of the road— she was okay. Covered in soot, but okay. I w-wanted to go to her, but I didn’t dare ask. I just let the soldier hold me. C-cried and let him hold me.” The girl gulped for what must have been the umpteenth time. “A few minutes later, they stop working on Ancel. B-because Ancel was v-very still. The s-soldiers asked me who he was. I said he was my uncle. That Archer was my papa and Verrill my uncle, too. And the boy in the c-caravan my cousin.” A beat. “The soldiers told me th-they were sorry. They gave me water. Another unit showed up and th-the lady in charge yelled at the soldier holding me. Asked him w-why he hadn’t moved me away from the c-carnage. She took me from him. Wrapped cloth around my eyes.”

“So you didn’t see what happened afterwards,” Nealen remarked. “Probably for the best, all things considered.” He sighed. “So… Eira was still alive… and presumably the Heerens as well?”

“Uh-huh,” Hannah said. “The soldiers t-took us into the nearest town. Verrill was h-hurt, but… he came to after a while. Mostly just sp-spellsick, I think. Archer was worse. A l-lot worse.”

“What was wrong with him, Hannah?” Jaxon murmured.

“He got hit in the l-leg. Dark magic. It was r-really, really bad.”

Ludwig shivered, remembering the image of Selene’s ghastly wounds from her own injuries of the Meltaiman dark magics. “What happened to the leg, honey?”

“They tried to save it. For a few days, I th-think. But… it was getting infected. They told Verrill th-that if they tried to keep the leg, Archer might die.” Hannah let out a wracking shudder. “Verrill l-let them cut it off.”

Jaxon looked positively nauseous. “Archer lost his leg…?”

“He st-started to improve after that, though,” Hannah said. “He was in pain, but… after a couple days, he could talk again. He kn-knew where he was. Who… I was. And who Verrill was.”

Rohan was as white as a sheet, his eyes visibly glistening. “That’s why they never tried for the border again, though, isn’t it? Archie couldn’t have made any sort of trip with that injury, and Verrill would never have abandoned him.”

“And by the time it would have healed, they would’ve been snowed in,” Nealen said softly. “Their pull-out was October. And then once the snows thawed… there was the war.”

“We s-settled in the village where the soldiers first took us,” Hannah said. “The people were nice th-there. Sympathetic. And… they left us alone, mostly. K-knew we were… mourning, I guess. Ancel, and V-Verrill’s so-called son.” She squeezed her bloodshot eyes shut. “Archer and Verrill still wanted to run eventually. They knew it would be hard— and the war would make things even harder— but… they didn’t want to just sit around doing nothing. And… we hadn’t made it a-all that far. Not anywhere near the border of either Valzaim or Macarinth. Nowhere that w-was going to get easily captured quickly. So— if we wanted to get away from Meltaim, we had to leave. We c-couldn’t just sit around biding our time, waiting for the c-coalition to show up at our doorstep.”

“Wanted to leave,” Deacon said. “But... they didn’t. Why not, Hannah?”

Here, the girl squirmed, finally pulling out of Ludwig’s arms. “Because of… of Dominik.”

Dominik. Deacon’s mind lanced immediately to Hannah’s note. That name wedged amongst the margrave’s children and the menacing promise of what would happen to Archer and Verrill if Macarinth didn’t cooperate.

“Who is Dominik, Hannah?” the blond mage pressed.

“He’s… he’s…”

“He’s who?” Rohan asked, his trembling unabated.

“Eira,” the girl said. “The… o-other two non-mages died. But Eira didn’t. Eira stayed with us.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, Hannah,” Jaxon said. “Eira stayed with you, all right. But— who is Dominik? Especially if the other two non-mages died… who is Dominik?”

Hannah whimpered. Wrung her hands together. Looked like she’d rather be anywhere else but in that room.

The prince sighed, pinching his brow. “The name was on your note. Clearly it’s an important part of what’s going on here. You need to tell us, Hannah.”

“R-right. Okay.” Hannah steeled herself. “Dominik, he’s… well…” She took a deep breath. “Dominik’s their son. He’s Eira and Verrill’s son.”

Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

As Hannah’s pronouncement settled in her audience’s ears, the roomy parlour went as silent as a grave. Deacon and Ludwig were pale— as was Nealen— but not nearly as white as Jaxon and Rohan, both of whom looked like they were somewhere between nauseous and ready to black out.

“Their son?” Jaxon asked, stridently. “What do you mean…”

“I think it’s fairly clear what she means, Lord General,” Nealen said, his voice thick. “Your cousin had a child with the blank slave he rescued. Woo above…”

“Was it…” Rohan hesitated. “Were they close? Or just…”

“It had to be v-very secretive,” Hannah said. “Because Eira was a blank and… if anyone had found out…” She shook her head. “I think they l-loved each other. They… acted like they did.”

“Hannah,” Deacon said gently. “You keep talking about Eira in the past tense. What happened to her?”

“She died.” Hannah shut her eyes again. “She got a cough last year. In the winter. As the war’s g-gone on, it’s grown harder and harder to get supplies. Medicines. The village we settled in, it was… cut off, h-honestly. In a rural part of the kingdom. Eventually, if you went north you hit the Langean occupation. If you w-went east it was a bloody conflict zone. West? Meltaiman-held. And to the south there were woods and wilds. It wasn’t… territory you could travel through. N-not really. It’s p-part of why we n-never ended up leaving. North would’ve g-gotten us killed, east was a conflict zone, west was Meltaiman, and south just… wasn’t possible. Not with Papa’s l-leg, and a baby, and…”

“So how were you found out then?” Nealen asked.

“Wait-” Rohan lurched towards the prince. “Found out? What the bloody ’Pit do you mean, found out?”

“The note I referenced before,” Deacon said. “The one that mentions Dominik. Hannah arrived with it— and it was written in Meltaiman. She’s so far refused to talk much to us, because she’s been told only to talk to you, Lord General. By the Meltaimans— is that correct, Hannah?”

“Uh-huh,” the girl confirmed. “B-because… you’ll want to follow their terms. Th-that’s what they said. You’ll th-throw a fit. Go through anything— everything— if it means getting A-Archer and Verrill back. And… Dominik, too, I guess.” Hannah bit the corner of her cheek. “He’s three now. They h-have him, too.”

“Hannah,” Jaxon gently admonished. “They were found out— you’re… not answering the question, how were they found out?”

“Because of Eira,” Hannah said. “When she was a-alive, it was… easy. Dominik was her son and we just… s-said he must’ve been sired by another blank. But once Eira died… Papa said Verrill had to be careful. He couldn’t let people realise that Nik was his son. Couldn’t let people see him cuddling Nik, or fawning over him, or… anything.”

“But he slipped up, didn’t he?” Ludwig asked. Rohan swore vehemently.

“He was always so doting with your kids, Jax. His own son…”

“It would’ve only been a matter of time,” Jaxon agreed, grimacing. “’Pit.”

“I g-guess people got s-suspicious. Verrill got into a few arguments with nosy neighbours. Things were… were…” Hannah shrugged pathetically. “Papa knew things were going to crumble. He said we should hightail it out of town— make a mad dash for the east, even though it was risky. But we didn’t have a chance. The Meltaiman army came first.”

“The Meltaimans have been so paranoid, anything that seemed out of place would have been suspect,” Ludwig hissed. “And… and if they were questioned…”

The dark haired mage lifted his left arm, letting his sleeve fall backwards to reveal the small, glistening silver shape of his conduit bracelet. The same bracelet all pair bonded mages wore that allowed them to channel their powers to one another. At first sight, it looked like mere jewelry. But if the Meltaimans begun to inspect it more closely…

“Th-they knew they’d hit it big, after that,” Hannah said miserably. “Especially because the n-neighbours told them we’d been in town since before the war.” Her lip wobbled. “They’d separated us at first. But… then, w-without telling us why, they put all together in the same room again. Me and Papa. Verrill. Dominik. I was happy. Relieved. Until… well…”

“Until what?” Nealen pressed, his expression grim. “What did they do?”

“It’s my fault,” Hannah moaned, turning to shield her face. To hide. “Th-they told me they knew Papa and Verrill were from Macarinth. And… they asked me where I was from, and I told them. Th-then they asked me how old I was. I… wanted to seem bigger. Braver? So… I t-told them I was fourteen. I’m… not, I’m only tw-twelve, but I told them…”

“Hannah,” Deacon murmured, anger toward the Meltaimans suddenly a living beast inside of him. “What did they do to you?”

“They a-asked me who I was loyal to. Macarinth, or Meltaim. And I told them the truth. I… I told them the truth.” The girl hiccupped between her tears, still hiding behind her hands and hunched shoulders. “They s-said that was a good thing. And I didn’t understand why. Not… n-not at first.”

Ludwig paled. “They hurt you, didn’t they? Fourteen is the age of majority in Meltaim. They figured you were an adult.”

“Oh Woo,” Rohan looked like he was about the throw up. “To get Archie and Ver to talk. They hurt you to get them to talk.”

“Papa and Verrill were soldiers,” Hannah bleated. “The Meltaimans f-figured they’d been trained against… st-stuff like that. But me… I…” She clenched her jaw very, very hard. “I was stupid. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault that Papa and Verrill talked. Told the Meltaimans who they were. Why they’d come. M-made the Meltaimans realize they had… something valuable. Something v-very valuable.”

“Nobles,” Ludwig said, looking towards Deacon grimly. “They realized Archer and Verrill were former nobles. That’s why they knew to ask for Jaxon.” He looked to Hannah. “They want Margrave Sierzant’s children, don’t they? That’s why they sent you. To trade the lives of Archer, Verrill, and Dominik for the emperor’s niece and nephew.”

“Th-they thought Jaxon would fight for them,” Hannah confirmed. “It’s personal, not just… p-politics, or war. And…” Still hiding her face, she stammered, “Yes. That’s what they want. As… they t-told me to tell you— that’s all that they want. Just Ignacy and Bianka Sierzant.”

“And if they’re not given the children by the deadline…?” Deacon prompted.

“They’re g-going to… to…” Hannah let out of a moan of anguish. “They’re going to take Papa and Verrill to the imperial city. The c-city square.”

Ludwig swallowed hard. “The last part of the note. ‘Public severing.’ The Meltaimans are going to break their pair bond in front of the entire Meltaiman capital.”

“Yes,” Hannah squawked. “It’ll kill them. Papa and Verrill know it. A-and the Meltaimans do, too.” She clenched her hands into tight fights, her fingernails digging into the flesh of her palms. “Th-the Meltaimans told me to… to tell you how… how nice it’ll be. For the m-morale of their people. Two Macarinthian noblemen publically, p-painfully executed. The story w-will spread. To all the coalition forces. H-how… th-the coalition chose to keep harmless children as hostages rather than save their own noblemen soldiers. And if… if they won’t even try to save nobles...”

“Manipulative, ‘Pit spawned coward-” Nealen started, but Rohan cut him off.

“And just which cowards left our cousins to rot in the bowels of Meltaim for four ‘Pittish years and lied about it?” he snarled, causing the prince to whip backwards in startlement. In Macarinth it was a near deadly insult to accuse someone of cowardice, and the outrage that flashed in Nealen’s eyes was downright murderous. However, before he had the chance to retort, Jaxon let out a menacing growl.

“They’re going to murder our cousins,” he spat. “And what about Dominik? What will happen to him?”

Hannah clenched her fists harder— she had to be drawing blood. “I… don’t wanna… wanna…”

“It won’t happen, Hannah,” Rohan said stridently. “But tell us. So we know what we’re up against.”

“Th-they’re going to give Nik to the emperor,” the girl said. “Because… they…” Deacon could definitely see blood on her hands now, seeping between her fingers; he nodded to Ludwig, who reached towards her and prised her fingers loose. “It’s a sh-show,” she squalled. “They f-figure because of his pedigree he has a good chance of being a mage, even th-though his mama wasn’t. And so… it’s… sh-showing that they’re… right. About s-saving heathen children. Showing th-that no matter what’s happening now, the Gods’ Campaigns were j-just. And they’re… better than the coalition. That while the c-coalition lets innocent ch-children like Ignacy and Bianka rot as prisoners, the imperiality is… merciful, they’re… generous, they’re…”

“Verrill’s son,” Rohan snarled, advancing on Nealen, whose shadows tensed from their place against the rear wall of the room, “is not being raised by the Woo-cursed emperor of Meltaim. Not so long as I have breath in my body!”

“Back off, Rohan Heeren, right now!” the prince snapped. His guards were at his shoulders now, their expressions foreboding.

This, Deacon knew, was exactly why the Meltaimans had demanded that Jaxon— and, in turn, his brother— be cut into this deal: because this was personal for them. Because while somebody like Nealen— or he and Ludwig, or the Sun Dragons— might assess the situation with a purely political lens, turning over in their minds whether the Heerens were objectively worth the Sierzant children, Jaxon and Rohan flat out didn’t care. And if they faced resistance, well… look what was happening at this very moment; even without being denied the trade, Rohan had already lost his mind enough to be aggressively advancing on his future sovereign. Most men would have been flogged, if not outright executed, for far, far less.

“Our cousins are of noble blood!” Jaxon growled, drawing up to his brother’s shoulder as Nealen’s guards’ hands hovered menacingly close to their scimitars. “‘Pit, they’re distantly of royal blood— and so is that little boy! He will not be raised by ‘Pit-blasted Sebellius Srebro! And my cousins will not be slaughtered like vermin in front of the entire city of Taika—”

“Be silent!” Nealen bellowed. “Woo, I haven’t even said a word about my perspective on this, will you kindly not force me to arrest you brainless nits?”

“We buried empty coffins, Prince Nealen,” Rohan spat. “Our family mourned for cousins who have been alive and suffering in a heathen nation because you abandoned them!”

In her chair, Hannah was sobbing hysterically now, looking as if she wished she could disappear right into the cushions. She’d gouged her fingernails back into her palms, and as Ludwig once again pried them out, Deacon let out a hiss of something between frustration and disgust.

“You are not helping your own cause, Lord Generals!” the blond growled. “And you are terrifying the wits out of this twelve-year-old child who calls your cousin papa. She’s so scared she’s hurting herself. Is that what you want? Do you think that’s what Archer and Verrill would want!?”

Rohan bristled, rounding on Deacon- but then his eyes landed on Hannah, cowering against Ludwig’s chest as the mage tried to calm her. The wrath went out of him, and Jaxon’s younger brother deflated.

“We… I…” Tears flooded over from Rohan’s eyes, and he made no effort to stem them. “I’m sorry, little one. I just… I’ve missed them so much.”

“I l-love them, too,” Hannah warbled. “They’ve k-kept me safe. W-without them I’d be… l-living with Meltaimans. Turned a-against my kingdom. M-miserable. Broken.”

“No matter what happens,” Jaxon said to her, “House Heeren will make sure you’re taken care of, Hannah. I promise. If Archer and Verrill have spent the past five years seeing you as their daughter— their niece— then, well…” He exhaled softly, his tension easing, before he turned to look back at Nealen. “Where are her parents, Prince Marshal? Her birth parents?”

“Her mother was killed when she was taken,” the prince replied. “Her father… The generals sent messenger pigeons to her village. We just got the reply back an hour or so before you arrived. He…” Nealen’s eyes flicked towards the girl, then away, sadness in his gaze. “He couldn’t take it, the village headman told us. Losing his wife and daughter. He didn’t make it to the new year.”

Hannah let out a small, choked whimper, and Ludwig smoothed her hair consolingly as his heart twisted with painful sympathy. Jaxon, meanwhile, gritted his teeth. “If it’s all right with you, your highness,” he said, as evenly as he could manage, “then I’d humbly request that I be granted custody of the child. I’ll have her brought back to Macarinth at the earliest opportunity for safe passage. She’ll be taken care of there. The House’s ward. After the war— once things are safe in the border villages— I can see if we can’t find any extended family of hers who might feel blessed to have her back. But for now… I think she’d be safest with my family. My House and its protections.”

“Given the circumstances, that is probably for the best,” Nealen agreed evenly. He sighed, rubbing his face. “As to your cousins, however… there is a problem. I can’t give Sebellius the Sierzant children because I don’t bloody have them. They’re in the hands of the Valzick army, south of the Galfras.”

“So tell Valzaim we need them,” Rohan retorted.

Nealen scowled. “Yes, because the Valzicks have such a stunning track record of doing what we want them to.”

“You have to try, at least,” Jaxon snapped. “Go to their generals. Or ‘Pit— go to their crown. You’re the heir to Macarinth, sire. You’d hardly be acting beyond your station to approach their royals.”

Nealen gritted his teeth. “Do not give me orders, Heeren.” He sighed, aggravation plain. “You have no idea what arguing with Nereus is like. He’s a brick wall masquerading as a human. I’d need Sebellius to give us more time to travel to Valzaim, get their cooperation, then travel back and make the arrangements for the trade.”

“Can we ask for more time?” Deacon brooked. “The Meltaimans are monsters, but if the emperor wants those kids back… he has to have some flexibility. Especially since he has to know that we don’t even have Ignacy and Bianka.” The blond general gnawed at his lip in contemplation. “How many prisoners of war do we have on the active front?”

“Quite a few,” Nealen admitted. “Though usually the Meltaimans won’t condescend to making deals with us for them because they don’t trust us enough.”

“We have at least a few officers, though, yes?” Deacon asked. “No one too highly ranked— that would be too valuable to give up. But… a captain, at least, or… some sort of officer who holds clout— and trust— enough to demand an audience with Meltaiman leadership.”

“I’m sure we do.” Jaxon frowned. “Why?”

“Because we can take a page right out of the Meltaimans’ tactic book,” Deacon said with a shrug. “They sent us a messenger with their demands. We send them a messenger with ours. And I’m sure if we stress that we’re trying to cooperate but we simply need more time… the emperor won’t risk everything falling apart by refusing us any breathing room. Not if he loves those kids. If he truly wants them back.”

Ludwig folded his arms. “That could work. And in the meantime the prince can try to talk the Valzicks around so even if the emperor doesn’t extend our time right away, we show him we’re trying to play ball, so he’s more liable to cut us some slack if we’re having issues later on.”

“Hm. I suppose that could work,” Nealen admitted. “Though I don’t like banking on it. I’d ideally like to go to Valzaim with whomever will be taking the children to the Meltaimans- and that can’t be just anybody. It would need to be someone fluent in Meltaiman, a mage- he won’t take a nonmage seriously- and someone who knows the Heerens and can confirm the men he hands over are indeed actually them.”

Rohan snorted, his good eye listing towards Deacon and Ludwig. Deacon’s cheeks burned.

“... That’s us,” he murmured— hating the fact just as much as he knew without a doubt that it was true. “Someone else might be a mage. Or speak Meltaiman. Or know Archer and Verrill. But all three…”

“I-I meet all three.” Hannah, who’d fallen largely silent over the past few minutes, dared finally pipe up from her seat. “I could go—”

“No,” Nealen said firmly. “Hannah, you’ve done more than enough. You’ve shown remarkable courage to come this far, and survive this long. But now it’s time for you to go home.”

“Promise me you’ll… you’ll save them,” Hannah said simply. “I c-can’t lose them. I just… can’t.”

Ludwig bit his lip. “We’ll do our best, Hannah. We will. But…”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Nealen said, his voice sad but gentle. “The Meltaimans are unpredictable, and the Valzicks are stubborn. We’ll do our best, I promise you that. But… we can’t be certain of what will happen.”

The girl shut her eyes. “Just… i-if you see them… tell them I love them, okay? That I’m s-sorry for being fresh with the Meltaimans and… messing everything up. And that I love them.”

“Of course, Hannah,” Deacon said, his stomach pinching. Woo, this poor child— all the things she had been through… “And you did your best, okay? It’s not your fault what’s happened. Not any of it.”

“You’ll see them again,” Rohan insisted. “I’m sure of it. We’ll get you and them back home to Igerna. Make our family whole again. And… Verrill’s son too. We’ll bring them back.”

“We’ve lost them once,” Jaxon added. “We won’t lose them again. We won’t, Hannah— they’re alive, Woo, they’re alive… and… we’ll do everything we can to keep it that way. I promise you, honey. I love them, too, and I promise you.” He turned his attention to the mages and the prince, honey-brown eyes unusually furtive. Almost pleading. “Please,” he said. “Do everything you can with the Valzicks to get those kids. I know they’re hard to deal with, but… the idea of my cousin’s son being raised by the emperor of Meltaim… their pair bond being cleaved apart in front of the leering populace of the Meltaiman capital, it’s…”

“We’ll do everything we can,” Nealen assured Jaxon. Ludwig swallowed hard, remembering the last time he’d seen that level of fear and desperation in Jaxon’s eyes. When Rohan had lay near to death after being mauled by the pegasi.

“We’ll get them out,” he said softly. “We will.”

A lump rose in Deacon’s throat, and he swallowed it away. “... Shall… shall Jaxon and Rohan be in charge of finding the messenger? While we travel to see Prince Theron?” He smiled warily at the Heeren brothers. “I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to knock around a Meltaiman officer and make him memorize the message to tell his superiors.”

Rohan smirked. “I think we can handle that. This face may not be good for much in the way of making the ladies swoon, but it gives me an edge when I need to intimidate somebody” He clapped his brother on the shoulder. “And then… I think we have a letter to write home.”

Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

Neither Deacon nor Ludwig had ever met the crown prince Theron of Valzaim before— and from the way the young man was sourly staring at them from where he sat behind a metal desk in his office at the Valzick fort called Myrinos, Deacon rather suspected that a fast friendship would not be soon blooming between the lot of them.

“The Sierzant children?” he said flatly, his dark eyes flitting waspishly amongst the three Macarinthian officers who sat opposite him. “You seriously want me to give you the Sierzant children?”

It had been nearly a week now since Hannah’s tell-all conversation, most of which Nealen, Deacon, and Ludwig had spent in transit to Fort Myrinos, which sat in the Galfras Mountains just over the Valzick border. The rest of their time had been spent waiting for Prince Theron to grant them audience, for the heir to Valzaim was apparently a very busy man. (At least, that was what his lackeys kept saying, as they’d cobbled excuse after excuse as to why Theron was not quite ready to meet with Nealen and the generals.)

Now, as easterners finally sat face-to-face with the future monarch of Valzaim, Deacon rather thought that things could not be going any worse. It seemed the young man— for he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, if that— took quite severely after his father, particularly when it came to snubbing Macarinthians. Had Nereus not been holed up far away in Valla, he no doubt would have been very, very proud.

Nealen folded his arms, a soft sigh emerging from his mouth. “Why is it you immediately jump to hostility when we haven’t even been speaking for ten minutes? I’m not asking on a lark, Prince Theron. You know me better than that.”

“It might not be a lark, but you’re still asking for terribly much,” Theron groused. They were talking in Valzick— because of course they were— and he enunciated every word very carefully, as though he were talking to an oblivious and quite possibly idiotic child. “Those kids are, without a doubt, the most valuable hostages we have, Prince Nealen. Why would we just… hand them over? Are you mad?”

“With all due respect, your princeship,” Deacon started, “if you had read the letter we sent ahead—”

“I did read the letter,” Theron interrupted curtly. “The Meltaimans have some Macarinthian hostages you’d rather like back. But— pray tell... If I’m going to hand over my kingdom’s most valuable hostages, why in all the ‘Pit would I do so for Macarinthian prisoners? Why not get back some of my own?”

Nealen tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “I seem to recall that the espionage plot was the work of Valzick minds, Prince Theron. We of Macarinth agreed to it because it seemed a good way to build cooperation and share information between our countries. These men are in this situation because of that plot- and because their entire mission fell apart when the Valzick operative abandoned them midway without any warning.”

“I knew Hesiod Tassi,” Theron replied. “He was an arch-major in the Special Forces. Decorated. Loyal. I can’t believe he’d have done something like that—”

“Are you suggesting that Hannah Abreu is lying, then?” Deacon snapped. “That child has been through every level of the ‘Pit, your princeship. Why would she make that up?”

“People can do things they would never do normally when they’re grieving,” Ludwig put in. “That’s why in Macarinth it is explicitly against protocol for close family to be assigned to the same unit under most circumstances. Perhaps Arch-Major Hesiod was a good, loyal soldier. But… I was there in Meltaim. The things I saw, the things I had to do...” The mage shook his head. “It would break most good men of the Woo, your highness. Let alone one already weighted down by loss.”

“I suppose.” Theron pursed his lips, deliberating. “But still… the Sierzant children— it’s not as if you’re asking me to hand over a random captured colonel, sirs. You ask for something I don’t know if I could give, even if I wanted to.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Deacon huffed. “You’re in charge of the entire blasted Valzick military, Prince Theron. Everything is yours to give!”

“I’d appreciate it, Prince Nealen, if you could bring your men to heel,” Theron snapped. “And I’m a prince, not a king. I’m not in charge. My father—”

“Oh, come off it,” Nealen retorted. “You speak as if crown prince were a rank no more than a mouthpiece. It is only so because you will it be. My father trusts my judgement, and I have free reign to make decisions I feel are in the best military interests of the coalition without begging his go-ahead first. You could do the same, if you were willing to.”

“Fine,” Theron said stiffly. “Suppose I decide to play along. What does Valzaim get out of it, Prince Nealen? Because as far as I’m seeing it right now…” He leaned forward, hitching his elbows up on the desk as his dark eyes narrowed into near-predatory slits. “You get your men back. Sebellius gets his grand-niece and nephew. And Valzaim? Well, we get two fewer valuable hostages. Not exactly a win-win-win, is it?”

“I suppose appealing to the fact that we’re on the same bloody side won’t sway you?” Nealen asked rhetorically. “Fine then, how about this- Valzaim owes us, Prince Theron.” Switching to Macarinthian, he added, “For generations of kowtowing and playing by your rules. No matter what the situation between us, Valzaim must always come out with the most benefit from it. Even the mission that the Heerens were lost to was conceived because your father was stalling dealing with the God’s Campaigns, and his generals were desperate for any progress. It was plotted by Valzicks, run by Valzicks, the training program took place in Valzaim, and after all was said and done, Valzaim still wanted to delay a war.”

Ludwig glanced towards Deacon, very much startled by the prince’s venom. Deacon, though, seemed just as shocked. And as for Theron… well. The prince looked someplace between dumbfounded and furious.

“Those are very harsh words, Prince Nealen,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Are you trying to win my help, or threaten me into it?”

Nealen was quiet for a moment, meeting Theron’s eyes squarely. Finally, he replied, “I am making a point. You stalled talking to us, then came into this discussion with bristling and hostility. You have no interest in helping us, and we both know it. You wanted to cow us into backing down. Like Valzaim always does. But it isn’t going to happen, Theron. Not this time. Not with the life of an innocent child on the line, a child who represents everything we are fighting this war for. A child whose mother, by the way, was a stolen Valzick citizen. So. Can we start over, and discuss this as equals who are on the same side, and serve the same god, instead of superior to vassal?”

For a moment, Theron was silent. Then, very slowly, he asked, “The child is half-Valzick…?”

Pit, Deacon thought. Of all the things he could’ve taken away from Nealen’s diatribe—! ... But at least it was something. And it was better than a huffish dismissal, which was what he’d half-expected to receive.

“His mother’s name was Eira,” Deacon supplied. “She was stolen from Valzaim, and enslaved like an animal. Your operatives didn’t save her— ours did. And then they risked a whole lot to keep her safe. Even after the start of the war.”

“And after she fell ill and died,” Ludwig added, “Verrill Heeren got himself caught by the Meltaiman authorities because he refused to regard their child as anything less than his son, even where others could see.”

Nealen tilted his head, his expression now sad. “And if we do not save him, the boy will grow up a ward of House Srebro. Raised a Meltaiman prince.”

“Unless,” Deacon said darkly, “he turns out not be a mage, anyway. If he does?” The man shrugged. “He’ll be a slave. At best.”

Theron clenched his jaw. “How old is he?”

“Three,” Nealen replied. “A baby, practically. And young enough that given a few months in the emperor’s care, he won’t remember any other life.”

Theron briefly shut his eyes, letting out a small hiss. “I can’t give you an answer right now,” he said. “I need to consult with my men first. I’m a prince, but I’m not an island. I can’t make a huge decision like this without getting input. Opinions.”

“We’re on a tight timeline, your princeship,” Deacon said. “We don’t have weeks to spend waffling.”

“If these men die, it would be devastating to the morale of our people,” Nealen added. “The pair bond is a nearly sacred thing in Macarinth. To pervert it into a weapon of torture and murder?” The prince shook his head. “Consult with your generals, Prince Theron. But remember that this is not an uppity foreign nation making unjust demands of you. It is your ally and brother in the Woo asking that we work together against a common enemy. And if Macarinth falters…”

“You need not keep on with the fear-mongering and hyperbole, Prince Nealen,” Theron said. “I understand the situation. And I promise I won't dawdle. But I do need time— at least a few days. Perhaps a week at most.”

Nealen nodded. “Very well. Hopefully the Meltaimans will have acquiesced to our request for more time, but,” here his lip curled in what seemed to be almost a smile. “You know how they are.”

“I do.” Theron smiled back, and it was not all that friendly. “I'll let you know when I have an answer for you, Nealen. In the meantime, if we’re done here…” The young prince shrugged, standing. “I'm a busy man,” he finished simply.

Nealen nodded curtly, before turning and leading Deacon and Ludwig out of the Valzick prince’s office. The taller of the two mages glanced towards his partner, brows low in a way that would have been inscrutable to most people, but that Deacon would know instantly meant his partner was extremely aggravated.

Not that Deacon seemed any less peeved. “What a brat,” he huffed beneath his breath as soon as they'd rounded a corner.

“Theron is… marginally less problematic to deal with than Nereus at least,” Nealen put in quietly, speaking Macarinthian rather than Valzick. “But you see why my father wasn’t willing to wait around for Valzaim at the start of the war. In all things, the Valzicks want the lion’s share of the benefits.”

“If we had, we'd still be waiting.” Deacon rubbed his temple. “What do we do?” he asked. “If after twiddling his thumbs for a few days, Prince Theron comes back with his answer— and it's ‘no’?”

“Turn Jaxon and Rohan loose on him?” Ludwig suggested gibly. “Then again they’d probably get themselves executed.”

“Tempting, though.” Deacon managed a wan smirk. “... Still. I just hope Theron comes to his senses. This war is miserable enough without our allies playing coy.”

“With any luck, the other officers won’t have the stomach to let a Valzick citizen’s child be raised as a prince of Meltaim,” Nealen said tiredly. “In the meantime, all we can really do is wait and pray.”

* * *

It was three days of tense waiting before Prince Theron finally called for the Macarinthians again. The bonded partners had been rather annoyed by the wait, but supposedly the time had been needed for all of the people Theron wanted to talk with to gather.

Fortunately, the wait proved worth it, with Theron announcing that after much consideration and “consultation with our Feathered Lord”, he'd decided to acquiesce the Macarinthians’ request. Even better, he announced that a courier had arrived to the fort that morning bearing news from Jaxon and Rohan Heeren: the Macarinthians had heard back from the imperial forces, and the enemy had agreed to a “short extension” to their deadline. The coalition now had an extra week to produce the Sierzant children.

Less fortunately, the message had come with further instructions on how the Meltaimans wished for the hostage exchange to transpire— more specifically, where.

“... An imperial-owned beach house in Marjan?” Deacon asked, thinking he must have heard the prince incorrectly. “They— want us to parlay at an—”

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” Theron cut in, heavy brow raised in what was either amusement or aggravation— or perhaps a strange combination of the two. “And yes, they do. As the messenger phrased it, they're happy to grant the time extension but the final meeting place is, ah— ‘not a matter to be debated’.”

“Well I’d hope they wouldn’t be setting a trap if they value Bianka and Ignacy’s lives,” Nealen noted with indignation. “But that aside… I’m not sure if Sebellius is toying with us or just paranoid because he thinks we’ll set a trap. Either way it’s… not going to be easy nor particularly safe travelling that far into enemy held territory with those children.”

“Valzaim is willing to gift you the children,” said Theron. “But our involvement in this deal ends there. And—” He steepled his fingers. “If the deal falls through, we get the children back.”

“Of course,” Nealen replied, unruffled. “I wouldn’t think to suggest otherwise- but I don’t think it will. The emperor wants them back pretty badly.”

Ludwig folded his arms. “We’ll need to ensure the children cooperate once we’re in Meltaiman territory, though…”

Theron shrugged, moving to stand from where he'd been seated behind his desk. “We've had them in custody since almost the start of Lange’s involvement in the war effort,” he said. “When the emperor panicked at the Langean troops’ proximity to Abital’s capital and sent for them. So— it's been two years. Give or take. They're biddable enough by now. Obedient. You'll need to be firm with them, but I don't think you'll have all too many issues.”

“How old are they?” Deacon asked.

“Bianka is eight,” said Theron. “Her brother’s six.”

Ludwig nodded. “So pretty small still. In theory we could overpower them if we had to, but I’d rather it didn’t come to that.” He looked towards his partner. “I imagine they probably speak Valzick by now, but you think they’ll be more inclined to listen to us if we use Meltaiman? That trick worked with Ceely, Pavlos, and Lykos.”

“Their Valzick is good,” Theron said, his knights scrambling to flank him as he beckoned for the Macarinthians to follow him out into the hall. “Especially the boy’s. His sister is a bit more defiant, but…” The prince shrugged. “She listens, mostly. She knows to mind.”

Ludwig was rather annoyed with Theron’s interjection. The mage got the impression that the Valzick prince didn’t want the children speaking Meltaiman, which while understandable didn’t moot the fact that if all went to plan, they’d be returning home soon. The tall Macarinthian cast a surreptitious glance towards Deacon, hoping to get his reaction without further commentary from Theron.

Deacon, his lips flattened into an inscrutable line, only rolled his eyes, posture stiff as he rose to fall in step behind the future sovereign of Valzaim. Resisting the urge to sigh, Ludwig followed his partner, and Nealen fell in between the two.

“Thank you for your assistance in this matter, Prince Theron,” the Macarinthian prince said, his expression inscrutable. “And for your insight with regards to the children.”

“Of course,” the prince said mildly. “They're used to being moved around, at least,” he continued as their group began to wind through the labyrinthine corridors of the massive fort. “We don't keep them one place for more than a few months at a time— if we did, intel would get out eventually and their uncle would no doubt try something stupid.”

“You know them well?” Deacon asked, face schooled to his best impassive soldier’s expression.

“Not particularly,” Theron said. “They've been here at Fort Myrinos for… three or four months now? Before that I hadn't seen them in over a year. And it's hardly as if I serve as their nursemaid. I mostly know of them through the reports I receive on their status and progress.”

“Ah, progress, your majesty?” Ludwig inquired, his brow pinched.

“As I told you, they're largely cooperative now,” Theron said. “They weren't always. It took time.”

Ludwig winced a bit. He knew intellectually that the Valzicks would never have hurt the children, but still. He didn’t like the idea of them being spoken about the same way one might discuss a frisky horse.

If Theron noticed the Macarinthian’s discomfort, however, the prince didn’t show it; his clip remained brisk as he continued threading through the fort, until finally their group reached a narrow hall with an imposing stone door at its terminus. A Valzick soldier sat sentry atop a wooden stool in front of it, the man looking exceptionally bored— and then, once he’d spotted his monarch and the Macarinthians, exceptionally terrified. He scrambled to his feet and snapped a hasty salute, which Theron returned breezily.

“They’re not exactly high-risk for an escape,” the prince commented to his guests, “but we figure we might as well do due diligence.”

“Is this… a cell?” Deacon asked, tilting his head as he studied the heavy door. He would’ve bet his teeth that it was locked, and Woo even knew how much it weighed. Certainly nothing a child could work open. Or even a pair of them. He added: “I… do hope they’re in adequate physical condition to travel the distance they soon must.”

“It’s not a cell.” Theron waved a dismissive hand. “And they’re in just as good of condition as they were the day we got them.” He sniffed. “You’ll see in a moment, but their accommodations actually fairly nice. They’ve got a few small windows to let in natural light. Furniture. Cushy bedding. Some toys. And to be frank, they eat better than I imagine most free Meltaiman citizens do right now.”

“Have they nursemaids?” Nealen asked as the soldier fiddled with his key ring at an imperious gesture from Theron.

“Strictly, no,” Theron replied. “We hardly keep nurses around a military fort. But consistent soldiers are assigned to watch over them. Tend to them.” His dark eyes slid toward the crown prince. “The Valzick military is not comprised of monsters, Nealen,” he said stiffly. “Bianka and Ignacy are prisoners of war, and so life is not always going to be pleasant for them. But we do the best we can for them. Most of these soldiers— myself included— are fathers, too. We don’t want to see children suffer.”

“I never implied otherwise,” Nealen retorted. “I merely asked for curiosity. It is hardly a commonplace circumstance to capture children without their parents.” He tilted his head. “Besides, you strike me as an honorable man. You did agree to help us for the sake of a child.”

“They did not choose their parents.” As the soldier finally began to heave open the door, Theron shrugged. “I wish them no harm. They’re innocent children of the Woo— future enemies, perhaps, but for now…” The prince smiled grimly. “Well, they’re only children.”

As the door slowly, laboriously slid inward, Deacon tilted his head and peered inside. What Theron had said was not untrue— the space beyond was more of a suite than a cell, with a myriad of rugs set up to cover its cold stone floor, and simple but functional furniture that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a middle-class merchant’s home. A doorway on the far side of the room led into what might have been a separate sleeping chamber, while a second just to the right of the entrance opened into a small, orderly privy.

None of the Macarinthians, however, spent very long studying the decor— even if they’d wanted to, their attention was quickly diverted by the small flaxen-haired girl who sat upon a plain couch in the center of the room, a wooden puzzle toy in her lap.

“I still can’t figure it out, Aegeus!” she exclaimed, presumably to the guard who’d opened up the door. In another moment, though, the child looked past him, and her face fell as she spied who stood beyond. “... Prince Theron. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“That’s not a very polite greeting, Bianka,” he chided. But there was little venom to his tone, and the prince was half-smiling as he added: “Where’s Ignacy? Napping again?”

“He got annoyed with me,” Bianka replied. “‘Cos I’ve been fiddling nonstop with the puzzle.” The child wrinkled her nose, hazel eyes simmering. “He has no patience. He said he’d rather sleep.” A beat, as her gaze finally reached Nealen and the generals. A spark of what might’ve been hope flickered across her face, lingering for a moment before she forced it away and said: “You’re not Valzick.”

“No,” Nealan agreed. “I am Prince Nealan of Macarinth. These men with me are Generals Ludwig and Deacon. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Bianka.”

“... Macarinth.” Bianka’s voice fell; it was clear what she’d been hoping. What other kingdom she’d thought the men might be from. “Why… why are you here?”

“Because,” said Theron, “Generals Ludwig and Deacon here are going to be taking you and Ignacy on a trip. Someplace else— someplace far.”

“I don’t want to go on a trip.” Bianka pouted her lips, pushing the puzzle toy out of her lap. “These rooms are nice. Nicer than most of the other rooms we’ve stayed in.”

Ludwig stepped forwards, giving the child a gentle smile, even as his heart squeezed at how… civil she was being. Neither Nealen nor Theron were mages, yet despite her huffy attitude, she wasn't snarling at them or refusing to listen to a word they said. But in the life they were returning her and her brother to, soon she would be.

“I think you'll like this trip, Bianka,” he said, forcing cheer into his voice. “Have you ever flown before?”

“Flown?” The girl furrowed her brow. “Nuh-uh. We always just take horses.”

“Well, this time you’re going to get to fly on a hippogriff,” Deacon said. They still had to figure out the logistics— once they reached Meltaiman-held territory, they’d need an imperial escort unless they wanted to end up very, very dead— but even so, given the time crunch they were in the hippogriff was the obvious mount of choice. “It’ll be really fun, Bianka. Soaring in the clouds.”

The child didn’t seem convinced. “Why are you taking us? No one Macarinthian has ever taken us before.” She was a bright one, this Bianka. “It’s always been Valzicks. Right from the start.”

Ludwig glanced towards Nealan, who nodded. Turning to Bianka, he replied in her mother tongue, “Because we are the point of contact your granduncle chose- not the Valzicks.”

“... My granduncle?” Bianka’s lips parted, and she tilted her head. “You mean… the— the emperor?”

“Indeed,” Deacon agreed. “He wants you and Ignacy back very badly, Bianka. So he’s, ah— making a deal of sorts.” The general forced a smile that belied the way his stomach was suddenly pitching at the idea of meeting with the Meltaiman emperor. The Woo-cursed emperor! “Ludwig and I are going to bring you to Marjan. And if everything goes all right, you’ll get to stay there. In the imperial family’s care.”

Nealan only had very sparse Meltaiman, a few phrases at best, so it was clear he didn't understand what all was being said- but he nonetheless added in Valzick, “We need you to cooperate with us, Bianka, alright? I promise, we only want to help you. But we can't do that if you are sulking and brooding.”

“Am I going to see Mama and Papa?” Bianka asked, switching back to Valzick.

“Probably not yet, honey,” Theron admitted. “But your granduncle will take very good care of you, I’m sure.” He sighed, turning to Nealen and the generals. “I presume you want to leave with them as soon as humanly possible?”

“The Heerens are on a very limited timeline,” The Macarinthian prince said by way of agreement. “And frankly so are the Generals- we need them working with our army, not parlaying hostages. Woo only knows how long it will take to travel from the front lines to the imperial beach house.”

“Especially if we run into foul weather along the way,” Ludwig observed. “Hippogriffs can't fly in strong winds or if they’re soaked by rain.”

“I suppose if you left now, you could make good headway by nightfall,” Theron agreed with a sigh. He glanced toward the presumable bedroom. “Go wake your brother, Bianka,” he instructed. “And both of you get your shoes.”

Here, the girl brightened. “We’re going outside?”

Deacon managed a wan chuckle. “Well, we can’t fly inside, can we, sweetheart?”

“Bring a coat too,” Nealan advised with a smile of his own. “It gets windy up there.”

“If you want to prepare your hippogriffs, I can have the children brought out to you once they’re ready,” Theron offered. “And then you can be on your way with them.” After a short pause added, “And Woo-speed to you and your mission.”

“Thank you, Prince Theron,” Nealan replied with a soft laugh. “When it comes to parlaying with the Meltaimans, we’ll need all the help the feathered lord can give.”

Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

While Theron was correct in his assertion that Ignacy and Bianka would be largely cooperative during the journey west, this hardly meant the trip was anything resembling pleasant.

Nealen didn’t want Deacon and Ludwig traveling deep into Meltaiman territory all on their lonesome— especially not when they had two tiny children to tend— and so prior to heading to the lion’s den, the two men stopped back at the nearest Macarinthian encampment to assemble a small unit of enlisted men to accompany them. Deacon and Ludwig chose all mages, mostly because they didn’t want to deal with any unnecessary distractions if the Meltaimans raised a huff about not wanting to parlay with blanks— and because if things went wrong, magicians had a better chance of fighting back against imperials forces. Then again, broadly Deacon and Ludwig knew that all of this was just… artificial, in a way. That once they were deep into imperial territory, it wouldn’t matter if their unit was comprised of mages or not, nor if they had two men or ten or two-hundred.

No matter what, they would be surrounded by the enemy. Outnumbered and outgunned. The only thing that was keeping them from a bloody end the desperate, furtive hope that Emperor Sebellius cared enough about Bianka and Ignacy Sierzant not to put them at unnecessary risk.

And Woo, this was a man whose brutality was storied. Who was rumoured to keep the piked heads of his own people on posts lining the way to the palace. Who had caused this whole cursed war with the swath of terror he’d cut: in the blood of all of the children he’d enslaved, and the minds of the ones he’d had stolen and brainwashed— and all the innocent people who’d been killed in the process for merely getting in the way. Logical minds said he wouldn’t chance his grand-niece and nephew getting hurt… but what if Sebellius surprised them? What if he had some great scheme at work here and he’d deigned the children expendable?

Needless to say, both Deacon and Ludwig were more than a bit nervous as they started toward imperial territory. Their unit piloted hippogriffs to the frontlines before parlaying with a dozen-strong unit of silver-clad imperial soldiers, who would serve as their escorts the rest of the way. It had been agreed that they’d fly the entire distance— time was too precious to waste on horseback, even if it was rather uncomfortable to have enemy soldiers riding rear on the Macarinthians’ winged mounts— but it was clear that none of the Meltaimans had ever flown before. While while Ignacy and Bianka had proven mercifully adaptive, the same could not be said for some of the Meltaiman soldiers.

At least half of the group saw themselves quickly airsick, and what should’ve been a trek of only a few days’ length— and with only a few calculated stops during it— metamorphosed into a stilted journey of nearly twice the time. The Macarinthians could only thank the Woo for the emperor’s extension.

Finally, after almost a week in the skies, the officer in charge of the Meltaiman unit announced that— if the winds cooperated— they should arrive to the imperial beach-house on the morrow. As they made camp that night at the foot of a barren hill, and he watched his men tend the hippogriffs, Deacon wasn’t sure if he felt relieved, terrified, or an unnerving combination of the two.

“The kids are excited,” he murmured to Ludwig. None of the Meltaimans spoke Macarinthian, and neither did the children, but still he felt compelled to used a hushed tone. As if there was danger to be found in merely speaking at ease around the enemy, even if he could not be understood. “We’ll have to keep a very careful watch on them once we reach the beach-house. Make sure they don’t get… overly confident. Feisty. We need to maintain our control.”

“Mm.” Ludwig grunted by way of agreement, watching from the corner of his eye as Ignacy and Bianka chattered animatedly in their mother tongue. “They stay between us at all times. And we need to make it clear that they only speak to whomever is orchestrating the trade when we say it’s alright. Woo, I hope that the Meltaimans aren’t going to just… spring a trap on us once the trade has gone down and they safely have the children.”

“We can only pray not,” Deacon agreed dourly. He rubbed his temple. “We’ll give the children the ground rules tonight. Tell them it is imperative they obey us. And then… well. I guess we hope like the ‘Pit that Archer, Verrill, and Dominik are actually at this cursed beach-house. And that we’re not just setting up our own deaths right now.”

Ludwig shuddered. “Can you imagine if it had been us, Deek? Selene dead. Zane and Chares dead. Pavlos, Io, Ceely, Lykos, Martyn, Neve… Just us two and one or two of them. Trapped for years.”

“It turns my stomach,” Deacon said. “No one deserves that. And to face dying at the end of it… hardly anything earned… knowing your child will grow up a ward of Sebellius Srebro...”

“And they can’t know for certain if the coalition will actually save them,” Ludwig noted. “Archer spoke confidently to Hannah about Jaxon getting them rescued, but I wonder how much of that was conviction and how much was just… trying to give her hope.”

“We should talk to our soldiers, too,” Deacon said, glancing toward the men. “Be very clear with instructions. Vigilance. And the possible consequences if they falter.”

“Aye,” Ludwig said. “They’ll need to be on alert… but not too tense, else it could look like we’re setting some sort of trap if our men look ready to snap like an ill-kempt bowstring at the slightest provocation.”

“It's going to be tricky.” Deacon sighed. “I'm nearly as nervous as I was the day before we left for Meltaim the first time. Way back when.”

“At least then we were feigning as Meltaiman,” the dark haired mage murmured, shuddering. “This time everyone knows exactly who and what we are.” He gave a wobbly smile. “If ever there was a time to earn our reputation for being as clever and good at squirming out of difficult situations as foxes, this would be it.”

“Not that I’d want to put her in danger,” said Deacon, “but is it bad I half-wish Selene were here? She has iron guts, I swear.”

Ludwig laughed softly. “She never loses her head, that’s for sure. She takes us to task when we get panicky. Woo, can you imagine how she’d react if she heard the story of how Hesiod abandoned his unit, though?”

“She would hunt him down and strangle him with her bare hands,” Deacon said with a watery smile. “If he's still alive out there… he wouldn't be for long.”

“We’ll have to gossip next time we see her,” Ludwig said breezily, refusing to entertain the thought that they might not survive this to see their Valzick friend again. “Catch up on how Chryssa is doing. Woo, she must be so big now. I wonder if she even remembers how to speak Meltaiman anymore…” The man bit his lip. “Although that makes me realize… Dominik probably won’t speak Macarinthian, will he? I mean three years old isn’t terribly verbal in the first place, but if Verrill was at all shrewd he wouldn't have risked teaching the child any language but Meltaiman.”

“He'll learn,” Deacon said firmly. “In a year or two, he won't even remember Meltaim. He'll be raised in his proper place. In his proper station.”

“And not,” Ludwig said firmly, “by the emperor.” A wry laugh escaped him. “Just by the Heerens. With their collection of exotic monsters.”

“Mm.” Deacon let out a long, gusty exhale. “We should get some rest. But first…” His blue eyes slid back toward the children, who were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder a few steps away. “Shall we have our chat with the wee ones? Before they zone— and zonk— out for the night.”

“Probably a good idea- may as well get it over with.” Switching languages to Meltaiman, he added, “Bianka, Ignacy? Can you come here for a minute, please?”

The children shared a reluctant glance before rising to their feet, footsteps light as they trudged over to the generals. Bianka’s hazel eyes were planted firmly on her shoes— and her fingers knit tightly around her baby brother’s hand— as she murmured: “Yes?”

“You don’t need to look so dour, kids,” Ludwig assured them. “We just want to talk, okay? Set down a few rules for tomorrow.”

Ignacy gnawed on his lip, scuffing the ground with a foot. “More rules?” he whimpered plaintively. “We already got so many.”

“We've been listening,” Bianka added huffishly. “We haven't talked to the Meltaimans at all. Even though we want to.”

“I know,” Deacon said simply. “But we’re almost to our destination now. And so things are going to… change a bit. And it's very important that you two obey.”

The children didn’t reply, but they didn’t argue either, so Ludwig said, “Firstly- you need to stay right with us until we tell you it’s okay to go to the Meltaimans who are waiting for you. Understand? Don’t run off, don’t stray, and don’t let anybody try to talk you into coming away from us until we tell you to go.”

“Can we talk to them, at least?” Bianka wheedled. “Especially if we know them—”

“No,” Deacon cut in firmly. “You will stay silent unless you're given direct permission to speak by myself or Ludwig.”

Ignacy whimpered, his hazel eyes- a match for his sister’s- fraught. “You’re gonna take us back to the Valzicks. We’re not gonna stay in Meltaim at all.”

“Why would we be traveling with Meltaiman soldiers if we weren't going to give you back to your uncle?” Deacon asked gently. “We aren't misleading you— I promise. But in order for things to go as they should, it's very important you two mind.” He didn't like manipulating children, not usually— but with the stakes so high he couldn't fully hold back, breath hitching for a moment as he added: “But if you're bad, then you're right, Ignacy. Then you might have to go back to the Valzicks.”

The small boy blinked hard, warbling, “I don’t even ‘member my real Mama an’ Papa. Just. Just Bianka’s stories. ‘Cause we’ve been with the Valzicks forever.”

“I know, honey,” Ludwig said, his heart pinching. “But you will get to stay with your uncle, I promise. And once it’s safe, he’ll let you go home to your family.”

“Can't we talk to them just a little?” Bianka whined. “I don't like only being allowed to talk to you.”

Deacon sighed. “This isn't up for bargaining,” he told the girl, sliding calculatedly into Valzick. “You will do as we say. Both of you. Understood?”

Ignacy flinched, burrowing his face into his sister’s side. Ludwig felt terrible for him, but echoing his partner’s Valzick he firmly pressed, “Do you understand?”

“Uh-huh,” Ignacy burbled reluctantly.

“It's not fair,” Bianka whimpered. “I'm t-tired of this. All of this.”

“You just need to be patient a little longer, Bianka,” Ludwig insisted. “I promise, this is almost over. Just be good for us a while longer, and you will be free.”

***

As they arrived to the imperial beach-house the next morning, Deacon and Ludwig were not altogether sure if they were being greeted as hostile soldiers come to negotiate a terse hostage exchange or treasured guests come to schmooze and wine and dine. The generals had expected their unit’s weapons to be immediately confiscated, perhaps while being held at Meltaiman wand-point, and for there to be an instant move to jockey Ignacy and Bianka from the Macarinthians’ proximity— and custody (which, albeit, the Macarinthians were fully prepared to deflect, but still— that didn’t mean they thought the Meltaimans wouldn’t at very least try). From there, they’d presumed that things would go… tensely. Curt words and quasi-threats. Glowers and posturing and anger.

Instead, as they dismounted their hippogriffs in the sprawling home’s cliffside rear courtyard, they were greeted by a man who wore a smile so slippery and broad that he might’ve passed for a conman who’d just convinced his mark to fork over their life’s savings. He was not alone, but only a brief glance at the dozen-odd men and women who flanked him made it clear that they were not merely soldiers: while still silver in hue, their livery differed in nearly every way else.

It was too grandiloquent— too decorative— to serve well in the field, with more care seemingly afforded to the way it looked than the way it functioned. It was all heavy metal, even where leather would have been far more practical, and it was etched practically helmet to shin guards with intricate rune chains. Protective enchantments, perhaps, but surely not all of the strings could serve such a function— which, Deacon and Ludwig quickly concluded, thus meant most of the engravings were merely there for show. No imperial soldier they’d ever encountered had donned anything nearly as complex… not even the leader of the unit that had escorted them here, and he was a lieutenant general. Nearly as high as somebody could get.

… And then, of course, if the sentries weren’t disconcerting enough, well— there was the man. Tall and slender. Pale skin. Long, dark hair that he wore clasped back with a claw-like clip, and a sparkling silver wand-holster set flush against his hip.

He wore no armour. Not a stitch.

“Greetings, friends!” he purred, his voice like spun silk edged with something rough. Unnecessary and uncomfortable. “I do hope your journey here was uneventful? You made such wonderful time!”

Ludwig had to fight not to frown or scowl at the luxuriously clad stranger’s tone and bearing. Speaking in clear, carefully enunciated Meltaiman, he replied, “We are glad not to have kept you waiting; we were rather… concerned given the sheer distance.” He nodded his head with curt politeness. “I am General Ludwig Benigno- this is my bonded partner, General Deacon Azrael.”

“Hmph.” The man tilted his head, dark eyes narrowed. Scrutinizing. “For soul-perverted heathens, You speak the gods’ tongue well.” Without waiting for a response, he turned his gaze toward Bianka and Ignacy, who were standing in the middle of the pack of Macarinthian soldiers, surrounded on all sides. “Hello, little ones,” he greeted. “My, you’ve gotten big.”

So this was someone who knew them. A courtier sent from the court? A family member who’d been lucky enough to escape the siege in Abital? In any case, Deacon’s stomach knotted, and he had to force a long, deep breath to settle it again.

He did not like this man.

Woo above— he did not like this man.

“No response for me, dears?” he crooned on, as Bianka and Ignacy remained dutifully silent. “Not even a quick hello?”

“They’ve been told to speak only when given our permission,” Deacon said flatly.

“There will be time enough for you to catch up with them later on, I’m sure,” Ludwig added. “But you can see that they are alive and well readily enough- if it isn’t too much trouble, perhaps you could extend us the same courtesy?”

“They’re inside,” the man said simply, nodding toward the stone beach-house that loomed behind him. “I can take you to see them, if you’d like.” A beat. “Although— are you sure you wouldn’t first like to rest from the road? You must be terribly tired—”

“With all due respect,” Deacon said, “we need not pretend to be friends here, ah…” He furrowed his blond brow. “Actually,” he said after a moment, “I don’t believe you gave us your name, sir?”

“I didn’t,” he agreed. “I did not wish to overwhelm you, Generals.” Here, his languid smile morphed into a toothy grin. “My name is Sebellius. Emperor Sebellius Srebro. The gods-chosen ruler of the blessed Meltaim.” He bowed his head in what might have passed for a respectful gesture had his tone not been dripping with saccharine contempt as he added: “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Ludwig stiffened, his dark eyes flying wide with something between disbelief and horror. The emperor? The emperor? Surely this was some sort of joke. Surely Emperor Sebellius himself wouldn’t risk himself by showing up to meet the Macarinthian party!

“You… honor us, imperial majesty,” Ludwig said slowly, his disbelief and unease no doubt patent in his voice.

As the so-called Sebellius beamed in response, Deacon flicked his gaze to Ignacy and Bianka. “Is that the emperor, Bianka?” he asked the girl, figuring if either of the children recognised him it would be the older one.

Bianka nodded slowly. “I haven’t seen him in a long time,” she murmured, fidgeting with her long braid. “But… I think that’s h-him.”

Ludwig felt the blood draining from his face. “I had not expected you to come personally, Emperor. This is… very unusual.”

“These children mean the world to me,” Sebellius replied shortly. “I raised their father as my son. I was not going to send an errand boy to deal with a matter that concerns their safety.” He lifted an ebony brow. “Not to mention, I wanted to be sure you weren’t pulling a bait and switch. And since there are very few non-hostages in this empire right now who could identify them, well…”

It made a certain kind of sense, but that didn’t mean Deacon liked it. Not even a bit. “Well,” he said, “if you don’t mind, Emperor Sebellius, we would really like to see your hostages now. It’s only fair, no?”

Sebellius sniffed. “All right. But—” He pursed his lips. “Don’t think that you’re going to merely… take them and jet off right back into the horizon. Those, ah… birds of yours must be very tired, and I am sure your soldiers need rest… as do mine, since they must escort you back east. So... you will stay for a few days. A guest of the imperality. Understood?”

Ludwig felt like every time he was sure he couldn’t get more tense, the next words out of Sebellius’ mouth only wound him up tighter. “I hope, your imperial majesty, that there is not some… agenda behind your holding us here. You must understand that in these tense times it is difficult to feel much like a guest surrounded by enemy soldiers.”

“No agenda at all,” Sebellius assured. “Merely pragmatism.” His eyes twinkled. “I’ve never met a Macarinthian who speaks the gods’ tongue so well,” he said after a moment. “Save for the dear Heeren brothers, I suppose, but…”

Ludwig lifted an eyebrow. “Certainly our people would have sent no one for so important a negotiation who was less than fluent. It would hardly be polite.”

“I suppose.” Finally, the emperor’s predatory smile faded, as he turned sharply toward the house. “Come, then. Follow me. The Heeren brothers await you.”

***

The emperor announced that he hardly wanted a “parade” coming along to visit his prisoners, and so the large group of Macarinthians and Meltaimans was quickly whittled down before it embarked to the repurposed wine cellar where Archer and Verrill were being held.

“I am most glad that you did not force poor Bianka and Ignacy to come along for this,” Sebellius chirped as he led the foreigners down a steep stone staircase. “They’re sweet little ones, no? Hardly deserve all this… fright.”

“Yes, well. They’ll be perfectly content upstairs with our squad,” Deacon replied thickly. Sebellius still had two imperial knights with him, and so the generals had insisted on bringing along one of their own soldiers to keep the numbers even, but still this whole thing felt wrong on so many levels. Levels he hadn’t even known existed before now. “I… do hope they’re being kept comfortably?” he added, as the scent of must and damp swirled up his nose. “It’s terribly chilly down here.” Dark, too.

Sebellius waved a hand. “They are prisoners,” he said simply. “But they’re being fed and watered. They have a blanket, I think.”

“How generous,” Ludwig noted, the sarcasm plain despite his absolutely neutral tone. “I do hope we won’t be trading a pair of well kept, well adjusted, healthy children for a pair of half-dead soldiers, your imperial majesty. That seems a bit lopsided.”

“They’re hardly half-dead,” Sebellius sniffed as the group reached the bottom of the staircase and ducked into the dimly lit cellar. “Pardon the mess,” he drawled, gesturing at the warren of wine casks and barrels that littered the uneven stone floor. “We’ve done some… rearranging.”

“To make it a better dungeon?” Deacon said flatly.

“Mm.” Sebellius shrugged, then crooked his fingers to indicate the Macarinthians should follow as he and his guards began to wind through the maze of stored booze. “There’s a separate store-room back there,” he said, pointing his chin into the dimness. “Our finest vintages are usually kept inside. But for now, well— it’s storing only your dear little friends.”

“Didn’t want your prisoners to get wasted? You could’ve left them at least one cask,” Ludwig deadpanned.

“Not funny.” Sebellius scowled. He snapped his fingers at one of the guards as the group drew to a halt outside what must have been the store room turned cell; the pair of sturdy locks on the door certainly spoke no objections to this hypothesis. “Unlock it,” the emperor ordered his knight.

The woman obeyed without a word, hand hurried as she swiped her fingers along the larger of the two locks. It hummed in response, no doubt magically tuned into her touch, and Sebellius watched on with a flattened brow and pursed lips as she then pulled a spindly brass key from her pocket and inserted it into a matching hole just beneath the magelock.

“Can’t be too careful,” he quipped to Deacon and Ludwig. “Two-step security.”

Ludwig supposed this might have been a lesson that the emperor picked up from how easily the manorhouses of his compatriots were broken into by coalition forces. In many cases the Meltaimans had no ordinary, mundane locks on their doors because they relied more on magelocks. Though Ludwig was willing to bet that if he’d cast some sort of revealing spell on the ordinary lock, he’d have found a warren of wards to protect against picking.

Two-step security yes, he thought appraisingly. But no human guards. Still overconfident.

Ludwig glanced towards his partner, wondering if Deacon had noticed this too- years of being together had lent them the ability to often communicate simple things without words, and he quirked an eyebrow in what would to his partner be an obvious silent query. Indeed, Deacon nodded— then took a deep breath to steel himself as the knight pulled the key back out of the lock.

“Let me quickly lay the ground rules,” Sebellius said evenly as the knight poised her hand over the door handle. “You may speak to them, but you will not touch them. When I say it’s time to leave, then it’s time to leave— period.” A beat. “Oh… and you are only to use Meltaiman. Which I suppose means the little… corporal, is it?... shan’t be talking. Because if I hear so much as a syllable of Macarinthian, then the visit will be ended immediately. Understood?”

“Yes.” Deacon gritted his teeth. “Perfectly, your imperial majesty.”

“And you?” the emperor prompted, turning his iron gaze toward Ludwig.

“Very well,” he drawled. “Though I hope we shall be permitted a grace if the Heerens attempt to speak to us in Macarinthian, since they don’t know your rule.”

“Oh, trust me,” Sebellius said breezily. “They well know my rule.” He once more snapped his fingers at the knight. “Open the door.”

As the woman complied, Deacon held his breath, not entirely sure what to expect inside— but it hoping it wasn’t as bad as he thought it might be. Fortunately, as the cell came into sight before the group, the general found himself… not relieved, precisely, but at least not outright horrified. The space was small and musty, but there was a mage-light hung from the ceiling to cut through the darkness some, and a pile of blankets spread about to cushion against the hard floor. The lack of a foul smell seemed to indicate that the privy pot in the corner was regularly emptied, and on a high shelf against the far wall Deacon and Ludwig spied a jug of drinking water, as well as a packet of what looked like hardtack.

“Hello there, your lordships,” Sebellius purred to the two figures who sat inside, their backs against the wall. “I’ve brought you guests.”

The larger and more muscular of the two men- albeit clearly somewhat wasted away from his imprisonment- cracked a closed eye, a jaded disinterest in his expression. As he caught sight of the Macarinthian mages, however, both eyes snapped open in surprise. “Azrael?” he croaked, his voice a thin rasp. “Benigno?”

“Surprised you recognise us after all this time, Verrill,” Deacon said in the dryest tone he could manage. “You two certainly have seen better days, hm?”

The other prisoner straightened, his cheeks drawn in. “Please tell me I’m not hallucinating.”

“I have windburns from several days’ hard ride through the air over Meltaim that says you aren’t,” Ludwig noted. “Good to see you again too, Archer- your ‘daughter’ is a handful, by the way. Snarled in the face of Prince Nealen himself.”

Archer Heeren— nephew of the reigning lord marshal of Igerna province— blinked sharply. “Hannah?” he murmured. Then: “No. Woo. Tell me she didn’t.”

Deacon quirked a fragile smile. “Sass that would curl your toes,” he confirmed.

“Though of course that was nothing,” Ludwig said with forced brightness. “At least compared to the snarling at him that your dear cousins did.”

Verrill groaned, covering his face. “I am going to kill Jax and Ro, I swear it.”

“Probably ought not start your freedom with murder,” Deacon said as breezily as he could manage. Then, his eye falling to Archer’s bottom half, he sucked in a sharp gulp of air. Hannah had told them about her adoptive father’s injury, of course, but actually seeing it… “You… do all right on that thing?” he dared brook, gesturing at the smooth wooden peg that rested in place of Archer’s leg from the knee down. “It looks…”

“I’ve gotten used to it.” Archer shrugged. “And,” he added, gaze turning fiery as he cast it toward Sebellius, “it’s hardly like I do much walking these days anyhow. Isn’t that right, your emperorship?”

“I won’t entertain your sulking.” Sebellius crossed his arms, sniffing as though Archer was but a cockroach in the grass. “And if you want to see your nephew again, I’d suggest you stop with it, Heeren.”

… His nephew.

Verrill’s son.

Deacon suddenly felt like he’d been punched in this stomach as he realised what was missing from this picture. Woo, he’d been so caught up in the moment that Dominik’s absence hadn’t even dawned on him until now. “Where is he?” the general demanded, pivoting on his heel toward Sebellius. “The little boy?”

A soft growl emerged from Verrill’s throat. “Upstairs somewhere I’m sure. In the care of some nurse that the emperor has assigned. We haven’t been permitted to see him since Hannah was sent off.”

Ludwig’s hands clenched, and Deacon’s eyes shone with anger. “The boy is three,” he spat at Sebellius. “You’re keeping him separated from his family?”

“He is three,” Sebellius agreed. “And— based on his lineage— very likely to be a mage. You would have me keep him in a cell?” He puffed his chest. “Unlike your lot, I am very much against the imprisonment of children.”

“Bianka and Ignacy were kept in well lit suites with toys and games and proper meals,” Ludwig retorted. “And the noble families we have captured during the war are kept together once interrogations are completed. So please spare the condescension.”

“Don’t bother with that request,” Verrill growled. “He breathes condescension. And you’re only playing into his games by arguing with him, it’s what he wants.”

“I want to see the boy,” Deacon said flatly, gaze still trained on the emperor. “Now.”

The imperial knights bristled, and Sebellius looked as if someone had just spat in his soup. “You do not give me orders!” he snapped. “Least of all in my own home!”

Ludwig put a hand on his partner’s shoulder, then faced the emperor. “We are here to parlay for the return of your grandniece and nephew, no? Dominik is part of that agreement. So you will have to show him to us regardless.” His eyes narrowed. “Remember, your imperial majesty, that we are not one of your cowed noblemen shuddering at the piked heads in Taika. We are not in control here, but neither are you. Both of us will have to make compromises here. So please do as my partner asks and take us to the boy.”

“This is my house,” Sebellius said gruffly. “My kingdom—”

“If you want to play that game,” Deacon cut in sharply, “then we can leave right now, your imperial majesty. Take Bianka and Ignacy and jet them back off to their Valzick prison. Is that what you want?”

Archer and Verrill were very quiet, obviously aware that the threat was an attempt to get Sebellius to back off, but not entirely sure if it was a bluff or not. Ludwig wished he could reassure them, but he knew it would be disastrous if he didn’t appear resolute with his partner. Instead he folded his arms, adding helpfully, “The Valzicks only agreed to let us return the children because Dominik’s mother was one of their citizens. They are far more interested in him than the Heerens- so I imagine they will have a vested interest in his welfare.”

“I never said you couldn’t see the boy,” Sebellius huffed. “But you will treat me with respect. And you will not order me about like a common slave. Is that understood?”

“As long as you understand that we are not to be trifled with either,” Ludwig shot back. “Respect is given when it is received, Emperor Sebellius.”

“Do you want to see the boy or not?” Sebellius shot back.

“Take him to us,” Deacon said; there was no missing the sarcasm that dripped from his tone as he added: “If it pleases his imperial majesty.”

Sebellius turned, quite nearly quivering with rage. “This way,” he snapped. “And gods help you all if you ever speak to me like that again.”

Part Seven

SPOILER: Click to show

Dominik Heeren was dressed in silver.

It covered almost every inch of the caramel-skinned boy, from his tunic to his trousers to the knit hat he wore over his curly chestnut hair, making him as look as though he’d been plucked right out of an event at the imperial court itself. As a thin-faced woman— presumably a nurse— handed the child over to the emperor some twenty minutes later, inside one of beach house’s many parlours, Deacon could only barely swallow back a whole litany of curses.

Silver.

He’d dressed the child in imperial silver.

“Hello there, little one,” Sebellius purred as he swung the toddler flush against his hip. “Did you have a nice nap today?”

Dominik’s lips were pursed. “Mmm,” he muttered, eyes averted from Sebellius’ face. “Smells bad. Here.”

“It’s merely the sea air,” Sebellius assured, patting the child’s chubby cheek. “You’ll get used to it in due time, my dear.” The emperor turned his dark eyes toward the Meltaimans. “Satisfied enough that he’s being kept in good shape?” he asked pointedly. “Unless you would have much preferred I dress him in silk instead linen? I merely thought the latter more appropriate, given our proximity to the sea and all.”

“I was under the impression that the threat of raising him as a member of your household,” Ludwig said stiffly, “only took effect if Macarinth failed to provide your kin.”

“It was what we had on hand here,” Sebellius rebutted. “From when my own boy was wee and we took holidays at this lovely place. And it’s better than the scratchy, filthy clothes he had on before. Forgive me for thinking of the little one’s well-being, clearly I ought not have done that.”

Deacon clenched his jaw. Hard. “We do not wish to play your games, Emperor Sebellius. Nor listen to your lies.”

“You have money enough for a tailor, I’m sure,” Ludwig said. “You dressed him in silver to torment his father. Perhaps we ought dispense with the toying, imperial majesty. I believe my partner and I are here to broker a deal for the release of the child and his father.”

Sebellius sniffed again. “If you do recall,” he drawled, “Verrill Heeren has not even seen the boy since they arrived here. So it’s hardly an act of torment, his papa suffers not a scrap for it.”

Here, Dominik brightened slightly, his head cocked. “Papa?”

“You’ll get to see him again soon, Dominik,” Deacon promised. “Just as soon as we’re done talking about grown-up things. Okay?”

The child smiled, clapping his hands and squirming in the emperor’s grip. “Papa! See Papa!”

Ludwig felt a swell of relief. It seemed that despite Sebellius’ efforts, Dominik had not been in his care long enough to have been much brainwashed like the stolen campaign children.

… A reality that Sebellius seemed considerably less enthused about. “Hush, dear,” he said, tightening his grip on the boy. “The adults are talking.”

“No!” Nik whined, his brow pinching. “Papa! Pwease?”

Deacon winced; now would not be a good time for the child to throw a tantrum. Not with the emperor already as wound up as a coiled viper. “Soon, honey,” he promised again. “But you need to be a good boy, all right? Mind the grown-ups. Do as you’re told.”

Nik huffed, his cheeks puffing out sullenly. Ludwig had to fight not to sigh with frustration. It had been a long day already, and it probably had only been a little over an hour since their arrival. “Perhaps it would be best if we left the child to play while we settled things?” he suggested lightly. “I imagine the sooner you get your niece and nephew back, the happier you will be.”

“Trying to make me forget myself, are you?” Sebellius said flatly. “Because I have not changed my position from earlier, soldier. My men are spent, as are yours, and so are those beasts that you rode here. You will stay the night, at minimum. And we will re-assess in the morning if everyone is ready to go.”

Ludwig’s jaw clenched. He had hoped that perhaps Sebellius would have decided the Macarinthians were too obnoxious to keep around. “Very well,” he said thickly. “I don’t suppose you had plans for what we are to do with our now ample rest time? Play with Dominik perhaps?”

The little boy brightened slightly again. “Pway?”

“Certainly you may play with Dominik,” Sebellius said thickly. “That is, assuming I am allowed the same privilege with my dears Ignacy and Bianka.”

“Absolutely not,” Deacon snapped. No way in the ‘Pit was he giving the emperor an inch of leeway. Woo knew if he did, the imperial would probably try to take a mile— and then some.

Nik, however, seemed to little understand the intricacies of the situation, only flinching from Deacon’s harsh tone with a whimper. “M-mean mage, mean mage, s-s-sorry-sorry.”

Ludwig, winced, elbowing his partner sharply. Deacon sighed and rubbed his temple.

“No one is mad at you, honey,” he soothed the toddler. “No need to apologise.”

“P-Papa say mage mean,” Nik whimpered.

“Maybe most of them, hon,” Ludwig said softly, understanding why Verrill would’ve taught his son such a thing when they were stranded in Meltaim but his heart smarting about it all the same. “But we aren’t, okay? We’re just… tired.”

“N-nap time?” the child suggested timidly.

“A nap sounds most splendid,” Sebellius agreed, tenderly squeezing the toddler’s shoulder. “Shall I give you back to your nurse, dearest?”

The boy frowned. “I nap already.”

“Well, you can nap again,” Sebellius replied sternly. “Like a good boy.”

The child’s lip quivered, but he seemed too cowed still from Deacon’s earlier outburst to argue. Instead he looked down at his lap, snuffling. Defeated.

Ludwig wanted to comfort the boy, but he knew the emperor would not appreciate the effort. Instead he was forced to watch impassively as, still dressed in imperial silver, Verrill Heeren’s son was handed off to his imperial nursemaid. He shot a glance at Deacon, his jaw tight with frustration.

“Tomorrow, your imperial majesty,” Deacon said stiffly as the nurse carried Dominik away. “We aren’t going to stay around as you procrastinate and delay things. We aren’t going to play your games.”

“Wanting everyone well-rested before traversing half the kingdom is hardly a game,” Sebellius returned.

“As I recall, you are the one who insisted on such a strict deadline for this trade,” Ludwig put in. “It would be poor form to then hold off.”

“Tomorrow.” Sebellius flapped a dismissive hand. “We’ll all gather for a nice, happy breakfast. And at the end of it… You can leave with your three, and Bianka and Ignacy will stay here.”

“In the meantime,” Ludwig said briskly, as they began to follow the emperor from the parlour, “perhaps the Heeren brothers could be permitted to freshen up? So they are not filthy and ragged for your breakfast party. Let them stay with us- a goodwill gesture.”

“Goodwill.” Sebellius said the word very slowly, as if it was one that had never before escaped the emperor’s snake-like lips. “And what, pray tell, would I receive in return for this goodwill?”

Deacon squared his jaw. “What— pray tell— would you want?” he snapped. Woo, he was tired of these lilting games.

Sebellius steepled his fingers. “Bianka and Ignacy, of course. What do you think?”

“I think while you still hold Dominik Heeren, giving you all of our bargaining chips would be a lopsided trade,” Ludwig retorted. “Verrill is hardly going to leave without his son, but you have no motivation to uphold your end if you have both of your kin.” He looked towards Deacon, tilting his head slightly. “But perhaps one of the children. In exchange for the Heerens.”

A knot formed in Deacon’s throat, and he swallowed it sharply away. He didn’t like this— not at all. But if it meant getting the emperor to budge a little… and it got Archer and Verrill out of that cell as soon as possible… “Bianka,” he said. The older child was feistier and harder to control than her brother, and so if it came down to it she was a slightly less valuable hostage. “You may take Bianka.”

“When?” Sebellius returned.

“As soon as you let our men free from that dungeon.”

“We can fetch her from our quarters,” Ludwig added smoothly, his heart hammering in his chest. “And all of us can have a nice meeting down in the wine cellar. As soon as you let Verrill and Archer out of their cell, we’ll release Bianka into your custody.”

“I don’t want her in the cellar,” the emperor said flatly. “We can exchange them here. In the parlour.”

“If that’s what you’d like,” Deacon agreed. “How does… twenty minutes sound, your emperorship?”

Sebellius averted his gaze. “All right,” he said. “Twenty minutes. But if you’re trying to game me here, soldiers…”

“We will do nothing to risk Dominik’s safety,” Ludwig replied simply. “You have our word.”

***

“Meltaiman wine is terrible, isn’t it?” Archer murmured a few hours later, as he, Verrill, and the generals sat sharing a pitcher of booze in the main room of the drafty suite the Macarinthians had been assigned. Deacon had ordered all of the lower soldiers to bed, and had made them bring Ignacy with them, and so it was just the four officers awake. “I still can’t believe that loon really let us out,” the brown-haired man prattled on. “He’s a right prat, isn’t he? It makes me want to scream that he has Dominik still.”

“We’ll get him back,” Ludwig assured Archer. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll get him back.”

“I hope so,” Verrill murmured, looking down at the glass in his clenched hand. He’d barely put it to his lips thus far. “I promised Eira I’d keep him safe. That I’d see him out of Meltaim, one day. I-”

His voice cracked, and Archer reached over to squeeze his brother’s arm. “We’ll get him home,” the man cut in firmly. “To Igerna. With Mum and Dad, and all his cousins. And Hannah, too.”

“We will, Verrill,” Ludwig confirmed. “Deacon and I were part of the Meltaiman mission as well, assigned to Unit One. We got our group out, we’ll get you and your son out too.”

Verrill looked up, his brow lifting. “You were… Woo. We always wondered how the other units fared. We knew at least one of them had to have come out alright, what with the war, but…”

“We never knew,” Deacon said, throwing back a long swill of his wine. “Not that you were in one of the other units, let alone that you’d been lost. When Hannah first let that scrap drop…” The blond mage shook his head. “We were shocked, to say the least.”

Verrill laughed, though the sound had nothing of humor in it. “They were told we were dead, weren’t they? Father and Uncle Quincy and the rest.”

“Yes,” Ludwig confirmed, looking away. “Jaxon and Rohan were furious when Hannah told the truth. They’d held a funeral for you, buried empty caskets, everything. Thought you died in Synedon.”

“They’ve… taken all right to Hannah?” Archer asked. “Jaxon and Rohan? She… can be a little spitfire but I love her like my own. When the Meltaimans just… sent her off on her own… let her loose like a messenger pigeon…”

“They’ve arranged for her to be sent to Igerna,” Ludwig replied. “And cared for by Lord Quincy and your father.”

“That’s good,” Verrill said, his relief plain. “At least we managed to save one person. Even if we failed spectacularly at every other aspect of this mission.”

“Verrill-” Ludwig brooked gently, “that wasn’t either of your faults.”

“It’s hard to believe that,” Archer said simply. “Given all that’s happened. All of the innocent people we’ve watched hurt. Killed.”

“You’ve done everything you could,” Deacon returned. “And you’ve taken good care of those kids, you know. Hannah. Dominik.”

“I love Nik,” Verrill croaked. “But… getting Eira pregnant was part of why we stayed stuck for so long. I was so depressed, and with Archie bedridden for months I had to support us all on my own and I just…” He bit his lip so hard it bled. “I was stupid. Blind.”

“I won’t pretend it was the right thing to do,” Deacon said. “But… what’s happened, happened. And now you’ve just got to focus on moving forward, Verrill.” He glanced to Archer. “Both of you, really.”

“Easier said than done.” Archer shrugged limply. “We’re… different, I think. Than when we first came here. So very, very different.”

“What… happened?” Ludwig asked softly. “If you’re willing to say. Hannah gave us a vague idea, but it seemed like you were shielding her from the worst.”

“Trying to anyway,” Verrill said. “But she’s sharp, and perceptive. I’m not sure there’s much more we can tell that you wouldn’t have gotten from her.”

“Everything went to the ‘Pit,” Archer said simply. “After Damara died… it just…” He shook his head, eyes slipping shut. “It was one wrong thing after another. It’s a wonder that any of us survived.”

“Right after our failed pullout was… bad,” Verrill admitted, his voice barely a wisp. “I just… I didn’t feel like I had anything left. Like I’d failed everyone and everything that had depended on me. Archer was barely alive. Everyone else except for Hannah and Eira was dead. When Eira went too last winter I… I was such a mess.”

“Things were bad,” Archer added. “Especially with the war… they were…”

“I can only imagine,” Deacon said, wincing. He swallowed hard. “Hannah said most of the other operatives are dead. But the Valzick male— Hesiod. Hannah said she has no idea if he’s alive or not. Does the same knowledge go for you, or… are there things she doesn’t know…?”

Verrill flinched hard. “Woo. He… he and Damara were friends of ours for the longest time. I couldn’t believe it when he just… left.” He shook his head. “It was the dead of winter. And… not four days behind him, a blizzard tore across the countryside where we were stationed. I suppose it’s… marginally possible he might’ve found somewhere to hunker down with his operatives. But…”

“Even if they did survive initially, I can’t imagine the war would have been kind to them,” Archer said. “They could’ve died any time in the past four years.”

Ludwig folded his legs, swirling his drink with a resigned sigh. “Right.” He fell silent for a time, the tentatively brooked, “What about Dominik? He… he calls you Papa. I can’t imagine it was easy to bring him up knowing you were his father without getting caught.”

“He wasn’t really allowed out of the shop much when he was his smallest,” Verrill answered. “And Eira could mind him during most of the daylight hours. So at night I could dote on him as much as I wanted, so long as he understood that unbranded strangers were not to be trusted. But as he got more vocal it got harder.”

“And when Eira died?” Deacon prompted gently.

Verrill sighed. “Like I said, I was a mess. Archer had to talk me down… more than once. I… I loved her. I know I shouldn’t have, I’m a soldier and she was my charge, but I loved her. And Nik was all I had left of her. So… I put all my attention into him. To keep myself sane in those first few months after Eira died.”

“And eventually,” said Deacon, “someone noticed?”

“I suppose they must have,” Archer replied softly. Sadly. “When the Meltaiman army arrived… I thought we were all dead. All of us. Even the kids.”

“Poor Hannah tried so hard to help us,” Verrill murmured. “She had so much courage. Fired off a sparking spell in the face of one of the Meltaiman officers who grabbed Archie.”

“Somehow I am not surprised,” Ludwig noted, his voice dry. Then, more seriously he added, “But… then they used her. Against you both.”

“She didn’t understand what she was doing,” Archer murmured miserably. “Woo, she had no idea what she was doing. I swear, she had—”

“No one blames her,” Deacon interrupted. “She’s a child. A little girl. She can’t be expected to understand the intricacies of a political situation like this.”

“We… didn’t really think anyone would let her talk to Jaxon,” Verrill admitted. “But we couldn’t tell her that. It was our only hope of getting her to agree to go to the Macarinthian army- that she might be able to save us.”

“She was stubborn though,” Ludwig noted. “Refused to give up until Prince Nealen agreed to retrieve your cousins. Wanted to come back even, to help negotiate for your release.”

“She… feels so helpless most of the time,” Archer said. “Useless. She wants to fix things, and she can’t. And it frustrates the ‘Pit out of her.”

Verrill shot his brother what might have been a smirk. “She’s a fixer. Resourceful. Gets it from her Papa.”

Archer managed a very fragile smile. “I can’t wait to see her again,” he said. “Give her a crushing hug.” A beat. “And a hard whack for sassing the Woo-cursed crown prince; I can’t believe she did that, dear lord.”

“At least you won’t have to worry about getting re-drafted into the army because of the war,” Ludwig noted. “One of our nonmage privates tried that. He… changed a lot too. Didn’t think he could stomach being a soldier anymore. Unfortunately his fluency in Meltaiman got him reenlisted before two years of the war were out.”

Verrill winced. “I can’t even imagine. Poor bloke. But…” He glanced at his brother’s peg leg. “No, I think we can safely enjoy a proper retirement once all is said and done.”

“Woo knows, we could use some peace and quiet,” Archer agreed. “And the kids, too.”

“All of you will be going back to Igerna, I swear it,” Ludwig replied. His lips quirked, and he traded a glance with Deacon. “Although with your family’s ‘pets’ to contend with, I can’t promise you peace and quiet. Sorry gentlemen.”

“After Meltaim, our family’s menagerie should be a breeze.” Archer managed a watery smile. “I’ll take a snow leopard over a bloodmage any day.”

***

Ludwig and Deacon were slumbering together in a huge four poster bed, having surrendered the adjacent room in their roomy suite for the Heeren brothers to share and the third bedchamber to their squad of soldiers. Both generals slept lightly, neither feeling entirely at-ease in the home of the Meltaiman emperor- so the sound of a soft knock at their bedroom door instantly brought both of them wrenching bolt upright.

“What-” Ludwig snapped, only to be cut off by a sharp hiss from the other side of the door.

“It's me,” Verrill’s voice, soft as down, called from the other side. “Keep your voices down- we've got a bit of a problem, Generals.”

“A problem?” Deacon replied, his voice still laced with sleep. “What kind of problem?”

Archer cleared his throat. “May we come in?”

Ludwig sighed, slinging his feet over the bed and padding picking up his wand. A flick and whispered incantation were sufficient to unlock the door and see it yawning open. Standing in the doorway were both of the Heeren brothers… and a young woman. Ludwig blinked in confusion. The stranger was pale faced and heavily freckled, with long dark blonde hair braided over her shoulder and a pair of frightened grey-green eyes fixed on her toes.

She also had a blank brand winking on her forehead, the white slashed circle stark in the late night gloom.

“Who’s this?” Deacon murmured as he shuffled to a halt at Ludwig’s flank. As he studied the trembling woman’s features, he furrowed his brow. “An imperial slave?”

The soldiers were all speaking their mother tongue, and had been for the entire conversation- so suffice it to say Ludwig was very startled when the blank murmured in the same language, her voice a timid squeak, “Y-yes, sir. I’ve b-been in imperial service s-since I was just n-n-nine.”

Archer pressed a hand to his temple. “If you can’t tell from her fluent Macarinthian,” he murmured to the generals, “she’s, ah…”

“One of ours.” ’Pit. Deacon could have screamed. “What’s… what’s your name, madam?” he gently asked the woman. “And where are you from?”

“M-Martha,” she whimpered. “My name is Martha. And I’m from Shemaiah.”

“Lord Marshal Masson’s city,” Ludwig growled softly. “How did you end up on the exact opposite end of Meltaim?”

“Th-the Margrave of Inbar th-thought I was pretty,” she whispered. “He held me back from the lot of other children I was taken with. A-as a gift for the birthing day of the emperor.”

Deaon hissed. “And you’ve been here ever since?”

She blinked hard, nodding. “I’m p-part of the s-small, permanent staff that upkeeps the beach house when it isn’t in use. I got sent here from Taika while the emperor’s son was living here for a wh-while.”

“And,” Verrill added, “she slipped into our suite through the servant’s corridors once she was sure everyone else was asleep. To beg for asylum.”

“I… please,” Martha whimpered. “I’m twenty-four next fall. I don’t even r-remember my mother’s f-face I’ve been here so l-long. I understand if… if it’s not feasible, I don’t want to impose, but-”

A soft sob broke from the young woman, and she brought up hands covered in old lash scars to shield her eyes. Verrill flinched as if he’d been slapped, and his brother looked no less aggrieved.

Deacon, meanwhile, merely shut his eyes. “Are there any others, Martha?” he asked, softly but firmly. “At this place— citizens of Macarinth?” A beat. “Or Valzaim?”

“N-no,” she whimpered. “They’re all Meltaiman. Except f-for me. They’d ha-have told the overseer. If they c-c-caught me slipping away.” Tears were beginning to drip down her chin from behind her hands. “They believe it. Th-that their place is servitude. S-submission.”

“I’m sorry, Martha,” Ludwig murmured, his throat catching. “But… your overseer can’t touch you. Not here.” He glanced towards his partner, murmuring in Valzick, “But Woo if this doesn’t make things… complicated.”

“We can’t leave her,” Deacon replied. “I don’t care if it makes things sticky— we cannot leave her.”

“I know.” Archer let out a gusty exhale. “But I can’t imagine the emperor will simply… hand her over, Azrael.”

“I… I could…” Verrill swallowed thickly. “It’s my fault we were caught, I got us into this mess-”

“And?” Deacon cut in. “Angsting about the past doesn't help us now, Verrill. We need to think ahead. Not beat up our past selves.”

“I mean I could stay in her place,” he said. “They can’t kill Archer if we’re not both here and-”

“No,” Ludwig cut in sharply, making the slave girl jump.

“Wh-what are you saying, did, did I do something, I’m sorry!” she burbled.

“You’re fine, you haven’t done anything,” Deacon said to Martha. Then, to Verrill: “What rank were you, soldier? Before your capture?”

Verrill blinked, caught off guard by the suddenly formal tone. “Lieutenant colonel, sir.”

“And do you know what rank the two of us are?” he asked, gesturing between himself and Ludwig.

Verrill nodded, his eyes averted. He was able to read the badges and pins of rank Deacon had been wearing earlier well enough. “Generals, sir.”

“That is correct,” Deacon said stiffly. “And therefore when we tell you that you’re not going to be the sacrificial lamb here, Verrill, that is not a suggestion. It’s an order. Is that understood?”

“I won’t leave him here alone with the emperor,” Archer agreed shakily. “But if it comes down to the two of us or her—”

“General Azrael was clear, I do believe,” Ludwig cut in, drawing himself up to his full, not insignificant height- the dark haired mage towered a full head or more over everyone else in the room. “We are not leaving without the girl- but we are also not leaving without you. Hannah is waiting for you both in Macarinth. You’re not going to abandon her, are you?”

“No,” Archer stammered. “Of course not. But this woman—”

“Do not talk back to us, soldier,” Deacon snapped. If before he’d been treating the Heerens as old friends— peers— the stark divide in their respective ranks was suddenly abundantly clear, as was Deacon’s expertise in issuing orders. “Do you two truly want to argue with us?”

Verrill put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, shaking his head. There was pain abundant in his eyes, but defeat as well- as if he didn’t have the mental or emotional energy for further argument. Archer dipped his head, resigned.

“Good,” Deacon said thickly. “That’s what I thought.” He glanced toward Ludwig, lips drawn taut. “We can’t let her back out into the manor,” he told his partner, switching back to Valzick so that the woman would not understand. “It’s too dangerous. If anyone got wind of what she’s trying to do…”

“She’d be savaged at best,” Ludwig agreed. “Worst case, the emperor might kill her outright. As an example. She stays here, with a soldier present. At all times.”

“Sebellius won’t like that,” Archer murmured, head still ducked. “It’s going to cause conflict. Tension. Even before we tell him that we want to take her with us.”

“Ah, you weren’t there earlier when we were speaking to him,” Ludwig said with false brightness. “He already hates our guts for being flippant to him.” More seriously he went on, “We still have Ignacy. I don’t think he’ll try anything as long as we’ve got the boy. But I’m not going to pretend this will be easy.”

“And he s-still has Dominik,” Verrill whispered, his voice bleak.

“He won’t hurt that boy,” Deacon said softly. “That’s… one good thing we have going for us. No matter what— he’s not going to hurt your little boy.”

“Honestly?” Verrill murmured. “That almost scares me more.”

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed a trifle. “He’s still asking after you. The emperor hasn’t brainwashed him yet.”

“We’re going to get him back,” Deacon said. “I didn’t mean to imply we wouldn’t. Just that… he won’t be hurt, Verrill. No matter how thorny things get in the negotiation process, we can at least hold fast to the truth that your little boy won’t be collateral damage.”

“Y-yeah,” the nobleman agreed softly. “Thank you.”

Ludwig looked down at the confused, frightened young woman before them, switching back to Macarinthian once more. “We’re going to take you with us, but it isn’t going to be easy. The emperor will fight for you. So we need you to stay in our suite. Don’t leave, not for anything.”

“B-but the serving corridors,” she whimpered. “It’s how I got in. If the overseer comes looking for me-”

“We’ll leave a soldier with you at all times,” Deacon said. “You’ll be protected, Martha.”

She snuffled. “I’m… I’m sorry. To c-cause so much trouble. I shouldn’t have… I…”

“No,” Ludwig said firmly. “You did exactly the right thing, coming to us for help. That’s our duty, to protect citizens of Macarinth.”

“And we will help you,” Deacon promised again. “I swear it on my honor, Martha.”

“We’ll settle her in the room with the other soldiers, then?” Verrill queried. “She’ll be safe there, in case anyone comes looking for her tonight. And we should all get some rest while we can. Things are going to get… interesting come morning.”

Part Eight

SPOILER: Click to show

The following morning, Sebellius summoned his “guests” for a feast.

The dining room table was ringed by blanks with trays, each of them ready to present their offerings as soon as the attendees sat down. A bouquet of aromas- sausage, bacon, eggs, and more- filled the space.

The bonded mages, however, were not the least hungry. From the too-placid smile that rested between the emperor’s lips, Deacon was nearly positive that no one at the manor had yet noticed the missing blank. The imperial mostly seemed concerned with his heaping plate of food— as well as keeping a careful eye on young Dominik, whom he’d seated between Bianka and one of the imperial knights, as far away from his father and uncle as was physically possible. If everyone else at the table was tense as a violin’s strings, the little boy was practically distraught, his eyes riveted towards his father at the far end of the table and fat tears pricking at his eyes. But every time he pleadingly whimpered, “Papa,” Sebellius sharply shushed him.

“Let’s have a nice, happy breakfast, dear boy,” the emperor said some fifteen minutes into the meal, as Dominik let out what had to be his hundredth whimper. The child had tried a few times to outright stand up and beeline for the Heerens, but all such attempts had been hastily ended when the imperial knight had scooped him up and planted the toddler back into his seat. Sebellius went on: “If you’re a good boy, you can see them soon. But only if you’re good, yes?”

Verrill looked like he was torn between wanting to wrap his hands around the emperor’s neck, and ignoring the obvious taunting by going to comfort his son anyway. He did neither, only pressing his arm against Archer’s in a gesture that Ludwig and Deacon recognized as a bonded mage seeking comfort from contact with his partner. Meanwhile, Dominik looked down into his untouched plate of food, misery written in every line of his small body.

“Not fair,” he insisted.

“I know, buddy,” Archer called across the table. His voice cracked; there was no doubt a lump twisting in his throat. “But just be good, okay? And once breakfast is over…” His gaze drifted toward Sebellius, as though he was daring the emperor to challenge him. “Well, after breakfast, you can come see Papa and me.”

Sebellius pursed his lips, his own eyes flitting toward young Ignacy, who was seated squarely on the Macarinthian side of the table. “Yes,” the emperor agreed languidly. “Perhaps the two boys can swap seats in a bit, hm?”

“Perhaps,” Ludwig replied neutrally. He looked towards Deacon meaningfully, before he added, “There is one matter we wish to discuss first, however.”

Deacon gave a short nod. “Indeed,” he agreed. “A very important matter.”

“Oh?” Sebellius lifted a brow, his too-calm smile vanishing like a flame snuffed in the night. “And what would that be, soldier? I do believe we’d already settled the terms of the exchange, no?”

Ludwig tapped his spoon on the edge of his plate meaningfully, making the china clink. “You neglected to inform us in your correspondence that you had another Macarinthian citizen in your custody, imperial majesty.”

For a moment, the emperor’s usually inscrutable mask wavered— there was no missing the confusion that suddenly filled him. “Excuse me?” he said. “I don’t follow. Yes, certainly we have Macarinthian soldiers held in various parts of our territory, but… this deal hardly included a provision to free every Macarinthian prisoner of war, that would be preposterous.”

“We are not speaking of soldiers,” Deacon said, straightening himself in his chair. “Far from it.”

“Indeed not,” Ludwig agreed, his dark eyes narrowed. “We are speaking of an innocent civilian. Taken years before this war ever began, and thus in no way a fair prisoner of war.”

“I still don’t follow.” Sebellius flattened his black brow. “You claim not to like games, soldier. So stop playing them with me.”

“And don’t play dumb with us,” Deacon snapped. “Your theft of our citizens started years before this war, it—”

“Are you talking of the children saved by the Gods’ Campaigns?” Sebellius cut in. “Because I can assure you, soldier, I have none of those children in my custody. Nor have I ever.”

“You have a young woman here, in this very manor, who has been living in servitude and fear far from her family and homeland,” Ludwig shot back. “Not a Gods’ Campaign child, no. Not a mage at all.”

“... A blank?” Sebellius sputtered. “You’re talking about a blank? You must be kidding me!”

“She is a human being!” This was Archer. Previously the man had stayed silent— clearly deferring to the seniority of the generals— but apparently he could no longer bite down on his tongue. “She was kidnapped as a child and branded as a slave. Treated like chattel! Even worse than chattel!”

Ludwig closed his eyes briefly, “Lieutenant Colonel Heeren. Please.” Opening them again without giving the nobleman a chance to respond, Ludwig pressed, “We are not kidding, Emperor Sebellius. You know well that the so-called ‘blanks’ are full citizens in Macarinth. We have waged this war as much for their salvation as to stop your Gods’ Campaigns.”

“Perhaps,” Sebellius agreed tartly. “But this meeting isn’t about blanks, soldier. Nor our, ah— philosophical differences. It’s a simple exchange. Bianka and Ignacy for the three Heerens. That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“It became more when we realised you were holding a Macarinthian citizen as a slave at this very house,” Deacon replied evenly. “It would not sit well on our consciences to simply leave her here. An innocent woman. As much our citizen as are the Heerens.”

Dominik, seeming to feed off of the mounting tension in the room, gave a soft whine, and shrunk down in his seat. “Want Papa,” he wailed, making Verrill wince.

“Be good baby, please,” he begged, his expression fraught. Turning on Sebellius he added, “My son’s mother was a blank. I loved her. I will not trade my freedom for this girl’s misery.”

Sebellius scowled. “What, then?” he growled. “You’re offering to stay? Your freedom for a blank’s?”

“He is not,” Deacon snapped before Verrill could reply. “But we are not leaving without all of our citizens, Emperor Sebellius.”

“That’s not how this works.” The look simmering in the emperor’s dark eyes was lethal. “You don’t get to come here and introduce new terms at the zero hour. Absolutely not. No way in all the hells.”

“You didn’t even know this woman existed, Emperor,” Ludwig pointed out, struggling to keep his voice level even as Dominik began to cry outright, and even Ignacy further down the table was flinching in on himself in fright. “By her own admission she was thrown away into this beach house almost a decade ago and left here with no one but her overseer and other blanks. You wouldn’t even miss her.”

“That does not negate the fact that she’s not a part of this deal.” Sebellius clenched his jaw, eyes sharply flicking amidst the various imperial knights in the room. “Take Dominik,” he ordered abruptly. “And Bianka. I want them out of this room. Now.”

As the knights scrambled to obey, Dominik began to throw a tantrum outright. “No!” he screeched, kicking and bucking against the knight who grasped him. “Want Papa!” He reached out towards Verrill, who was tense as a bowstring in his seat, “Papa! Unca Arch-rer! Papa!”

“Nikky,” Verrill squeaked, before rounding on the emperor, “How can you be so callous, you scu-”

“This is your doing!” Sebellius snarled. “I was prepared to let all of you walk out this door. But your generals and their thirteenth hour demands—”

“Corporal Maslow, Corporal Gibbens,” Deacon said over the emperor, eyes dancing toward a pair of his own soldiers, “take Ignacy. Up into the suite. Now.” He needed his own bargaining chip out of this room. And fast.

The Macarinthian soldier moved to obey, causing the imperial knights in the room to bristle, their eyes listing towards the emperor. Sebellius waved a sharp hand in return, spittle flying from his lips as he commanded: “Let them take him. But—” He turned toward Deacon and Ludwig. “If you hurt that child, you are all dead. Do you understand me?”

“We would never hurt a child,” Ludwig shot back. His eyes narrowing as Ignacy was escorted, sobbing, from the room, he added, “Or a harmless young woman. Let me be plain, your majesty- we are soldiers of Macarinth, sworn to protect its citizens even at the cost of our lives. We are not abandoning that woman. So can we all calm down, and discuss this rationally?”

“You are not just making off with a freebie,” Sebellius hissed by way of answer. “You don’t get an extra hostage on your way out. There’s no way. None.”

“Shall we pay you for her?” Deacon said thickly. He was only half-joking. “She’s but one of your slaves— what’s she worth, your emperorship? How many crowns?”

Ludwig winced, shooting his partner an exasperated glower. In an undertone he growled, “Cool it, you’re going to make things worse.”

Indeed, the emperor seemed… rather offended, to say the least. “Buy her?” he snarled. “You think I need money? Are you mad!?”

“You see her as a piece of livestock.” Deacon curled his lip. “I was merely bargaining with you as such. Respecting your… philosophy, as you so sagely put it earlier.”

“Deacon, stop,” Ludwig said more forcefully. He turned to the emperor, “I think what my partner is trying to say is that we are willing to negotiate. Not for the loss of the Heerens or Dominik, but… still.”

“You expect me to believe,” Sebellius drawled, “that you’ll give me anything of value for a blank slave? Your citizen or not, I imagine she’s no one of importance. Not a noble. Not a soldier. Not anybody your command will want to trade for.”

“You speak of the command as if we are not part of it,” Ludwig retorted. “Or have you forgotten, Emperor? My partner and I are generals. Legally we can override the word of a nobleman in Macarinth if there is due military cause for it.”

“My point remains,” Sebellius retorted. “She is nobody. Who I’d want? They’d be somebody. Valuable.”

“And what do you have to lose?” Deacon said. He knew the emperor was probably right— that politically, this was a grasp at already-falling straws. But they needed time. Woo, they needed time. To figure this out. To find an alternate plan. Because no way in the ‘Pit were they leaving Martha behind. “What does it hurt, emperor?” the blond general went on. “To try? Tell us who you want. See what happens. Perhaps you’ll be surprised.”

“The Valzicks agreed to surrender Bianka and Ignacy not for the sake of the Heerens, who they care nothing about,” Ludwig added, “but for the sake of Dominik, whose mother was their citizen. A blank. Just like this woman. You have no idea what our priorities are.”

“Clara Sierzant,” Sebellius said. “I want Clara Sierzant.”

“Who is she?” Deacon asked. “A relative of Ignacy and Bianka’s?”

“Their little sister,” the emperor agreed. “She was too small to send away with Ignacy and Bianka when they were captured. She should be three now. Nearly four.”

“We don’t have her,” Ludwig replied, brow raised. “The Langeans hold the Sierzant family.”

“And it seems a touch… partial, doesn’t it?” Verrill put in, speaking up for the first time in a while. His voice was thick with grief and anger, but there was calculation in his eyes. “Imagine what your people would say. That when given the prompt to name coalition prisoners, you always chose your own kin. Your own favorites. Not someone of military or political import. Were you yourself not just talking about someone valuable? A four year old isn’t valuable. Not to an emperor in wartime.”

Sebellius glowered. “What then?” he huffed. “Ought I ask for a general? One of my officers whom you hold gods-know-where? As if you’ll give me that in exchange for a soulless void.”

“Stop talking around us,” Deacon returned. “Name a name. Someone we actually hold. Someone we can try to work with and return to you.”

Sebellius had his jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder his teeth weren’t cracking. “Antol,” he said finally. “Major General Ieva Antol. You have her, don’t you? She was captured in Erlea province. During the battle for Coemgein.”

Ludwig didn’t recognize the name, but he suspected Jaxon and Rohan would have, considering Coemgein was their city. Although it was uncertain if this woman would even still be alive, or killed in battle and simply never found- the army at Coemgein had been forced to beat a hasty retreat, those of them that had survived.

“We shall have to confer,” he said, trading a glance with his partner.

“Then confer.” Sebellius glowered again. “But—” He leaned forward menacingly. “Where is she? This blank you so foolishly want?”

“She’s in our suite,” said Deacon. “And that’s where she’ll stay, Emperor Sebellius.”

“No.” Sebellius crossed his arms. “She’s not yours.”

“And Bianka is not yours,” Archer snarled, once more losing a hold of his tongue. “You can have Martha. So long as we can have back Bianka. Isn’t that a nice, fair deal?”

“Archer,” Ludwig snapped, glowering at the man. If the Heerens continued to antagonize Sebellius, he might well demand them back. To the emperor, he said, “We want to bring her back in one piece. To that end, we will not be submitting her to the untender mercies of your overseer. We will not try to squirrel her away, not while you still have Dominik, but she is not going to be the outlet for your ire, either.”

For a very long moment, Sebellius was quiet. Then, rage a living beast inside of him, he curtly pointed toward the dining room door. “Get out,” he ordered. “Back to your wretched suite. You can stay there until I wish to speak with you again.”

Ludwig stood silently, gesturing his head at his partner and the other Macarinthian soldiers who remained in the room. Verrill swallowed hard as he moved to obey, his shoulders shaking- no doubt he was still upset at being parted yet again from his son. Archer placed a gentle hand on his brother’s arm.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmured as he, too, stood. “We’ll get through this, Ver.”

“Will we?” he whispered. “Everything else has gone so horribly wrong.”

“Soldiers,” Deacon interrupted as the emperor continued glaring daggers at them. “Let’s go. You can talk upstairs.”

Verrill fell silent, his gaze downcast. Ludwig and Deacon led their party back to the suite where they were being housed- it seemed that they were indeed going to be here a bit longer than they had hoped.

Part Nine

SPOILER: Click to show

“High command is not going to give us that officer,” Deacon dourly announced late that night, as he lay in bed unable to sleep a wink. Pale eyes focused absently on the muraled ceiling up above— it featured a bright garden landscape— he added to Ludwig beside him: “Doesn’t matter how we spin it. A peasant woman for a Meltaiman general? It’s not going to happen. Period. And Sebellius seemed to know it… and I imagine he won’t let us string him along indefinitely.”

Ludwig hissed softly. “We had to tell him something to get him off our backs. At least until we could think up something else.”

“But what is that something else?” Deacon murmured. “They’re not even letting us out of this suite anymore.” Indeed, though the emperor had permitted them to scrawl a written request for the hostage exchange, he hadn’t even allowed them out of their rooms to personally see the note off to his chosen messenger. “Not like we can really… plot.”

“He can’t just hold us here forever,” Ludwig said, exasperated. “He… he can’t. ...Can he?”

“No.” A beat. “Or… I don’t know. He could try, certainly - there’s no doubt he has us outnumbered and overpowered. But… there’d be consequences. Massive consequences. I don’t imagine Prince Nealen - or Prince Theron, for that matter - would react too well if this hostage exchange turned into Sebellius getting his prize and stealing theirs, too. Not to mention the wrath of Jaxon and Rohan.”

“No… not that it means they’d go out of their way to rescue us, but they’d definitely rain all the demons of the ‘Pit down on Meltaim for betraying their trust.” He bit his lip. “Maybe… I don’t know, maybe we could use that?”

“Use it how?” Deacon asked, turning over onto his side and resting his cheek into the crook of his arm. “If we start threatening Sebellius, he’ll probably just kill us.”

“We don’t need to threaten him necessarily,” Ludwig pointed out. “Just… stall him out. Bluff him until we think enough time has passed with him keeping us ‘hostage’ in here, then tell him we have a hard deadline. As a contingency. And if we aren’t home by the deadline…”

“He’s smart.” Deacon rubbed his temple. “It’s not going to easy to game him, Ludwig. He knows all the bloody games— he probably invented half the games.”

“Do you have a better suggestion?” Ludwig challenged. “And before you say anything, ‘set fire to the entire bloody empire’ doesn’t count as a valid suggestion.”

“It would solve our problem, at least,” Deacon said dryly. He heaved a sigh. “No one to murder us if they’re all burned to ashes. As we hightail it out of here with our people and our ‘griffs.”

“We still have to get out of this suite first. Past all the imperial guards. And the emperor.”

“We can use all the fun Meltaimans spells we learned when we were undercover,” Deacon suggested half-heartedly. “Ribboning for all!”

“Fun as it is to fantasize about mutilating slavers and blood-mages,” Ludwig said tiredly, “we need a real plan, Deek.”

“I know.” Deacon turned over again, this time so that he was facing Ludwig. “But for once in my life, I have no ideas, Ludwig. High command isn’t going to give us that major general. Sebellius isn’t going to just give us Martha. And we’re surrounded by enemies in all directions. Literally sleeping in the viper’s pit.”

“We should keep the threat of a supposed deadline in our back pockets at least,” Ludwig mused. “It’s… a fallback if all else fails. But we do need something else. Something better.”

“I want to say that perhaps we’ll have fresh ideas in the morning,” Deacon replied, “but honestly… I’m not so sure, Ludwig. My mind is drawing blackness. Nothing. Nada.”

“We at least have a window while the messenger delivers our note,” Ludwig said. “A… bit of space. Do you think the note will be given to us directly, or will his imperial charmingness nose into it first?”

“The latter, no doubt.” Deacon sighed again. “He’s a right prat, isn’t he? Just as bad as all the stories paint him.”

“Not winning any awards for his compassion or diplomacy,” Ludwig agreed. “Woo, I need a drink just to survive this.”

His partner laughed softly. “Dare I head out into the main room and see if they’ve left us any booze? That’ll be the real litmus test of if we’re guarded guests or actual prisoners at this point, I suppose.”

Ludwig punched the blonde lightly on the arm. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“Is that a no on the wine, then?” Deacon smirked.

“You really feel like lugging out of bed to go look for it?” the bigger mage retorted.

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” The blond sat up. “And if any of the underlings took what was left, do I have your agreement that I can gut them?”

“By all means.” Ludwig flopped flat on his back. “Take the stress out on a target that won’t murder us if we breathe wrong.”

* * *

The response from the Macarinthian high command arrived about a fortnight later— about as quick as was physically possible, given the constraints of distance and a massive swath of conflict zone. Sebellius no doubt wanted to peek at the message’s contents, but unfortunately for the egotistical emperor, neither he nor any of his men could read a lick of Macarinthian, and so instead he had to impatiently twitch and pace as his knights marched Deacon and Ludwig from their makeshift cell into one of the beach-house’s airy parlours.

“I recognize the signature, at least,” the monarch said by way of greeting practically the nanosecond the Macarinthians had arrived. He held the letter forward to them. Greedily. Demandingly. “Nealen Salomon. And it was sealed with his signet.”

Ludwig felt like he was going to vomit. Great. “That would stand to reason,” he said, as neutrally as he could manage. “He is our direct superior.”

Sebellius stamped forward and pressed the letter into Ludwig’s hands. “Read it to me,” he hissed. “Word for word.” Hastily, the emperor added: “And I will have someone I trust translate it later— so if you lie to me— I’ll know—”

“We won’t lie.” Deacon clenched his jaw, his stomach souring. Nealen personally writing them was… not unexpected, precisely, but he also couldn’t pretend it made him feel all that good.

Ludwig looked down at the message. It was… brief. To say the least.

“Generals Azrael and Benigno,

The situation is one I sympathize with, but it oversteps what I can permit. There are far too many Macarinthian hostages in Meltaim for us to trade valuable military captives for them.

We can’t waste time. Stick to your mission parameters as outlined before you left. Remember we are operating on a very tight schedule. You are both badly needed on the front, where your talents can be put to use saving thousands instead of just one.

Crown Prince Nealan Salomon
Prince Marshal of the King’s Army of Macarinth”

“He won’t do it,” Sebellius snarled as Ludwig’s voice trailed off. He wrenched the letter back out of Ludwig’s hand and pivoted on his heel, stalking away from the soldier. “I knew it. They won’t do it - they won’t do the trade.” He gnashed his teeth together, furious. “You’ve been wasting my time,” the emperor growled. “I do not appreciate having my time wasted!”

“We said we’d ask,” Deacon said, trying not to betray how hard his heart was hammering against his ribs. He stepped toward the emperor, at once furiously and reluctantly. “We never said we could guarantee a favourable answer—”

“I should kill all of you!” Sebellius howled over him. “I should cleave off your heads and—”

Ludwig strode forwards, putting a hand between his partner and the emperor. “We are negotiating a hostage exchange, Emperor Sebellius. No one said that was going to be an easy or a quick affair- these things seldom are. If you feel this is beneath you, certainly you may return to Taika and leave one of your men to deal with us. But until we reach a resolution that is agreeable to both sides, this is neither over nor a waste of either of our times.”

“We had the exchange negotiated,” Sebellius spat. “Bianka and Ignacy for the Heerens. You were the ones who decided to upend it all.”

“Because you have a citizen of ours enslaved,” Deacon said, his jaw squared. “Because we can’t in good conscience just leave her here knowing what you’ll do to her once we’re gone.”

“You risk all of your heads.”

“With all due respect, sire,” Ludwig replied staunchly, “We do that every day of our lives. It is a soldier’s job.”

“I want you out,” Sebellius snapped. “Take the Heerens and their boy. Give me Ignacy. And be gone.”

“If we leave that girl now, she will be either dead or worse than dead,” Ludwig said simply. “We won’t abandon her.”

“You won’t abandon her, but I won’t just hand her over,” Sebellius returned. “And your high command shows no interest. So you can see why I feel we’re at a bit of an impasse.”

“Give us more time,” Deacon said. “All we need is a bit more time. We can figure something out, Emperor Sebellius. I know we can.”

“You’ll get Ignacy regardless,” Ludwig pointed out. “You have nothing to lose.”

Here, Sebellius let a small, insipid smile curve at the corner of his lip. “I suppose I do hold all the cards,” he agreed. “You are in my domain. My knights surround you. Your power is… limited, to say the least.”

Deacon swallowed down the flurry of swears that danced on his tongue. “This is true,” he said thickly. “So like my partner said, what do you have to lose?”

“How much more time?” Sebellius said simply. “And what is your next move, soldiers? Your high command has turned you down; you disagree with their response. What are you going to do next— to get me what I want?”

“I don’t know yet,” Ludwig admitted evasively. “We need time to think it over. Discuss our next move. Give us a day, perhaps. To confer with our men. We’ll give you our answer this time tomorrow- either an option to resolve this tangle, or our concession of defeat and agreement to the original terms.”

For a moment, Sebellius said nothing. His arms were crossed; his lips, pursed. Then, finally, he gave a barely perceptible nod. “All right. Tomorrow.” His dark eyes drifted to his knights. “For now,” he went on, “I’ll have my knights take you back to your suite.” A beat. “And I’ll be keeping the letter. Lest your wily little blank-prince has tried anything tricky. Invisible ink or… hidden messages or… anything like that.”

“Fine,” Ludwig agreed, fairly confident that Nealan had done no such thing. The prince was many things, but a purveyor of secret messages and undercover plans was not one of them. To his partner he said, “Come on, the sooner we get started, the more time we have to come up with a plan to get Martha home to Macarinth.”

* * *

“So now what do we do?” Verrill asked, his shoulders tense as he wrung his hands. “I… I don’t like this. Lingering so long. Leaving Nik in the care of that snake so long. Sebellius filling up his mind with Meltaiman poison.”

It was about an hour later, after all the soldiers had been informed of what was going on and the officers had withdrawn into Ludwig and Deacon’s rooms to discuss their next move. Despair was a live thing in Verrill’s eyes and voice, and he’d not touched a bit of the food or drink provided to the Macarinthians all day.

Archer, on the other hand, was partaking heartily in a goblet of wine. “We’re going to end up dead,” he announced matter-of-factly. “Woo, we’re all going to end up dead.”

“That is not the attitude we need here,” Deacon returned, although rationally he didn’t necessarily disagree. He felt like they were trapped in a room with no windows, no doors. It was only a matter of time before the oxygen began to run out. The blond mage added: “We’ve bought ourselves time, for the moment. We just need to figure out to use that time wisely. Expediently.”

“We can’t just spirit her away,” Verrill pointed out. “The emperor would stop us. Kill us.”

“No one suggested spiriting her away, Verrill,” Ludwig pointed out.

“Well what else is there?” he asked. “We have nothing to trade. No way to get out surreptitiously.” He rubbed his forehead as if it ached. “I don’t know what options there are. Nothing we’ve tried has gone right since we came to Meltaim. Nothing. This blighted country robs any light of hope.”

“Stop despairing,” Deacon said, clenching his teeth. “Complaining helps nothing. We need ideas, not lamentation.”

“Sebellius already rejected the idea of purchasing Martha,” Ludwig murmured, his brow furrowed with thought. “So at this point I think that getting him to part with her happily is not going to happen. We’ll need to game him.”

“But how?” Archer demanded.

“A trick,” Deacon said after a moment. “Some kind of trick. A farse.”

“So what, we say we’re getting him a hostage but that we have to leave before they’re delivered?” Verrill asked.

Ludwig snorted. “He’d never agree to that. No, we need something less tangible.” After a moment he bit his lip. “A threat. A bluff. Deek, you remember what I suggested the other night? And how the prince’s letter explicitly mentioned a very tight schedule?”

Deacon nodded slowly. “I do.”

“You have some sort of plan then, General?” Verrill asked, hope warring with disbelief in his tone.

“It’s a risk,” Ludwig admitted. “A huge risk. Because it would involve making some pretty dire threats. But it may be all we have.”

“Threats?” Archer cocked his head, brow furrowed. “Forgive me, General, but I feel like any threats we make at this point are going to lead to us becoming very, very dead.”

“Not if those threats require our staying alive,” Ludwig replied. “Not if we tell him that the prince set a deadline for our safe return to Macarinth, and that if we don’t make that deadline, the army will start killing hostages.”

“What?” Verrill’s voice was shrill, his eyes wide with shock.

Deacon, however, looked considerably more receptive. “That… could work,” he said after a moment’s mulling. “It’s hardly as though Bianka and Ignacy are the only coalition-held hostages.”

“It’s not true, though, is it?” Archer retorted. “There is no such deadline. And if Sebellius called our bluff…”

“If he did, we’re dead I expect,” Ludwig admitted. “But we’re out of risk-free options here. We have to try something dicey.”

“And if we pick juicy enough targets, he might not risk it,” Deacon said. “We don’t just have his soldiers and officers hostage, remember-- we have members of his nobility.”

“So what, then?” asked Archer. “We tell him that if we don’t get back safely by a certain point, Prince Nealen is going to kill all of the noble hostages?”

“Not all, I don’t think,” Ludwig said. “That would seem like an obvious bluff, he has to know we aren’t that important. But we can pick a few choice hostages. The Margrave of Inbar perhaps. Or Erlea.”

“Valzaim has joint custody, so to speak, of the Margrave of Inbar, so that might be complicated to spin,” Deacon said. “But… we have the margrave of Coemgein all to ourselves, no?” He glanced to the Heeren brothers. “Your cousins are in charge of that occupation, in fact. We have the margrave’s whole family. Not to mention, no small number of minor nobles.”

Verrill’s eyes widened, and he gave a slow nod. “It wouldn’t be hard to spin that at all. It turns Sebellius’ strategy of getting Jax and Ro in on this exchange right back on him. He’d more easily believe that they’d kill hostages because the negotiations failed than he might believe the prince killed hostages because two generals were lost.”

“And Sebellius would have to know how bad it would look,” Deacon said. “For one of his margraves to be executed. He’s already losing a hold of this war, and badly. If his stubbornness got one of his high nobles slain?”

“He might not fully believe us,” Archer said slowly, “but… If he even thinks it could be true, letting us leave with Martha is the safer bet. The consequences are far, far smaller.”

“It’s a dangerous bluff,” Ludwig admitted. “But it’s our best chance. We take his game and work it against him.”

“How will you justify not having mentioned the deadline before now?” Verrill asked.

Deacon shrugged. “Diplomacy,” he said. “We didn’t want to have to use the death and ashes ultimatum, but now we’ve run out of other options.”

“So what do we tell him, you think?” Ludwig asked Deacon. “That our deadline is imminent? Or that we’re willing to outwait him?”

“We’ll tell him that we’ve thought long and hard,” Deacon replied, “and we’re at an impasse. And that we’ll be leaving with Dominik and Martha within the day, and if he decides to throw a tantrum it’ll mean getting his own nobility publicly slaughtered.”

“He’s going to be very, very unhappy,” Archer murmured.

“A feeling he has had far too little of in his life of tyranny and despotism,” Ludwig retorted. “Would you rather we left Martha here?”

“No, of course not,” Archer said. “I just worry, all right? Rationally, he should let us go if he believes it might be true. But the emperor isn’t exactly the most rational of men.”

Ludwig shrugged. “No. He isn’t. But we’re short on options here. The only way we stand a chance is if we take some significant risks. Play the same game as the emperor.”

“Just as long as we get his filthy hands off of my baby,” Verrill said, his voice scarcely audible as he unconsciously brushed his shoulder against Archer’s. “Please.”

“No matter what happens,” Deacon said, “I will jump into the furthest crevasses of the ‘Pit before I let Sebellius Srebro raise that child, Verrill. I promise.”

Verrill bowed his head, his hands clenched tight over his knees. Ludwig sighed, turning to his partner.

“I think we’d best prepare our script- we can’t afford to stumble over any potential questions or holes he pokes in our story.”

“Mm,” Deacon said by way of agreement. “We have to make sure it’s ironclad.” A beat. “... I think we should tell our men, too. That there’s a deadline— but not that it’s a lie. Because if it were true we wouldn’t have shared such intel with them ahead of time, anyway, and if Sebellius tries to interrogate them about its veracity…”

“It’s best that they think it’s real,” Archer agreed dourly.

“We’ve gotten to be quite conniving over the years,” Ludwig joked grimly. “A far cry from the men who decided the best way to handle rampaging pegasi was to mow them down with an arsenal blast.”

“If we pull this off,” Deacon said, “we deserve a parade.”

“I will settle for a stiff drink,” his partner returned.

“Oh Woo, I miss Macarinthian booze,” Verrill said with a wan smile. “Let’s all have a nice toast when we get clear of this mess.”

“Here, here,” said Archer. He returned his brother’s wary smile. “With Nik sound asleep on your lap, neh? And Martha safe with her family.”

“And Hannah having to have her hand swatted away because despite her protests she is so old enough,” Verrill agreed.

“Don’t get the party started yet, gentlemen,” Ludwig warned. “The hardest part is still to come.”

Part Ten

SPOILER: Click to show

When Ludwig and Deacon arrived to their appointed meeting with Sebellius the next day, it was with somebody in tow that they had not allowed near the emperor since that disastrous breakfast the fortnight before. Ignacy Sierzant was a snuffling, miserable mess. He’d begged relentlessly for his sister since she’d been separated from him, and rejected all efforts at consolation that were offered him. He was meek under the firm hand of a Macarinthian soldier on his shoulder, but when he looked up towards his grand-uncle it was with naked hope and pleading in his eyes.

“Ignacy.” Sebellius rocketed up from his plush chair, which was situated in the corner of the intimate sitting room beside a window that overlooked the sea. “Are you all right, my dear boy?” His gaze whipped toward the foreigners. “What have you done to him, what—”

“We haven’t done anything,” Ludwig cut in cooly. “They boy’s been missing his sister, that’s all. She’s the only family he has that he remembers, given how young he was taken.”

“Why have you brought him with you?” Sebellius huffed. He did not sit back down. “I don’t suppose it’s because you’ve finally found your humanity and plan to give him back to me before you and your people leave this place without stirring up any more drama.”

“Oh, we’d be happy to leave,” Deacon countered. “Give us Martha, and Dominik Heeren, and we’ll be out here in a blink.”

“We figured,” Ludwig put in, “that given our... circumstances it would be more expedient to bring Ignacy with us. Help move things along.”

“You’re not getting Martha,” the emperor snapped. “And unless you’ve come to tell me that my previous demands will suddenly be met, I am done negotiating with you heathenous blood traitors.”

“We had a feeling you’d say that,” the taller of the Macarinthian mages said with a slow shake of his head. “Though we were hoping otherwise. Emperor, our prince’s letter mentioned a tight schedule, no? I’m afraid our timer is swift running down. We need to leave for the Macarinthian front today if we are to make it back in time.”

“And you think I care about your blank prince’s deadline?” Sebellius returned.

“No,” Deacon said. “Not particularly.”

“Then why even bring it up?”

“Because you should,” Ludwig said, raising an eyebrow. “The margrave of Coemgein. Lord Generals Jaxon and Rohan Heeren have him hostage. And they were not entirely keen to trust that you’d return us and their cousins as you promised.”

Sebellius stiffened. “The margrave has nothing to do with this matter.”

“And as long as we return home before our deadline, he will continue to have nothing to do with the matter,” Ludwig agreed. “But if we don’t, well. You wanted Jaxon in on this trade because he’d do anything for his cousins.”

“Are you threatening me?” Sebellius spat.

“No,” Deacon said quickly. “Simply telling you the reality of the situation, sire.”

“We intend to leave here with Archer, Verrill, Dominik and Martha,” Ludwig put in. “We’re just laying out the situation that awaits if we are unable to do so.”

“The situation,” the emperor echoed flatly. “The situation. What, then? What, pray tell, is the situation?”

“If we are not back on the Macarinthian front by our deadline,” Ludwig said simply, “the margrave will be killed. And word of his death- and the reason- given to all of the Meltaiman nobles in our occupied territories.”

“Publically killed, no less,” Deacon added. “In the Coemgein central market. As all his citizens watch. With the reason of his death made very clear to them— that their emperor cares more about his pride than his people. And my,” he went on, “if you’re willing to let a margrave die for your ego… what do you imagine the commonfolk will think you care of them?”

“You wouldn’t,” Sebellius growled, eyes wide as discs; still standing in between the Macarinthian generals, young Ignacy whimpered, curling in on himself.

“Imperial majesty,” he whispered, “p-please can I-”

“For all the gods’ sakes!” Sebellius hissed to the Macarinthians. He took a step forward. “Let him come to me, stop using him as a— a— shield against your vile ultimatums—”

“Certainly,” Ludwig agreed, his voice soft and even, though Ignacy flinched from his grand-uncle’s tone. “If you bring us Dominik.”

“And if I let you leave with Martha, I imagine. Mustn’t forget that.”

“No,” Deacon said. “We mustn’t.” He steeled his jaw. “The time for games has come and gone, Emperor Sebellius. If we don’t leave within the day, there’s no chance we’ll meet the prince and lord generals’ deadline.”

“I want Bianka!” Ignacy wailed, hugging himself and going to his knees. “Everyone’s scary and I wanna go back home and I want Bianka!”

Sebellius took another sharp step forward. “Come here, Ignacy,” he said. “Come to Uncle Sebellius, dear boy.”

Deacon angled himself in front of Ignacy, blocking him. “No, sire,” he told the emperor. “Not until you have Dominik brought to us. And your word that you won’t attempt to stop us from leaving with him, the Heeren brothers, and Martha.”

Ludwig likewise moved, putting a hand on Ignacy’s shoulder to hold him in place. The boy stiffened, but seemed to know better than to try and fight the general’s hold. Ludwig looked directly at the Meltaiman emperor, both he and his partner glowering at Sebellius in cool silence.

“I… I need time to think,” the dark-haired imperial snapped. “I’m not going to just bend over to your demands like a broken slave, I—”

“In case you missed it the first time,” Ludwig interjected, “if we don’t leave today, we will not be back in time. You don’t have time to hem and haw, sire.”

“Do not tell me what to do!” Despite what had to be his best efforts, Sebellius’s voice had grown pitchy. Shrill.

Ignacy flinched, burying his face in Ludwig’s side for want of any other familiar figure to cling to and sobbing wretchedly. “I w-w-want to go hoooome, I want Aegeus a-and Perseus and I want Bianka!”

“Do what's right, Emperor,” Deacon implored. “For your people. For your nephew.”

Ignacy continued to wail, the six-year-old clearly several shades past consolation. Ludwig rubbed the boy’s back, wishing they didn’t have to put him through this but knowing that it was their best chance to get through to Sebellius. Ludwig had never met Lord Henryk, but certainly the emperor would not be able to avoid noticing familial similarities between his favorite nephew and the man’s son. Surely if there was anything that would get through Sebellius’ stubborn pride…

“I should… I should kill the whole lot of you,” Sebellius half-snarled, half-stammered. “Gut you and send your heads east to your cursed rat prince.”

Ludwig raised a brow, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Do that, and your margrave will pay the price, sire. Is one blank really worth it?”

Sebellius quailed, at last silent for a moment. Then, fury a living beast inside of him, the emperor commanded the imperial knights who studded the room: “Go get the Heeren boy.” Then, to Deacon and Ludwig, he growled, “Let my nephew come over to me. Now. Or this whole abomination is off and I’ll have the both of you and all your men eviscerated, consequences be cursed to the hells.”

Ludwig glanced down at the boy before meeting his partner’s eyes, his own narrowing in that silent communication that bonded mages often utilized between each other. Deacon hesitated for a moment, then gave a small, subtle nod. The taller man gave the barest of sighs out of his nose, then gently turned the sobbing Ignacy towards his uncle.

“Go to the emperor, honey,” he coaxed. “He’ll let you see Bianka.”

“R-r-r-really?” the boy warbled, looking up towards Sebellius with puffy, bloodshot eyes and a dripping nose.

“She’s upstairs as we speak, taking a nap,” Sebellius agreed, trying— and failing— to soften his voice. “You can go see her right away.” He crooked his fingers at the boy. “Come here, my dear. Come to Uncle Sebellius.”

The little boy faltered, clearly still badly unnerved by Sebellius’ earlier outburst. However, when Ludwig gently pushed on the small of Ignacy’s back, he reluctantly padded towards his uncle, still snuffling and hiccuping audibly. As soon as the child was in reach, Sebellius lanced out a hand and clamped his fingers around the boy’s wrist, reeling him close. As if the emperor were afraid of the Macarinthians reneging. As if otherwise Ignacy might disappear straight into the floor, gone from him again.

“I’ll assemble an escort unit within the hour,” the emperor said to the foreigners. “You and your men will be ready to leave then, or you won’t be leaving at all— at least, not with your heads still attached. Understood?”

Ludwig nodded shortly, his eyes dancing one last time towards Ignacy- who was cowering a bit from his uncle- before he made a beckoning gesture towards Deacon. “Let’s not waste any time then, hm?” He said, trying not to let the profound, near-giddy relief he was feeling leak into his voice.

“I expect Dominik to be presented to our rooms as swiftly as is humanly possible,” Deacon said to Sebellius as he took a step back toward the door. “Is that understood, sire?”

Sebellius glowered. “Perfectly.”

* * *

It was in the middle of a frenetic flurry of packing that the Macarinthians heard a sharp, almost unnecessarily forceful knock on the door to their flat. Verrill started forwards, but Ludwig shook his head sharply, not wanting the former hostage anywhere near the enemy in case Sebellius got cold feet. He glanced towards Deacon, muttering, “Check it?”

“Right.” Deacon began forward, pausing with his hand over the doorknob to call behind his shoulder: “Captain Miller, I want you on Martha until this door is shut again.”

The soldier in question immediately darted towards the blank woman, who trembled like a leaf as she stared, bug-eyed, at the door behind Deacon’s shoulder. Ludwig’s hand hovered over his holstered wand, ready to draw it in defense of his partner if needed.

It was quickly proven, however, that there’d been no last minute second thoughts by the emperor; on the other side of the door, Deacon found not assailants— or even knights— but rather, a rosy-cheeked woman who was clad in strictly servant’s livery. There was a toddler clutched to her chest, half-asleep by the looks of it, his face nestled against her. Verrill gave voice to a strangled sob of relief, his eyes dancing towards Ludwig. The general nodded, and Verrill darted to Deacon’s side at the door. Dominik blinked groggily, then his green eyes lit.

“Papa!” he squealed, reaching chubby hands out for his father. Verrill plucked his son from the servant’s arms, holding Nik close to his chest as the boy babbled on happily, “Papa, Papa, hi!”

“Hey, baby,” Verrill said, speaking Meltaiman as his son was, his voice cracking. “Papa missed you, you know. Lots and lots.”

“Missed you, Papa,” the boy returned, grinning like a cat up at his father. He was still clothed in imperial silver, his tiny form draped in silk and satin that could probably have afforded a pleasant townhouse in Macarinth. But he seemed not to take any notice nor care of it, only turning around in his father’s arms and squealing, “Unca’ Archer!”

“Hi there, bud.” Archer smiled at his nephew. “It’s good to see you.”

Without a word to her, Deacon shut the door on the servant. “There’ll be time for cuddles and celebrations later,” he said then to the Heerens. “I need you focused for now.” A beat. “The boy will ride with you, Verrill. I want him tethered to the saddle and to your belt. And…” He hesitated for a moment, sharing a brief look with Ludwig. “I want him spelled asleep. Now and until we’ve fully cleared enemy territory.”

Verrill frowned a bit. “He’ll need to wake up to eat, General Azrael.”

“Then he can be roused for a little while when we make camp each night,” Deacon returned. He swallowed hard— he hardly liked this anymore than Verrill did. But a toddler in a warzone on hippogriff-back was beyond dangerous. Dominik would be safest if he were an impassive agent. And to make him as impassive as possible… “I know neither you nor Archer have your wands. So we’ll have Captain Miller maintain the spells.”

“General,” Archer protested. “It’s a long journey, you can’t just have him incapacitated the entire time.”

“It’s not ideal,” Ludwig said, regret heavy in his voice. “But we also can’t have him screaming because he’s tired, or bored, or doesn’t want to ride again. We need him cooperative. This pull out has to be as expedient as we can make it.”

“B-but a week or more unconscious…” Verrill started, his grip on his son tight and protective.

“This is not a matter for negotiation,” Deacon said. “Don’t make me repeat or justify myself again— either of you.” He tilted his head, expression iron. “Is that clear?”

Verrill clenched his jaw, but after a moment he looked away, his shoulders slumping with defeat. Nik, having understood none of the Macarinthian conversation, tapped his father’s chin. “Papa, pway?”

“Not right now, Nik,” Verrill said softly, kissing his son on the crown of his head. “Now you need to go night-night.”

“Not sweepy,” the child said petulantly. “Pway!”

Ignoring the boy, Deacon turned to the aforementioned [rank]. “Now would be a good time for the initial spell, son,” he ordered. “Maintenance will be your job the entire ride east. Understood?”

“Aye, General Azrael, Sir!” the soldier replied, snapping a salute. He turned towards Verrill with an apologetic smile, drawing his wand. A quickly muttered spell was sufficient to see Dominik going almost instantly limp in his father’s arms, and Verrill swallowed thickly.

“I’m not letting him out of my sight,” he declared. “Not until we are back in Igerna.”

“I’d expect no less, Heeren,” Deacon said. Then, his voice softening by just a fraction: “I’m glad you have him back. And— Woo willing— you’ll both be reunited soon with Hannah, as well.”

“We’ll have to whack her,” Archer said with a wobbly smile. “For lipping off to the blasted crown prince.”

“I can’t imagine she will be much remorseful,” Ludwig noted dryly. “But aye- you do that. I can’t imagine Nealan would begrudge you.” Jerking his head, the man added, “Let’s get a move on, the sooner we’re packed the sooner we can get you lot home.”

“A-and me?” Martha stammered, her voice barely more than a squeak as she dared join the conversation for the first time.

“You’ll be home, too,” Deacon said, turning toward her and nodding firmly. “We’ll find your family and make sure you’re reunited with them. Returned to the life that should’ve been yours all along, Martha. Far, far away from here.”

For the first time since the soldiers had known her, the young woman dared slip a fragile smile. “Th-thank you. Thank you.”

“Thank us once we’re all back in Macarinth,” Verrill muttered as he shifted Nik onto one hip to keep packing. “After everything that’s gone wrong for Archer and I so far, I won’t really be convinced it’s over until then.”

Part Eleven

SPOILER: Click to show

The pessimistic parts of Ludwig and Deacon half-expected that Sebellius would change his mind at the last minute— like the petulant child he was— and neither general quite let out the breaths they were holding until they reached coalition-held lands several long days later. As their unit watched their Meltaiman escorts disappear back into the western horizon, everybody let free what seemed to be collective sighs of relief.

None were heard louder than those from the Heeren brothers, who for the first time in six years found themselves surrounded by their own people again. They were eager to get back to Macarinth properly, and reunite with the family they had not seen in far too long. But first, of course, the entire party had to report to the city of Otylia, Ludwig and Deacon’s old command, where Prince Nealan was awaiting them.

Neither Ludwig nor Deacon had quite expected to literally find the prince waiting in the courtyard as they flew in for a landing, however. No doubt scouts had sent word of the unit’s pending arrival ahead of them, but even so— this was the crown prince. He was the sort of man one waited for, not the type to sit around twiddling his thumbs and waiting on you. So the fact that he’d done so…

Either he was very happy, or very, very mad. From the inscrutable look he wore, Deacon and Ludwig couldn’t guess either way.

“Sire.” As Deacon dismounted his hippogriff, he swooped a deep bow. “I, ah— hope you haven’t been tapping your feet on our account for too long?”

“Today? Not particularly,” Nealan replied, his voice cool. “But considering you were due back a week ago…”

Ludwig swallowed hard, not yet having risen from his own bow. “There were… complications, sire.”

“So I understand,” Nealan said, his eyes flicking towards where the Heerens were hurriedly helping Martha down from her own hippogriff. “It would seem your proclivity for flying in the face of orders remains unchanged, even after all this time.”

Deacon winced. There was no doubting the fact now that joy had not been the future monarch’s inspiration for greeting them so promptly. “Sire…?”

“We will discuss this, be assured of that,” the prince said, his eyes narrowing. “But later. Alone. For now, I think the priority is a detailed debriefing for all four of the officers here- the remaining soldiers may have liberty once they’ve seen to your griffs, and the civilians I will arrange to be taken to quarters elsewhere in the manor, where they-”

At once Verrill went stock stiff, his grip on his son’s back becoming like iron. Nik was still held in a magical doze, as he had been but for brief spurts on the entire trip, and as he’d promised back in the emperor’s palace Verrill had refused to let the child out of his grasp.

“I’m sure he can stay with us,” Archer murmured to his brother, trying— and failing— to keep his words quiet enough not to cut into the prince’s. “I’m—”

“I heard that,” Nealan cut in, his brow raised. After a moment, he shook his head. “The child can come, provided that you can assure me that he will not make too much a fuss. I have little ones of my own, Lieutenant Colonel Heeren. I understand what you must have been going through, with your son in Sebellius’ grasp all this time.”

Verrill blinked, looking as if he’d been caught supremely off guard. Deacon heaved a sigh.

“The boy’s still under a sleeping spell, if it’s not already obvious, sire,” the general said to his liege. “So he shouldn’t be disruptive, if you have no qualms with his presence.”

“Come along then,” the prince replied, making a beckoning gesture. To the quivering, clearly terrified Martha he added, “I shall see about assigning someone to track down your family, Madam. I cannot promise you a hippogriff trip back, but you may depart with our next convoy of refugees in a week’s time.”

“Th-th-thank you, my prince,” she stammered, flinging herself into a bow so quickly she lost her balance and fell over entirely.

Archer caught her before she hit the ground. “Easy there,” he said, his voice delicate. “No need to be afraid. You’re safe now. Home.”

***

Once he’d separated the four officers (and the sleeping Dominik) out from Martha and the low-ranking soldiers, Nealen promptly took the lot of them into one of the manor’s offices, locked the door, and grilled them like they’d never been grilled before. Before the conversation was done, Verrill and Archer rather felt as if they’d recounted every relevant thing that had happened during their long years in Meltaim, including some information they thought they’d forgotten. It was emotionally exhausting, and by the time it was over with Verrill could feel himself physically shaking despite his efforts to keep himself collected. Archer wasn’t faring much better— nor were Ludwig and Deacon, for that matter… and that was before the prince summarily dismissed the Heeren brothers, then re-locked the office door once they were gone.

“So,” he said, turning towards the generals with an expression that was impossible to read. “Would you gentlemen care to explain why you are so badly behind your set schedule?”

“We…” Ludwig swallowed hard. “We couldn’t leave Martha after she approached us, my liege. She begged us for sanctuary, and if we’d refused her and the emperor found out what she'd done…”

“That land was not under our control, general,” Nealan interjected. “We have no authority to reclaim our citizens there.”

“She came to us, sire,” Deacon said. “Begging for our help. She’d have been flayed for it if we’d left her behind. If not outright killed.”

The prince rubbed his face. “Look generals- I understand your frustration. Your compassion. The helplessness to do the very thing you were sworn to do when you enlisted. But that woman is just one of thousands others like her. There are countless blanks in this Wooforsaken country that need us. That languish in shackles, with the sting of a whip upon their backs.”

“I know that, sire,” Deacon replied, willing himself to keep his voice level. “But it’s… not as if we just made off with her without provocation. She came to us. She—”

“And what about all the native Meltaimans?” Nealan asked softly, folding his arms. “All the men and women who were not born of foreign soil, but who nevertheless come to us begging for asylum? We turn them down. We turn them down every day.”

“Th… they’re not our citizens,” Ludwig stammered. “We have no right to them, a-and the Meltaimans would-”

Ludwig realized too late that he’d talked his way right into his future sovereign's trap. “The Meltaimans would openly revolt,” he finished bluntly. “We keep our control over these territories by making concessions. Moral concessions. Unpleasant concessions. Wooforsaken hard concessions, that involve ignoring innocent men and women in pain, who are raised their whole lives to believe themselves less than animals.”

“We… did it, though,” Deacon said. He couldn’t think of any other reasonable defense, not when Nealen had already so thoroughly rejected his and Ludwig’s initial line of thought. “We got her. No one got hurt, nothing bad happened—”

Nealan’s jaw tightened, and he shot Deacon a hard glower. “You took tremendous risks, General Azrael. You risked the anger of a sovereign renowned for being a butcher of his own people, let alone foreigners! What if you had died? I would have lost two of my finest bloody officers, and then what would become of all those other thousands of men and women who need our help?”

“It… was a calculated risk,” Deacon stammered. “We thought the reward was wor—”

Nealan brought a hand down, hard, on the desk, startling both Deacon and Ludwig. “I put our relationship with our Valzick allies on the line for this mission. I put my neck out with my own nobles for this mission. We gave up the most valuable asset the coalition had for this bloody mission. You risked it all for one civilian hostage. One. Of. Thousands.”

The prince’s stormy grey eyes flashed like flint as he glowered at the generals. Ludwig felt a cold sweat beading on his brow, and he averted his gaze. “We couldn’t just leave her, sire.”

“I need officers I can trust, Benigno,” Nealan retorted flatly. “Trust to make tactically and politically sound decisions even if they are unpleasant. Trust to follow orders even if they don’t like them.”

“We weren’t told not to rescue our own citizens, should the opportunity arise,” Deacon broached reluctantly. “We appraised the situation and—”

“How many times while you were there did Sebellius threaten your lives?” Nealan cut in. “The lives of all the soldiers with you? Of the Heerens you were sent to save?”

“He… he…” Ludwig stammered, wilting visibly.

“The only reason he didn’t kill you was because you lied,” the prince went on. “And what if he had called your bluff? Martha would have died. The Heerens would have died. Every man under your command would have died. How was that a calculated risk?”

To this, Deacon could muster no response; Ludwig glanced towards his partner, then looked down at his boots. “Y-you’re right, sire. We… erred in our judgement.”

Nealan was silent for a time, his expression inscrutable. Then he snorted softly, turning away from the generals. “I understand the impulse to do everything in your power for our people. I understand the pain and helplessness of having to sacrifice a few for the sake of many. I am a monarch- this is a reality I inhabit every day of my life. And I despise it.”

For a moment, neither Deacon nor Ludwig said anything. Then, very hesitantly, Deacon murmured, “It won’t happen again, sire.”

Nealan turned towards the generals, raising a brow, though his expression was surprisingly… regretful.

“No. It won’t.”

Ludwig blinked, a chill of foreboding going up his spine. “S-sir?”

“You disobeyed me, gentlemen,” the prince said, his voice very soft. “You are officers and have been for decades. You know what fate befalls a soldier who disobeys orders.”

Deacon’s stomach did several flips. He and Ludwig were generals, for Woo’s sake— the prince couldn’t mean… “It won’t happen again,” he said, swallowing hard. “We swear it on our honor.”

Nealan shook his head. “I can’t make exceptions or play favorites, Azrael. I’m glad you were able to save that woman. But I can’t risk a repeat performance, not from you or from anyone who might think to follow your example.” He sighed. “It won’t be public. I won’t humiliate you in front of your men. But… discipline must be upheld.”

He turned, headed for the door, and Ludwig watched him go with his insides squirming like a landed fish. He cast Deacon a desperate glance, and Deacon returned it dourly.

“I still don’t regret it,” he murmured once he was sure Nealen was out of earshot. “Saving her. I can’t.”

“I don’t either,” Ludwig agreed grimly. “Better our backs than hers.”

“I’m not, however,” Deacon said, “going to pretend that I don’t have a pit in my stomach right now. I feel like I’m a cadet back in bootcamp, ’Pit.”

“Of all the people we could have crossed, it would be one of the only two with the authority to discipline us like we were enlisted men,” Ludwig agreed with a groan. “I thought we were past this. Well past this.”

“That’s probably half of why he’s doing it.” Deacon rubbed his temple, which was suddenly throbbing. “He knows that whether or not it’s public, it’s humiliating.”

“...You don’t think he’s going to do it personally, do you?” the taller man asked, the look on his face downright pained.

“Who else would it be?” Deacon returned miserably.

Ludwig buried his face in his hands. “I never thought I’d miss filing reports and signing supply order forms.”

“At least it was worth it,” Deacon said. “We’ve gotten everyone home safe. That’s what matters in the end, right?”

“Right,” Ludwig agreed. “All of them were long overdue for a homecoming- Martha, the Heerens, Hannah, and Nik. Just-” he let his face slip into a wry grin, “be sure to remind me of that when we’re both sleeping on our stomachs later.”

Deacon laughed humorlessly. “I’ll whisper it into your ear as you dream of lashes, buddy.”

* * * * *

It was several days later, with Deacon and Ludwig both still tender and sore, when a soldier knocked on the door to their rooms and announced that watchers on the walls had seen hippogriffs approaching at speed. Ludwig glanced towards his partner, a grimly amused expression on his face.

“Guess the Lord Generals finally managed to get everything in Coemgein squared away enough to come and collect their cousins. I’m surprised they actually waited until they were certain the situation was stable, as impulsive as they are.”

“They’ve probably been busy,” Deacon mused as he laced up his worn leather boots. “Arranging to get Hannah home while still overseeing the biggest occupation we’ve got.”

Ludwig smirked. “Busy and overseeing a huge operation didn’t stop them from begging their dear papa to let them go check on their poor kitty cats, as I recall.”

“Ahh, that’s true,” Deacon agreed. “We can’t ever forgive them for that. I don’t care how many decades have gone by. Get a man mauled, and it sort of sticks with you, y’know?” A beat. “Especially when you’re the one who was mauled.”

“Even if you don’t actually remember the mauling,” Ludwig noted, leading the way as the two of them headed out of the room. “At least Prince Nealan isn’t going to be there to get snarled at this time- I imagine he’s well behind his intended schedule of fort hopping.”

“Mm.” Deacon stifled a yawn, beginning down the staircase toward the courtyard where the Heeren generals would no doubt be landing. “Should we fetch Archer and Verrill?” he mused; the brothers and Dominik were staying in one of the manor’s many guest suites. “I imagine they’ll be very excited to see their dear cousins.”

“I would’ve thought one of the soldiers was already getting them,” Ludwig replied with a shrug. “But if you think otherwise, we can swing by there, sure.”

“Might as well,” Deacon said. He gnawed on his lip. “Woo, I wonder what Jaxon and Rohan will even say when they see little Dominik. A cousin they’ve never even met. Who’s grown up in Meltaim so far.”

“I can’t even begin to guess,” Ludwig said grimly. “I mean technically he was born out of wedlock, and you know how nobles are about that sort of thing. Not that I doubt Verrill would’ve married Eira if he could’ve, but…”

“I imagine the sheer joy of reuniting with Archer and Verrill will override any… prejudices,” Deacon said. They reached the bottom of the staircase and turned down the hall that led to the Heeren brothers’ guest suite. “It’ll be nice to hear if Hannah’s been doing well, too. Poor girl’s been through far too much.”

“Aye,” the taller man agreed. “I can only imagine she’s missing Archer and Verrill terribly. He paused as they reached the door to the Heeren’s suite, and knocked on it gently. “Lieutenant Colonels? Are you there?”

There was a brief call from inside, and a moment later Verrill’s face appeared from behind the door, his expression quizzical. “Something the matter, Generals? Archie and I were working on Nik’s Macarinthian.”

“Nothing wrong at all,” Deacon assured. “We just wanted to make sure someone had come to fetch you.” He gave a thin smile. “It seems not.”

“Fetch us?” He glanced over his shoulder, making a beckoning gesture towards his brother. “Fetch us ah… where, exactly?”

“Well considering who we’ve been waiting on all this time…” Ludwig prompted dryly.

Archer appeared at the door, hovering behind his brother’s shoulder, Dominik wedged on his hip. “Ro and Jax?” he brooked.

“Who else?” Deacon said dryly. He beckoned the brothers forward. “Come on. Let’s not keeping them waiting, eh? They’ve probably landed by now.”

“R-right. Of course.” Verrill swallowed hard. “Let me take Nik, Archie, I know he’s hard for you to manage with your leg. Don’t want to k-keep them waiting, e-eh?”

Archer passed his nephew over, and without another word then, the group began toward the courtyard. Deacon was dead on his money when he’d guessed that the Lord General and his brother would’ve already landed— when he, Ludwig, Archer, and Verrill stepped outside a few minutes later, a flock of a dozen-odd hippogriffs milled near the manor walls, still fully saddled and armoured, their riders in the process of dismounting.

Archer’s eyes arrowed toward his cousins. “Oh, Woo,” he breathed. “It’s really them. I can’t believe it’s really them.”

Verrill nodded, tears pricking at his eyes. “I never thought we’d see them again,” he admitted hoarsely. Nik reached up to his father’s face with concern.

“Papa cry?” he whimpered. “Papa sad?”

“No, Papa’s not sad, baby,” Verrill soothed the child. “He’s very, very happy.” Then, seeming to throw off all military rank and file formality, he raised his voice and called, “Jaxon! Rohan! Four years it’s been, and you stand around giving orders to your peons instead of coming to say hello?”

As if they’d been struck by a blazing arrow, Rohan and Jaxon whipped toward their cousins’ familiar voice. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the sudden pallor to the Lord General’s face, nor the widening of his eyes— he lurched forward, mouth agape, as though he’d seen a pair of ghosts.

“The Woo be praised,” he declared, starting briskly across the courtyard. His unit had to scramble to get out of the noble’s way. “It really is. It’s… it’s…”

Part of Deacon wanted to make some sort of quip about how he and Ludwig knew Archer and Verrill well enough not to have brought back impostors, but he knew it was neither the time nor the place. Instead, he remained at silent attention as Verrill led his brother forward to meet their cousins. Rohan, his good eye bright, threw his arms around both of them as soon as he had drawn close enough, and with a wondering laugh, Archer reciprocated.

“Easy there,” Jaxon chided, but there wasn’t a scrap of true reproach to his tone. “Archie’s missing a bit of a leg there, wouldn’t want to knock him over, Ro.”

“Ahh, I’m sturdy enough,” Archer replied, grinning like a kid on Woomas morning. “I had to be— chasing after Hannah. She was a little imp when she was small. Fast as a spooked cat.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Rohan mused, pulling back from his cousins with a wide smile of his own. “Feisty thing- it took everything we had to get her to agree to go on ahead to Igerna instead of waiting in an active occupation for you two. She’s bull-headed, that one.”

“Ah Woo, did she give you both as much sass as the Generals claim she gave Prince Nealen?” Verrill asked, bouncing a very unnerved looking Dominik on his hip.

“She’s certainly got a mouth on her,” Jaxon agreed with a wry chuckle. “Once she arrived to Igerna, she made your mother write a letter on her behalf and sent it to us - to give to you once you were safe and to you know that she was safe. Your mother made a few of her own additions— namely, that she was going to charge the two of you for the supply of soap she’s suddenly wasting through.”

“Oh, Woo.” Archer shook his head. “I hope she hasn’t been too much of a bother.”

“Given everything she’s been through, I don’t really blame her,” Rohan said. His expression darkening, he added, “Woo, I am so, so sorry about everything you’ve been through. We had no idea, or we would never have let things fester for this long.”

“It’s not your fault,” Archer replied. “It was no one’s fault— not really. So many factors just combined into a perfect storm, and… well…” He shrugged. “... She’s all right, though - Hannah? I’ve been so worried. Woo, I’ve been so worried.”

“She’s fine, Archer,” Jaxon promised. “Safe at home with our family.” A beat. “Her family now, too, I suppose.”

“So… Father and Uncle Quincy are alright with it?” Verrill brooked. “Her?”

“Papa!” Nik cut in, his voice shrill. Speaking in Meltaiman, he went on, “What saying? Who them?”

Here, a bit of the humour drained from Jaxon’s face. “Yes, your father and my father are both fine with it— with her.” A beat, as he gestured to the squirming Dominik. “He… doesn’t speak much Macarinthian, does he?” the lord general wagered.

“No, he doesn’t,” Verrill agreed with a sigh. “It wasn’t safe. He’s far too small to know to speak only Meltaiman around strangers. So we had to make sure Meltaiman was the only language he knew. He can say ‘Mommy’ in Valzick- and I’ve been trying to teach him Macarinthian since the generals freed us. It’s just… there hasn’t been a lot of time.”

“He’ll learn quickly once we get him home, I imagine,” Archer added. “He’s so young. Malleable.”

Jaxon gave a tepid nod. “That’s true. We’ll just… have to be firm with it, I suppose. Weaning him from Meltaiman as quickly as possible.”

Verrill looked down at the boy, his voice going flat. “He’s my son, Jaxon. I know what you’re thinking, but it doesn’t matter where he was raised or who his mother was- he’s my son, and I love him. I want my family to love him too.”

Ludwig cast a wry glance towards Deacon, raising a brow. Deacon only sighed. He had known going in that this reunion wouldn’t be one without strings attached, but still— he’d hoped the joy would have lasted just a little longer than this. And in any case, there were dozens of low-ranking enlisted men around. It was hardly the environment for the Heerens to hash out their inner family turmoil and concerns.

The blond general cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Perhaps, ah— you would like to take your private family discussion inside, my lords?” he suggested. “Archer and Verrill have a suite with room enough for you— refreshments could be brought—”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Rohan agreed. “We have a lot of catching up to do. And we still need to give our cousins Hannah’s letter.”

“Mmm,” Verrill nodded, bouncing Nik as the child continued to fuss. After a brief pause, he added, “Nik, you want to say hi to your Uncles?”

“Unca?” the boy parroted, glancing at Archer.

“Not Uncle Archer,” Verrill said. He pointed to Jaxon and Rohan. “Uncle Jax, and Uncle Ro.”

The child looked highly skeptical, but after a moment he tentatively curled and uncurled his chubby fingers in an approximation of a wave. In accented but understandable Macarinthian, he said, “Hi Unca Jax. Hi Unca Ro.”

Jaxon swallowed hard, giving the boy a tentative smile. “Hello there, Nik,” he said softly. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll get to know each other very well as you grow up. And—” He swallowed hard. “I’m glad to have you two home, Archer and Verrill. So glad. Whatever’s happened to you— whatever we need to sort out… we’ll sort it out. We’ll make things work. It might not be easy, or always pleasant, but… that’s what family does, neh? We’re there for each other. When it matters most.”

Verrill traded a glance with his brother, then gave his cousins a wobbly smile. “R-right. Nothing is the same as it was before, but… that doesn’t mean the future can’t be a good one. And anything is better than having to live as a Meltaiman forever.”

“Amen to that,” Rohan agreed. Looking towards Jaxon, he said, “So then, shall the generals lead us on?”

Jaxon nodded in agreement. “Right. Inside sounds great.” He nodded to Deacon and Ludwig. “Generals— lead the way.”