Chapter 6

  “Where will you go next?”

  “Back to the Capital. I need to get there before… soon.”

  “Orent? I’ve never been. They say it's beautiful. A city built for the Gods.

  They were in Eike’s cart. The night was warm and clear, and they lay side by side, staring up at the stars.

  “It was quite beautiful.”

  “Perhaps… I could go with you. I haven’t really thought about what I’ll do, and this might be the only chance I’ll—"

  “—No. No, you shouldn’t.”

  “Oh,” he rolled on his side, looking away out into the forest, “I understand.”

  “Its… it's not a safe time to be there.”

  He turned back, “All the more reason I should go with you. If today has taught me anything, it's that you’re going to need a lot of saving.”

  Fia frowned, “That’s not quite how I remember it. It seemed like you were the one that needed more saving.”

  He grinned, “I guess we both need a little help from time to time. That’s why we need to stick together. What’s the harm?”

  Why not, she thought. He was right; what was the harm? He would be gone soon anyway. She thought of the shop again, struggling to force it from her mind.

  “I—the city is already besieged. It will fall in the next few hours.”

  His smile vanished. “That can’t be true. The rebels are leagues from the city. Everyone knows that.”

  “The camps in the north are empty. Decoys. They’ve been sailing up the river for days.”

  He sat up, face contorted. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “It’s just what happens,” she said, shrugging and twisting her fingers into knots.

  “Why go back then?”

  “My sister…”

  Eike watched her, brow furrowed, waiting. But she did not speak. Finally, he took a deep breath and broke the silence, “She must be very important to you. Was that her you conjured before?”

  The sorceress in white. The Golden Spears were the hallmark of King Anselm’s Magi. Sophie had been one of them, but that wasn’t her; it could not have been.

  “No,” she smiled softly, “I can’t make real people. She’s just someone… someone I made up… to keep me safe.”

  He took her hands, “I’ll keep you safe.” The words spilled out of him, and she saw his eyes widen as he jerked forward awkwardly, trying to stop them. He turned a deep shade of scarlet as he stammered, “Until you’re back with your sister, of course. Say you’ll let me go with you.”

  “Let’s talk about it in the morning.” She shifted onto her back, gazing up into the night. The stars burned bright, a glowing shimmer of blue and gold. Lost in the cosmos, she was glad to have found someone.

  “I’m sorry about your sword.”

  “Don’t be. I made all that up about my family. I bought it from a traveling merchant, I’m starting to think he overcharged me for it. At least it fits in the clasp now.”

  “And to think I actually felt bad for you.”

  “I mean, its still broken.”

  The sun was not yet rising when Fia woke. The warmth of the night before had fled before an icy dawn, and Eike lay shivering under his coat, still asleep. She took the cover he had lent her, wrapping him snugly in its embrace. He let out a deep breath, burrowing deep underneath.

  She took one horse, cutting the second loose. He would be better off in the west, and she couldn’t have him coming after her. Fia took one last look, fingers itching. A quick sketch wouldn’t hurt, something to remember him by. He shifted underneath the new weight, mumbling to himself, deep in a dream. Fia hesitated; she could come back; this didn’t need to be their last meeting. She would draw him then.

  Horseback would have her back to Orent by early afternoon. By now, there would be none guarding its walls. Malachi’s forces would be deep in the city. An easy journey.

  Just before midday, she began to see them. Marching in a steady stream, pillars of smoke at their backs. The citizens of Orent. They had fled the city, abandoning their homes and lives, desperate to find peace. They had precious little. Taking only what could be carried upon their backs. Their robes were rags, ripped and tattered, singed by the fires, and covered in ash and mud and death.

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  People stared up at her as she passed. Eyes hollow. Pale and grey. The life had left them. Men, women, children, all the same. All drudging forward, slowly, quietly. There was nowhere for them to go, so they just kept walking.

  In their midst marched many soldiers. Their heads hung the lowest, shoulders sagging. Deserters. Their once-brilliant armor was dull and muted; the light of the sun seemed to die as it hit their plate. Many had no blades, cast aside in fear and despondence. These were the saddest of men.

  “You! You there!” a voice cried out. It was shrill and piercing, cutting through the silence.

  Fia stopped, searching the crowd for the voice.

  “Pretending you’re not one of them!”

  She looked down. At the foot of her horse stood an old crone. Her back bent nearly in two, she leaned dangerously on a crooked oak staff.

  “Excuse me?”

  “One of them.” She lifted one hand off of the staff, tilting precariously to point at a passing soldier, “Deserters, traitors the lot of you!”

  “I’m no soldier, ma’am.”

  “Of course not! I see the robes, girl. You’re one of those magi, living all those years off of the King’s grace, and then as soon as you were needed, nowhere to be found! The city is lost! My home—” She broke down sobbing, falling to her knees with a whimper.

  “I—”

  “—Mother!”

  A man burst out of the crowd, wrapping himself around the woman and lifting her into his arms. He glared up at Fia. “Have you no shame! That you would flaunt your betrayal in our very faces? Get away!”

  The people began to hiss, and even the soldiers joined in, their guilt and despair turned to rage. Fia spurred her horse to a gallop, but the insults followed her long after she had left them in the dust, chasing her toward the smoke.

  She came upon the west gate just after the sun had passed its peak. They were flung wide open, empty.

  There were no signs of fighting. The sound of war carried over from the far side of the city, borne upon the wind. But here it was quiet, an eerie silence. The roads, once loud, filled with all manner of merchants bustling and jostling for position as they poured into the city, were empty. All that she had loved about Orent was gone.

  There should not be much fighting between here and the shop. If she was careful, she could slip through the backstreets undetected, it would not take her long. She fumbled inside her pouch, searching for her prize. A curious treasure. Fia knew well the value of ancient tomes; Sophie had sought them out constantly. She would journey far and wide, gathering the oldest, most precious of grimoires. There was nothing she liked better than pouring over her latest acquisition, eyes darting over the runes, mouth twisted into a delirious crooked smile as she eagerly devoured its knowledge.

  This book was not a grimoire; at least, she did not think so. It was old enough, musty, and cracked like all the best ones, but its runes were foreign, and they were not written like spells. It looked like a list, pages and pages, counting something. And then there were the whispers, dark, ominous thoughts creeping in and burrowing deep into her mind whenever she looked at it. Fia couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

  She wandered towards the upper levels of the city. Living higher up, removed from the stench of labor and the filth of industry, had been a luxury afforded to all magi. But when the walls were breached, such privilege had proven a curse. Malachi had largely left the lower levels untouched, quickly cutting his way through and making for the palace. The upper levels were not afforded such mercy. His men were gripped by bloodlust, one that could not be denied. The violence grew as they climbed, reaching a fevered pitch at the palace gates.

  Despite her status, Sophie had kept her shop outside the second wall. Still elevated but placed at the foot of the great knoll. Fia had hated it at first. Why draw the ire of the common folk if you weren’t even going to take advantage of it? But as usual, Sophie had been right.

  Deeper in the city, far from its gates, Fia found its people, what was left of them. They drifted through the haze, lost souls. Children, split from their families, separated in the turmoil they had been left behind. And the elderly, lives spent, too weak to make the journey. There was a hopefulness in the children’s eyes as she walked past. They had only ever known a city of magic, taught to view magi as guardians and providers, to look to them in times of need. They followed behind, waiting for deliverance.

  Fia left trailing golden baubles of light in her wake, and the children huddled around them, drawn to their warmth. It would do little but provide a small comfort in their final hours. But it could not save them and did nothing to dissuade the dark looks and frightened whispers of the other survivors. They knew the truth.

  “Excuse me, miss,” squeaked a tiny voice.

  It was Lina. A small girl, and very young, perhaps six or seven, covered in ash and shaking. She looked up at Fia, eyes wide, “I need your help.”

  “What is it, dear?” she smiled warmly. There was still time.

  “I’m lost,” her lips began to quiver. “Father told me to wait here, but he never came back…”

  Fia took a seat beside the child, placing an arm around her, “I think I can help, but first, tell me your name.”

  “Lina.”

  “Well, Lina, I’m going to look for your father. It may take me until tomorrow to track him down. Can you be brave for me until I find him?”

  Lina sniffed, rubbing her nose thoughtfully, “I think so, but I’m all alone.”

  “That’s why I am going to leave my friend with you.” She closed her eyes, and soon, a figure in white appeared before them.

  Lina giggled, clapping her hands, “She looks strong!”

  “Very strong, Lina. She’s protected me for many years. You can borrow her for now, but you have to promise to give her back.”

  “I promise,” she turned to the figure, “What’s your name?”

  “Oh, she doesn’t speak, Lina. But you may call her whatever you like.”

  “Ella!”

  “Ella. That’s a pretty name. Listen, I better get looking for your father. Take care of Ella for me, all right?”

  Lina nodded fiercely, hands wrapped in Ella’s white robes.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Turning the corner, she took one last look at them. Lina curled up in Ella’s arms. The specter was stone-faced as always, but the girl did not seem to notice.

  She was almost home now. The familiar cobblestone lane, lined with little maples, soon the top of their shop would peak over the horizon. But something wasn’t right. It was too far from the fighting for it to be so loud. She could hear the ringing clash of steel and the barking shouts of officers directing their men. And then she saw them. People. Running, they scrambled over one another, pushing and shoving, desperate to escape the pursuing legion. The soldiers marched after, slow and methodical. Any who stumbled as they fled were struck down mercilessly. They did not have the restraint Fia had grown accustomed to, nor had they been consumed by bloodlust. The white hawk whipped furiously in the wind, emblazoned boldly on their banners. These were Malachi’s men, but something was very wrong.

  And then something flew by her! A flash of red and white, and then a gurgling scream as a nearby soldier fell clutching at his neck. Before him stood a man in crimson plate; in his hands, he gripped a splintered blade.

  Cycle: Timor 1-3