Chapter Thirty-Seven Abel
See death not as punishment.
—Parting words from Diu, War-Torn God of the Suns
Translated from The Tale of Stars (L’Histoire des étoiles), Part III: The Age of Mortality
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Abel
The discussion of logistics snaps me back into professional mode.
“This will be a stealth mission only,” Marshal Payen says. “Reconnaissance to see what I’m up against, in case I need to summon reinforcements from other marshals to handle the arrests. My goal is to ensure none of you see combat.”
“How will you do that?” I ask.
“We’ll take advantage of their owl form by searching the area during the full moon.”
Marshal Payen explains her basic idea for the trek.
Claire will give directions. A dozen gendarmes will take the vanguard in plain clothes to appear like game hunters in the event they are spotted.
Rotating positions should maintain the guise of uncoordinated movement.
It worked for Marshal Payen the first time, while she still had the prisoner in custody.
“The problem is time,” Marshal Payen adds, crossing her arms. “It’ll take two days of riding just to reach the spot where we lost the prisoner, and roughly one or two more to finish the search.
As much as I’d prefer to keep our journey short, I don’t want to miss anything.
We should budget for four days, with the night of the full moon as the last stretch of exploration. ”
“Then we can start the journey back down the mountain?” I ask.
“Correct.”
Claire interrupts. “That schedule guarantees we’ll be on the mountain on Ignition Day. If we don’t find a cure, Abel will have to slay me within the vicinity of the cultists. Won’t that guarantee we face combat?”
“Don’t you have enough sleep powder left for one more Ignition?” I ask.
“Barely,” she whispers.
“Then you won’t turn into a dragon while we’re up there,” I assure her. “If worse comes to worst, just use the sleep powder. I’ll carry you back down the mountain, then slay you next month. I promise.”
Lucy flattens her ears and shifts uncomfortably on Claire’s lap. But it doesn’t take my tinderfox to expose just how tense she is. Her fingers make knots of Lucy’s fur, and her eyes gleam with fresh tears. Her fear hits my stomach like a meteorite, now that she’s not bothering to mask it anymore.
I face Lyle. “I’ll need a new crossbow. Bolts too. Just in case.”
“Sure,” he replies, with a sad smile to Claire. “On the house.”
“Make one for every gendarme who joins the trek. And for you,” I address Marshal Payen. “With any luck, moonmetal weapons can kill the owls.”
It’s a presumptive theory; there’s no guarantee owls mirror dragons when it comes to their weaknesses. At the very least, equipping everyone with moonmetal is a way to ease Claire’s mind.
She grips the hem of my coat sleeve. Her lips move almost imperceptibly to shape the phrase Thank you.
Marshal Payen rises from her seat. “Rest while you can, and eat properly. Do not speak of this mission within earshot of anyone outside this room,” she commands.
“I’m not taking any chances that this plan leaks to the cultists.
Our team must vanish undetected, even by the rest of my gendarmes.
I will brief my subordinates on what has transpired after I return. Understood?”
We all nod.
In the days that follow, Lyle sources the moonmetal and forges what we need.
He sharpens my sword, my daggers, and Hanna’s shackle.
True to his word, he accepts no payment.
Marshal Payen restricts me and Claire to the barracks to ensure we’re not seen.
She selects her most trusted gendarmes to accompany us.
Then we start our ascent.