Station
“Are you sure these constructions aren’t magical?”
Math couldn’t see Kaiataris’s expression. No one could just then, because apparently if one gave her around fifteen minutes to store up enough magical energy, she could turn herself invisible.
Just herself, unfortunately.
But he didn’t need sight to sense her mood—she was nearly giddy, delight radiating from her encounter with something wonderfully new. Her excitement prickled at the back of his neck, alien and intrusive.
“Completely sure,” Math whispered. “They’re powered by steam.”
He’d never visited Sounalla’s train station before; it hadn’t existed when he was a child. Now the empire was littered with stations, part of the empress’s new initiative for “linking the continent.”
Kaiataris seemed more intrigued by trains than anything they’d encountered yet. Her curiosity rippled through their bond, mingling uneasily with his anxiety. Even invisible, he knew she’d gravitated toward the tracks for a closer look, heedless of danger.
In most countries, iron trains—if they had them at all—were reserved for goods or soldiers. Only Rokasmaa was opening trains to public use.
“Now stop talking,” Math whispered. “You’re invisible, not inaudible.”
He was garnering stares as it was—not because he was doing anything strange, but because he was something strange: an Idallik Knight.
Most had never seen one, but all recognized the distinctive armor and tabard.
Thus, Math—or rather, Captain Qin—was the most exciting thing to happen in Sounalla since the arrival of the train itself.
He forced himself not to fidget, unease crawling between his shoulder blades.
The station was busier than he’d expected, but trains traveled at all hours. Many of the travelers wouldn’t be residents of Sounalla, but rather people passing through, on their way to bigger, more important places.
Or so Math assumed.
He was assuming too much lately, none of it comforting.
Whenever he’d left the cenobium before, it had been to hunt monsters, not marvel at imperial technology.
He could admit (at least privately) that he’d always wanted to see a train up close, just as he’d dreamed of exploring Bashan illuminated by gaslight.
Yet now, with his wish fulfilled, a creeping dread shadowed every step since meeting Kaiataris.
The station loomed far larger than he’d expected: tall, vaulted, cathedral-like. Metal arches soared overhead, intricate iron lace supporting huge glass panes. By day, sunlight would flood the space; at night, glass bulbs cast clinical pools of light.
He heard Kaiataris’s soft voice: “Could it be that I am misinterpreting the unfriendly stares you’re receiving?”
Math sighed. “No.”
“Perhaps I should rather ask: Why are you receiving such looks?”
“It’s not me,” Math whispered. He grimaced.
“Five years ago, the emperor was assassinated. Rumor says an Idallik Knight opposed to his reforms did it.” He turned toward a wall, pretending to inspect a pouch, feigning nonchalance even as tension tightened his shoulders.
Captain Qin had carried enough money for a night’s stay in Sounalla—enough, hopefully, for food if he could find someplace still open.
“And was he?”
“Was he what? Oh.” Math swallowed, glancing around nervously. What worried him most wasn’t the suspicious civilians, but the group of Rokasmaa soldiers who’d clearly been drinking. They looked exactly like the sort to cause trouble.
“My sister always thought so,” Math admitted softly. “But I never wanted to believe it. It’s true the reforms weren’t popular among certain knights, though.” He failed at keeping disapproval from his voice—not that it mattered. She could feel it anyway. Her curiosity only sharpened in response.
He was upset for reasons beyond reminders of why Rokasmaa citizens might distrust Idallik Knights, however.
Specifically, the small brick ticket booth just inside the station entrance sat dark, a CLOSED sign in front of a lowered shade.
Why had he assumed tickets would be sold all night?
Because trains ran all night, obviously. But while Bashan might offer round-the-clock ticket sales, Sounalla, famed only for hot springs and pottery, did not.
“Oh dear,” Kaiataris whispered, noticing the same problem.
He briefly considered boarding the next train using the stolen writ, claiming an emergency—which was true—but he didn’t know protocols.
Idallik Knights rarely took trains, preferring magic for rapid travel.
He might face a conductor’s scrutiny, and Kaiataris’s illusion might fade at precisely the wrong moment.
Even with funds for overnight lodging, he dared not remain. The Queens could be tracking him. Even if not, someone in the Order would realize this was his logical next stop. His neck prickled; he imagined enemies closing from every direction.
He couldn’t be in Sounalla when either group arrived—and desperately hoped quick departure would deter pursuit entirely.
“Maybe it should be the Idiotic Order, huh?” a too-loud voice called from behind him.
Math sighed. He knew exactly what he’d see when he turned around. He felt a flare of apprehension from Kaiataris, mirrored by his own dread.
The group of Rokasmaa soldiers he’d spotted earlier had stopped to watch him, laughing and elbowing each other. Four of them—three men and one woman. Math didn’t recognize ranks, but all wore Rokasmaa uniforms. No armor, but they were armed.
All of them were drunk.
“No, no,” the woman giggled. “Idyllic Order.”
This confused the first soldier. “Wait. Isn’t that their name?”
She laughed and slapped his chest. “No! Idallik … it means…” She frowned. “I don’t actually know what it means.”
“Death knight,” Kaiataris whispered, too quietly for anyone but Math to hear. Her words sliced through his nerves.
He forced himself not to react.
The soldier wasn’t finished mocking him. “But that’s not important! What matters is idyllic means peaceful. You know…” The woman paused, giving Math a thoroughly hateful look. “Because you all sit on your asses and don’t do anything.”
“Of course they do something,” another man sneered. “They take people’s money, don’t they?”
“We don’t do … anything,” Math said slowly, watching carefully.
Normal soldiers, likely stationed near the Kaliri border or embroiled in the conflict with Vilsenor.
No armor, just uniformed, tipsy, and clearly aggressive.
They’d had their fun—tavern drinks and a dip in the hot springs.
Now, back at the station, they waited for the train to take them back to their posts.
Their luggage was piled in an untidy heap in a corner.
He glanced up at the destination sign above their heads.
They were waiting for the train to Bashan.
“That’s not your fancy knight’s weapon, is it?” A quieter man pointed to Math’s Kaliri weapon. “I thought it’d glow at least.”
“Yeah, where’s your sword?” Loudest demanded.
“It’s not always a sword,” the woman reminded him.
“Still want to see it. That’s just a stick. Summon your weapon,” Loudest sneered. “At least you’d be good for a laugh.”
“I don’t want a fight,” Math warned, tension winding through every muscle.
“So don’t make one,” the woman said, smirking. “We just want to see your … sword.” She giggled, deliberately twisting her words.
“If I manifest my sword, I’ll use it,” Math said quietly, coldly. “And that means I’ll kill with it.”
The four soldiers exchanged glances, drunk bravado briefly wavering. Loudest recovered first. “You threatening us?”
What were they thinking? As far as they knew, Math wore plate armor, could summon a weapon at will, and used magic. He was no one to pick a fight with.
Math eyed their uniforms—baggy cotton trousers tucked into high boots, linen shirt under a thigh-length vest, covered by a wide, tasseled sash of imperial-blue silk.
If they’d been in the field, they likely would have covered all that with a jazerant coat, much like Math’s own.
As it was, they wore full, high-collared coats of dark gray wool.
It wasn’t quite one-size-fits-all, but it came close.
All four soldiers wore swords.
Math raised an eyebrow and smirked, challenging recklessness masking real dread. “Yes, I am. Any of you cowards going to do something about it?”
Loudest lunged, staggering forward. Math dodged easily, heart pounding. He couldn’t let them touch him and risk revealing the illusion.
“You want a fight, grave scum?” another soldier shouted, advancing. He hadn’t drawn his sword yet, but surely would soon. “You’re asking for it!”
“What are you doing?” Kaiataris hissed, panic flaring sharply.
“Getting you a coat,” Math whispered.
He backed toward the doors, waiting until the soldiers chased—then ran.
Normally, Math would’ve been arrogantly certain of his ability to handle an enlisted soldier, but being unarmed and outnumbered evened the odds. Math’s confidence had always been ironclad, but tonight—weaponless, exhausted—he felt that certainty cracking.
Fighting openly in the brightly lit train station, in full view of witnesses, was out of the question. Fortunately, even a town the size of Sounalla had plenty of alleys—none lit after dark. In the shadows, those alleys pressed closer, narrowing into uncertain traps.
Math wasn’t surprised when Loudest rounded the corner first. Judging by his footsteps, he’d outpaced his companions.
Loudest took the wooden end of the Kaliri weapon directly to the face, staggering back with a broken nose.
Math grabbed him by the coat and slammed him into the alley wall. The soldier crumpled.
Math pulled the man’s sword from its sheath and retreated deeper into the shadows.
One soldier paused at the sight of his fallen companion, but instead of instilling any sense of caution, Loudest’s injury just made it personal for the others. Now they had something to prove.
“Come out here!” another soldier shouted. “Fight us like … like an Avansi!”
Math nearly scoffed aloud. Fighting like an Avansi didn’t mean fighting foolishly.
He waited until the soldiers stepped forward, then kicked over a stack of wooden crates destined for firewood.
The boxes crashed down, striking one man on the shoulder, sending him sprawling into the muck.
Before he could recover, Math slammed a knee into his back, grabbed his head, and bashed it into the ground.
When Math stood again, the woman faced him, sword drawn.
But Math had a sword now, too.
She hesitated, and that was all Math needed.
While she’d had some training, Math had wielded swords his entire life.
Math lunged, pressing his borrowed blade against hers until she lost her grip.
With no intention of killing a Rokasmaa soldier, he stepped close and knocked her unconscious with the sword pommel.
He heard the last man fleeing. Gravespit. If the soldier called for help, Math’s problems would multiply swiftly.
But as he ran after the soldier, a soft cry preceded the thud of a body hitting the ground. Math rounded the corner to find the soldier sprawled in the dirt, and Kaiataris, visible once more, dropping the loose board she’d wielded.
“Nice job,” Math said, kneeling to check the man.
“Thank you,” she replied primly. “Only why did we pick a fight with these people?” Her unease threaded through their bond, a stark contrast to her earlier joy at the train station. Her curiosity had sharpened into wary uncertainty.
Math held up a finger. “One moment. Help me drag them together.”
She didn’t argue, focusing instead on pulling the unconscious woman toward her companions.
Once the group was clustered in the dark alley, Math checked to ensure none were fatally injured.
Every passing second felt eternal. Anyone might stumble upon them—guards, witnesses, or worse, someone from the Order—and no disguise would save them if that happened.
Head wounds were tricky. A blow strong enough to render someone unconscious was strong enough to kill.
Once Math confirmed the soldiers would wake with nothing worse than headaches, he began removing clothes.
Not everything—just two coats, the critical blue sashes, and boots for Kaiataris to replace her useless sandals.
Not the woman’s boots, interestingly, but one of the men’s, who had surprisingly delicate feet.
He glanced up at Kaiataris, though he saw only the faintest silhouette blocking starlight. Her disapproval radiated, which Math found darkly amusing.
What was his life when he had a necromancer judging him? He hesitated, hand hovering over a coin purse. Master Wadera’s lessons on honor echoed loudly, condemning this once-inviolable boundary now crossed.
Yet survival left him little choice.
“What are you doing?” Kaiataris broke the silence.
“Breaking the law for the first time in my life,” Math muttered, patting the soldiers down, relieving them of extra money and train tickets. “We need money, tickets, clothes.” He gestured toward the unconscious soldiers. “The Tri-Mother provides.”
“I hadn’t imagined we’d so quickly resort to brigandage.”
He hadn’t missed her use of “we,” and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Part of him liked it, and he was deeply uncomfortable about the fact that part of him liked it. Her presence was both comforting and disturbing.
“They picked a fight with someone they thought was a fully armored Idallik Knight,” Math said. “Someone they knew could summon magic and weapons. How will they learn without consequences?”
She scoffed, but he felt the fondness lurking underneath her pretend outrage.
He circled a few basic spells to clean the grime. It wouldn’t do to arrive at the station looking like they’d rolled in an alley.
“Your order seems popular,” Kaiataris remarked dryly.
“I’d never thought about it much, but it’s never a good omen seeing us at your doorstep. Especially after that business with the emperor…” He tossed her a coat. “Put this on. They left suitcases on the platform. We’ll take their bags and use the station restrooms to change.”
Which was what they did.