Chapter 26 #2
Other men and women are setting up the tents and cleaning equipment. Many sit in clusters, chattering with each other as they work.
I take the lead, weaving between the Order members and their supplies in silence, careful not to walk too close and risk someone accidentally bumping into me. My ears stay pricked to the conversations around me, my gaze roving over the objects caught by the flickering firelight.
Someone’s left a shallow camp pot on a stone near one of the fires. I glance around to confirm no one’s close enough to see the small item disappear and pluck it up to slip it under my arm. That’ll make for easier meal prep.
Around the back of one of the supply wagons that no one is currently bothering with, I pilfer an apple for each of us to go with our dinner. With a twinge of longing, I consider a spare tent lying on the ground still folded, but I suspect that theft might be too noticeable.
Most of the would-be soldiers I pass are talking about immediate practical matters like their aching feet or who they’ll share their tent with.
But I pass one cluster made up of people who don’t look much older than I am enthusing about getting to see more of the country for the first time, and another group that’s all teens, chatting about their trek like it’s a grand adventure.
“Just imagine it,” one of the boys says with a swish of a dagger he clearly doesn’t have much practice with. “We’re going to be part of the battle to see a real king on the throne—we’ll prove we deserve the gods’ favor and show the All-Giver it’s time to return! People will write songs about us.”
The girl next to him grins. “Fuck yes, they will. And all those stuffy snobs in the capital will realize the outer provinces can get things done that they can’t.”
Julita’s presence squirms in my head. Gods smite me, I hope I was never quite that much of an idiot at that age. They really have no idea who they’ve actually thrown their lot in with, do they?
I grimace in answer. It definitely seems not.
How could they? The scourge sorcerers must have been spreading the seeds of dissension out here for months if not years before they launched their full uprising. They’ve made it sound as if their quest is heroic.
I doubt most of these people even know enough about King Konram and what he and his family have done to evaluate his claim to the throne. And they probably have no idea how the scourge sorcerers are fueling the magic that’s keeping this march hidden.
There must be sacrificial accomplices along for the trek, adding power to that magic. Maybe that’s what the Order member I overheard meant about “blessed ones.”
They haven’t revealed themselves any time I’ve been watching. I suspect they’re being kept hidden away in the three large, covered wagons currently parked in the center of the camp, with several older men and women posted around them on guard detail.
Stavros talked about simply wiping all these people out, but I have no idea how many of the newer recruits are villains and how many simply misled.
All the more reason we need to get a clearer idea of who is in charge.
I slink closer to the central wagons and pass a smaller cart that’s equally well guarded. Peeking through the slats, I make out several cloth bags and a pile of smaller leather pouches, their bulging sides lumpy in a way that’s familiar from my days as the Hand of Kosmel.
Are the scourge sorcerers carrying a heap of money with them?
It certainly looks as if they have plenty to spare.
Avoiding the two guards standing by the end of the cart, I duck down by its side and use one of my knives to slit a small tear in one of the cloth sacks pressed up against the slats. With a little subtle prodding, I push several coins out into my waiting hand.
In the dim firelight, the round shapes shine gold before they disappear in my grasp. I stare at the cart for a second before pocketing the coins.
Usually no one but nobles would carry gold rather than silver. Is the whole cart full of gilts?
Where did the scourge sorcerers get all of it? Is it from Julita’s estate and others like it?
And what exactly are they planning to use it for? I hate to think what they could buy or bribe with that kind of wealth.
I slip around the guards with Rheave keeping pace behind me, and ease even closer to the central wagons. Two of the Order members standing there are talking with another man who’s just come over.
“…and give them to Borys when you’re done,” he’s saying when I get within hearing range. His companions salute him, and he saunters away.
Julita shudders. It sounds like my brother is along for the march. If he really has gotten as much authority as he claimed, he might be leading it.
I incline my head in acknowledgment, scanning the camp for any sign of where Borys might be right now. How much of a problem would it solve if I simply killed him?
My skin tightens at the question. I worked so hard not to take Ster. Torstem down through cold-blooded murder. I didn’t want to become some kind of assassin.
But if it would help stop the march…
I wander farther through the camp, but I don’t see any sign of Julita’s brother so far. Maybe he isn’t even here right now. I do catch a few conversations about other “Wildings” this bunch expects to catch up with tomorrow before they leave the province.
And who is giving Borys’s orders? That’s the most important question we still haven’t answered.
A defiant whinny reaches my ears. I spin around to spot one of the conspirators struggling to hold on to the reins of a very familiar stallion at the edge of the camp.
“Fucking beast,” the woman mutters as she tries to yank Toast’s head around to lead him to the other grazing animals. He grunts at her and rears up, forcing her to dodge his hooves.
A man strides over carrying a whip. “If he won’t settle with peaceful treatment, you’ll have to beat him into obeying.”
I wince, and a decision snaps into place in my head.
Firming my hold on the magic I’m sending around Rheave and me, I let another tendril dart free toward my horse and his soon-to-be tormenters.
The woman takes the whip—and one side of the reins breaks off the bridle. Somewhere in the field, a patch of grass I visualized melds together to offset the fracture.
The severed leather strand slips from the woman’s grasp. Toast doesn’t waste any time taking advantage of his sudden freedom. He wrenches away with an angry snort and gallops off across the field.
The man who brought the whip sighs. “Well, he wasn’t doing much good for us anyway. Let him go then.”
A sense of confidence fills me alongside the brief rush of triumph. I do know how to make a difference with my magic—my way, without resorting to the kind of butchery the scourge sorcerers enjoy.
I complete my circuit of the camp, taking note of the other supply wagons. Then I drift over to the edge of the magical border.
Rheave stops beside me and speaks in a cautiously low voice. “A lot of them are daimon. From what I sensed, about half.”
After what we saw of the scourge sorcerers’ forces in Pima, that doesn’t surprise me.
I glance up at the clouds still smothering the night sky and lean toward Rheave to whisper right by his ear. “What do you say we see how well I can propel your magic right now?”
A sly glint comes into the daimon-man’s eyes. “I’d like that. What should we hit?”
I hum to myself. “Let’s start with a few lightning bolts charring their cargo. I don’t think we should try for smaller targets until we’re sure of our combined aim.”
The daimon-man lets out an eager noise of agreement. “That makes sense. How do you think it will work?”
I bite my lip, pondering the possibilities.
“I think if you throw a surge of your power upward, I should be able to catch it with my magic and throw it in whatever direction I want. It shouldn’t be too different from moving a physical object.
I just have to focus on something else that can move in the opposite direction without the scourge sorcerers noticing and realizing what’s really going on. ”
And do all that while maintaining my focus on the magic keeping us invisible too. But I managed it when I cut Toast’s reins. This won’t be so much harder.
I picture a couple of gnarled trees I noticed in the woods about an hour before we came to our halt. Far enough away that no one at either camp should be disturbed if their branches start whipping around in unexpected ways.
A faint sheen of perspiration forms on my forehead, cooling immediately with the winter air, but the chill only sharpens my concentration.
I fix my eyes on a wagon full of bread, cheese, and dried meat that I want to scorch first. “I’m ready.”
Rheave inhales slowly and then thrusts out his arms with enough force that the air ripples against me. Magic crackles toward the sky.
I toss my own magic after it. With a shove of my will, I hurl the sizzling bolt farther up toward the clouds and then down straight at the wagon.
The supposed lightning smashes into the canvas covering with a warble and a boom like thunder. Yelps ring out throughout the camp as those closest leap away and everyone else stops to stare.
I suck back a laugh at their frightened expressions. Do they really believe the gods approve of their goals? Maybe this will get them thinking things through a little harder.
“Again,” I murmur to Rheave, picking out a second wagon that was carrying crates with unknown but presumably needed contents.
He obliges with another swing of his arms. I fling the second bolt upward and down at the next wagon, with the distant sense of one of the trees I picked out wrenching right out of the soil by its roots.
“What the fuck kind of storm is this?” someone shouts, staring up at the sky.
Another voice rings out, steadier but still nervous-sounding. “Keep low to the ground. It’s striking taller targets.”
I brace myself. “Again.”
And at the same moment, a swell of uneasiness washes through me. Is it really enough to just lash out at the things? These people—they want to kill me and everyone I care about. How can I stand here and let them—
In the middle of my frantic clash of thoughts, Rheave hurls his power into the air. I catch it automatically and launch it upward, but I haven’t picked a target.
My gaze darts through the now-chaotic camp and snags on a teenage boy scowling in the midst of the turmoil, his sword raised. Like he wants to run it right through me.
I pull at the power without thinking, just as the boy’s expression falters with a flash of fear.
Gods, he really is just a kid. What the fuck am I doing?
With a hiss at the effort, I swing the bolt to the side at the last second. It crashes into the side of a tent just a few paces from where the boy is standing.
Rheave whips his arm around me and yanks me backward. The next thing I know, we’re stumbling through the grass out of the area of concealment.
My pulse hitches, and I focus on the one thing I’m sure of—the images of us I’m projecting far off into the forest so that our bodies here can stay invisible.
Rheave tugs me farther away from the Order of the Wild camp, his arm still clamped around me even as he lets me turn in his grip.
“For a second, I felt the spell you put on us fading,” he says under his breath. “I didn’t want them to see us—I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
My bicep feels a bit tender where his arm smacked into me, but nothing all that bad. Nothing I can blame him for.
Curse it all, what’s wrong with me? I nearly burned up a guy who’s practically a kid, and I started to lose focus.
“It was a little too much,” I mumble. “I tried to do more than I should have.”
If that’s all it took for my concentration to falter, then camp-wide destruction is definitely off the table.
We hustle back into the woods. As I pull the rest of my magic back into my chest, a sigh rushes out of me. But my stomach knots tighter with each step we take back to the others.
Sulla warned me that I hadn’t practiced enough. What if I can’t control my power even well enough to protect us now that I’ve insisted that we continue on this dangerous course?
When we reach our own little camp, the other three men are standing tensed around the faint glow of the fire, strips of dried meat heating on a makeshift rack of sticks. Alek looks more exhilarated than worried, though.
“Did you try it?” he asks. “Was that Rheave’s magic we heard?”
I nod, managing a weary smile. “We threw a couple of ‘lightning bolts’ out of the sky at the march’s supplies. They don’t have quite as much food to keep them going as they did before. But I couldn’t stay focused for long enough to do more.”
Casimir pulls me into his arms. “You’ve been incredible this entire time, Kindness. There’s nothing wrong with pacing yourself.”
I sink into his embrace, not wanting to explain exactly how wrong things could have gone.
Alek grins and waves the book he brought back from the temple he visited—with the corners of several aged envelopes poking from between the pages. “You might not have to worry about stretching yourself thin for much longer. I think the answer we need is right here.”