35. THIRTY-FIVE #2
They set off into the night at a canter, horses snorting, moonlight shining on their dusty flanks.
Dex had made the impossible possible—no intervention came.
The night watch was occupied on the opposite side of the encampment.
In national territory, under extreme isolation, Calver was likely to be command’s greatest assessed risk.
But he was supposed to be unconscious in an infirmary tent in the command sector, not magically healed and beelining for the coast.
They traveled through the dawn, resting only to water the horses.
Some time after the sun reached its climax, they traversed a series of red-brown rock formations lining the rim of a shallow fissure.
Small, scraggly bushes grew along their bases, flourishing in the refuge from the sun.
Calver spared a glance for Dex, whose eyes had begun to cross, his head lolling with the easy pace of the horse.
The boy was in pain. There hadn’t been time for instruction on how to hold himself.
He had no doubt a search party would set out on their tail, but they had put enough space between themselves and the Red Wing to buy time to sleep. He pulled his steed to a stop.
Dex’s horse nickered as it nearly collided with Calver’s. It turned around and chomped at Dex’s boot. The boy snapped upright. “I don’t like you much either,” he muttered.
Calver signaled. They would keep in motion while the recruitment was at rest.
The boy did not argue.
They moved their mounts into the shade of the rocks.
Dex watered them while Calver circled the area, looking for any vantage points that could be used against them.
Several small rodents streaked out of his path to hide in bushes or burrows.
Calver paused to survey the changing landscape.
There might be water here—the desert had transitioned into steppe.
He returned to the base of the rocks where he’d left Dex. The boy was setting out his bedroll but looked up as Calver hopped from a ledge.
A weary smile and a nod were all he got in response, but Calver was glad for it. It was more than he was used to.
He had thought he’d lost himself long ago. But the past few months had proven there was more of him left than he’d realized.
A shadow passed over the sun and a faint whistling, the rush of wind against feathers, brought Calver hurtling back to reality.
He widened his stance on instinct. Moments later, Killari found purchase on his arm, her impact threatening to strain a muscle, her talons digging into his flesh.
He was so ecstatic to see her he didn’t care.
He laughed openly, inclining his forehead for her to nuzzle.
Dex looked over, slack-jawed, composed himself, and said, “Save some charisma for the rest of us, eah?”
Calver presented Killari with a strip of dried beef.
She turned her head away in distaste. Of course—the rodents.
She must have been here since Raimee had released her the day before.
She gave Dex a wary look before launching skyward again, circling above them like a feathered kite. His joy soared along with her.
“Where did it come from?” Dex asked.
The answer would only raise more questions.
Dex grumbled something in Azadonian as he climbed into his bedroll, rolling over to sleep.
Calver set to work, encrypting a note to Fankalo.
‘I’m staying on course for Steila. We’re responsible for this mess, and I’m not letting us leave it. I know the truth now. And I know you knew all along.’
The charcoal hovered over paper. It stayed there for a minute or more before he added:
‘The only thing I don’t know is whose side you’re on.’
He wouldn’t let himself linger on the question for too long lest he question everything else.
Fankalo lied for a living. She’d known they were conduits and never told him.
She’d involved Dreiden in the Red Wing and kept it from him.
She’d sent him to Thacklore for answers on Methu’su when she might have known the answers in the first place. Why?
Everything he’d learned from Mastico only raised more questions.
Fankalo knew. Calisto knew. Cul’Mon knew—that was why he’d chased Calver across the globe.
Calver had assumed his course in Tera’thu was to be milled, but all factors considered, he was likely to have remained in servitude as long as he was useful.
A strange hollow opened in his stomach. He’d spent six years constantly pitted against the metrics of Cul’Mon’s previous apprentice, taking part in the same experiments, training, and trials.
The compliant one. Had he also been a conduit?
If so, he wouldn’t have been milled. What had happened to him?
Calver dissolved the building anger with a Void mantra, heaved a slow breath, and looked to his hand, darkened from crushing the charcoal. Anger was dangerous. With Dex so close, he had to be careful.
He reached into his bag and uncorked the vial of rosemary oil Dex had procured with their supplies. Killari found him moments later. He rolled up the note and placed it in her canister. Killari nudged him twice expectantly, and he offered her the jerky again. She bit his finger in disgust.
He tried stroking her back instead. That made her lean in, familiar weight growing heavier on his arm.
Calver didn’t own most of his memories, but of what he could remember, Killari had always been there.
She’d lost her bonded master the same night Calver had arrived, and she’d clung to him.
Perhaps she had never been Fankalo’s creature at all.
The thought saddened him and brought him a guilty sort of happiness all at once.
He let his fingers fall. Killari tilted her head when he opened the lemon vial. Begrudgingly, she took off towards the coast. She might reach Fankalo before the next highsun on a full stomach.
Calver smiled. It was good, having a bird.