33. Tobias
Chapter thirty-three
Tobias
L ike any Rhydonian, Tobias knew about the massacre at Fort Lochna.
He’d seen the photographs in the newspaper.
A thousand dead overnight. The worst night of the war.
Now, he was at camp, less than half a mile from the ruined fort, and the Crimson’s scouting party had yet to return.
Nor had Javen, but that concerned Tobias less, given how often the man disappeared.
The captain had finally showed up that morning, issued a few orders, handed a telegram off for one Crimson to take, and glared at everyone else while they’d eaten breakfast.
Around the campfire, the remaining soldiers checked their rifles and muttered curses against the fae. Erik was trying to get the others to agree that they too should head in the direction of the fort, where the scouts had headed before they disappeared.
“It’s not far,” Erik said. “We go, do a swift patrol, and return.”
As much as Tobias had come to value Erik’s not-quite-friendship, he couldn’t agree with the plan. “We should wait,” Tobias said. “Stick to the mission.”
“What mission?” Erik muttered. Javen had agreed to send the scouts out only after considerable arguing from Erik. He’d told the rest of them to stay put.
Right before he’d left, on yet another one of his mysterious solo ventures, Javen had found Tobias where he sat alone, cleaning his pistol.
In a low, angry tone, Javen had made it clear Tobias was to remain at camp.
Javen’s warning echoed in his ears. Do not approach the south side of Lochna under any circumstance.
“Come on,” Erik said. “There’s ten of us. Enough to help the scouts if they did encounter trouble.”
Tobias shook his head. “We should remain here.”
“Back to being a coward?” Erik asked him.
His fists balled, Tobias shook his head. “Captain Javen said—”
“Captain Javen is not here.” Erik rubbed his chin, looking out at the long shadows of the fort. “Something isn’t right with this place. Too many dead bodies. Too much bad luck. I’ll go alone, if none of you will come with me.”
Tobias rose to his feet. As much as he wanted to follow Javen, he didn’t wish to abandon Erik, either. “Fine. Lead the way.”
The other Crimsons fell in line, all of them shouldering their rifles.
They progressed swiftly over the grassy field, heading toward the looming ruins ahead.
A flash of movement caught his eye. Two Crimsons brought their rifles down, tracking the shadow.
Tobias held up his hand. He’d spotted white hair, most likely an elderly person visiting the unmarked grave of a loved one.
Plenty of people made trips here, to mourn the dead and curse the war.
“We should wait right here,” Tobias said, finding his strength. “We still haven’t seen any signs of the scouting party.” Blood Ember was on the prowl, the fae Queen was trying to kill Javen, and who knew what else waited in the shadows.
At least the white-haired figure had already disappeared from view, melting back into the shadowy night. Tobias breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing more than a visitor to the ruined fort.
“We’ll give them a half hour,” Erik said. “No more.”
The time ticked past slowly. Tobias spent it observing the surrounding area, noticing the unfamiliar birds that flew overhead, the faint chirp of crickets, and the fog, which had rolled in and only grew thicker as night fell.
It seemed to bring with it the scent of the sea, which made no sense, for Lochna was a freshwater lake.
“Time’s up,” Erik said. “There’s got to be something wrong. Everyone stay alert.”
Approaching the ruins, Tobias moved more slowly than the Crimsons, due to his own apprehensions, and because no one had seen fit to give him the same gear as those soldiers. The stars overhead dimmed, and clouds blotted the moon’s glow.
“There’s movement down there!” Drace yelled.
“I saw glowing eyes,” another called.
“We don’t know—” Tobias began, thinking of how Javen’s eyes had burned. What if they had spotted someone with fae blood, but not an enemy? “Hold fire!”
Drace spit on the ground. “Not now.”
No. The Accords were at stake. If they killed a fae, it would not be an act of self-defense.
“I said hold—” Tobias’s warning died on his lips.
The fog wasn’t just fog anymore. It was a thick miasma of purple smoke.
Cold sweat broke on his skin. Flashes of memory came back to him, just as they had in his room, while the cadevesh had burned.
Just like then, the smoke grew more opaque, as if taking on a life of its own.
Someone cursed.
Wild, heavy vines of smoke shot out from all directions. They grasped at soldiers’ ankles, arms, knocking guns loose and pulling men to the ground. The purple fog thickened. Each breath Tobias sucked in burned his lungs.
Tobias shouted. “Retreat!”
Smoke spiraled outward, snatching at his arms, leaving razor-sharp cuts in his coat sleeves. He batted them away, not wasting time or energy drawing a weapon. None would work, not against that damned purple smoke.
One twisting vine yanked hard at his leg. He stumbled, falling hard on the dirt, but pushed himself up. He was halfway up the hillside as the low roar of an explosion shook the earth beneath him. Smoke mingled with fog, and the night’s silence was destroyed by screams.
“It’s an ambush!” Erik yelled. “Fire at will!”
Shots rang out, a volley of gunfire cutting through the eerie silence. One soldier readied a grenade. The fog wrapped itself around Erik like vines. He screamed, and Tobias rushed forward, to pull them off him. He was too late. A shadow twisted around Erik’s neck and snapped it.
With an almost lazy toss, the smoke discarded Erik’s limp body.
Still, the Crimsons fired into the smoke. The bullets did nothing.
There was nothing for them to penetrate, nothing for them to kill.
Weapons were useless against the smoke’s thick vines.
One by one they fell. Tobias, above the line of fire, out of reach of the smoke, watched with horror. He screamed, begging the survivors to run, to give up on the fight.
Nothing they did would have any impact on its dread magic.
A heartbeat later, the shadows lurched, surging toward Tobias.
No, not shadows. A fae , his figure swift as a storm rolling in, blade drawn and glinting.
It was no longer just the smoke that held danger, for its thick clouds had hidden a fae warrior.
Cloaked in dark leathers, he melded with the night, save for the shocking brightness of his gold hair.
The blade arced through the air, flashing with the cold sharpness of moonlight, a silver streak against the dark. Tobias had never seen speed like that before. It was all he could do to register the danger before it was nearly upon him.
“Stop!” a woman’s voice screamed. “Please!”
Were there civilians also under attack? That was a Rhydonian, he was sure of it.
A second voice called out something in a foreign tongue that made the fae warrior pause. He hesitated, sword still drawn, blue eyes wide.
Tobias’s chance. A perfect opening. Still kneeling, he pulled the trigger .
The recoil of the gun slammed into his shoulder, but the shot was true. Blood bloomed on the fae’s dark clothing. It’s as red as my own, Tobias thought. The fae staggered toward him, the blade still lifted.
Tobias’s fingers shook, and the shot went wide. Not a direct hit, not like he’d practiced a thousand times. No time to fire again. Despite the agony on the fae’s face, he lunged forward, his blade slicing toward Tobias. He tried to dodge.
He was too slow. The fae’s blade plunged into him, slicing down his leg, just as he collapsed and the sword fell from his hand. Pain exploded within Tobias. A howl of agony tore from his lips. Someone screamed, running toward him. A second figure, with flowing blonde hair, cried out.
Tobias couldn’t answer… couldn’t lift an arm. Agony coursed through him, every heartbeat weaker than the last. His wound throbbed. Silverbane. He needed silverbane. The small pouch Javen had given him was buried in a pocket, so close, and so impossible to reach in his current state.
Where was that bastard of a captain? Why wasn’t he back? The damned smoke had rendered all the Crimsons’ training pointless. There was nothing they could have done to fight back. Had Javen known it would come for them? Or had he too fallen to its choking vines or deadly vapors?
Through blurry eyes, he searched for others, survivors, who might help him.
Every Crimson was dead. Even the fae warrior had collapsed nearby.
The shot, though inaccurate, had done its job.
Tobias had killed a fae. Ironic that he’d succeeded in something the Crimsons valued but none of them lived long enough for him to brag to them.
Not that he felt much like bragging about a death. Not now that he knew its heavy weight and bitter taste.
Not now that he was at the end of a battle, afraid and alone. What good would the coveted Iron Kestrel badge do, pinned to his corpse?
Whispering an apology to his mother, Tobias closed his eyes for what felt like the last time.