Chapter 4

Coward

Mags left Blackfire Manor with a storm of thoughts whirling through her mind. The weight of Kruno’s demands hung heavy on her neck, like the air before the executioner’s axe. But she knew she had little choice in the matter. The sky had turned a deep, twilight blue, the first stars peeking out as she hurried down the cobblestone streets, empty save for the few passing through on their own ways home after a long day’s hard labor.

She would need to turn Kruno’s greed to her own advantage. The situation, Mags mused, was much like a game of Sovereign’s Gambit. Kruno had control of most of the board and was playing from a position of power. Mags, however, had a lifetime of experience in playing from a position of weakness. He was overextending his advantage, and she would be able to strike back with a sneaky counter-offensive. After years of serving at Kruno’s mercy, it would be her chance to take control. Of course, I didn’t expect the opportunity to present itself in the form of a bloody dungeon! Jebati!

By the time Mags reached the eastern corner of Solstice and the orphanage, not a single other soul was around. The orphanage sat lonely, nearly forgotten nestled into its own little part of the town. She paused at the front gate, taking a moment to collect herself. The sight of the old, weathered building, with its peeling paint, crumbling stones and worn steps, brought a sense of grounding. This place, for all its flaws, was home. It had been for the last six years.

Upon entering the orphanage, the familiar scents of supper wafted through the air, a comforting blend of simmering stew and bread warmed in the ovens. The clinking of plates and the joyful clamor of children’s voices created a stark contrast to Blackfire Manor. Mags grabbed her bow, which was still where she had tucked it into the corner near the front door and hung a right at the hallway that led back to the kitchen. A tightly winding spiral staircase led her up to a short ladder and a latched door. With a practiced motion, the latch clicked open, and Mags climbed up into her room.

The room was small but comfortable, a haven amidst the chaos of the orphanage. A couple of summers ago, Vitomir had begrudgingly obliged when she begged to turn the old clock tower into her own little hideaway. Though he had sternly told her she had to put in the work of turning the abandoned space into a livable area all on her own, Vito had helped her. “You’re too short to reach these corners,” Mags remembered him grumbling as he took the hammer and nails from her hands. “We’ll need to find the budget for glass, you’ll need some light in here and the winter will be too cold to leave these open.”

Now, the large windows that filled each of the four walls bathed the room with warm light, which cast a cascade of colors from the trinkets hanging from the ceiling—remnants of the old stained-glass windows crafted into art projects by the younger children of the orphanage. The bed, covered in various blankets and old down-filled quilts, dominated the small room. A single table was tucked into the corner, a basin and some cloth and other odds and ends taking up every inch of its surface. The only other piece of furniture was a single chest that sat at the foot of her bed. It matched the chest each other child who called the orphanage home had. Not a one of them had enough belongings to require anything more.

Mags placed Mithra into the chest and dropped her satchel onto the floor. Mags used the bowl of water that sat on the small table to quickly wash her face, hands, and forearms. The cool water was refreshing against her skin. She grabbed a nearby clean rag, pressing it against her face to dry it off before heading down to the kitchen.

The warmth and light of the kitchen welcomed her. The kitchen was a hive of activity. Children crowded around two long wooden tables, sitting on carved benches. The middle children, old enough to finally help with chores, rushed about, setting plates and serving food. The lively atmosphere brought a smile to Mags’ face despite the sense of anticipation that settled in her chest. The remainder of the children could only loosely be described as sitting in their seats waiting for dinner to commence. Some sat, while others stood on their benches, all of their laughter and chatter filling the room. There were fourteen children in all, including Mags and Sabo, though they were the oldest by a few summers.

The lively atmosphere was a stark reminder of why she did what she did, enduring Kruno’s demands. Vitomir oversaw the orphanage and took responsibility for all of the children. She realized that that reality, in a sense, bound him to the building. Would Vitomir have fought back against Kruno and his cronies if he didn’t have Dunja and the others to worry about? Mags wasn’t sure. It had always seemed that Vitomir was happy taking the path of least resistance and avoiding confrontation altogether. He didn’t even put up much of a fight when it came to her hunting Maldrath, when she really thought about it.

Mags glanced up from her contemplation to see Dunja, wide-eyed and wide-smiled. The little girl waved excitedly. “Mags! Sit with me!”

Mags smiled and obliged, walking over and taking a seat next to the beaming girl. She caught Sabo’s eye across the table and mouthed, “We need to talk after sparring.” Sabo nodded slightly, understanding the urgency in her gaze.

Vitomir entered the room, sweat soaking through his linen shirt, his cheeks glistening with a layer of sheen. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a crisscrossing network of fine, white scars running up his muscled forearms. The same scars marred his face too: below his left eye, the top of his lip and near his right temple. Mags imagined to many, Vitomir would cut a striking, perhaps even intimidating figure. But she saw the sunken look in his face, deprived of any ferocity that had once been there. She also noticed how his shirt and pants hung ever so slightly looser on his frame. He was like a stone statue, slowly worn away by the rain and passage of time.

Vitomir’s presence brought a wave of joy through the room. One of the orphans hurriedly prepared him a hefty serving of the evening’s meal, which he accepted with a grateful smile, taking a seat at the head of one of the tables where a single chair had been placed to accompany the benches on either side.

“Sorry I’m late everyone,” Vitomir said, taking a seat. “The roof took longer to patch than I expected, and Miru needed an extra set of hands fixing up the pens for those giant beetles of his.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand and took an appreciative look around the room, counting with his darting eyes and ensuring everyone was accounted for. “We should all remain dry the next time rain rolls through.”

“I hated when the water dripped on me when I was sleeping,” one child chimed in.

“I hated having to share my bed with you after you got dripped on!” another child added.

And with that, the clamor of the children’s supper resumed as though Vitomir had been there the whole time. The meal continued in a cheerful din, everyone savoring the food and the company. Mags savored each bite of the asparagus and rabbit stew, accompanied by beans, chard, and cabbage. The crusty bread, topped with a drizzle of olive oil and chopped fig was a special treat. Every part of the meal was a testament to the children’s hard work in the garden and Vitomir’s skill at haggling.

Dunja tugged at Mags’ sleeve, her big brown eyes filled with curiosity. “What did you do today, Mags?”

Mags smiled down at her, brushing a stray lock of hair from Dunja’s face. “Oh, just some errands. Nothing too exciting.”

Dunja pouted playfully. “You always do exciting things. Like hunt monsters! Can I hunt monsters with you next time? I’m very brave and strong like you too.” Dunja puffed out her lip and gave her best attempt at flexing her biceps.

Mags laughed, the sound mingling with the other children’s chatter. “Maybe tomorrow, Dunja. Tonight, let’s enjoy this delicious meal.”

After some time Vitomir’s deep voice cut through the noise as he addressed the room. “Alright, everyone. Time to clean up and get ready for bed.”

The younger children groaned but obeyed, their earlier energy waning as the day drew to a close. Mags and Sabo stayed behind, clearing the tables and helping the younger ones settle down for the night. Once everyone was seen to, Mags found Sabo and gave him a knowing nod, which he returned. It was time.

Mags poked her head back into the kitchen, where Vitomir had settled back into his seat after helping put a particularly fussy young child to bed. He had poured himself a small cup of cava, the tiny pot still steaming on the stovetop, and was gingerly sipping it. He let out a sigh of relief that turned into a groan as he noticed Mags’ presence in the doorway.

“Don’t forget, you promised to help us in sparring practice,” Mags said.

“I didn’t forget. Go practice your forms and I will be out momentarily.”

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Mags glanced over her shoulder where a smiling Sabo waited patiently. “Sounds good,” she said to Vitomir, before leaving him to enjoy the rest of his cava in peace.

They stopped by Sabo’s room, which he shared with two younger boys. Sabo picked up a bundle of three wooden swords, trying not to wake the two younger boys who had already laid snoring in their beds. Together, Mags and Sabo made their way behind the orphanage to their training ground. The grass in the center of the yard was worn down in a perfect circle, about fifteen feet across, a testament to their many hours of practice.

The sun was sitting low in the sky, painting the entire yard in shades of red and orange. They began with forms, the movements familiar and comforting. Vitomir soon joined them. He corrected their stances with gentle nudges or a touch of his hands, his eyes sharp despite his age.

After a while, he nodded, satisfied enough with their work and signaling that it was time to spar. Mags and Sabo faced off, each on one side of the circle of dead grass, wooden swords at the ready. Sabo stood with his blade before him in the central stance, one foot slightly behind the other. Mags opted for a more elevated stance, her sword held aloft above her head, its tip angled backward. Their eyes were locked. Sabo’s face was stern, determined. Mags let a wide grin escape. She knew her confidence often unnerved Sabo. His frown deepened. Good.

Mags lunged first, her wooden sword arcing through the air with speed and precision. Sabo met her strike with a swift parry, their swords colliding with a resounding thud. He pushed her back, using all of his strength to force her onto the defensive. Mags pivoted gracefully, sidestepping his next attack and aiming a quick strike at his side. Sabo barely managed to block her blow, the impact reverberating through his arm.

“You’re getting faster,” he grunted, a hint of admiration in his voice.

“And you’re getting predictable,” Mags shot back, a fierce smile playing on her lips.

They broke apart, circling each other. Sabo took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he studied her movements. Mags had used speed to try and score a hit, instead of her brute strength approach she often employed. Now, she was confident Sabo would use his longer reach to keep her at bay.

With a sudden burst of speed of his own, Sabo feinted to the left before spinning to the right, his sword slashing toward Mags’ unguarded flank. But she was ready. Anticipating the move, she dropped into a low crouch, her sword sweeping out in a swift arc to catch him off balance.

Sabo stumbled, his footing momentarily lost. Seizing the opportunity, Mags surged forward, her sword aimed at his chest. At the last moment, Sabo regained his balance, his sword coming up just in time to deflect her thrust. They locked swords, their faces inches apart.

“Not bad,” Mags panted.

“Likewise,” Sabo replied, his voice shaky as he pushed against her strength.

They broke apart again, resuming their original stances. Mags sprinted forward again, unleashing a flurry of stabbing motions. This time, Sabo was just a hair too slow. The tip of Mags’ wooden sword struck him in the wrist, causing him to fumble and lose his grip on his own blade. Before he was able to recover his hold, she struck him again in the chest before closing the gap and shoving him to the ground. He landed on his backside with a loud thud, only to look up and find Mags standing over him triumphantly, sword aimed at the small of his neck.

Sabo tilted his head back and laughed, acknowledging her victory. “That’s one hundred and one to you, I suppose!”

Mags grinned, breathing heavily. “I’ll take it. But you know that may be the last time I let you tie the record.”

Sabo chuckled, his eyes shining with determination. “We’ll see about that once we’re on the Front!”

Vitomir’s face darkened at the mention of the Coalition Forces. Mags and Sabo both planned on joining up when they both turned seventeen years of age. They didn’t hide this plan from Vitomir, but the man never took kindly to the idea. “You’re both still set on throwing your lives away to the military?”

Mags’ smile faded, replaced by a look of resolve. The Crown Coalition forces were the only thing standing between humanity and the sea of Maldrath that threatened them beyond the Green Sea. The Maldrath had taken everything away from both Mags and Sabo. All of the orphans, for that matter. And countless other refugees and victims that were scattered throughout the Far Country.

Mags’ face hardened. “Well, Solstice has nothing to offer us, does it? Better to be in the army than under the Blackfires the rest of our lives.”

Sabo nodded in agreement. “It’s our only chance at a better life, Vito. And a chance to kill shades isn’t too bad to sweeten the deal.”

“I already take out any of the stragglers that make it through the Front,” Mags said, “might as well make an honest career of it.”

“And you were a soldier yourself for quite some time,” Sabo added. “Can’t go judging us for make the same choice.”

Vitomir had been silent, lips turned in that contemplative frown. He was always slow to react or respond, whether in actions or conversation. He eventually sighed, shaking his head. “I was young, with a head of foolish dreams of glory. Ain’t no glory in that endless war. I was lucky to get away from it all.”

“Run away, you mean,” Mags said.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with running away,” Vitomir responded.

“I’m never going to run away,” Mags said. “Especially not from Maldrath.”

“There’s a life beyond the war against the shades,” Vitomir said. “For as long as I, or anyone can remember, we’ve been fending them off.” He scratched his beard, eyes growing distant. “Eventually, you’ve got to live life while it’s still worth living.”

“Sounds like a coward’s words,” Mags retorted. “From a deserter who preferred to lay low in some backwater than risk his life alongside his comrades.”

Sabo, who had gotten to his feet, placed a hand on Mags’ shoulder. “I think that’s enough Mags, Vito knows our minds are made up, he’s just giving his two cents.”

“If you’re so determined to throw your lives away, you’d be better off practicing with the spear,” Vitomir said with a flourish of the wooden practice sword he held in his own hand, signaling he was moving on from the topic. Fleeing again, Mags thought. “Only officers get swords, and you have to attend a military academy to become an officer. By the time either of you get a chance of wielding a sword, you’d probably forget all of these lessons. So, let’s drill them in further, and next time we’ll bring out the spears. Sabo, let’s talk about how you over-extended yourself in that last bout…”

And so, they continued their training. After talking through several points Vitomir observed during their sparring match, he had them run through additional forms until he eventually announced he was retiring for the night. “My knees are causing me too much trouble these days,” he groaned. “Do me a favor you two: don’t grow old. Growing old is a pain.” He gave his right knee a hearty rub before making his way inside.

Mags and Sabo placed the bundle of wooden practice swords near the front steps of the orphanage, before taking a stroll out past the eastern gate of the town. They took these walks as an opportunity to catch up, particularly after Mags returned from a hunt. They followed the dirt path that led out of town, which ended at a stone pedestal before turning into the stone paved road of the Karsk Magistrala.

The pedestal was topped with a giant quartz-like crystal. The stone, a dull milky white, was fashioned to the pedestal with iron rivulets and was too large for even Sabo to wrap his arms around. It was Solstice’s warding stone. The Olen government had these stones installed in each settlement, particularly those in the Far Country, so close to the front. Mags was told that the stone would illuminate and become a beacon of light when triggered by the presence of Maldrath. But Mags had never seen this supposed beacon of light or any activity from the stone. Even when a couple of Maldrath had wandered past the pedestal and directly into town last summer. That had been a particularly stressful evening for the inhabitants of Solstice. Luckily, Mags was able to easily dispatch the monsters before there had been any casualties (if one of the townsfolk’s cat didn’t count).

She had asked Vitomir about the warding stone after that attack. He explained that it wasn’t sensitive enough to be triggered by the weaker presence of Maldrath. No, the warding stone was saved solely for particularly strong and nasty Maldrath. The kind folks still only whispered about in fear. Angels, Mags thought. The thought triggered something in Mags. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. She pushed the memories back into the recesses of her mind. Some things were too painful to revisit. If the warding stone was meant only to signal in those cases, then it would be the final communication from an entire town of people. There would likely be no survivors.

Mags sat on the ground, her back against the cool stone of the pedestal, and Sabo took a seat on the other side. They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the day pressing down on them.

Finally, Sabo broke the silence. “What did Kruno want?”

Mags took a deep breath before speaking. “A Deep appeared not far from town. Kruno wants me to enter the dungeon and take what’s inside. Before the empire shows up.”

Mags heard Sabo cough in surprise. “That’s suicide. You told him no, right?”

“I don’t really have a choice. And I think Kruno expects me to get in and get out as quickly as possible with as much loot as possible.”

“You can’t actually be considering going into a dungeon alone.”

“Who said I would be alone?”

“It’s still a crazy idea.”

“The thing is,” Mags began, pausing to consider who she would word what she was about to say. “Regardless of how much loot I can claim from this Deep, it will be more than all of the aether cores I’ve collected for the Blackfires.”

“What’re you getting at?”

“It’s hard to tell for certain how much wealth a Deep contains. It may be very easy for some of it to not find its way back to Kruno and his gang.”

Mags could hear Sabo stand and walk around the pedestal. He poked his head around the small stone pillar so that she could see the severe expression on his face. “You’re thinking of stealing from Kruno? Are you mad?”

Mags leaned forward, her eyes intense. “Kruno has agreed to let me bring one person. I want you to come with me. With your help, we could escape with enough to get out of Solstice. And not just us, Vito and the kids too.”

Sabo stared at her, his expression torn. “Mags, it’s insane. We could die.”

Mags’ voice softened. “Think about it, Sabo. The wealth we could find in there… It could be enough to get Vitomir and all the orphans out of Solstice, somewhere safer. It’s a chance to make a real difference. We would be able to join the Coalition certain they’ll be okay.”

Sabo hesitated, his mind racing. “I don’t know, Mags. The idea feels half-baked . . . at best.”

Mags stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You said you wanted to join the Coalition Forces, to fight the Maldrath. This is your chance to prove you have the bravery of a soldier. As my comrade,” she said. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, with or without you.”

Sabo sighed, looking out at the darkening fields. He didn’t say anything, but Mags knew he was considering it.

After a few more moments of silence, Mags stood. “I’m heading in. I need to get some rest before tomorrow.”

She left Sabo by the warding stone, her mind already focused on the task ahead. As she lay in bed that night, staring up at the stained-glass trinkets catching the moonlight, she couldn’t shake the feeling that tomorrow would change everything.