The sun hadn’t yet cracked the morning horizon when Micah snapped the fiery reins and their chariot began its trek along a road heading southeast into central Carnel. He inwardly sighed, looking up at the cloudy sky. Cal flew high above, following at a slow pace and surely continuing to grumble. Micah had stored all of Charlotte’s new clothes inside his bureau without a problem, but despite explaining to his Murr that the bureau would not get any heavier, Cal complained from start to finish.
But not even Cal could spoil this morning. Micah felt the scarf around his neck for the dozenth time, confident about the conclusion he had drawn after much contemplation: that he liked the scarf very much. The warmth surrounding his neck made him calm, but it was more than that. As he understood it, he believed himself to be happy. But such a small thing didn’t seem to support the resulting response. Why then did he feel so content and pleased with it?
He glanced aside at Charlotte. Much to his surprise, she was wide awake and had been since the moment he knocked on her door to wake her up. Normally, it took several minutes to rouse her and even longer for her to be ready to leave. Her eyes would droop for at least an hour, and she would grumble about his punctilious nature with much more biting remarks than Cal could ever muster. But today, she sat up straight, alert and quiet. And she looked back many times.
“Did you forget something?” he asked, breaking a long silence.
“What?” she said, snapping out of her own thoughts. “Oh, no. I’m good. I’m just fine.” She checked behind them again.
“Why do you keep looking back? If you’re worried about trackers, I guarantee I will be aware of them before they can get close.”
She flashed a small smile. “I’m not worried about that.” Still, she glanced behind again, this time lingering on the road. Worry and sadness crept into her expression. He looked back with her. The ruins of Steamtown slowly shrank from view, and not another soul navigated the desert road.
Her unfettered glances whiled away the hours; peace never found her. Finally, when the clouds had gone and the sun shined high overhead, she gave up, righting herself, and didn’t look back again. She stared into her lap, fidgeting with a frill on her dress. Before meeting Charlotte, Micah would have never noticed actions so trivial, but now he saw something in her face he knew to be significant. A small but profound sadness, one he recognized as the kind that left a truly painful mark.
In such situations, the function of a friend was to cheer the other up. Micah knew that much, but how to go about it was something different altogether. Thinking back on what he knew about her and made her happy, it seemed the best course to talk about himself, since that was what she requested of him most.
“I fell asleep again last night,” he said, glancing at her expectantly.
She looked back at him with an odd expression, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
“I was apprehensive going to bed because I didn’t know what would happen, but sure enough, my mind and body rested, and I fell unconscious just like the night before. It felt wonderful waking up this morning. I wasn’t surprised this time, so I was able to appreciate the effects.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then burst into laughter. “Woooow, Micah. Congratulations. You went to bed. That kind of rare accomplishment deserves a medal.”
He scowled, hunching his shoulders. “I don’t know why I tell you anything.”
Giggling again, she took his arm and made baby faces. “Aw, you’re a big boy, aren’t you? Did my little man go to bed last night all by himself? Oh, yes he did! Yes he did! Oh, you’re such a big boy!”
She laughed so hard, tears ran down her face. Micah sighed. He was glad to see she wasn’t sad anymore, but the laughter at his expense didn’t make him desire expertise in the psychology of friendship. He wondered if she could read his thoughts, because once she settled down, she snuggled closer to him.
“Thanks,” she said. “You know, you’re better at this than you think.”
For the next few days, traveling across the northern marshes, Micah pondered that statement. Was he really getting better? Did Charlotte now see him as a friend capable of consoling her in a time of need?
Could he, perhaps, be drawing closer to the concept called… normal?
* * *
“Commander?”
Captain Gerald stepped closer to Marshall sinKalem, hesitant. The man, clad all in black despite the desert heat, had been looking through a glass plate for an hour, holding it in front of him like a window. He didn’t reply to Gerald, gazing through the transparent square with intense concentration.
The captain in Marshall’s charge shielded his eyes and looked up at the massive pipe towers, hoping beyond hope the commander wouldn’t order them to invade Steamtown. Any other officer would have known better than to invade such a dangerous labyrinth, but a Black Son…
What are they hiding behind those masks? Gerald and his men didn’t like the situation one bit, especially considering their target was yet another of these cryptic soldiers in black. Still, they waited without protest. Unlike Micah Champlain, this commander did not tolerate too many things that didn’t agree with his methods.
Marshall finally dropped the plate with an indifferent toss. The glass melted into water and quickly evaporated in the heat. His lone visible eye narrowed as he looked up at the pipe skyscrapers. “They were here,” he said.
“You were correct, then,” Gerald said. “Do you think they’re still in the city?”
“No chance. He would have left immediately, or at the very least the morning after arriving, depending on Goodsteel. But by my calculations, he is still making time. Your garrison is slowing me down.”
Gerald inwardly groaned, but he kept his composure. “We were assigned by Governor Riser with orders to follow and assist you.”
“Then you failed on the second count and fulfilled the first admirably. Go back to Arcadia with this message to the governor: ‘I will take care of Champlain on my own.’”
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The captain bowed curtly. “As you wish.” Turning without hesitation, he relayed the orders to his men, and they marched back in the direction they had come at a pace suggesting they didn’t wish to see if he would change his mind.
Marshall entered Steamtown through the same entry Micah and Charlotte had taken three days previous. Producing a crystal, a stream of water poured from the tip, swirling into another glass plate, which he took while whispering another incantation. Holding the plate in front of him, he walked down the same abandoned roads while searching all about.
A tombstone in the middle of the street made him pause. Through the glass, ghostly images of his quarry appeared, standing in front of the grave marker. Charlotte’s mouth wasn’t moving, so Micah must have been talking, but the magic didn’t allow Marshall to hear it. All it could do was show him what once had been: the path his targets had taken days before.
He watched as the apparitions in the glass resumed their walk down the deserted streets. She marveled at the surrounding pipe structures, craning to see the tops, but Micah ignored them, keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings. A dozen questions ran through Marshall’s mind as he followed them, each more perplexing than the last.
Why does Champlain continue to travel with this woman and protect her? Why, after six years of perfect service, did he suddenly disobey orders? After coming into contact with her a single time? Is she controlling him somehow? If so, how does he seem to maintain himself? If not… does Champlain plan to use her for his own gain?
The situation was dire, regardless of the truth. Marshall needed to kill Champlain and capture Goodsteel. Governor Riser and all of Carnel were counting on him. Focusing back on his glass window, he watched as Micah and Charlotte turned and ducked into a pipe large enough to allow them both access.
He dropped the plate. “So, you took the Deepwells,” he muttered to himself. “Which means you stayed with Salt Brenner, the Eclesii.” He didn’t have time to attempt an extraction of information from a man as dangerous as Salt, but there were few other options left to him.
He entered the pipe, formulating his plans. After several minutes traversing the dank tunnel, he came to an elbow turn, illuminated by a green lamp on a stand. In one corner, a man in a red straw hat stood. Despite a silent approach and sticking to a dark area where the lamplight barely reached, the man spotted him instantly. Marshall recognized the man – Tinn Fair, the operator of the Deepwell tracks and wanted in several cities for theft.
“Micah!” Tinn gasped, cowering. “I thought you left! Look, I know you’re mad. But ya gotta believe ol’ Tinn didn’t know that would happen. I checked the tracks, I did!”
Marshall’s mind churned. He thinks I’m Champlain. This could be my opportunity.
“Mad? I’m furious,” he whispered, imitating Micah’s softer voice the best he could.
Tinn bought it, shrinking further into himself with fear. “Hopefully… the lady… didn’t come to harm?”
Marshall didn’t know how to answer that, so he remained quiet.
The track operator sank to his knees, bursting into sobs. “Spare me! I never meant any evil, it’s the honest truth! Do you know how rusty all these pipes are? The tracks don’t keep, I tell ya! It’s just me alone down here day and night, trying to earn an honest keep.”
“Tinn, you are full of lies. I know you have been keeping track of my movements the last three days. Tell me everything you have learned…now.”
He sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Look, it’s just my way, ya know? I like to learn information is all.”
“To sell to the highest bidder,” Marshall countered.
“I-I don’t know what ya mean…”
Marshall palmed the handle of his sword.
“OKAY! Okay! I know you’re heading southeast, to the Desert of Life. That’s what I heard.”
“You’re going to have to do better than that.” He drew his sword, extending it so the steel glowed in the green light.
Tinn gulped. “I… may have overheard your conversation with Salt Brenner this morning.”
“How much?”
He sighed exhaustedly. “You’re heading for the twin cities. But that’s all I know! I swear on my mother’s grave, Micah. That’s it.”
For several moments, Marshall glared at him, waiting to see if he would spill anything else. When he was convinced it was all he had to offer, he sniffed, sheathing his sword.
“Pathetic.”
Tinn’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Getting back to his feet, he scrutinized him. “Micah?” he whispered. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
Marshall stepped forward into the light. “No.”
Tinn gasped, backing away. “You’re… the Hound?” He tripped, landing with a thud. “Marshall Kalem? Please don’t kill me!”
“The Hound? Is that what they call me now? Seems appropriate.”
He scooted away, shivering. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
Tinn exhaled, but then Marshall approached him and kneeled. “In exchange for your life, you are now in my service. If Micah sinChamplain or Charlotte Goodsteel comes to you again, you are to alert me immediately. If you obtain information about them or hear rumors you find even remotely credible, you are to send word to me. Do you understand all these things I am telling you, Tinn?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Marshall grabbed his neck, squeezing and pulling him close to his face. “And if I find you’ve told me a single lie, or withheld any information at any time… the ‘Hound’ will hunt you to the end of the earth and put you to death.”
Tinn squealed, unable to answer, so he nodded as best he could. Marshall shoved him back and turned back down the tunnel. The Twin Cities. Several weeks’ travel over open landscape with nowhere to hide. Champlain has made his first mistake.
Reemerging from the pipe entrance, he looked skyward, searching the tops of the structures. Lifting a Life Stone, scores of blazing flares erupted from the tip, firing in all directions around him. He then waited several moments in silence. When he heard the flapping of their wings, he put his stone away.
The winged creature settled down to stand before him, followed by two others like him. Human in form, they stood up straight but on legs like eagles with razor-sharp talons. Enormous wings blacker than a crow’s retracted on their backs. They towered over Marshall, glaring ruthlessly. The eyes of the three Seraphs smoldered with revenge, eager for their chance to hunt. Feathers running along the sides of their faces ruffled and muscular chests heaved with anticipation. Distinct and deadly looking swords were strapped at their sides and each wore traditional tribal garb. Cloth headbands streaked with blood wound over their foreheads.
Sintobi Strike, Sintobi Lance, and Sintobi Scar – legendary hunters of the Akuma Glacier.
“Do you have his location?” the leader asked, folding his arms.
Marshall looked up at him, then shifted his gaze to the brother and finally to the sister. He nodded his answer.
“Which way?” Lance asked, coming alongside her brother.
“They should be southeast of here, close to the Desert of Life. They make for Castor and Pollux.”
Strike’s eyes narrowed. “The Twin Cities. You are certain of this?”
“Ninety-four percent.”
“Then we will catch him for certain,” Scar said, licking his lips in delight. “Our revenge on Champlain is at hand, brother!”
“I don’t know why you care about Champlain,” Marshall said. “He may have slaughtered your entire clan three years ago, but he did so under explicit orders from Governor Riser.”
“You remain ignorant of our ways, sinKalem. The blood of our brothers and sisters cry out to us from the grave, demanding retribution. It would serve you and your kind well to remember that one murdered Seraph will always muster the blood vengeance of the rest.”
“Strike, you know better than most that a Black Son does only what he is ordered. Why then is your revenge not directed at Riser?”
“We care not for weak men who say words and do nothing else,” Lance spat. “The sword is the sword. Those who use it are responsible for all actions.”
“And if Champlain is but a tool as you claim,” Strike said. “Why then does he now run, despite orders otherwise? It is because he has the choice, just as he had the choice to kill our people. And now he will suffer the consequences.”
Marshall sniffed in contempt. “I care little about your reasons. Kill Champlain and be done with it, but bring Charlotte Goodsteel back to me alive and unharmed.”
Scar sneered. “You insult us by repeating the terms of our agreement. You will have the woman, upon our very lives. Be assured of that.”
Their wings expanded. With powerful bursts the Seraphs took to the skies, beating a swift path southeast. Marshall watched until they disappeared, then began organizing his thoughts in preparation to leave immediately for the Twin Cities. He had no supposition the Sintobi warriors would be successful in assassinating Champlain. In fact, he expected them to be dead within days.
He only hoped they would slow him down.