“Terra Daeva has enough tailors,” the charcoal-coated man said coldly. Black smoke wafted upward from the device in his gloved hand.

The father slumped, clutching tightly to the woman in his arms. Strands of blonde hair fell away from her face, mixing with the red blossoming from her chest. Flame and smoke raced to consume the house.

Raum. That was his father’s name. But what was hers?

“Fishermen?” The blue-eyed man smiled faintly. “Men of patience. Takers of lives, so that others may live. That is an occupation I happen to be fond of. I am a pragmatist, you see.” He lowered his arm and gestured to his men. “Yes, there is plenty of room in Terra Daeva for men like you.”

Soldiers trudged across the room. Four hands grabbed father and son each, ripping them from their moment of stupor. Raum went limp, and the men strained to keep him upright.

“And if I refuse?” Raum croaked weakly. “What then?”

The man in the charcoal coat paused, thoughtful.

“Then I’ll work your son twice as hard,” he said with such frost as to turn the room cold. A burning cold, but not the flames.

“Leave James out of this!” Raum snapped. Strength flooded back into his body, and he struggled against his captors. “He’s just a child!”

“You’re giving me orders? That’s priceless,” the man laughed. Embers danced beside his eyes, as if to try and melt the ice inside. A hopeless endeavor. He continued, “After today, they will call me Elite. And they will call you and your son by new names, chosen for you. Remember that. Remember the difference between you and I. Remember Elite. Someday, you will learn what it means. If you live long enough.”

He smiled deeply and left, soldiers and captives following.

Everything that remained in the home burned true.

A twig snapped. Luke’s eyes opened wide.

For a faint moment, Luke wondered if he had imagined that pinkish light illuminating their little campsite. If it was real, it had already vanished. The thought fled at another sound, a rustled bush in the direction of the snapped branch. Deciding the heavy darkness— and the sounds— around them was real and not another dream, Luke pushed himself up quietly and roused Cyrus. The ginger-haired boy mumbled underneath Luke’s pressed palm, but he managed to understand the situation before any kind of thrashing and shouting.

A third sound— something like a footstep over leaves— caught Cyrus’s attention, and he climbed to his feet. Quietly. Good. He crouched low, following Luke’s example. He grabbed the mayor’s son by the arm as the fool reached for the paper bag of food and supplies. Maybe he didn’t understand the situation as well as Luke had hoped. Luke leaned toward an ear.

“Leave it,” he breathed.

He thought he saw Cyrus nod, but it was too dark to tell for certain. The villager did not reach for it again when Luke released his arm. Luke glanced at their enclosed semicircle of pine trees, then turned in the direction of Ulciscor and began moving. Cyrus followed wordlessly.

The greatest enemy of sneaking about was your own feet. In Aetas Origo, Luke had been chased away by many a shopkeep tripping on a can or some other discarded waste at the worst possible time. Those days, he did not eat. You learned fast or died fast in that life.

The noises could have been the work of an animal— an elk that had wandered far to the south— but Luke did not take chances with his life. A wolf or worse were just as likely. He could not afford to die. There were things that needed done. Well, just one thing, really.

Luke and Cyrus moved like that for a time, dodging branches and weaving through evergreen thickets. Swift, silent, and terrified.

———

It wasn’t until Cyrus felt the wooden rail dig into his stomach that he noticed it was there. His tired mind worked through the event.

Sight. Yes. He had eyes. Easy mistake. Of course, then he stared down into the thousand foot chasm inches from his worn soles and he jerked back in shock and fell over, crying out. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” he said, more for himself than Luke.

Luke raised an eyebrow. He stood over Cyrus, still holding out an uncertain arm as if he were still expecting him to step right off.

“You actually bumped into the rail,” Luke said. “I didn’t expect that. I thought orchard kids were early risers.”

Cyrus ignored the comment and glanced around at the Pines. Everything looked the same, only sunlit, clusters of pine and evergreen thickets. No, it was thinner eastward, fewer clusters and copses. As far as the eye could see— though his did not linger long— the Great Pines, everywhere except the Crack at his feet. Cyrus knew about it, of course. He was just very exhausted, walking most of the night after sleep was interrupted.

The Crack was a notable part of the Asundrian Cliffs to the east, a mind-numbing sheer drop into a body of water lined with jagged rocks and spiked outcroppings. The Cliffs bordered not one, not two, but five countries, running all the way from Sirius to Ganymede. The water at the bottom was appropriately known as the Sheer Sea. There were three major Cracks running inland, and many minor ones that did not go very far. The Crack before them was the northernmost one, serving as the border between Altair and Mintaka. When they still existed. Mintaka and Ganymede had become Mirastelle, and Altair simply ceased to be.

Cyrus swallowed his nerves and glanced over the sturdy wooden railing running along the entire Crack. The Sheer Sea did not extend to this spot. It was mostly rock at the bottom this far inland, crags chaotic and broken. Evergreen vines and moss crept underneath the railing, seeking the bottom for some unfathomable reason.

At the sound of wood, Cyrus turned to see Luke crossing a short bridge. The Crack grew slimmer as it traveled inland, but it did remain deep, all way to the tip in the northwest. Neither end was visible from the bridge. The Crack seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions.

“Coming?” Luke asked, already on the other side.

Cyrus nodded and hurried after him. There was a firm bridge, not of pine but another, sturdier wood brought from the south. He was not sure what, but it was dark and looked to be the same as the railings running along the Crack.

Cyrus breathed a sigh of relief once he made it across, short as it was. He fell forward on his knees, mind and body exhausted, glad that he did not tumble to the bottom of the Cliffs by accord of his own two feet.

Luke cleared his throat.

“Can’t we take a break?” Cyrus asked. “The sun’s out. We’ve been moving almost all night.”

“Suit yourself,” Luke said, moving on. “I’ll be in there.”

Cyrus looked up in realization.

Landmarks, wingless fool, he thought to himself. You’ve traveled the Pines to Ulciscor more than once. What’s right beyond the bridges?

Yes, already in view, past just a few more lines of clustered pines… How tired was he? A massive circular formation of bricked stone loomed before him, its towering presence almost hiding from view an iron portcullis two men high and five wide. The stone was almost as high as the Castitas mayoral residence, crenellated and dotted with watchtowers rising higher still. Cyrus rose and followed after Luke.

In moments, they were in the shadow of the Ulciscor Wall, the border of Mirastelle.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

———

“Stop,” commanded a voice ahead, soft but firm.

Luke and Cyrus stopped at the edge of a sizable clearing around the Wall. Only patches of grayish grass colored the earth between where they stood and the city of Ulciscor.

A figure in light metal held up a gauntleted hand. Armor clinked softly until the figure drew close enough that Luke could tell it was a man with a tan face and brown hair.

“Identity yourselves,” the man demanded. A gold-trimmed silvery spear rested lazily in the crook of his arm.

The famous Ulciscor Wall loomed above them, and the iron portcullis sat tightly closed straight ahead. Beyond it lay the country of Mirastelle and the sprawling city of Ulciscor. Luke’s goal, in sight at last.

“We have business inside,” Luke said curtly. “There’s trouble.” He took an impatient step, and the man twirled the spear and lowered it to Luke’s throat.

“Trouble does not pass,” the man said, spear steady and eyes sharp. Cyrus opened his mouth to speak, but Luke did not give him the chance.

“It will if you don’t let me through,” Luke said, tired and annoyed, not at all bothered by the weapon at his throat. “We don’t have time to explain everything. I need to speak with Wolf.”

Vander Wolf was the man in charge of Ulciscor’s division of the army. Half of Terra Daeva call him the greatest tactician in Mirastelle, and the other half cannot speak from the graves in which he buried them. How could this fool not see they needed to talk with him? Cyrus mumbled something, but he did not catch what.

“General Wolf has no time for whelps,” the guard said harshly. “Nor does the rest of the Ulciscor Guard. Arriving at a side gate in the early morning coated in dirt and grime, won’t say what you’re on about. Just trouble. Well, try swindling past another gate with your talk of trouble, see how many listen after I report you.”

“Luke, I think we should—”

“How honorable,” Luke snapped angrily. “Is this how you treat everybody coming into Mirastelle? Blocking the only way into the country must really inflate your ego.”

“Luke! Would you please calm down for a minute!”

Luke and the guard turned to Cyrus. The boy dressed in dirtied pine green panted as if he had never yelled in his life. A flock of birds took off in the distance, disturbed.

“Why are you shouting?” Luke and the guard asked in unison. Immediately, they glared at each other— also in unison.

“I’d like to save my village now, thanks,” Cyrus said with a sigh. “My name is Cyrus Alder.”

“Is that so?” the guard said, unexpectedly calm. He lowered the spear. “I thought I recognized you. I’ve seen you with your father a few times. A village mayor, if I recall.”

“And you are?” Cyrus asked.

Serves him right. No good unmemorable Flock-galed—

“South Wall captain,” the guard said proudly. He tapped his chest with a fist, a common Asundrian salute. “Deen Daniels.”

He’s a captain?

Luke stepped back and whispered, “How’d you do that?”

“All Captain Daniels asked for was our names,” Cyrus said exasperatedly.

Luke blinked. “Really?”

“What’s the trouble, Cyrus? You mentioned your…”

Twigs snapped in rapid succession. Daniels seemed to notice around the same time as Luke, which surprised them both for an instant.

“Get behind me,” Daniels said quickly in a low voice, brandishing his spear. The silvery metal and gold trim glittered in the sunlight. Cyrus moved first, Luke backing away slower, facing the sounds.

Green.

Two human-sized shadows darted through the Pines, splitting left and right. Luke could barely make out fluttering cloaks of mottled gray and brown and green that seemed to meld into the forest.

Green. The color was so distinct in his mind. It had nothing to do with the green things he saw. It seemed… important, somehow.

Enough! Luke thought. What’s your fixation, wingless idiot?

“Terra Daeva,” Cyrus breathed.

“That’s impossible,” Daniels muttered, moving backward slowly and waving them back with a free hand.

Luke glanced back. They were maybe a quarter of the way to the gate. Strangely, he did not feel fear at that moment. Just determined.

“They’re after us,” Cyrus said, panicked. “We escaped.”

The two human shadows had drawn far enough apart that Daniels had to swivel his head back and forth to track them.

“Whoever they are, whatever they want,” Daniels said, spear steady in white-knuckled hands, “They aren’t getting it on the Wall’s watch.” He flicked his eyes to the gate for a heartbeat. Gauging the distance. “Stay close and keep moving.”

Halfway to safety, the distant cloaked figures strode into the clearing on opposite sides. Dark arms slid beneath darker cloaks and returned with a flash of sunlit steel. The pair of skulking shadows circled the trio almost casually, as if they had done it a thousand times, stopping in front and behind. One blocked their path to the large iron gate, the other stood menacingly before the armored guard. Halfway to safety was no safety at all.

“When I say,” Daniels said quietly, “Run for the gate. We’ll go together, understand? I’ll take care of that one before his partner can reach us. I need you to do something. At the gate is—” The shadows started toward them. “—Now!”

Luke bolted for the gate. Wind thrummed in his ears and blood surged through his veins. He thought he heard Captain Daniels shout something else, but missed whatever it was. He kept his attention firmly glued to the cloaked man, dagger poised, eyes grim and dangerous. The gap between them shrank, then disappeared in an eyeblink. The dagger swept and tore through empty air, Luke half-sliding past the attacker.

The iron gate loomed before him, over twice his height and wide enough for an automobile to pass through with ease. Firmly shut.

What now? Luke thought, frantic, searching all around with quick glances. His mind raced. He needed something done. What was it? His eyes fell on a shadowed indent in the wall beside the gate. Somehow, he felt the dagger on the wind and sidestepped, steel flashing inches from his neck. Luke paused for a heartbeat, staring at his would-be killer. The cloaked man had caramel skin, hair the color between dark orange and black, and enough of a murderous glint in his dark green eyes to match his blade. He loomed over Luke, almost a foot taller.

The dagger sought Luke’s blood a third time, and he flung himself out of the way. Luke spun toward the indent in the wall just as the man gritted his teeth in irritation. He ran as hard as he could, listening to distant metal on metal, footsteps on his heels, and the wind in his ears. It was a tiny indent, only a few inches deep. A rope hung from a carved hole. Pull it, or not? He made his decision a heartbeat too late. Luke ducked out of the way as the dagger cut cleanly through the rope in his hand, stopping just shy of stone. Despite that, a bell sounded somewhere above him, no longer drowned out by the noise of the gate. The gate began to grind open, thick iron bars disappearing into pockets designed for the purpose. Luke and his assailant seemed to realize what was happening at the same time, breaking off from one another. He did not pull it, but it was opening anyway.

Gold-trimmed silvery metal flashed in the rising sun beneath the iron gate and collided with the attacker’s dagger in a whirlwind of motion. A woman wearing oval-rimmed spectacles, hair in a long blonde braid, stood at the other end of the spear in an aggressive stance. Her light armor— the same as Daniels’s— clinked as she advanced, and a short golden mantle around her neck fluttered with every motion. She twisted the spear through the air as if it were a whip, sending the dagger flying from the man’s hand in a matter of seconds. A single second, even. The man took off running like Luke and Cyrus had, disarmed and hopeless. The woman pursued like a frenzied scribblesnake after a plump rat. Luke watched in stunned awe.

Cyrus reached Luke in the next instant, gasping for breath. Watching from afar, Luke suddenly realized that man was not running away, but running for Daniels.

“Captain!” the woman shouted urgently. “Behind!”

Luke could see the distant captain spin his spear to the side and intercept both attackers at once. In the next eyeblink, the cloaked pair were running— away, this time—with the spearwoman on their heels.

Daniels, strangely, was approaching Luke and Cyrus.

“You’re not helping her?” Cyrus asked concernedly.

“Hah.” Daniels smiled broadly in spite of the situation. “Help Major Cade? She could take all three of us— me and them— down without breaking a sweat. She would, too, if I try helping her.”

“That’s crazy!” Cyrus protested.

“No,” Luke said, snatching the dagger out of the gray-green grass. “I don’t think it is.”

Metal rattled behind them a moment later, and Luke turned to see a group of armored soldiers— six in all— pass through the open gate.

“Captain,” one of the three in front said, tapping a fist to his chest.

“At ease, Lieutenant Arston,” Daniels said. “The moment has passed. Return to your posts, all of you.”

“Yes, captain,” the armored man said. This time, all six saluted. They turned and began to leave.

Luke glanced at the clearing and noticed a single figure returning, a woman in silvery armor with a spear resting on her golden-cloaked shoulder. She did not look pleased.

Daniels bit his lip. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Arston,” Daniels called after the man. The guard stopped, and the other five broke away.

“Yes, captain?”

“Send for General Wolf.” He eyed Luke. “There is trouble.”