Cyrus could remember his mother’s face, her voice, her genuine interest and beaming smile when he brought to her bedside a new gourd he’d been gifted by a neighbor. Losing her was like finding out the sun wasn’t going to rise in the sky anymore. Or at least, that’s what he’d like to believe. In truth, it must not have hurt all that much. He knew that now, because he’d never felt like this.

The last three weeks had taken their toll on him. He’d lost everyone he’d ever known and grew up with in Castitas, he’d been captured and forced to interact with a monstrous human being, and his friend Luke was murdered right before his eyes. It all left him exhausted and emotionally wounded in a way he’d never known. It was hard to explain. He wasn’t sad or angry or confused. Just… nothing. Detached. It felt as if the whole world had been dyed gray. Everything that was happening around Cyrus just ran off him like raindrops down a window.

This is important, he told himself, not for first time. He walked the streets of Ulciscor beside Deen with an air of importance. Passersby gave them a wide berth thanks to their Guard uniforms. Everyone in the city knew an attack by the Daevans was imminent, and no one wanted to be the one to delay or interfere with Guard business. Finding Mammon matters. You owe Lieutenant Korsak that much.

They weaved their way through a labyrinth of featureless narrow pathways until they reached the heart of the city. A familiar red-bricked building entered their view as well as four members of the Ulciscor Guard lounging around right outside it. Half of them were standing dutifully while the others were sitting in relaxed postures. Their uniforms were denoted by ranking markings Cyrus didn’t understand and a metallic pin, reflective in the light. Deen yanked him back by the arm around the corner building they’d just passed.

“Flocks,” the ex-captain swore softly. “I’ve seen the Guard make some pretty poor judgment calls before, but this takes the seeds. Four soldiers for a deserter on the off chance he comes back for his family? What kind of criminal do they think I am?”

“Are you gonna talk to them?”

“No,” Deen said, sighing. “Not interested in getting court-martialed yet. It seems like they have every intention of putting me through the wringer.” He peered past the corner and clicked his tongue. “That pin they’re wearing is the Southwest Wall. I should have known. They want to make an example out of me.” He took a deep breath, then turned to leave. “Can’t be too mad, I guess. At least Lyla and the others will have someone watching their backs today. We’re done here.”

“What now?”

“The main thing we need right now is information. We need to figure out what’s happening in the city. Everything feels pretty normal. I’ve got a feeling you-know-who hasn’t played his hand yet. He’s still hiding.”

Deen scratched his beard. Thinking.

“Those men and women are trained to identify me. They know my face. But that’s not the case for the entire Guard.”

“Wouldn’t they know your face regardless?” Cyrus said, glancing at the captain’s marking on his shoulder. “Because of that?”

“I wish. They look down on us, you know. The other regiments say a South Wall captain is nobody of note; no one worth remembering. The South Wall is where all of the Guard’s least useful prospects end up. The undesirables…” Something like surprise flashed across his face. “That’s it! You just gave me a great idea. Come on, I’ll explain on the way.”

———

A misty drizzle accompanied Luke and Argent as they leapt across the Pines at a height beyond imagination. He’d become somewhat comfortable with his insides doing their best imitation of a Siri troupe acrobat, enough to notice an oddity that was right in front of his face. Or more accurately, what wasn’t there. It was strange— and frankly, a little disappointing— to soar through the skies and not feel so much as a breeze.

“Why hasn’t the wind or rain been hitting us? Are you doing that?”

“Huh?” Argent glanced back. A storm of colored dust and beauty swirled around him. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Why?”

“So we don’t get windburn.” His boots touched down on the forest floor, pulsing a wide ring of wind and force from the impact. “Or wet. I hate being wet.”

“What’s windburn?”

“Ever stick your head out of an automobile on a windy day? Face gets all dry. Can even burn if you’re exposed long enough.”

“Magenta?”

“Works. If you don’t care about your complexion.”

“You’re literally covered in bandages.”

“You say that like wind exposure can’t damage these, too. You’re really underestimating the power of Green. Ever hear of a tornado?”

“A what?”

“Thought so. Remind me to take you on a trip through Vega.” They crested a curve in the forest that was not quite a hill, more like a bump— and came upon a view that made the conversation lapse. “Finally.”

Ulciscor.

“We crossed all that way already! Is it even noon?” Luke’s gaze drifted up from the city. He frowned. The sky looked as though someone had taken a wide brush of dark low-hanging clouds to it, painting its infinite blue canvas with considerable gloom. “Looks like it’s gonna storm today.”

“Yeah, it does,” Argent said, crouching for another jump. “I’m going to take us around to the rear walls. That’s where we’ll cross over. Less chance of being spotted.”

A few minutes later, the Weaver cleared the famous Ulciscor Wall in a single leap and touched down on the flat roof of a moderately tall rectangular blue building. The shockwave released was of smaller scale, but it still made quite a sound. Disturbed, a flock of birds scattered.

The bandages around Luke’s wrists and ankles loosened. A bit wobbly as he… dismounted, he Weaved some Green into his legs for some steadiness as he freed himself and made for the edge. He surveyed the city.

At least it’s not on fire. He swallowed. I’m back. I’m really back. Maybe we can’t stop the war, but I hope we’re not too late to make a difference.

“I haven’t been here in a long time,” Argent said, gesturing widely. “He’s out there somewhere. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“I think I know where to start,” Luke said. “There’s someone I can talk to. It’ll be an easy way to figure out what’s been happening since the last time I was here.”

“That’s good. It’d be best if we split up from here.”

“What? Why?”

“I work best out of sight.” Argent stepped closer to the edge beside him and gazed down. “I’ll try to keep an eye on you.”

“Am I supposed to keep you a secret? The Guard will want to know the details. Everything that happened in Cherima.”

“Tell them whatever you wish. My enemies already know everything about me that you do. The only thing they don’t know about is you.”

“How do I find you again?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll find you.”

That sounded incredibly ominous. That’s Argent for you.

“Hold on. This ‘someone’ of yours, do you trust them?”

“Well, she tried to kill me.” He brought up his palms. “She’s friendly, though.”

Argent tilted his head.

“You know any women like that?”

“Uh, no.” He shook his head. “I don’t. There is a woman trying to kill me, but she’s not really what I’d call friendly.”

“Is that… common?”

“Are you asking me if it’s normal for women to try killing you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Argent looked at him.

“I’m… gonna jump off this building now,” Luke said.

“Uh huh.”

He checked below for anyone passing through the narrow alley. It was empty. Right to it then.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Remember to Blue,” Argent said as he stepped off.

He hadn’t really thought about it, but the way down was about a forty or fifty foot drop. That would absolutely mangle a normal person. Even the Alder residence fall had taken a toll on his body for a while. Fear and doubt clung to Luke as he dropped, pulling him down just as strongly as gravity. Was he really going to be okay? He focused his mind on a single word.

Blue.

Threads of brilliant light Weaved around his legs and boots. Freezing winds rushed past him. He knew what to do. Stay straight, keep joints relaxed. He slammed feet first onto the rocky street, making a sound like splitting ice and spraying loose pebbles every which way.

His legs tingled a bit, but were otherwise fine. Luke looked up toward Argent, but the Weaver was already nowhere to be seen. With perfect timing, he realized he’d forgotten to thank the man for all his help.

Next time, he thought. Thank you, too. Whether or not you’re listening.

Southbound, he walked. One or two people to a street turned into full blown crowds as he reached the city center, then thinned again as he came upon an alley of squat stone homes squeezed together on the southern outskirts, an unsettling bunch of buildings that stared back at him with tiny windows and narrow arrowslits.

He approached a house on the far end and knocked on the thick wooden door. Its handle was atypical for Mintakan housing, a small indent for fingers to slide the door open horizontally across a smooth stone groove. Was she home?

He knocked again and waited. And waited.

Enough time passed for him to get bored. He tried to slide the door, and although it was very heavy— it must not be entirely wood— it did budge. Unlocked. So she was home after all.

“Aisha!” he called, sliding the door open and stepping inside. He slid it closed. The place was as plain as ever, save for the carpets. Those were as pretty as he remembered. “It’s Luke! Anybody home?”

He made for the kitchen, not really sure where else to go. As he crossed through the corridor, a side door swung open behind him. Through it came a woman with short white hair wearing a shoulder-strapped shirt and belt-buckled trousers. Two long knives hung from that belt, the design of the sheath evoking the image of a horned green and black scribblesnake.

“Well now. If it isn’t his little friend. Hoping to catch me in the shower?” Her hair was wet and she was barefoot, dripping water. An Ahraran marking underneath her left eye punctuated her dark expression. “Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

“Sorry I came at a bad time,” he said quickly. “We need to talk—”

“I have nothing to say to you. Other than this.” Aisha bared teeth and drew one of her knives. “Tell me where he is. Now.”

She was blocking the way to the exit. This didn’t seem like her trying to goad him into another round of training. Something was wrong.

“Where who is?”

“Who else? The man you disappeared with a week ago.” She lifted the knife to his throat. “Where is Daniels?”

This was not going well.

———

Deen Daniels strode into the Ulciscor Guard’s assignment office as if it were the most natural act in the world. And what an act it was. Here he stood in the heart of the city, within which laid the bustling barracks of the very organization that was on the lookout for him.

The assignment office was a quieter building compared to its neighbors. In fact, the only person in the front-facing room was a single clerk, a middle-aged woman with curly auburn hair hunched over the reception desk. Fashionable chains hung loosely from the temples of her spectacles. A steaming ceramic mug rested dangerously close to a stack of papers. She took a sheet from that stack and scribbled tirelessly with a pen in her other hand, glancing up only to mentally register that someone had entered the office.

Cyrus entered a moment after, looking anxious as ever. That wasn’t an act, but it would suit their purposes all the same. Deen patted him on the shoulder and nodded for reassurance, then approached the desk.

Like most places in the city, it was plainly furnished. Tiled floor, a few chairs scattered about, cabinets along the walls bearing boxes of markers and notes and pencils and clipboards and all sorts of other weapons of war for the clerks. A number of paintings broke up the monotony of the flat-colored walls, oft military-themed or political. Most prominently placed were a pair of head-to-waist paintings of Mayor Ren and General Wolf. What caught Deen’s eye the longest was an artistic interpretation of the Sheer Sea and the Asundrian Crack’s jagged depths as if viewed from above. Beauty and terror from an impossible perspective. What an imagination it must take to visualize something like that.

“Yes?” she asked. The clerk’s eyes flicked toward the marking on his shoulder, then went back to her paper. “What can I do for you, captain?”

“Hello, ma’am. Right. Where to start…” Deen rubbed the back of his head and laughed nervously in what he hoped was a believable display of embarrassment. “I forgot where they assigned me. Been on the South Wall for years. This whole thing’s knocked me over with a feather.”

She reached for a thick binder almost out of arm’s reach, nearly knocking over that mug. He decided, after years of interacting with clerks, that he wasn’t going to say anything. They had their own way.

“You’re not the first one to come asking this month, believe me. Let’s look you up. I’ll point you in the right direction. What’s your name?”

“Quinn Velox.”

The clerk cracked open the binder, licked her thumb and flipped through pages until coming upon the one she sought.

“Here we are. Second Regiment. Seventh Captain Velox of the Southwest Wall.” She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. “Says you were assigned to your post a week ago.”

“I’ve been out. Time off.”

Her eyebrow went higher. Flocks, the clerks weren’t buried in their books deep enough to be ignorant of the skirmishes in the forest. The entire Guard had orders to be waiting in the wings. A captain wouldn’t exactly be granted a vacation this month. He was starting to sound suspicious. Deen cleared his throat. He needed to think of—

Oh. Good idea, Daniels.

“Sick,” he said. “The doctors only gave me clearance to return to duty this morning.”

“That explains it,” she said, doing a little flourish in the air with a retractable pen. She clicked her thumb on the mechanism to release the ink tip. “I’ll write out some directions. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Who’s the boy?” she asked in a low voice as she wrote.

“New recruit. Showing him the ropes and all that.”

“Thought so,” she said, scribbling. “Sad times we live in.”

“Mm-hmm.”

She handed him a note with some immaculate handwriting and smiled. He returned the smile, thanked her and pocketed it.

“Do you have need of anything else, Captain Velox?”

“No. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Happy to help.”

He nodded and turned to leave.

“Let’s go, Cyrus.”

Not three steps later, he winced as he heard the distinct sound of shattering ceramic. Sure enough, the clerk was fretting behind her desk, and a dark brown liquid was spilling across the tiles.

“By Nesoenas, Sharla, that’s the dumbest thing you’ve done in a while,” the clerk swore. Her eyes flicked toward Deen. “I’m so sorry.”

“Need any help?”

“No, no. I’ll handle this.” She stepped around the broken shards and moved into a back room. “Don’t trouble yourself, captain.”

“Alright, then. We’re heading out, ma’am.”

“Safe travels!” she called from the other room.

He walked past Cyrus, shrugged and pushed the door open.

“Come along, recruit. We’ve got work to do.”

That had gone about as smoothly as Deen expected. A bit rough thanks to his terrible acting, but a passable performance in the end. The central barracks were predominantly composed of First Regiment soldiers and staff who rarely interacted with the three wall regiments. They maintained order within the city itself. It made sense that none of the soldiers milling about the camp who saw his face were able to identify him.

Rain pelted them on their way to the Second Regiment’s barracks, a brief shower that stopped as suddenly as it had stopped. Gaps of sunlight in the sky between rolling black clouds were beginning to close. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but there was no lightning to be seen. Through those gaps he could still the sun had peaked and was venturing west faster than he’d liked. Even though it was already midday, it felt like they hadn’t accomplished much.

A little chat with Velox ought to fix that.

Getting through the Southwest Wall from the inside out was not nearly as challenging as the inverse. A pair of chatty guardsmen spared them only a glance to take in the ranks stitched onto their uniforms as they passed by and headed toward the section of the wall reserved for personal quarters. So sloppy. A step that should have been feather-ruffling ended up being more depressing than anything.

They found his former co-captain’s quarters easily enough. Deen banged on the door once, not really expecting it to work. He knew the man well enough after so many years together. If Velox wasn’t on duty, he was probably goofing off somewh—

The latch clicked.

He stepped back and tensed. He wasn’t honestly sure how this would go. How would Velox react to his reappearance? He was somewhat of a slacker, but he could be a real stickler for the rules at the weirdest times. Surely he’d at least hear Deen out before turning him over to the Guard. Maybe he should have thought about this more. Too late now.

The door opened wide to the stunned expression of a spindly blond-haired man dressed in a captain’s uniform. Velox looked exactly how Deen remembered him, save for the dark blotches under his eyes.

“Captain Da—” Velox began. He cut off as Deen raised a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. More quietly he said, “Captain Daniels.”

“Been a while, buddy. Heard they promoted you.”

“Is it true?”

“Pardon?”

Velox advanced and grabbed him by the collar with both hands. He let it happen, if only because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the man so animated.

“Is it true?” he repeated through gritted teeth. “What they’re saying about you and Seras?”

“What does Seras have to do with this? I’m the one who deserted.”

“How did you get here? How did you even manage to get back into the city without alerting the Guard? They’re all watching for you.”

“Arston always keeps a side door open. I need to find him. This is important, Velox. There’s a crisis. Mammon Rigel is already here.”

Velox gasped. His arms fell away. The man stared as if stupefied.

“What?” Deen asked.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“I know they’re going to court-martial me. I don’t care. As long as I can get the word out, nothing else matters.”

“Court-martial you?” the captain laughed. It sounded hollow. “There won’t be a trial. They want you dead or alive for your crimes.”

“Bane Below, what crimes?”

Velox went inside and snatched an envelope off the desk near his bed and handed it over. The letter was stamped with the wolf’s head and an up-to-date marking of authenticity. A direct order from the general and majors. He quoted the text from memory as Deen read it.

“Deen Daniels, First Captain of the South Wall, wanted for high treason against Mirastelle and the seven premeditated murders of South Wall Lieutenant Arston and his associates.”